London Under Midnight

by Simon Clark

  'Shut up, Moon.' He smiled, although he recognized the sadness. 'What do planetary bodies know about human feelings?' He leaned forward until his head touched the glass. Below him the street light illuminated a stretch of the river. Its surface dimpled, while a small whirlpool that formed around a mooring post seemed to be busily in the process of drowning the reflection of the moon. A branch drifted by. After that, an assortment of fast-food packaging: fragments of polystyrene, plastic bags, newspapers. The tide was ebbing so it quickened the flow of the river. For the next few hours the current would rush its flotsam downstream, away from London and toward the sea.

  After a moment staring at this aquatic convoy heading eastward Ben said to himself, 'You've got two choices. Either forget April. Or find her. Tell her exactly how you feel. The thing is, if it's the latter option you've got to move fast.' A sense that he stood at a crossroads in his life stole over him. 'Remember what they say, you only regret the things you don't do…'

  As he stared out at a night-time London illuminated by the full moon, a barge surged along the waterway. Some prankster had decided that vast steel flank too much like a blank canvas to be resisted. Painted there were these words and symbols:

  VAMPIRE SHARKZ

  ☺ They're coming to get you ☺

  SEVEN

  'Why don't you answer me?'

  'You're not asking the right questions.'

  'What's your name? Why are we here?' She caught the man by the elbow. 'They seem good enough questions to me.'

  'Keep moving,' came his reply. 'If you want to live, you'll follow me and you'll shut up.'

  'Why?'

  'Because if they hear you they'll catch you, then they'll tear you up like they tore up the guy in the yellow shirt. Understand?'

  His words took some of the heat out of April Connor's anger, so she followed this man with the gold-tipped teeth along a path that wove through clumps of willow. Above her, the unnatural moon still burned down as brilliantly as any sun.

  'Why is the moon so bright, then?'

  He put his fingers to his lips and kept walking: a rapid, purposeful walk. Although she didn't know where they were going exactly she realized they'd cut across the island, and even though it couldn't have been more than a hundred yards wide by a couple of hundred long - nothing but a sandbank with a few clumps of trees and bushes - April could no longer see the water. Or that mob on the beach.

  After a few moments the stranger asked, 'Hungry?'

  'I thought talking was forbidden?'

  'We're as far away as we're going to get from your friends, but keep it low, okay?'

  'They're not my friends.'

  'They're nobody's friends now.'

  'That's cryptic.'

  'I asked if you were hungry?'

  'Ravenous. Have you got any food?'

  'Nothing you'd like to eat,' he snapped.

  'I don't always eat mud.'

  'I'm not talking about mud.'

  'Look, what's your name?'

  He paused. 'My name?'

  'Can't you remember it, either?'

  'I've got it back now, but it doesn't feel as if it belongs to me.' He gave a grim smile. Those gold-tipped incisors glinted. 'For the record, I'm called Carter.'

  'Why the record?'

  'Names don't mean anything round here.'

  'They do to me. I'm April Connor.' She held out her hand. 'Mr Carter.'

  He stared at her hand. 'Carter Vaughn. No mister. Still hungry?'

  She nodded. 'To the point of nausea.'

  'They all get like that, April.' He shook her hand. 'That's why you ate dirt, and the others ate stones, then they decided that the big guy should become dinner.'

  'Why did they choose him?'

  'Juiciest. Start walking.'

  She walked in silence for a moment until they reached another shoreline. This one was deserted; the falling tide revealed a stretch of sand that ran out a hundred yards or so. The pains in her stomach flared up again. A sickening spasm that fluidly transformed itself into raging hunger that attacked her veins as much as her stomach.

  April talked to distract herself from the hunger. 'What's this place called?'

  'As far as I know it doesn't have a name.' When he saw the anxiety in her face he smiled. 'Okay, I know you want answers. I call it Willow Island. On account of…' He pulled at the fronds of a willow. 'And Rat Island would do. There's hundreds of the little buggers.'

  'I've been calling it the Isle of the Dead.' She rubbed her stomach. 'It seemed apt.'

  'Yeah, that's a good one, too.'

  'But how did I end up out here in the ocean?'

  'Ocean? This is the River Thames. When it's daylight you can make out Gravesend upstream.'

  The vastness of the twinkling water astounded her. 'But it's huge. I can't see the bank.'

  'That's because it's low-lying. Also we're down near the end of the estuary. Is it getting bad?'

  'Uh?'

  'The hunger?'

  She pressed her lips together as she nodded. Images of cooked meats seared through her - chops, steaks, rib roast, hams, hamburgers, you name it.

  'This is when mud starts looking like Sunday dinner, doesn't it?'

  Again she could only nod as painful cramps snapped her stomach muscles tight. In another effort to distract her she spat out another question. 'How did we get here, Carter?'

  'You know how, April. You know exactly how.'

  'I was attacked. Thrown in the river… from the embankment near Westminster.' She found it hard to speak, the pain was so intense. 'You?'

  'You were bitten on the waist. See the bite mark on my wrist? I thought I was helping some homeless kid in a park. He nearly chewed my hand off, then dumped me in the water at Woolwich. I drifted down with the tide like the rest.'

  'I don't understand…' The pain grew worse.

  'What is there to understand? It's the way it is. All we can do is keep away from the headcases, they get so hungry they'll eat anything. See those teeth marks in the tree trunk?'

  April eyed the trunk of the willow. The bark resembled bacon - or at least it did right then. She saw how satisfying it would be to sink her teeth into the flesh of the tree.

  'Don't try it.' Carter guessed what she was thinking. 'You'll only break your teeth.'

  'But I've got to eat,' she said. 'I can't think properly. I need to bite down on…' She rubbed her forehead as nothing less than starvation ripped through her. 'Just to bite. That would be enough for now.' Even as she spoke she eyed the sand at her feet. Its sugary whiteness shining in the moonlight was so alluring she longed to gorge.

  'Look at me, April. No, look into my face. Eating that crap only makes you sick or snaps your teeth. I'll show you how to stop the worst of the hunger. It won't make it go away but it'll be tolerable. Understand?'

  Reluctantly, she forced herself to stop ogling the crisp sand that offered nothing less than a whole feast beneath her feet.

  'Listen,' Carter told her. 'First we'll deal with the hunger pains, then I'll tell you everything I know. Okay?'

  'Okay. Tell me what I have to do.' By now, she found she couldn't take her eyes off the firm roundness of his Adam's apple.

  Carter pointed at the pool of water left by the high tide. 'There,' he told her. 'Don't eat the mud or the sand, just drink as much as you can.'

  'That puddle?' April Connor clutched her stomach. 'I need food!'

  'You won't get what you want here. Drink that, it'll stop the pains.'

  'Bloody moron,' she hissed. 'That's river water… are you trying to poison me?'

  'Your choice, April. Drink, or go back to those lunatics and eat each other; I've seen it all before.'

  'There's been more of us?'

  'Lots more. Usually they go so crazy they end up back in the water.'

  They made their way down on to the shore that glinted with a series of tidal pools. The one that Carter had indicated was clear enough to reveal bits of broken glass in the bottom. There was a latex g
love, too, with a finger and thumb missing. She fancied she could see some worm-like creatures squirming amongst the sludge.

  'You want me to drink that!'

  'It's the only way, April.'

  'I can't.'

  'You're different from the rest. You haven't gone crazy like them.'

  'Maybe… better… uh, if I had.' Wild lusts blazed through her. A rat scampered up the banking. Catch it! Don't bother killing it first. Devour it alive…

  'Start drinking. If you don't it'll be too late. You lose self-control.'

  'No. I'm not drinking out of a filthy puddle!'

  'Your choice.' He backed away along the path, his hands held out at either side. 'Don't say I never tried to save you.'

  The instant her will power collapsed she didn't so much get down on to her knees as attack the puddle. She hurled herself at it and began drinking. When the palms of her hands couldn't contain enough water she buried her face in it and sucked it straight into her mouth. What she thought would have been cold and bitter turned out to be warm and satisfying. As long as she drank, that is. The moment she stopped the hunger pangs slammed through her with so much force she gasped. So she relentlessly gulped down the water. This came from the estuary; it wasn't freshwater but partly saline. It was that saltiness that made the flavour so irresistible. The minerals in that blend of river and ocean had a pleasing tang. In her mind's eye she saw that solution of saltwater spread through her veins to damp down those fires of rapacious hunger.

  Carter crouched beside her. 'It's working, isn't it?' Quickly, he scooped handfuls of water to his own mouth. 'Every few hours you'll need to come back here and drink.'

  Panting from the exertion of devouring pint after pint of water, she gasped, 'Why this stuff? Why does it work when eating mud doesn't?'

  'If you fill your belly with water it tricks the mind into believing you've eaten. Mud only makes you sick.'

  April sucked each finger in turn where the water had soaked them. 'It's the salt.' Her eyes fixed on those pools of estuary water left by the tide. 'If you drink straight from the river it doesn't have the same effect, does it?'

  'No. Always stick with the tidal pools.'

  'The liquid begins to evaporate leaving the salt behind. These are more intensely saline…' She paused. 'But why do we have a craving for salt?'

  'We crave something that contains salt,' he told her.

  'What's that?'

  'It'll come to you.' As he stood up he continued licking his fingers. 'Come on.'

  'Where now?'

  'I want to show you something.'

  'A boat would be nice… and food.'

  'I've got neither. We're marooned here.'

  'Mr and Mrs Robinson Crusoe.'

  'Hey, you made a joke.' He smiled revealing the gold-tipped teeth. 'That proves you must be feeling better, yeah?'

  'I'm wandering round a desert island in a torn dress, wearing one sandal; I've eaten mud and watched a man torn to pieces. I feel downright tickety-boo.'

  He stopped and looked her in the eye. 'In my book that's feeling better. You're a million times better than those animals back there on the beach. They'll be sat chewing on that guy's face. Not that it'll help them. By morning they'll have gone mad with hunger and thrown themselves back into the river.'

  'Why not show them your magic cure?'

  'The tidal pools? They wouldn't listen. They've all disintegrated up here.' He tapped his head. 'I call them Berserkers. We're the only ones who are still functioning mentally.'

  She became wary. 'So there'll just be me and you on the island?'

  'Not quite. I'll introduce you to the rest of our family.'

  'Family? I've no plans to stay here.'

  'Okay.' He shrugged. 'But how are you going to leave?'

  Once more April Connor found herself following this man, Carter Vaughn, through the clumps of willows.

  'Best make it quick,' he told her. 'The sun will be rising soon.'

  'Thank God. This has to be the longest night of my life.'

  'Trust me, you won't like sunshine anymore.'

  'Why?'

  'Feel your hair,' Carter said.

  'Uh. Yuk.'

  'Sticky, isn't it?'

  'It feels… disgusting. I must have got something on it. Oil or tar.'

  He shook his head. 'Mine's sticky too. We all have sticky hair.'

  'I'll wash it in the river.'

  'It won't do any good. It stays sticky, like you've rubbed syrup into it.'

  'Why?'

  'Because we've changed. I'm not the same Carter Vaughn anymore. You're not the same April Connor.'

  'Oh, I'll be me again, once I get away from this island.'

  'Okay, just you wait and see. Then you'll believe me.'

  Carter made his way up a slight incline into a clump of thick bushes; he was hurrying as if time was running out.

  April called after him, 'So, what's all this about sticky hair and not liking sunlight anymore? What's it all mean?'

  He didn't look back. 'Hurry up. Before it starts to get light.'

  So, what could she do? The man knew enough to stop her going crazy when the hunger pangs started. Maybe he had other information that would be useful. She plunged into the bushes after him. A bird screeched at being disturbed. Dark shapes flitted by her feet as rats fled… or were they circling behind her, ready to sink their incisors into her bare heels?

  'Carter? Where are you?'

  The bushes concealed him now. In fact they were so dense she had to push her way through the lush green branches. The air was heavy with musk-odors as if animals curled up here to sleep in the vegetation. When she reached out to push a creeper back so she could scramble through she encountered a horizontal mass of hard material. For a moment she thought her way had been blocked by a sandstone cliff, but then she saw the remains of a window that was nearly obliterated by ivy.

  A house? With a surge of optimism she pictured herself knocking on a door that would be opened by some boatman who'd say, 'Of course, you can use the telephone.' Then she'd leave this hump of dirt in the river. Only that image of a smiling face Fizzled into disappointment when she put her face to a pane of grubby glass. The place was clearly derelict… and derelict for years at that. In the gloomy interior she could make out what appeared to be abandoned furniture. Peeling wallpaper hung down, like the room was some weird reptile that was in the process of shedding its skin.

  A hand gripped her wrist. April recoiled in shock.

  'This way.' Carter leaned through a mass of trailing willow. 'Hurry. You need to see them before the sun starts to rise.' He beckoned her into a green tunnel formed by the vegetation that led to the front door. The paint had cracked on the timbers. The only window she could see on this side of the property had old cupboard doors nailed across it. As he pulled her through that green tunnel to the derelict, unloved house she suddenly stopped.

  'I don't want to go in there.' That strange arrhythmic breathing began its stuttering gasps again. For some reason the house terrified her. He wanted to show her someone in there - the 'family' - only she didn't want to go. It seemed wrong. There was something rotten inside. She didn't want to see it…

  Terror ran through her in a dark, pulsating stream. The sense of dread was every bit as powerful as the hunger that had gripped her earlier. If she stepped into the house nothing would be the same again. This is where the April Connor she knew would be no more. It wouldn't be her death because death is the end of everything. No, this would be a transition from her old way of life - of planning a new home with her fiance, Trajan - to something new, but something so alien, and so shocking she didn't know whether her mind could handle it. At that moment it really did seem preferable to flee back to the beach where those maniacs tore at one another.

  'April. Hurry. Before it's too late.'

  With a sudden furious strength he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her along the leafy green tunnel toward the door of the derelict house. It had been partly open
. Now it creaked back of its own accord as he dragged her toward it.

  'Carter? What are you going to do to me?'

  Inside. Gloom. Silence. Stillness. A sense of the very air being imprisoned for decades. On the wall a framed photograph of a man and woman standing in front of the house when it still functioned as a dwelling. On the lawn in front of the cottage the photo revealed a rowing boat. Wicker cages of the kind used to catch crabs were stacked against a wall. The faces of the man and woman had vanished. The creeping damp had erased them from the photograph long ago.

  Carter guided her across the hallway to a room. Sheets of wallpaper hung from yellowed plaster. A solitary armchair faced a fireplace that contained dead leaves. Either standing or sitting in the room were six figures. Their clothes were little more than scraps of material that hung from their bodies. They were men and women of different ages. Their skin held bluish tints, their hair glistened… Sticky, April told herself. Sticky hair. She touched her own. It was sticky, too. Like her, they'd either lost their footwear or still retained one shoe. And what struck her the most was their stillness. Their expressionless faces could have been cast from solid plastic. Although their eyes were part open they appeared to focus on nothing. They could have been a group of eccentrics pretending they were recreating a still photograph.