The End (39 page)

Today, though, was about trying to save people. Could he use mathematics? Could he somehow make the small number of kids greater than the large number of adults? That was the trick he had to pull off.

What mathematical formula could he use?

None that he knew of.

Right now it was just a slow, steady slog and a basic process of subtraction.

Tiny numbers being taken
off a huge number.

56

David was frustrated. As soon as the battle had started, it had turned into a huge, shapeless mess. He’d discussed various plans with Jester and Pod and Paul – as much as you could discuss anything with Paul. He was what David’s father would have described as ‘away with the fairies’. He seemed to understand, though, what was required. He had his link with St George and
had ensured some sort of cooperation.

David had even let John and Carl have their say. They’d made a clear plan. The kids from the palace and the squatter camp weren’t going to join in any actual fighting; that would be going too far. They were going to hold back in the concert area and, when the battle was decided, they would march in and take over.

So here they all were, camped
out with David’s red-blazered guards and John’s unruly scum. Well. In times like this you made an alliance with whoever you could. And right now David was allied with an army of diseased adults and this manky bunch of plebs. None of them were to be trusted. If any of St George’s army came near they had to be threatened away. Using Paul seemed to be the most effective way. He could
get inside their brains.

And that was what he was doing now. Directing St
George, holding that awful chaotic mass vaguely together. At least that’s what David hoped was happening. It was very frustrating. He couldn’t really see what was going on and he realized with bitterness that he hadn’t properly thought this through.

The thing was he hadn’t thought this far ahead because
he hadn’t planned for it to happen this way. His whole idea had been that Jordan Hordern would see that he didn’t have a chance, and simply surrender and hand over power to David. Then David would join his army with Jordan’s and use Paul to defeat St George.

That had been the plan.

Trashed.

Because Jordan bloody Hordern hadn’t bloody surrendered, had he? And now David was
stuck here with St George’s army, with no idea what he was going to do next. Already Paul was looking knackered. This was draining all his energy. If he lost the link who knew what would happen? Would St George’s army turn on David? He was ready to make a quick getaway if needed, run back to the museum, leave John and Carl’s mob to fight a rearguard action.

He hoped it wouldn’t
come to that. He felt reasonably safe here for now. He had his boys and their rifles to protect him.

It was just …

It wasn’t supposed to have ended up like this.

He wasn’t supposed to actually be fighting other kids.

‘I think it’s just about safe.’ Jester was crossing the open area past some concession stands to where David was waiting. Jester had been checking out
an old PA tower.

‘We can get up there, I reckon, and have a better idea of what’s going on.’

‘How far up did you go?’ David asked.

‘High enough to make sure it’s safe.’

‘Who’s winning?’

Jester looked at David. ‘Who do you want to win?’

‘Well, I don’t want St George to win obviously,’ said David. ‘Actually what I mean is we
can’t
let him win. In the end. I
want him to do just well enough so that Jordan Hordern has no choice but to make a deal with me. If both sides take enough damage we can go in and clean up. Take over.’

‘Just like that,’ said Jester. David knew he was being sarcastic. He didn’t want to go into this now because it was too complicated.

‘Come along,’ he said. ‘Help me get up there.’

David wasn’t the best climber
in the world and Jester was no help. Jester managed to clamber up to a sort of small platform near the top before David was even halfway up. David went huffing and puffing and struggling up behind him, scared that he would slip. How ironic would that be? To get this close to victory only to lose it all by falling off a stupid speaker tower. Once he was up, though, he had a pretty
good view of the battlefield. Not that it encouraged him particularly. It was stalemate. St George’s lot were pressed uselessly up against Jordan’s barricades. What kind of a tactic was that?

‘Do you really want to kill all those kids?’ said Jester. ‘Not much point being king of the world if there’s no people in it.’

‘I don’t know what I want,’ said David, somehow finding
it easier to talk freely up here, away from everything, floating above the ground. Not part of things any more.

‘Except for them to surrender,’ he went on. ‘And accept
my offer. Accept
me
. But if they don’t then yes, they will all die. That’s their choice.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Jester. ‘You’re not serious. Come on. It’s not too late to stop this.’

David said nothing.
He looked out over the fighting down below. He realized he was shaking. There was a tightness in his throat and he felt tears biting to get out. He knew why he felt like this. Because for the first time in his life he wasn’t sure of things any more. He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. Until he knew what to do he couldn’t risk speaking and betraying his emotions to Jester.

He studied the battle. Trying to make sense of it. And slowly it became clear what he needed to do. He had to break the stalemate. They had to create a breach. St George should concentrate his forces on the weakest point of the barricades and push his way through, pour in and overwhelm the kids. Yes. A plan. Control. Forget everything else.

‘Where’s the weakest point?’ he said.

‘On which side?’ said Jester.

‘Jordan’s weakest point,’ David snapped. ‘Where is it?’

Jester said nothing for a while as he scanned the defences with a small pair of binoculars.

‘Really?’ he said.

‘Really.’

‘I’d say over there.’ Jester was pointing to the eastern corner of the Serpentine, where a pile of twisted scrap metal and branches, mixed together with bits
of corrugated iron sheeting and doors, made a hefty but slightly ramshackle section of the barricade.

‘If St George concentrated his troops down there,’ said
Jester, ‘I reckon they could get round the end of the barricade, by the water.’

‘Go and tell him,’ said David. ‘I’m staying up here.’

‘Tell who what?’

‘Tell Paul, of course,’ said David. ‘Tell him our plan.’

‘
Your
plan,’ said Jester.

‘Don’t pretend you’re not part of this,’ said David. ‘We’re in this together.’

Jester looked at him and David read something in his eyes. Jester was thinking of pushing him off the tower.

David smiled.

‘You don’t have the guts,’ he said.

Jester shook his head, looked away, started to climb down.

David was still smiling. Take control. That
was the way to do it. Concentrate on your plan and don’t worry about anything else.

That was the way to be a winner.

And winning was all that ever mattered.

57

He was a thousand-feet tall. He was St George, the mighty leader of a great army. His own army. The British army. The greatest army in the world. They’d conquered half the globe. Beaten Napoleon and Hitler and the other one … the other man … Someone else. What was his name? Sauron? Wasn’t important. But he was St George. A crusader. God had talked to him and given him
a holy mission.

That’s what had happened.

Yes.

That’s what had happened.

The voice from outer space. It had told him to go to war. Helped him marshal his troops, line them up and send them in to fight. His brain had woken. Everything was so clear and bright. The world was his. All the ragged threads were pulling into shape, coming into place, his whole army like a single
giant arrow, aimed at the enemy.

Now God was telling him where to send his troops. The weak point. And he would send them. Send them to glory. He was Churchill and Wellington and King Arthur and all the other great leaders. He looked around for a lieutenant. There was one, the broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of his chest.

St George focused on him and sent him over to
the left,
to the corner of the lake, taking his veterans with him. Hardened fighters with strong minds. They could push their way through the barricades and slaughter the enemy. The forces of evil. The devil’s horde. The army of demons, disguised as children.

St George grinned. His brain was working well. He could win this. He’d been saving his best troops and now was the time
to send them in to fight. You could forget the other ones. Rubbish. They were weak and stupid. Cannon fodder.

Now! He sent out the call. His lieutenant was roaring, with the taste of triumph in his gob.

Now!

Go to it …

58

Maxie was at the front, thrusting her spear over and over into the shapeless mass of sickos. Occasionally one of them grabbed the shaft and held fast, but Blue was working alongside her, ready with his own spear, and he’d stab at them until they let go. It was exhausting work and Maxie was relieved when she heard the trumpet blast that meant it was time for her unit to drop
back and let another unit have a go.

She moved away, legs like concrete, watching the fresh bunch of kids move in to take her place on the frontline. She looked along the barricades. The kids manning them seemed pitifully few, spread out thinly along the fighting platforms. For a few blessed minutes it wasn’t her problem, though. She and Blue wandered down to the Serpentine where
some youngers were waiting with bottles of water. Jordan had thought of everything – except how to win this thing. Nothing seemed to have changed. It felt like there were as many of St George’s army out there as when they’d started. They were just going to keep on pushing until they forced their way through the barricades or were able to climb over the top.

She and Blue flopped
on to the grass. Looked at each
other. Too tired to say anything. Too scared to admit that this was hopeless. Wishing the day would end.

Maxie closed her eyes. So tired she instantly fell asleep.

A second? Half a second? A microsecond? However long it was, it wasn’t enough, because the next thing she knew she was jolting awake, her neck hurting with the spasm. And then there
was screaming off to the right. Kids running in fear and panic across the encampment.

‘What is it?’ she said, struggling to her feet.

Jordan’s trumpeters were blaring out new commands. What did they mean? Her brain had slowed. She couldn’t remember the signals. And then she heard someone shouting the one thing she’d been dreading.

‘They’ve breached the wall!’

‘Come
on,’ Blue yelled.

Maxie left her spear where it was, sticking in the ground, and drew out her katana. Better for hand-to-hand. And she ran after Blue, suddenly flooded with energy. They raced over to where the action was. A whole section of the barricades had been pushed in at the corner of the lake and sickos were flooding through the gap. Many, many more of them than those that
came through in Jordan’s controlled releases.