The Axeman bore his weight down on the top of Robert’s snout. While Robert could produce enough downward force with his jaws to bite a steam car in half, a very strong and large human male could keep his closed jaws pinned shut because his opening force was very weak. And the Axeman was now stronger than any human.
Robert’s head was twisted almost to the ground, and he felt his strength dwindling. The Axeman had the upper hand and pressed home his advantage, forcing Robert’s head to the hard stone. Finally, Robert’s legs gave way and he toppled over, exposing his soft underbelly to the Axeman’s teeth.
Robert watched as the Axeman’s mouth opened wide, showing teeth like knives ready to cut his flesh. The monster placed his forepaws firmly on Robert’s chest and drew back his head to bite.
Robert waited helplessly for the final lunge, but just as the black jaws started to rush toward him, the shape of another rat appeared behind. Long claws lashed out and caught the Axeman’s nose full on.
Virginia’s attack took the Axeman completely by surprise. He squealed and dropped Robert like a hot coal, springing away and leaving him free again. Robert righted himself quickly and jumped back onto all fours.
Virginia stood beside him now. Before them the black bulk of the Axeman spun in confusion and rage, an unearthly roar spilling from his throat. The scratch marks on his nose were clearly visible and he rubbed at them with one paw. The beast paced angrily, continuing to screech furiously. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over Virginia, but still shorter than Robert when he stood on his hind legs.
The Axeman bore his teeth and snorted hot breath like a bull.
But Virginia advanced a step and showed her teeth too. “Go!” she growled.
The Axeman glared angrily a while longer before speaking. “You’ll pay for this. Both of you.” With that, he turned and ran, sprinting down the alleyway toward the dead end of the wall. With a huge bound he was over it and gone.
Robert turned to face Virginia, but as he did so, a shout from the opposite end of the lane rang out. An constable stood there, his carbine raised to fire.
“Run!” Robert shouted.
A shot rang out like blast of thunder. Then another. Bolts of lightning began to fly past Robert so close he felt their searing heat. “Run!” he shouted again. He powered forward, heading toward the back wall of the alley.
But Virginia did not run with him. Instead she lurched to the side and fell.
Robert ran back to her. “Virginia?”
His friend lay on the ground, panting loudly, her thick black fur wet with sweat. Smoke rose from a charred wound on her flank.
“I’ve been hit,” Virginia said. “It’s over, Robert. Leave me.”
“No!”
“Save yourself.”
More shouts came from the main road. Jagged lines of electricity flew past, kicking up dust around them.
“I won’t leave you here, Virginia. Come on.” He butted his friend gently, then forcefully in frustration.
Virginia lay still on the ground, breathing quickly as blood spilled from her mouth.
“Come on!” Robert cried.
Slowly, Virginia began to move. She stood unsteadily. One leg buckled beneath her. “I can’t walk.”
“Yes, you can.” Robert pushed at his friend. “You didn’t let me throw my life away that night by the river, and I’m not letting you throw yours away now. Now, run!”
Virginia staggered forward, uncertainly at first, but picked up speed as they ran together down the alleyway. The children cowered together, watching them go. A shout came from the distant end of the alley, “There are civilians present! Hold your fire!” The shots ceased and together he and Virginia raced to the back wall. They leapt as one.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Virginia’s hind legs clipped the top of the high brick wall as she and Robert flew over it. She cried out in pain and crashed to the ground, landing awkwardly in the empty street beyond.
“Come on!” Robert said, “We have to keep going.”
Virginia limped forward as best she could, but the jump had injured her legs. Her face grimaced with every step. She staggered as far as a nearby public square before collapsing.
Robert turned back and nudged her face with his snout. “Come on.”
Virginia panted breathlessly. “No. I can’t walk any more. I need to rest.” She lay down in the road, resting her damaged legs.
Robert nuzzled up to her. He examined the wound in her flank. The hole was deep and the smell of charred flesh was sickening. Clearly some of Virginia’s innards had been burned as badly as her flesh. Robert had no way of binding the wound. He pressed a claw against it, but Virginia winced in agony.
Tears began to fill Robert’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. You did the right thing.”
“Did I? Then why did this happen? How can harm come to good people when they do the right thing?” Anger crept into his voice. He couldn’t keep it at bay. If Sobek was a just God, how could he have allowed Virginia to get hurt?
“It doesn’t matter if people are good or bad, Robert. Only whether they are strong or weak; predator or prey.”
“Then you lied to me,” Robert cried. “You said that strong and weak could live together. Black and white, too.”
Virginia was panting hard, even though she was barely moving. “I didn’t lie to you, Robert. I’ve never lied.”
“Then predator and prey must be able to live together, too. We must.”
“How can that happen, Robert? Rats eat prey.”
“And crocodiles eat everything,” Robert said. Yet, here we are—you and me. I don’t know. I thought you knew. But if we can’t live together, then everything you told me was a lie.”
“I didn’t lie, Robert. Or if I did, I didn’t mean to.” Virginia’s breath began to ease slightly. Her chest rose and fell steadily as she lay there, Robert nestling against her.
“I’m sorry, Virginia. I didn’t mean to call you a liar. You’re the only truly honest person I know.”
Virginia’s features relaxed as if the pain was slowly melting away. “What will you do now?” she asked. “You can’t go back to Mary. She’ll rip you to pieces, and I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. Even if she doesn’t, the Axeman and the Templeton Brothers will.”
“Not me, us,” Robert said. “You and me, together. We can’t go back.”
“No. So what, then?”
“We run. We run together. It doesn’t matter where, as long as you’re with me. Will you come?”
“I’ll come with you, Robert. Wherever you want to go. I’ll stay with you forever. You know I will.” Virginia wheezed softly then and closed her eyes.
Robert nuzzled Virginia’s eyes with his snout. Her eyes stayed closed. Virginia didn’t speak again, or move.
In the sky, the moon shone cold and indifferent to the affairs of humans, crocodiles and rats alike. It had touched Robert deeply with its silver fingers, changing him forever, yet still it cared nothing for him. Its icy face knew neither justice nor love. Perhaps that was the true lesson—that justice and love burned only in human hearts.
Robert turned to tell that to Virginia, but the face of his friend was now as cold and unfeeling as the moon that watched over them. “Virginia? Virginia!” The tears fell freely as Robert crouched over his friend, weeping softly. “Virginia,” he said. “I love you.”
Virginia, who had saved him from himself, accepted him and loved him, had been taken from him. Robert continued to cry quietly for a while. Sadness washed over him like an ocean of pain. Slowly, as he cried, his tears turned to rage. Rage against the constables who had fired the lightning that killed his friend, rage against the Axeman whose lust for violence had forced Robert to choose sides, but strongest of all, rage against the moon, whose blind eyes stared down with unfeeling coldness.
Rage was all Robert had now. Everything else had been taken from him.
“I am Robert Charles,” Robert shouted. “I am a son of Sobek. I am not a monster. I now, until I take my last breath, eat monsters. I am the apex predator… and wherever I find your children, I will eat!”.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
St. Bernard Avenue, New Year morning, full moon.
Paramedics lifted Ida carefully onto a gurney and then into the back of a waiting covered wagon that served as an ambulance. She felt little as they shifted her body. Weariness had washed all feeling away.
“What about Dabney?” she asked as they lifted the body of her injured colleague into the ambulance beside her. “My colleague. Is he alive?”
“Alive and stable,” replied one of the paramedics. “But unconscious.”
“And the others?”
“Let’s get you off to the hospital,” the man said. “You can worry about the others later.”
A voice from outside the ambulance called to her. It was Anton. “You saved us,” he said. “Me and Ava and Smokey, and my sister and her friends. We’re all still alive because of you.”
“Are you hurt?” Ida asked.
“A bit. But I think we’ll be all right. That man you rescued from the burning car, he woke up. The paramedic said he’d be okay, too.”
“What about the others? The ones the rat attacked?”
“You mean the rioters?” Anton shook his head. “Dunno. They looked dead to me.”
“Anton?”
“Yes?”
“Take care.”
The wagon started to move. Its driver cranked the lever on the siren and it blared out as it turned back onto St. Bernard Avenue and began to make its way through the debris of the riot.
The paramedic stayed in the back of the ambulance cart with Ida, tending to Dabney, who was still unconscious.
“Is the fighting over?” Ida asked him.
“It’s all quiet now in this area,” he said. “The constables soon put a stop to the trouble. But the rioting has spread to other parts of the city.”
“What about the rats?”
“Rats? You mean the Beast?”
“Not one Beast. Many. Do you know anything about them?”
“Only rumors. But never mind that, now. You just try to rest.”
The ambulance drove steadily through the broken city, picking up speed as it moved away from the fires and the carnage of the riot. Beside her, Dabney’s chest rose and fell irregularly, but he was breathing and that was all she could hope for right then. He was in good hands, and hopefully Wilguens and her father were safe together at home. She would have to deal with her problems and face the aftermath of the night’s events, but not just yet. Now she would rest.
By the time they reached the hospital, sleep was settling over her. How she could sleep after so much had happened, she didn’t really know, but slowly and steadily it wrapped her in its healing cocoon. Even the bright lights of the hospital didn’t seem to bother her, and soon she was dreaming sweet dreams.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Jardins de Fraises, Decatur Street and Ursulines Avenue, New Year morning, full moon.
Erica hurried to make a cup of tea for Pépé. He often woke in the night and asked for a hot drink, and Erica was usually happy to oblige. But tonight, The Picayune demanded her urgent attention. The news was bad, and with Freda still missing, it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
It had been days since she’d reported her sister missing. Freda had never disappeared for so long before without telling her where she was. They’d checked their records, and the hospitals too, but had drawn a blank. The situation looked grim, but Erica hadn’t given up hope. Freda was out there, somewhere, and Erica knew in her heart that she was still alive. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she trusted her intuition. But where her sister might be was anyone’s guess.
And now the rioting had begun. And worse, giant rats were running wild on the streets of New Orleans. She could hardly believe it. Neither could the news reporters. Unprecedented, they said, but that didn’t begin to capture the true horror of the unfolding events. For the first time, the monster rats had been captured on tintype. Beasts. There could be no doubt any more. Giant rats in New Orleans. The experts were at a loss to explain what the creatures really were.
And apart from the horror of the rats, there were dozens dead from the riots and fires that had swept the city. Constables, rioters and giant rats in central New Orleans. The final death toll might run into hundreds.
She could only hope that Freda wasn’t caught up in the carnage.
She glanced out of her kitchen window and saw a red glow on the horizon. Fires, all across the city. Even there, well away from the rioting, she could hear the distant sound of ambulance sirens and the thunder of horses’ hooves as constabulary carts raced across the city. Suddenly, the events outside felt very real and close.
Pépé had drifted back to sleep by the time she returned with his tea. She rested it on his bedside locker and went back to reading her newspaper.
Pépé woke up again. “Darlene? Is that you, Darlene?”
Erica gripped his trembling hand tightly. “Yes, Pépé, it’s me, Darlene.” She would be Darlene if it made him feel any better. She read the newspaper to him.
Pépé didn’t seem particularly surprised by what he heard. “It’s war, you see, Darlene. This is what happens during wartime. There’ll be millions dead by the end.”
“Yes, Pépé, here’s your tea.”
He held the cup in his hands and took a sip. “There’s no reason for it, you know,” the old man said. “War, I mean. The enemy soldiers, they were no different to us. We were all young men, just the same. But we had to kill them. It was either them or us.”
“Yes, Pépé, whatever you say.”
“Erica,” he said. “It’s Erica, isn’t it?” His expression was suddenly more lucid than she’d seen in months.
She squeezed his hand gently. “Yes, Pépé, it’s me, Erica.”
“Erica,” he repeated. “You’ve got to kill the enemy, you see? Before they kill you. It’s the only way to survive.”.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Freda was still alive. She had thought she was dead, but no, she lived still. Her eyes flickered open, and pain and light rushed in. She closed them again quickly, and darkness returned, but the agony remained undimmed.
Searing pain cut through her head. Her skull ached like it was split in two. So much pain, it was impossible to think of anything else. She let it lance through her skull for a minute, keeping her eyes tightly shut, trying to control it.
She tried to remember why her head hurt so much. After a while fragments of memory returned to her. The man had struck her with the walking stick. She tried to raise her hand to the wound, but knotted rope cut into her wrist, sending fresh waves of agony down her arm to where the jagged mirror had sliced her palm.
More memories seeped back. She had tried to escape, had almost succeeded. She would have been out of there now, if it hadn’t been for the locked front door with its bolts, chains and padlocks. So many locks. Who knew that a madman would keep that many locks on his front door? She started to giggle at the thought, but the pain sliced through the mirth almost before she began.
Outside, a siren carved a swathe through the night. Beneath its piercing screech the distant thunder of horses’ hooves grew steadily louder. She opened her eyes to see flashes of orange and red outside the bedroom window. A sudden bright white light pierced the night sky.
They’re coming for me, at last, she thought.
Her sister must have raised the alarm. Of course she had. Erica would never let her down. A great rescue operation was underway. She struggled with the ropes that bound her to the bed, tried to cry out, but it was futile. The gag in her mouth made any sound louder than a whimper impossible. No worries. They would find her. Soon, she would be free.
>
A cough alerted her to the presence of the man. He was there in the room with her. His dark form stood by the window, studying the activity outside.
The man became agitated. He turned away from the window and paced back and forth across the darkened room, eyes flitting from left to right with each step. She sensed his fear. He must have known that they were coming for her, that rescue was near.
She willed herself to remain calm, despite the urge to scream for help, to struggle desperately against her bonds.
The man returned to the window, watching. But now the siren was fading, receding into the distance. The lights came no closer. The thunder became distant again. “They’ve gone,” the man said.
A new wave of realization swept Freda in its cruel embrace. The lights, the sirens, and the horses had not been for her. She was alone, abandoned. The constables would never find her and she would never see her sister again. She might have curled into a ball then in despair, but the ropes kept her arms and legs outstretched, defiant.
The man who had held her prisoner for so long crept over to the bed. “It’s all quiet now,” he muttered. “All quiet outside.”
He had let himself go those past days. His unwashed hair stuck out at odd angles, and rough stubble crawled over his jaw and neck. Dried blood stained his hand where she had cut him with the broken glass. He still held the dagger he had used to threaten her so many times but he no longer bothered to use it. He simply clutched it to his chest like some kind of comforter.
A new thought seemed to animate him and he waved the knife toward her. “The end of the world is coming,” he hissed, breathing foul breath in her face. “The four horsemen ride forth.”
Right, Freda thought. Just when things didn’t seem like they could get any worse, it was time to bring on the apocalypse.
“The signs were there all along,” he cackled. “Everyone should have seen them. First came the Beast. They even called it the Beast in The Picayune.” He giggled again, waving the knife absent-mindedly before him. The flashing of the blade seemed to absorb all of his attention for a while, and she thought he had stopped speaking. Then he started again as if he had never left off. “The Beast, numbered 666. What else? Seven seals, seven trumpets, seven angels. Or was it eight? Eight angels, perhaps. Seven bowls, a dragon, four horsemen—” He trailed off, frowning. “I don’t remember all the details. But the earth will burn, I remember that. New Orleans is burning now,” he added with glee. “The people are dying. They deserve it.”
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