by Thomas Emson
“And, sarge,” said Rabbit, his voice breaking up, “I want you remember that wherever you are, if you’re in any kind of shit – ”
Rabbit faltered.
Lawton nodded and waited for Rabbit to find the words again.
Rabbit jabbed a thumb against his own chest and said, “ – this Rabbit – this Rabbit runs with you.”
And Lawton felt tears well in his eyes. He wheeled away and strode towards the barracks.
The whistle of an RPG made him duck. He turned back towards Rabbit. Shouts filled the compound. Troops sprinted for cover. The RPG tailed smoke as it swept over the wall. Rabbit stumbled away, seeing it come.
Lawton, shouting “Rabbit, Rabbit,” raced back towards the soldier.
The RPG ploughed into the toilets, yards away from Rabbit.
Lawton sprang off his feet, diving towards Rabbit as the RPG exploded, throwing debris and dust and flames across the compound.
* * *
Lawton had left Basra a week later. The papers at home bayed for blood. The rags slapped scandal all over their front pages. Soldiers accused of atrocities and Lawton’s supposed crime were among the “catalogue of shame”.
But a few weeks later those same papers, with a paragraph buried on Page 30, said some of their stories weren’t true.
The bus drew into New Cross, and Lawton let the memory slide away.
His heart felt heavy, and he wanted to sit on his sofa and drink himself unconscious. Rage simmered in him against the people who’d fucked up his life. He could still be in the Army, now, if officials had stood up to politicians, if politicians had stood up to the press.
Report after report proved that British soldiers didn’t mistreat or murder Iraqi prisoners or Iraqi civilians. But rumour proved more interesting than fact, and the accusations still flew.
By the time he got off the bus, the time was 1.50 a.m. He walked with his collar turned up and his head down. Kids vandalized a car, smashing its windows with bricks and denting the doors with fence posts. They swore and shouted and laughed. Lawton stared ahead and picked up his pace. If he had to fight louts, he would, and he’d relished it sometimes. But tonight, he wanted to go home and drink. He strode past shops that were boarded up and past buildings that were smeared in graffiti.
This is what I came back to, he thought. Should’ve stayed in Iraq. At least the Iraqis were trying to build a better country; here we’re just trying to break it down.
He turned down his street. The sodium glare of the street lamp showed him the figure crouched at the front door of his building.
Lawton hastened. He recognized the would-be burglar.
The thief looked up, and his face paled in terror.
Lawton grabbed him by the collar and said, “Come visiting, Fraser?”
Chapter 29
WAKING THE DEAD.
MURRAY dreamed that a phone was ringing, and in her dream she thought that if she ignored it, the ringing would stop.
But it didn’t stop.
And then someone was nudging her, jabbing an elbow into her ribs.
And a voice whispered her name:
“Chrissie! Chrissie! Wake up, Chrissie, that’s probably for you – they’re always for you.”
And she came awake to Richard telling her to answer the ringing phone.
“Get it or it’ll wake the boys,” he said.
Murray rolled out of bed. She made her way out of the bedroom, the phone’s ring shaking her out of her sleep. She went downstairs to the hall. Murray felt bewildered, unsure of the time. The LCD display on the phone read 3.12 a.m. and Murray gasped. She picked up the phone and said, “Hello,” in a harsh whisper.
A coin dropped and a voice she recognized said, “Christine, it’s me,” and she swore at her police contact, asking what the hell they were doing ringing at this bloody time.
“Not to make small talk, obviously,” said the contact.
“All right, I’m sorry. It’s just – just that I’m having a bad time, that’s all.”
“Aren’t we all,” said the contact.
“Are you at work?” said Murray.
“No, just left. I’m in a phonebox near Victoria. I’m amazed that these things still work. I thought they were only decorative, these days.”
“What’s happened?”
The contact said, “Your soldier, Jake Lawton, he got brought in earlier tonight – ”
“For what?”
“Helping with enquiries, that kind of thing.”
“Was he helpful?” said Murray.
“He’s a charmer, apparently.”
“This I know. What happened?”
“We had to release him,” said the contact. “He wasn’t under arrest.
Just hassling him. I think Birch sees him as a potential suspect.”
“So do I,” said Murray. “Is that it? Is that why you’re ringing me at three o’clock in the morning?”
“No,” said the contact, “something else has happened. Something really, really awful.”
“Yes?” said Murray.
The contact said, “Have you ever heard of B13?”
* * *
Lithgow, sitting on Lawton’s sofa with his hands on his knees, said, “There were three of them, but I only grabbed this one. The other two were full of dust.”
Lawton, kneeling at the coffee table, held the vase up and studied it as though he knew something about this stuff. He didn’t, but the artefact was beautiful to him. He put it on the table and took off the lid. He scooped out a handful of pills and stared at them in his palm.
Red tablets with “K” emblazoned on them. Like the “K” on the base of the jar.
“What does this letter mean?” he said, more to himself than to Lithgow. And then, looking at Lithgow, he said, “They put these letters on the pills. What do they mean?”
Lithgow shrugged. “They usually don’t mean anything. They put all kinds of stuff on pills. Doesn’t mean anything. The guy called them ‘Skarlet’, that’s all. ‘With a k.’” He shrugged again.
Shouts drifted in from the street. Lithgow glanced over his shoulder towards the window. He said, “Gets a bit noisy here, doesn’t it.”
“Why’d you come here, Fraser?”
“I told you, to bring you these. Wanted you to – ”
“I don’t believe you. You’re lying through your skinny backside. Why’d you come here?”
“I think – I think Hammond, you know – the DJ – I-I think he got killed.”
Lithgow told him what had happened, how they broke into the house.
Lawton said, “Why, you dickhead? Why did you break in there?”
Lithgow rolled his hands into fists. He looked down at his lap. His face turned red, and Lawton thought he would cry. “I was – ” said Lithgow, “I was – was trying – oh, fuck it, Lawton, I was trying to fuck you up, man. You were giving me a hard time.”
“A hard time?”
“You were hassling me, man. On my back.”
“I’m trying to find out how Jenna died, you prick.”
“Fucking hell, Lawton, I’m scared shitless. Those were my pills.”
“They were your pills. You little shite.”
“Yes, they were. I just got ’em off this guy in a pub. I followed him home, I knew where he lived.”
“Fraser, I should chuck you out the window to those yobs in the road.”
Screams filtered up from the street. Yobs gathering for a fight, thought Lawton. Stoned and smashed and full of bravado – thought they were soldiers, these idiot kids. They’d piss themselves on a real frontline.
The anger swept through Lawton’s veins. “And you came round here to dump these pills on my doorstep, yes? – Yes?”
Lithgow shut his eyes and nodded. “I didn’t mean to, man. I was stoned, you know. Mad, and all. Just wanted you to leave me be. And I knew the cops had talked to you.”
“You fucker. I’m going to beat the bones out of you,” he said, grabbing Lithgow by th
e collar.
Lithgow cowered and threw his hands over his head to protect himself.
Lawton stared at the shivering, whimpering thing and said, “You’re not worth it, Lithgow – not worth the energy.”
Lawton got up and looked at the TV. A reporter stood in front of Religion. Lawton grabbed the remote off the table and turned up the volume.
The reporter said, “ – and this latest development has confounded detectives from Scotland Yard’s Homicide and Serious Crime Command, and further angered the families of the dead.”
They switched back to the studio, the presenter saying, “Thank you, Nita Hassan in Soho, and for those who’ve just joined us” – that’s me, thought Lawton; the presenter looked grim – “a disturbing development in this story” – the presenter breathed in, stared down at his notes, and Lawton thought, tell me, you smarmy git – “with the bodies of the twenty-eight people who died at Religion having disappeared – ”
“What the – ” It was Lithgow at Lawton’s shoulder.
“ – from a Central London morgue, and the bodies of two people found dead at the scene. It was like they got up and walked out, a police source told our correspondent, Nita Hassan, who you’ve just seen there in our report.”
Lawton killed the volume.
He said, “Did he just say what I thought he said?”
“I really hope he didn’t,” said Lithgow. “’Cause I can’t see it going well if he did.”
Lawton said, “Did he just that the bodies had – disappeared?”
“Yes,” said Lithgow, “yes, he did. He said, Like they got up and walked out.”
PART TWO.
THE PLAGUE SPREADS.
Chapter 30
IMMORTAL.
Nebuchadnezzar’s Palace, Babylon – 331 B.C.
ALEXANDER waited in the darkness, and the demons stalked him.
The gloom hid them, but he knew they were there. He smelled them, the stench of decay saturating his nostrils. They hissed and growled in the shadows, and whispered threats:
“We’ll drink your blood – We’ll drain you dry – We’ll make you undead – You’ll be our servant – You’ll be immortal – ”
And Alexander said, “I’m already immortal. I’m more god than you’ll ever be. I’ve conquered the world. What have you conquered?”
“Death,” said a voice from the darkness, “we have conquered death.”
“And you suffer because of it. You’re cursed to hunger for blood, night after night after night.”
Laughter echoed around the throne room. Alexander wheeled around. His hand tightened on the weapon’s handle. His troops had plundered the artefact from Darius’s treasury. Babylon’s seers had told Alexander it was the only thing that could kill the demons that ruled the city.
“And tonight,” said a voice behind him, “it’ll be your blood that quenches our thirst.”
Alexander’s heartbeat quickened. His nerves tightened like the strings of a bow. But he steeled himself, not willing to show fear.
“Now,” he said.
And the torches flared, casting a glow over the throne room.
Alexander scanned his surroundings.
His muscles flexed, and his throat became dry. The vampires crawled towards him through the piles of cushions, across the stacks of carpet.
Alexander’s men lined the walls. They lit the torches that were fixed to the pillars. Others skulked in from behind the throne, positioning themselves near the blood-red drapes that swept down over the windows from the golden ceiling.
The vampires snarled.
“Do you fear us, now, great king?” said a deep, guttural voice.
Alexander looked towards the speaker.
A colossal beast, scarlet-skinned and serpent-fanged, towered above the other vampires.
Alexander held his breath. He fixed on the vampire god. And then his gaze drifted behind the monster. In the shadows lurked two other giants, larger than the one confronting Alexander. It seemed they were waiting to see how strong an enemy he’d be. Alexander could smell the creatures. They reeked of death.
The herd corralled Alexander, closing in on him.
The giant, his head rutted by gouges, said, “Your men can do nothing to save you. They’ll suffer your fate. They’ll be drained of life and live forever at our heel.”
Alexander raised the spear above his head.
The creature laughed and said, “You think that stick will save you, those ancient horns torn from the great hunter’s head? Only a god can wield that weapon. Are you a god, Alexander?”
Alexander tightened his jaw. He glared at the creature. These hideous things had ignited terror in Alexander’s army since he and his troops marched into Babylon months before. He had defeated Darius and paraded into the golden city, and its people had welcomed him. But a shadow loomed over the country.
“Undead creatures that feed on blood stalk the kingdom,” said Philotas, one of his officers. “This is what Darius’s slaves tell us. Darius paid homage to these demons, bringing them sacrifice in return for power.”
And Alexander, sprawled on the throne that had cupped the arse of a hundred Babylonian kings, narrowed his eyes and scratched his chin.
“I pay homage to no one except Zeus – and soon, he’ll pay homage to me. If these things exists, then they can be killed.”
Alexander, brandishing the weapon, spat at the creature.
And the creature’s face flared. Rage burned in its blood-red eyes.
The beast hissed, spraying Alexander with a burning liquid. The fluid singed his skin, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to show pain.
Roars filled the throne room. The vampires sprang.
“The light,” said Alexander, his voice rising over the cacophony.
And his men tore down the drapes.
Shafts of sunlight speared into the throne room. The vampires staggered away from the rays. But they only stumbled into other beams of heat.
The scarlet-skinned monster howled with fury. It lunged at Alexander.
The vampires fried, and the throne room filled with the stink of burning flesh. Alexander’s soldiers swooped on the terrified creatures.
The Macedonians drove their swords and spears into the vampires’ hearts.
The undead’s cries swept across Babylon. The smoke from their burning bodies belched out of the palace and rose into the dawn.
Alexander ducked an attack by the red beast, and as the creature swept overhead he thrust the spear upwards. A shriek burst from the vampire’s throat as the tusk pierced its chest. Its body disintegrated, raining ash over Alexander. The tattered remains of its scarlet skin fluttered to the floor.
The two monsters in the shadows recoiled.
Alexander bared his teeth, and they stood white against his ash-grey face, his blue eyes glistening like crystals in dust.
And he showed the immortals his power.
“I am Alexander,” he said, fury bubbling in his voice, “and I fear nothing.”
He launched himself at the creatures and they flung themselves at him and they clashed as the sun splintered off the spear’s ivory points.
Chapter 31
KEEP YOUR ENEMIES CLOSE.
Kensington, West London – 9.15 a.m., February 8, 2008
MURRAY said, “You really know how to treat a girl.”
Lawton said nothing. He stared straight ahead, watching the cars stream into the NCP multi-storey. They were on the third tier, sitting in Murray’s Ford. He’d e-mailed her at 7.00 a.m. He found the e-mail on her website. You could still play that video of him in Basra on her site. He didn’t play it because it was on a loop in his head. He e-mailed Murray saying, “I’ve got something you’ll want,” and said where to meet him if she were interested. She was, because she was here, and now she said, “You’ve got a confession to make, Jake?”
And looking at her with narrow eyes and a frown, he said, “Yes, I’ve never seen you look better.”
“All right,
” she said, “what’s this about?”
He turned away again, looking straight ahead, into the shadows of the car park. He said, “Thirty people were killed last night in Central London, attacked in the streets.”
“Yes,” she said, and fear lined her voice. Lawton glimpsed from the corner of his eye that her hands were gripping the steering wheel and her knuckles had gone white.
He said, “Who will you be blaming for that?”
“Why are we here, Mr. Lawton? I’ve got a personal alarm, you know. Linked directly to the office and to the local police station – ”
“What do you think I am?” he said, glaring at her, and then added:
“Don’t answer that, I know what you think I am. But I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know. You seem intent on blaming me for these deaths, just like you blamed me for Basra, and I want to know.”
“Not brought me here to whine, have you?” she said.
He ignored her and said, “How do you think those people died last night?”
Murray said she didn’t know.
And then he said, “Do you think it had anything to do with disappearing bodies?”
She looked at him and her eyes were wide, and she said, “I don’t know. Do – do you?”
“Have you heard anything about that? Anything more than what the news says?”
She was quite for a moment and then she said, “The bodies were being housed at this special unit in Battersea. A security guard and a police officer were found dead at the scene. The door to the morgue was open, trolleys were overturned – a mess, really. I heard it was – was like – ”
Murray faltered and shook her head, and Lawton finished what she’d started to say:
“Like they got up and walked out,” he said.
They looked at each other, and Lawton saw in her eyes that she’d considered that – considered the dead getting up.
“Mind if I smoke?” said Lawton, and took out his tobacco and papers.
She said, “I do.”
He put the tobacco and papers away and put his hand over his face.
