The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London)

by Mark Gillespie

  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 in 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?”

  Charlie smiled. “Yeah.”

  The boy unscrewed the lid and there was a brief hissing noise as the gas escaped from inside. Tipping the bottle back, Charlie poured the dark, sugary liquid down his throat, drinking it down fast like his life depended on it. When he was done, the boy put a hand over his mouth, as if battling the urge to burp.

  “You want something to eat Charlie?” Barboza asked. “Help yourself.”

  Charlie looked down at the half-devoured feast that was scattered on the floor. His eyes scanned the meat, sandwiches and various snacks that had been brought in for Walker and Barboza. After some deliberation, he leaned over and picked up a bag of salt and vinegar crisps off the blankets. He tore open the bag and threw the potato snacks into his mouth, like he hadn’t eaten for days.

  The boy crunched on the crisps loudly. Walker grimaced.

  “What have you been drawing?” Barboza said, pointing to the paper in his hand. “Something nice?”

  Charlie shrugged, all the while shovelling crisps into his mouth.

  “Can I look?” Barboza asked.

  Charlie stared at her for a moment, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to share his artwork with the two visitors. But slowly, he reached an arm out towards Barboza, offering her the paper in his hands.

  Barboza took the two pieces of paper and looked carefully at both drawings.

  “Wow,” she said. “These are great Charlie. Look Walker.”

  She passed them over to Walker, who glanced at both images quickly. It was nothing special. It was a typical child’s drawing – a mess of squiggly lines and bad colouring in. Both pictures featured – as far as Walker could tell – two people standing
side by side, one a giant and the other a midget. They were standing on what looked like a sea of long, green grass underneath a giant orangey-yellow orb that was spitting out heat like it was rain falling from a cloud.

  He handed the drawings back to Barboza.

  “Great,” he said.

  “Is this you?” Barboza asked Charlie, pointing to the smaller of the two figures.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “Can I have one of the sandwiches?”

  “Sure honey,” Barboza said.

  Charlie reached over and grabbed the nearest sandwich off the plate. He tore into the crumbly white bread and the cheesy filling, and to Walker’s horror, the boy’s lips made a horrendous smacking sound as he ate. Walker had always hated that noise.

  “So if you’re the little person,” Barboza asked. “Who’s the big one?”

  The boy slowed his chewing down. And thank God, the lip smacking noises stopped with it.

  “It’s my Mum,” Charlie said, looking at the drawing.

  “Oh,” Barboza said. “Do you mean Carol?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Nah.”

  “It’s your real mum?”

  Charlie reached over and grabbed the two pieces of paper out of Barboza’s hand. He put them down at his side, face down so that the drawings were hidden.

  “Are you okay?” Barboza asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Is it something to do with your mum?” Barboza said. “You can tell us Charlie – we’re your friends.”

  The little boy looked up. Once more, he stole a nervous glance at Walker.

  “Charlie?” Barboza said. “Did something bad happen to your real mum? Is that why you ended up here in Station?”

  “I suppose so,” the boy said, mumbling quietly. “She never showed up.”

  Barboza moved closer to the boy, pushing herself further along the pile of bedding until their arms were almost touching.

  “What does that mean?” Barboza said. “She never showed up for what?”

  “She told me to wait at the station,” Charlie said, looking at Barboza. The boy spoke quietly now, almost in a whisper. Walker had to lean forward in order to hear what he was saying.

  “Said she’d be back to get me but she never showed up,” Charlie said. “Told me to wait at the station.”

  “What station?” Barboza said.

  “Old Street Station,” he said.

  “You were supposed to meet her?” Barboza said. “When was this?”

  “Couple of years ago,” Charlie said. “We were staying in a flat up there – it’s not far from here. One day, we were going out to pick up our Drop Parcel – to get our food bag and...”

  The little boy’s face darkened.

  “It’s okay Charlie,” Barboza said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

  “There was a rogue on the street,” Charlie said. “A madman – that’s what Mum called them before we knew that other people called them rogues. It came after us, screaming and hissing. Mum tried to run away with me in her arms – she had to drop the parcel ’cos she couldn’t carry that and me at the same time. So she dropped the parcel, but I was too heavy anyway. She put me down and then she screamed at me.”

  “She screamed at you?” Barboza said. “Why?”

  Charlie nodded. “She was screaming at me, telling me to go to Old Street,” he said. “The station. Said she’d come back and meet me there later. I was crying because I didn’t want to leave her with that monster chasing her. But she was yelling and screaming, like she was angry with me. She ran off, making a lot of noise, so that the rogue went after her and not me.”

  “And what did you do?” Barboza said.

  “I did what she told me to,” Charlie said. “I went to Old Street and I waited until it got dark but she didn’t come back.”

  Walker and Barboza exchanged a quick glance, as if neither one of them were quite sure of what to say.

  “You know Charlie,” Barboza said. “Just because she didn’t get back to Old Street…it doesn’t mean that she’s dead.”

  “She’s dead,” Charlie said. “The rogue got her.”

  Barboza slid an arm around the boy’s back.

  “No,” she said. “You mustn’t give up hope Charlie. That’s all we’ve got after all isn’t it? Hope. We’ve met quite a few rogues in our time and they’re pretty stupid you know? And they can’t run very fast either because they’re in such bad physical shape. Was your mum a good runner Charlie?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah. She was.”

  “Well then,” Barboza said. “I’d say there’s a good chance that your mum got away from that rogue. Yeah? Wouldn’t you agree Walker? Don’t you think that there’s a good chance that Charlie’s mum got away?”

  Walker glared at Barboza. He could fell the boy’s eyes upon him, probing him for some further assurance of hope.

  “Maybe,” Walker said.

  “Then why didn’t she meet me?” Charlie said. “I was there at the station. Why didn’t she show up?”

  Barboza looked at Walker. Walker shook his head at her, trying to let her know that it was dangerous to feed the boy false hope. And that it was cruel too.

  But Barboza didn’t seem to understand.

  “There could be lots of reasons she didn’t make it,” Barboza said. “She might have gotten delayed. I don’t know – maybe she fell and bumped her head. Amnesia? I don’t know Charlie but all I’m trying to say is that the rogue might not have got to her. You know? It’s not an absolute certainty that things ended up that way.”

  Walker saw hope in the boy’s eyes, flickering like candlelight in the dark. It was painful. Yes, some madman had probably devoured her and it was a terrible thing.

  But it was the truth.

  “Who knows Charlie?” Barboza said. “Just don’t look so sad, please.”

  “But if she’s not dead,” Charlie said. “Then she’s out there with the bad men tonight. Isn’t she? What if she’s alive? What if she’s out there looking for me with the bad men running about?”

  Walker heard panic leaking into the boy’s voice.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?” he said to Charlie.

  Charlie looked at Walker, wide-eyed, like he’d just snapped out of a daydream.

  “It’s finished for the day,” Charlie said. “I’m going to meet Carol and then we’re going for a walk around the block. We do it every day and we have to to get out early today because of the bad men. Do you want to come with us?”

  Walker shook his head.

  “Nah,” he said. “We’ve done enough walking for one day. Off you go mate. Take the Coke and takes some food with you if you want.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Aye, on you go.”

  Charlie knelt down and scooped up the half-empty bottle of Coke. Then he gathered a few items from the leftover trays of food on the floor. He jumped back to his feet and Walker noticed that the boy’s step was lighter now.

  Just before he ran off, Charlie turned around and gave them both a quick wave. Then he hurried out the entrance, back into the concourse.

  Walker looked at Barboza, shaking his head.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Walker said. “His mum’s dead. What’s the point in giving him false hope like that? He’s probably spent the last couple of years trying to come to terms with it and you’ve just set him back.”

  “I know,” Barboza said. She looked pissed off with herself. “It just spiralled out of control. I didn’t even see it happening until it was too late. I couldn’t help it – I’m just sick of all this death and sorrow Walker. I just wanted to say something to make him feel better. To make a little boy smile, you know? Is it really that bad? So he thinks there’s a chance that the rogue didn’t kill his mum. Who wants that image in their head when it comes to their mother and how she died?”

  “Sometimes it’s better to say nothing,” Walker said. “That way he’ll accept t
he hard truth early.”

  “And is that what you did Walker?” Barboza said. “Accepted the hard truth early on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Barboza looked at him.

  “Nine years you stayed in Stanmore Road,” she said. “Nine years living in that house alone, waiting for them to come back. All that time passed and you still didn’t give up hope that they might be alive somewhere. Yeah? And despite everything, you still haven’t given up hope. Deep down, you think there’s a chance that your parents are still alive and you’re clinging to that. Is it so bad that little Charlie’s got something to cling to now?”

  Chapter 10

  Walker’s eyelids felt heavy.

  He found himself sinking deeper into the pile of warm blankets. And yet a part of his mind resisted the need for sleep. Here he was, trapped by circumstances beyond his control, surrounded by people that he knew nothing about.

  What would happen if he closed their eyes? Sleep? Something else?

  But he was losing the fight. He was tired and it didn’t help that Barboza had already drifted off beside him. She was lying a few feet away in a crumpled heap on top of the blankets, curled up into a tight ball, her head submerged in a dirty white pillow.

  Walker’s eyes shut slowly, regardless of his concern. He kept his fingers wrapped around the handle of the axe as his back slid down the wall. His head landed on one of the battered pillows and it felt like warm and gentle fingers running down his cheek.

  Then everything went black.

  When he opened his eyes, somebody was screaming.

  Panic flooded his mind. He reached for the handle of the axe, which his fingers had let go of at some point while he was asleep. As soon as he grabbed the axe, he jumped off the makeshift bed. But for a moment he had no idea where he was. He was in a strange place, acting on instinct. His head was swimming and all the pieces hadn’t come back together yet.