by Russ Watts
Neale’s shoulders dropped. “Please,” he whispered.
The woman hovering next to Amelia drew back her black cloak. Her body was nearly naked and her flesh white and soft. The black scar that ran around her neck seemed to pulse and throb in the light, and the witches long red hair flowed over her shoulders covering her breasts. Her flat belly gave way to her private area and long legs. The witch pulled on the dagger still sticking out of Amelia’s stomach and began to pull it downward, wrenching it through the girl and sawing through Amelia’s shaking body. The blade sliced open her belly and chest before reaching her neck. The witch revelled in the girl’s death, Amelia’s fresh blood splattering the witch’s naked body. Her laughter grew as Amelia’s twitching body entered its death throes.
Neale fell to his knees. “No. Why her? Why?”
Bashar’s hands were trembling and his body ached. He couldn’t believe anyone would do such a thing. Clearly she was insane. No woman could do that to a young girl. And the way she writhed as Amelia’s blood spattered her body made Bashar sick to his core.
A zombie staggered through some traffic cones and Bashar smashed it away with his cleaver. It all felt so hollow now, as if he was only prolonging the inevitable. “Get up, Neale. Get up. We have to find Tony.”
The witch pulled the dagger from Amelia’s body and looked at them.
She’s waiting.
The witch flew around to Jo’s body and touched it. The moment that she made contact with Jo’s dead body it fell to the ground and the waiting dead. The witch then flew back around to Amelia and stabbed the dagger into the girl’s neck. The cloud behind her grew higher and higher, and Bashar saw the twisting black shape in it turn. He saw the shape of the black beast emerge from the cloud, he saw the two black horns atop its head and the two red eyes boring into him.
“Neale, get the fuck up.” Neale was on his knees and had dropped his knife. Bashar shook his shoulder and Neale looked up at him.
“Why?” Neale looked at the demon standing above them. “Why, Bashar? So we can watch someone else die? So we can prolong our own death? What’s the point anymore?”
Another zombie raced forward and Bashar smacked his hammer across the back of its head. As it tripped backwards he sliced his cleaver through the back of its skull. He looked up at the witch to see her sawing through Amelia’s neck. The woman wasn’t satisfied with just killing; she seemed to want to defile Amelia’s body too. Bashar then forced his eyes back to Neale. He picked up the knife and thrust it into Neale’s hands. The demon roared and the very ground seemed to shake.
Neale turned the knife over in his hands as if it were a foreign object.
“We’re all going to die one day, Neale.” Bashar grabbed Neale’s neck and hauled him to his feet. “You can sit here and die, or you can keep fighting. You can get justice for Amelia and kill that fucking woman. What do you want to do? Give up or give yourself a chance for revenge?”
Bashar’s tired arms swung out as another zombie almost reached them. He couldn’t keep fighting for the both of them. The line of vehicles had given them a chance, but it would soon be overrun. Bashar looked up at the witch holding Amelia’s severed head. The witch was holding it up by the girl’s long hair and with her other hand the woman touched Amelia’s gutted body. It fell to the floor and as Bashar watched the witch smiled. Then Amelia’s eyelids flickered.
“Neale, don’t look. Just take that knife and come with me. We’re leaving. We’re going to make sure we get another chance at this fucking bitch.” Bashar roughly shoved Neale and he bumped into a stationary fire engine.
“Okay,” Neale said softly. “Okay,” he repeated as Bashar shoved him once more.
Neale dragged his reluctant body back around the truck and began marching over the street back through Admiralty Arch to The Mall.
Bashar turned to look one last time at the witch. She still held Amelia’s head whose eyes were open now. The young girl’s small mouth was open and her jaw was working up and down. It was obscene. Bashar knew the witch was goading them, trying to draw them into a fight they couldn’t possibly win. The demon behind her was standing above the National Gallery surveying London. This was His domain now. The city had fallen to the dead and the damned. Bashar wanted justice for Jo and Amelia but he wasn’t going to find it today. Not here and not now; he had to get back with Neale to the others and regroup.
Slipping around the side of the fire engine he ran across the road to join Neale. “You remember the way?” he asked Neale beneath the huge stone arch.
“Yeah. I remember.” Neale looked defeated. Bashar knew he had got him back on his feet, but he was shattered. They both were. They had lost. Jo and Amelia had lost.
“Go,” said Bashar. “Get to the others. Take Horse Guards’ Road, it’ll be quicker.”
“What are you doing?” asked Neale. “Come on, you said so yourself, we have to go.”
“I’ll be one minute behind you. I just need to make sure they don’t follow us. There’s no point getting back to Tony if we bring ten thousand zombies with us.”
“Okay,” sighed Neale. “One minute. Then I’m coming back for you.”
Bashar gently pushed Neale away in the direction of The Mall. He watched him go and then turned back to Trafalgar Square. The cloud that had given birth to the demon had gone. A wispy fog hung over the square and the witch was still flying around Nelson’s Column holding Amelia’s head like a trophy. The demon and witch were looking at each other. It was as if they were communicating without speaking, as if there was some sort of hidden bond between them.
Bashar watched as the demon reached down a thick hand and scooped up a handful of zombies. He shoved them into his mouth and Bashar saw the demon munch on the dead like a morning snack. Crumbs of broken legs and arms fell from his mouth and Bashar felt the sickness rising in his stomach. The witch then drifted higher into the air and pointed to Nelson’s Column. With a smile on her face she swiped her hand through the air and looked at the demon.
Bashar saw the monster lift a powerful arm and bring it across the column. It shattered into a million pieces under the impact and Nelson himself was sent flying through the air before landing atop the National Gallery. Bashar heard the witch’s laughter and wondered why the demon was not charging through the streets to demolish more of the city. It was almost as if the woman was in charge. Yet the beast was so tall and powerful that it had more strength than her. Bashar noticed that the squall of zombies had stopped. They were staring up at the demon in awe. Bashar knew the zombies couldn’t feel or understand, but they were beholden to their master, that much was clear. Whatever the witch wanted, she got.
He turned and ran. The zombies had others things to think about. They didn’t appear to be following so he would be able to catch up to Neale easily. Bashar had Nurtaj to think about. Getting out of the city looked improbable. Was the bunker even real? Without Carrington they would never find it. And if they did, would the machinations of government still be working? Bashar saw Horse Guards’ Road and ducked beneath the canopy of the tall trees that lined The Mall. He crossed the street to where a power company had dug up the road and left behind a white van and a mess of traffic cones. Bashar kept running to the rendezvous with Tony, different thoughts crossing his mind, all of them leading to dark places in his mind. He tried to forget Amelia and Jo, to forget how Blake had double-crossed them and how Michelle had been ripped apart, to forget how a thousand zombies and a demon were at his back, and to remember what his wife looked like; he needed more than ever to find Nurtaj.
CHAPTER 16
Bashar caught up with Neale outside of King Charles Street. More police cars blocked the entrance and Neale was staring at the park opposite. An ice-cream van was parked next to a market stall selling a variety of T-shirts. It was neither the appeal of a sweet treat nor a T-shirt emblazoned with Justin Bieber’s face that had drawn Neale’s attention. Next to the ice-cream van was a gravel path into St James’ Park. A willow tree wi
th budding green on its low branches sheltered the first body. A small boy still in uniform with a melted ice-cream in his hand. A cherry blossom tree had showered the next body in soft white petals. Neale counted twelve in all, all school children with various injuries, all still in their uniform and all dead. Two girls closest to the van were laid out on the ground with their hands still holding one another. Their pigtails were coated in dried blood and a crow pecked eagerly at the eyes of another.
“When will this end?” asked Neale, as Bashar reached him. “You keep thinking it can’t get worse, you know, and then…”
Bashar looked back at where he had come from. The road was quiet and the demon was apparently not following. It was still visible scooping up the dead and devouring them. “I don’t know, Neale. Soon. Let’s meet up with Tony. We’re close now. Carrington can get us into that bunker and we’ll be safe.” Bashar reluctantly let his gaze drift over to the children’s bodies. “It’s no good trying to help someone you can’t help.”
They began to trudge south toward the meeting point in the south-eastern corner of the park. Bashar noticed a bunch of roses tied to a lamppost, its wilted petals and dried stems evidence they had been there some time. Despite their eagerness to cling to life they had no chance. They had been marooned and left to die.
“Look at that.”
Neale pointed out a black limousine on the road. Its doors were all open and the car’s lights were on. It had been left in the centre of the road and a police motorcycle lay abandoned next to it. Bashar raised his meat cleaver.
“Careful,” said Neale, as they approached it.
There was a faint pinging sound coming from inside and as Bashar got closer he saw blood dripping from the black leather seats onto the road. He lifted his cleaver and walked quietly. Neale hung back but stayed alert, monitoring the area for any unpleasant surprises.
There was more blood on the road and Bashar heard the moaning of the dead before he even saw the body. The limo was empty save for one man in the back, the seatbelt still neatly clipped into place and trapping the dead man in his seat. The zombie moved and waved its arms as Bashar got closer, but it was stuck and unable to get to him.
Bashar thought of releasing it and freeing the poor man. How long would he be in that car before he figured out how to release the belt? The man was probably important. The limo and police motorcycle suggested so, and he wore a suit not dissimilar to Carrington’s. The crooked tie around his neck was a navy blue with some sort of insignia in the centre. The man’s neat brown hair looked immaculate, ruined only by the huge hole in his face where something or someone had taken a large chunk of flesh. Another set of teeth marks had been left on the man’s left cheek.
As Bashar stared at it, Neale came to his side. “You know who that is?” asked Neale, as he studied the zombie.
“Should I?”
Neale smirked. “Depends if you take much interest in politics. That’s Carrington’s boss.”
Bashar watched how the zombie slowly moved its jaw up and down, as if it could possibly reach them. There was no life in the dead man’s brown eyes. The body was moving, but there was no one inside it. The man’s soul had departed and Bashar hoped he was in a better place.
“That’s the Prime Minister?”
Neale began to walk away, chuckling. “He was. I guess Carrington’s in charge now.”
“Even more reason to keep him close then,” said Bashar, as he raced to keep up with Neale. Bashar decided to leave the PM trapped in the limo. He didn’t feel much like killing anyone else. The man was harmless anyway. He was stuck there like everyone else. “We need Carrington to get into that bunker.”
“You think he’s on the level?” asked Neale. “You think he’ll get us in?”
Bashar nodded and stared ahead. There were people up ahead, movement, and he hoped it was Tony. “He will. He doesn’t have a choice. He’s going to get us all in or I’ll kill him myself.”
Neale looked at Bashar as a booming sound echoed through the park. “Someone fighting back again?”
“Probably. Does it matter anymore? I’m not sure they can do anything about it. Maybe if we can get Carrington to that bunker he can give them some information about what they’re actually shooting at.”
“Maybe. I’m not even sure myself anymore. Did you see the size of that thing?” Neale touched his cheek and winced. He was still hurting from earlier, yet his injuries were purely physical. He knew he was lucky to be alive and wasn’t about to start complaining.
“I’m not sure it’s that monster we need to be worried about,” said Bashar.
“You kidding? That thing is bigger than any tank or jet plane. How are we going to stop it? You saw what it did. If it wanted to it could destroy the whole of London before nightfall, you know? And then what? Where does it stop?”
Bashar noticed Neale grimacing with pain. “When we get to the bunker you need to get yourself checked over, Neale.”
“I’m fine. I just—”
“I’m serious. Just imagine what kind of medical set up they must have down there.” Bashar winked at Neale. “Imagine the nurses and all that attention.”
“Yeah, maybe. Given how today has turned out so far I’d probably end up with a male nurse. Not my cup of tea, you know?”
Another booming noise ricocheted around the buildings. Bashar looked up to see a vapour trail overhead.
“A rocket?” asked Neale. “Some sort of missile perhaps?”
“At least we know we’re not the only ones left alive,” replied Bashar. He didn’t hear any explosion which suggested that whoever was firing had missed their mark. Were they aiming for the demon? As long as they kept at it, it might just provide enough of a distraction that Bashar could get Carrington to the bunker. Whitehall was just to the east, only a few minutes’ walk. He could feel Nurtaj getting closer.
“Speaking of which, I think we’ve found our friends,” said Neale. “Look, there’s Marama.”
Bashar saw the others up ahead, resting beneath an ash tree. Its low branches provided a natural shelter and hid them from the demon that towered above Trafalgar Square. Bashar heard raised voices suggesting there was some dissent amongst them. Whatever it was would have to wait. The most important thing now was to get Carrington to safety and find out just how bad the situation was. He had been trying not to think about it and hoping it was only London affected. The other thing that Bashar had been repressing sprang to the forefront of his thoughts as he got nearer. He knew he was going to have to give Tony and Lissie the bad news about their friends. It wasn’t something he knew particularly how to do and had no plan about how to do it; the fact that only he and Neale were coming back would surely give the others a heads up as to what had happened.
“What’s the deal?” asked Neale, as they approached. The grass was dry and short, and Marama and Rad were sitting on a clearing beneath the tree. Tony and Lissie were pacing up and down whilst Lulu waited behind Carrington. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, dabbing at his face with a white tissue blotted with red spots.
“Carrington was itching to move, but I told him we were waiting for you,” said Tony. “I knew you’d come back. We just had to—”
“As you well know I am the Deputy PM and this situation is deteriorating beyond what is acceptable.” Carrington straightened his back and rifled a hand through his coarse hair. “I must insist that—”
“Do you want me to shut you up again?” Lulu slapped Carrington around the back of the head.
“No, thank you.” Carrington dabbed at his bloody nose with a tissue and glared at Lulu. “I just don’t want to waste any more time sitting around here when there’s work to be done.”
“You aren’t the Deputy anymore either, mate,” muttered Neale, wondering exactly how he should break the news that the PM was dead.
“How did you go?” asked Tony, ignoring Carrington and looking back at the empty road behind Bashar. “I don’t suppose Jo…”
Ne
ale lowered his head and slumped down on the grass beside Marama and Rad. The death of the Prime Minister seemed to be insignificant compared to Jo and Amelia. Their deaths meant far more to him than the untimely passing of the man who ran the country. What did that say about the state of the nation?
Bashar glanced anxiously at Lissie and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tony, there was nothing we could do.”
“And Amelia?”
Bashar felt his fingers wrap tighter around the cleaver. He had killed a fair few zombies today, but the one person he really wanted to take down had eluded him. That woman who had killed Jo and Amelia had it coming. “Amelia too.”
Tony nodded. “It’s okay, Bashar. I understand. You did what you could.”
Lissie collapsed to the ground next to Carrington and Tony rested a hand on her shoulder. He let her cry.
“Poor kid.” Marama gingerly touched Lissie’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“I should’ve done more,” said Bashar. “I could’ve—”
“You couldn’t do anything,” said Neale. “Neither of us could, as much as we wanted to. That woman was in complete control. Still is.”
“She’s not a woman. Not anymore. Maybe she was once, but if she can fly and control the dead, then she’s not your regular human being. I’m beginning to think she’s behind all of this mess,” muttered Tony. “And I’m sick of it.”
“You think she created all of this?” asked Marama. “That she brought the dead back? How can she do that?”
The roaring of the demon blasted through St James’ Park and echoed around them. It served as a reminder that they couldn’t hang around. Though the monster towered over London, the branches of the huge ash tree were like an umbrella, sheltering them temporarily from the death that wafted across the capital and hid them from view of the monster. The monster’s roar was accompanied by the unmistakeable bang of an explosion.
Maybe they hit their mark at last, thought Bashar.
