“I am not surprised,” I reply, “what you got in there, the kitchen sink?”
Kneeling on one knee next to Emily’s bright pink bag, its open mouth laughing at me with its pink teeth challenging me to shut that gaping void, the bag is messing with the wrong man at the wrong time; that mouth is soon shut. With that, I ask the girls to take the bag downstairs and wait for me while I get a few last things together.
Going into my bedroom, I again reach into my pocket for my phone and sit on the end of my bed checking to see if there is anything from Josh. There isn’t. This is getting very worrying, so deciding to deviate from our usual protocol, I decide to try and phone him.
His phone starts to ring and while waiting to see if he answers, my eyes wander to the TV still playing away to itself in silence. Just as my gaze hits the screen, the news programme switches from the studio and back to the reporter from earlier, the man still in the same position across from Oxford Street. But he now looks like he’s having an argument with a police officer. Josh's phone goes to voicemail and I leave a message asking him to phone me as soon as he can.
While looking at the two men arguing on the screen, I see that behind them, thick black smoke now billows from several buildings farther down Oxford Street, obscuring most of the street from view. In front of this, about five meters inside the barrier in the middle of the road and each about a meter apart in formation, there is another perimeter. Here, soldiers all lie on their fronts and face inwards, their weapons aimed directly down Oxford Street.
Turning up the volume on the TV, the first thing I hear is gunshots, high-velocity gunshots. And down Oxford Street, in amongst the smoke from the burning buildings, I’m sure there are shadows moving. Suddenly, the soldier directly in the middle and lying on the road releases his weapon, firing into the smoke.
Fuck me, the world-famous Oxford Street, the shopping capital of the country is now literally a full-scale war zone. The screen is then blocked momentarily by the reporter and the policeman who are now having a full-blown argument rapidly turning into a scuffle.
All I can make out of what they are saying, is the reporter shouting at the policeman that he is live on air and well within his rights to stay exactly where he is and do his job.
The officer is having none of it. He beckons one of his colleagues over and they both start to restrain the reporter, who is going berserk. Now, he is trying but failing to fight his way out of their grip. But it is what I can see in the background that has my stomach churning; dark shadows stand in the smoke swirls around and in between the buildings. They’re growing bigger and darker, and seem to be massing.
The soldier directly next to the one who shot his rifle has lifted his comms radio to his mouth and frantically shouts into it, obviously reporting the situation developing in front of him to get further orders. He then drops his radio, turns his head one way and shouts to his troops. Then he turns his head the other way and shouts again. I cannot hear what he shouts but don’t have to; his next action is to raise his arm for a couple of seconds and then he drops it. Immediately, the sound from the TV is filled with gunfire as all the troops I can see and many more I can’t open fire into the shadows.
The reporter and policemen suddenly stop their scuffle, stunned by the sound of the gunfire, their heads whipping around to look. The shadow disappears as if moving back to take refuge back into the safety of the smoke. The firing stops and there is a stony silence coming from the TV. Almost immediately, the reporter resists again whilst attempting to also look into the camera to carry on his report; after all, he is at risk of missing out on reporting on the news event of his career.
The silence is pierced by what I can only describe as a deathly screech emanating from the smoke. At once, the shadows are back, moving like a wave in the smoke, which is now moving ever closer towards the soldiers’ positions. Again, the gunfire starts, but it doesn’t seem to be stopping the wave of shadows this time, which are ominously getting larger and closer.
The reporter continues to struggle and neither he nor the policemen are aware of the dark shadow moving towards them, the gunfire continuing. One of the officers looks up and suddenly stops his attempts at restraining the reporter, grabs the other policeman and points to the wave of shadows coming toward them. They both release the reporter who is now on his knees facing the camera, and they scurry out of shot.
The reporter with his hands cuffed behind his back lifts his head in rage and protest but as he does, the shadows move out of the smoke, about twenty meters in front of the ring of soldiers.
I am taken aback by what I see, moving back on my arms on the bed, my stomach churning again. Out of the smoke, what can only be described as the living dead emerge, moving at speed, faces warped and disfigured, eyes bulging, and teeth, teeth as I’ve never seen before. Their lips are near gone, their mouths so wide with protruding teeth, ready to devour anyone in their path.
The soldiers fire and fire, automatic weapons spilling out bullets, but it doesn’t stop this wave of death rushing towards them. The odd creature falls here or there, but there are others, many others to take their place, weaving and jumping towards the camera. Within seconds, they reach the barriers; the first ones leap over with ease whilst others use the barriers as springboards to jump off even higher, almost flying. And then they are on top of the soldiers.
Some attempt to get to their feet to run, but they fail; they have left their retreat too late and they are too slow, also weighed down by their body armour.
The noise is hideous, screaming and screeching, both human and inhuman. The soldiers try to fight but it is futile; these hideous things overrun them. I cannot see in any detail what is happening to the troops. There are just too many of these creatures all over them. Then suddenly, one soldier emerges, breaking free, a young lad who must be about Josh’s age, trying to escape. He cannot though, as a creature is on him immediately. The lad tries in vain to fight it off and then the thing’s teeth clamp down hard and violently into the soldier’s upper arm.
It immediately rips its head upwards and, with it, takes a large chunk of flesh. Blood pours from the soldier’s arm. The look of terror and shock on the soldier’s face is horrific and the soldier drops to the ground, the creature following him down, its mouth wide again.
This has happened in an instant, at the same time as the reporter who is still facing the camera attempts to get up from his knees and starts to turn to look behind him. The same creature that has just taken a lump of flesh from the soldier jumps again off the ground, hurtling through the air and landing on the reporter’s back. The reporter screams, his mouth wide and his eyes bulging, fear engulfing his face. The creature’s head flashes around to the reporter's exposed throat, then whips back. The reporter's throat is torn from his neck. Blood gushes out, spilling down across his chest, his eyes rolling back in their sockets and he falls away from the camera’s field of vision, leaving the beast in full view. The Beast’s grotesque teeth are visible with flesh, blood, veins and God only knows what else between them. Then with one quick flick of its head, the reporter's throat disappears into this Beast’s own cavernous gullet.
I am, horrified, shocked, stunned, near paralysed, as the Beast brings his head down, looking straight into the camera. The thing is terrifying, its eyes like saucers, yellow with black bloodshot veins and black holes in the middle, and with no life I recognise behind them. Its skin is a translucent grey, its mouth too. I still can’t see any lips—or are they hidden beneath the blood that is spread all over its mouth and drips from its chin?
It stares at me through the screen, to the side of it another approaching from the carnage behind. But immediately, the first turns and makes an unholy screeching sound to the one approaching, that instantly bows its head and retreats.
Again, it turns and stares through the screen, as if it knows we are all watching, revealing to us its horror. The Beast leans in, looking closer into the camera whilst tipping its head to one side, eyes wideni
ng even further.
In the background, a different noise comes through the television's speakers, the sound of helicopters. The Beast again screams, directly at the camera this time, its mouth so wide you can see into the depths of its throat, stained red with blood. Then in a flash, it jumps clear over the camera and is gone. Other beasts now move to follow it, heading towards the camera at speed. An array of many horrors streams past the camera, females and males, all horrifyingly grotesque, bloodied teeth on display.
The camera is knocked and wobbles as they stream past, then another Beast with its eye seemingly hanging from its socket, down on its cheek and just hanging by its nerves, runs straight into the camera. The camera falls and the picture on the television blurs. The camera hits the ground, coming to a stop, and the picture on the television returns. The camera is pointed up at the sky just in time to see two Apache attack helicopters release a full spread of Hellfire missiles. The television screen goes completely white and then immediately black.
Seconds pass, my brain again processing what I’ve just witnessed. I have to admit I’m in shock and unable to move; did the girls just see that carnage on the television downstairs? I had switched it off and hope against hope they haven’t switched it back on.
I need to move, move now and move quickly. Reaching under the bed, I retrieve the backpack, unzip the top and take out three more magazines of bullets. One, I slide into its space in my holster and two fit into the inside pocket of my windbreaker. I would normally think carrying so many clips is overkill and cumbersome, but after what I have just witnessed, I want them easily to hand.
Grabbing the backpack and throwing it over my shoulder, I quickly leave my bedroom, the television still on. Horrified newsreaders are back in the studio, debating and reporting on what they have just broadcast.
Entering the kitchen, the television in there is still switched off, to my great relief. Emily is now sitting on top of her pink bag and watching some cartoon on her iPad. Stacey, however, sits at the kitchen table, glued to the screen of her phone; she looks in terrible shock.
I move behind her and see that she is watching BBC News, the poor girl. I place a hand on her shoulder, lean into her ear and reassure her that I am confident her mum and dad are safe, that I am sure they are still at their office and have taken the precautions I told them to take.
She turns her head to look at me but says nothing; tears are welling in her eyes.
“Please stay positive, Stacey,” I soothe, “we will try to phone them again as soon as we get to my office, but we need to go now, okay?”
She attempts a smile, “Okay Andy.” And then, “what are those horrible things?”
“What horrible things?” Emily interrupts.
“Nothing, Emily, now have you got everything, because we are going now?”
“Yes Dad,” she says, “but this bag is too heavy for me to carry.”
“I’ll get your bag, now you two go out to the car and get into your seats. Let’s get this show on the road,” I hear myself saying, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.
As Stacey gets up, I tell her that we’ll also talk about what she has just watched when we get to the office. She thanks me again, takes Emily by the hand and they both go out to the garage. I quickly secure the house, making sure all the doors are locked and setting the alarm, wondering if we will ever return to this house—and, for a second, where Jessica is and if she is even worried about her children?
This is not the time for wondering, however. On setting the alarm, I go through the kitchen, picking up Emily’s pink bag on the way through to the garage, shutting and locking the door behind me. I can see through the open back door of the Disco that Stacey and Emily are in their seats, Emily perched on top of her booster seat closest to me. Going around to the back of the car, I put Emily’s bag into the boot and close it, then go to the open back door, lean in and place a kiss on the top of Emily’s head. I then close that door too. Taking the backpack off my shoulder, I get into the driver’s seat, quickly open the backpack and take out yet another clip for the Sig, placing it in the drinks holder just below my armrest. The backpack is then put into the passenger's footwell.
“Right, are you two ready?” I say, turning to the girls in the back.
I get a, “Yes, Andy,” from Stacey and a, “Yes, Dad, let’s go,” from Emily; with that, I press a button on my dashboard. The garage door starts to open and bright sunlight rushes through into the garage. We could be on our way for a day out in the park on a lovely day like this; instead, it feels like we’re going into battle; my stomach is telling me that and I’m certain it is right on this occasion.
Starting the engine, I glance at the time. It’s still only 10.20 a.m., so much has happened in the last couple of hours. Maybe our lives have changed forever, maybe the whole city has, maybe even the country. As the garage door reaches the top, I drop the car into drive and accelerate out of the garage, once again pressing the button on the dash.
Chapter 6
Exiting the garage, the sunshine is bright, making me squint, a lovely summer’s day that we seem to struggle to get in England with any consistency, even in the height of summer. Maybe global warming is missing this fine country, or it is at least late arriving.
Reaching into one of the storage compartments in the dash, I get my sunglasses and put them on, classic aviator-style as always for me. I get my phone out of my pocket, then opening the glove box, reach for my Bluetooth earpiece and fit it around my ear.
I’m definitely not a fan of this gadget and think it makes the wearer look like a self-important dickhead, but I do find it essential when travelling in the car with passengers and delicate phone calls need to be made. Whilst it’s all very well using the in-car hands-free phone kit which utilizes the car’s stereo, it is quite possible the person I’m speaking to is going to talk about sensitive information, not for other ears.
“Dad, I’m thirsty. Can we stop at the shop and get a drink… and maybe something to eat?” Emily says just as I’m expecting, and as she usually does when we go out. I laugh.
“Not today, my love, we have to get to the office as soon as we can. The shop will be closed anyway today, I think.”
“Closed? Why will the shop be closed? It’s always open, every day?” Emily protests.
“Well, remember you have been given the day off school, and they have also given everybody the day off work too, so that means the shop will be closed. We haven’t got time to stop anyway.”
“Oh, Dad. I’m really thirsty,” Emily protests to me but I don’t give in, not today.
“Are you, Emily? We’ll get a drink when we get to the office. I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls now, so keep the noise down for a while okay?”
“Okay, Dad.”
The journey from our house adjacent to Golders Hill Park by Hampstead, and over to the Orion Security office at Paddington, would normally take twenty-five to thirty-five minutes depending on the traffic. Judging by the traffic or lack of it today, the journey time should be a lot quicker.
As we drive down our road, everything seems eerily quiet, no cars moving on the street and no pedestrians on the pavements. I see the odd person taking care of something or other around their house or standing at their front door looking nervously around. All turn to look at us in the car. They are probably wondering what we are doing, where we are going, and are we undercover police checking on them? How quickly the sight of a car driving down the road seems out of the ordinary and suspicious.
Suddenly, all at once, I see something out of the corner of my eye and slam on the brakes. The car comes to a violent stop; there is no sound of screeching tyres or smoke or a smell of burning rubber. The ABS makes sure of that.
Involuntary sounds of surprise and fear do come, though, from the back of the car, Emily murmurs, “Dad”. Adrenaline pumps through my body, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as my head whips round automatically, checking the girls are okay and not hurt. They
are fine. My head turns again and looks out of the front windscreen, my right hand releasing the wheel simultaneously, reaching inside my jacket and curling around the Sig lying there.
In front of the car, not more than a couple of feet away, a man stands, staring at me. His eyes wide, he is frozen in fright. He is dressed in a light blue, short-sleeved shirt with a crown embroidered on the chest and dark blue trousers, both with red trim. A second or two passes. The postman and I stare at each other, then he blinks, turns his head to the right and then sprints off in that direction without looking back.
“Oh, my God, Andy; he ran right in front of you! You nearly ran him over,” Stacey says in a low voice.
“Dad, is he mad?” Emily adds.
“I’m sorry, girls, he came out of nowhere, but he's okay. It looks like he's late getting back to his home,” I tell them.
Emily exclaims, “Late? If he doesn’t look for cars, he will have an accident and not get home at all!”
“You’re absolutely right Emily; he needs to check before he crosses the road.” I start chuckling, as does Stacey.
My foot presses the accelerator and the car is moving forward again. We need to get to the office as quickly as possible. The events Stacey and I have just watched on the television at Marble Arch are far too close for comfort to the Orion office building in the Paddington Basin. The last thing I want is to get caught out in the open with those creatures and the girls in the car.
Sir Malcolm would tell you that the reason the new Orion office building is in the Paddington Basin, is because of the excellent transport links or because of the great deal the company got for the land. Or maybe because of the central location with a diverse community.
The company may have got a great deal on the land, but if you ask me, the overriding reason why the new building is located where it is, is because Sir Malcolm wanted to be close to his London residence, his opulent Villa on the Outer Circle of Regents Park. Also, and probably more importantly, to be close to his beloved hallowed Lords Cricket Ground, where he is an Honorary Life Member of the MCC, the Marylebone Cricket Club. I think it’s fair to say Sir Malcolm loves that club more than anything.
Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 4
