World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) (11 page)

"How long until you can get off this road?" Tom asked sharply.

"We don't need to get off this road."

"How long?"

The tone of his voice snapped Church alert. "Not long. I remember a junction somewhere on the outskirts of Swindon. Why?" Church glanced in the mirror, but Tom had his face pressed against the passenger window scanning the night sky.

There was another burst of light somewhere above them, so bright that Church saw the ruddy glare reflected on the roofs of the cars around. Ruth gasped in shock.

"What's going on?" Church thumped the horn as another distracted driver strayed across the line into his lane. "There's going to be a pile-up in a minute!"

Ruth tried to crane her neck to see upwards through the windscreen. "I think there's something up there," she said.

"Probably the army on helicopter manoeuvres with no thought for anyone else as usual," Church said. "Jesus Christ!" He swung the wheel to avoid hitting a motorbike weaving in and out of the traffic. The rider kept glancing up at the sky in panic as he gunned the machine. Cold water washed up Church's spine. The traffic had become more dense, with no space to overtake. He was glad he was in the slow lane, with the hard shoulder available for any drastic evasive action.

Tom was becoming more anxious by the second. "We must leave this traffic as soon as possible," he stressed.

"I'm doing the best I can," Church snapped. "Do you think I can pick up the car and run with it?"

Ahead of them something big swept across the motorway about thirty feet off the ground. It was just a blur, a block of darkness against the lighter night sky, but its size and speed made Church catch his breath.

"What the hell was that?" he exclaimed.

"My God," Ruth whispered in awe. "Was that alive?"

The shock rippled back through the vehicles in a slewing of wheels and a sparking of brake lights. A red Fiesta gouged a furrow along the side of a Beetle before righting itself. There was a burst of exploding glass as a car in the centre lane clipped the one in front. Both cars fishtailed, but miraculously kept going.

Church was afraid to take his eyes off the road, but he had the awful feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He wound down the window; above the rumble of the traffic he could hear an odd noise, rhythmic, loud, like the rending of thick cloth. After a second or two he suddenly realised what it sounded like: the beating of enormous wings.

He shifted the rearview mirror. Reflected in it was Tom's troubled face, his jaw set hard. "What's going on?" Church barked. "You know, don't you?"

Before Tom could answer, a column of fire blazed from the black sky on to a blue Orion, shattering all the windows with one tremendous blast and, a split second later, igniting the petrol tank. The car went up like it had been bombed. And then all hell erupted.

A shockwave exploded out, driving chunks of twisted metal and burning plastic like guided missiles, shattering windscreens, careening off roofs and bonnets, imbedding in doors and wings. The vehicles closest to the blast were the first to go. Some were travelling too fast and simply ploughed into the inferno. Others, attempting to avoid it, swerved, clipped other vehicles and set off a complex pattern of ricochets that rippled across the motorway. A lorry, its windscreen a mass of frosted glass, crushed a Peugeot before slamming into the side of a coach. The coach driver fought with the wheel as his vehicle went over on two wheels, then back on the other two, before toppling over completely in a bone-juddering impact that crushed two more cars. Church caught sight of terrified white faces through glass and felt his stomach churn.

And then there was chaos as vehicles thundered into each other, smashing through the central reservation, piling up twisted wreckage in a deafening Wagnerian cacophony of exploding glass, screeching tires and rending metal, until it seemed all six lanes were filled with death and destruction. The flames leapt from collision to collision, feeding on ruptured petrol tanks, until a wall of fire blazed across the whole of the motorway. Another column of fire lanced down from the heavens, blowing up a living fountain of flame that soared high above their heads.

Their ears rang from the noise, and the sudden, awful smell of thick smoke and petrol engulfed them as Church threw the car on to the hard shoulder; the accident had happened too fast for the vehicles ahead to attempt the same route. Behind them and to the side, cars were still smashing into the carnage. Ruth thought she could hear terrible screams buried in the sounds of wreckage, but she convinced herself it was just an illusion. A juggernaut jackknifed and was lost to the fire. A motorcyclist skidded along at ground level, his arms raised in a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable. And more, and more, too much to bear. They turned their heads away as one, and Church hit the accelerator, launching the car forward. The nearside wheels churned up mud and grass on the bank; the rear end skidded wildly, but he kept his foot to the floor. As they approached the inferno at breakneck speed, Ruth screamed and threw her arms across her face, Tom dropped flat on the seat and Church closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.

The heat made his skin bloom and he half-expected the glass to implode, but then they were through it and racing across the empty motorway ahead.

"God," Ruth said in shock. She clasped her hands together in her lap to stop them shaking.

Church slowed down and headed towards one of the emergency phones on the hard shoulder.

"Don't stop!" Tom yelled. "The worm will still be here. It doesn't give up easily!" Then he added with exasperation, "Don't you see? It's after us."

Church swung the car in a wide arc until they faced the wall of fire. Vehicles had backed up on the other side of the central barrier. In the distance came the sound of sirens.

"What are you doing?" Tom snapped.

"I have to see for myself." Church leaned forward over the wheel and searched the skies. He and Ruth saw it at the same moment, just a glimmer at first, high above the billowing grey smoke. But as it came lower it fell into focus and they both froze in their seats. They saw glints of copper and gold and green as the red glare of the fire burnished its scales. A scarlet eye as bright as a brake light. Enormous, leathery wings that beat the air with a slow, heavy rhythm, and a long tail that writhed and twisted behind it as if it had a separate existence. As it swooped low, it opened its mouth wide and belched a gush of golden-orange fire that sprayed into the inferno and sent another torrent of flames spouting high. Its movements were fluid as it soared on the air currents, terrifying and majestic at the same time.

"I don't believe it," Ruth said in hushed, incredulous tones. Church's head was spinning.

"They have been away too long, excluded against their will. They miss their old places," said Tom.

"I don't believe it," Church echoed in a mix of wonder and fear.

Tom rested a hand on his shoulder. "We have to be away. It will soon realise we've escaped its first strike."

"What the hell's going on?" Church spun round in a rage. "You know. Tell us!"

"I told you." Tom's tone was darker than he intended. "They've recognised you. They won't let you live."

"Stop procrastinating-"

Ruth caught his arm, signalling that it wasn't the time or the place. "Where will we go?" she said in dismay. "Look at the speed of it. It won't take long to catch us, however fast we're driving."

"There's only one place we can be assured of safety until dawn comes," Tom replied. "But it's still a long journey from here. We have to get the wind behind us and pray to God we reach there first."

Following Tom's directions, Church put the pedal to the floor until they reached the next exit, where they took the A346 south. An oppressive silence lay on them as they each struggled with the terrible sights they had witnessed. Even with the window down, Church couldn't clear the stink of burning from his nose, and when he glanced at Ruth, he saw in the flicker of the street lamps her cheeks were wet. Behind all the churning emotions was an incomprehension at how they had suddenly found themselves in a situation where terrible, unbelievable forces had emerged from the shadows to target them alone. There seemed no reason for the magnitude of the power ranged against them, or for the unflinching focus of its cold eye.

Tom barely removed his head from the rear window shelf, where he was pressing his face against the glass in numerous contortions to search the skies. The thick cloud cover made it impossible to get a clear view, but the wind had blown the rain away and the driving was easier.

"I don't believe what we saw there," Church said quietly. "What's going on?" He glanced in the mirror at Tom. "I said, what's going on? You weren't surprised by that thing-"

"I've seen one before," Tom replied. "And I'll tell you all about it when we get where we're going. If we get there."

Church shook his head incredulously, then glanced at Ruth for support. She caught his eye for a second, then looked away.

The road was straight, but slow after the motorway, and seemed very old. Grassy banks and ancient wire fences lined it, punctuated at intervals by bursts of elder and bushy hawthorn. There seemed little habitation on either side away in the dark where fields stretched up to the downy hills. The route dipped and rose so it was always hard to see too far ahead and Church had to temper his speed accordingly. They eventually passed a golf club and two large thatched cottages with lights burning brightly in the windows; Church felt oddly warmed by the sight.

After a while they burst from the dark, worrying countryside into Marlborough, the road sweeping down through its age-old buildings, jumbled topsyturvy in a mix of pastel shades.

"Have we lost it?" Church asked anxiously. "We must have by now."

"We won't be able to evade it," Tom said distractedly. "All we can hope is we reach our destination before it."

"You're telling me it can recognise the make and model of a dark-coloured car at night, from hundreds of feet overhead?" Church said.

"She isn't looking," Tom replied obliquely. "The Fabulous Beasts are highly sensitive. She knows our signature. She can locate us from miles distant."

"She?" Church said incredulously. "How do you know so much about something that shouldn't exist? Christ, tell me something! This is driving me insane!"

There was a long silence until Ruth said, "You're wasting your breath, Church. Just keep your eyes on the road."

Still heading south, Tom directed them through Pewsey alongside the Avon, guarded by the stone bulk of its twelfth century church. In the countryside beyond, the road was so dark the driving became even more difficult. Trees clustered in tightly, with only the occasional light of a farm off in the distance breaking through the branches. But through Upavon they became aware of a change in the countryside as Salisbury Plain rolled in, bleak and uncompromising. The military presence was unmissable, with signs for armoured vehicle crossings and tank tracks tearing up the landscape on both sides. There were high, chainlink fences topped with barbed wire and a checkpoint for the forces off to the left.

The sight sparked an idea in Church. "Why haven't the RAF scrambled to shoot it down? There's an early warning base at Lyneham."

Tom was distracted and nervous, glancing repeatedly out of the window to ascertain their relative position. "They won't know it's there unless they happen to glance up to see it. And then they wouldn't believe their eyes."

"It must register on radar at that size."

"It belongs to the old world. Technology can't comprehend it." As they passed Figheldean in a blur of sodium glare, he said darkly, "I see her. She is circling up high, trying to find us."

For a while the trees offered some cover, but then Tom caught his breath. "She's seen us. Drive faster!"

"I'm just about blowing a piston now!" Church grunted.

Ruth wound down the window and hung her head out, fighting against the buffeting slipstream. At first she could see nothing, but then the clouds parted to reveal the moon and the Fabulous Beast caught in its milky luminescence, its scales glinting like polished metal; for the briefest instant, it appeared to be made out of silver. Its wings, at full stretch, could span a football pitch. They looked like dark leather which at times seemed scarlet, and then emerald, sparkling as if dusted with gold. Occasionally Ruth could make out its eyes glowing like the landing lights of a plane. She pulled her head in and said in hushed awe, "It's magnificent."

"What's it doing now?" Church felt the sweat pooling in the small of his back.

"Circling like a bird of prey." Ruth turned to Tom. "If we could get off the open road, under cover somewhere-"

There was a roar like a jet taking off, a concentrated burst of orange-yellow light that illuminated the interior of the car as brightly as day, and then the hedge on their side of the road disintegrated in a firestorm. Church fought to keep the car on the road against the sudden shockwave of superheated air.

They crashed across a roundabout, narrowly avoiding another car, and then Tom ordered Church to take the next right. For the first stretch it was a dual carriageway, allowing Church to floor the accelerator; the car complained under the sudden pull. But then the road narrowed to a single carriageway and Church feared the worst. At Tom's instruction he took a right fork on the wrong side of the road, his shirt wet with sweat.

"Turn right when I say!" Tom yelled. Church's eyes were constantly drawn to the sky, but he steeled himself for the order. "Now!"

Church swung the wheel, clipping the curb as another pillar of fire erupted from the heavens. Behind them the tarmac exploded in molten gouts. They swung round in a massive car park, the plain rolling off flatly ahead of them.

"Where do we go from here?" Church shouted, suddenly confronted by a huddle of low buildings and a barrier with a turnstile.

"Out of the car," Tom ordered, wrenching the door open.

Before Church could protest, Tom was moving rapidly for someone in his late fifties. He vaulted the barrier, and by the time they had caught up with him he was turning into a tunnel which cut back under the road. Overhead, the slow beat of the creature's wings was almost deafening. They felt the surge of air currents as it swooped by, but by the time it had rounded to emit another blast of fire they were already deep in the tunnel.