“We’re going to sleep here tonight,” Barboza said, sitting down beside Charlie. “Then tomorrow morning we’ll take you back to Station. We’ll get you home, yeah? Just like we said we were going to do.”
The boy nodded.
Walker stood in the aisle, watching them for a moment. He was thankful that Barboza was there because Walker wouldn’t have known what to do with the kid. He’d had no experience whatsoever with children and up until he’d walked into Station earlier that day, he hadn’t seen one of them in nine years.
“Let’s find somewhere to sleep,” he said, casting an eye around the chapel.
“Can we do something first?” Barboza said.
“What?”
For a second, Walker thought she was going to ask if they could pray.
“Check the front door’s locked. Or at least that it’s shut and wasn’t left hanging open by your mate. That’s a surefire way to tempt someone in off the street, and I don’t want to see anyone else tonight.”
“Aye, okay.”
Walker limped slightly on his left leg as he made his way towards the door. The front door was locked – it didn’t look like it had been touched. To his left, he saw a smear of dark liquid on the floor leading towards the broken window. Walker guessed that Sumo Dave had found the door locked and climbed back through the same window he’d used to enter the chapel. He must have pushed the corpse out ahead of him.
Walker peered through the broken window. The dark outline of Wesley’s statue was visible in the middle of the courtyard. It was quiet out there now. Almost peaceful.
That’s when it hit him – the realisation of what had happened. Sumo Dave, his old friend – he was alive. Walker should have been ecstatic. So why did it feel like he’d just discovered Sumo’s corpse rotting up a London back alley?
Maybe it’s because his friend was dead after all.
Walker stayed there for a while, looking out of the broken window and standing in the darkness. Time passed, but he wasn’t counting.
When he eventually returned into the chapel, Barboza and Charlie had already found somewhere to sleep. They’d made their way upstairs to the oval gallery, out of reach of the horrors that had just taken place on the lower level. Walker found the wooden stairs that led up to the gallery and when he got there, he found Barboza setting down a couple of light brown tablecloths on the hard, narrow space in between the pews. Charlie was standing next to her, watching her do it.
“All good?” she asked, noticing Walker at the top of the stairs.
“The door’s shut,” Walker said. “Locked. Sumo Dave climbed out through the window.”
“What about that rogue?” Barboza asked.
“I think he’s still dead.”
Barboza laughed. “Very funny smart arse,” she said. “I mean, how do you think he got in? He was already in here before your mate smashed the window. Know what I mean?”
Walker sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe he smashed a window round the back. Look, if anyone else was in here we’d have seen them by now. Right? We’re only going to be here for a short while so let’s try and get some sleep.”
He looked at Barboza’s handiwork on the floor. “Are we using tablecloths as bed sheets?”
“Got a problem with that?”
“Nope.”
“Found ’em downstairs,” Barboza said. “Had to take Charlie for a pee and I didn’t want to take him outside. So he ended up using an old glass bottle that was sitting on the table downstairs. There were two tablecloths on it and one of ’em just happens to your bed for the night sir. Best we’re going to get. Did you find any water?”
Walker shook his head. “Didn’t even look. I’m too tired to drink.”
“That’s alright,” Barboza said. “I think we can wait till morning, eh Charlie?”
“Yeah,” the boy said.
Charlie walked over and dropped onto the floor where Barboza had laid the tablecloth down. Barboza lay down beside him, keeping one arm on the boy’s shoulder.
“Sleep well,” Walker said.
“Better get these lights out quick,” Barboza said. “We’ve left them on too long as it is.”
“Aye I know. I’ll take care of it.”
Walker limped back downstairs as quickly as he could and turned off the light switch next to the pulpit. The chapel was plunged into darkness. Apart from some minor bumps and a slight trip on the stairs, he got back up to the gallery without any major incidents.
Walker found the narrow space on the floor that was his bed for the night. With an exhausted groan, he lay down on the cool tablecloth and wriggled around on the hard surface, trying to get comfortable.
Fat chance. But it was better than being out there on the streets.
He heard Barboza breathing softly in the next row down. It sounded like she’d already drifted off into a deep sleep. The boy was snoring too – a soft whistling sound that Walker found oddly soothing and irritating at the same time.
For Walker, it was going to be a long night. He was sure of it. How could he be expected to sleep with everything that had happened?
And yet it didn’t take long until his eyelids grew heavy. He felt his head rolling back and forth on the thin strip of tablecloth that lay in between him and the floor.
The room was spinning again.
Walker fell into a deep sleep and thank God, he didn’t dream.
Chapter 20
Daylight poured into the chapel. It came hard like a flood, gushing through the large stained glass windows that towered above the pulpit.
Walker put a hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the light. He lifted his head off the floor and looked to his right. There was no sign of Barboza and Charlie in the next row along. Their crude tablecloth bed was wrinkled and empty.
He sat up, trying to shake the sleep out of his head. Immediately, he felt a dull pain in his arms and legs but it wasn’t as bad as it had been the night before. Looking down, he noticed some light yellowy-brown bruising scattered upon both arms. Along with the scratches the tiger had given him at the New River, his arms were marking up noticeably.
The aches and pains he could handle. His thirst was more of an immediate concern. Walker hadn’t had a drink of water since they’d left Station yesterday evening and by now that felt like a lifetime ago.
He pushed himself onto his feet, dusting down his black t-shirt and jeans. His clothes stank of stale sweat and they were covered in dried dirt stains, a reminder of their time in Bunhill Fields. Walker tried to brush some of the dirt off with his hands but just like the memories, the dirt was imprinted upon him.
With a sigh, he walked downstairs. His movement was slow and laboured, like that of a man fifty years his senior. He trudged down the aisle, trying to avoid looking at the bloodstained floor where the rogue had dropped dead. But as he approached the door, Walker saw the thick trail of dark red smeared across the aisle where Sumo Dave had dragged the corpse towards the window.
The front door of the chapel was lying wide open. Walker could see Barboza and Charlie sitting on the front step outside, in between the double Greek-style columns on the building’s exterior. Barboza and Charlie had their backs to Walker as he approached but he could tell they were soaking their faces in the morning sun.
Barboza must have heard his footsteps. She turned around and smiled at him.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning,” Walker replied.
All things considering, Barboza and Charlie looked refreshed. Like it was just another day in the city of London and they couldn’t wait to get started on whatever the world had planned for them. Last night was in the rear-view mirror; the terrible things that had happened still felt like a dream.
For now.
Walker sat down beside them, putting Charlie in the middle of the two adults. He closed his eyes and felt the heat touching his skin – a strange, almost cleansing sensation. From somewhere nearby, he could hear the birds chattering away to
one another in the trees.
“It’s a beautiful morning,” Barboza said.
Walker nodded, then he looked at Charlie. “How’s it going wee man?” he said. “Did you get any sleep?”
Charlie shrugged. “I had a dream about Carol,” he said.
“Aye?” Walker said. He didn’t want to hear about that dream. And upon closer inspection, he noticed that the boy’s eyes were red and swollen, like he’d been crying for days.
Barboza pulled Charlie closer to her.
“So now what?” she asked, looking at Walker.
“We take him back to Station,” Walker said.
“Back to the good guys,” Charlie said.
“Back to the good guys,” Walker repeated.
“And then what do we do?” Barboza said. “You and me.”
Walker shrugged. “We go south,” he said. “The plan remains the same.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“But that’s where they came from,” Barboza said. “You still want to go down there? After everything you saw last night?”
Walker scratched his chin, his fingernails working through the coarse stubble.
“Nothing’s changed,” he said.
Barboza looked at him. Occasional pockets of bronze skin shone through the dirt that clung to her face.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Hatchet did this,” Walker said. “He did all of it. He made the Ghosts, the rogues, the M25 and everything else in this city. He killed Charlie’s mum, he locked you up in here with us, and he stole my parents from me. He destroyed Sumo Dave too – the person I knew. He has to pay for it all. He has to.”
Walker looked at her.
“It’s not your fight though,” he said. “You can stay here, you know that. In Bedlam.”
“Sure I can,” Barboza whispered. “I’m the one who ruined your life. You were forced out of your home because of what I pretended to be. What kind of person would I be if I ditched you on the side of the road?”
“The smart kind,” Walker said. “It wasn’t you who forced me out of my home.”
“Maybe,” Barboza said. “Maybe not.”
“Is there any water?” Walker asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “There’s a sink in that little house on the left.”
Barboza pointed towards a small Georgian style house that was neatly tucked into the side of the large courtyard.
“We ran the tap and the water’s still good,” she said. “I think people have been stopping here, you know? Using this place like a hotel.”
“Aye,” Walker said. “Just like us.”
“How you feeling anyway?” she asked. “No broken bones?”
Walker slowly got back to his feet.
“No broken bones,” he said, starting towards the house.
Charlie stood up at the same time as Walker. Just as Walker felt older than his years that morning, Charlie looked like he’d abandoned the last pretence of childhood overnight. Walker saw a hardness forming in the boy’s eyes. It would be the same for all other children behind the M25, who would be forced into premature adulthood.
“I want to go home,” he said.
Charlie walked towards the gate. He didn’t bother to check if Walker or Barboza were following.
They travelled south, towards Station.
Throughout the short journey, they kept to a steady if sluggish pace. All around them, the city was asleep and they were creeping past, trying not to wake her.
There was no one lingering on the street corners, no scratching man, and no man in the hat. The screeching tires and revving engines of the meat wagons were gone.
It was about fifteen minutes before they were back on Bishopsgate.
Just before they arrived at Station, a small convoy of five leather-clad riders rode out on Harley Davidsons to greet them. The motorbikes came roaring down the road in single file and as they came closer, the leader of the pack lifted his hand in the air, signalling something to the riders behind him.
The leader pulled into the side of the road. Upon seeing the signal, the bikers did likewise.
The leader – instantly recognisable as Fat Joseph – dismounted his bike and hurried over to the returning trio. There was a huge grin on his face. Behind Fat Joseph, Rhonda and some of the others remained sitting on their bikes at kerbside, but watching events with interest. Walker even thought he saw a glimmer of relief in Rhonda’s eyes.
“What the bloody hell?” Fat Joseph called over to them. “You’re alive?”
But when he got closer, Fat Joseph looked over their shoulders. He was quite clearly searching for the other person who’d been due to return with Charlie last night. Walker saw dismay creeping into the big man’s eyes.
“Carol?” Fat Joseph said.
For a moment, nobody spoke. It was Charlie who broke the silence in the end.
“She’s gone,” he said. That was all he had to say.
Fat Joseph looked at the boy. His bottom lip trembled slightly and although he looked like he wanted to speak, he couldn’t get the words out.
“We were trapped in Bunhill Fields,” Barboza said. “We got split up from one another trying to get away from them, but the Ghosts caught up with Carol and Charlie. She gave herself up so that Charlie would have a chance of getting away. Walker and I found him and after that, we took refuge in Wesley’s Chapel across the street. But it was too late to do anything for Carol. They were already gone.”
Fat Joseph lifted a massive, chubby-fingered hand and he put it on Charlie’s shoulder.
“C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you lot back to Station.”
It was only a few minutes walk back to the old Liverpool Street Station. The bikes led the way, cruising down the middle of a road. Walker, Barboza and Charlie followed at the rear. Upon arrival, Fat Joseph and the others parked their bikes on Bishopsgate. Then they led Walker, Barboza and Charlie through the entrance of Station and downstairs onto the concourse.
Station was packed with people, more so than the day before. These were the north Londoners who had taken up Michael King’s offer of refuge. There were people everywhere – lying on mats, sleeping bags, coats and anything else that might have passed for a bed. He saw entire families huddled up together, and others sitting at the plastic tables and chairs, talking in small groups over light refreshments. It reminded Walker of photographs that he’d seen years ago in school – black and white images of people sitting on the platform of the London underground, which had been turned into temporary air raid shelters during World War Two.
Fat Joseph walked along the pathway that cut through the middle of Station. Many of the Bedlamites saw Charlie and cried out in delight. Others rushed over and embraced the boy as if he’d been gone for weeks. Walker saw them – every one of them – looking for Carol and he saw the heartbreak in their eyes, just like he’d seen it with Fat Joseph.
But nobody said anything.
There were smiles and handshakes aplenty for Walker and Barboza. But Walker knew and no doubt Barboza did too, that they’d failed in their task. They’d brought Charlie back safely but at the cost of another life. Walker felt dizzy with all the attention. Despite being exhausted, all he wanted to do was get out of Station and get back on the road.
By now, Fat Joseph had caught up with Michael King. After a brief discussion further along the path, Michael King approached Walker and the others.
“Thank God,” he said, grabbing Walker by the hand and shaking it warmly. He did the same with Barboza. “You’re okay.”
“Carol’s dead,” Charlie said, looking up at the Bedlamite leader.
“Yes,” Michael King said, kneeling down beside the boy. “Joseph told me she died saving your life. As your guardian, Carol would take great pride in knowing that she’d kept you from harm. Nobody will ever forget her Charlie. I promise.”
“We’re sorry,” Barboza said. “There was nothing we could do.”
Michael King gave Charlie a playf
ul tap on the arm. Then he stood up straight, his leather trousers squeaking as they stretched.
“There’s no need to apologise my friends,” he said to Barboza. “I know what it’s like out there when the Ghosts pay us a visit. You did what you have to do to survive. Carol would have understood that better than most and she knew the risks when she decided to accompany you to Old Street. Isn’t that right Joseph?”
Fat Joseph sighed. “Yeah,” he said.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” Michael King asked.
“A little,” Walker said.
“The hotel next door is at your disposal. Sleep, eat, recover. We’ll bring you food, drink – whatever you need. You brought Charlie back to us and we’re in your debt.”
“Thanks,” Walker said. “We’ll take you up on the offer of some food. But we should be heading south while it’s still quiet out there.”
“Are you sure?” Michael King said. “You’re more than welcome to stay here in Station for as long as you want. Both of you. I mean it, we’re in your debt.”
“But it was my fault Charlie ran off,” Barboza said.
“You were only trying to be kind to a broken-hearted little boy,” Michael King said. “Nobody should be punished for that. Right Charlie?”
Charlie nodded. By now, the boy’s eyes were almost shut. It looked like he was he was dead on his feet.
“Come on little man,” Fat Joseph said, putting his shovel-like hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get some food into you, yeah? Then you can sleep all day in the hotel.” He looked at Walker and Barboza. “We’ll be down there in the old chemist. Right hand side off the path. Come down if you change your mind about leaving. We’ll get you some food and a room next door like Michael says.”
Walker nodded. “Thanks Joseph.”
“Cheers,” Barboza said.
They watched as Fat Joseph led Charlie away. A moment later however, Charlie stopped and turned around. He looked back towards his new companions.
“Barboza?” he called out. “Walker. Are you coming with me?”
Barboza smiled, giving him a brief thumbs-up.
The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London) Page 54
