The Fallen (21 page)

He knelt there, slipping in and out of madness, and then he fell so deep into the pit, he imagined he was an insect, a flea or a tick, sucking the blood from Samira’s veins. The smell of her blood excited him and nauseated him and soothed him all at the same time. He tipped forward and stuck his face into the cavity he’d opened up in her body, and sucked.

And with a flip, reality came back to him, slapped him round the face. He rolled on the floor, clutching his stomach, trying not to throw up, while Boney-M danced about him, screeching with laughter, his bones rattling.

‘Oh, that’s a good one, that’s rich, that’s juicy, look at the boy, wants to be Count Dracula, but hasn’t the
guts
for it … Oh, that’s a picture. That’s priceless. I’ll post this one on YouTube. Oh, look at him! ROFL … Or should I say ROFP? Rolling on the floor puking, puking like the little baby bunting he is … Oh, what a day!’

It was hunger that pulled Paul back up, drove him on, took him back over to the body on the newspaper and put the knife back in his hand. His need to eat. He’d known Samira. He’d even liked her. She’d given him some medicine one time when he’d had terrible headaches. She’d been kind and thoughtful and …

‘No!’ Boney-M yelled at him, setting his teeth on edge. ‘Not kind. Not thoughtful. She was a pig. They all hated you, remember? They killed Olivia. They killed your sister. They ate her. And laughed about it.’

‘Did they?’ Paul stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes. ‘Did they really? Are you sure I didn’t imagine it? I don’t know any more.’

‘Oh, look at him. One light snack and he’s sitting back
on his fat arse, all bloated and thankful and full of the milk of human kindness. Hello, birds; hello, flowers; hello, sky; oh, isn’t it a lovely day? No more cares in the world, little pissypants. One small meal and you feel good about things, do you? Think all the bad stuff’s going to go away? What makes you think you can just pretend that things aren’t how you know they are? Nothing’s changed. You’re still going to have to kill them all. To eat them all, and shit them out and add their bones to your collection.’

‘Who says?’

‘Ooh, listen to him, getting all uppity.
I
SAY! You hear me?
I
DO! We all do. All of us.’

‘And who are you? You don’t even exist!’

‘You’ve hurt me now,’ Boney whined. ‘You’ve hurt your old friend, the only one who cares about you. You’ll make me cry.’

‘Go on then, cry. You’re not real.’

‘Oh, aren’t I? Then who’s this pecking your hand?’

Paul yelped as Boney-M jabbed his hard beak into the back of his hand. He looked down. There was a gash in it, his own blood spilling out, bright red. His knife was clutched in his other hand, the one he’d been using to cut Samira up with. There was no sign of the evil bird thing. But he’d pecked him, hadn’t he? Made him bleed.

Hadn’t he?

What if he’d done it himself? Stabbed his own hand with the knife.

He looked down at the awful mess he’d made of the girl. Started to cry. Threw the knife down and ran out of the room. Up the stairs, out through the window and on to the roof outside. Leant out over the wall, looking down at the road far below.

‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ he sobbed, but who was he accusing? Boney-M? The kid downstairs? God? Those other voices that drifted in on the wind like fog?

For a moment he thought of climbing over, throwing himself off. Ending it all. It would be so easy. He wouldn’t have to deal with all of this any more.

He belched, felt acid rise in his throat. He wished he hadn’t eaten now; the girl’s flesh had stopped the aches in his belly, but it had woken him up, brought awful clarity. He turned his face up to the sky and howled.

He knew he wouldn’t jump, though.

Not this time.

Not yet.

33

‘Shut up and listen. I’m changing up the way we’re doing this. Here on in, only the best fighters and any other kids who definitely need to be there are going on.’

Ollie had been up on the church steeple and had walked in on Blue making his announcement. He’d hoped it would all have been sorted, but it obviously hadn’t. For a few minutes he’d almost been able to forget about their problems. Forget about all the frightened kids down below. The body on the altar …

He’d climbed up to get away from them and to get a proper idea of where they were and what they could expect when they left the church. It had been dark when they’d arrived last night and, in the confusion, strung out and desperate for shelter, nobody had had much time to take in the view.

The church was ancient, built from red brick sometime in the Middle Ages probably. The motorway must have only been about a hundred metres to the north, but it was screened by trees, so that now, without the noise of traffic, you wouldn’t know it was there. The church was almost completely surrounded by trees. Past them to the south he could see parkland and to the west there was a narrow road going over an old stone bridge. They might have been deep
in the heart of the countryside. Somewhere out there, though, was Heathrow Airport, which had once been the fourth busiest airport in the world. What a crowded, bustling place England had been before all this.

It was sunny outside. The world looked green and fresh. Ollie had taken a moment to soak it all up and enjoy the solitude. Pretend it was the old days, before the fear set in. He had plenty of time. They’d been held up for ages trying to sort out Caspar, the kid whose foot had been half bitten off by dogs. He’d made it through the night and was now finally asleep. Asleep or in a coma. Who knew? Drenched in sweat, his eyes flicking about under his lids. His breathing was very shallow and fluttery and he was pretty weak. It was obvious they couldn’t move him just yet, which was why the arguments had started downstairs.

So Ollie had left them to it, climbed the stone steps to the top of the steeple and leant on the parapet, watching the birds flapping about in the trees. So many of them. This was their world now. Not exactly quiet – they were making a right old racket – but peaceful.

Once he went back downstairs, however, he was right back in it, the arguing and the fighting and the tension, the wailing and the panic. It was business as usual. The day-to-day grind of making battle plans and hoping to survive till the next meal.

And shouting. Always shouting.

He could see that the museum kids weren’t too happy about Blue’s announcement. Some of them were clustered round him, having a go.

Shouting.

Blue stared them down until they fell quiet again. Then he pointed at Caspar lying on a pew.

‘All right then,’ he said. ‘You pick him up and dump him in one of your stupid trolleys and we’ll wheel him out there, yeah? How long do you think he’ll last? As I get it from talking to Einstein last night, where we’re headed ain’t so far away. So I’m going to take a small group of experienced fighters rather than dragging all you museum noobs along. You’ll only get in the way and slow us down. You are gonna stay here and barricade yourselves in, yeah? No way any grown-ups can get in.’ Blue showed no emotions at all, neither happy nor sad. He was just stating how things were.

‘You’ll be a lot safer than out there on the streets with us. You can look after Caspar. Make sure he’s all right. If any of you got a better idea let’s have it.’

Nobody said anything.

‘OK. For now, we’re leaving behind the trolleys too.’

Einstein made to protest, but Blue cut him dead with a look.

‘Once you’ve found what you’re looking for we’ll carry it here if we can. Otherwise we leave it, come back for the trolleys and everyone else. By then we’ll know what it’s like out there. No one got any problem with that …? Good.’

Blue looked at Einstein. ‘I guess you need to come with us. Who else?’

‘Only really Emily.’

‘Who’s Emily?’

‘I am.’ A blonde girl who looked to be about fourteen stepped forward. ‘I’m Einstein’s assistant. Emily Winter.’

‘Emily can help me choose what we need to pick up,’ said Einstein.

‘Anyone else?’

‘Jackson, I suppose, if we’re taking the best fighters.’

‘Good. It’s decided then.’

A small voice piped up. ‘What about me?’

It was Lettis. She went up to Blue, carrying her big book. Ollie smiled. She was a plucky kid.

‘I’ll need to be there,’ she said.

‘No way, babe,’ said Blue, and he shook his head.

‘But I have to come with you. I have to write about it. I have to be there and witness it with my own eyes.’ Lettis was red-faced, almost crying.

‘Who says?’ Blue asked.

‘Chris Marker. The librarian. He told me I have to bear witness to events.’

‘You’ve witnessed enough,’ said Ollie, walking over to her. ‘We’ll tell you all about it later on.’ He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘As Blue says, we won’t be long. We’ll probably be back by lunchtime.’

‘But finding the stuff, the drugs and chemicals and things, that’s the most important part of the story,’ said Lettis. ‘I can’t miss that.’

‘I’ll write everything down, OK?’ said Ollie. ‘I know how important it is to you.’

‘No …’

‘Uh-uh.’

Ollie cut her off. Squatted down to her level and looked into her face.

‘It’s too dangerous, Lettis. We don’t want any more of you to get hurt. Don’t argue. OK? You do what I say.’

‘OK.’

‘Good girl. Now I want you to promise me something, Lettis.’

‘What?’

‘That when we go you don’t open these doors. OK? Not for anything. Nobody goes outside. You understand?’

‘All right.’

‘You only open them for us. When we get back. Will you promise me that?’

‘I promise.’

Twenty minutes later a smaller war party left the church: Ollie with his missile team, Big Mick and Blue and the rest of the Morrisons crew, as well as Achilleus and Paddy. Of the museum kids only Einstein, Emily and Jackson were coming along on this leg. They’d left behind nine kids.

Ollie felt much happier with this set-up. They could go faster and he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting anyone else – except maybe Einstein and Emily. That was manageable. He fell in beside Jackson, who was loping along, her spear over her shoulder.

‘Can you make it your job to look after those two,’ he said, nodding at the ‘scientists’.

‘If you like,’ said Jackson.

‘Any fighting and I don’t want to be worrying about them.’

‘No problem. Emily can look after herself pretty well. Einstein – who knows?’

She smiled at Ollie, which softened her severe-looking face a little.

Ollie smiled back. With any luck, today was going to be easier than yesterday. It was only two, maybe three miles to the Promithios site. It should take them less than an hour to get there.

They walked through the trees and into the park. The
grass had grown long and was filled with tall weeds. Ollie ran his hand across the top of the lush growth, stroking the seeds at the ends of the stalks. It tickled in a pleasant way. Reminded him that he was alive. And then he remembered coming through Regent’s Park in the night, how the diseased apes had hidden in the long grass, waiting to ambush them.

He tensed as a startled brown bird flapped noisily up in front of him and hauled itself away, its wings rattling, flying low over the grass. Ollie laughed.

No bad things. Not today. Not in the bright sun.

A few metres away, sheltering under the trees, three sickos were lying on the ground. They were so filthy and encrusted with dirt that they blended perfectly with their surroundings. Only their eyes showed white. One of them rolled and managed to struggle up into a seated position, looking out over the top of some bracken. It had taken a great deal of effort as he had no arms. They had both rotted away. It made his head look unnaturally large.

He looked at his two companions. They were his hands and arms. The three of them worked together, their minds melded into one. They exchanged looks. Should they follow the walkers?

No. Stay here.

They were hungry, but they would wait. Not go crawling out into the burning sun. Not go chasing after the group of fighters who were steadily walking away from them. Not when there was other prey. Closer. Weaker. They’d smelt the fresh blood and sent out the
call. Others of their kind were nearby, coming closer, ready to help. They were singing to each other. Their song of death.