It's Only the End of the World

by J. A. Henderson

  “Mum!”

  “That’s OK, Mrs Ray.” The girl slurped her coffee loudly. “I don’t want to bug him.”

  “Please call me Marion. Mrs Ray sounds so… old.”

  “And you can call me Mac,” the girl replied. “Daffodil seems a bit… formal. Pretentious even.”

  “Idiotic, more like,” Charlie mumbled under his breath. Still, the girl was obviously picking up a fine vocabulary from Frankie.

  The doorbell rang.

  “My goodness, what an eventful morning.” Marion got to her feet again and went to answer the door. “We even had a power cut earlier, though it’s back on now.”

  Charlie rounded on Daffodil as soon as his mother was out of earshot.

  “What the hell are you playing at? I told you I didn’t want—”

  “Power cut, huh?” She silenced him with a wave of her hand. “You see any other houses affected while you were out? ’Cause I sure didn’t.”

  “No,” he confessed.

  “Gimme your phone.” Daffodil held out her hand. “Quick.”

  Puzzled, Charlie handed it over.

  His mum came back in, followed by a balding man wearing blue overalls.

  “Hi folks,” he said pleasantly. “I’m here to check your circuits. Had a few calls this morning about a disruption to the electrical grid in the area.”

  “That was fast.” Marion picked up the kettle and filled it. “No offence, but you really don’t expect prompt service these days. Would you like a coffee?”

  “None taken. And I’d love a brew.” He hoisted a leather tool belt higher on his waist. “If you’ll show me where the fuse box is, it won’t take a minute to check.”

  “What a coincidence!” Daffodil had the phone pressed against her ear. “I’m just talkin to my dad and he works for the power company too.”

  “Really?” The man looked uncomfortable.

  Charlie glanced at his companion. The phone was switched off, but the girl’s other hand was resting on her neck, touching the bulge where Frankie’s chip was implanted. He knew exactly who was talking to her.

  “Dad’s askin if you checked the signal box on Marchmont Road,” she said. “The one between Tesco and the bettin office?”

  “First thing I tried.” The man relaxed. “But it seems to be fine, so now I’m going house to house.”

  “Really?” Daffodil tossed the mobile back to Charlie, who caught it without looking. “’Cause I just made that whole spiel up.”

  “Eh… Must be crossed wires, love.” The man laughed nervously, turning to Marion. “Crossed wires, get it? Now, if you’ll show me the fuse box, madam.” He reached into a large pouch on the side of his belt.

  Marion swung the kettle and it connected with the stranger’s stubbled jaw. The blow lifted the man off the ground and he landed on the Formica counter with a horrific thud. Charlie skipped back as an automatic pistol dropped from the tool belt and clattered across the floor.

  The man sat up, shaking his head. Marion slammed her kettle into his face and he crashed back down, sliding along the counter until his head dropped into the sink.

  “Charles Ray.” She blew a wisp of hair from her face. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

  “I owe you an explanation?” The boy’s eyes were like saucers. “When did my mum turn into Jackie Chan?”

  “Not now, Chaz.” Daffodil still had one hand on her neck and it was obvious Frankie was continuing to relay information to her. “The most likely strategy for our abduction is to have one member of a four-man team infiltrate the buildin disguised as a tradesman, so as not to alert the neighbours. Two more will sneak through the gardens and force the back door. The last person will be hidden out front in case we make a run for it.”

  “We’ll discuss this situation later, Mac, including how the hell you know all that.”

  Marion grabbed a carving knife from the rack beside her as a heavily armed assailant flung himself through the kitchen window in a halo of shattered glass. Before the intruder could raise his rifle, Charlie’s mum buried the blade in his hand. He dropped the weapon with a screech of pain. Marion butted the astonished man in the face and finished him off with another wallop of her kettle.

  “I know how to handle myself,” she informed Daffodil.

  “You do seem to have everythin covered, Mrs R.” Daffodil slid off her seat and under the table. “I’ll get outta your way.”

  The door to the back garden burst open and slammed into Marion. She sprawled across the floor, clutching her head.

  Silhouetted in the frame was the largest man Charlie had ever seen. He had an ugly scar running round his throat like a noose. And he held an automatic pistol in each hand.

  “Up against the wall,” he barked. “All of you,”

  “You hurt my mum.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed.

  “Oh dear,” Daffodil chirped from under the table. “Bad move, King Kong.”

  “Against the wall, kid.” Victor motioned with the pistols. “Pronto.”

  “Nobody messes with my mother.” Charlie walked towards him.

  “Don’t be a moron,” the giant growled. “I will shoot you.”

  Charlie somersaulted sideways onto the kitchen table, landing on splayed hands. He bent his elbows, arched his back and pushed as Victor fired. Bullets gouged furrows in the wood, but the boy was already in the air. Both of his feet crashed down on the handle of the frying pan. Bacon, eggs and hot fat sailed across the room and hit the giant square in his face. He gave a high-pitched scream and clawed at his eyes. Charlie caught the pan effortlessly in mid-flight, spun with the precision of a discus thrower and hurled it like a Frisbee. The pan crunched into the man’s forehead, knocking him backwards into the garden. As Victor attempted to get up, Charlie followed him outside, picking up the discarded pan as he went.

  THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

  Daffodil covered her ears.

  “I didn’t kill him.” Charlie strode back in. “Wanted to, but didn’t.” He helped his mother to her feet. “You all right, Mum?”

  “I’ll survive.” Marion winced, feeling a bruise rising on her temple. “But we need to have a serious talk when this is over, young man.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

  “There’s probably one more goon out front.” Daffodil emerged from cover. “Pity you don’t have any special abilities, Chaz.”

  “Not the time.” The boy checked his garden for any more intruders. “This way.”

  “I am not sneaking out the back door of my own damned house.” Marion put both hands on her hips. “Besides, we need transportation.”

  “We haven’t got a car any more, Mum.”

  “I’m taking the green van that’s kept us under surveillance for the last few weeks.” She unfastened her apron. “And woe betide anyone who gets in my way.”

  “So you did know we were being watched?”

  “We’ve both been hiding things from each other, and it was a mistake.” Marion pushed the pair into the hall. “But all that will have to wait.”

  “That woman’s a devil in a dress!” Daffodil punched Charlie on the arm. “Chaz, I really like your mom.”

  6

  The trio stopped at the front door.

  “Likely position of the last man?” Daffodil held her neck.

  “Why is Mac talking to herself?” Marion asked.

  “Long story.” Charlie cocked the rifle he had picked up from the kitchen floor. “But we need her. For now.”

  “Ahem.” His mother pointed at the weapon. “Don’t even think of using that.”

  “Mum, we’re fighting for our lives.”

  “You know how I feel about guns, Charlie Ray.” Marion snatched the rifle from him. “I’m well aware of your capabilities, so find another way.”

  “You are?”

  “Think I haven’t noticed you changing?” she replied sharply. “I just didn’t know what to do about it. Now put down the gun.”

  “All right,”
Charlie sighed. “Back in a minute.” He trudged up the stairs, muttering to himself, and plodded back down a few seconds later holding his bat and baseball. “Ready.”

  “What’s that for, slugger?” Daffodil goggled. “You gonna challenge the goon out front to a game of catch?”

  “You do your thing and I’ll do mine.”

  “If you insist.” Daffodil peered through the letterbox at the van. “There are a lot of nosy neighbours here who’d report any suspicious activity to the police, so the last guy is probably hidden in the cab of that surveillance vehicle. With a sniper rifle.”

  “How do we get him out?”

  “He has limited sightlines in there. Can’t hit two targets if they’re headin in opposite directions.” Daffodil winked at Charlie’s mum. “Mrs R? You willin to stake your life on Chaz bein as good as you think?”

  “Of course, Mac. He’s my boy.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Before Charlie could stop them, Daffodil and Marion flung open the door and raced down the path. When they reached the gate, Daffodil went left and Charlie’s mum turned right, both sprinting as fast as they could.

  A black-clad figure wearing a balaclava leapt from the driver’s side of the van. He knelt and raised a rifle to his cheek, aiming at Marion’s back.

  “Hey, woolhead!” Charlie threw the baseball up in the air. “Picked the wrong target!”

  The assassin glanced round as the boy swung his bat. It hit the descending ball with a loud crack and the missile whizzed through the air, thudding into the man’s temple. He dropped the gun, tumbled over and lay still.

  “Strike one!” Daffodil came sprinting back. “C’mon, Mrs R.”

  They climbed into the cab of the green van and Charlie’s mum rolled down the window. Their neighbour from number 12 was peering over the hedge, trimming shears motionless in his hands.

  “Morning, Mr Cuthbertson!” Marion gave a friendly wave. “Can you do me a favour and cancel my milk and paper deliveries?”

  “No problem, hen.” The man’s eyes darted towards the unconscious figure lying in the middle of the road. “Ehm… I take it you won’t be coming back any time soon.”

  “I don’t imagine so.”

  “You were always quick with a smile or a chat.” He gave a small salute. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you went the other way.”

  “You’re a proper gentleman.” She gunned the engine into life and drove off.

  *

  “So where are we going?” Marion asked Daffodil. “You seem to have all the answers, young lady.”

  “I was sent from a place near some village called Bellbowrie,” she replied. “Apparently it was Gerry Ray’s safe house.”

  “Gerry?” Charlie’s mother whirled round. “You know my husband?”

  “Eyes front, Mum. You almost hit a lamppost.”

  “Has he contacted you, Mac? What’s going on?”

  “He got in touch last night,” Charlie admitted. “Said he loved us and he was in trouble.”

  “That I already knew.” Marion swerved back onto the road. “But I can’t just drive to Bellbowrie. A van with all this surveillance equipment must have some kind of tracer system. Saw it on CSI Miami.”

  Daffodil put her hand on the dashboard and wisps of smoke began to rise from behind the plastic vent. “Not any more it don’t.”

  “Impressive.” Marion waved the grey tendrils away. “Now, do you pair of delinquents want to tell me exactly what Gerry had to say for himself?”

  Marion’s phone rang.

  “I’ll put it on silent.” The woman pulled her mobile out with one hand and checked who was calling. The screen said: Frankie.

  Charlie saw Marion blanch when she read the name. She really had known what his dad was up to.

  “You better get that,” Daffodil advised. “It’ll be important.”

  Charlie’s mum pulled over, pressed receive and held the phone to her ear. She listened for a few minutes, then lowered the device.

  “Carry on without me,” she said quietly.

  “You can’t go back to the house,” Charlie argued. “Not after what happened.”

  “I won’t. But I’m getting out here.”

  “What did Frankie say?” he demanded. “Did he threaten you?”

  “He told me how to find your dad but gave me a job to do first.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I have to get out now, baby.” Marion’s mouth was pinched into a thin line. “He promised to keep you safe, though. He better.” She pulled her son close and kissed his forehead. “I have faith in you. And I love you with all my heart.”

  “I love you too, Mum.”

  “Mac?” Marion let Charlie go. “You’ll look after my boy, won’t you?”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs R.” Daffodil crossed her heart. “I ain’t gonna let Chaz out of my sight.”

  “That’s the last thing I want to hear,” Charlie groaned. “Can’t you just tell me—?”

  “Not now, baby.” Marion cut him off. “Do you know how to drive?”

  “I’ve never sat behind a wheel in my life.”

  “Not what I asked. You’ve been watching me do it for five minutes.”

  “Yes,” he said dejectedly. “I know how to drive.”

  “When we were young, your dad and I wanted to make the world a better place. Took some crazy risks to do it.” His mum put two fingers to her lips and pressed them against Charlie’s cheek. “I’m afraid it’s your turn. On you go. Be brave.”

  Marion got out of the van and waved miserably as it drove away. Then she waited in the middle of the road, watching sunlight filtering through the leaves above. She shook her hands and breathed out slowly, as if preparing for an innocent jog.

  Another van crested the rise and came tearing towards her at breakneck speed, just as Frankie had predicted it would.

  Manticorps had had two surveillance vans watching the house.

  Marion pulled out the pistol she had grabbed, unobserved, from the kitchen floor. Standing her ground, she emptied the clip into the oncoming vehicle’s tyres.

  The van veered to the right, missing her by inches. It clipped a tree, ploughed through the undergrowth and bounced across a field, steam pouring from the engine.

  “I thought we’d put this life behind us, Gerry.” Marion wiped the weapon clean and dropped it on the asphalt. “Never dreamed we’d pass it on to our son.”

  Then she drifted away, quiet as a ghost.

  7

  Charlie drove in silence, out of the city and into the countryside, Daffodil giving directions.

  “Turn left here,” she said, as they approached their destination.

  He pulled into a secluded driveway. The safe house was a modern two-storey building hidden behind a high wall and overlooking a large garden. In one corner was a huge oak with a tree house built into its upper branches. A makeshift swing consisting of a rope and tyre dangled from one thick bough. At the bottom, separated by a wire fence, was a field containing a parked tractor.

  They drove into an adjoining garage and pulled down the corrugated iron door. The house was unlocked and keys hung from a hook in the hall.

  Gerry Ray was gone.

  The pair trooped into a spacious living room, furnished with expensive leather couches. On one wall was a map of Edinburgh. A huge PC sat on a desk beside open French windows, curtains billowing in the breeze. Outside was a wooden balcony with a view across the Pentland Hills.

  “Fancy, ain’t it?” Daffodil said admiringly. “Your dad must be richer than a gold-plated chocolate cake to afford such a swell pad.”

  “I’m pretty sure Frankie supplied the funds.” Charlie went looking for the kitchen. “I’m going to make some tea and then we’ll talk.”

  “No sugar for me, Chaz. I’m sweet enough.”

  “Make your own damned tea. Can’t you get it into your head that we’re not friends?”

  “I’ll just have coffee then.”

  Charlie storm
ed out of the room, leaving Daffodil sitting on the wide chesterfield couch. But he came back with two cups on the tray.

  “Cheers.” She accepted the brew. “Hospitality is the cornerstone of civilisation, as Grandma used to say.”

  “You remember your grandmother?”

  “Nah. I was just making conversation.”

  “Can’t you be serious for one sodding minute?” Charlie sank onto the couch beside her. “Doesn’t the situation we’re in even bother you?”

  “That’s why I’m trying to lighten the mood, dummy.” Daffodil sipped her drink. “But I’m happy to stop jokin if you’ll start comin clean.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Look.” She grabbed his hands and turned them over so the palms were showing. “Last night these were cut to ribbons. Now you’re completely healed.”

  “They were just some splinters.”

  “You also beat up an armed intruder who looked like a shaved gorilla.” The girl wasn’t put off. “Wanna tell me how you managed that?”

  “No.”

  “You really need to work on your communication skills, Chaz.”

  “I mean I don’t want to talk about it. And stop calling me Chaz.”

  “You got nobody left to confide in, bub.” Daffodil swivelled round in her seat until she was looking him in the eye. “So how about pullin that grouchy head out of your butt for five minutes, huh? What are you hidin?”

  Charlie stared at the floor for a while. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed.

  “I’ve always been sickly. Had severe bouts of meningitis ever since I was a baby.”

  Daffodil touched her neck. Charlie guessed Frankie was informing her that meningitis was a life-threatening viral infection.

  “Oof,” she said. “Sounds pretty bad.”

  “A month ago I had another attack. One that turned into pneumonia. I was hospitalised and my parents thought I was going to die.” His voice was flat. “I was sure it was why my dad left. Because he couldn’t deal with me any more.”

  “I can understand his point.”

  “Mac. If I’m going to make the effort…”