The Future of London Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  “They’re real,” Michael King said. “The Ghosts of London are the largest gang in the south. Along with the Bedlamites, they’re one of the original gangs that sprang up after Piccadilly. We were the first to organise, to claim territory, to scavenge for the best of what the city had to offer. We were both smart but that’s where the similarities between us end. We don’t like them. They don’t like us.”

  “You said they were coming here to hunt,” Walker asked. “Hunt what?”

  Michael King shook his head.

  “The Bedlamites live off the Drop Parcels,” he said. “We make it work – we are a large group of men, women and children, and because of this the Drops are of a high quality and volume around here. It’s not ideal but it’s enough to live on and...”

  He hesitated.

  “And what?” Walker asked.

  “The Ghosts don’t want any part of the Drops,” Michael King said. “They get their own food – most of it they acquire during the Big Chase.”

  “People,” Walker said.

  “Yes,” Michael King said. “The Ghosts have resorted to cannibalism. They nourish themselves on human flesh. It’s how they choose to live.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Walker said. “Like the rogues?”

  Michael King shook his head.

  “Not like the rogues,” he said. “The Ghosts are far more dangerous and what’s more they’re completely sane. In fact, they would have us believe that we’re the ones who are insane for living off Drop Parcels – for relying on the aid of our captors. And some part of me agrees with them, but not everyone is ready to stoop to the consumption of human flesh. That’s not what I want for my people.”

  Walker looked at Michael King.

  “But why do you let them do it?” he said. “Why do you let them come up here if this is your territory?”

  “Like I said,” Michael King said. “Compromise. We do it to preserve the peace. The Big Chase takes place three times a year. Two of those are down in the Hole but there’s one in Bedlam every summer because that’s what we agreed upon, a long time ago.”

  “You made a deal with them?” Walker said. “With people who eat…people?”

  “If it wasn’t for this deal,” Michael King said, “then the Bedlamites and the Ghosts would have long since gone to war, fighting over each other’s territory. It’s this deal that preserves the peace. We let them come up here once a year and after that they stay away. No raids, nothing – we don’t see them. They stay in the south, we stay in the north. And we always give warning to the people in the north when the Ghosts are coming. We get the word out and we invite them to come here to Station to spend the night. The Ghosts know that Station is out of bounds – it’s part of the deal. They won’t come near it. That means if you’re in Station during the Big Chase, you’re safe. That’s guaranteed. That’s what Fat Joseph and the others were doing when they found you today – they were warning the locals, inviting them here to take refuge. Many people will come soon. But of course not everyone in the north trusts us – so they’ll do their own thing. They’ll hide somewhere and hope for the best. But the best rarely comes.”

  “Bloody hell,” Walker said. “I had no idea this was the sort of thing going on.”

  He longed to be back on Stanmore Road, back where he belonged. Let the rest of London keep its madness. He just wanted to go home – was that so much to ask?

  “So you see, you’re not safe out there tonight,” Michael King said. “The Ghosts find everyone. Stay with us in Station and continue your journey south in the morning. There won’t be another Big Chase until winter and they won’t be back in Bedlam for another year.”

  Walker didn’t want to stay. But what choice did he and Barboza have? After what he’d just been told – only an idiot would go back out there on the street. And even if they crossed the river early, who’s to say the Ghosts wouldn’t pick them up in the Hole on their way back from Bedlam?

  It was exhausting. It was frightening. It was too damn hot as well.

  “Will you stay?” Michael King asked.

  “Yes,” Barboza said without hesitation. “We’ll stay. Won’t we Walker?”

  Walker saw the look in her eyes and knew there was no arguing with it.

  He turned to Michael King.

  “Sure,” he said, sliding the padded shoulder strap of the rucksack down his arm. “We’ll spend the night here.”

  Chapter 8

  Immersion 9 – Live Chat Forums

  #GhostsofLondon #BigChase

  MaryG: Are they moving yet?

  Rock Lobster: Yeah.

  MaryG: And?

  Rock Lobster: What? You ain’t watching it?

  MaryG: No, I can’t stomach it darling. Going to the movies. Plan is to go and see three films in a row or something – anything that takes all night. Then straight home to bed, no FOL, no news, nothing. By the time I wake up it’ll be over.

  Rock Lobster: Yeah well, seeing as how you asked – they’re on the move.

  Immersion 9: (ADVERTISEMENT) Hi gang! Just checking in to see if you’ve purchased the official Future of London app yet? Yes YOU! C’mon! Keep up to date with all of the top stories coming out of Bedlam and the Hole. You won’t miss a thing that goes on behind the M25 if you download the Future of London app TODAY. Comes with exclusive selfie filters for hours of fun. Turn on the FOL app in your camera and see yourself as a rogue, as Michael King, or even as one of the terrifying Ghosts of London. So what are you waiting for? Don’t just watch the Future of London, be a part of it NOW! Download the app from the official FOL website and use FOLAPP Code to receive a 15% discount.

  MaryG: OMG. Why don’t the army just go in and shoot the sick bastards?

  Rock Lobster: Dunno. Non-interference policy?

  MaryG: They drop food parcels. What’s non-interference about that?

  Rock Lobster: Lol yeah. The army are shit scared too I suppose.

  MaryG: Yeah well it’s movie time for me. See ya later Rock darling – I won’t be back on here tonight.

  Rock Lobster: See ya love. Enjoy the flicks.

  Chapter 9

  Walker and Barboza were given a private space to themselves in Station.

  At Michael King’s request, they were put in one of the many retail units that ran down either side of the concourse – an old food place that according to the pictures on the wall – had once served hot and cold sandwiches, wraps and paninis. There was still a poster on display next to the counter, promoting a deal on toasted sandwiches, coffee or tea, which along with a donut or muffin of your choice, you could get for three pounds.

  They settled into their makeshift hotel room for the night. Walker assumed that the café had been a trendy little pit stop for commuters back in the day, what with its chocolate brown walls and promotional signs that had been made out of old pallet wood.

  They had been supplied with bedding – a large pile of multi-coloured blankets and pillows, enough for ten people. Walker and Barboza piled them up on the floor on the far side of the shop, furthest from the concourse and away from all the other people. Beside their bed, trays of food and drink had been supplied – water, tea, sandwiches and fruit. But there were other things too – hot chicken legs. That blew Walker’s mind. He’d never seen anything like it in any of the Drop Parcels that he’d ever picked up along the New River. His parcels were nothing compared to what the Bedlamites were getting. While he’d been living off the basics for nine years – bread, fruit, water, a little cheese and thinly sliced meat – the Bedlamites were being provided with a banquet feast.

  Walker didn’t hold back. He ate as much food as he could, not knowing when or if he’d ever have another opportunity like this one. He didn’t even realise how ravenous he was until he started shoving it down his throat, like a comic book character in a feeding frenzy. And when the people attending Walker and Barboza brought in two icy cold bottles of coke and put them down on the floor – Walker’s jaw dropped. Coke? Here in London? More luxur
ies followed – crisps, chocolate, and there was even something that looked like a vanilla sponge cake.

  Walker lifted one of the cold, plastic Coke bottles in both hands. He studied it like it was a priceless artefact, marvelling at the dark-brown, caramel coloured liquid that swirled around inside.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said to Barboza. “Do you? All this stuff they get.”

  Barboza didn’t respond at first. Walker noticed that she’d barely touched any of the things laid out for them. She’d only picked at a few items here and there.

  “I guess he wants us to be comfortable,” she said.

  “A few biscuits,” Walker said. “I considered that luxury for the past nine years.”

  “At least you weren’t eating people,” Barboza said.

  “Even if I’d wanted to I would have had a hard time finding them,” Walker said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You knew about the Ghosts,” Walker said. “Didn’t you? I saw your face back there when you nearly gave it away.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I know about the Big Chase, but I didn’t know it was happening tonight. I nearly blew it back there with Michael King. It’s hard pretending to be someone who’s been trapped here for nine years.”

  “I don’t think he noticed,” Walker said.

  “Hope not.”

  Walker unscrewed the lid of the Coke bottle and took a sip. As he did so, he screwed up his face in disgust.

  “Oh Jesus!” he said. “Has Coke always tasted this bad? Or is it just me?”

  “Probably both,” Barboza said.

  Out on the concourse, the Bedlamites were going about their everyday business. Walker thought that the scene was vaguely reminiscent of a busy city centre pedestrian zone – shops on either side of the concourse and human traffic flowing down the middle. Occasionally, people would stop and chat like old friends encountering one another on the street. Sometimes they’d even sit down at the plastic tables and chairs, continuing their conversation there. To Walker, it looked like they were sitting at a streetside café, waiting for someone to come and take their order.

  In the shop unit directly opposite the one that Walker and Barboza were in, school lessons were taking place in what had once been Burger King. A group of kids of all ages were sitting on the floor with their legs crossed while a tall, elderly woman spoke to them about something that had them engrossed. As she spoke, the woman was gesturing wildly with both hands. Walker wondered if she was telling them a story – an old tale of myth and legend perhaps? Or something more contemporary? Whatever it was, the kids sat there, wide-eyed and hanging onto every word she was saying.

  Walker saw the garage too. It was a unit with nothing but parked motorbikes scattered from one end to the other. There was an abundance of tools and spare parts lying around the cluttered floor. Fat Joseph and Rhonda were inside, as well as several other people dressed in dirty black leathers. They were all hard at work, performing routine maintenance duties. Walker looked at the ten bikes he counted in the garage. He wondered where the Bedlamites got the fuel to run their machines. Had they siphoned it from the abandoned cars that littered the streets of North London? That’s what Walker would have done if he’d had a bike like one of those to run. After he’d raided all the petrol garages of course. That would have worked in 2011, just after Piccadilly. But now? It had to be getting harder to find the juice to run their bikes.

  He turned back to Barboza.

  “You’re not eating,” he said.

  Barboza looked at the assortment of food in front of them. She might as well have been looking at a dried dog turd on a plate. “I’m not that hungry,” she said.

  “You’re still thinking about it?” Walker said. “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am,” she said. “It’s only been a few hours. Are you telling me that you’ve forgotten about it already?”

  “It was self-defence,” Walker said. “Try to think of something else.”

  “Like what? The taste of Coke?”

  Walker looked at her. “It was them or us,” he said. “They were coming to kill us Barboza. You think they’d be that bothered if they were on their way back to the M25 now with our corpses in the back of the armoured vehicles?”

  “No,” she said. “But I’m not them. And I’m not you either.”

  Walker sighed. He watched as Barboza pulled several blankets over her body, stretching them all the way up to her chin.

  “Aren’t you hot?” he asked her.

  “I’m freezing,” she said.

  Walker didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t seem that bothered by it,” she said, looking out towards the concourse. It was almost as if she was talking to herself.

  “That’s because I don’t consider it murder,” Walker said. “That’s the difference between us – perspective.”

  Barboza closed her eyes. Walker saw her chest rising and falling quickly, in time with the shallow breaths she was taking.

  “Even the one I killed?” she said. “Was that self-defence? He was wounded for God’s sake, lying helpless on the grass in your back garden. He wasn’t capable of hurting anyone and I crept up behind him and cut his throat.”

  “He was wounded because he was coming after us,” Walker said. “Remember? Try to think of something else Barboza.”

  She opened her eyes. “Okay, like what?”

  “Tell me about the Big Chase,” Walker said. As he spoke, he glanced up towards the ceiling and along the length of the chocolate brown walls.

  “We can talk in here,” he said. “Can’t we?”

  Barboza lay her head down on one of the old pillows. “I think SKAM would have a hard time putting cameras in here.”

  “The Big Chase,” Walker said. “They show that on TV too?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It happened earlier this year. I didn’t watch it but I heard all about it from other people and it was on the news. The Ghosts swept through the Hole – South London – gathering people up off the streets like they were rounding up lost cattle or something. Even by Future of London standards, it was sick man. Social media went crazy. Everyone on I-9 was talking about it.”

  Barboza’s head sank deeper into the pillow.

  “Michael King’s right,” she said. “We can’t be out on the streets tonight. Even if we crossed the river and got into the Hole in time, it doesn’t mean we’re safe. The Ghosts live down there in the Hole so they might pass us on their way up to Bedlam. Or on their way back after the Chase. And I doubt they’d hesitate to pick us up as a little bonus find. It’s not safe anywhere tonight Walker, except here.”

  Walker put a hand over his stomach and groaned quietly.

  “Too much food?” she said.

  “Aye. Either that or it’s all this Ghost shite giving me the ache.”

  Walker looked at her.

  “What do they do with the people they catch?” he said. “Do they kill them on the spot? Do they drag them back down to the Hole alive? Or what?”

  “They take them alive if possible,” Barboza said. “They take them back to the Hole, to a barracks or base or whatever it is that the Ghosts call home. There are no cameras inside the base of course, but drone cameras have been used to fly overhead and record footage. Well some people have tried to zoom in on that footage with fancy surveillance equipment – in particular, some of the buildings out back – sheds, huts, whatever they are. Apparently they can see movement. Looks like there’s people trapped inside. A lot of people.”

  Walker felt his blood run cold. “Are you telling me that the Ghosts farm people?”

  “I don’t know,” Barboza said. “It’s just what I read.”

  Walker laughed. But there was nothing remotely funny about the situation.

  “I should have stayed in bed today,” he said. “What a fucking day it’s been. Worst ever.”

  “Walker.”

  “What?”

  He looked over and saw that Barboza was sitting straight up i
n bed again. Like she’d moved in a hurry.

  “Hi Charlie,” she said.

  Charlie was standing at the entrance. The way he was positioned, the little boy was standing halfway inside the shop and halfway on the concourse. Walker noticed that he was clutching onto a couple of pieces of A4-sized paper that were covered in indecipherable shapes – the chaotic scribbles of a child by the looks of it. Charlie was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier – an old Tottenham Hotspur t-shirt, light blue jeans that were a size too big, and black running shoes.

  He stood at the entrance, a shy expression on his face. Like he wasn’t really sure whether he wanted to come in or not.

  “Alright Charlie?” Barboza said.

  “Hi,” Charlie said.

  “Have you just come from school?” Barboza asked. She was pointing to the old Burger King directly opposite.

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Do you wanna come in?” Barboza asked.

  Charlie hesitated. He glanced at Walker, then looked at Barboza and nodded.

  “C’mon then,” Barboza said. Walker looked over at her – she was like a different person now. She seemed almost happy. He figured that if nothing else, the boy was a source of distraction, something to take her mind off what had happened on Stanmore Road.

  Charlie walked inside. He went over to Barboza, putting a little distance between himself and Walker. And Walker’s axe.

  “Sit down,” Barboza said, flattening out the pile of blankets and wiping off some of the crumbs that were the casualties of Walker’s feeding frenzy. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “We’ve got lots of food in here and you’re more than welcome to help us polish it off. What about a drink? Do you like Coke?”