Shift #2

by Jeff Povey

  ‘What?’ Non-Ape asks.

  ‘You just threw a girl in the river!’ Johnson tells him, semi-stunned.

  ‘A girl?’

  ‘Didn’t you notice?’

  Johnson and I run up to the bridge and peer down at the fast-flowing river in time to see Carrie’s lifeless body being swept towards us.

  ‘It’s Carrie,’ Johnson says.

  ‘You mean Evil-GG,’ I say. ‘He’s inside her. But we can get her fixed I think . . .’

  My mind is alive with possibilities. With Another-Billie we can bring everyone back to life . . . Everyone we can find, that is.

  Johnson is wary. ‘Fixed?’

  ‘Long story, but it could be possible.’ I’m thinking Another-Billie is going to have her work cut out when we return. We could even get Lucas from his house.

  ‘You just said it’s not Carrie,’ Johnson says. ‘She’s in Evil-GG’s body. And who knows where that is.’

  Carrie is swept under the bridge and Johnson and I run to the other side to watch.

  ‘We can’t just let her be . . . carried . . . away,’ I murmur to Johnson. ‘We could get her back, get her swapped, get her healed and get her home.’

  ‘Love your optimism.’

  I climb onto the wall of the bridge.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Johnson asks.

  ‘If it was you in that river, would you want me to leave you?’

  Carrie crashes hard into a moored river dredger, crunching her bones and gashing her brittle body. I always end up watching Carrie get hurt in some way. Even when she’s categorically dead I still have to bear witness to even more pain.

  Johnson hesitates. He knows he should do the heroic thing and try and reach her somehow. But in the split second that he wavers there’s a splash behind us.

  Other-Johnson dives into the Thames.

  He’s beaten Johnson to the punch.

  He surfaces after a few seconds and looks around for Carrie’s body. It has almost completely submerged so I shout to him, pointing and gesturing. ‘There, up ahead!’

  Other-Johnson swivels and sees Carrie slipping under.

  He is about to swim after her when a chunk of masonry splashes down a metre away from his head.

  ‘What the hell?’ I yell. Non-Ape is still intent on throwing lumps of concrete into the river. ‘Stop! Hey – stop!!’

  Non-Ape hasn’t heard me and more pieces of hotel rain down around Other-Johnson.

  There is stupidity and then there is Non-Ape.

  Johnson watches for a moment and I wonder if he’d be quite happy for Other-Johnson to be crushed by an internal wall from the hotel.

  But then he gathers himself and starts waving and shouting at Non-Ape. ‘Quit throwing stuff! Hey!’

  Johnson’s voice is louder and carries further than mine and Non-Ape stops, a huge piece of floor raised over his head ready to hurl into the Thames.

  My voice joins Johnson’s. ‘Find GG’s body – only wait a bit, OK? Just wait a second!’

  Non-Ape considers it for a very long moment until he drops the piece of floor at his feet.

  The sun has almost reached its highest point and we’re baking underneath it. The river looks inviting as Other-Johnson treads water, desperately hoping he won’t be crushed to death.

  ‘He’s dangerous even when he’s doing good,’ Other-Johnson whispers in my head, his relief evident.

  ‘You’re back!’ I tell him.

  ‘What? Oh. Yeah, yeah I am. I’m switched on again.’

  A huge lump of concrete lands near Other-Johnson.

  ‘For God’s sakes!’ I scream at Non-Ape.

  He raises a meaty paw by way of an apology. ‘Forgot.’

  The Ape joins us on the bridge. He is on high alert. ‘I think I heard something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The Ape takes a moment to look around the street.

  Carrie is still caught up against the river dredger but the current is starting to tug her free. Other-Johnson needs to reach her before she is dragged away again.

  ‘I’m on it, Rev.’

  He dives under the surface.

  He is gone for ten seconds.

  Twenty.

  Thirty.

  He breaks the surface at forty seconds and is much closer to Carrie now.

  But her body is pulled free of the river dredger and gets carried along by a new stronger current.

  ‘Hurry!’ I yell.

  Other-Johnson plunges back under the water and moves at amazing speed, swimming more like a seal than a person. He is under the bridge one second then resurfacing fifteen metres past it in the next moment.

  ‘Glad all that metal in his body isn’t dragging him down,’ Johnson remarks. But I hear a faint wistfulness in his voice.

  But when Other-Johnson surfaces he can’t see Carrie’s body and I yell to him, ‘She’s being dragged away!’

  As Other-Johnson twists and turns, fighting the current, he looks agitated.

  ‘Johnson!’ I yell.

  Carrie has travelled at least another fifty metres away. But Other-Johnson is treading water again. Then he goes under again. But this time it’s like something has got hold of him and yanked him out of sight.

  Johnson, the Ape and I clamber from the bridge down a stone stairway and run as hard as we can along the riverside.

  ‘Johnson!’ I cry again, more in panic this time.

  I don’t know how we’re going to get down to the actual water’s edge but there’s got to be a way of reaching him.

  ‘Boat,’ Johnson declares, as if reading my mind.

  There is a row of pleasure and sightseeing cruisers moored by the river and all of them have a gangplank leading to them. That’s the easy part.

  The hard part is knowing how to drive a boat.

  Other-Johnson resurfaces and starts swimming for the bank. He has given up on rescuing Carrie/Evil-GG because there is something in the river with him. And that something grabs him and drags him under again.

  ‘Can you drive one of those boats?’ I ask the Ape.

  ‘Easy.’

  ‘You can? Wow.’ Even Johnson is impressed.

  ‘They’re just buses that drive on water.’

  Other-Johnson breaks the surface and yells at us, not bothering with telepathy. ‘There’s something in the water!’

  He gets tugged back under and we charge onto the gangplank of a sightseeing boat.

  Johnson, thinking much more clearly than me, remembers to uncoil the ropes tethering the boat to the bank.

  I run to the cabin and find myself face to face with a bank of controls and read-outs that mean nothing to me. There’s a key in what I pray is an ignition but other than that I am lost.

  Something hard hits the side of the boat and rocks it. It must be a wave but I have no idea what caused it. The river had been pretty still moments ago.

  ‘How do we start this thing?’ I yell.

  ‘I’m a great sailor.’ The Ape stomps towards me but when the boat rocks again he lurches forward and flattens me against the control panel.

  ‘Ape!’

  The Ape pushes himself from the console but the boat rocks again and again he falls into me.

  ‘For God’s sakes!’

  ‘Ain’t me,’ he says and pushes himself back from me.

  Only for another wave to smash him back into me. It’s like some misguided mating ritual as another lurch pins him even tighter to me.

  ‘What on earth is doing that?’ I shove at his shoulders, pushing him away.

  ‘Chemistry.’ He grins. And flies forward once more, only this time I spin and clamber away.

  The boat rocks again as I race out of the cabin. ‘Just get it started!’ I yell back at the Ape.

  I head for the side and look over the edge. The boat rocks again but I can’t see anything.

  Johnson has finished untethering the boat and joins me to look over the side for Other-Johnson.

  The Ape must have twisted
the key in the ignition because I can hear the engine whine and then die. It sounds dry and lifeless.

  I can’t see Other-Johnson.

  He hasn’t resurfaced yet.

  The boat rocks again but the Ape, pressing buttons, twisting the key over and over, swearing and hammering the console with his fist, finally gets the engine to fire. I have no idea how he manages it but the large boat thrums into life.

  Other-Johnson breaks the surface and is panting hard.

  I wave frantically. ‘We’re coming!’

  He sees me and his eyes widen. ‘No! Rev! Get off the boat!’

  He starts swimming towards me as I run to the nearest lifebuoy and get ready to hurl it into the river for him when another shunt sends me staggering backwards.

  The Ape is still pressing all manner of buttons and twisting the boat’s wheel one way and then the other, but finally we are moving away from the bank.

  ‘Rev!’ Other-Johnson calls again. ‘Get off the boat!’ He is treading water again, looking all around for whatever is in the river with him.

  Johnson staggers towards me as the boat is battered again. ‘What is down there?’

  The Ape is putting the engine through some major distress as he does his best to sail the boat. In reality we are just floating – going with the current now that the boat is free of its mooring.

  I find one of the ropes that was used for the mooring and quickly tie it to the lifebuoy. I head back to the side and get ready to throw it to Other-Johnson but he has disappeared again. I can’t see him anywhere.

  The boat rocks violently and is shoved further into the middle of the river.

  It feels like it’s been hit by a whale.

  The Ape joins me and Johnson.

  Johnson is surprised to see him. ‘You’re meant to be driving this thing.’

  ‘Boats aren’t that much like buses,’ he says.

  Other-Johnson’s voice crashes into my head. ‘I know who’s doing this, Rev. I know who—’

  Other-Johnson’s voice snaps out of my head.

  I run up and down the side of the boat trying to find him but he’s been dragged under again.

  Johnson is looking at the increasingly turbulent waters. The sun has disappeared behind a dark cloud and turns the day into momentary dusk. ‘I can’t see him,’ he tells me.

  The Ape heads back for the cabin and after a few moments the boat lights up, as lines of multi-coloured bulbs snap on at once, more for decoration than anything else but at least they shed red, white and blue light across the Thames.

  ‘Johnson?’ I keep trying our mental phone line but I can’t pick him up. ‘Johnson!?’ I yell inside my head.

  The pleasure cruiser is moving fast now, as the huge shunts have forced us out into one of the river’s major currents. Up ahead is what might be Westminster Bridge and it is odds on that we’ll crash into one of the stone arches that have propped the bridge up for centuries.

  We have come so close to a chance of going home but with every second we head further east, where if we don’t figure out how to steer and stop this thing we’ll eventually end up being washed out to sea.

  We’ll probably see France after all. If Billie was here, she’d be happy.

  Billie, I think. She was right behind me a few minutes ago, but she never made it back to the hotel. I thought she was right behind me. Did something or someone get her?

  Did they know she was powerful enough to pose a threat?

  ‘Johnson, are you there?’ I whisper but there’s no answer. ‘Johnson!’

  An empty silence descends.

  We’re not going home anytime soon.

  In truth we never were.

  We are heading for one of the magnificent arches of the ancient bridge, when there’s a mighty shunt from underneath and it alters our course so that we squeeze under the arch, one side of the boat scraping and scratching loudly on the stonework.

  Johnson is at the rear of the boat looking back to see if there’s any sign of Other-Johnson. I wonder if any part of him feels guilty for wanting to change back into his old body. If he hadn’t, it could have been him jumping into the Thames to try and rescue Carrie’s corpse.

  ‘Anything?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head in silence.

  The Ape has given up trying to steer the boat. Every time he does the boat gets hit by whatever is in the water and shoved onto a different path.

  A chill is creeping through the air. The sun remains trapped behind gathering grey clouds.

  ‘We could jump,’ I tell Johnson.

  ‘And be dragged under by whatever’s down there?’

  The smashed hotel is probably over half a mile away now, maybe more. London looms on either side of us as we are propelled to who knows where.

  With Other-Johnson drowned . . . I have to catch myself and take a moment to stay calm. He can’t be drowned. That can’t have happened. But a small shiver runs through me and Johnson slips an arm round my shoulders. I let myself lean into him and wonder who or what is doing this when a Moth Two appears on the next bridge up ahead.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  A Black Moth as the Ape calls them.

  Then another.

  ‘Johnson?’

  ‘I see them.’

  The Ape has also seen them and readies himself. ‘Get behind me.’

  Another of his tried and trusted war cries.

  He scans the boat for a weapon and his eyes light up at the sight of a long wooden pole with a brass hook on the end of it. It must be used for hooking fallen guests out of the river or maybe helping to push the boat away from the quayside but he picks it up, inspects the tip and seems satisfied.

  More Black Moths line up on the bridge. It’s probably four hundred metres away and we’re drawing ever nearer.

  Johnson stands alongside me. ‘We beat them before.’

  ‘They ran away,’ I remind him.

  ‘Still felt like a win.’ He’s staying brave and keeping calm for me.

  The bridge is fast becoming littered with Black Moths as they leap onto the bridge wall, squatting and crouching, getting ready to greet us.

  As soon as the boat reaches the next bridge they are going to rain down on us.

  The Ape weighs up the possibility of more violence with relish. ‘They ain’t so tough.’

  Johnson scans the boat. ‘Boats have anchors.’ He looks up and down and from right to left. ‘They have to park them, don’t they?’

  Johnson and I head for the rear of the boat and as the metres are eaten up by our inexorable drift towards the gathering Black Moths we find an anchor. It looks like it weighs a ton and Johnson searches for the mechanism that will send it to the bottom of the Thames, mooring us.

  Can Black Moths swim?

  I have no idea, but as long as we can buy ourselves some time we still have an ace up our sleeve.

  That ace is Non-Ape and he is thundering along the riverbank, trying to catch up with the boat. His mighty footsteps rock the foundations of the closest buildings. Non-Ape is on his way.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Thank God for the Apes. Thank you God for creating them and bringing them into existence. The world cannot spin without an Ape to turn it.

  Non-Ape is closing on the boat but we are getting uncomfortably near the bridge that is now teeming with Black Moths. They can barely wait. Even from here I can see row upon row of smiling metal teeth and sharp talons.

  God alone knows how they knew where to find us, why they’ve come back, or what they want. Do they still have our Moth?

  Johnson presses a button that may or may not be connected to the anchor. Nothing happens. He jabs at another one. Still nothing.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Non-Ape is closing on us.

  But the Moth-laden bridge is closer.

  They’ll be on us before Non-Ape can reach us.

  Johnson jabs another b
utton and the anchor moves. It starts sliding into the Thames.

  The boat is rocked again and sends us off our feet.

  ‘What the hell is doing that!?’ I cry.

  ‘It’s going to smash a hole in the boat,’ Johnson says, climbing back to his feet. ‘So, either the Moths get us or whatever’s down there sinks us and . . . Shall I go on?’

  The anchor keeps falling.

  Johnson grabs my wrists and drags me to my feet. The boat is starting to slow.

  We’re barely twenty metres from the bridge.

  Non-Ape isn’t fast but he eats up the ground as best he can. He has to – his best friend is on the boat.

  The Ape braces himself, pole at the ready, eyes scanning the dark hateful Black Moths. ‘I’m going to take them all.’

  A soaking hand grabs the side of the boat and another follows it.

  Something is coming aboard.

  ‘Ape!’

  Ape swivels, sees the hands gripping the side of the boat and charges.

  Other-Johnson pulls himself into view and gets the fright of his life as the Ape aims the pole straight for his throat. He ducks as fast as he can and the Ape almost topples over the side, his momentum pitching him forward.

  He throws out a slab of hand and only just stops himself.

  Other-Johnson, breathing hard, dares to pull himself up again. ‘Jesus.’

  I go to him as the boat lurches to an anchored a stop barely thirty feet from the bridge. Johnson joins me and together we drag Other-Johnson aboard.

  ‘I thought you were . . .’

  ‘Me too.’ Other-Johnson retches and coughs up a lungful of Thames.

  ‘What is down there?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s too dark. But that’s not your biggest problem.’

  I point to the rows of Black Moths, a hundred large and evil crows perched and ready to swoop down. ‘I figured that.’

  Other-Johnson scans the bridge but then shakes his head. ‘They’re not your biggest problem either.’

  Before he can say more he bends and coughs up more of the Thames.

  The Ape is on high alert as he turns back to await the Black Moths.

  Non-Ape has drawn level with us but we’re too far out for him to jump aboard. Not that that was ever his plan because he thunders straight past us.

  Boom.

  Boom.