Staying off the path, they ducked behind the trunk of a large tree. Now they were just a short distance from the City Road exit, but still safely tucked out of sight.
Walker looked down towards the gate. There were about ten to fifteen Ghosts down there.
Carol was there too.
One of the Ghosts – a thickset man with pale white skin and tribal tattoos plastered over his arms and chest – had his arm locked around Carol’s waist. He was pulling her towards the Sprinter van on the main road. Carol resisted, punching and kicking at his body and legs. The Ghost clamped a hand around her throat. As he squeezed, Carol gasped and closed her eyes. Her hands immediately went to her neck, trying to prise open the Ghost’s fingers.
Walker felt sick to his stomach.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Where’s Charlie?” Barboza said. “I can’t see him.”
Walker looked into the huddle of Ghosts gathered at the entrance. Most of the masked figures were standing on the sidelines, watching Carol as she was led towards the back of the van. Much to Walker’s dismay, the tall Ghost was there too. With the aid of torchlight and the car headlights coming into the graveyard from the road, Walker got a better look at the sword the tall Ghost was carrying. Walker was certain that he was looking at the graceful curved shape of a samurai sword.
“See him?” Barboza asked.
“I don’t see Charlie,” Walker said.
“Where the hell is he?” Barboza said. “What happened to him?”
They’d heard Carol yelling at Charlie to run. By the looks of it, that’s exactly what the boy had done and not only that, he’d given the Ghosts the slip too. At least that’s what they were hoping had happened. But how far could a little boy, alone and scared out his wits, go in this place?
The pale Ghost had by now dragged Carol to the back of the Sprinter van. She didn’t stop fighting him but it was no use. He opened the door and Walker and Barboza watched as she was thrown inside. The Ghost slammed the van doors shut and walked back to the others.
“Shit,” Barboza said. “She’s in the van. How do we help her?”
But Walker didn’t answer. He was trying to listen in on a conversation that was taking place between the tall Ghost with the police badge, and one of the others. They were speaking just loud enough for Walker to overhear if he strained his ears.
“The kid’s still in here Captain,” the other Ghost said. “And the other two, but they might be long gone by now. I think the boy’s close though. Want me to take another look?”
The tall Ghost didn’t answer at first. He seemed to be looking over the shoulder of the speaker. Although Walker couldn’t see the man’s eyes behind the mask, he knew they were moving back and forth across the burial ground. For a second, the tall Ghost looked at the tree that was shielding Walker and Barboza.
They both ducked their heads behind the trunk.
Walker didn’t dare breathe. There was a moment’s silence that seemed to last forever. Then finally, Walker heard the tall Ghost replying to the other one.
“We don’t have time to waste in here,” the Ghost said.
Walker poked his head out from behind the tree again. The tall Ghost was no longer staring in their direction, thank God. He had his back turned to Walker and Barboza, and he was talking to his men, speaking in a loud, deep voice that commanded their attention.
“Forget the other two,” he said. “We might stumble across them somewhere else. But the boy’s still in here and we’ll get him now. You lot ship out, I’ll grab him. I’ll put him in the boot and meet you at the next stop. Got it?”
“You sure Captain?” the other Ghost said.
The tall Ghost nodded. “You lot move on – go on, get out of here. We’ve got a lot of stops to make tonight.”
The rest of the Ghosts did what they were told. They filed out of Bunhill Fields and hurried back towards the pickup and Sprinter van parked out front.
“They’re taking Carol away,” Barboza said. She grabbed a hold of Walker’s arm. “Shit Walker, if we don’t do something now we’ve lost her for good. Are we going to help her or not?”
Deep down, Walker knew the answer. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t heroic either.
“What?” he said looking at Barboza. “You tell me what to do. What do you suggest? All my ideas for saving Carol end up with us getting thrown in the back of that van. Carol’s gone. You think she’d come after us? No, and she’d be right to stay put. What was it she told us earlier Barboza? Don’t try to be a hero. And what about Charlie? He’s alone in here somewhere and that big fucker with the sword is about to go looking for him.”
Barboza’s brown eyes glistened in the darkness. Walker felt her pain, but he knew he was right. And she probably did too.
“I know,” Walker said. “It sucks. I hate myself for saying it but the truth is we’ve lost Carol. But we can help Charlie. That’s what she’d want us to do.”
Outside the gate, the pickup and the Sprinter van pulled away from the kerb. They took off down City Road, travelling south to the next destination.
The Audi remained parked outside the gate. The tall Ghost was now standing alone near the stone pillars at the entrance. Walker and Barboza watched from afar as he shone a torch into Bunhill Fields. The narrow strip of white light went back and forth, returning briefly to the tree where Walker and Barboza were hiding. Fortunately they saw it coming and ducked out of sight in time.
The torchlight lingered nearby for a second or two. Then it moved on.
Walker then heard the sound of footsteps, crunching over the dry grass. Looking out, he saw the Ghost walking off towards his right, off the main path.
“Are you ready?” Walker said. “We need to find Charlie before he does.”
She nodded. “Ready?”
They stepped out from behind the tree, cutting along the grass that led towards the main path. From there, they followed the Ghost’s route, moving deeper into the burial grounds. Deeper into the darkness.
After that, it was a guessing game.
They climbed over a short steel fence that led into a small plot of land, yet another one spilling over with ancient, broken headstones and long grass. They climbed over another fence, which brought them onto yet another path. They might as well have been walking through a labyrinth blindfolded.
Walker looked back and forth for any sign of movement. He was listening for the slightest sound to alert them to the Ghost’s presence. But there was no sound, just an eerie silence permeating through the graveyard.
After a while, Walker was about to suggest to Barboza that they turn around and retrace their steps. He thought it wise to go back to the gate, to make sure the Ghost hadn’t given them the slip. Just as he was about to say this, they heard a noise behind them, off the main path.
Heavy footsteps. Somebody was running, and it sounded like they were going back towards the City Road exit.
A child screamed.
“Charlie!” Barboza yelled. She took off, running in the direction of the noise.
Walker went after her. They were running through the dark graveyard, guided only by that lone scream and the sound of the tall Ghost thundering along the path. The Ghost must have known he was being followed. He must have waited for them to go past before trying to make a run for it.
Walker and Barboza threw all caution to the wind. They ran as hard as they could and to hell with the risk of running into a trap, toppling over gravestones, or running face first into one of the trees. They couldn’t lose Charlie. To make matters worse, Walker had seen the tall Ghost running earlier and he knew how fast the man could move.
Against all odds however, they were gaining on him. Perhaps Charlie was fighting back and making it difficult for the Ghost to run fast enough. Maybe the boy was heavier than he looked. Whatever it was, the footsteps up ahead were getting louder. Seconds later, Walker could see the freakishly tall Ghost running at full speed over a stretch of long grass. He was taking giant strides
, with Charlie scooped under his arm like the boy was a folded up rug.
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 Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London) Page 51
