She was going to meet Paul and the others at the cells, and release the prisoners. Then, they’d figure out a way to get the children, if possible (otherwise they’d have to postpone that step to later). And only then would Ana fire her flare—when, hopefully, they were well on their way to safety.
“We’re gonna win this aren’t we, Ana?” Dimwit whispered to her. “It’s going to work out, yeah?”
Ana nodded. Fingers crossed, she thought, as she entered Bately for the last time.
* * *
Paul stood in Castle Square, along with everyone else. He felt the pressure of thousands of bodies squeezed into too small a space, all holding their breaths, waiting for the main event.
He craned his head around as far as he could, trying to survey the crowd. Virtually everyone was wearing a black uniform. Pale, sun-starved faces wrapped in dark garments spread out as far as he could see. It was like a horde of ghostly visages hovering in the shadows.
They’re indistinguishable, now, he thought. The townsfolk and the Warden’s people. He’s cast his spell upon them all.
On the castle steps, five guards stood stiffly, eyes pointed straight ahead. But the cobbled surface beyond them was still empty.
If things went according to plan, if Ana had managed to convince the ’Wraith Queen, their army would strike tonight. He shuddered at the thought of another battle, here in Bately. A battle that would be so much bigger, and bloodier, than the previous. How many of those standing around him would survive to see the next day?
The same goes for your friends, Paul. Will they live through this night?
He banned that thought from his mind. This wasn’t the time to be fearful. There was simply too much to do. Too much at stake.
There was a gasp, echoed across a thousand lips. For a fraction of a second, Paul feared the ’wraith attack had already begun. But no, it was the Warden. He had stepped onto his stage. Behind him, Alice walked uneasily, barely daring to look up at the crowd. She appeared so small, defenceless, with the grand castle looming over her.
The Warden, on the other hand, was in his element. The dramatic setting, the flocks of adoring masses spread out at his feet.
Yes, this is just how he likes it, thought Paul.
The Warden lead Alice to centre stage, facing the audience. He draped his hands on her shoulders in what was almost a tender gesture. She looked up at him, and he nodded gently. Then, he addressed the crowd.
“I spoke,” he began, his voice surprisingly loud, strong. “And you listened.”
Paul watched as the Warden ran his gaze upon his subjects. It was a severe, but loving one. The gaze of a strict but tender father.
“I revealed,” he continued, “and you believed… I led many of you through war and suffering, and almost unbearable struggle, but you never faltered. You stood by me, and I by you. We stormed across Europe, and I lead the way. A way,” he said, opening his arms wide, “that led us here, to this small town.”
Paul remembered how struck he’d been by Jeremy’s rhetoric skills, when he sold his phoney cure to the sick. But this… this was something else. It wasn’t the words, not just the words—the Warden’s speech had a magical, almost hypnotic rhythm to it. One that could bend the mind, take it to places of dreams and wonder. He built worlds with his voice. He destroyed worlds with his voice.
“I promised the end of all pain and suffering. For the newcomers—my people have surely painted our vision in your minds. After all the horrors of the human experiment, after the devastation of the three rocks, our vision is one of everlasting peace and silence. I’m happy to say, after so much toil and effort, that our time has almost come!” He raised his voice on the last few words, and the crowd erupted in mindless cheering.
The roar made Alice take a small step backwards, but the Warden gently pushed her forth again.
“Now,” he said, as the clamour faded, “the cosmic forces that brought Colossus, Nero and Europa to our world, have sent us a sign… a powerful omen that filled my heart with joy.” He paused, nodding to the awe-struck faces. “I will share that sign with you, tonight. On this special night in which, across the ocean, brave comrades are working to help us end the plague of humanity…”
Around him, Paul heard a few people ask about these ’comrades across the ocean,’ but most of them just absorbed the words, without questioning them. They trusted their leader.
“… here, I give it to you, my loyal friends—the presage that marks the end of our world.”
Paul wondered if perhaps the crowd would be disappointed by Alice’s birthmark, after such a grand introduction. But he was wrong.
The Warden bent over and whispered something into the little girl’s ear. She nodded, her chin quivering, and turned her back to the square. Then, with a swift and graceful motion, the Warden swept up her clothes, revealing her naked skin.
Everyone leaned forward, and it struck Paul that this sight might have been somewhat comic, from the stage—thousands of eyes squinting, leaning forward, eager to catch a glimpse of a small defect of Alice’s back. Then, gradually, whispers of ’birthmark’ and ’the sign’ began circulating, flowing towards the back of a crowd, increasing in volume, like a wave about to break.
The cries that followed were almost unbearable. Everywhere, people were shouting, cheering, crying tears of happiness. Paul watched in astonishment as the spectators embraced and literally jumped for joy. A few of them fainted, overwhelmed by their emotions. It was insanity.
For a fleeting instant, Paul asked himself, What if they’re right? What if this is all true?
He looked at Alice’s birthmark, he too squinting along with everyone else. Tonight, it did look surprisingly similar to the three circles on the Warden’s banners.
Had it been a cross on her skin, would you have been so sceptical? Were the signs your God gave you any more believable than this?
Maybe the man who called himself the Warden was right. Maybe the disappearance of humanity was something to cherish, the whole ’human experiment,’ as he’d put it, was best forgotten.
But he cast those thoughts away. These doubts, they were just the effect of the crowd’s enthusiasm penetrating his mind. Alice wasn’t the bearer of some mystical sign. She was a small, frightened girl who needed rescuing.
After a long while, the Warden raised an arm, his cloak swaying majestically in the wind. The noise died down, replaced by the low sobs of his adoring followers.
I should get going, thought Paul. I have to try and get to the cells as soon as possible.
Just then, the Warden opened his mouth to speak, but he did not. Because in that instant, all hell broke loose.
Chapter 22
The Dance of the Dead
Ana was lying in the dirt on a small hill, eyeing the crowd. Dimwit was beside her, his eyes wide, trying to take the whole crowd in. It wasn’t easy.
“Wow,” the boy said, shaking his head.
That pretty much sums it up, Ana thought, as she observed the human river flowing from the castle steps, all the way out through Castle Street and beyond.
Ana nodded. “Yup. Wow.” She rubbed her chin. “Well, the good news is, they’re all staring at the Warden, up there. They’re distracted.”
“And the bad news?”
“The bad news is… there’s a heck of a lot of them.” She smiled at Dimwit. He tried to smile back, but didn’t quite pull it off.
She tried to compare the size of this gathering to the meteorwraiths’ numbers, in her head, but it was difficult. Lots of them on either side, and it was hard to tell who had the edge in terms of quantity.
But it didn’t matter, really. Hopefully, they’d be out of there before the two armies clashed.
She shuffled around, trying to find a slightly less uncomfortable position. Paul is somewhere in that crowd, she thought. Or maybe he’s already at the cells, waiting for me to turn up.
“Shall we shoot the flare gun?” Dimwit asked her, staring at the mass of the Warde
n’s people.
“Not yet.”
She’d been awaiting the right time to make a move. The entrance to the cells was close to the square, and the black uniforms’ attention had to be focussed on the Warden as much as possible, for her to slip by unnoticed. But she was cautiously optimistic: their eyes were glued to the stage and she doubted anyone would spot her.
“Dimwit,” she began, looking him in the eyes. “Listen to me: we’re going to shoot the flare, yes, but there’s something I need to do, first, okay?”
The young ’wraith stared at her, eyebrows raised. “What…?”
“It’s fine. Just trust me mate, all right?”
Dimwit chewed on his lower lip. “All right, Ana. Sure,” he said, finally.
She shifted her gaze to the top of the steps, where the Warden was standing behind Alice. This far away, it was hard to actually see what was going on there, but something was happening. Before she could make it out, the whole crowd went nuts. They both covered their ears with their hands, jaws gaping at the psychotic display of excitement before them. Whatever the Warden had shown them, it certainly worked.
This was a good time to move. She got to her feet and began walking fast, dragging Dimwit behind her. Heads low and shoulders hunched, they made their way towards the castle. Anyone in the crowd who set their mind to it would likely have spotted them, at this point. Her bet was that the Warden would hold their full attention for another few minutes—enough for them to reach the cells.
What if there’s someone standing guard? It was likely. But she was willing to take her chances. Maybe they would be too taken by the speech to notice her slipping inside. Also–
“Ana, what’s that?”
She was about to tell him to keep his mouth shut, but she stopped. A strange yellowish tinge had coloured the ground, for a second. She blinked. Yes, there was something wrong with the light, or her eyes, all of a sudden.
“Up there!” Dimwit whisper-shouted.
Ana looked up, towards the sky, half-hoping to see the moon appear through the clouds for the first time in months. But it wasn’t the moon.
She saw the long, shimmering trail in the sky. At its peak, a bright yellow light shone vividly. A second later, it was gone.
No, it wasn’t the moon. It was Mojito’s flare gun being fired. He’d signalled to the ’Wraith Army to launch the attack, without waiting for her to initiate it.
Damn!
She had minutes, maybe seconds, before Bately was swarmed by the ’wraiths.
Ana’s mind boggled at the implications of this. But there was no time to stand there and think it through. No, she had to get a move on.
“It’s the f–” Dimwit began.
“Yes, I know. We gotta hurry.”
Cursing Mojito, she grabbed Dimwit’s arm and broke into a fast run.
* * *
It was like the sound of a prodigious wave. Distant, at first, but menacing enough to bring the crowd to utter silence. On his stage, the Warden had interrupted his speech.
A rolling crash, like thunder tearing through the skies, growing until the earth they all stood on began to shake. Heads turned desperately, trying to locate its source. But it was everywhere.
Paul, unlike everyone else, knew what was coming. Yet, he was frozen. Expecting the ’wraith attack was one thing—witnessing it was completely different.
There was a cry, then a single gunshot, coming from the thickets outside down. Someone, somewhere shouted, “They’re coming!”
An instant later, they did.
The wave of ’Wraith’s Army struck Bately with all its brute force, crashing into the night like a tornado, a whirlwind of rotting teeth and colourful clothes and devilish eyes. They poured in on foot, on horseback, on screeching motorbikes, in wrecked but somehow functioning cars and vans. They roared and chanted and wanted blood. From his place in the square, Paul saw them cascade into town from all sides, like storming waves converging on a lonesome rock. They were too many to count. Too many even to comprehend. They all appeared to be smiling crazily, as if possessed by a demon of violence and chaos.
After the initial shock, the Warden’s people finally sprung into action. Weapons appeared out of nowhere, orders were barked, engines revved up.
Paul turned towards the castle, where Alice and the Warden were hurriedly being escorted away. Alice’s hands were pressed against her ears, her mouth open in a scream. It was hard to watch her go like that, but it was also a relief. She’d be safer, inside the castle, away from the battle.
I’ll come back and get you, Alice. I promise.
Paul was shoved aside, as the crowd came to life. Some were terrified, looking only to escape, but most seemed eager to join the fight.
Explosions rocked the air, the rattle of automatic gunfire incessant. The chaotic fury of war howling its blood-curdling rage.
It’s begun—the dance of the dead, blind and ruthless, Paul thought, observing the disorderly movement of all those bodies. He shook himself out of his daze. I have to get to the cells. I have to get to the others.
He ducked his head, blindly pushing and shoving those who got in his way. Everyone seemed to be going everywhere at once. He groaned as he propelled himself forward, elbowing and leaning against others who were just as eager as him to get elsewhere.
“We’re under attack! We’re under attack!” someone was calling out nonsensically, as if no one else had noticed. Others were shouting, “For the Warden!” firing blind shots towards the advancing horde.
After what felt like an hour, Paul finally caught a glimpse of the cells’ entrance. With a final shove, he broke out of the crowd, finding himself face to face with the baffled cell guards.
“Halt!” one of them called out, raising his hand. There was fear and confusion in his eyes. Like most of the guards assigned to the prisons, he was one of the new recruits, from Bately. He was very young: twenty at most. “You can’t go in here,” he shouted, but when he noticed his comrade load his rifle and rush off to join the battle, he lowered his arm. He frowned, wondering what he was supposed to do. Paul ignored him, walking straight through the door that led to the cells where his friends were being held. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard slowly draw a gun from its holster, and walk uncertainly towards the battlefield.
Good, there’ll be no guards on our way out.
He ran down the wide steps as fast as he could, entering the corridor where he’d finally–
BANG!
Paul’s hands instinctively flew up to his face, but froze half way there. The explosion, amplified by the thick stone walls surrounding him, turned into a high-pitched ringing sound in his ears.
At the end of the corridor, close to his friends’ cell, a shaking guard was staring at him with blind terror.
He missed me, it’s okay, he missed me. There was no pain, just that awful ringing sound.
“Please don’t kill me!” the guard screamed crazily, as he fumbled with his weapon, desperately trying to reload it. He didn’t seem to have noticed Paul wasn’t the one shooting. His eyes kept darting from Paul to the ammunition in his shaking hands.
Paul stretched out his open palms, tried to speak calmly. “I don’t want to kill you, I’m not one of them,” he began. Inside the cell, Cathy was shouting the same thing, trying to get the guard to calm down.
But he didn’t. As soon as the weapon was loaded, he raised it, pointing it straight at Paul’s head.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, taking a step back, to adjust his aim. In doing so, he got closer to the bars of the cell. “I can’t trust a ’wraith.”
Neeson was so quick, it took a second for Paul to register what had happened. His hands shot out through the bars and gripped the guard at the temples. Then, in one single motion, he pulled back, slamming the poor man’s head hard against the metal. The guard let out a groan and collapsed to the ground.
“Search his pockets,” Neeson said to Paul. Still struck by the ex-soldier’s speed, he
nodded and ran down the last few steps, knelt down beside the guard. “He’s not dead,” Neeson said. “Just passed out.” Cathy and Moore stood beside him, anxious to get out.
“Okay,” Paul said, feeling relieved. He went through the guard’s pockets, all of them, frenetically. He dug out a smelly half cigarette, a piece of bread, a dirty tissue. But nothing else.
“They’re not here,” he said with a sigh.
A familiar voice spoke from the entrance. “Nope. ’Cause they’re here.”
Paul peered up. It was Ana, dangling a set of keys in her hand. The ’wraith boy, Dimwit, was with her, too. “They were in the drawer labelled Keys,” she smiled and tilted her head towards a side room Paul hadn’t noticed. She threw them at Paul.
“Ana,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” In their cell, the others traded perplexed looks. Dimwit’s eyebrows were twisted with doubt, as he looked up at Ana, desperate for an explanation.
“It’s okay,” Paul said to his friends, trying one key after the other. “We can trust her.”
They didn’t seem entirely convinced, but no one thought this would be a good time to debate the issue.
Finally, he got the right key. It slid into the lock and turned with a click. Cathy and the two men didn’t hesitate to get out of their cell. As soon as they were free, they threw their arms around Paul. There were lots of pats on the back, ruffled hair and watery eyes.
They gathered in the corridor, adrenalin and excitement coming off them in waves. Paul felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach: amazingly enough, the first part of their plan had worked out as they hoped.
“Is this all of you?” asked Ana, who still hadn’t addressed Dimwit’s confused look.
“No,” Moore said. “We have to wait for Mathew and Lucy.” Paul picked up a note of concern in his voice, as he peered hopefully towards the entrance, the noise of the battle raging outside.
Cathy laid a hand on Moore’s shoulder. “They’ll be here any minute. It’s okay.”
“We could go and look for them,” said Paul.
“No,” said Neeson. “I wouldn’t do that. It’s best to stick to the plan, for now. They know where to find us. If they’re not here soon, we can go looking.”
IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series Page 53