The Ghost stormed onto the main path, about ten or fifteen metres ahead of Walker and Barboza. Now that he was back on the concrete, he took off, moving with the speed of a gazelle.
He was close to the gate. To the car.
“Walker!” Barboza yelled.
“I know,” he said.
Walker’s legs felt like lead poles weighing him down. He cursed himself for eating all that sugary crap earlier on. Now it was floating around his body, slowing him down. But he pushed through the urge to stop, drop onto his knees and puke all over the path. He could do that later. For now, he tightened his grip on the handle of the axe, which had never felt so heavy. He kept running, knowing that they didn’t have to catch the Ghost in the cemetery – they just had to be close enough so he didn’t have time to get in his car and drive away with Charlie.
They had to keep this chase on foot. Otherwise they’d lose the boy.
As Walker and Barboza ran down the path, they saw the Ghost standing at the entrance of Bunhill Fields. The man in the mask was looking at them. Walker could almost hear the debate raging in the Ghost’s mind at that second. Did he have enough time to bundle the boy into the back of his car? Did he have enough time to get away before the two pursuers reached him?
Or should he stand and fight?
With Charlie tucked under his arm, the Ghost turned around and fled across the street, running away from the parked Audi and towards Wesley’s Chapel.
Walker and Barboza didn’t stop running. They charged down the path and with Bunhill Fields now at their back, they crossed over City Road, just as the unmistakeable figure of the tall Ghost could be seen hurtling past the open steel gate that led down the courtyard towards the chapel.
Walker’s legs were almost completely numb. But somehow they kept moving – they carried him towards the chapel gate, just as a shrill explosion that sounded like smashing glass could be heard up ahead.
Walker and Barboza hurried past the gate, running down the cobbled courtyard that led towards the old Methodist building. The statue of John Wesley was nothing more than a passing blur.
As they approached the chapel, Walker noticed that one of the lower floor arched windows had been smashed. Glass fragments lay scattered on the ground, and jagged edges remained stuck in place around the frame itself – a warning to anyone who would dare enter.
“Careful,” Barboza said, pointing at the window. “Don’t cut yourself.”
Walker nodded. Then he stepped over the fallen glass pieces and peered through the shattered window. It was dark inside but for a second, Walker thought he could see the faint glow of torchlight up ahead. He heard footsteps echoing along a hard surface.
Doing his best to avoid being pierced by the broken glass, Walker squeezed through the window and set foot into yet another blackness. As he went forwards, his axe was extended in front of him at all times, ready.
He heard Barboza climbing through the window frame.
“Oww!” she hissed.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yep,” she said. “Didn’t take my own advice that’s all.”
“Let’s go,” Walker said. “Stay close to me.”
Using their hands to guide them, they fumbled their way forwards into the chapel. Walker and his axe took the lead. Barboza stayed close behind him.
They continued into a large open space. Although Walker’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark, he assumed they’d wandered into the main part of the chapel.
The only sound was their footsteps echoing off the walls.
“Sod this,” Barboza whispered. “We need to find a light switch Walker. We could be walking into anything in here.”
“I thought we were looking for Charlie,” Walker said.
“Fat chance of finding him in here,” Barboza said. “You never know, some of the lights might still work. I can see the stained glass windows up the front of the chapel. You see it? I think I see the pulpit too. C’mon, there’s probably something down there on the walls. Look for a switch.”
Walker grunted in agreement.
They continued down the aisle of the chapel, pressing their hands up against the wall, sliding them back and forth in search of some kind of light switch.
Walker heard a noise behind them – it sounded like someone groaning in pain on the other side of the chapel.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Barboza said. “What was it?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t like the sound of it. C’mon, let’s find that light switch fast.”
They moved down the aisle, a little more urgency in their step. There were wooden pews on their right hand side, each row with a pull-out seat at the end, designed to provide extra seating. Walker put a hand out, touching each bench, letting them guide him on his way towards the pulpit area.
Walker knew he was supposed to be looking for a light switch. Truthfully however, he was thinking about the whooshing sound that samurai sword would make as it sliced through the darkness.
Fortunately, Barboza was committed to the task of bringing light. He heard her hands running up and down the walls, searching frantically for that elusive switch.
Finally, her efforts were rewarded.
“Found something,” she said.
As she spoke, Walker heard that strange groaning sound, coming from further back in the chapel.
“What the hell is that?” Walker asked.
“It’s the Ghost,” she said. “What else can it be?”
“Hit the switch,” Walker said. “Let’s hope to God it works.”
Walker heard a series of sharp clicking sounds as Barboza flicked several switches all at once. At first nothing happened but after a short delay, a white electric glow stuttered overhead. A single beam of light trickled down from one of several hanging light fixtures attached to the ceiling.
It was better than nothing.
Walker glanced at the interior of the chapel. There was a stunning single-tiered pulpit at the head of the room, in front of three massive stained glass windows with various displays of biblical imagery imprinted upon them. A small winding staircase led up to the pulpit and Walker could envision the ministers of old standing up there, delivering sermons to the worshippers with gusto. The upper level of the chapel was an oval shaped gallery that ran across the top of the room, several rows of raked seating offering spectators a view of the pulpit.
“Walker,” Barboza said.
She was looking towards the back of the room.
Walker spun around.
The Ghost was standing at the back of the chapel. He had squeezed into the last row of pews, like a lone worshipper, waiting for the service to begin. Except that he wasn’t entirely alone. Charlie was right there beside him, his big, frightened eyes staring at Walker and Barboza. The Ghost held the tip of the samurai sword against the boy’s throat, the deadly steel pressed up tight on the soft skin. The Ghost’s arms, black, lean and muscular, were flexed and ready. With his free hand, the masked man covered Charlie’s mouth.
It looked like the Ghost had been trying to slip away while Walker and Barboza searched the other side of the chapel.
Walker took a step towards them.
“Stay where you are,” the Ghost said. The deep voice was calm and it reverberated off the walls and ceiling of Wesley’s Chapel. “I’ll cut his throat and do the same to both of you. But that’s not what I want. Nobody has to die here, not if you play smart.”
“Bullshit,” Barboza said. “You fucking animal. You want us alive so you can put us in your farm.”
Walker didn’t think it was smart of Barboza to antagonise the Ghost. But he didn’t say anything.
“That’s not true,” the Ghost said. “He doesn’t have…”
The Ghost stopped in mid-sentence. He looked to his right, towards the side of the chapel that was still cloaked in darkness.
It was that noise again. That moaning sound, and they all heard it this time
. It was spilling into the rest of the chapel, coming out of that dark corner.
There was something else too. It was the sound of clumsy movement.
There was a man coming out of the shadows. He staggered at first but when he saw the Ghost and Charlie, he picked up the pace. Next thing, he was running past one of the marble pillars that supported the upper floor gallery. He was so damaged and dishevelled that it was hard to tell his age but Walker guessed that he was about fifty years old. Maybe. The man didn’t have any trousers or underwear on. He was completely naked except for a tattered denim shirt, unbuttoned from top to bottom, that clung to his blistered skin.
Walker had seen that crazed look in a man’s eyes before. It was the same look he’d seen at the New River barely a week ago.
It was the look of a madman. A rogue.
It charged at the Ghost, groaning pitifully with hunger. It reached its sunburned arms out, grasping for the tall man and the boy. There was a yearning look in its eyes.
The Ghost turned to face the rogue. With one arm, he removed the sword from Charlie’s neck and pointed it towards the thing coming towards him. With his free hand, the Ghost kept a strong grip on the collar of Charlie’s football shirt.
Walker saw his chance. He crept forwards, keeping his eyes on what was happening with the Ghost and the rogue.
The rogue screamed with excitement as it charged towards the Ghost. The Ghost finally let go of Charlie’s collar and sidestepped to his right along the wooden pew, his samurai sword still pointing at the rogue. The Ghost was quick to get out of that enclosed space and the two cannibals met in the far aisle.
The rogue flung himself at the tall Ghost, like the sword wasn’t there. The Ghost took a backwards step, sliding out of range of the rogue’s outstretched arms. After that, it was no contest. The Ghost leapt forwards in a flash, his footwork exquisite, and the sword extended like a part of his arm. And even though the samurai sword is primarily a slashing and cutting weapon, the Ghost stabbed it straight through the rogue’s heart with ease, like the madman was built of melting butter.
The rogue made a pitiful hacking sound as the Ghost twisted his sword deep into its heart. The Ghost then pulled his sword out and the rogue’s body shuddered violently, before dropping to the ground.
During this short-lived fight, Walker had made good ground on the Ghost. He’d jumped over the third to last row of pews and squeezed along the wooden bench towards the opposite aisle where the action was taking place. As he came within range, Walker brought the axe crashing down on the Ghost’s sword hand. He was aiming for the wrist but instead the axe landed hard on the handle of the sword, sending the blade flying out of the Ghost’s hand. It landed several feet away, close to the body of the dead rogue, underneath which a small trail of blood was spreading across the chapel floor.
Walker brought the axe up again, aiming for the Ghost’s chest.
But the Ghost was too quick. He leapt onto the back pew, jumping out of range so that Walker missed with his wild swing easily. Then the Ghost came forward and threw a hard punch that landed on Walker’s shoulder. It was enough to jar Walker’s rhythm and send him crashing backwards onto the hard floor.
Walker looked up. The Ghost was running over to his sword on the floor. Walker pushed himself upright, charging towards the Ghost, trying to intercept the masked man before he could pick up his bloodstained weapon. At the same time, Walker heard Barboza behind him, screaming at Charlie to make a run for it.
“Charlie!” she yelled. “Run! Come to me now.”
The boy didn’t move. Fear had paralysed him.
Walker bounded across the aisle, intercepting the Ghost before he could grab the sword. The Ghost, seeing that he’d been cut off, reached for Walker instead, using his long arms to seize control of Walker’s right wrist – the one holding the axe. The Ghost proceeded to twist Walker’s arm behind him, pushing it upwards towards his neck in an effort to either break his arm or make Walker surrender the axe.
Walker couldn’t match the Ghost for strength. As his arm was being twisted backwards, he felt like a kids doll being tortured by a merciless child.
The Ghost leaned towards him, and another option opened up.
Walker stood tall, then slammed his forehead into the Ghost’s face, one-two-three times. Each one of these ‘Glasgow kisses’ landed with a crack on the rubber surface of the mask, just above the canister. They were hard blows that sent the Ghost reeling backwards, groaning in pain. He let go of Walker’s arm immediately and brought his hands to his face.
Walker went after him. But instead of hitting the Ghost with his axe and finishing him, something made Walker reach a hand towards the Ghost’s face. Everything happened so fast. It felt like Walker was outside his body, watching somebody else’s hand moving towards the Ghost in slow motion. Walker reached out, slid his fingers underneath the rubber, and grabbed the back of the mask. Then he pulled it off with as much force as he could muster.
The judges’ wig came off with it. Walker tossed the wig and mask combo onto the floor. He wanted to see how frightening the man was, the ordinary man underneath the Halloween costume.
He took a step backwards and looked at the man’s face.
Walker almost screamed.
He knew the face of the young black man standing in front of him – it was immediately familiar. It was so familiar that he didn’t have to think or question it; this was a face he’d never forgotten over the past nine years.
It was the face of his old friend. It was Sumo Dave.
Chapter 17
Walker staggered backwards down the aisle.
His mind was racing, but he couldn’t find the right words.
As he slowly backed off, he saw the confusion on the Ghost’s face. He had to be wondering why Walker hadn’t finished him off. Walker had the axe. The Ghost had nothing. But it was Walker on the retreat, looking like a man who’d just seen the Devil over the Ghost’s shoulder.
The Ghost had to be wondering if it was some sort of trap.
But when nothing happened, the Ghost scrambled, dropping onto his hands and knees and crawling like a spider towards the sword on the floor. Grabbing the weapon, the Ghost leapt back to his feet and rushed along to the centre of the wooden pew where Charlie was still frozen to the spot. The Ghost grabbed Charlie and once again, put the sword to his neck.
They were back to where they started.
“Walker!” Barboza screamed at him. “Have you lost your mind?”
But Walker didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed upon the sword. Upon the dark shadow of the blade reflecting onto the boy’s pale skin. But he saw something else in that shadow – it was the face of his old friend, the man wielding that sword.
Walker halted his retreat. “I know you,” he said.
The Ghost’s dark eyes locked onto the man with the axe. “Do you?”
Walker stared back at the Ghost. Nothing else existed, nothing. He lowered his axe, dropping the weapon to his side.
“Sumo Dave,” he said. “That’s what we used to call you.”
At last, Walker saw the human being in those black eyes. With two words, he’d reached deep into the man’s soul and shook him violently there.
Walker could still see something of the boy he remembered. But there were more differences than similarities. Sumo Dave’s hair was shaved down to the bone, much shorter than Walker recalled. The lankiness of his old friend was still evident, although now he wasn’t skin and bones – he’d added lean muscle to his frame and it made him a formidable, athletic looking man. He must have been about 6’5 or 6’6 at least. He looked like a giant standing next to Charlie.
“Is this a trick?” the Ghost said. He was moving away from Walker, sidestepping towards the other aisle where Barboza was. He was taking Charlie with him.
Walker shook his head. “The last time we saw each other was at Piccadilly,” he said. “We went there together, the four of us. You, me, Tegz and Hatchet.”
The Ghos
t let out a quiet gasp. It was barely there, but Walker heard it.
“Mack?” Sumo Dave said. “Mack Walker, is that you?”
Walker nodded. “Aye.”
With that, Sumo Dave’s face broke into the most astonishing smile. The cool hatred, the vicious intensity – it evaporated, leaving a new man looking back at them.
“God help us,” Sumo Dave said. Even his voice sounded different now, more like the boy Walker had once known. “I thought you were dead.”
Walker shook his head. “I thought the same of you.”
“Yeah?” Sumo Dave said. “I made it out of Piccadilly, only just mind.”
“Tegz?” Walker asked.
Sumo Dave pressed his lips tightly together. He broke off eye contact with Walker. “No,” he said. “He didn’t make it.”
Walker sighed heavily. “What happened?”
“He got trapped in the crowd,” Sumo Dave said. “There were people running into us like it was the end of the world. It was hard staying on your feet, let alone figuring out an escape route. And if you fell, you weren’t ever getting back up again. Well, Tegz was only a little bloke wasn’t he? I saw him go down, just a few feet away from where I was. He called my name. Screamed it, like I’d never heard anyone scream before. Those people trampled over him like he wasn’t there. Poor little sod.”
“He was a good lad,” Walker said. “I liked him.”
“Yeah.”
“What about you?” Walker asked. “How’d you get out?”
“I stayed on my feet,” Sumo Dave said. “That was the key to staying alive that day – stay on your feet and keep moving. But I guess you know that as well as I do Mack.”
Sumo Dave looked at Walker.
“I’ll tell you something Mack,” he said. “I had to do terrible things to survive that day. Like pushing other people out the way to make a path through the crowd. I’m sure some of those people must have died because of what I did. I’m talking about women and children too. But I don’t regret it – I wasn’t ready to die in 2011. Sixteen years old, both of us, eh? I was scared out of my bloody mind. Anyway, I got away from Piccadilly Circus. Somehow. I found an old office block nearby with the door smashed in. I ran inside, went all the way up to the top floor. Didn’t stop until I couldn’t get any higher. And I stayed there, me and a few others. Waiting for it to pass.”
The Future of London Box Set Page 50
