by Russ Watts
“She’s a necromancer,” announced Lulu.
“Like in Hollywood, right? Pull the other one,” said Rad.
“You mean how only zombies are in Hollywood movies?” Bashar silenced Rad with a withering look. “Go on, Lulu.”
“When she hypnotised all of you back on The Mall she spoke to me. For some reason I was immune to it. She couldn’t control me. It’s like Leicester Square. She managed to convince all of you to stop and you would be under her spell, walking around like those other zombies now, if I hadn’t woke you up. I’m telling you that she is the one in charge here.”
“What kind of witch is she?” asked Marama.
“The fucked up kind,” said Neale.
“Actually she said she doesn’t like being called a witch,” said Lulu. “I’m trying to remember what she said. There was something about her sisters too. Something about how we killed them and now she wants revenge.”
“Sounds whacked out to me,” said Rad, getting up. “I know what I’ve seen but I don’t buy it. Necromancers? Witches out for revenge? There’s got to be a more rational explanation.”
Bashar looked at Tony and remembered the conversation they’d had in the basement food hall. Tony had suggested something similar back then, but his ideas weren’t fully formulated.
“He needs more,” said Lulu. “That’s what she told me. That he needs more souls to grow and more flesh to add to his own so that he can become whole. She said something about bringing his brothers too.”
“Can we just go now?” asked Carrington. “This is all terribly interesting, but—”
Lulu slapped a hand around the back of Carrington’s head.
“Look I’ve just about had enough of—”
Lulu slapped him again and he bent forward to avoid getting hit a third time. He rubbed the back of his head.
“I’d be quiet if I was you,” said Neale. He let the corner of his mouth smile. If Lulu knew she was slapping the Prime Minister would she do it quite so viciously? Probably, thought Neale.
Carrington stared at Bashar. “Can we get story time over so I can get back to saving my country?”
“Tony, does what Lulu say mean anything to you: this demon and the threats to bring his brothers, the woman who seems to control the dead and says we murdered her sisters? What is this all about?”
“It’s really just pieces of a jigsaw right now. I don’t know if it even means anything.” Tony looked at his wife. “I just know that I want to get back at her. That woman took Jo and Amelia from us. If she’s responsible for all these deaths then we can’t stand by and watch.”
Another booming sound reached their ears and a distant groan. Wisps of fog began to curl around the ash tree.
“I think it’s time to go,” said Bashar. “Carrington, on your feet. Take us to this bunker. You and Tony take the lead from now on.”
“Oh, so now you want to listen to me?” Carrington got up and pointed an angry finger at Lulu. “Don’t touch me again.”
As they gathered themselves, Lulu looked at Tony. Her fear was gone. Her grief had given way to anger.
“She said something about finishing what they started. The witch, or whatever you want to call her, told me that her ancestors were left to rot in jail and that she was going to bring back her Lord.” Lulu shrugged. “It sounded insane to me, but now…” Lulu looked down the road in the direction of the demon. A fighter plane whizzed overhead toward it. “Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she really is behind this.”
“There was a story from the mid-17th Century,” began Tony, “about a coven of witches in the Chelmsford area. I think there was well over a dozen in all, but not all of the women were put on trial. Some died in prison. It was terrible. They were left to starve and I very much doubt there was even any truth to the accusations against them. I don’t know if that has any bearing on our situation. That woman who killed Amelia is certainly unique. A witch? I don’t know.”
“What about the monster, the demon?” asked Bashar. “What did she say about that, Lulu? Did this Lord of hers have a name?”
Lulu frowned. “Bef something. Belephog… Belfa… I can’t remember.”
“Belphegor?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Tony drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well now you are really getting into some serious stuff. Belphegor is one of the seven demon princes of Hell.”
“Demons? Ha! And you think I’m the problem?” Carrington waited for the slap on the back of his head and breathed an audible sigh of relief when it didn’t arrive.
Marama nudged Bashar. “Does Tony know everything?”
“Pretty much,” replied Bashar.
“He’s pretty good behind a wheel too,” said Neale. “Got us out of a fix this morning. I was almost a meal for one of those zombies.”
“I’m not sure I want to know anymore,” said Lissie.
“I’m not sure you do.” Tony looked at Bashar. “If that thing really is Belphegor then we are looking at a whole new world. It’s not just the dead that we have to contend with. London is going to Hell. Literally.”
“Seven demons? Are you suggesting there might be more of those things heading our way?” asked Lissie.
“Maybe, maybe not. I guess it depends if you believe in that. Belphegor represents gluttony. Seven demons for seven sins.” Tony visibly shuddered. “If that witch manages to conjure Belphegor to life, then he just might have the power to raise the rest of them. I wonder if London is just the first stop.”
“Christ almighty, we are so fucked,” said Neale.
“This is old testament stuff,” said Tony. “It’s not real.”
“Yeah doesn’t look like it. All those zombies were just kids in make-up right?”
Tony jumped as the ground shook. Lissie yanked his hand as she turned around and they saw a massive fireball engulfing the demon which had gained some ground on them. A towering plume of smoke erupted into the air and crackling fire illuminated the demon. Orange streaks of flame fizzed around the giant’s head and the Admiralty Arch blew apart as the monster crashed through it, its thick arms smashing apart the old masonry and blasting it into the streets. The monster stumbled through the smoke and fire and planted a hand down on the ground to stop itself from falling. The reverberations sent shockwaves through the area as the demon struggled to maintain its composure.
A fighter plane was making another turn to come around again when Bashar saw the witch. She was stumbling past Horse Guard’s Parade, her face contorted in pain. She was only holding herself up by holding onto a street sign. As she slowly stood he saw her clutch at her stomach. Bashar watched as the undead flocked around her for support, dead arms lifting her up onto their shoulders like some sort of queen.
“Yes, that thing is dying,” said Neale. “They got it.”
Bashar heard his friends congratulating themselves. The demon was blasted again as the fighter jet sent another missile into its side. The monster roared as a swirling fog began to surround it.
“I knew they’d do it.” Carrington clenched his fist in victory. “With that monster dead we can begin the clean-up operation. The army can sort out these pathetic creatures,” he said referring to the zombies wandering through the park. “London will rise again and be better than ever.”
The demon roared as bullets ripped into its back. Bashar noticed that the smoke around it was mixing with the fog. It was as if the fog was a protectorate. As the fighter jet neared the demon it reared up once more, the horns on its head so high that they blocked out the sun.
Bashar looked at the witch. The zombies carried her aloft. Her eyes were closed and as her demon roared in pain her back arched. He wondered if there was some connection between the two, some sort of bond. If they were right then Belphegor was becoming real and was born only through her. The demon twisted in agony as the jet came around again. The screaming of the plane’s engine was like sweet music above the din of the gunfire and the monster. As it fired again
the monster’s form seemed to flicker and the bullets passed through it to smash into the road.
“Come on, finish it,” said Tony.
“Kill it,” urged Lulu.
“Send that thing back to Hell,” whispered Bashar. The demon was still not wholly real. Most of the bullets hit it, but some seemed to pass right through. The witch was right. It needed more souls, more energy to become real. How close was it though? It was real enough to be hurt, that much was clear, but how long would it be before it truly made the transition into their world?
They had all stopped to watch the fight, such as it was. A lone fighter jet against the mighty Belphegor. Yet it was working. As the demon collapsed again under a barrage of fire from the jet, Bashar turned to Carrington. “This bunker of yours close? Once that thing is down we’re going to need to get off these streets. The dead are getting close.”
“The entrance is close to Westminster Tube station. I can get us there in a jiffy. I just want to watch this bastard die first.”
Bashar looked back toward Trafalgar. The witch was half a mile away and yet he could see the smile on her face as she looked at him. She was striding down the road ahead of the demon with the zombies behind her. All of her pain seemed to have vanished. The dead were lined up in rows as if on parade, their jerky stiff bodies moving in unison behind her. The demon suddenly raised itself up and stretched up its two powerful arms, reaching for the fighter jet.
She’s waiting.
The demon’s arms missed the jet. Bashar saw the witch smile. Surely even she could see she had failed. The demon was suffering and would soon be dead. Even through the fog that swirled around it Bashar could tell it was hurting. The jet was flying low over Whitehall, preparing for a final strike that would bring the beast to its knees.
“Oh no.” Bashar’s smile faded to a grimace as Belphegor flicked out its tail and caught the jet. The plane’s tail was sheared off and immediately it began to spin out of control. He heard the whine of the engine as the plane struggled to stay airborne and half a second later the pilot ejected.
“No. No, please, not now,” said Lulu.
But the plane was lost, spinning wildly out of control and heading west across the park. It was low, barely a hundred feet above the treetops and churning black smoke behind it as it came down. They watched the plane speed by and crash through the black railings at the forecourt of Buckingham Palace. A massive fireball erupted and then there was silence.
Bashar drew his eyes back to the demon. It was standing proudly above the city, the fog rapidly spreading out and down the streets once more. Bashar watched the demon raise an arm. At first Bashar couldn’t see why, but then he saw the parachute. The demon plucked the fighter pilot from the sky and pinched the man between its talons. A moment later and the pilot was in the demon’s mouth, another soul collected.
“God above,” said Tony.
“Bunker?” asked Neale.
Bashar saw the witch heading for them with an army of zombies in tow. He looked at Neale and then Carrington. “Bunker,” he confirmed, and they turned and ran.
CHAPTER 17
“I need to get to the civil command centre. We’re close now. We’ve actually been right above it for the last half mile,” said Carrington, as they ran down Great George Street toward Westminster.
“I thought you said you had to get to Whitehall?” asked Tony.
“Figure of speech. The bunker’s underground, underneath Whitehall. It stretches for miles. The nearest entrance here is by Westminster.”
“Less talking, more running,” urged Bashar. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the first zombies appear. Different shades of people, a ravenous legion of undead chasing them, all undoubtedly spurred on by the witch. From under the shade of the buildings still standing Bashar could see the demon’s head high in the sky, its horns like two pincers pointed upward. The monster was moving now too, crashing through buildings and stamping on homes and shops that had survived two World Wars.
On their right they fled past a statue of Winston Churchill and Bashar wondered what he would do now. What would he make of all this? His city had been decimated once more, but would it rise yet again? Could it? This demon was killing London, bit by bit, piece by piece, soul by soul; by nightfall there may be little left.
A zombie appeared from around the base of the statue and charged into the road. Bashar saw Marama slash at it with her knife and knock it off balance. With the zombie on the ground Neale plunged his knife into the thing’s brain.
“Keep going, we’re almost there,” shouted Carrington.
Bashar saw the road open out ahead of them to reveal Westminster Bridge. He had walked over it only once before, on his way to an interview a couple of weeks ago. Then it had been full of traffic and noise, tourists taking photographs on their phones of the Houses of Parliament and the Thames. As he ran toward it now the traffic was stationary and the cars and vans all silent. There were several bodies littering the pavement and he suspected the Houses of Parliament were quiet today. Whoever was still left alive would have found refuge in the underground bunker or fled to their families. The sky seemed to be turning grey again, as if the fog was settling back over the city. Whether it was brought by the demon or the witch was irrelevant. They just needed to get to the bunker before it obscured their path. He recalled the attempts in the morning to get from the coffee shop to Tony’s van. Back then they had struggled to see even a few inches in front of their faces. He recalled what had happened to Wilf too. In the thickness of the fog anything could be lurking.
They ran over a junction, the traffic lights all flashing amber. Yellow gridlines were hidden beneath a huge truck that had slammed into a removal van. Both engines had crumpled and both drivers were dead, their remains splattered all over the road.
“Where the fuck is the entrance, Carrington?” asked Tony, as they approached the junction.
“Just the other side of the road. On the left.”
Carrington charged around the removal van and straight into the open arms of a woman. She had long blonde hair, dull eyes and wore a smart business suit. Her blouse had been ripped open and her arms were covered in raw bite marks.
“Jesus Christ!” Carrington yelled, as the slim woman opened her mouth to bite him.
Lissie screamed as Tony ran into the woman, his speed knocking her off her feet and forcing her to release her grip on Carrington.
As they wrestled on the ground Rad held Marama back. “Let me help him.” Marama couldn’t break free of Rad as much as she pushed against him.
“I’ve got it,” said Neale. He joined the fight and managed to get hold of the woman’s head. Her teeth banged together as Neale put his hands on either side of her face.
“Do it.”
Tony brought his fist down on the woman’s once pretty face and broke her nose, showering Neale with blood. Tony drew his knife out and placed it above the woman’s forehead. He straddled her and with both hands on the knife plunged it into her forehead until it penetrated her brain and the woman stopped moving.
Another zombie crawled out from underneath the removal van and grabbed hold of Carrington’s leg. A young man with a shaved head, wearing T-shirt and jeans, had both hands around Carrington’s ankle.
“Fuck off.” Carrington kicked out at the body and his foot smashed out several of the zombie’s teeth.
Bashar brought his hammer down on the boy, cracking his skull open. The cleaver finished the job and Bashar offered Carrington a hand.
“Thanks.” Carrington accepted Bashar’s help and got to his feet. He pointed toward the river. “The entrance is just over there.”
“Let’s go.” Bashar looked to where Carrington had pointed and saw more destruction. The familiar red circle with a blue horizontal line through it was still attached to the tube entrance, but the building that Carrington had pointed out was gone, reduced to nothing but smashed bricks and smouldering fire.
“That it?” asked Tony.
They walked across the road and looked at what was left of the building that housed the bunker.
“How are we supposed to get in?” asked Bashar.
Carrington picked up a piece of rubble. “I can’t believe it. This was supposed to be heavily defended. This shouldn’t be happening.”
“Well it is, so deal with it. We’ve risked our lives getting you here, so where’s the back door?” asked Lulu.
“I don’t know,” said Carrington, as he dropped the piece of rubble and rubbed his hands together. He looked at Lulu and the faces staring back at him. “I don’t know, okay? I’m not in charge of everything. I don’t have responsibility for—”
“Actually, you do,” said Neale. He looked at Bashar and then Carrington. “You’re in charge of it all now.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I told you, I’m just the Deputy PM, the man in charge is down in that bunker. I would love to go down there and help out, but…”
“Fuck.” Tony took his wife’s hand. He guessed what was coming. “You okay love?”
Lissie nodded but frowned. “What’s going on?”
Bashar stepped forward and propped his cleaver up against his shoulder. “When Neale and I were on our way back to you earlier we passed Downing Street. There was a car, a limo, and the occupants were all gone or dead. There was a man in the back.”
“He was dead,” said Neale. “And he was the Prime Minister.”
Bashar heard gasps around the group and saw Carrington’s face go from shock to fear.
“Are you sure? They would’ve got him down into the secure bunker as soon as there was any trouble.”
“I guess they didn’t have enough time. It happened quickly, remember?”
“Cabinet must be working. Even without the PM they would have convened the emergency response committee. You’ve seen our planes overhead hitting that thing. Somebody has to be managing this. The PM is the head of COBRA. I can’t believe he’s dead, I just can’t. You must’ve seen someone else. He’ll be a hundred feet below us right now running the country, I’ll bet you. He… he needs to look after the country, manage the recovery, control the fightback. He has a lot of work to do. I can’t believe it. Are you quite sure it was him?”
