“Don’t you wish we could have met at a different time?” asked Nat. “A different place?”
“No,” said Max. “Despite what’s going on beneath our feet, right now, I’m here, with you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know why?”
Nat squeezed his hand. “Why?”
“Because right now, I’m here, with you. To change things, well, who knows what would have happened.”
He stepped in front of her, stroking her arm with his free hand.
Nat stared back up at him, her heart thumping fast. It filled her with a fiery tingle reaching down to her stomach.
Kiss me.
Forget Simon and his fucked up old friends.
Forget freaky brothers and living in the sewers.
Just kiss me, Max. Kiss me!
He gently reached for her chin and tilted her head upwards.
In allowing him, Nat became a little light headed. Her fingertips tingled.
Kiss me! Her mind continued to beam out physic messages to Max, in the vain hope he would hear them. Kiss me right here, right now.
32.
Johan wheeled his head and slowly opened his eyes. He rubbed his cheek.
Simon stood over him, blood seeping from his opened cheek. “Thank God.”
“Where… where are we?”
“Still in the sewers. You haven’t been out for long.”
Johan sat in a wooden chair, his back to a cluttered desk. Maps and charts of various networks and circuits decorated the walls. The floor had been covered with wet footprints, darkening the concrete. The sharp and sour smell of the tunnels had been replaced with the dark and earthy smell of oil.
“This isn’t the sewers,” he said. “What happened?”
Richie, leaning against the wall in the corner with Kev, glared at him. “You don’t remember? About Spence?”
Hanging from the ceiling, glasses sipping from his face, the fire.
“Of course I remember,” he said and dipped his head.
“He didn’t even want to come,” Richie snapped. “Hell, I don’t think any of us wanted to after what happened the last time. What are we doing down here?”
“None of you had a gun held to your heads,” said Johan. “You knew what you were getting yourselves into.”
He raised a hand to his head and, touching a wet patch, brought his fingers down for inspection. A smear of dark brown coated his fingers. Even inches away from his face, Johan smelled the biting stench of shit. He released a high moan and pulled out his wipes. He hastily scrubbed his hands, discarding the soiled wipes on the floor one by one. Once his hands had been washed, the skin red and the nails cleaned, Johan worked on his face. He scoured his skin. More used wipes drifted down to the floor. He pulled more out of the small plastic packet and advanced to his neck.
“Johan?” said Richie. “What the fuck?”
“Just… a… minute,” he replied and removed the last two moist wipes. He screwed them up and shoved one up each nostril. Twisting each around, his nose filled with lemon-scented fabric. Done, he threw them both on the floor.
“Feel better now?” said Simon.
Johan breathed in deeply through his nose. “Much.”
“Fuck this,” said Richie. “We’re going.”
“Right,” Simon agreed. “The sooner we find Nat…”
“Ha!” cried Richie. He shook the flashlight like a club. “Wake up, mate. She’s dead, long dead. Those things have sliced and diced her by now. Those two looked well fed to me, right Kev?”
He nodded in reply.
“Bet they carved your piece and served her on a goddamn platter!”
“Shut it! Don’t you dare speak about her like that,” screamed Simon.
Richie brandished the flashlight. “It’s your fault we came down here in the first place and your fault that Spence is… is…”
Johan closed his eyes. “Dead.”
“We couldn’t just leave her!” said Simon.
Richie snorted. “We were helping you. Paying you back for everything you did for us. You think we give a shit about one of them? About some cheap slut?”
Johan opened his eyes.
Simon darted across the small room and pushed Richie in the chest. He staggered back and struck the wall. The flashlight fell from his hand.
“I’m gonna kill you!” Simon yelled and slammed him back against the wall.
Blond hair flapping about his face, Richie’s head struck with a solid thunk.
Let them get this out of their system, thought Johan. Might fire them up enough to finish the job.
Snarling, Simon dove forwards for another attack.
“I wouldn’t,” said Kev. He held the gun at arm’s length, fat finger wrapped around the trigger. He aimed it at Simon’s face.
Looking pumped with adrenaline, Simon glanced at Richie.
“I said, I wouldn’t.” Kev held the gun steady.
Simon backed up, hands to his chest.
“Really. Take it easy.”
“You okay, Rich?” said Kev, his eyes still locked on Simon.
Rubbing the back of his head, Richie said, “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
They both backed towards the doorway on the far side of the room.
“Where are you going?” asked Johan, suddenly worried. “We can’t split up!”
Kev pointed the gun at him.
“Our friend is dead because of you. Both of you. Simon wants to rescue his dead girlfriend, and you, what the hell is going through your head?” Kev wiped the gathered sweat from his face. “I mean, what the hell, Johan? We should’ve called the police or something the moment, the very moment, we knew about these things. And what did we do? We bought guns and explosives and came down here like fucking exterminators! We’re going, and the first way up we find, we’re out of here.”
Kev and Richie left the room. Their footsteps echoed away down the adjoining corridor.
“Come on,” hissed Johan. “We have to follow them.”
“Leave ’em,” said Simon. “We don’t need the hassle.”
“No, but that gun would come in useful.”
Johan stepped towards the doorway, but Simon held out a hand and stopped him.
“You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”
Yes, thought Johan. Dead, carved and eaten.
“She’s down here somewhere,” said Johan.
Simon sighed. “Paying me back, Richie said. I hope that’s not true. What happened in the past, especially the night we met…”
Johan walked to the doorway and turned back.
“This isn’t the time. We’ll lose them.”
The corridor seemed to sway back and forth with the overhead bulbs swinging on their chains. Vibrations throbbed through the walls and floor. Spying Richie and Kev at the end, Johan hurried on. Simon stayed close behind, his walk marred with a severed limp.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” said Simon. “One of those things got me in the leg. Hurts like a bitch, but it doesn’t feel too deep. How is it?”
They paused and Johan inspected the back of Simon’s leg. The blue denim was soaked in blood. The fabric had been sliced in a clean vertical line just behind the knee.
“It’s better than your face,” he said after a second. “You’ll live.”
They pressed on and followed the two boys around a corner. The corridor led into a large room about half the size of a football pitch. The air buzzed with noise and movement. Various machines stood in a grid separated by narrow walkways and safety railings.
At his side, Simon attempted to talk, but Johan pressed a finger against his own lips.
Richie and Kev had reached the centre of the room and stood looking around. Despite the throb of the machines, Johan heard them quite clearly.
“What is this place?” asked Kev.
“Some kind of pumping room, I guess,” said Richie. “I don’t care. It’s civilisation! Like the workroom we were in. If people work down here, there must
be a way up.”
Johan gestured for Simon to follow. They walked to the left, up against the wall, careful to keep their footsteps light. Their route led them into the corner. From behind a thick branch of pipes that reached into the ceiling, they peered around.
“What do you think?” whispered Simon.
Between the machines, Johan managed to keep Richie and Kev in sight. They stood between two of the larger pieces of equipment.
“We’ll follow them. I have a feeling we’re close to the end of the line. Richie’s right. This isn’t the sewer anymore. They wouldn’t stay this close to people. If they find a way out, we’ll join them and talk them into another sweep through tomorrow night.”
“And Nat?”
He slapped Simon on the shoulder. “Don’t give up yet. Who knows what else we’ll find tonight.”
A wide shadow slid between two of the machines close by.
“What was that?” whispered Johan. “You see anything?”
Simon shook his head.
“Keep a look out,” said Johan. “I don’t think we’re alone in here.”
At the centre of the room, Richie and Kev stood close together. Johan and Simon still able to see and hear them.
“I can’t see a ladder or anything,” said Kev.
“There has to be.” Richie leaned over the rail of the closest machine and unhooked a clipboard that hung from the side.
“Careful,” said Kev and pointed at the yellow and black warning signs. “Looks like this thing has a high voltage.”
“After everything we’ve been through tonight, I don’t think a few warning stickers will put me off.” He waved the clipboard at him. The few sheets of paper attached fluttered. “See? I’m alive.”
He ran a finger down the first column of the first sheet.
“The latest date on here is yesterday. Someone was down here to sign this, so someone had to get back out. We can’t go back, because it’s blasted to pieces. Can you remember seeing a ladder or stairway yet?”
“No,” said Kev.
“No. Which means the way out has to be further on. Let’s go.”
A shadow swept over the ceiling.
Richie and Kev cried out and stopped.
“What is that?” hissed Simon to Johan.
Johan moved around the pipes for a better view of the far wall.
Standing in an archway, a figure stood holding the folds of a long coat outwards, like a giant pair of stained brown wings. The stronger light from behind threw his shadow upwards. He watched the boys at the centre of the room with narrowed eyes lodged above a long, hooked nose.
Johan ignored the movement behind Kev and Richie. His attention remained locked on the tall, wiry man.
“It’s another one of them,” said Johan, keeping his voice low as possible. “This one looks normal compared to the others.”
“So, you’re finally here,” the man said, the words cutting through the hum of the machines with authority. “I expected more. Where is the one with the white hair?”
Johan’s heart rocketed.
“He… he…” Kev looked to Richie for support. His friend merely stood staring at the man. “We left them behind.”
“And why did you do that, young sir?”
“Look,” said Richie and showed his hands, “we don’t want any trouble. Please.”
The man cocked his head. It reminded Johan of a bird.
“Don’t want any trouble? You come down here, with guns, and don’t want any trouble? You should have thought about that before you killed our mother and our brothers…”
Mother? thought Johan.
“I sent my younger brother to scare you off, to give you a chance to make the right choice. He was there, the night you murdered our mother. I’m sure you remember. He’s easily memorable in such a loud jumper, of course. Let’s just say after some encouragement, he’s finally standing up for himself. He won’t rest now until debts have been paid…young sirs.”
Johan gritted his teeth. That whistling freak. Of course! They were all brothers. One big fucked up family.
“We’re sorry!” Kev pleaded and took a step back. “Please, just let us go. It wasn’t our idea. We were made to come!”
The man seemed to consider this for a second.
“Okay.”
Richie and Kev glanced at each other.
“You seem like nice enough boys. Perhaps you got caught up in something you couldn’t control. Am I right? One big misunderstanding.”
They frantically nodded.
“Unlike my brothers,” the man continued, “I’m not a violent person. I’m not going to stand in your way…”
Simon glanced away. “Is he really going to let them go?”
“Sssh,” whispered Johan.
The man dropped his arms. “But my friends… they aren’t so understanding.”
A sound rose from behind him, a rapid flapping, the beating of wings. Johan expected a swarm of bats to emerge from some unseen cavern.
The air filled with movement. Birds of various size and shape swept around the room and swung between the machines. Kev and Richie raised their arms against the flurry of beaks and feathers.
“My God,” said Simon and fell back. “Look at them.”
Johan held out a hand and pulled Simon back to his feet.
“Let’s move while they’re distracted.”
At the centre of the room, Kev dropped to his knees and flopped onto his front. With the gun still in his hand, he covered the back of his head. The birds swooped low, striking him in the sides, back and legs. He yelped with each attack, his body curled up tighter and tighter on the floor.
“Get them off me,” he cried. “I didn’t do anything!”
Behind him, Richie had managed to stay on his feet. He spun on the spot and beat his arms against the marauding birds. They flew into him again and again, ricocheting only to turn in the air and dart in for another strike. His blows rarely found their targets. A few of the birds, larger species like the pigeons, were unlucky enough to be brought down. They flapped around on the floor, injured or startled. One or two had the tenacity to peck at Richie’s boots or hop over to Kev and take their beaks to his face. It brought more cries and begging.
Johan and Simon crossed the walkway in silence and hunkered behind the next machine.
A large seagull plunged from the air and hit Richie in the forehead. He reeled and staggered backwards.
“Have fun, my friends,” said the man. “Peck out their eyes!”
He pressed his lips together and surveyed the two boys.
Two more birds, fluttering around each other, separated at the last moment and struck Richie in the shoulder and stomach. He howled and tumbled back against a railing.
“Good,” said the man while nodding. “Good…”
The circling birds seemed to grow restless and arched around the room with increased vigour.
“Shouldn’t we help them?” asked Simon.
Johan held his hand up. “Wait.”
The birds had remained silent up until now. Like a signal had passed between them, they began to squawk and whistle, adding to the chaotic noise of beating wings. They flew faster around the room.
Richie, blood emerging from a cut on his forehead, stared up at the birds and whimpered. A cluster of birds headed towards him. He turned and vaulted the rail.
The man laughed.
Kev, granted a reprieve as the birds seemed to lose their interest in him, raised his head from the floor. “Richie, no!”
The birds dropped from the air in abundance, striking Richie over and over. His arms weakly floundered in front of him and missed all of the feathered assailants. Following another hit to the face, Richie’s head snapped back. The slash had opened further. Blood draped over his skin like a thick, liquid curtain. It flowed into his eyes, down his nose and into his mouth.
Johan darted across to the next machine. Simon hobbled along behind.
The bombardment increased. The
birds flew into Richie in quick succession like a boxer’s combo. Rarely did a second pass without a scratch to his skin or a harsh peck to his body. No longer screaming, he fell back, spent of energy.
The moment his body touched the machine it jerked. A sound like a cracked whip snapped through the air, instantly followed by a shower of white sparks. Richie jolted again, his face screwed in a twisted grimace.
Still the birds attacked. He threw his head back and thrashed his arms.
The machine threw up another cluster of sparks like a Roman candle. They brightened the room for a second before fading out on their descent.
“Richie!” Kev called from the floor.
With one final spasm, the electricity pitched Richie forwards. His stomach hit the railing with enough force to send his body rolling over it. Flipping in the air, he fell to the floor on his back.
Kev wailed.
“What’s going on?” Simon hissed.
Johan moved to the side for a better view. From a little way back, he saw the damage the machine had done and closed his eyes.
Richie’s face had blackened. The skin looked like charcoal had been smudged across it. His hair was burnt and curled at the tips. Still twitching, his hands had tightened almost into claws. A gurgle escaped Richie’s throat and, with a final shudder, he lay still.
“Richie?” said Kev. He stayed low; the threat of the birds still circled the air.
“Shame,” said the man. He walked forwards. “Such a shame.”
He strode passed Kev, who cowered on the floor in a fetal position.
Shoot him! thought Johan. He’s right next to you, shoot him!”
The gun hung uselessly on Kev’s finger.
The man’s long coat brushed against Kev. He approached the burnt body of Richie and knelt down.
“A pity,” he said, flipped the body over and reached for one of the birds unlucky enough to be pinned by Richie. He held the tiny body against his cheek and stroked the back of its head with a fingertip. One by one, he picked the fallen up and held them in his arms, as if he had merely dropped a clutch of apples rather than murderous birds.
“Has he… has he killed Richie?” asked Simon. He’d limped next to Johan and watched with his jaw hanging low.
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