World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) (10 page)

"Let's get away from here," the hippie hissed, dragging them both by their jackets. "Where's your car?" The snake-man was already pulling himself to his feet, his face a mess of blood and torn flesh. An ear-splitting, inhuman roar erupted from its throat as they ran to the Nissan, and for a second of pure terror, Church thought it was coming after them. As he pushed the key in the lock, Church couldn't help glancing back, and instantly wished he hadn't; framed in the open van doors, he saw the snake-man howling terrible monkey cries as he tore at his clothes and face which was transforming, melting, shifting into something so awful Church gagged and turned away.

When they were safely inside, he fired up the engine, gunning the accelerator, and then they were lurching forward in a screech of tires.

Only when they had pulled off the slip road into traffic did Church's heart start to return to normal. He turned to Ruth in the passenger seat. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, her face pale and drawn.

"That thing in the van," he stuttered, "it was the same as whatever we saw under the bridge. Not the same one, though. So there's more of-"

"They can put on human faces," the hippie interrupted from the back seat.

"They'd taken the place of all the staff there!" Church said, finally accepting what he'd seen.

"Waiting for you," he continued. "I think, if we took the time to investigate, we would find something similar at the airport and at other sites on all the arterial routes out of the capital."

Church felt queasily like things were running out of control. "They're after us?" he said dumbfoundedly.

"I was in one of the cubicles when I heard someone else come into the toilet and hang around outside. When I started to come out, the door burst in. Caught me a right one." Ruth tenderly touched the ripening bruise on her temple. "The first thing I thought was, `What a geek,' because he had that hood pulled so tightly round his face you could only see the little circle of his features. He looked like a mental patient. And then I thought, `You'd better make some noise because this bastard is going to try to rape you.' And then his face changed. Just a bit, like a flicker in transmission or something, but I got a hint of what was behind it."

Church shook his head in disbelief. "They're after us?" he repeated stupidly. "I thought we were after them?" Gradually his thoughts started to come together and he turned and briefly examined the hippie before returning his gaze to the road. "And who are you?" he asked then. The man's cold eyes had been impossible to read; Church thought he might have done too many drugs, something to take him one step away from normal human experience.

"Tom," he replied. "I've never had much need for any other name. But Learmont is my family name."

"That wasn't what I meant. You'd better start explaining."

Tom removed his glasses and cleaned them, then checked through the window at the quality of light; although it was mid-afternoon, night did not seem far away. He smiled inscrutably. "Life is a poem and a new verse is about to start."

Ruth saw the anger flare in Church's face and calmed him with a hand on his forearm. She turned round in her seat and stared at the hippie coldly. "You've been speaking like you know what's happening. You've been acting like you were waiting for us, even though we didn't even know we were going to stop here. I've just had the most frightening experience of my life. Don't play games with us."

Tom removed a small tin from his haversack and began to roll himself a thin cigarette. To Church's irritation, he remained silent until the blue smoke clouded his face, and then he said, "The world you grew up in is dead. It simply doesn't know it yet. This society is like some dumb animal that's had its throat cut and is still wandering around as if nothing has happened. You see, the most enormous conceit of this time is that the rules of the game are known. The scientists have fooled the populace-and themselves-that the universe is like clockwork, and that grand lie will cost everyone dearly. The universe is not like clockwork. The universe is like stoats fighting in a sack, bloody and chaotic, and any rules there might be could never be glimpsed by you or I."

He sucked on his cigarette, choked a cough in his throat. Church felt odd licks of anxiety, while Ruth waited for the punchline.

"The one true law of the universe is duality," Tom continued. "You would think even the most confused of philosophers would see that, but it seems to have eluded all the apologists for this so-called Age of Reason. Hot and cold. Life and death. Good and evil. And what would be the flipside of science?"

He addressed the question to Ruth, but it was Church who answered: "Magic?"

Tom smiled slyly. "The seasons have turned. The Age of Reason has passed. We're on the cusp of a new age."

Church laughed dismissively. "I thought all that Age of Aquarius rubbish went out with flower children and love-ins."

"The Age of Aquarius is one way of making sense of it, but it isn't the whole of it. Yes, we are entering an era of spirituality, wisdom and magic. But there will also be blood and brutality. All I'm saying is you must let go of old certitudes, keep an open mind. That's the only way you'll be able to face the trials that lie ahead."

"You're not telling us anything," Church protested.

"This isn't the time or the place. We need to move quickly. What happened back there wasn't the end of it. They won't be happy till you're both dead."

When Church looked in the rearview mirror he could tell from Tom's set face that he was not about to reveal any more. A small nugget of anger made him want to drop the man off at the next services in retaliation, but he knew he couldn't dismiss the one person who seemed to know something about what was happening in his suddenly chaotic life. He glanced at Ruth, who smiled back as warmly as she could muster, but her eyes were still terribly scared.

They hadn't gone much further when Ruth's mobile phone rang. She answered it, then said to Church, "It's someone called Dale for you."

"He's a friend. I gave him your number for emergencies." He nursed the phone against his shoulder as he drove. "What's wrong, Dale?"

"You tell me." Dale's voice was drawn and worried. There was a long pause, then he said, "You've had some trouble at your flat."

"What do you mean?"

Dale sighed. "Well, there's no easy way to say this ... It's been burnt out."

"What?" Church almost dropped the phone.

"Someone broke down the door, then set fire to it. The fire brigade got there before it took out the rest of the house, but ... well, I'm sorry, Church, everything's a write-off." Another pause. "That's not all. I've had the cops round here asking after you. I don't know how they found out where I worked, how they even knew we were friends ..." Dale's voice faded; he sounded disorientated, worried. "They wanted to know where you were. I got the feeling it was about more than the fire."

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing, honest. Listen, if you're in any trouble-"

"Don't worry, Dale. It's probably just a mix-up. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell them where we are."

"I don't know where you are!"

"Then you won't have to lie."

After he'd switched off the phone, he told Ruth what Dale had told him. "They have probably done the same to your home too," Tom said to Ruth. "And if either of you had been there you would be lying in the ashes now."

"Who are they?" Church snapped; he felt at breaking point.

Tom sniffed at Church's tone, then lay across the seat and closed his eyes. "Later," he said dismissively. However much Church protested, he wouldn't respond, and in the end Church and Ruth were forced into a desperate silence as the sun slipped towards the horizon.

wilight was upon them. The traffic was growing heavier as the weekend rush from London to country homes in the west gathered force. The lights of Reading were now behind and the featureless landscape they had been passing through since they left the capital had given way to more wooded countryside, the trees eventually pressing in so that at times it was impossible to see beyond the edges of the motorway. Church adjusted the rearview mirror to check on Tom, who was still asleep on the back seat.

"Perfect. He sleeps, we worry."

Ruth glanced at him askance. They had barely spoken since they had restarted the journey, lost in their own thoughts. "Patience is a virtue," she said.

"I don't trust him," Church said quietly. "I don't like being manipulated and that's what he's doing with all his talk that says nothing." When he glanced at Ruth for a response, he saw how exhausted she looked; her experience at the service station was taking its toll. "Why don't you close your eyes for a while?" he suggested.

She shook her head. "Every time I do that, all I can see is that bastard coming at me in the toilets."

"You'll get over it. I've seen you in action-you can cope with anything."

"Is that what it looks like? In my head I feel like I've fought every step of the way through my life to keep it all from falling apart." She watched the grey light disappearing over the horizon ahead. "My dad always expected great things from me. He was the one who pushed me into the law. I think he had this idea I'd be some bigshot barrister."

"Don't you like the job?"

"There were other things I could have done," she said noncommittally. "But I suppose my dad's attitude made me focused. Now I don't think I could loosen up if I tried."

"You can never shake off those chains that keep you tied to the past, can you?" He thought of Marianne and the night swept in.

The driving was hard. There were too many lorries winding their way to Bristol, too many coaches with weekend trippers, cars bumper-to-bumper, filled with anxious, irritable people desperate to get out of the city for a breath of fresh air, even though they were destroying it with each piston pump and exhaust belch. Drivers threw themselves in front of Church in suicidal bids to win the race, forcing him to slam on the brakes, cursing through gritted teeth. There were a thousand accidents waiting to happen in sleepy eye and stressed hand; the desire to escape was voracious, coloured by all sorts of ancient impulses. Church put on London Calling by The Clash to drown out the noise of the traffic, but Ruth had turned it down before Strummer had barely started to sing so as not to wake Tom; Church couldn't tell if it was through kindness or because she was afraid of what their new companion might have to say.

Newbury and Hungerford were long gone and they were on the flat, unspoiled stretch of countryside somewhere near the Ridgway. Swindon's lights burned orange in the sky ahead. Church flexed his aching fingers off the steering wheel. It would be late by the time they reached Bristol and they still had to find somewhere to stay. In the back seat, Tom stirred, mumbled something, then hauled himself upright to lean on Church and Ruth's seats. "We need to find something to eat," he said bluntly.

"Right away, Tom," Church replied acidly. "Have to keep you well-fed after your long sleep."

"Can we try to get along?" Ruth asked. "This is a very small car for-" She paused suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Church asked.

Ruth leaned forward to peer through the windscreen. "What's that?"

"What's what?" The traffic was too heavy for Church to take his eyes off the road.

"A flash of light in the sky over to the south-west."

"A UFO? I can give you Barry Riggs' number if you like. I'm sure he'd like to take you to his secret base."

"Maybe it was lightning," Ruth mused, still searching the skies.

"Actually, Salisbury Plain's over there somewhere," Church continued. "They had a big UFO flap down near Warminster in the sixties when all the believers and hippies used to gather on the hilltops to wait for the mothership to come." He glanced in the mirror to see if Tom would rise to the bait, but the man ignored his gaze.

There was another flash and this time they all saw it: among the clouds, lighting them in an orange burst like a firework. "That's not lightning," Church said. "It's more like a flare." His attention had wavered from the road and he had to brake sharply to avoid hitting the car in front, which had slowed down as the driver also saw the lights.