by Alex Scarrow
As they rattled and weaved along the road, the office blocks either side of them grew taller and more claustrophobic, pressing in on the road and towering over a seemingly endless parade of gutted news-agents, pubs, pawnbrokers and bookmakers. The sun was hidden by the tall buildings, every now and then a winking amber eye staring at them through first-floor windows, across the offices of abandoned call-centre desks and cubicle partitions.
‘Hang on,’ said Leona quietly. She stopped and pulled out her road map once more, orienting it to match the direction they faced.
Nathan looked around, frowning as he did so. ‘Hey, I think I know this. This is, like, right near that big exhibition place.’
Leona nodded, her eyes on the map. ‘The ExCel Centre?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What’s the eck-sell?’ asked Jacob.
She looked up at the junction they’d stopped at. Like every other, it was littered with all manner of pilfered junk, dragged out, examined and dumped some time during the last decade; tall weeds poking opportunistically up through gutter grilles, cracks and bulges in the crumbling tarmac road. Amongst the debris, the occasional small bundles of stained and sun-faded clothes, from which dark leathery twigs and tufted scarecrow heads protruded.
She spotted a rust-peppered street sign above a KFC. ‘Prince Regent Lane.’ She checked her map again. ‘The exhibition centre is just down at the end of this road.’
Jacob squinted. ‘Maybe that’s where the lights were coming from?’
Nathan nodded. ‘Could be. It’s a big-huge place, Jay, right on the Thames.’
‘They did those big exhibition things there,’ added Leona. ‘Ideal Home exhibition, a boating thing . . . it’s enormous. It might have been used for one of the safe zones.’
The three of them stared down the street.
Jacob looking from one to the other. ‘So, we should go and see, right?’
Leona debated whether, with the daylight they had left, they should settle themselves in for the night. They hadn’t seen a single soul since entering London, yet she felt the urge to find somewhere secure, somewhere they could barricade themselves in. Even if there were no people around she’d seen plenty of dogs of all shapes and sizes scattering nervously away at the sound of their approach and watching them warily from dark doorways as they passed. She certainly didn’t fancy camping out in the middle of the street tonight.
Looking at the others, neither did they.
On the other hand, she felt a burning urge to go take a look-see. According to the map the exhibition centre wasn’t far away, perhaps another ten or fifteen minutes down the road. And then they’d be there, right on the bank of the Thames, with a clear line of sight up and down the river for miles. If it wasn’t the ExCel building Mr Latoc had seen glowing at night, it could possibly be the O2 Arena, or perhaps one or other of the towers of Canary Wharf? Whichever building it was, if somebody was generating light enough to reflect off an overcast night sky, surely, from there, right on that famous bend in the Thames, they’d have the best chance of seeing it.
It was quite possible that they could be sleeping beneath powered lights tonight.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘We’ve got time to go check out the ExCel. It’s not that far from here.’
They climbed back on their bicycles and turned left into Prince Regent Lane. It reminded her of the main road near their home in Shepherd’s Bush; a party-mix of shops either side: halal butchers, Caribbean takeaways, a shop selling saris, another selling hijabs, a snooker club, a small open-air market with rows of empty wooden stalls, a video store, a supermarket, mosques and several off-licences elbowing each other for space.
Moments later, halfway down Prince Regent Lane, they caught sight of the top of the giant exhibition building above a squat row of two-storey shops; they could see sprigs of white support poles protruding above a long pale roof. Beside it they could see the tops of several quayside cranes that had, once upon a time, serviced the busy barges pulling into Victoria Docks.
It was still light, the combed-out cloudy veil now lit from below by a setting sun; a beautiful vanilla skyline of ripples and veins staining the world with a rich sepia warmth. Although Leona had secretly doubted they were going to find anything at all in London, doubted the city was busy rebuilding itself on the quiet, she found herself desperately hoping the waning light of day would trigger an automatic lights-on response from somewhere nearby. She almost began to believe that the pale roof of the exhibition centre was going to flicker to life at any second, bathed in the clinical glare of a dozen roof-mounted floodlights.
Their pace quickened.
Towards the end of the road the squat buildings gave way to flat open ground, a scruffy little playground full of waist-high grass and brambles growing up the rusting A-frame of a child’s swing. Beyond it was a railway track with a pedestrian bridge over the top that would lead them down rickety steps onto a large riverside parking area at the rear of the giant, warehouse-like ExCel Centre.
‘Oh, fuck!’ gasped Jacob. ‘It’s huge! I never seen a building this big!’
Leona remembered coming here once before, as a girl; she must have been ten or eleven, Jacob hadn’t even been born then. Mum and Dad had taken her along to some sort of horse and pony expo - to see whether she really did want to ‘get into horses’ or whether it was just another of her many passing fads.
‘We should leave the bikes and the trailer here,’ she said, ‘if we’re going over the bridge to get a closer look.’
‘I’ll get the gun,’ said Jacob. ‘Just to be safe.’
He retrieved it from the back of the trailer.
‘Give it to Nathan,’ Leona said. Jacob sighed before he handed it over.
‘Here.’
Nathan cocked it and slung the strap over his shoulder.
‘Okay?’ she said.
The others nodded silently, quickly kicking their bike stands down. As their feet rang noisily up the metal steps of the overpass she looked along the railway line below, sleepers lost beneath a carpet of tangled green, and at the small Docklands Light Railway station several hundred yards away. She recalled stepping out onto the platform down there, excited by the sight of the giant white building towering over her and the convergence of so many other mums and daughters looking forward to their day inside.
So quiet now, though. No bustle and hubbub of expectant young voices, just the soft rumpling of a gentle breeze and the distant tap-tap-tapping of cables against the white flagpoles above the ExCel roof. They crossed over the train track and down the steps on the far side and into the parking area - another deserted expanse of failing concrete divided by flaking lines of yellow paint.
Leona nodded at the looming, featureless rear wall of the centre. ‘This must be the service entrance.’
Across the car-park their eyes drifted towards a quay with a safety rail running along it and beyond that the water of Victoria Docks, subdued and calm. Dazzling golden shards rippling across the still surface reflected the bedding sun, fat, orange and undulating like the hot wax of a lava lamp, looking to settle for the night.
Jacob nodded towards the quayside rail. ‘Race you, Nate.’
The boys cut across the car-park, finally clattering against the railing on the far side, whooping with delight, claims of victory and counterclaims bouncing back at them from the rear of the ExCel Centre.
She joined them a moment later, gazing out across at the docks. On the far side, a row of antiquated cranes stood tall and aloof; an industrial-age silhouette of spars and counterweights, swaying rigging chains and the vaulted roofs of dock warehouses that cast a long deep shadow across the water towards them.
From where they stood, panting and resting against the railings, they had an uninterrupted view of the skyline of the city, looking east along the curving Thames and west towards the mirror-smooth towers of Canary Wharf, glistening crimson from the glare of the setting sun.
Leona cupped her eyes as she
took it all in, suddenly aware she was holding her breath in anticipation as she intently scanned the urban horizon for any signs of life.
London looked beautiful. She realised her heart ached for this place to come alive once more. For quayside street lamps to glisten proudly along the waterfront, for expensive dockside flats to once more cast smug balcony spotlights down onto even more expensive yachts. But instead, the three of them were staring at a darkening, lifeless, horizon.
There’s nothing here.
Not a single light amongst the gathering gloom. Not even a torch beam or a candle or a campfire.
Jacob turned to his right to look at the exhibition centre. ‘Looks just as dead as everywhere else,’ he said, his voice carrying the weight of disappointment they all felt.
‘Perhaps the man lied to you two,’ she replied. ‘Told you what you wanted to hear.’
‘Great,’ grunted Nathan flatly.
The boys continued their vigil in silence. Still looking, still hoping. The reflection of the almost-gone sun glinted off a far away window, teasing them for a moment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she added softly. ‘If the city centre was recovering I’m sure we’d have seen something from here.’
Jacob’s lips clamped angrily. ‘Shit!’ He suddenly screamed, banging the rail with his hands. ‘Shitshitshit!!’ His voice echoed across the car-park.
She put an arm around his lean shoulders; they were shaking, trembling with rage.
‘Why?’ His voice broke as tears rolled down his cheeks. No longer the fresh baritone voice of a young man, but the heartbroken cry of a boy. ‘Why not by now, Lee? Why not? It’s been ten years!’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Jake. Maybe there just isn’t anyone left in London now.’
They’d not spotted a single telltale sign of life all day; no rooftop vegetable gardens, no parks turned into allotments that Leona had half expected to find, no smudges of smoke in the sky, no give-away odour of woodsmoke or burning rubber - the kind of smell that can travel for miles and miles.
Nothing.
‘Maybe we could go and take a look inside the ExCel,’ she said, squeezing his shoulder gently. ‘There may be some things we can forage for. Then, we should find someplace for tonight.’
‘What about tomorrow?’ asked Nathan. ‘What we goin’ to do?’
Jacob angrily wiped his cheeks dry and steadied himself with a deep breath. He turned to Nathan and they exchanged a wordless acknowledgment of defeat, their faces both lifeless and spent; the naive energy that had driven them to race each other across the car-park felt stupid now.
‘We head back home, I suppose,’ said Jacob.
Leona nodded and smiled sadly. ‘Yes, home.’
Chapter 38
10 years AC
Excel Centre - Docklands, London
Along the bottom of the rear wall was a large sliding delivery-bay door that rattled loudly as they pulled it to one side; a delivery entrance that opened onto a storage bay. The dark space inside was filled with crates and boxes.
Leona pulled a wind-up torch out of her rucksack and quickly cranked the dynamo. The others followed suit. Between their glowing and fading bulbs they had enough light to step further into the gloom.
A quick examination of the nearest crate revealed nothing edible, nothing to drink; just a container of plywood and fibreglass display plinths. Leona pulled open another box and found it filled with the components of a lighting rig and endless loops of electrical flex. They pulled open several more crates and cardboard boxes to find a number of PCs, ethernet cards and network connection cables.
They moved through the storage bays, finding nothing of use to them until her torch picked out a door marked ‘main hall entrance’.
‘Let’s try inside. Maybe there was a cafe or restaurant set up.’ She looked at the others and shrugged. ‘We might get lucky.’
Jacob stepped forward and pushed the door gently. It clicked open - a cavernous reverberating click echoed back. ‘The Mines of Moria,’ he whispered.
Nathan’s deep voice chuckled nervously. ‘This isn’t a mine, it’s a tomb.’
It was almost pitch black. The last faint glow of daylight struggled to reach down from several skylight windows in the roof high above. Jacob swung his torch ahead of them, picking out faded corporate-blue cord carpeting on the floor, damp in patches and stained where it appeared to be dry, and the smooth plastic walls of cubicles and display stands coated in a fine layer of dust.
‘Shit,’ whispered Nathan.
‘What?’
‘I remember now.’
‘What?’ Jacob repeated impatiently.
Nathan smiled. ‘Computer and Video Game Expo! I remember it was on in London the week of the crash. I wanted me dad to take me along.’ His quiet whisper bounced and hissed across the enormity of the central hall. ‘They was launching the new Wii controller thing an’ the new games an’ stuff. And the new PlayStation. It was going to be well-props ! ’ He flicked his wrist and clacked his fingers.
Jacob grinned in the dark. He loved it when Nathan did that finger-flick thing - all hip-hop street and cool. Back on the rigs Martha told him off every time she saw him do that; said his wrist would snap one day and his hand fly off into the sea.
‘It was goin’ to be well solid,’ Nathan continued, muttering to himself. ‘The crash could of waited another fucking week.’
Jacob’s torch suddenly played across large plastic-moulded faces grinning down at them. Side by side, gurning cheerfully, Super Mario and Luigi, both ten feet tall, emerged from the gloom, standing guard either side of a Nintendo display stand.
‘Shit, man! Jay, you recognise?’ Nathan asked.
‘Yeah! Oh crap,’ he replied. ‘Mar-i-i-i-o-o-o!’ he chirruped in a squeaky singsong voice.
‘Lui-i-i-g-i-i-i!’ Nathan’s voice squeaked back.
‘Come on, you morons,’ said Leona, ‘we’re not here to geek out.’
Jacob cast a sidelong glance at his sister, struck by the fact that she seemed to be coming back to them, rejoining them from the dark place she’d been for the past few weeks. The last two days he’d noticed her change. She seemed to be less withdrawn, bossy again just like she used to be. Not that he’d ever tell her this, but the sound of her haughtily issuing orders was a reassuring sound.
‘Right, let’s be quick about this,’ she announced. ‘We’ll also need to find somewhere to camp tonight before it gets too dark.’
He grinned proudly at her; so proud of her strength, her confidence. But glad, too, that it was dark enough that she couldn’t see him and ask why the hell he was smiling like a twit.
She wound her torch again as the bulb began to fade. ‘The time Mum and Dad took me here I remember there were cafés and restaurants off along the sides of the main hall. Let’s try down the left side first, okay?’ Her hushed voice echoed through the cavernous darkness.
Both boys nodded.
Leona led the way, her torch beam picking out the still bright colours of exhibition placards, fantastic-looking characters, spacemen, monsters, aliens, demons. Although some rain and damp had found a way inside and soiled the cord carpet in dark patches, everything else looked almost pristine.
‘I bet you’re loving this, aren’t you, Jake?’ said Leona softly.
He nodded. ‘It would have been good.’
She panned her torch around. ‘I can’t believe how untouched it all looks. As if this was all set up just, like, yesterday.’
‘I remember some of the games,’ he replied. ‘I remember the ads on the TV.’ He looked at her. ‘Did you watch much TV at college?’
‘University.’ She shrugged. ‘A little. I remember it being mostly rubbish.’
Jacob stroked the tuft of bristles on his chin thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, mostly rubbish.’
Their torches picked out different things simultaneously. Jacob’s eyes were drawn to an elaborate and enormous dungeon diorama; ten-foot-high walls of fibreglass stone blocks, dr
ipping with paint-blood, dangling chains and stocks.
‘Nate, look!’
‘Oh, man, cool!’
It reminded Jacob of a picture-book story he’d flipped through. One of the books they kept in the classroom’s modest library back on the rigs; an ogre, a princess and a talk-too-much donkey. He loved that story.
Leona’s torch was pointed the other way, lighting up a coffee and bagel bar.
‘Ahh, maybe there’s some bottled water over there?’
Jacob tapped her arm. ‘Can I go look at that?’ he asked, jabbing a finger at the dungeon diorama across ten yards of carpeted walkway.
She sighed. ‘Fine, don’t wander off, though.’
‘Me, too?’ asked Nathan.
She sighed. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake . . . go on.’
They jogged across, stepping inside through a ‘stone’ archway and into an enclosed area. They panned their torches around. The walls inside were more dripping stone, more blood, more chains. Across the vaulted roof were large plastic wooden beams that stretched from one side to the other from which goofy-looking plastic skeletons dangled with cartoon grins.
Jacob shook his head at the illogicality of it.
Duh. As if skellys can actually smile.
There was a smell in here, too, not unlike Walter’s stinky rooms. No, in fact the odour was more like the one that came out of the composters they kept on the tomato deck - rotting food. He nodded with approving admiration at the guys who’d made this set; the stink cleverly added to the spooky atmosphere, the realism of the place.
Here and there set into the dungeon walls were large TV screens that reflected back his torch beam. He smiled. He liked the idea of that - modern-times TVs sunk into an ancient-times stone wall.
