by Guy Adams
There was a a loud cheer from the crowd as the building tilted from side to side and then moved forward. The cheer turned into screams of panic and Grace finally got a clear view. Emerging from the base of the building were two scaly pairs of legs, like those of a chicken. Its taloned feet slammed down on the people that, moments ago, had been praising it. The air filled with screams and cracking bones as the building pushed through the trees and out into the road.
‘I think you should run,’ said God. ‘I shall stay here and fight it. I am God after all.’
He raised his sledgehammer and made to run into the road but Grace grabbed him. ‘That would be an abuse of your powers,’ she said. ‘I’d much rather you just ran as well.’
‘If you think it best,’ he said, and sped off ahead of her, sprinting towards the ocean.
Chapter Five
THEY KEPT TO the side of the road as the walking building continued to totter around on its spindly legs. The Russians had quickly switched from adoration to panicked defence. Shots rang out, bullets piercing the building’s windows and ricocheting of its bricks.
With luck, Grace thought, running past God, the mobsters and the building would keep each other occupied until they were out of sight.
Sadly, as the ocean came into view, she heard the heavy feet pounding down the road towards them; a mad, witch-like cackle cutting through the air. Just ahead of them was a large barricade built from wooden sheeting, sandbags and barbed wire.
Above the barricade a colourful sign, painted in swirling reds and blues announced The Queendom of Coney Island. If only they could reach it in time they might be safe.
‘Faster!’ she shouted to God, looking back over her shoulder. ‘We’re nearly there!’
‘Baba Yaga!’ the cackling voice called and she could see the face of an old lady at one of the upper windows, leaning out over the sill, long grey hair whipping around her head.
God turned to look. His sledgehammer slipped from his hands and he tripped over it as it clattered to the ground. With a yell he fell on his back in the middle of the road, staring up at the advancing building. Any moment now, he would be stepped on and all pretence of his being the Almighty would be smeared across the tarmac.
She considered leaving him, just another dead body in the road, but she couldn’t do it. However much the last few weeks had made her numb to the death of strangers, she couldn’t stand by and see someone who had been kind to her die, not if there was anything she could do to help.
She picked up the sledgehammer, and did her best to wave it over her head. It was so heavy she ended up doing little more than shaking it ineffectively. She roared at the top of her voice and ran towards the building’s legs, hoping she could move quickly enough to avoid them as they shuffled and stamped their indentation into the surface of the road.
God rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed; the three-toed foot clenching, its talons digging thin wounds in the road.
Grace swung the sledgehammer down on the foot, pleased to hear a rewarding crack of thin bones as the hammer did its damage.
Above them, the old woman roared with rage and the building toppled precariously, its damaged foot rising into the air as it tried to avoid a second blow.
Grace was already running towards the second foot, swinging the sledgehammer again. This time the foot darted away from her, trying to avoid suffering the same fate as its partner. It was an automatic reaction and one that robbed the building of its balance.
The old woman screeched in anger and panic as her home stumbled backwards, hopping and shuffling as it tried to avoid falling over.
‘Run!’ Grace shouted, dropping the sledgehammer and making for the barricade, snatching at God’s robes as she passed.
‘I don’t want to go in!’ he shouted. ‘I’m God, I’ll be fine out here.’
‘No you won’t!’ she replied, banging on the barricade. ‘Hey! Let us in! There’s a monster house out here trying to kill us!’
Behind them, the building had retreated some distance but it was regaining its balance and she was sure that it would soon resume its attack.
She banged on the barricade again. ‘Come on! We’re here to visit the Queen!’
A hatch slid back and she found herself staring into a water tank, a large fishy eye staring back.
‘Hi,’ she said, rather hesitantly. ‘Can we come in?’
Another hatch slid back, this one revealing a speaker grill. ‘What do you want?’ asked a deep voice, distorted by the water. The tank in front of her filled with bubbles as the eye’s owner spoke.
‘We want to come in,’ she said again.
‘Speak up,’ the aquatic voice said. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘We want to come in!’ she shouted.
‘Why?’
‘To see the Queen.’ She stepped to one side. ‘And to get away from that.’
The eye stared out of the tank, looking at the building that was now making its way back towards them, limping slightly thanks to its damaged foot.
‘House on legs,’ the voice said. ‘Weird.’
‘So let us in!’
‘What’s the password?’ the voice asked.
‘I don’t know!’
‘Wasn’t talking to you.’ Another hatch slid back, a couple of feet higher and to the right of the first. In this one she could see the bloated, scaled face of something that resembled a puffer fish crossed with a baby.
‘Can’t remember,’ said a new voice. ‘Something to do with cotton candy I think. Or do I mean baboons?’
‘Baboons?’ Grace shouted in exasperation.
‘That must be it,’ said the new voice. ‘Baboons are definitely to do with baboons. Let her in.’
‘You sure?’ asked the first voice. ‘I think she was just guessing.’
‘Baboons are not the sort of thing you randomly guess,’ said the second voice. ‘You’re being paranoid again. Let her in.’
‘If you’re sure.’
A hatch large enough to walk through appeared and Grace dragged God inside.
‘What about the building with legs?’ the first voice asked as they entered a dark tunnel.
‘Does it know the password.’
‘It keeps screaming “Baba Yaga”.’
‘That has absolutely nothing to do with cotton candy. Or baboons. Or anything really. Tell it to go away.’
‘I don’t think she’ll listen,’ said Grace. It was lighter now and she could see that they were in one of those glass tunnels they had in big aquariums, the sort where you could walk through the large tanks and see the fish swimming around you.
Looking back she could see the other side of the barricade, the fish people floating in front of the barricade windows watching the advancing building.
‘Cannon?’ asked the one that looked like a puffer fish.
‘Cannon,’ the other agreed, a more slender creature, elongated arms and legs poking out of an algae-covered track suit. Its eyes were huge and jutted from either side of its narrow head.
A long, black cylinder sat between them, attached to the barricade. The puffer creature bobbed over to it and pulled a stout lever on its side.
There was a deep boom and the water fizzed around them as the cannon sucked and then expelled some of the tank’s contents. In the distance, muffled from their position inside the tunnel, Grace heard a dull crump as the jet of water hit its target. A moment later there was a crashing sound.
‘What’s a Baba Yaga then?’ asked the puffer creature.
‘Blowed if I know,’ its partner replied, ‘but it’s lying outside with a pair of broken legs.’
‘Don’t suppose it really matters then.’
The puffer creature swam down to Grace and God, pressing its face up against the glass of the tunnel. ‘You two had better follow me.’
Chapter Six
THEY WALKED ALONG the tunnel, the puffer creature bobbing along beside them on the other side of the glass.
‘Am
azing how you knew the password,’ it said, its voice echoing through the tunnel from speakers set at intervals on the roof. ‘Mind you, everyone always seems to. They give us hell about it somedays. “Foogs,” they say, “you’ll let anybody in.”’
‘Foogs?’ asked Grace, ‘that’s your name?’
‘I suppose so,’ Foogs replied, ‘otherwise they’re all just being weird. Who’s the guy in the dress?’
‘I am God,’ God replied, ‘and I’ve fed multitudes on things like you so watch your mouth.’
‘Good luck with that pal,’ said Foogs. ‘One lick of me and you’d be dead.’
‘Don’t mind him,’ said Grace, ‘he’s in shock.’
‘I’m not in shock,’ God replied. ‘I’m just feeling wrathful. I never wanted to come in, I was only going for a walk.’
‘Better this than stay outside,’ she told him.
‘Tell me that again when the Queen’s sawing your head off to use as a bowling ball.’
Around them, reeds rippled and rock formations towered. Aquatic creatures dashed to and fro. An eel with a woman’s face followed them for a short way, her Hollywood smile parting to reveal needle teeth. A turtle with human hands in place of its legs pulled itself along the roof of the tunnel, the wrinkled palms slapping a rhythm as it passed over them towards the barricade.
Grace supposed The Change had worked its peculiar magic on the New York Aquarium, extending it out beyond its walls and filling the water with creatures no visitor had ever clapped their eyes on. As she watched, a dolphin with a Mohican haircut chased a shoal of eyeballs against the glass of the tunnel; they pattered against the side, bouncing off in the opposite direction like rubber balls.
‘What’s the Queen like?’ she asked Foogs.
‘Pink,’ he replied, ‘and remarkably dry.’
Which wasn’t much help really.
‘Is she dangerous?’
‘Not to me, your mileage may vary. It depends on her mood. Why do you want her?’
‘I need to get to Rikers Island.’
‘Ah... once upon a time that would have been easy, all you had to do was shoot someone in the head. I hear it’s more complicated now. If she likes you, she’ll help.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘She won’t.’
‘Will she kill us?’
‘Why would you want her to do that?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Don’t ask such a silly question then, she might think you’re serious and before you know it you’re a regular breath away from continued existence. If I were you kid, I’d be more careful how you express yourself. Anyway, you’ll soon find out. This is as far as I go.’
Ahead of them was another large barricade, the tunnel finishing in a small doorway.
‘Give her my love if you see her,’ said Foogs, darting off. ‘Actually better not, she has no idea who I am, it’ll only confuse her.’
Grace looked at God, he shrugged, so she placed her hands on the door and pushed.
Chapter Seven
‘GIVEN THE NATURE of my existence,’ said God as they stood on the other side of the door taking in their first glimpse of the place Coney Island had become, ‘it is very hard to surprise me. I mean, omniscience can really take the joy out of things. Still, if I wasn’t omniscient I’d be having a nervous breakdown around now. If you want to throw up or anything I’ll quite understand but try and avoid the robes. And the sandals.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Grace. And she was; she had begun to worry over the last couple of weeks that something inside her had permanently snapped. Her ability to feel fear, wonder, sympathy for the dead... every emotion felt dialled right back to the point of barely existing. She knew that a therapist would tell her she was still in shock, that there was only so much tragedy someone could experience before their mind just went quiet, shut itself away and refused to engage. Maybe that was true. If so, in absolute honesty, it had happened long before The Change, but she supposed it was a possible explanation for the empty feelings inside her.
That aside, looking out on the streets around them, she did feel a distant, familiar sensation that might well have been awe.
The lavishly painted sign she’d seen on the barricade was a drab precursor to the world it promised. Everything was painted, the buildings, the sidewalk, the road; an alternating fairground-bright mix of reds, blues, yellows and greens. Doors clashed with brickwork which clashed with fairy lights strung around the windows. Banners and balloons were strung from the roofs and streetlights, some advertising shows and performers; others just offering paintings of happy faces, clowns, leaping dolphins and motorbikes hurtling through fiery hoops.
The air was filled with conflicting smells, a sideshow perfume of fried food, ozone, sweat, petrol, sawdust and manure. Even the steady breeze coming in off the sea couldn’t dispel it.
The noise was just as chaotic, shouting, revving engines, blaring klaxons. Countless pieces of music fought one another for attention, booming classical horns butted against thrash guitars with pounding dance basslines thudding between the two.
It was enough to make your brain creep down your throat and try to hide in your stomach.
None of which took into account the actual people that called Coney Island home. At first glance, many of them seemed perfectly normal but for their outlandish clothes (everything from ballgowns to space suits) but closer inspection revealed the more unconventional genes that surrounded them. The creatures in the aquarium had contained some human DNA but, for the most part, had still been fish; here the distinction was far less obvious. A man in a purple bowler hat and a black and white check leotard walked by swishing a lion’s tail behind him, the furry tip bobbing along in time with the music he was listening to through a large pair of headphones.
A pair of conjoined twins danced past, their cheerleader outfits enhanced by flashing lights from a Christmas tree.
A man with a long beard of frilly skin skied through the crowd on a pair of skateboards. Every now and then he poked those he passed with the tip of his ski poles, shouting instructions for people to clear out of his way.
Grace felt someone tug at the leg of her jeans and she saw a small child whose body turned into that of a spaniel below the waist. The child scratched behind her ear with a hairy back leg and looked up at Grace with an exaggerated look of sadness.
‘Got any smokes?’ she asked.
‘I don’t,’ Grace replied.
‘To hell with you then,’ the girl replied, trotting off in search of someone else to ask, her palms slapping on the road.
‘This,’ said God, ‘is a ridiculous place. On reflection I rather like it.’
‘It could be worse,’ Grace admitted, ‘at least nobody seems very interested in us.’
They walked through the crowds, taking in sight after sight.
There was a roar of approval as the air filled with a loud twang and a man with paper wings was catapulted high into the sky, landing some seconds later in the distant ocean. No doubt he was quite dead by the time he hit the water but he had seemed quite happy with his fate, his laughter trailing behind him along with his false wings.
‘If I’d meant man to fly...’ God muttered but didn’t comment further.
‘Where do you think the Queen is?’ Grace asked.
‘I can’t interfere, remember,’ he replied, ‘though if I were you I’d be aiming towards that castle.’
Grace could see the brown and yellow towers poking up in the distance. They were painted as if from a cartoon, the sort of castle talking animals frequented.
As they drew closer they realised it wasn’t painted, it was plastic. An inflatable, bouncy castle the size of a small building. Thick chains held it in place, though the towers swayed from side to side, the guards that stood atop of each hanging on for dear life as their vantage point shifted back and forth with every step.
At the main entrance a ticket booth had been erected with a handprinted sign saying ‘Appointments to
see the Queen’. Below it, a blackboard featured hand-written times of day, like announcements for an animal show at the zoo.
Grace looked at her watch. ‘First appointment time isn’t until two o’clock,’ she said, ‘that’s hours away.’
God walked up to the booth which was inhabited by a pair of albino girls in chainmail.
‘We’d like to see the Queen,’ he said.
The girls were reading an old copy of the National Enquirer, cooing over claims and stories that now seemed tame in a world post-Change.
One of them extended a pointed finger towards the blackboard as they continued to read in silence.
‘Yes,’ said God, ‘I saw that. Are there no exceptions?’
‘No exceptions. No minors. No-one below the legal height will be admitted,’ said the girl who had pointed, her extended finger now veering over towards a wooden cut-out of a pirate that stood to the right of the booth. ‘Measure up against Black Roger to see if you make the grade.’
‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Are you sure we couldn’t get in sooner?’ The girl who was speaking now stared at him in silence. ‘Fine. No exceptions. Do we need to book?’
‘First come first served,’ she replied. ‘Get here early to beat the lines.’
‘It’s popular then?’
‘Not very,’ she admitted, ‘just a few weirdoes and loons. Get here fifteen minutes before we open and you’ll be golden. Though not literally. If you want miracles she only performs those at weekends.’
‘Part timer,’ he muttered, returning to Grace. ‘We need to kill time for a few hours, they’re not letting us in.’
Grace looked around. ‘I suppose there’s plenty to see.’
God straightened his beard and brushed imaginary dust from his robes. ‘Well, stick close, who knows what sort of maniacs we might bump into.’
Grace rolled her eyes. ‘I was about to say the same thing to you,’ she replied, walking off ahead.
Chapter Eight
