The Kid watched the other musicians for a while, working away at their instruments. None of them were in the same league as Charlotte. A trumpeter fell asleep and nodded forward, banging his trumpet on the back of the bench in front of him and waking himself up with a sore lip. He rubbed his eyes and stood up. Walked along to where a girl was sitting with a bunch of kids who had no instruments. He gave her the trumpet and disappeared into the darkness near the great altar. The Kid spotted a group of boys gathering there, Nathan, the tall one who’d saved them from the tube station, among them. Giving orders by the look of it. He pointed at The Kid. The Kid waved to him and turned back to Charlotte.
‘I like your style, Yo-Yo,’ he said. ‘Reminds me of home, my old granddad. The sounds that came out of his old record spinner. Whoo. The Kid liked them sounds. I’d like to hear you play a solo sometime, Yo-Yo.’
‘This is all we’re allowed to play, the Great Song; all other music is evil. We have to open our minds and just play what God tells us.’
The Kid leant over and whispered in Charlotte’s ear. ‘You don’t fool me, Yo-Yo. I can tell what you’re playing there. That’s Beethoven. That’s the old Kreutzer Sonata.’
Charlotte blushed and scraped her bow over the strings, making a discordant racket.
‘It’s OK. Your secret’s safe with me,’ said The Kid. ‘I like you, Charlotte. When you stop that sawing, you come and find me; we’ll be friends. Any girl can play like that I’d like to get to know. If you want you can even be my girlfriend.’
Charlotte suddenly opened her eyes and glared at The Kid.
‘Go away!’
The Kid winked at her and strolled off.
‘I am in there,’ he said to himself, snapping his fingers.
He didn’t notice Nathan give a signal to his group of boys, who nodded and set off after him.
26
‘I still don’t get it,’ said Sam. ‘Why would you even want to send Tish to get me? Why’s it so important to you? Why am I guest of honour here?’
‘Because you are special, Sam,’ said Matt. ‘I told you we are only here because of you. You are the Lamb.’
‘No I’m not,’ said Sam stubbornly.
‘The truth is inside you,’ said Matt with one of his horrible smiles. ‘We need to free the truth. At the moment you are being held back by your shadow. Your dark half is hiding the truth from you. Only when we free you from your shadow, from this human realm, will you fully understand who you are and then you can show us the way to salvation, and we will bring God’s kingdom to the earth.’
Sam wasn’t listening. He had spotted The Kid going over to look at a big statue of a soldier. There was a large square structure next to it, covered with a green cloth. Sam vaguely wondered what it might be. Something stupid probably, like everything else here. A group of boys seemed to be following The Kid. He looked very small and alone. Sam wanted to go to him, to be with his friend. He’d had enough of Matt and his nonsense. He felt hemmed in, suffocated, wanted to run around screaming and yelling and telling them all to shut up and leave him alone.
‘I’m tired,’ he said, standing up. ‘I want to go to bed. Where do you sleep? If you ever go to sleep.’
‘It’s important that you understand about –’
‘No, it’s not!’ Sam shouted. ‘None of it’s important! You’re making it all up. I don’t want to hear any more about it, OK? You think I’m something that I’m not.’
He took a few steps into the darkness that surrounded the table, feeling sick and dizzy. Matt’s voice stopped him.
‘You have one dark shadow. The Goat, the demon, the dark one. It must be cut from you. You will never be free until we make a sacrifice.’
Sam forced a laugh.
‘You’re a mentalist,’ he snorted. ‘I don’t want you to kill some poor animal for me.’
Matt came over and put his bony hand on Sam’s shoulder.
‘You are the Lamb,’ he said, ‘and when we sacrifice the Goat, you will know the truth and we will all rejoice.’
‘Please, I’m tired,’ said Sam, Matt’s words washing over him. Just so much noise. ‘I want to go to bed.’ He glanced over at The Kid. Nathan’s boys were all around him now and Nathan was saying something to him.
‘We will sacrifice the Goat to the great demon, Wormwood,’ said Matt. ‘Wormwood will eat the Goat and will be destroyed by it, and we will be free of him, and the light will enter you and you will understand the truth and you will show us that truth.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Sam, struggling to pull free from Matt’s grip. He couldn’t see The Kid at all any more and his mind was racing, trying to make sense of what Matt was saying.
Scared of making sense of it. Didn’t want it to mean what he feared.
Another group of kids was moving the cloth-covered structure into the middle of the cathedral. It must be on wheels.
Matt was talking again. Sam had missed some of it.
‘ … he goes by many names,’ he was saying. ‘The Goatlord, Abaddon, the First Beast, the Whore of Babylon, but you know him as the son of the Goat – The Kid.’
‘Not The Kid, no,’ said Sam. And at that moment his friend broke free from the ring of boys and made a mad dash down the aisle towards the cathedral doors.
‘Run!’ Sam cried. He leapt to his feet to go after him, but Matt reached out and held him fast.
‘He’s a trickster,’ he said, leaning close to Sam’s ear. ‘A master of illusion. He’s a demon with a thousand faces. He speaks in tongues and carries a broken sword. He has tricked you and fooled you into thinking he is your friend.’
‘He is my friend!’ Sam shouted. He struggled against Matt as he watched Nathan catch up with The Kid and bring him down. Hot tears stung his eyes.
‘He is the Goat,’ said Matt, signalling to the kids by the square structure. They pulled the cloth away and Sam saw that underneath it there was a big cage.
‘And only when he is killed will the final revelation be shown to us.’
27
Shadowman struggled back into consciousness. He was covered with blood. Lying in a pool of it. He realized he was face down, his face twisted to the side so that his cheek was on the ground. The bottom half of his body was raised. He could feel something soft beneath his legs and hips.
It was dark, but a shaft of moonlight picked out the blood and a scattering of broken glass. That was all he could see. He felt light-headed, starved of oxygen. Tried to take in a deep breath and winced in pain. There was a terrible pressure on his chest.
He couldn’t move. Had no idea where he was. How he had got here. His head was filled with a cold ache making it hard to think. He closed his eyes and instantly found himself falling asleep. He couldn’t think straight, but he knew enough to know that if he fell asleep now he might never wake again.
He forced his eyes open. Saw the jagged lumps of glass. The blood.
He struggled to move again. Felt something sharp digging into his ribs. Something else pressing down on the back of his neck.
He stopped moving. It was hopeless. He was stuck here. Thirsty. Breathless. Hurting all over. Lost. Slowly memories began to form. Dull flashes that slipped and slithered and flipped about inside his head as if he was dreaming.
Come on, focus …
A squirrel …
He laughed, despite himself, and felt a stab of pain.
A squirrel …
But there had been one, hadn’t there? Hopping across the road. It had led him to the three kids. The girl and the two boys.
Yes. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth and his memory came roaring back, full of blood and noise and pain. He almost wished it hadn’t returned. Wished he’d stayed in ignorant bliss.
The last few hours had been a nightmare. It had started badly and got worse. If only those kids hadn’t shown up. So cocky. Knew it all, didn’t they? Weren’t scared of strangers.
Not them.
He coughed, releasing a gush of
blood from his nose.
He saw the grown-ups again.
It was very vivid. That first moment, when they’d appeared from either end of the street, and time had stopped for a beat. Shadowman and the other children had frozen where they stood and the reality of their situation had utterly changed.
Shadowman was back there now, hiding behind the wall in the overgrown front garden, opposite the tyre centre, his brain turning. Trying to add up this new set of facts. Trying to work out how he’d got suckered. Trapped here.
How had the strangers got out of the tyre centre without any of them noticing?
Another entrance obviously, another way in and out.
How many of them were there?
Maybe ten in each group? So there was a chance. If he and the other three kids could stick together, work together, fight side by side, they might be OK. They had to be quick, though. If The Fear were on to them then they’d soon be streaming out of the tyre centre.
Another eighty of them.
Shadowman vaulted over the wall.
‘We have to get out of here,’ he shouted and the girl threw him a pitying look.
‘We’ve dealt with worse than this, you noob.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘We don’t run. We lock them down. End of.’
‘We’ve been following these creeps all day,’ said the crossbow kid. ‘Ever since we first eyeballed them up in Willesden, near the Jewish cemetery.’
Shadowman tried to make sense of this. How could these kids have seen The Fear near Willesden earlier? The grown-ups had been asleep in the tyre centre all day. And in all the time he’d been following them they’d never gone anywhere near Willesden. He could picture the route they’d taken since he’d joined them by the Arsenal stadium. He’d followed it carefully across the pages of his A to Z. Unless some of the strangers had sneaked out while he was dozing in the lorry, he couldn’t see how they could have been spotted in Willesden.
No. Not possible. He was too sensitive to their movements to have missed something like that.
There must be another explanation.
He studied the nearest group of strangers, who were shuffling closer along the road to his left. He tried looking for a familiar face or item of clothing. It was difficult. Their skin was darkened, lumpy and rotten, making them all look similar. A lot of them were bald and what clothes they wore were identically black and greasy. They came nearer. Something was definitely different about them. Was it their smell? Or was it that they seemed less organized? Not in sync.
That was it. They weren’t working as a group. Shadowman knew the habits of The Fear well enough by now. If they ever split into smaller groups then one of St George’s lieutenants would nearly always take charge. Man U or Bluetooth or Spike. Nobody seemed to be in charge of this lot.
No point trying to explain that to the three kids. They’d laugh at the idea of strangers being organized.
These must be a completely new group of strangers. And if these were newcomers it was worse than he’d imagined. There were still at least a hundred of The Fear waiting inside the tyre centre.
‘We have to get away,’ he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic. That and the fact that he hadn’t spoken to anyone since his friends had abandoned him at King’s Cross station.
How long ago was that? Two weeks? Three weeks? He’d lost all track of time.
‘We told you, noob,’ said the girl. ‘We don’t run, we fight.’
‘Well, I’m running,’ said Shadowman. ‘Or I’m gonna try. The only thing is, four of us could easily punch our way through. By myself it’s gonna be hard.’
‘Then stay and fight. We’ll show you how we deal with zombies.’
‘But we’re trapped here,’ Shadowman pleaded. ‘There’s “zombies” coming at us from both sides. At least break through one group so that you don’t have the others biting your arses.’
‘He’s got a point,’ said the boy with the spear, turning round to watch the slower group coming up from the right. The girl thought about this for a few seconds, chewing something.
‘Yeah, all right,’ she said, and raised her iron bar in readiness. The boy with the crossbow slung it over his shoulder. He evidently didn’t want to waste bolts if he didn’t have to. He drew a machete from where it was hanging at his belt. It was straighter than Shadowman’s machete. Chipped. Looked like it had seen a lot of action.
The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder ready to charge the nearest group of strangers. They didn’t ask Shadowman to join them. Obviously thought he was a waste of space. Expected him to stand back and marvel at their technique.
‘We’ll smash through then turn and take them from behind while they’re still confused,’ said the girl to her friends. ‘You ready?’
‘Let’s do it … ’
Shadowman had to admit to being impressed by their combat skills; they moved fast and efficiently, slicing, clubbing, spiking, and the strangers fell back from them, two of them badly wounded, bleeding from deep cuts, a third reeling from a blow to his head.
Shadowman tucked in behind the three of them, his own machete at the ready. He lashed out a couple of times as strangers got too close, but it looked like they were going to make it through without too much trouble.
Now if only he could convince the others to keep moving they’d be safely away and he could get back on plan.
As soon as they were clear, however, the other three stopped and started laying into the strangers from behind.
‘Leave them!’ Shadowman yelled. ‘Leave them and get away. What difference will it make killing a few more?’
‘It’s what we do,’ said the boy with the spear. ‘You run if that’s what you do.’
If I have to, thought Shadowman. Yes, I will. But what I really do is stay alive. I survive.
This was just stupid. They were taking a pointless risk. The kids were good, well trained and not afraid to kill. If those ten strangers were all they had to worry about it would have been a breeze.
The Fear were waiting inside, though.
The kids carried on hacking and chopping and pretty soon half the pack of strangers was injured in some way. Two lay dead in the road. Others were down and writhing on the ground. Shadowman didn’t join in. He was looking past the fight to where the second group of newcomers was getting closer.
And then, behind them, he saw what he had most feared. A great dark mass of grown-ups emerging through the gates of the tyre centre. Moving fast. St George’s army had woken and were coming out to hunt.
28
‘Run!’ Shadowman screamed. ‘They’re coming.’
‘See ya,’ said the girl. ‘Don’t forget to write.’
‘Can’t you see? There’s too many!’
If he ran now he’d make it. He could get his act together and return to spy on The Fear when everything had calmed down. It would be easy. The Fear would be too slow to catch up. They probably wouldn’t even bother chasing him. They’d stay to eat the three kids …
Shadowman swore and then yelled at the kids again. ‘You stupid bastards. You can’t win this fight!’
He had to get away now. Before it was too late. He turned and ran. Three metres, four, five …
He stopped.
Swore again.
Turned round.
The Fear had spread across the road and were coming fast – much faster than the kids were used to – and only now, too late, they realized the danger they were in. They were badly outnumbered and would very quickly be swamped. Strangers had no fear; when they wanted something, they wouldn’t stop until they’d got it. They would climb over dead bodies to get at you.
Shadowman knew what would happen next. He’d seen it too often in the last few days. The strangers would surround the kids, move in as a solid mass of flesh and smother them, making it difficult for them to use their weapons, not caring if the front ranks were cut down, chopped up and killed. There would always be more behind to take their place.
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The girl was shouting at her two friends to break off the fight and get clear, but as they backed away from the thickening mass of strangers, the boy with the spear tripped over a dead body and stumbled. A father lying bleeding on the ground got hold of his leg and sank his rotten teeth into the boy’s calf. He shrieked and went down. His friends instinctively grabbed hold of him to try to pull him free, but it was their second big mistake. Maybe they weren’t such skilled fighters after all, because now they couldn’t use their weapons properly. It was weapons that gave kids their big advantage over strangers and without them they were horribly vulnerable to attack. As they slowly dragged the boy along the tarmac, the two of them barged with their elbows, kicked out, the iron bar and machete flailing limply in their free hands.
Shadowman knew he couldn’t leave them to it. Not this time. He’d seen too many kids get killed lately. It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He swore once more, using the worst words he knew, and ran back to help, barrelling into the mob of strangers, knocking three of them over and nearly falling over himself. He swung his machete in a wild circle, but was scared of hitting the kids, so he quickly sheathed his blade and snatched up the spear where the boy had dropped it. He could stay clear of the strangers this way. He jabbed it at them, twisting it so that it wouldn’t get stuck, concentrating on the ones that were trying to surround the other kids.
It was hopeless, though; he didn’t stand a chance of holding back this huge press of bodies – the strangers filled the street from side to side, a stinking, rotten press of diseased humanity. The boy and the girl were too slow, desperately pulling their friend along, as hands reached for them and mouths dribbled in anticipation. The injured boy was screaming and sobbing as more strangers clawed at his legs, attacked him with teeth and lips and tongues.
There was too much going on to be able to keep up; grown-ups came at them from all sides now. The boy with the machete wasn’t even looking at his blade as it flapped uselessly in the air.
The Sacrifice Page 14
