The Tube Riders

by Chris Ward

September 18th 2022 to August 9th, 2072.

  Forever in our hearts.

  And underneath, her mother:

  Rachel Mary Banks, beloved wife of John.

  March 15th 2026 to July 17th 2073.

  Rest in Peace.

  ‘Hey Mum, Dad,’ Marta said, brushing tears out of her eyes. ‘Sorry I’ve not been up here for a while, but you know how it is . . . busy and all that. Huh. Working hard, you know.’

  The stone her brother had painted before he disappeared watched her in eternal silence. She hadn’t added his name to it, because she refused to believe he was dead.

  ‘I just came to tell you that I have to go away for a while.’ She squatted down, but didn’t sit. She felt vulnerable enough already, and the memory of Jess’s parents was still fresh in her mind. ‘I don’t know for how long,’ she continued. ‘But I’m in a little trouble, I think. Some bad people are after me and my friends. I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just . . . I don’t know . . . wrong place, wrong time.’ She sighed. ‘I just wanted you to know, that if it all works out – which is unlikely, of course – things are going to change. We know things that could hurt the government, and . . . and, we’re going to tell the right people, who can fix it all, so that no one else needs to die.’

  She sat down, her legs falling out from under her. ‘So, Mum, Dad, I just wanted to tell you before I go, and I hope that, whether it works out or not, I hope you’re proud of me. Because, I’m proud of you. What you tried to do for me, you know. For . . . for everything.’

  She stopped talking. She ran her fingers through the grass as a cold wind ruffled her hair. Looking up at the sky, she saw dark, spongy clouds drifting in the direction of the falling sun. To the east, the sky was almost completely dark, lit only by the glow of street lights and office buildings.

  She stayed that way for quite some time, as darkness fell around her. She didn’t have a watch but she guessed from the sky that it was close to eight o’clock when she climbed to her feet. If she wanted to get back to her flat and grab some belongings then it was time to go. Every second she stayed here was a second closer that the Huntsmen got to her, but for a while she had been unable to move, locked into the moment by her memories. After tonight she didn’t know if she would ever be able to come back here, and she needed to say goodbye, not just to her parents’ memory, but to her entire past.

  ‘Hey you! Stop or your dead!’

  Marta jumped at the voice, spinning around. After all, she’d been here a while, and most of the higher members of the congregation knew her. She heard the click of a gun being cocked, saw a slight movement in the grass not far from her. She was about to say something when a familiar voice shouted: ‘Don’t fucking shoot! I’m with her!’

  ‘Switch?’ She saw him now, in the shadows cast by the church. How did you . . .?’

  ‘He cool, Marta?’ A muscular blonde man carrying a rifle stood up out of the grass just yards from her. She recognised him as Craig, one of the ministers. He’d been in the grass the whole time, watching over her. It seemed religion was taking its importance back in these dark times. But how much had he overheard?

  ‘It’s okay, Brother Craig,’ she said, using the church’s ‘family’ title. ‘He’s a friend. He’s cool.’

  The man shouldered his rifle. ‘Long as you say so, Marta. If you have any problems, just shout.’ He walked away towards the church, giving them some privacy. She was happy he had kept his distance; she didn’t want her scent around him, not after what she had seen today.

  Switch stood a few feet away, looking a little embarrassed.

  ‘How did you find me? Did you follow me?’

  ‘I figured you might need some protection since I knew you’d come here. I had to do some, um, shopping first.’

  ‘Really? She raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you buy?’

  He grinned, and shook his coat. It gave a metallic rustle. ‘Man toys. Oh, and a new pair of shoes. You know, since Paul didn’t keep his end of the bargain.’ He lifted a foot to show her. The sneaker looked pretty old, but it was a definite improvement on the sock.

  Marta smiled. ‘Where did you get your money from? I thought you were broke.’

  ‘I traded.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really. What with?’

  ‘Promises, mostly. You know how it is. Rules of the street.’

  She didn’t, and thought it probably best not to ask. ‘Did you get anything good?’

  ‘Not good enough. There’s no current market for flame throwers or hand grenades. At least not ones I can afford.’ He grinned. ‘But I got some cool shit that might help us out. Take out one or two of those canine mutant fuckers if we have to.’

  Marta smiled back. ‘Switch, how do you stay so cheerful through this? We’re being hunted. We could be dead in hours.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess . . . hmm.’ He shook his head, searching for the right words. ‘I guess it’s just that inside, I’ve felt dead for a long time.’ He shrugged again. ‘Fuck. Not literally dead, you know, just . . . you know how it is. Idling. Like I’m just treading water, waiting for something to happen.’ She nodded in agreement. ‘And now, suddenly, we’re alive. We have something to battle for. We get to open up a can of whoop-ass in the name of revolution. If we can escape those government monsters, of course.’

  ‘I guess you’re right. I just wished I shared your confidence.’

  He nodded towards her parents’ grave. ‘You need more time?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. It’s time to go, I think.’

  Back around the front of the church Brother Craig materialized out of the shadowed porch. ‘Wherever you kids are going, take care,’ he said, and then added: ‘Godspeed.’

  ‘So you were listening to me!’

  He cocked his head. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, but you looked like you wanted your own time and I didn’t want to blow my cover in case whatever it is that’s after you came along.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Before she could stop herself, she hugged the older man. Suddenly realizing what she’d done, she stepped back and said: ‘Brother Craig, after we’re gone, go inside the church and bolt all the doors. Don’t open them for any reason. Bad things are after us.’

  ‘I figured that. Don’t worry, we’ve been protecting this place a long time. What are you going to do?’

  She grinned. ‘Bring down the government.’

  Craig laughed. ‘Well, good luck to you! It couldn’t come soon enough.’

  She thanked him and they headed back out on to the street.

  ‘Thanks for thinking of me,’ Marta said to Switch when they were alone.

  His bad eye fluttered and his cheeks darkened. Embarrassment wasn’t one of his common attributes and it quite amused her to see it.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, regaining his composure. ‘I figured that being a chick and all you might get a little emotional and leave yourself open to attack.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she agreed with a smirk. ‘Being a chick and all. Don’t you need to grab some stuff? I have to get back to my flat to get my handbag and my makeup, but we don’t have much time.’

  Switch smiled. ‘There’s something I never told you about where I live,’ he said. ‘It’s St. Cannerwells. I kind of live there.’

  ‘Live there?’

  ‘In one of the old shops. I can just grab anything I need on the way back, though as a general rule I carry everything important with me.’

  Marta shook her head. ‘We had no idea. Well, I suppose at least it’s warm down there –’

  Switch put a hand on her arm to cut her off. The strength of his grip surprised her, his fingers digging into her skin.

  ‘What are you doing . . .?’

  ‘Marta, we’ve got a problem.’ He pointed down the street, past the scatterings of vendors setting up street stalls outside shops and wholesale markets, to where a dirty London Underground sign identified West Finchley. A man in a robe had just emerged from the
stairs and was looking up and down the street. His face was covered by a cowl, and his head was moving in an arc around his chin, swinging from side to side like a pendulum on a clock, almost as if he was smelling the air.

  ‘Please God tell me that’s not –’ Marta began.

  ‘Um, yeah, I think it is. I saw one on a train a couple of days ago. They were transporting it, I think. I was having a practice.’

  The figure turned and began to walk in their direction, quickly picking up pace. It moved like a man, but with its head stooped forward as though straining to see something on the ground.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Switch said. ‘It’s following my trail. I came by tube. I rode. It’s tracking me.’

  ‘Come on,’ Marta said, her heart hammering. ‘We can hide from it, maybe double back around into the station.’

  ‘I say we stay and fight it,’ Switch said, turning around. ‘I got some stuff that might work.’

  Marta looked back down the street. The Huntsman had started into a slow jog. It was heading right for them.

  ‘Uh, no, if it was you alone I’d say go for it, but since I’m here I say we run!’ She grabbed his arm, pulling him back up the street. He didn’t need much encouragement; pretty soon he was outpacing her despite his injury.

  ‘Is it gaining on us?’ he gasped.

  ‘I don’t know . . . this way!’

  They took a turn towards Finchley town centre, large abandoned office buildings looming up on either side of them. Marta glanced back. The Huntsman was just three hundred feet back and closing fast, running at a full sprint.

  ‘Quick! In here!’ Switch said, grabbing her arm and pulling her sharply right into the foyer of an abandoned building. ‘Back there, get up the stairs! I have a plan.’

  Marta didn’t hesitate. She pushed through a fire-door and sprinted up a metal staircase. Below her, Switch was trying to jam the door shut. From the second floor landing she watched him stick a knife into the lock and turn it, then jam an old chair under the long handle of the fire-door. Suddenly something slammed into the door from the other side, rocking it on its hinges.

  Marta yelped with fear. Switch shouted something at the door then rushed after her up the stairs. ‘Go on, run!’ he shouted. ‘It won’t hold for long, but we just have to stall it.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘All the way up. The roof.’

  ‘Oh, God. Why?’

  ‘Just go!’

  Marta dashed up the fire escape, feeling the burn in her thighs as she turned each corner and rushed up each new flight of stairs. She’d judged the building to be six or eight floors tall, but passing a door into the ninth floor, and with a couple more turns above her, she wondered if she’d make it. Far below, she heard a splintering sound, followed by a crash, and then a growl as the Huntsman burst through the fire-door.

  She couldn’t help but look back. As she did so, she heard a rough scream, a noise that sounded like a word fed through a salt grinder:

  ‘Stop!’

  She shivered. The word seemed to cut right through her. She stared down towards the floor far below, saw something rushing up the stairs towards them, moving so fast it blurred. She stared at it, transfixed.

  Then Switch was jerking her arm, pulling her away through a door on to the building’s roof. A cold wind struck her face and she recoiled, shutting her eyes. Rough hands pushed her hard from behind.

  Switch’s voice was filled with frustration. ‘Quickly, Marta!’ He was doing another job on the door. The handle was round, and he kicked it hard, once, twice, knocking it out of shape so that it wouldn’t open easily. There were few objects on the roof but he managed to find what looked like a rusty metal clothes horse and jam its stubby legs into the tight gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.

  Marta spun around in a circle, seeing the high rooftops of London rising like dark concrete islands out of a sea of twinkling lights. She could only admit that it was beautiful, but as she turned to see the adjacent building rising up some fifty feet to the right, it only helped to press home the desperate enormity of their predicament.

  ‘Switch, we’re trapped up here!’

  He appeared at her shoulder, breathing hard from his exertions. ‘Get over to the edge, on the main road side. Quickly, go! The door won’t hold for long.’

  ‘Is there another fire exit or something?’ she asked, leaning over the edge of the roof.

  ‘Look there.’ He pointed over the top of her shoulder. She did, but all she saw there was the road. There was no way down except to jump, and that was suicide.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ she shouted, frustration getting the better of her. Behind her something slammed against the stuck door, making it rattle.

  ‘About ten feet down, you see it?’

  She squinted. ‘I see a wire of some kind.’

  ‘That’s it!’

  ‘What good’s that going to do us?’

  He pointed across the street. ‘We ride it. It attaches to that building over there, the lower one. To an antennae mast on its roof. We get off there, it breaks the scent. The Huntsman can’t follow us. It’ll take ages for it to find our scent again, by which time we’ll be well ahead.’

  Marta tugged on a loose braid of hair at her neck. ‘We can’t ride –’

  ‘If you can jump on to a moving fucking train you can jump on to a stationary fucking wire!’ he shouted. Marta stared, shocked, but as the creature slammed against the door again behind them she knew he was right. ‘Now get your ass on that damn wire!’ he yelled, pushing her towards the roof edge.

  She wrapped her hands through the leather straps on her clawboard. Suddenly she was overcome with a massive surge of adrenalin. She felt energy filling her arms and legs, felt that fire that she so loved. It was the board that did it. Always.

  She turned back to Switch, flashing a wild grin. ‘If this goes wrong, I’ll see you wherever.’ Then, with the clawboard held out in front of her, she jumped over the edge.

  For a moment she was in freefall, with the ground racing up towards her, then the hooks caught on the wire that connected the two buildings, her shoulders jerked and she was hanging there, her feet dangling high above the road.

  The last thought to have flashed through her mind as she fell was that the wire would be too weak to hold her, or otherwise too elastic and would bounce her right back off. But it was thick and it felt strong. It had a little flex but not enough to throw her off, but as she hung there, ten feet below the roof and a hundred and fifty feet off the ground, she realised they had another problem.

  ‘Switch, I’m not moving!’ she shouted. ‘It’s thick rubber casing. It’s got too much grip!’

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered, leaning over the edge above her. Then: ‘The downward slant should be enough. Swing your legs back and forth, get some momentum.’

  Marta did as he instructed. She felt herself move forward a few inches. ‘It’s working!’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll try to help you.’ After one last glance back towards the blocked door, he climbed over the edge, hanging on by one hand, his clawboard in the other. He jumped, hooked the wire behind her with his board and held on to a metal fixture that held the wire to the wall with his other hand. He leaned his back against the wall then pushed her with his feet. She slid forward a few inches, and then she began to gain speed. ‘You have a bit more weight than me, so you should have more momentum,’ he shouted.

  ‘You’re an asshole,’ she told him. ‘But thanks.’

  Switch grinned and kicked her again, just as she swung forward. She felt the rubber casing losing its resistance and she began to slide. Switch shouted something, but she was too far away now to hear clearly. The building in front rose towards her as she slid down, and she started to plan her dismount. It would be slower than from a train, at least.

  ‘Watch out, Marta!’

  She heard him this time, and she twisted herself around to see Switch hanging maybe fifty feet behind her, moving much more slo
wly. His slight frame wasn’t helping him gain much speed, and he was jerking back and forth trying to move himself forward. And there, above him on the building’s roof, stood the Huntsman.

  Marta couldn’t see it any more clearly than they had before. It was just a dark silhouette against the night sky, but she could see that it had something in its hand, something metallic, something that glinted against the glow of the streetlights below.

  Thang!

  ‘Whoah!’ Switch shouted, and Marta saw him twisting wildly again. ‘It’s shooting at me!’

  Marta remembered the metal bolt protruding from the head of Jess’s mother and made a connection.

  It seemed ridiculous, but it looked and sounded like a crossbow.

  She heard another thang followed by a thud across the street where the bolt hit, then a whizzing, winding sound as the creature loaded its next bolt.

  Marta was still watching, head turned back, when she crashed into the antennae of the opposite building. With a cry of pain she twisted her clawboard off the wire and dropped to the ground. Rolling over, she managed to regain her footing and make it to the building’s edge in time to see Switch still crossing over, some way behind. Instead of sliding straight he was putting on a show of mid-air acrobatics to avoid the creature’s weapon, jerking forwards and back, swinging his legs up and down, and at one point doing a complete loop of the wire. To fall was death, but to be hit by one of the Huntsman’s crossbow quarrels might mean it too.

  ‘Get down, Marta!’

  She had been so transfixed by Switch’s skills that she had almost forgotten the Huntsman. A metal bolt thudded into the antenna housing just a foot wide of her, and aware of her fortune, she dropped to the ground just as Switch bundled over the edge.

  ‘It can’t get across,’ he said, breathing hard as he crouched beside her. ‘It’s not stupid. It knows if it tries I’ll just cut the wire. Our biggest problem though is getting out without meeting it on the way up.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  She sensed rather than saw him grin in the dark. ‘We run like rabbits with fire crackers up our asses. And then some.’