The Dead (47 page)

‘You see that, Froggie?’ she said. ‘What’s that?’

Froggie leant over his sister and peered along the river.

His bulgy eyes opened wide.

There it was, silhouetted against the flame-bright sky, sparks exploding in the air behind it.

‘The London Eye.’

‘See?’ said Zohra. ‘Looks just like it does on the telly at New Year, doesn’t it? With the fireworks and everything.’

‘Yeah,’ said Froggie, lost in the magic of it. ‘It’s amazing.’

‘And there’s the Houses of Parliament, with Big Ben and that.’

‘Yeah.’ Froggie smiled at his sister, his wide frog mouth stretching from ear to ear. She put her arm round him.

‘We’re gonna be all right, little frog,’ she said.

Chris Marker sat with the cage of books he’d rescued from the museum, but for once he wasn’t reading anything. He didn’t know if it was caused by the fear and stress, the tiredness and hunger, but he was seeing things. Out of the corner of his eye: a grey shape that would dissolve if he tried to look at it straight on. He was sure it was the ghost from the museum, the Grey Lady. When he closed his eyes he could picture her clearly. Her skin was as grey as her old-fashioned clothes, but she didn’t look diseased, instead she looked beautiful, as if lit by an inner light. There was a half smile on her lips.

She’d come with him, to look after her books. He felt comforted by her presence. He imagined that she was wrapping her arms around him, holding him and whispering in his ear.

Like a proper mother.

Not like that lot out there, the sicko mothers. And not like his own mother. She’d never been any use to him.

The Grey Lady was a ghost mother. The mother of all the writers of the books he’d saved. She would protect him.

As long as he protected the books.

Ed’s group was surrounded on three sides now, with the Thames at their backs and the bridge to their right. They’d been forced off the road and on to the walkway that bordered the river. Ed was slashing and hacking at the enemy but there was nowhere for either side to go. They would have to fight till the last man standing. And it looked like the sickos were going to win. They were starting to get in among the kids, biting and scratching, and the kids were exhausted. He doubted they could hold out much longer. It was only a matter of time before they were overrun by the army of disease-ridden adults.

What was the point? What was the point of killing any more of them? Why carry on fighting? He’d done his duty. He’d saved the others and honoured the memory of his fallen friends. He’d shown David he wasn’t a quitter. He’d stood his ground like a hero. And now he was going to die a hero’s death, massacred by a much bigger force.

What was the point?

But somehow his rifle kept on moving, stabbing, battering, rising and falling, rising and falling, and somehow his legs kept from buckling. He had no idea what reserves of energy he was running on; he’d gone beyond tiredness. He was little better than a machine.

The sickos seemed far, far away and nothing mattered to him any more. He was shutting down his conscious mind and letting his body fight on without him.

And then he heard gunshots. Shouting. And a shudder passed through the ranks of the diseased.

‘Someone’s attacking them from the rear,’ Kyle shouted. ‘Come on! Let’s show them who’s boss!’

Ed came back alive, turned to his exhausted friends.

‘Don’t give up!’ he bellowed, tears in his eyes. ‘There’s help coming!’

He sensed a fresh fight along the line. In front of them the sickos were falling away, turning to the side, trying to get clear, trapped between Ed’s group and whoever was pressing them from behind.

A mob of sickos broke and stumbled away and now Ed could see …

It was Jordan Hordern and his crew from the museum. Well armed, well drilled and fresh. They moved mercilessly through the fleeing sickos. Chopping down anyone that got in their path.

At their head was Jordan himself, shouting orders, his sword flashing in his hand.

And there was DogNut, fighting just as hard with his katana.

Ed’s group gave a cheer and laid into the sickos that remained with savage fury. The two groups fought their way towards each other until at last they linked up.

Jordan saluted Ed.

‘What happened?’ Ed panted, ready to drop.

‘Couldn’t stay,’ was all Jordan replied. ‘What about you?’

‘We got separated from the others,’ Ed explained, looking towards the bridge. ‘We have to get over there.’

‘No chance,’ said Jordan flatly. ‘You lot are finished and there’s hundreds of the bastards between here and the bridge. Plus, the fire’s just about on us. We managed to stay a few metres ahead is all.’

‘Then what?’ said Ed, feeling his new hope slipping away.

‘There,’ said Jordan, nodding.

A small pier jutted out into the river, and a metal walkway ran down from it on to a mooring platform to which four sightseeing boats were tethered.

‘We could get across on one of those,’ said Jordan.

‘You reckon?’

‘Do we have any choice?’

‘Fall back!’ Ed bawled. ‘Get on to that pier!’

They fought their way to the café that stood at the end of the pier and then swarmed past it and out along the walkway.

The surface of the Thames was alive with reflected light. Vivid reds and oranges, golds and yellows made ever-changing patterns on the normally black water. Bits of rubbish and wreckage and the bodies of people and animals flowed past serenely on the current.

The kids kept moving, down the walkway and on to the platform from where they scrambled on to the nearest boat, a blue and white cruiser, with an enclosed lower deck and an open-sided upper deck.

Jordan made his way to the wheelhouse that stood up at the front. DogNut and one of his friends went round throwing off the mooring ropes. Ed helped the other kids on board and checked that everyone was all right. As well as Jordan’s crew there were about twenty others who’d fought alongside them. The casualties from his own gang weren’t as bad as Ed had feared. Three of Matt’s acolytes hadn’t made it, the others were knocked about, but, though bruised, they had no serious cuts. Ed himself was painted with gore from head to foot – as far as he could tell, though, none of it was his.

Last to board were Courtney and Aleisha. Aleisha’s arm was soaked with blood and she was in a lot of pain. Her dark skin looked grey and she looked smaller than ever, as if she had shrunk in on herself.

‘Take her below,’ said Ed. ‘Sit her down and stay with her. When we get to the other side we’ll catch up with the lorry and get some antiseptic and bandages and stuff.’

‘The lorry,’ said Aleisha, perking up for a moment. ‘Did they make it?’

Ed smiled. ‘They made it.’

‘Woo-hoo.’ Aleisha tried to shout it, but didn’t have the strength.

‘And we’re going to make it too,’ said Ed defiantly. ‘We’ll get your arm sorted out … Actually …’

Ed grabbed Kyle who was going past with his fork.

‘Kyle,’ he said. ‘There must be a first-aid kit somewhere on board. See if you can find it and sort these two out.’

‘Aye, aye, skipper!’ Kyle saluted and blundered off along the rocking deck.

The sickos didn’t try to get on to the boat and the kids on the boat laughed and jeered at them as DogNut came running over to Ed.

‘There’s only one rope left,’ he said. ‘Shall I let her go?’

Ed took a last look back. Lambeth Palace was now completely engulfed in flames that were spreading to some of the trees along the riverside. The noise was deafening and the whole sky to the south looked like something out of a war film.

The sickos were starting to cross Lambeth Bridge. The lorry was somewhere on the north side, with all their food, water, bedding, extra weapons, everything they needed to survive. If Ed and the others couldn’t get to it, if they couldn’t get over in time and Justin couldn’t hang on for them …

Then they’d have to start over again, with nothing.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he said. ‘Let’s go!’

DogNut cast off and they drifted out into the Thames. The boat started to turn slowly in the water. The Thames was tidal, which meant that the water could be pushed back up from the sea when the tide was high. Ed reckoned it must be high now because the flow wasn’t too fast. They would still be pulled downstream on the current, though, and would have to try to somehow steer across.

Ed hadn’t thought about that. He hoped Jordan knew what he was doing. All he wanted was to collapse on to one of the benches and sleep.

Not yet.

He had to check that somebody was in control of the boat.

He went to the front and climbed the steps to the wheelhouse.

There was broken glass on the floor where the window had been smashed. Jordan was at the wheel; with him were Matt and Archie Bishop. As Ed came in, the three of them were arguing about something.

‘Nothing will work without any power,’ Archie Bishop was saying.

‘It’s doing something,’ said Jordan, ‘the wheel’s turning.’

‘Let me do that,’ said Matt, stepping forward, his face beaming with eager excitement.

‘Why you?’ Ed asked. ‘Do you know about boats or something?’

‘This was all meant to be,’ said Matt.

Ed sighed. ‘What are you on about now?’ he asked. ‘This isn’t the time for your religious crap.’

Matt turned his beam on Ed.

‘No, Ed, don’t you see?’ he said. ‘We’re being sent downriver to the temple.’

‘Please don’t start up about St Paul’s again, Matt.’

‘Listen to me!’ Matt shouted, jabbing a grubby finger at the scab on his forehead and making it bleed. ‘I have the mark of the Lamb on me. I know the truth!’

‘We’re not going downriver, Matt,’ said Ed. ‘We just need to get across to the other side to meet up with the others.’

‘No. It was not meant to be like that. We’re supposed to go to the temple of the Lamb. This boat was given to us.’

‘He’s right,’ said Archie Bishop. ‘It’s all written in the papers. The fire, the flood, the battle, the river of blood.’

‘What river of blood?’

‘Look at it!’

Ed gazed out at the Thames, washed with scarlet.

‘
The third angel poured out his bowl on the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood
,’ said Matt, his voice low and urgent. ‘
Then I heard the angel in charge of the waters say: “You are just in these judgments, you who are and who were, and you have given them blood to drink as they deserve”
 …’

‘You’re not helping, Matt,’ said Ed, weariness eating away at his last few scraps of patience.

‘We’re crossing to the promised place,’ said Matt.

‘Bollocks,’ Ed snapped. ‘We just need to get to the other side. Once we’re there if you want to bugger off down to St Paul’s with your silly flag and your silly bits of burnt paper, feel free, but we’re not coming with you. OK?’

‘We’d have to cross the whole of London, though,’ Matt protested. ‘This boat can take us straight there.’

‘We might not have much choice,’ said Jordan. ‘The river’s taking us that way.’

‘Just go across diagonally,’ said Ed. ‘We need to be near the lorry.’

‘I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying.’

‘The river is taking us where we are supposed to go,’ said Matt.

‘No way,’ said Ed.

‘My way!’ Matt yelled, and he threw himself at Jordan.

Matt tried to wrestle the wheel out of Jordan’s grasp, puffing and panting with the effort.

‘What are you doing?’ Jordan snapped, and batted Matt away. The backhander didn’t look like much – Jordan hardly seemed to move – but Matt flew across the wheelhouse and crashed into the door with a grunt. It didn’t stop him, though. Instantly he and Archie came back at Jordan and grabbed hold of an arm each.

‘Help me, Ed,’ Matt gasped.

‘Are you nuts?’ said Ed, not sure whether to laugh or get angry. He got past the three struggling boys and took the wheel. It was hard to tell which way he should turn it; the boat was drifting out of control in the current, spinning slowly.

Jordan threw Matt and Archie off, sending them sprawling on to the floor. Now Matt threw his arms round Jordan’s legs and Archie got up and tried to push him over. Jordan kept his balance and knocked Archie down before kicking Matt away.