by Chris Ward
They had to hold themselves together, he thought as he switched off his computer, then immediately set his phone to silent as the calls started to come in. They couldn’t afford to go to pieces over this. Too much damage had already been done.
Peter looked up at the clock. It was just after nine thirty. He already felt like he’d been up for hours.
With a sigh he took a light jacket off a stand behind his door. He would have to hurry to make it to the Raval Quarter before the trash collectors came at 11a.m.
#
Kurou switched off the computer and pushed his wheelie chair backwards, spinning across the floor in a graceful arc towards a computer screen that was scrolling through lists of names in a vast database belonging to the Barcelona tourist board. While the little conversation with the head monkey of the street performers’ union had gone well, he had bigger problems to deal with. It was unlikely that he would find anything, but he had input a number of criteria into the hacked database and was pulling up names that fit the terms on his list.
Someone was out there trying to catch him. As always, someone had thrown a line to catch the Crow and he was trying to figure out what might be the bait. It had always been a risk when he decided to roost for a while, which was why he had always stayed on the road with the girl dragging along behind him. Sometimes though, he needed to stop for a while to get something done.
It would have been perfect. With hopefully a little snow falling outside, he could have performed his Christmas theatre to a packed audience at La Sagrada Familia, a display the city would never have forgotten. Now, he no longer had the time.
He didn’t have two months to wait while he was slowly tracked down. Whoever had murdered the tourist and left their little calling card with the police was a professional, and professionals tended to find people in the end. His once-humans weren’t designed as a defensive force; they were elaborate works of art that just happened to be a little dangerous. They weren’t weapons.
He would need to batten down the hatches, as his old British master might once have said. Weather the jolly old storm and stay down in the trenches, tally ho.
He had a few days at most. He would need to manufacture the situation a little in order to fulfil his project, then he and the girl would have to leave before whatever hawk was swooping down on him got a hold of his tail feathers.
Thinking about the girl made him flash a crooked grin.
He wondered how she was getting on with Akane Yamaguchi.
26
Screams and whispers in the dark
Cries and shouts of anger battled with the sound of shattering glass and the groan of breaking wood as the little tourist shacks were ripped down and broken up. The police hadn’t made it here yet, but if they took much longer there would be little left to save.
Galo stepped away from the window and headed back down into the building. The riots were none of his business, but they would prove convenient as a smokescreen for his movements.
Professor Crow was here in Barcelona. The Grey Man, following events in the city carefully from his current base in Korea, had latched on to the convenient murder of a tourist to create a little confusion, hastily arranging for the police department to receive a bizarre and macabre delivery. The professor would no doubt come to hear of it, but while the Grey Man considered it necessary to unsettle the professor to incite mistakes, Galo worried that it might drive Crow into hiding rather than draw him out. However, it seemed that the professor was still here. Reports continued to come in of strange creatures on the streets at night that had Crow’s work written all over them.
Now there were reports of one of the creatures being attacked and damaged, so it looked like the Grey Man was right. Crow was getting careless.
All Galo had to do was find one of these machines and follow it home to the Crow’s nest, and there he would do what he had done a dozen times over.
Easy.
#
After a while, screaming had become a waste of time. The Akane thing sat on the chair, occasionally turning its head from side to side or even standing up and walking a few steps, but Nozomi soon realised that it would do her no harm. She didn’t know whether to call it a zombie or just an animated corpse, but whatever it was, it had little mind of its own. Like the last twitches of a roadkill, it could perform basic reflex actions, but without her master’s commands it was just a toy that didn’t work properly.
Even so, it stank of formaldehyde and disinfectant, as if keeping it from rotting away into nothing was an hourly chore.
After her initial revulsion had passed, she saw that it was a hybrid of tissues, metal implants and plastic, a patchwork doll repaired so many times that the original was barely visible underneath. Parts of it were obviously human, and she didn’t like to think about the people who might have died to create this abomination.
Her master had as usual given her the briefest of explanations for the thing’s existence, all or some of which might have been lies. It was another one of his experiments, this time a representation of Uncle Jun’s long dead girlfriend. Looking at the way its eyes blinked at her, filled with a mixture of artificial hope and despair, all she could think was that its very existence was despicable, inhuman.
Part of her wanted to destroy it, to take a chair and batter it until the oils and the blood and the fluid that powered it stained the floor with a dark rainbow of colour. But when that hideous face looked up at her, Nozomi saw real eyes in there peering out: real, live human eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She had thought that she would never be able to sleep in the same room as the Akane thing. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling still crackled and flickered, threatening with every passing second to go out and plunge the room into darkness. Despite her worries and fears, Nozomi’s eyelids had begun to drop as her body shut itself down. She lay down on the opposite side of the room from the Akane thing, using a heap of musty curtains as a crude mattress.
In seconds she was asleep.
When she awoke some time later, the bulb had given up its battle to stay alive and the room lay in near impenetrable dark. Nozomi shivered, feeling a chill gust of wind against her front.
She shifted, feeling for the curtain to cover herself, and felt something cold pressed against her back.
It had shape, human shape, bony protrusions that could have been knees pressing into the backs of her legs. Something long and slender was resting over her shoulder.
Nozomi didn’t dare move. She let out her breath in a slow, gradual exhalation, then slowly drew back in.
The room was silent except for a sharp repeated sound at her shoulder.
It sounded like crying.
#
Jennie woke in the pre-dawn. A grey knife cut a swathe between the curtains and cut them in two across the bed. Jun was still sleeping, one hand resting against Jennie’s thigh, his face turned away from her, his mouth open as he snored quietly into the pillow.
She sat up in bed, unsure quite what felt so wrong. Jun was back, he had asked her for help, and there was nothing else she wanted in the world more than to do as he asked.
It should be perfect, but something was wrong.
There was no sound of any traffic coming from outside. In its place was a low, growling roar punctuated with occasional upward curves in pitch and intensity, like a heavy shore break battering against a reef.
Avenida Diagonal was busy at all hours of the day and night. It wasn’t possible for it to go silent in a city that never slept.
Yet it had.
And in its place was the roar of a great crowd.
Someone rapped hard on the door, making Jennie cry out. Beside her, Jun just groaned in his sleep, shifted slightly, and began to snore again.
‘Miss? Sir? It’s important, please open the door.’
She got up and pulled a sweater and pair of trousers on, then opened the door a crack. Manuel stood there, his eyes glazed and bloodshot. Behind him, further down th
e hall, another couple were dragging suitcases out of their room.
‘Miss, sorry to tell you this, but we’ve got trouble in the city. The hotel’s closing. Best if you leave while you can.’
Jennie frowned. ‘What kind of trouble?’
Manuel gave a long, animated shrug. ‘The old kind. The kind that never goes away. It might die down for a while … but it comes back in the end. Pack your bags, please. Word is the Metro is still running, but I can’t say for how long. If you can get out of the city limits you’ll be safe if anything really bad happens.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like civil war. Like Catalonia decides it’s had enough of the rest of Spain. That its people decide to drive the non-Catalans out, and in response Madrid sends in the army. You don’t want to be around when that happens, trust me. Hate makes men strong.’
Jennie gave a sharp nod and went back inside. She woke Jun, who sat up groggy and confused, shaking his head as if it was filled with plastic packaging pellets. She told him what Manuel had said, forcing herself to stick to the facts rather than add speculation, not wanting to think that he might in some way be involved.
‘Let’s get our things together and get out of here,’ Jennie said.
Jun pulled on some clothes while Jennie packed up their suitcases. When she turned back Jun was watching her.
He smiled. ‘I remember last night,’ he said. ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry, sorry that I’ve hurt you so much.’
She resisted the urge to run into his arms like some stupid movie heroine. Instead she gave him a grim smile.
‘When you’re Jun you’re the most wonderful person I know,’ she said. ‘You’re just rarely Jun. I don’t know who you are most of the time. Last night you were Jun, but who are you now?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m Jun.’
‘For how long?’
His smiled dropped away. He opened his mouth and she could sense the formation of an intricate but equally false explanation on his lips, then he gave a small shake of the head. ‘I don’t know. I wish I could say more, but I can’t. I know I’ve been … disappearing, but all I remember is great long periods of darkness, as if I was stuck in a dark cave. I meant what I said last night. I need you to help me.’
Jennie went to him and gave his arms a light squeeze.
‘Let’s just get out of here first.’
‘Sure.’
They dragged their cases down into the lobby. Manuel was hastily checking out a line of customers, while outside on the street people walked past in the direction of Avenida Diagonal, some chanting or cheering, others pumping their fists into the air.
Jennie didn’t know whether it was the scream or the shattered window that came first, but it seemed to happen all at once. Suddenly the floor was covered with glass and a woman who had been waiting on a sofa in the lobby had blood streaming down her face as her husband shouted and waved his arms uselessly like a gull caught in an oil slick. Jennie dropped her case and dragged Jun towards the doors.
‘I think we should forget about checking out,’ she said. ‘Bring everything of value, forget the rest.’
They stuffed their pockets with their wallets, phones and passports. As another window shattered, broken by a street sign that had been tossed through it with almost casual abandon, Jennie wondered if they’d ever get to use them.
‘We need to get to the airport,’ Jun said. ‘This whole trip has been a fuck up from the start. We should never have come.’
Jennie couldn’t disagree with him. She just muttered something non-committal, wanting to save her energy for something worthwhile.
Then she stepped down on to the hotel’s front step and froze in her tracks. She had forgotten something that she hadn’t realised was important until now.
Jorge.
27
Lost boys and scuttling things
Jennie had stopped dead. Her face had turned pale as though someone had just switched off a tap, draining away the colour.
‘What is it?’
‘Jorge. We can’t leave him.’
‘Who’s Jorge?’
‘He’s a … friend. He helped me look for you.’
Jun felt a sudden pang of jealously he had no right to feel after the way he had treated Jennie. The emotion was so unexpected that he didn’t know how to handle it, even with the crisis happening all around them. He stared at the glass fragments, not wanting to look at her.
Jennie must have noticed. ‘He’s eleven,’ she said with a wry grin.
The weight that seemed to lift off Jun’s chest took with it the spectre of Akane forever. He stared at Jennie with a dopey grin on his face.
‘Oh,’ he said. He was just thinking to say something else when someone barged into him from behind, knocking him towards the side of the road. He felt a bloom of anger, but when he looked back, whoever had pushed him had moved on with the growing crowd.
‘Come on,’ Jennie said. ‘I don’t know where he lives, but we have to look for him. I owe him that. Perhaps if we go back to the first place I met him someone will know where he lives.’
She headed for the nearest Metro station. Jun was surprised to find the Metro was still running, although the platforms were crowded with people not wanting to head up to the turmoil overhead.
They managed to squeeze on to a train heading east, and a few stops later they disembarked at a station Jun found vaguely familiar.
‘This is where I lost you,’ Jennie said, taking his hand. ‘Two days ago. I followed you this far, but then you ran off and I lost you. It was while I was looking for you that I met Jorge.’ She smiled. ‘He was having girl trouble.’
Outside the Metro station there was little sign of the upheaval going on in the city centre, although many of the shops and cafés were closed, shutters pulled down over their doors. A few groups of unhappy men stood around talking and gesturing back in the direction of Avenida Diagonal and the seafront. Jun saw a young woman standing at a window with a baby in her arms, her eyes glistening with tears as she looked out across the rooftops towards the centre of Barcelona.
Did I have something to do with this? he wondered. Is this because of what I can’t remember? I can’t have started a whole revolution on my own, can I?
‘Jun.’
The voice was like a slap across the face. He glanced towards Jennie who was still pulling him along, heading down a side street which angled uphill between two rows of buildings.
‘Help me, Jun.’
‘Jennie….’
He stopped, jerking his hand out of hers and dropping to his knees to cover his ears with his hands. The voice was in there, shifting around like a parasite.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s coming back….’
‘What?’
‘I need you, Jun. Please come to me.’
‘The voices… her voice.’
Something like a magnet seemed to be tugging on his arm, leading him towards a thin alleyway between two boarded up buildings. He looked down to see his feet scraping in the dust, as if he was fighting against a raging storm.
‘Jun, look at me.’
He turned his head, and his vision exploded as Jennie’s hand cracked against his face. For a moment everything seemed clear, then the voice come swimming back.
‘Come to me, Jun.’
He had no choice. He had to go.
Someone nearby cried out as he pushed arms away from him and lashed out. He didn’t know what his hands struck, but the alleyway was in front of him and he turned into it, running as fast as he could.
#
Jennie stared after Jun as he ran for the alley, his gait awkward and shambling as if he were fighting against strings that were pulling him along. Whatever was happening to him, Jennie no longer felt jealous of some ghost. Jun’s eyes had glazed over and his face softened as if someone was speaking to him that only he could hear, like he was hypnotised, under some spell, even though there had been no one there.
Akane, you fucki
ng bitch.
But was it her? Akane was dead. Whoever Jun was hearing had quite specific instructions for him. No ghost from the grave would require him to rush off like a village idiot. Someone, somehow, was controlling him.
Crow.
Jun only had a few seconds’ head start. Jennie rushed after him, managing to just keep him in sight as he twisted and turned down the tight lane. He was obviously tired from yesterday, otherwise she would never have kept up.
‘Jun!’ she shouted. ‘Come back!’
He reached the end of the alleyway and stepped out on to a wider street. A little traffic was passing, and Jennie saw him step in front of an old man riding a scooter and grab the handlebars as the man slowed. Ignoring a torrent of abuse Jun pushed him aside and climbed on to the bike, turning it back up the street. Jennie screamed in frustration. She had lost him again.
She threw her bag down on the ground, yelling after him. Up ahead he slowed as he came to a section of road that was nearly blocked by abandoned cars, using his feet to control the scooter as he steered it between them. Jennie ran out into the street, screaming at him to wait. Behind her a horn blared.
‘Hey! You have a death wish?’
She turned back to see a car behind her, pulled to a stop at an angle. The driver scowled at her out of a broken side window.
‘Please!’ Jennie shouted. ‘Please help me!’ She ran around to the side of the car and squatted down. ‘I can pay you. Any price.’
The driver, a man in his mid-fifties, rolled his eyes. ‘Do I look like a fucking taxi? I only stopped because otherwise you’d have broken my windscreen.’
Jennie started to cry. ‘Please!’
The man put up a hand. ‘Okay, okay. But only if you’re going west. Out of town. East I can’t do, sorry.’