by Phil Earle
And if that were the case, then it was up to him to help her. He had to do what she couldn’t do tonight. He had to get to the zoo.
Kneeling beside her, he made sure the tin was discreetly within her grasp and put his mouth by her ear, ignoring the stale stink of wine as he whispered, ‘I’ve got to go now. But I’ll be back, I promise. Just as soon as I’ve taken care of Adonis.’
What that statement actually meant, he couldn’t be sure. Different outcomes lay ahead of him, depending on just how angry and accurate the bombers were.
He breathed deeply as reality hit him in the face. What on earth was he going to do if a bomb dropped on the zoo?
‘Look after Mrs F for me,’ he announced to the Twyfords. ‘And keep Tweedy here, will you? If you can.’
And before Sylvie’s protests could reach his ears, Joseph Palmer ploughed through the doors of the shelter, straight into the jaws of hell.
42
The devil ran alongside him, every step of the way, tossing firecrackers under his feet, singeing his face with flames.
Joseph had never seen devastation like it, regardless of how much he had felt.
Everywhere he looked he saw the same thing: explosions, rubble, clouds, the sky so red, so orange, so white, that the time of night ceased to matter.
It felt like the end of the world, but still, he ran, and after only a few minutes, he realised he wasn’t alone. The devil was there, yes, but so was something else, a beast on four legs, gaining ground with every corner he turned, until, still a mile from the zoo, Tweedy burst past him, affording him not a glance or a pause, just four legs determined to get there before him.
It spurred Joseph on, though he really had little time to feel anything other than exhaustion. He should’ve been terrified, of course he should, the world was tumbling mere feet from where he ran, but he knew that if he gave it any kind of thought, then he risked being swallowed by it before he arrived. And he wouldn’t have that. Mrs F wouldn’t forgive him for it. And neither would he.
So on he went, ignoring the flames licking his heels. He saw houses tumble all around. He had to change course in a split second to avoid debris as it fell: he felt the wind whip him, not knowing if it came from the destruction or direct from the bombers’ propellers as they surged by. It didn’t matter, none of it did. As long as his lungs kept pumping and his feet kept pounding the road, there was nothing that Hitler or his minions could do to stop him.
Finally he arrived, the locked gates greeting him with bad news: Joseph realised, to his fury, that he had failed to bring Mrs F’s keys.
It hadn’t stopped Tweedy though, who was somehow already inside, barking at him, chivvying him along.
Joseph remembered that Bert Conaghan had made it over the wall on that awful night. Anything Bert could do, then he could do better. And faster.
Two minutes later, Joseph ran alongside Tweedy. It had cost him the skin on his left knee but given the injuries that were occurring all over the city, he considered it a badge of honour instead of a hindrance.
All he could think about was reaching the office, grabbing the rifle and getting to where he needed to be.
When at last the rifle lay heavily in his arms the gravity of the situation hit him. Then, and only then, did he stop and think, Can I do it? If that bomb finally falls, and takes out Adonis’s cage, would I, could I,really, pull the trigger?
He didn’t know, he hadn’t a clue, but he knew he couldn’t make a decision unless he was there, staring his friend in the eye. And so, for one final time, he ran.
He found Adonis where he’d left him earlier, and where Aphrodite left him too, stock-still, eyes not on the skies but on the exit they’d taken her through.
He showed no clear sign of agitation or distress, didn’t acknowledge Joseph or even Tweedy when the mad dog yelped through his bars. Joseph fussed the dog with his free hand, telling him it would be all right, which only served to make him more frantic.
‘You’ll be all right, too,’ the boy shouted to the ape. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’ He was edging closer to the bars, passing Adonis the biggest vegetable left in the bucket. As always, he felt the same shiver of excitement when the ape’s fingers brushed his.
Joseph considered feeding him more, only to be interrupted by a cluster of explosions back in the direction of the office that tested the ground on which he stood, prompting Adonis to retreat and howl in fear.
‘It’s all right! Stay there, don’t move!’ he yelled uselessly at Adonis, before dashing back from where he came and seeing almost immediately that not just the office, but the aquarium too, had taken direct hits. He felt the heat of the flames on his face.
What should he do?
There was a hose, coiled thirty yards away, and instinctively he raced towards it, only realising as he reached it that it was pointless, like stirring a teaspoon in the ocean to try and make a wave. It would take a couple of fire engines to douse the flames that raged. Besides, he was there for one reason only, and it wasn’t that.
So, arms pumping and rifle clutched in his sweaty palms, he sprinted back to Adonis, chewing over the challenges that faced him.
Where should he stand? He’d never fired a rifle in his life, so how accurate should he expect himself to be? Should he stand close to the bars, and poke the barrel through them to improve his chances of success? No, that was ridiculous. What was he thinking? He only had to pull the trigger if the bars were blown out, and if that happened while he was stood right by them, then he’d be flat on his back. How could he possibly be useful then?
He took a dozen paces back, rifle slippery in his grip, tucking it between his chin and shoulder. It felt rigid, lifeless, like a scaffolding pole rather than a weapon. He closed one eye as he looked down the barrel, training it on Adonis, an act that made his stomach lurch. He dropped his chin further until it lined up the sights, realising the wrong eye was closed, so he tried the other: better, but still blurred, not helped by the sweat running off his brow.
He let the gun fall against his side and pulled his coat up to mop his face, only to hear the roar of a plane overhead, and find himself thrown to the floor by yet another explosion, the closest yet. It smothered him in dust, the heat so intense that he beat at his clothes with his hands, convinced that he was on fire.
It was hard to breathe, the fog thick and cloying, coating his tongue as he gulped in air. He had to get to his feet, work out which way the cage was and somehow pick out Adonis in all the chaos. Who knew when the next bomb would fall, whether it could possibly be thebomb, the one that truly tested his resolve?
He pulled himself upright, ground still tilting, ears screaming with a high-pitched wail that must’ve been piercing Tweedy’s brain, wherever the dog was now.
But just as he righted himself, he was thrown again, as the bombers doubled back, throwing their fiery blanket in every direction.
A scream left his lungs, but it was useless. He lay, crumpled, unsure of which way the sky was, worrying that there was little point in trying to stand if this was simply going to happen again and again. Perhaps he was safer down here: maybe he should burrow beneath the rubble instead, but then he thought of Mrs F, and the promise he’d made to her.
Would she lie down and hide? No, she would not, and so it wasn’t an option for him either.
Sweeping debris from his clothes, he pulled himself to his feet, picking his way out to the right, to Adonis’s cage. But as he clambered forwards, he realised he didn’t have the rifle.
The rifle! How could he be so stupid? How could he aim the damn thing, if he couldn’t even be trusted to keep it in his grasp?
He fell to his knees, crawling like a baby, raking at the ground and ignoring the jagged edges of stones as they snapped at his fingertips. He had to find it.
‘Come on!’ he wailed. ‘Where are you?’ He bit back tears, feeling like a failure ag
ain.
But just as he was ready to quit, his right leg became entwined in something. He cursed, trying to free himself from its grasp when he realised he’d stumbled right into the rifle’s strap! He unearthed it frantically, running his hands along the barrel, feeling for dents.
It felt all right, but what would he know? Maybe if it weredamaged, then it offered him a way out, a way of not pulling the trigger even if the situation demanded it.
Because the truth was, he didn’t think he could. As old and dangerous as he was, the ape on the other side of the bars was the only thing that both Joseph and Mrs F had left. The only thing they loved.
His mind was being torn just as the landscape was, in every direction imaginable.
And all he could do was stumble, rifle in hand, back towards the cage, hoping against hope that when the moment came he would know what to do.
43
The sky raged on.
With every breath it spat its bombs, each one falling closer, with greater venom.
Down they screamed, ripping holes in the clouds, eating into the earth, stealing something precious with every bite.
The ground shrieked back, tearing the sky in half with a blinding light, followed by a volcano of fire.
The world was ablaze, its flames licking closer: to the boy, to the cage.
His face burnt. Not just from the flames, but with panic. The rifle was not heavy, not really, but at that moment it felt like a sledgehammer, its butt tucked under his chin, barrel trained on the cage, shaking as his arms trembled with the pressure: with his desire to drop the weapon to the floor.
Another bomb fell.
Closer.
Close.
His ears screamed in pain at the moment of impact, forcing his eyes to close and release the tears that he had been holding in.
He knew what he had to do, and for a while he’d have been happy to do it, but not now.
Not ever.
But he didn’t put the rifle down.
He couldn’t, because in his head was the image of her, standing in the same position, the same tears on her face. Never once did her rifle waver, nor the love for the life she was about to snuff out.
This was simply what the war did: it took the power from the people on the ground and gave every bit of it to those in the sky. All they could do was respond to what was thrown at them, to try and keep everyone else alive, even if in this awful act, the last part of themselves died.
The boy choked down a sob, swirling with the anger that congested his chest, creating an emotion he couldn’t name nor wished to experience again as long as he lived.
Another explosion. The noise different again.
This time he heard stone cracking and falling, and within seconds he could feel the dust in his eyes and on his tongue.
He might not be able to see much, but he knew how close they were now, and as he squinted into the darkness, he could see smoke billowing from the tower at the southern end of the zoo, the iron of the empty cage in front of it mangled in defeat.
They weren’t finished yet, though; a deafening metallic roar fell from above, fighting against the animal noise that ripped through the bars in front of him.
It wasn’t just the boy panicking; it was Adonis now, too. And while the beast had never lost a fight yet, Joseph knew that if he had to, he would be the one to end his reign. That was his job, whatever it might cost him.
The noise was dizzying, and as he squinted upwards he saw them, the bombers, wings outstretched almost in relaxation as they cut effortlessly through the clouds.
He raised his rifle, wanted more than anything to be brave enough to fire, to save the day as the heroes did every Saturday morning at the Empire, but those films weren’t real and his bullets were few, and who knew how many he would need to bring Adonis down if necessary.
Instead he heaved the barrel back to the bars, sobs wracking him, face lit up by the carnage around him.
He was consumed by a sense of inevitability, that he would have to be the one to pull the trigger, though where he would find the conviction or strength for even that smallest of movements, he had no idea.
But as his finger tightened and curled, the world howled. It was a din heard by many but never spoken of, as all too often it was the last noise to fill their ears.
It filled Joseph in his entirety, knocking him off balance, priming him for the blast that threw him in the opposite direction, tearing his clothes.
But not his will.
For as much as he wanted to throw the rifle down in defeat and disgust, his right hand refused to let it go.
The world was on fire, the nightmare had landed on top of him, and the boy went to ground, still fighting...
44
At first, there was nothing.
Then a breath, a gasp that lifted his head and shoulders, and a blue flash of pain from temple to jaw that knocked him unconscious again.
Nothing... then more breathing. Not his own, but close to him: low grunting, slightly out of breath.
Is someone carrying me? he thought to himself, I’m on a stretcher, to hospital...
Where’s Adonis?
The thought was too much, and he went under once more.
If he was expecting starched cotton sheets and a calm bedside manner when he next opened his eyes then he was in for a shock, as he found himself where he’d fallen, on a mattress of brick and rubble.
It was still night. The sky high above him was black and empty, only giving way to reds and oranges as he turned his head and saw where the city burned. The flames stung his eyes, forcing them shut again, hiding the grim reality if only for a short time, until he was ready, stronger.
Hesitantly, he tested himself, moving one arm then another, expecting pain, but miraculously feeling nothing but the vague sting of cuts and grazes.
He moved his attention to his legs: his right knee bending with little more than an ache, though when he tried his left, submerged by brick and stone, nothing moved. He strained. Nothing.
He tried to sit up and see what was going on, but the second he lifted his head, pain flashed the length of his face, threatening to force its way through the top of his skull. He raised his hand to his cheek, feeling it come away wet and clammy, not needing to look to know that it was covered in blood.
Fearfully, Joseph kept his head still and moved his arm down his body to where his left leg lay trapped. He tried to dislodge some stones to allow himself to slide free, but he didn’t have the strength or coordination to do it, not without waking the pain in his head.
Frustrated and scared, he let his eyes close once more, and gently, gently allowed his head to fall to the left, trying to relieve the pressure that he felt building in his forehead. But when he opened his eyes, he faced a sight that he’d often thought about, but had never been able to really picture.
Adonis’s lair as never before.
His hut still stood, but something was missing: a twenty-foot stretch of bars, now warped into a tangled mess and lying flat on the ground, where Bert Conaghan had once stood, fist clenched.
Joseph let out a cry. This couldn’t be happening, but it was, and as much as it hurt him, he tried desperately to remember what had happened before everything cut to black. There had been a final explosion, he knew that, but whether it came from a bomb or the end of his rifle as he pulled the trigger, he had no idea. All he knew was that the wall was down, and that there was no sign of Adonis.
He panicked, the tensing of his body bringing another wave of pain and terror, though he didn’t know what terrified him more, the thought that Adonis could already be dead, or the prospect of him walking free, and what he might have to do as a consequence.
His eyes scanned every inch of the enclosure but there was no sign of him. He craned his neck back still further to work out if Adonis was perched in his normal g
rieving spot, but there was nobody there.
He could be in his hut, Joseph thought, though he reckoned it was unlikely. If he’d been locked away his entire life then, given a chance at freedom, he would grab it without hesitation.
But if Adonis was free, then where was he? In the shadows, scared or angry? Or had he bolted, found a way over the walls and into the streets beyond? And if he’d done that, how long till he created pandemonium? How long till someone else pulled the trigger on him? Joseph was scared, but also furious with himself. He’d had one job to do but had fallen woefully short. How would he tell Mrs F?
He was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. Any effort to focus brought yet more shooting pains, so he let his lids close and swept his arms around him in an arc to find a trace of the rifle. He’d got lucky once before, so why not again? He had to believe that, he had no other choice.
But there was nothing. His searching was fruitless. The rifle was buried, like his leg. He allowed himself a moment to take stock and work out what the hell he was going to do: what options did he have? His mind raced to Syd, hunkered down in the underground station. What would she do? Because she certainly wouldn’t just lie there, that was for sure. He’d never met anyone more determined than her. He had to be more like her, let her inspire him.
It came to him quickly. It was clear what he needed to do. He had to free himself. He had to ignore any pain that he was feeling and drag his leg free.
Then he could look for the rifle properly, look for Adonis properly, find a way, somehow, to keep the promise that he’d made to Mrs F.
He pulled air deep into his chest, seeing stars as he wedged his elbows into the ground and hoisted himself to a sitting position. His head throbbed and swam, and he tasted sick in his mouth. He looked where his leg should be, replaced by an avalanche of brick, and with a clumsy arm he brushed away the smaller rocks, laying bare the size of the job in front of him: a slab of concrete that would challenge Goliath.
His spirits sank. What now? He looked around him, and could see the flames intensifying. He tried to guess how long he had before they snaked closer, putting him out of his misery.
