The Last Days

by Andy Dickenson

  Also, he had been told he had a terrible sense of rhythm. This was a shame because he was quite enjoying the music and, if he hadn’t been so concerned about whatever Six was doing, he could have been tempted to throw a few moves. Instead, he was left to watch Giles as the woman on the record continued warbling.

  “WHEN ALL IS WRONG YOU ARE THE BLOOD I BLEED, WHEN ALL IS DONE I’LL KNOW MY FATHER’S LOVE IS REAL, HIS LOVE IS REAL.”

  Al remained clinging to his bottles behind the counter, quickly shifting and restacking them on higher shelves before they could fall off. Three already had.

  “What’s that?” Giles shouted.

  “What?” Tucker was beginning to feel seriously deaf.

  “What’s that? The record you’re holding?”

  “Oh,” Tucker looked at the black piece of plastic he had pulled from a white sleeve. “I dunno.”

  “Well, put it on!” the cook yelled.

  Tucker nodded and placed the record on the second deck before dropping the needle on top of it with a crack. A new sound flooded through his earphones but it wasn’t the same as before: far slower and less melodic. Tucker scratched his head.

  “It’s a 45!” Giles smiled.

  “Huh?”

  The old cook laughed and reached into the booth, flicking a switch. Suddenly the music gathered pace, the lyrics more audible:

  “DRINKING BEER WITH A SHOTGUN…”

  Giles continued pressing buttons and pulled on a lever until a man’s voice and screaming guitars filled the room.

  “NOTHING TO DO AND NO ONE! NOTHING TO DO AND NO ONE!”

  “Punk!” Giles bellowed, his heavy body gyrating even more frantically as he jumped up and down on the spot. “I used to love this stuff!”

  Tucker watched him, Lord Truth’s supposed killer, his head bopping, the remains of his dry grey hair flapping beneath a blue baseball cap. His smile was getting even wider. In fact, in contrast to the two small tears Giles had tattooed beneath his left eye, he smiled a lot.

  Cheese alone knows what Six is going on about, Tucker thought. I just hope she shakes her tail before he starts getting suspicious.

  “I GOT MY CARDS, BEEN TOLD TO GO, I GUESS YOUR LOVE HAS GONE…”

  Other people had come into the bar now, though mainly to complain about the noise. Even Carol Lee, his old sergeant, had joined them. She was playing pinball in the corner, her hips swaying in time to the music. She wore the King’s Guards uniform of a black suit with braided lapels and a bowler hat. Her collar was up, flashing the gold and diamond insignia that denoted her rank. Tucker noticed that there was a rip in the suit’s cloth where one of the pins had fallen off.

  She and the other guards sure are keeping some freakin’ close tabs on me and Six nowadays, he thought. The price they paid, he figured, for Six’s apparent memory loss.

  “Where did you get all these?” the cook said.

  “BUT THE BOYS DON’T CARE AND I FEEL SO GLAD…”

  “Huh? Oh, scavenger mission. I’ve had ‘em up in the broadcast tower for ages, been saving them for a special occasion.” Tucker yelled back.

  “Which is?”

  “Erm,” Tucker fumbled for a reply and, as if on queue, a dull thump sounded from the floor above, a small blanket of dust falling from a nearby patch of ceiling.

  “NOTHING TO DO AND NO ONE!”

  “It’s my birthday!” the knight’s apprentice blurted finally.

  “NOTHING TO DO AND NO ONE!”

  Giles stopped dancing for a moment and looked from the dust to Tucker. His sweating brow knit with a look of suspicion, clouding over his blue eyes.

  Tucker panicked, pulling a fist of new records from his bag and offering them to him. “Any requests?”

  ……….

  Six stood waiting for the smoke to clear, her sword drawn. Feathers flew in a swarm around the office as though she was inside one of the room’s snow domes, but the knight’s eyes remained focused on the safe. She knew she had made a huge mistake almost as soon as the small charge had gone off.

  What if the monkey was in there and she’d broken its case? What if it had escaped?

  It was too late for regrets. This was the kind of scenario she’d trained for. But doubts were surfacing in her mind, gnawing at her thoughts. It could be out, it could be watching me now, ready to pounce, its steel jaws ready to snap.

  The feathers began settling over their former homes - the blackened cushions Six had used to cover the sound of the blast. She raised her blade a little higher.

  It could be behind me, Six thought.

  Slowly the smoke subsided and Six crouched amid the gloom it left behind, the torch clenched between her teeth. The safe had barely moved. The metal contraption was so thick the explosion had done little damage but blow a hole, about the size of her fist, in the door. She stared at it, waiting for some sign of life. She listened for the sound of a clockwork heartbeat and wondered if it would be galloping as fast as hers. Faster. Faster. Faster. Do clockwork monkey’s hearts beat as fast as real ones? She pondered.

  Six caught her breath, and finally kicked the smoking door open with the toe of her boot.

  The monkey was not inside, and neither was its case. A rust mark where the bronze had tarnished was all that remained to show it had ever been there at all. The bomb had been taken and, Six judged by the softness of the rust, recently.

  I’ve been betrayed, Six thought. My grandpa killed Lord Truth.

  Grandpa killed Lord Truth. And he tried to kill me.

  What more proof do I need?

  It was only then she noticed the sound of heavy footsteps on the landing outside, creaking closer towards her.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I BLOODY hate it out here in the bloody cold, alone amongst all these bloody dead people. We’d better find something bloody good!”

  Neon sat alone in her black and white pedal swan watching the two wardens as they robbed graves in the burial mounds. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, listening to their words, hearing their thoughts.

  Sid kicked pieces of a broken TV set across Klaus Gravenstein’s shallow plot. The soles of his astronaut boots illuminated by a red crystal that spilled out onto the floor. “Looks like Sir Justice has bloody been here,” he moaned.

  “Yeah, he sure does like to make a mess, don’t he? Hok, hok!” Tom, the second warden, coughed. “No wonder we’re so short of computers.”

  “Why does he always have to smash these screens anyway?” Sid asked.

  “Damned if I know,” Tom shrugged. He rested a flame-thrower across his shoulder. “Anyway, I guess it makes our trail easier to cover up. Go on then,” he turned to his partner, “go through his pockets while I look for his pack.”

  Sid bent down and began scraping away the loose snow and mud he’d thrown onto the corpse hours earlier. “Come on then, Mister Traveller,” he smiled. “I’ve been very patient, but let’s see what you’ve bloody got.”

  Neon watched the words floating on the surface of the black sea, the sound of flames erupting from the blowtorch filling her ears. She could almost smell the world below, its essence congealing in her mind, reaching out to her.

  The boat rocked.

  “Soon I’ll be back at Al’s with a nice cup of tea,” Sid was telling himself. “Or maybe something a bit bloody stronger.”

  A dense mist hung over the graves like a grainy soup and Sid watched the flame- thrower pouring over them, squirting like dragon’s breath in the eerie snowfall. He continued to brush dirt from Klaus’s body and had just worked his gloved fingers into the plague victim’s jeans pocket when a loud cough sounded in his ear.

  “Found anything yet?” Tom’s knees landed with a thump beside him, his malicious grin flaring like a row of bolisha beacons in the lights of his space helmet.

  Sid recovered his shock in time to draw a thin slab, wrapped in foil, from the dead man’s hip pocket.

  “Ooh, would you bloody look at this,” he smiled devilishly.

&
nbsp; “What is it?” Tom’s voice sounded greedy and desperate. Sid liked the sound. It felt as if, for once, he had the upper hand over his friend.

  It didn’t last.

  “Give it.” Tom snatched the bar away from the other warden and held it under the blue pilot light of the flame-thrower. “Chocolate!”

  Sid reacted angrily, “It’s mine!” and grabbed it back. The two wrestled momentarily before Tom brought the heavy blowtorch down with a crack against his partner’s plastic and glass encased head.

  “Ouch!”

  “You don’t really want to fight me over this, do you?” Tom sneered.

  “Are you kidding?” Sid pleaded, still holding on tight. “I’d toast my own mother on a tuning fork for some chocolate. Oh, come on Tom just let me taste it. Please, please. We don’t have to tell Al about it do we? We could just share it between ourselves.”

  “And what about Daphne?” Tom smiled, twisting the slab from the other’s grasp.

  Sid hesitated and felt the bar snap within his fingers. Confused, he looked down to see the sweets unwrapped within his palm, the packet that held them broken, the other half in Tom’s greedy paws.

  “Well, I don’t know about you,” Tom looked up from his hand, “but I don’t think we need have to worry about the plague when it’s this cold.”

  Sid shrugged. “No one but us ever worries about the plague once they’re dead anyway,” and he watched Tom unclasp his helmet and jam six chunks of chocolate into his mouth in one go.

  “Exactly,” Tom mumbled as he chewed. “Oh, that’s good. You should have some.”

  Tom climbed to his feet and picked up the flame-thrower, his helmet swinging back over his shoulders. “I’m gonna take another look for that bag.”

  Sid sat and stared at his five pieces of chocolate as his partner’s boots trudged away.

  I really should share this with the bloody wife, he thought, lifting his visor, before the boots returned and kicked him hard in the ribs. Tom bent down and stole another two pieces of the chocolate as his friend howled.

  “And make sure you let me know if you find anything else,” he grumbled.

  Sid thrust the remaining chunks into his mouth, his pain instantly relieved as the sweet cocoa taste swam around his tongue.

  “Hmmm,” he rolled around the graves, hugging his stomach, sucking delightedly at the candy, hoping to make it last as long as he possibly could, until he came back to face the body of its previous owner.

  “That’s good man,” he beamed, his visor replaced as he got back to work. “That’s the taste of bloody paradise that is. Now, let’s see what else you’ve got.”

  Neon rolled in the waves as the wind blew below her, driving through an unkindness of ravens. They cawed, their black shapes drifting in the night as Sid continued rummaging through Klaus Gravenstein’s clothes.

  The other pockets offered little of use - a few credit cards, some keys and a handkerchief. In one, Sid found a penknife and another gave up a small hard drive. But even inside the sealed suit Sid could detect the nauseating smell of the corpse, and he was soon in a hurry to finish his work.

  After brushing away more mud, Sid’s hands crept inside Klaus’s jacket. He checked the inside pocket - empty but for some spare gloves - and followed the lining around the rest of the coat. His stomach baulked as his face drew nearer that of the plague victim, lit by the lights of his helmet, its expression locked in a ghastly, empty stare. Sid half expected the cadaver to jump up and grab him as his fingers inched further into the coat’s folds. A shiver ran up his spine as he switched his attention to the other side, following the seam from the armpit to an untidy looking repair at the waist. One of the ravens flew down beside him and began pecking, nosily, at the snow, its slick feathers glistening in the light of a green crystal, half buried on the ground.

  Hello, Sid thought, glancing aside to make sure Tom wasn’t looking. What’s this then?

  Sid plucked at the tear awkwardly with his gloved fingers before finally wrenching the stitches apart. Deftly he plunged his hand inside and pulled out a small pouch.

  “Bingo,” he muttered.

  “Hok, hok! You got anything?” Tom called as he stomped towards him with the retrieved pack. He kicked at the bird so it screeched, flapping back towards its colleagues.

  Sid reacted quicker this time: “Not a lot. Bunch of credit cards, a computer stick, penknife, keys to a vehicle of some sort.” He tossed the Range Rover’s keys over to Tom who let them drop to the floor.

  “Fine lotta good they’re gonna do us up here,” he said, barely looking at the bundle. “Take the knife and the dongle,” Tom glanced back at the bloody corpse, “and grab his boots.”

  Sid nodded and, checking once more that Tom had turned his attention back to the rucksack, undid the pouch’s cord, allowing seven little diamonds to spill out onto his fingers.

  Sid gazed delightedly at his find. Maybe Daphne will get that bloody tree house after all, he wondered.

  “Rubbish!” Tom coughed as he began packing the contents of the rucksack back into the bag. Other than climbing equipment it contained few treasures. A tent, some spare clothes – the German obviously hadn’t found it necessary to bring a camping stove – but a gas lamp looked useful and a sleeping bag was always worthy of trade.

  “There’s nothing in here at all,” he lied. “I hate these jobs, picking over stiffs worth less than a damn on tonight’s episode.”

  Sid climbed to his feet, having tucked the small velvet pouch into his suit, and began untying the dead man’s boots. “Hmm,” he replied non-committally.

  “We’re gonna have to use the service tunnels to get back.”

  Sid span around. “What, why?”

  “Because we’re taking this. Catch.” Tom laughed.

  Sid dropped the boots and took the full weight of the rucksack deep in his guts, “Oof!” And he stumbled backwards, falling over the body he’d just robbed.

  “Waaah!” he yelled feebly as he landed with a crunch. Shifting sideways he found himself staring directly into its open mouth. Klaus’s pointed teeth seem to drool in the moonlight, the hole in his temple glistening.

  “Yikes!” Sid shrieked again, scrambling to his feet and trying hard not to retch, with a bloody stain now smudged across his visor.

  Tom was laughing so much he almost choked himself. “Hok-hok-hok! What you gonna do now, hok! Ask him out on a date?”

  Hot fury raced through Sid’s mind as he gazed at Tom’s monstrous grin, but the knowledge of the diamonds zipped inside his suit calmed him.

  “I’m not sure Daphne would approve,” he returned weakly, his eyes hypnotised once more by the face of the cadaver whose jaws gaped almost inhumanly, his expression seemingly transformed into a ghostly laugh.

  Sid began plunging the boots into the heavy bag. “If there is nothing here worth half- inching why do we have to smuggle it back through the bloody tunnels?” he asked.

  “We’ve gotta have something to show Al and Giles, haven’t we?” Tom replied. “Hok! Or do you want to go back empty handed and tell them we ate the only thing worth stealing?” The helmet was still hanging over his shoulders. He had dropped his flame- thrower and was now unzipping his flies.

  Neon crouched lower in the pedal swan, a stronger current splashing against the craft, its plastic groaning as the water swirled.

  Sid easily located an entrance to the tunnels, marked by a short ladder poking out from the snow.

  “Oh man, I bloody hate these tunnels. They smell worse than Daphne’s pants,” he muttered gloomily after tugging on a chain to open the hatch.

  The underground passages ran throughout the city linking its simple sewage system to a network of caves and catacombs. Most of these hadn’t been found until the harsh winters had forced the city’s inhabitants underground. It was there that the powdery remains of the original Highlands folk had laid buried for thousands of years. And with them, embedded in the walls, the crystals.

  Sid stare
d down at what looked like a black, bottomless hole and tipped the rucksack over its edge. It landed with a muddy thud.

  “Tom, you sure you wouldn’t rather…”

  Sid peered through the mist looking for his partner, “Oh Tom, bloody hell. Not again?”

  Neon swallowed hard, the swan’s white neck arching out of thick black waves, the water itself seizing hold, tipping her, lifting her. Something was wrong.

  “What?” Tom’s malicious smile spread from ear to ear as fresh urine spilled over Klaus’s body. It sprinkled over the red crystal now gathered un-noticed in the cadaver’s clenched fist.

  “It’s not like this goon’s going to care,” Tom spat, his frame silhouetted as a large cloud drifted over the full moon. “There’s a gas lamp in that bag, we’ll use it to light the passages.”

  “But for cheese sakes Tom! Haven’t you got any bloody respect for the dead?” Sid cried.

  Tom coughed his miserable cough, the dry rumbling in his throat kicking up through his tonsils, for the last time. “Hok, hok! Just get down there,” he rasped.

  Sid began climbing down the ladder as the sound of a self-satisfied sigh reached him. “Man,” he shook his head. “Tom really must have needed that piss.”

  His boots had just landed at the bottom of the shaft when a sickening snap echoed across the hills. The warden looked up through the blind shadows of the hole as the air was split by a blood-curdling scream.

  Then there was silence.

  Sid felt as if the walls of the dark shaft were closing in on him.

  “T–Tom?” he stammered as he climbed nervously up the ladder. Then he paused. Listening carefully, he could hear a loathsome ripping noise coming from the graves, as if flesh and bone were being smashed and torn.

  Again he heard his partner cry.

  What the hell’s going on? Sid thought and, trembling now, he reached for his suit’s communicator. “Tucker? Tucker, are you there? Tucker, come in!”

  The ripping noise stopped, leaving only the fuzz of the empty radio channel. Quaking, Sid glared up through the opening above when a black figure rose out of the darkness, blocking his view. Its grotesque outline caught the light of the reappearing full moon as Sid gulped.