World's End

by D. B. Green

  Ignorance is bliss, in her case.

  I sit across from Amber and slide across her juice. She takes a sip and then types a message on her tablet.

  “Why don’t they leave them alone?”

  The same muscular BCL member that barged past us earlier grabs a banner from an Enchanter and beats him to the ground with it. A loud cheer erupts.

  “Because it’s human nature to hate anything different,” I say. My mother’s angry face flashes across my mind. Her icy stare, always making me feel worthless.

  Amber touches my hand, snapping my mind back. She points outside. Three people climb onto the bandstand, one man and two women. They’re dressed in regular clothes, without blue collars. They stand in a triangle and link wrists, with the man at the front. They have the crowd’s full attention. Even the MPs turn to watch.

  Shit.

  They’re standing in a Trinity Formation.

  Amber suddenly clasps her hands to her head, pressing them tight to her ears. Her eyes close and her mouth opens wide in a silent scream.

  “What’s wro—”

  Pain.

  Sudden, intense pain. A pressure in my head, like hands squeezing my brain. It eases just as quickly as it came. Leaving just a low buzz, like static on a radio.

  “What the hell was that?” I reach across to Amber, but her hands still cover her ears.

  People outside — Enchanters, BCL, bystanders, and the MPs — all stumble around, like they’re drunk. Even the couple on the orange sofa look up, like they’ve just woken from a nightmare. But the three on the bandstand stay still, their watch-covered wrists still linking them in a Trinity Formation.

  Wait… They’re not normal watches on their wrists.

  Shit.

  They’re each wearing a Sunburst — a Veil defying, magic focusing, smartwatch.

  It was them. They caused the pain… With magic.

  Keeping their arms locked together, all three turn in a circle at the center of the bandstand.

  Pain again.

  “We will not lie down in silence.”

  A voice echoes in my head — mixed voices — saying the same words. Each word triggering a burst of intense pain. I press my hands to my ears, but it does nothing to help.

  “Did you hear that?” I shout.

  Amber forces a nod.

  “Our persecution ends today.” The voices reverberate through my head, like thumping drums. Mixed male and female voices. “You know what we can do.”

  I fight the throbbing pain and force my eyes up to the window. The linked trio glide around the middle of the bandstand like ballroom dancers. Suddenly, as they turn, blue energy bursts from their chests, like lightning. Screams ring out as people run for cover. The magical lightning zig-zags through the crowd, striking a young woman. She flashes bright blue and then freezes into a translucent, glass statue.

  More bursts of light, like a hundred cameras all flashing at once, illuminate the High Street as more people turn to glass.

  A man, in mid-stride, takes a hit to his back. His transformed body crashes to the ground, smashing into pieces. His translucent head rolls to a stop by an MP’s foot.

  I swallow hard, resisting the urge to throw up.

  The MP picks up the head. He stares at it for a second, then it falls from his hands, shattering into tiny shards on the concrete pavement. His shaking hands lift his MP5. Aiming at the bandstand, he opens fire. The noise of rapid gunfire clatters around the café.

  A silvery white bubble forms around the spinning trio, creating a barrier. Bullets flash yellow against it, like tiny exploding fireworks, unable to get through.

  More MPs shoot at the bandstand. Small ripples dance over the surface of the bubble as it defies the attack.

  The buzzing pain returns, forcing my head back down. It’s like a giant hand pressing me to the table

  “This is our world now.”

  The voices fade, taking the pain with them, leaving a low, hissing static in my head. I watch an MP stumble towards the bandstand. He fires at the bubble from close range. But the bullets bounce off, hitting a glass-like woman, frozen in mid scream. She shatters into hundreds of pieces, sprinkling on the concrete, like falling ice.

  “Ceasefire,” another MP shouts.

  The bubble on the bandstand pulsates, like a beating heart. The speed increases, then the bubble disappears in a bright flash, taking the trio with it.

  Amber shakes her head.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She takes a deep breath and nods her head.

  I shake away the static in my head. I suddenly feel exposed, helpless, violated. That horrible night at University flashes before my eyes. Strong arms, forcing me down in the darkness. Fingers running over my skin.

  I close my eyes tight and bite my lip, forcing away the horrible memory, before it’s played out fully on the journal page for Luther to read.

  My phone suddenly rings. Luther. I answer the call.

  “Are you two okay?” he asks.

  “Yup, just a headache now,” I say. “They were in a Trinity, Luther. A fricking Trinity Formation.”

  Amber bangs her ears with her palms.

  “Yes, I know,” Luther says. “According to the government’s official news feed, simultaneous attacks hit most major cities across the country. All at Enchanter protests. And all in a Trinity Formation. The government is pinning the attacks on the Free Magic Group… The feed is just updating. The President says they have concrete evidence.”

  “But FMG is a peaceful organization,” I say, shaking my head. “That was no peaceful demonstration.” My ears feel like they’re full of water. “Did you hear the voices in your head too?”

  “No. They were close range attacks. The news feed says around a hundred-foot range.” Luther pauses. “There’s more. Because of these attacks, President Mills has reinstated the Fall Curfew, starting from nineteen hundred hours tonight. She’s canceled all Fall Remembrance services. Her spin doctors are turning it to her advantage and blaming all Enchanters.”

  “Jesus Christ. She might as well paint a target on every fricking Enchanter’s head. Joe Public will want blood.” I bang the side of my head with my palm. “The government was quick with their response… It’s almost like they were prepared…”

  “I know,” Luther says. “You need to get the delivery van, before this all ignites like a forest fire.”

  More screams from outside. The glass statue people are changing back. Thank God, they’re still alive… My eyes fall on the shattered remains on the pavement. The red, sticky mess drips off the curb.

  My hand shoots to my mouth, but I can’t stop the dry retch rising in my throat.

  “Sorry, Luther,” I say, swallowing hard. “It’s a fricking mess outside.” I retch again and wipe my mouth. I’m glad I didn’t get anything to eat.

  “The MPs have the entire area cordoned off,” I say. “We can’t get out. They’re scanning everyone’s biometrics out in the High Street.” I watch the MPs line people up in rows and wave their Bio-Scanners over the back of their necks. “I wish we found somewhere closer to park the delivery van, Luther.” I reach across and hold Amber’s hand. “We’ll wait until it dies down.”

  “Be vigilant, Nicci. The Military Police could check inside the café too,” Luther says. “And remember, the package needs delivering before eleven thirty. Kathy is on a fixed schedule.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m not taking my eyes off them.”

  “Have you got an exit plan ready?”

  The staff door next to the counter flashes in my mind. “I’m working on it.” I check the time. It’s ten twenty. “Is Kathy okay? Does she know what just happened?”

  “She doesn’t know yet,” Luther says. “I’m reading her journal page now. She’s just about to copy the security ID. Hang tight.”

  I end the call.

  Amber taps a message on her tablet.

  “Is Kathy okay?”

  “Luther says she’s
bang on schedule.”

  Amber taps another message.

  “What about us?”

  “I wish you’d use your Electro-Larynx Choker,” I say, checking my watch. “It’s better than using your tablet to communicate.”

  Amber shakes her head and stares at the blank screen. The table suddenly vibrates, dragging the tablet away from her hands. The vibration gets stronger. It’s coming from the floor.

  Shit.

  Not another attack.

  I reach for Amber’s hand, fearing the worst. A huge black truck drives past the café outside. Everything vibrates. I reach out a hand to stop my coffee cup falling off the table.

  Another truck drives down the High Street from the opposite direction. They park up next to the bandstand. MPs herd people inside. No BCL members, just Enchanters, even though they were victims too.

  I scan around the café. Everyone is on edge, staring at the scene outside. The couple on the sofa sit rigidly, holding hands, now ignoring their books and frothy cappuccinos.

  “We’ve got thirty minutes leeway,” I say, leaning across the table. “All we can do is wait for the MPs to finish outside.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I hope none of this affects Kathy.”

  10:25 GMT

  KATHY MEADOWS

  RUTLAND HOSPITAL | NEW BAKEWELL

  The door self-closes with a soft click and the reader light turns from green to red. That’s it. No more trips to the storeroom without raising suspicion on the key logs. I’m sure Ripley hides away somewhere, following my every move.

  I dump the fresh towels on the drugs trolley and check my watch. It’s ten twenty-five. Morning break time.

  I push the trolley through the ward doors and out into the fourth floor reception. The double doors close behind me with a low hiss, like a librarian telling me to be quiet. Newcomb Central School Library springs to mind. Mrs. Kennedy. Ears like a radar and eyes like a hawk. Her long bony finger was always against her lips. Always alert, ready for anything. Unlike the ward clerk here — twenty-three, blonde, and only here for the three-times-the-normal salary this private hospital pays its staff — its England-born staff, that is. She’s not alert like Mrs. Kennedy was. Her feet rest on the desk. A glossy magazine has her full attention.

  Eddie.

  His face fills the front cover, along with a sensationalist headline.

  Edward Munro: Ringleader of Terror!

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Ignoring the clerk and her trashy magazine, I guide the trolley to the day room door in the corner of the reception. As it swings open, I peer inside. As usual, Paul O’Conner is sitting on the comfy green sofa by the big window, facing the river outside. Several hospital visitors sit at the round metal tables dotted around the room. No one talks. Even people sitting across from each other just stare into their drinks. Lost in their own worlds of grief. Unable to properly mourn their loved ones, the coma victims of the Fall.

  With the TV turned off, the ticking wall clock echoes in the silence.

  I park the trolley next to the drinks machine and carry the towels over to Paul. He’s transfixed by the view from the window. It is breathtaking. The river weaves through the trees, disappearing into a forest of concrete and metal giants. An isolated piece of nature, sitting between the tall buildings of New Bakewell City Center.

  I sit down next to him. “Great view,” I say, squashing the towels against his leg.

  “Yes,” he says, without turning around. “I could stay here all day.”

  Using the towels for cover, I feel for his ID card. It’s attached to his pants on an extendable keychain. After all the practice Nicci put me through last night, I could do this in my sleep.

  I find the card and grip it tight.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you,” Paul says, turning to face me. His eyes are red raw.

  I fake a smile. “Yeah.”

  “I saw you earlier, downstairs. Sorry if you heard any… unpleasantness,” he says. “I thought I’d be able to handle today.”

  “The Fall anniversary.”

  Paul’s eyes flash from sadness to anger and then back to sadness. “Yes. I lost my wife in the Fall. Seven minutes past seven. That time, carved on my heart forever,” he says. “We were doing the dishes after dinner. Like any other day. And then she just fell. One second, so alive, and the next… she was gone.”

  He takes a long sip of coffee. “Karen was a nurse like you.” Pausing, caught in a thought, he turns back to the window. “This is where we first met. She loved this view of the river.” He points at an arched stone bridge crossing the water in the distance. “Our first kiss.”

  Eddie springs into my mind. The kiss before he left for Greenwich. Our last kiss. My eyes fill with tears.

  “Those damn magic terrorists,” says Paul. His angry voice snaps my mind back into focus. “Do you know Becky on reception downstairs? I just found out her sister tested positive for magic. She has the magic chromosome. All the times Becky comforted me after the Fall, and her sister was a damn Chanter.”

  He spits the word out like it’s poison.

  I dry my watery eyes before he notices. I want to put him straight and tell him we’re not all to blame, but I can’t expose myself. And anyway, he’s right. Magic did cause the Fall.

  His gaze moves from my eyes to the tissue in my hand. “Who did you lose?”

  “Soulmate.”

  Damn it.

  That popped out without me even thinking.

  Paul looks at me with sad, knowing eyes. The frown lines in his forehead fade as he waits for me to elaborate on my answer. But I don’t want to talk about Eddie… and what happened. It’s too painful.

  I turn to the clock on the wall. Thankfully, Paul follows my gaze and checks his watch.

  “I’d better get back to work,” he says.

  My heart rate speeds through the gears.

  I tighten my grip on his ID card. As he stands, I feel it release from the keychain.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Paul hasn’t even noticed the towels. He smiles and then strides to the door, unaware I have his ID card.

  He suddenly stops in the doorway.

  Crap.

  I clamp my hand across my chest, expecting my heart to burst out of my scrubs any second.

  “We should talk, properly,” he says. “Lunch. One-fifteen in the canteen. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I’ll be long gone by that time.

  My stomach drops as he leaves. If this goes wrong, he’ll get the blame. Just like Harry downstairs.

  I shake away the guilt and head back to the drug trolley. Kneeling behind it for cover, I open the trolley door and reach inside to the hidden card reader on the top shelf. And, like Nicci showed me countless times, I slide Paul’s ID card through the slot in the reader. The small light on top turns red.

  Seconds feel like minutes.

  I scan around the room, but no one notices me. If it wasn’t for the occasional glance at the clock, you’d think they were all statues. Like the one’s in the hospital lobby downstairs.

  Come on, it was quicker on the dry run last night.

  A cry comes from the table near me. A young man comforts an elderly woman. She buries her head in his shoulder. “He’ll never wake up,” she says. “Never.”

  This is certainly not a happy place.

  The card reader light turns green. It’s done. Paul will soon realize he’s lost his card when he tries to leave the floor.

  I pile the towels on the trolley and push it out of the day room, ready to chase after him. But there’s no need to run. He’s stopped to talk to the ward clerk. She giggles away, eyelashes fluttering, as she tries to draw him in.

  “Hey, you dropped your ID,” I shout.

  Paul’s hand goes straight to his pants pocket. “I didn’t realize it was gone.”

  He jogs over and takes the card. The ward clerk scowls, giving me the stare of death.

  “Thanks.” He pauses, like he wants t
o say something else. “We’ll talk more at lunch,” he says. “Remember, one-fifteen.”

  “Yeah, in the canteen.”

  He smiles, just as his smartwatch vibrates like a high-speed drill. I reach for my hair, my heart pounding as I watch the small screen.

  Not a magic alarm… please not a magic alarm.

  Thankfully, the screen flashes red with a general alarm rather than an orange-magic-detection warning.

  Paul presses his Bluetooth earpiece. His eyes open wide in shock as he silently mouths the conversation.

  I’ve gotten quite good at lip reading Amber, so I follow the slow movement of his mouth.

  “Magic… Multiple incidents… President Mills…”

  Paul suddenly turns and runs from the ward. I watch his every step through the window in the door.

  The ward clerk looks longingly after him, before sending another death stare in my direction.

  “Incidents,” I whisper.

  Must be something about the Fall Remembrance tonight. Still, it sounded serious. Something could have happened to the others and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.

  I push the trolley back down to the ward, still feeling the clerk’s death stare on the back of my neck. My skin tingles. She was full on with Paul. Giggles, eyelashes, the works. I guess I interrupted her flow. Hearing about the lunch date probably put her back up too.

  I stop outside Dean’s room and press my hand to the drug trolley door. There’s no turning back now. I’m one step closer to oblivion. I knock on the door and swipe my ID card through the reader. The door unlocks and I push the trolley inside.

  Crap.

  The bed’s empty. Dean isn’t there. The Medusa Lapse is upside down on the floor.

  Shit!

  The sheets are still warm.

  “Okay, I remember saying no stag night pranks.”

  My heart rate finds a new high gear as I slowly turn around. It’s Dean. Fully conscious and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Dizziness swarms through my mind — my legs go numb, and I fall onto the bed.