The End (5 page)

‘Chocolate – Brown Eyes – Mulan – Rogue – Killer …’

There were nine of them. Paddy, Wiki, Jibber-jabber, Zohra, Froggie, Blu-Tack Bill, Small Sam, The Kid and Yo-Yo. It was Small Sam that held her attention. He was with them but somehow not with them. There was something haunted about him. Maxie thought back to when
he’d arrived here at the museum. Remembering the strange procession that had come in through the doors. Ed, tall and grim with the ugly scar down one side of his face. His friends, Macca and Will and Kyle, coming in with a certain ‘show-me-what-you-got’ swagger. Then Sam and The Kid and Yo-Yo, clutching her violin case. And, under a blanket, the Green Man. It had all felt so surreal
that at first Maxie hadn’t registered how amazing it was that Sam was there. A ghost from their past turning up. She’d held back with all of the others, frozen, just watching. Like it was some crazy play. Trying to take it all in.

Trying to get her head round the fact that Sam was alive.

She didn’t need to carry the guilt any more – that he’d been snatched by grown-ups on
her watch.

Sam gave them hope. If this little boy could survive then maybe they all could. Maybe the nutters in St Paul’s who thought he was a god were right after all. Maybe he
was
special? The secret to their survival. Since then Maxie had made it her special duty to watch out for him, especially now that Ed had gone to look for Sam’s sister. Maxie was going to make sure that
nothing bad happened to Sam again. She’d asked Whitney to act like a sort of nanny. The big girl was there now, sitting on a bench, watching them. Smiling.

Maxie couldn’t get her head round this.

Peace.

London was quiet. No grown-ups on the streets. It was a dream-time. Were there really no monsters lurking in the shadows? Could she really allow herself not to be scared
any more? Could it be as simple as just getting from one day to the next? Eat, drink, work, sleep. Survive.

She prayed that nothing bad would happen, that the quiet times would continue and they could grow up in peace and safety. But at the back of her mind was a deeper animal thought. That is wasn’t over. That something worse was coming.

She shivered. Looked around for Blue.
Spotted him by the fence. Just standing there, alone, staring at the road. She knew he got depressed as well. He kept up a tough exterior, but was more sensitive than he let on to anyone except her. Maxie went over to him and put her arms round him from behind, and he put his hands over hers.

She looked over his shoulder at the empty buildings opposite – flats and offices mostly.
One day maybe she could go back to living in a regular house, not having to be surrounded by other kids for safety.

‘Will life ever be normal again?’ she asked.

‘Not until every last grown-up is killed,’ said Blue. ‘Not until the enemy is gone for good.’

‘And how many of us will be around to see that day?’ said Maxie.

‘I intend to grow old, girl. I wanna see you with
wrinkles.’

‘You say the sweetest things.’

Maxie felt something nudge her ankle and she looked down to see Godzilla trying to eat her shoe.

Sam came running up.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘He got away. He’s jealous of the new dog, I think.’

‘You got a name for her?’ Maxie asked, letting go of Blue.

‘The girls all want to call her Bright Eyes,’ said Sam. ‘Paddy wants to call
her Ripper.’

‘Ripper’s a terrible name,’ said Blue.

‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘I said they should call her Ella. Like my sister.’

‘Not a good idea,’ said Maxie.

Sam looked at her, sadness in his eyes.

‘Why not?’

‘Imagine when she comes back,’ said Maxie. ‘Finds out she’s got the same name as Paddy’s dog. How weird would that be?’

Sam smiled. ‘I just want something
to remember her by,’ he said, and his lip trembled.

‘Hey.’ Maxie squatted down to his level. ‘I didn’t say
if
she comes back, did I? I said
when
. OK?’

Sam nodded, holding back the tears. ‘Ed should’ve let me go with him,’ he said. ‘She’s my sister. I want to see her again. That all I’ve been doing – trying to get back to her. And now Ed’s gone off without me. I feel wrong
being here, not looking for her, not helping her. I was supposed to look after her. I promised her I would.’

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ said Maxie. ‘Slow down. Ed did the right thing. OK? Trust me. You’re safe here.’

‘How do you know?’ said Sam. ‘What if Ella did the right thing? What if she’s safe and
we’re
all in danger? What if we get attacked and Ed comes back with Ella and
I’m dead? She’ll be sad.’

‘Look out there, shrimp,’ said Blue, pointing to the empty road. ‘Does that look dangerous to you?’

‘To tell you the truth,’ said Sam, ‘everything looks dangerous to me.’

6

David was getting impatient.
Was this ever going to work?
He very much doubted it. Right now he wanted to hit the strange, sick-looking boy. What a waste of space he was. Paul Channing. He’d turned up from the Natural History Museum, babbling on about how he could talk to grown-ups, or strangers, as David called them. Paul had claimed he could even control them.
Yeah, right
. Every time he tried to demonstrate his amazing abilities it ended like this. A ridiculous failure.

Talk to them?
They were all just ignoring him.

David had his own captive strangers here at the palace. The remains of the royal family. A diseased and rotting bunch of ratbags who lived in a room at the top of the palace where their stink wasn’t as noticeable. David hated
coming in here. So, to be constantly dragged up here by Paul – ‘This time it’s going to work, I promise you!’ – was a right royal pain in the arse. He kept a handkerchief clamped over his nose and mouth. It had been soaked in rosemary oil, but the stench of the captive royal family got through. They had no standards of personal hygiene. They sat there dumbly in their tattered, rotting
ball gowns and dinner suits, leaking into the furniture. It stank worse than the elephant house at the zoo. At least they’d stopped
doing their stupid statue thing. For days they’d just stood there like scarecrows, arms outstretched, faces turned to the ceiling, not moving.

Since then, though, they’d been more lifeless than ever. David wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep
these vile specimens alive. Bits kept falling off. One minor princess had lost most of her face. All the flesh had been eaten away, leaving her thin, boil-studded skin stretched over her skull. Her blue eyes staring out, lidless and weeping.

They’d been his great hope. He’d wanted to show them off, parade them in front of other kids, to show that he was the right man to rule
London.

‘Look at me, folks, I’ve got the royal family! I’m the rightful heir to the throne of England!’ But they were worse than a joke now. On top of it all, they’d been let out recently and a couple of the more lively ones had been killed before they’d been safely rounded up.

That had not been a good night.

He’d really been hoping that things were going his way when Jester
had turned up at the palace with a small army of tough north London kids. David had wanted them to fight for him and help him make his point about being in charge. But they’d wanted none of it, and after eating half his food they’d just left one night, freeing the royal family on their way out. They were on his shit list. Right at the top. One day, when he was in charge, he would
punish them very publicly and very painfully.

So when Paul had arrived, claiming he could communicate with strangers, it had felt like a gift from above. Paul was going to be their secret weapon. Their nuclear device.

Only he was proving to be a dud.

‘You can’t do it, can you?’ said David and Paul looked at his shoes. He was tall and thin and very pale, his skin the colour
of paper. He was dressed all in black with a greasy roll-neck jumper covering his scrawny neck. He was nearly as bad to be around as the strangers. Sweating all the time, his eyes darting around like nuts. Yeah. Let’s face it, he was a nutter. Why had David ever believed in him? For one moment? Talk to strangers? Talk to the moon more like, you useless nutter.

Why had David believed in him?
Easy. Because he’d
wanted
to. Because he needed
something
to give him an edge.

‘How many times are you going to drag me up here to watch this stupid, pathetic bloody pantomime?’

Paul mumbled something and shrugged. Stared at the wall as if there was an interesting message for him written on it. David looked at Jester, his second in command. Jester grinned and circled
his finger round his temple – the universal sign for a loony.

Paul scratched his chin, very fast, like a dog, leaving red marks, then turned to face the royal family. They sat there, on beds, on chairs, on the floor. Slumped and lifeless. Drooling, dead-eyed, covered in boils and sores and terrible growths. One of them belched, a long, deep rattling sound that turned into a gurgle
as thin brown liquid bubbled out of her nose and mouth. She was some sort of duchess, David seemed to remember. He’d looked her up when she’d been a bit more recognizable. She was the oldest of them, had a tiara in her tangled white hair.

Paul stared at them, red-rimmed eyes shining and manic. He was grinding his teeth and muttering under his breath. His head twitching and jerking
occasionally as if someone was jogging it.

‘Well, this is brilliant,’ said David. ‘Better than the theatre. People would pay to see this. You really know how to put on a show, Paul. You dingbat.’

Paul growled like an animal, closed his eyes, his fingers groping at the air, as if he was trying to grab hold of something invisible. His body began to shake, a high-pitched whine coming
from between his clenched teeth. The royal family sat there. Vacant. Half dead. David had a powerful urge to walk over and strangle the lot of them. They didn’t scare him. They were fed regularly, but were too weak now to do any real damage. Even so, he always brought in at least two of his red-blazered personal guard with him. George Halley and Andy Kerr were standing near the
door, watching the show and giggling, leaning on their rifles.

David caught Jester’s eye again.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. And Paul. Don’t bother again, yeah? OK? I’m too busy for this crap. If you want to stay at the palace you can find something useful to do, like growing potatoes. Might be easier for you, as long as you use a spade to dig with and not the power of your
mind.’

George and Andy laughed and David walked towards the door. Realized none of the others had moved. Stopped. Something was happening: he could feel it.

His head was hurting, as if it was being squeezed; there was a buzzing and a humming at some frequency that David could register but not really get a fix on.

He turned back to look at the royal family. A light had come
on in their eyes. A light of intelligence and understanding he’d never seen there before. And then slowly, one by one, they all turned and stared at Paul. Eight faces, all paying attention. Those that were sitting down stood up. The ones on the floor struggled clumsily to their feet. George and Andy became alert as well now, rifles at the ready, looking to David for guidance.

Paul
was still clutching at the air, mumbling and working his jaw, the grinding of his teeth startlingly loud, like a machine. He was making an immense physical effort. Sweat was pouring off him. And now David swallowed and stepped back as the royals swivelled their heads towards him. He felt uncomfortable in the beam of their unreadable eyes, usually so dull and dead, now shining and
intense. Were they going to attack? He had nothing to defend himself with. He made a vague signal to George and Andy.
Be alert. Don’t let me down. Deal with this
. Suddenly two guards seemed inadequate. Should he make a run for it? Order the boys to start shooting?

The royals advanced towards him on shuffling feet. David instinctively put his hands up to protect himself, not wanting
to appear weak or frightened. They came closer, closer …

‘Back them off,’ he said, his mouth dry, but it was unnecessary. Paul made some freaky head movements, coughed and went limp, looked like he was going to fall. Jester caught him and held him up as the royals went out of focus, lost the signal, relaxed, slumped, wandered off.

David snapped at his guards, who were standing
there open-mouthed, like a couple of zombies themselves. ‘Take Paul downstairs and get him some food and water. The good stuff, not the crap we’ve been giving him. Look after him. I want him well.’

The two guards nodded and took Paul off Jester, heading for the door. The royals had gone back to being mindless lumps of rotting flesh. They weren’t important, though. It was the
others
. The ones out there all round
London. If Paul could control the ones in here maybe he could control them too.

David clapped his hands and rubbed them together. An old man’s action.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ he said to Jester as they went down the grand staircase to David’s office.