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

by Mark Gillespie

  The tall Ghost went after the woman and child. He ran along City Road, covering ground like a world-class sprinter in the Olympic hundred metres final. His arms and legs were a lightning fast blur, the muscles pumping back and forth, generating tremendous speed.

  It was a foregone conclusion. It only took the tall Ghost a few seconds to catch up with the woman as she tried to exit City Road. The woman stopped running and turned to face her pursuer. There was a fierce look in her eyes and for a moment, she no longer looked like a prey animal. Walker believed it too; he believed that she would stand there and fight to the death in order to save her child. But although she did struggle, the Ghost was too strong for her. He didn’t even look like he was close to breaking a sweat as he dragged them back to the car.

  “Oh fuck,” Barboza said. “Walker, can’t we do something?”

  “There’s nothing we can do for them,” Carol said. She and Charlie were now standing a few feet inside the gate, having entered Bunhill Fields ahead of Walker and Barboza.

  “Don’t even think about being a hero tonight,” Carol said. “Either one of you. No matter what you see, stay out of sight or join the rest of the victims in the farm. That woman should have been in Station tonight. She failed her daughter by taking her chances on the street.”

  Walker looked back towards City Road. The tall Ghost had by now tied the woman’s arms behind her back with heavy tape. He then did the same with the little girl and to finish, he put the tape over their mouths to gag them. Finally they were bundled into the backseat and pushed down so they were lying on their sides.

  Walker felt sick. He could only imagine the fate that awaited them. But he knew that Carol was right too – if they tried to play heroes hey would end up as victims instead, joining the others in the back of the Sprinter van en route to the farm.

  “Okay,” Walker said. “Time to…”

  He was cut off in mid-sentence by a series of short, sharp beeps coming from either the pickup or the Sprinter van, still parked outside the restaurant. Walker and the others looked down that way. The Ghosts had by now bundled their captives into the back of the van. But instead of getting back into their vehicles and moving on, they were standing huddled outside on the street, grouped together in one giant pack.

  They were standing stiff and alert, like they’d seen something.

  It didn’t take Walker long to realise what it was. And when he did, his blood ran cold.

  The Ghosts were looking at them.

  Somebody shouted a command and all hell broke loose. The Ghosts hurried back into their vehicles, moving as if it was their lives that depended on it. Seconds later, both vehicle engines roared, like a great god growling in the bowels of the earth. The pickup truck came speeding along City Road towards Bunhill Fields, followed close behind by the Sprinter van.

  “Move!” Walker yelled to the others.

  They ran into the old burial ground – Carol and Charlie at the front, Barboza in the middle, and Walker at the rear. Everything was black and the warm night air grasped at their skin as they rushed forward. The faint outline of tall trees and large headstones surrounded them, dark spectres standing watch over the dead.

  Walker heard the sound of screeching brakes on City Road. The pickup truck and the Sprinter van were pulling up outside the gate of the old graveyard. He heard the doors being flung open, the sound of Doc Marten boots jumping onto the concrete.

  Walker and the others ran deeper into the vast darkness of Bunhill Fields. Walker was slightly ahead of the group, searching for anything that resembled a good place to hide.

  His eyes worked frantically but although there was enough visibility to avoid bumping into things, it was too dark to see anything clearly. There were too many clouds that night to allow any moonlight from the heavens to seep through into Bunhill Fields. It was just Walker’s luck – almost every other night that summer had seen clear skies.

  He veered off the public path, running onto a stretch of long, dry grass. All around, the tall trees bent over them like villainous giants out of a fairy tale. The footsteps of Barboza, Carol and Charlie were close behind him. Walker figured that their best option was probably to seek shelter behind the trees or the headstones and bury themselves in the long grass as best they could. There was no way they could outrun the Ghosts, not with a little boy in their midst. That meant darkness was their new best friend. So too was the vastness of Bunhill Fields, the long grass and the decaying headstones.

  The Ghosts must have been confident about catching their prey. So confident that they felt no need to bother with the silent and subtle approach. To Walker, it sounded like a herd of buffalo were closing in on them.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Several narrow beams of torchlight were darting back and forth amongst the trees.

  Walker felt his heart pounding. There had to be somewhere they could lay low. He saw several rows of old headstones situated on the grass off the main path. They were ancient and had been ravaged over time by the English elements. There were probably hundreds of thousands of people buried in these grounds, dating back many centuries. Some of the more notable monuments had been fenced off to protect them from being damaged by the public.

  He led the others towards a crowd of smaller headstones. These were located on a rectangular stretch of grass, off the main path. The headstones in this section of the graveyard probably belonged to the deceased commoners of long ago, people who had been considered less important than those who’d been given the monuments. But Walker would forever be in debt to these commoners if they offered them shelter from the murderous rain.

  And that was a big if.

  The grass was long and it intermingled with an endless supply of tall wildflowers. Walker and the other adults ducked behind a stone each, sinking down into the grass, burying themselves so deep that they became part of their surroundings.

  Carol kept Charlie close to her, both of them ducking behind the same headstone. She pulled the boy tight to her chest, all the while forcing herself deeper into the long grass. Walker looked over and saw the mute terror in the boy’s face. Charlie looked as if he was in a trance, his eyes vacant, not blinking.

  Walker and Barboza lay silent in the tall grass. If they didn’t move or breathe – if they could remain as quiet as the hundreds of rotten corpses underneath them, then Walker figured they had a chance.

  The Ghosts’ footsteps were fading. Walker could still hear them somewhere in the graveyard, but they weren’t any closer. But he didn’t dare to hope. He just lay there, burrowing as far into the dry earth as best he could. After a few moments, Barboza’s face peered at him through the grass. He nodded, letting her know that they were okay.

  For now.

  A few seconds later, she wriggled through the grass towards him.

  “You think they’re gone?” she whispered.

  Walker shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Soon there was no sound. There were no voices calling out to one another in the distance. No Doc Martens slapping off the concrete paths. But Walker remained cautious. His best guess was that the Ghosts were searching for them in another part of the cemetery – it was a huge place after all and there was a lot of ground to cover. With any luck, the Ghosts would realise that Bunhill Fields was too big. And maybe they weren’t willing to spend all night searching from one end to another for four people. Not when there was an entire city to plunder.

  Walker looked over at Barboza.

  “You know something?” he asked.

  She scrunched up her face in confusion. “What?”

  “My life wasn’t so bad up there on Stanmore Road,” he said. “Was it?”

  Barboza shook her head. “I’m sorry Walker,” she said.

  “I know.”

  To Walker’s left, Carol and Charlie were sitting up a little, poking their head out of the grassy hiding place. Carol looked over at Walker and Barboza.

  “Are you two okay?” Walker asked.

  Carol nodded. “We got lu
cky,” she said. “I think we’ve given them the slip.”

  Walker looked at Charlie. The boy was coming out of his daze a little. He was looking around at his surroundings, his eyes bright and curious. Walker recalled that Charlie still didn’t know exactly what the ‘bad men’ were doing out there on the streets tonight. He just knew that they were ‘bad men’ doing bad things.

  “You alright wee man?” Walker asked.

  Walker was expecting a nod or grunt at most. But to his surprise, Charlie spoke back to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking first at Carol, then at Walker and Barboza.

  Carol squeezed him tight, burying her face in his bowl-cut hair. Her eyes were closed but Walker knew that she was crying.

  “It’s okay,” Walker said. He kept his axe buried underneath the grass so that Charlie didn’t have to see it. “You wanted to see your mum. I get it. I waited nine years in the same house, waiting for my mum and dad to come back.”

  Charlie’s eyes were wide open. “Did you lose them?”

  Walker smiled. “Aye, I lost them.”

  The little boy stared at Walker.

  “Are they going to grab us?” he said. “Like they did with that man on the street?”

  “No,” Walker said. “But listen up. I’m going to tell you what to do just in case they do, alright? If somebody grabs you like they did that man on the street, you do whatever you have to do to get them off you, okay? Don’t be shy. Be nasty. Poke them in the eye, bite them – bite them as hard as you can okay? Get your teeth right into the skin and make them bleed. They deserve it ’cos they’re bad men Charlie. Aye? Do what you have to do.”

  Charlie nodded. “Do what you have to do,” he said.

  Walker winked at the boy. “Right.”

  Carol lifted her head up and smiled at Walker. To Walker’s surprise, she even smiled at Barboza too.

  Barboza returned the gesture, ending their feud silently.

  “My mum’s dead,” Charlie said, looking at Walker. “The rogue got her.”

  “Probably,” Walker said. “It makes sense, but you know what? You don’t have to believe it. I think my mum and dad are still out there somewhere.”

  Barboza reached over and gave Charlie a playful tap on the arm. She was about to say something but was cut off by a sudden noise.

  Voices. Footsteps.

  The Ghosts were coming back.

  Walker and the others dove back down into their hiding places. Nothing to worry about, Walker thought, immersing himself in the dry, dirty surroundings. The Ghosts were just passing through after an unsuccessful search elsewhere in Bunhill Fields. Now they were on their way back to the City Road entrance, having given up the chase. Soon they’d all be back in the pickup and Sprinter van. They’d drive the hell out of there and it would be over.

  They were getting closer. The voices, although muffled through the masks, were louder than ever.

  “Four of ’em,” a gruff voice said. “They’re still in ’ere. I know it.”

  “Split up,” another man’s voice said. “Look in those little square bits of grass over there, just off the path. Spread yourselves about and use the torches. They can’t hide from all of us.”

  Walker’s heart sank. He felt like screaming with fear and frustration.

  He lay there in the dirt, listening to several of them approaching the narrow pathway. Now they were walking alongside the stretch of grass where Walker and the others were hiding. They were on the path and it was too damn close. He looked up and saw a thin beam of torchlight moving back and forth amongst the scattering of headstones, just a short distance away.

  Walker didn’t dare breathe. He didn’t dare blink. He wished that he could bury himself deeper in the grass but there was only so far he could go without bumping into the original occupant of the gravesite.

  He heard two of them talking on the pathway. Somebody was shining a torch into the grass, searching both areas on either side of the concrete walkway. The light was coming closer.

  “They’re in ’ere somewhere,” a muffled voice said.

  Walker took slow, deep breaths. He fought the urge to panic, to get up and make a run for it. He turned to his left and saw the faint outline of Barboza, buried deep within the grass. But behind her, Walker saw something that almost made his heart stop.

  Carol was sitting up. And Charlie was sitting up with her. She hand her hands under his armpits, like she’d dragged him out of their hiding place.

  The light was closer still.

  Walker signalled towards her, screaming with his eyes, pleading with her to lie back down again. But Carol was looking straight through him. She just sat there, shaking her head back and forth like she’d reached her breaking point. Like she’d succumbed to the same panic that Walker had been fighting off.

  She looked at Charlie, her eyes all apologies.

  Torchlight landed on nearby headstones.

  Walker didn’t know what he was supposed to do. It was too late to rush over there and drag her down into the dirt against her will. Has she really lost hope? Did she love Charlie so much that she couldn’t bear the thought of what they’d do to him?

  Carol looked at Walker, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. She whispered the words – “I must save him.”

  Then she turned back to Charlie.

  Carol pulled the boy towards her – a fierce embrace that lasted a second or two. She then whispered something to him and began to crawl away from their hiding place on her hands and knees. Looking back at Charlie with a tortured smile, she encouraged him to do the same. Charlie turned back, looking at Walker and Barboza for guidance. Barboza knew better than to make any sudden movement, but Walker saw the horror in her eyes as she watched events unfolding.

  Carol reached over and lifted Charlie into her arms. With one last look at Walker and Barboza, she leapt to her feet and ran off into the night, carrying the bewildered boy through the darkness.

  A single beam of torchlight went after them.

  “There!” a man’s voice said. “I see one of ’em. She’s taking off!”

  There was a loud crunching noise. Heavy footsteps trampled through the dry grass, going after Carol and Charlie.

  Walker and Barboza kept still, lying down in the dirt. Walker listened to the frantic, gruesome breathing of the two men underneath the gas masks.

  Soon the footsteps and torchlight receded into the distance. Walker and Barboza sat upright at the same time. They looked at one another – Barboza looked like she was going to throw up. Walker felt the same.

  “What the fuck?” Barboza said. “Why did she do that?”

  “She got spooked,” Walker said, checking to see if the coast was clear.

  Before Barboza could say anything else, they heard a scream. It was nearby, somewhere within the burial grounds. It was a woman’s scream – a bloodcurdling shriek that made Walker jump out of his skin.

  “Charlie!” Carol yelled. She sounded a long way off now. Walker barely recognised her voice, so twisted and distorted with panic as it was.

  “Run Charlie!” Carol screamed.

  Chapter 16

  Barboza jerked forwards, like she was about to run after Carol and Charlie.

  To her credit, this was her first instinct – to play the part of the hero. But Walker knew that playing the hero meant losing. Carol had already told them that. It meant both of them ending up in the back of the Sprinter van, taped up and sitting alongside all the other fresh produce on its way to the farm.

  And he didn’t want that for either of them.

  When Barboza moved, Walker reached out and grabbed her by the forearm. He yanked her back down into a sitting position, ignoring the hurt and confusion in her dark brown eyes.

  When she didn’t resist, Walker guessed she understood why he was doing it. Anything was better than a kamikaze rescue mission.

  They heard Carol screaming again, a little further away this time. It sounded like they were taking her towards the City Road e
xit.

  “She’s fighting them,” Barboza said. “Oh fuck Walker. They’ve got Carol and Charlie. We can’t leave them. What are we going to do?”

  Walker didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t any clear-cut solution that was going to result in a happy ending for everyone. That much was clear. It all looked so easy in the movies, being a hero. But if he was to charge across Bunhill Fields gung-ho like a white knight he was certain that the bad guys weren’t going to roll over like they were following a script.

  But doing nothing wasn’t an option either. Sure, it was their best chance of staying alive. But how was Walker going to live with himself if he left Carol and Charlie to their fate? It was bad enough that he’d already left so many strangers to the same fate – the people in the restaurant, the woman and child on City Road. How could he do the same to Carol and Charlie?

  Walker looked back and forth, making sure there were no more Ghosts in the area. He got back to his feet, helping Barboza up at the same time.

  “I think they’re shipping out,” Walker said. “They’re taking them to the vans.”

  “We’ve got to do something Walker,” Barboza said.

  “I know,” he said. “Look let’s get down to the front, okay? Take a look before we do something stupid.”

  “Yeah.”

  They crept down towards the front gate, staying on the grass in order to avoid the main path. Whenever they heard anything they’d take cover behind the nearest tree and wait for about thirty seconds. Only when they were certain the coast was clear, did they come out and continue towards the gate.

  Walker could feel the sweat running down his back. Trudging through Bunhill Fields was like walking through the corridors of a stifling, claustrophobic nightmare.

  Up ahead, they saw the bright lights of the vehicles parked at the entrance of the graveyard. Walker thought he could see three sets of headlights this time – the pickup and the Sprinter van he knew about but the other one? Was it the Audi with the woman and child in the back?

  He thought about the tall Ghost, the one with the sword at his waist. Walker didn’t want to see him again.