Текст книги "The Dead"

Автор книги: Charlie Higson

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

78

Kyle had got rid of his garden fork and swapped it for a fire axe. He was up on the roof of the top deck with three of Jordan’s boys, hacking through the ropes that held four more lifeboats in place. It was tricky and dangerous work with the cruiser lying at such a steep angle, and every few seconds it gave a sharp jolt as the water tugged at it, slowly tearing it in half.

Ed appeared and helped them, clinging on to a bit of rope to keep from falling off. Amazingly, Kyle still seemed to be enjoying himself, as if this was all some mad game.

Kids were swarming over the boat in a panic. There was nowhere to go except up on to the roof or on to the short deck at the front. Ed heard DogNut down below yelling at them not to jump in. He leant over and shouted down to him.

‘There’s lifeboats up here. We’ll get them into the water, but be careful getting in. Jordan’s got two more boats at the front.’

The next few minutes were a nightmare. Ed was only dimly aware of all that was going on around him. Kids trying not to fall off the cruiser as she broke up. Other kids trying to get the boats into the water without losing them. Dead bodies and bits of floating wreckage knocking into them. Screams. Shouts. Arguments. Hands burned on ropes. Clothes drenched with water. Courtney yelling in one ear about Aleisha. DogNut yelling, ‘Hurry up! Hurry up!’ in the other.

Then the kids were spilling off the cruiser as she sank lower in the water, packing the lifeboats and threatening to capsize them. Jordan was in control at the front, snarling at the kids to slow down. Ed was trying to keep some sense of order on the roof.

‘Don’t aim directly for the lifeboats,’ Ed barked as kids lowered themselves over the side, or jumped or slipped. ‘You’ll sink them. You’ve got to land in the water next to them. The guys in the boats can pull you in.’

The water between the cruiser and the lifeboats was soon thick with splashing kids. It was too dark and too chaotic to tell if anyone was sinking or being swept away. Ed just prayed that most of them would make it.

Now it was his turn. If he left it any longer, the cruiser was going to sink and drag him under.

He launched himself into the air. Hit the water with a punch to his guts. The cold snatched his breath away. He reached out for the nearest lifeboat and then it was gone and he was under the water. Someone had landed on top of him, forcing him down. He felt hard shoes kicking at him. It was freezing and he could sense his body shutting down. A pale face looked at him through the murk, the features frozen into a scream, eyes wide, mouth gaping, then it floated away and he was alone again. The current pulled at him. He wanted to shout but had his mouth clamped shut against the poisonous waters of the Thames.

Then suddenly he was in the fresh stinging air. The light of the fire was blinding him. Strong hands had hold of his jacket and he was being pulled into one of the boats.

It was Kyle, still grinning like a madman. ‘Nearly lost you there, chief,’ he said, dumping Ed in the bottom of the boat. Ed lay there, useless as a landed fish.

‘How many of us made it?’ he croaked once he’d got his voice back. Nobody heard him, so he struggled to sit up. He saw Courtney packed in among the other kids next to DogNut. She was crying.

Ed looked back at the cruiser. It had finally split in two. The back half had sunk, but the top half was still afloat and drifting down the river, half submerged.

Then he saw an amazing sight. Matt and Archie and the four remaining acolytes were standing on top of the wheelhouse roof, like the crew of a submarine coming into harbour. They were holding their banner upright, their faces reflecting the fire that raged over south London. They didn’t look scared or worried at all. Rather they appeared to be quite calm and at peace.

Ed looked at the banner. It was brightly lit by the flames, and the image of the golden boy on it seemed to be glowing. Behind him the other boy, the shadowy one, looked as if he was made of smoke. The way the banner fluttered, the Lamb and the Goat appeared to be alive, moving. And then the lifeboat passed under Waterloo Bridge and that was the last Ed saw of Matt.

79

The last stragglers were crossing the bridge, the feeblest, the weakest, the sickest, shambling along as behind them the flames tore at the sky, raining down ash and soot.

He’d stayed behind to eat a part of one of the small bodies lying in the road. The others, the stupid ones, just wanted to get away from the fire. Not him. He knew he had to eat. Meat Is Life. He’d stayed there, squatting in the road as the fire ripped into the buildings. It was pretty. He liked fire. Always had done.

The fire couldn’t get him, though. It couldn’t leap across the road or the round thing, the thing the cars went round, round, the roundabout, the magic roundabout. But there was nothing left for him here. He belched. He was full. He picked up his bundle and walked towards the bridge. They were over there, the ones he needed. He could smell them. The living food.

There was water below him now. He stopped to look. And over there … He knew those houses, the big boys lived there, the bastards, he knew the name …

HP sauce, or something, the jolly green giant.

Big Ben.

Aaaah, it was all too much for him.

All he knew was that the bastards lived in there, in the spiky buildings. The ones who made the laws …

Politicians.

You see. He still had the words in him.

Politicians.

He looked down into the river. It was full of fire and death and pigs.

No, not pigs …

He looked at the boiling colours. He wanted to drop something in, see it splash. That’s what you did, wasn’t it? There was a game.

Pig sticks.

No.

Not pigs.

Pooh.

Pooh sticks.

Race them under the bridge. Two sticks. See which one came out first the other side. He’d played it with him, the little one, the boy, what was his name …?

Gone now.

They’d played it, racing sticks under a bridge in the park. Played the game. He wanted to drop something in now. He had something. This thing in his hands. Didn’t know what it was. Why was he carrying it?

It weighed nothing, just a bundle of scraps and twigs.

A stick, yeah. It was a sort of stick.

He propped it on the wall of the bridge then pushed it over, watched as it turned and fluttered in the air, as if it was trying to fly away. And somehow it turned into a boy. A little angel, flying down …

Down and down it fell.

And then the tiny splash.

Watched it float away under the bridge.

Now what? There was something he was going to do, something about a race and sticks and pigs and a jolly green giant.

It had gone.

No mind. No mind. Get over the water to the other side. Get home. Go see his boy.

His Liam.

That was it. Get home to see Liam.

He turned and walked on.

80

The first lifeboat bumped into the pier and the kids gave a cheer. They’d been beginning to wonder if they’d ever be able to make it to the north bank, or whether they were going to be swept all the way down to the estuary and out to sea. They’d managed to lash the boats together, which gave them greater stability and protection, but steering the giant raft had proved difficult. There were powerful eddies and currents in the Thames, and the raft had a tendency to spin. The force of the water seemed to grow stronger and stronger, and no matter how hard they tried to aim towards the edge they kept being pulled back into the centre where the flow was strongest. After bumping against Hungerford Bridge they passed under seven more bridges, and each time it caused a mad panic among the kids. The water bunched up and foamed between the pilings and they nearly lost two of the boats in a collision. But as they cleared London Bridge they hit a clear straight stretch of river and finally managed to get some sort of control over the raft. Centimetre by centimetre, metre by metre, they made their way closer to the side. Then they’d seen a modern steel pier sticking out into the river and it had given them something to aim for.

They clawed at the water, sticking their bodies half over the sides and kicking, scrabbling with the few oars they had. At last they’d stopped.

They were on a wide, open reach of the Thames. On the far side was the great hulk of the battleship HMS Belfast, which had been run as a tourist attraction. Ahead were the twin gothic towers of Tower Bridge. On this side of the river were the high walls and turrets of the Tower of London.

Ed planted his feet firmly on the steel decking of the pier and hugged Courtney. The two of them were cold and wet and exhausted. They clung to each other laughing and crying at the same time.

The fire hadn’t spread this far downriver so it was quite dark. Though the sky to the west was lit by an angry red glow. Ed broke away from Courtney, wiped his face and looked up at the ramparts of the Tower, silhouetted against the sky.

‘It was Wiki, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘Or was it Jibber-jabber? One of them, anyway, said we should come here.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Courtney. ‘Where are we?’

‘Don’t you recognize it? It’s the Tower of London.’

‘It looks like a castle.’

‘That’s because it is a castle.’ Ed laughed. ‘The oldest bit was built by William the Conqueror, I think.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Ed shook his head. ‘All that matters is that we’ve washed up in just about the safest spot we could. This is the perfect place to hide out. No sickos could get to us in there.’

Jordan Hordern was already organizing the kids, shouting at them to form into groups.

‘We need to know who’s made it and who we’ve lost,’ he barked.

Ed checked his crew. It didn’t take long. He and Courtney were the only two left. Jordan had lost five of his boys, either in the fight or when the boat had sunk. Of the third group, the kids who’d joined the fight at the roundabout, nobody really knew how many there had been to start with. Some kids talked of losing friends, but again it had all been so confusing – for all they knew their friends could have crossed Lambeth Bridge safely. Though one or two were certain their friends had disappeared in the water. Ed remembered that pale face sinking past him when he’d gone under.

He tried to shut the image out of his mind.

‘We need to get inside the Tower,’ said Jordan, who had evidently come to the same conclusion as Ed. ‘In the morning we can find food and water, but for now we need somewhere to get warm and dry and safe. We have to assume, though, that there’s already people inside. So be ready for a fight.’ He took off his glasses and wiped them clean. ‘If you all work together and do what I say, you’ll be all right. But just remember – I’m in charge. OK? DogNut here is my second in command directly responsible for my boys. That’s Ed over there. The one with the scar. He’s in charge of everyone else. You do what he says, he does what I say.’

‘Who says he’s in charge of us?’ said a short kid with thick arms and a fat neck.

‘I do.’

‘And who says you’re in charge?’

Jordan walked over to the short kid. He didn’t stare at him directly, but stood right next to him and looked out across the river at HMS Belfast. Somehow it was more intimidating than if he’d gone eyeball to eyeball with him.

‘Don’t argue with me,’ he said quietly.

‘Listen –’ said the kid, but Jordan cut him off.

‘So you want to be in charge, do you?’

‘Maybe?’

The short kid looked around for support. Nobody seemed keen to back him up.

‘Do you not think I’d better be in charge?’ asked Jordan. His voice low and steady.

‘Yeah, all right,’ said the short kid, and Jordan walked away.

‘I like him. I like his style,’ said Kyle quietly as he came over to stand next to Ed, still holding his fire axe. Then he raised his voice and addressed everyone else. ‘I ain’t got no problems with Ed,’ he said, and gave a big smile. ‘He knows what he’s doing. I saw him fight. This man is a maniac! Now, let’s get shifted. I’m freezing my bollocks off here.’

The castle was ringed by two walls: a plain outer wall, and a higher inner wall studded with round towers. The main entrance was via a large turreted gatehouse that was connected to the castle by a narrow walkway over the wide, dry moat.

The gates in the gatehouse were too big and solid to force but there were drainpipes up the outer wall of the castle and DogNut and Kyle volunteered to see if they could climb them. Jordan gave them the go-ahead and they vaulted the railings by the edge of the moat and then sprinted across the grass to the other side.

They stopped at the bottom of the wall and looked up.

‘What d’you reckon?’ DogNut asked.

‘No problem,’ said Kyle. ‘Used to break into houses all the time when I was younger. Race you!’

It proved to be quite easy. The two of them scrambled up the drainpipes and were over the top of the wall in less than a minute. It was another easy climb down the other side where they found the main castle gates unguarded and only secured with a metal bar.

They lifted the bar and five minutes later the kids were tramping into the Tower. Some of them had visited recently with their schools and they showed the party round to where there was another gateway through to the inner courtyard. There was a big open space here. Around the edges were various ancient castle towers and a mismatched jumble of redbrick, Tudor and Victorian houses. The oldest part, the White Tower, a tall square building with a turret at each corner, stood in the centre of the grounds on a low mound.

The kids assembled in an area to one side that felt like a village green with a chapel at one end and timber-framed houses at the other.

‘Looks like there’s no one about,’ said DogNut.

‘Let’s find out,’ said Kyle, and before anyone could stop him he started shouting. ‘Oi! Wakey, wakey! Anyone at home?’

Jordan hurried over to shut him up.

‘What are you doing?’ he said. ‘If there is anyone here, we don’t want to wake them up. We’ll lose the element of surprise.’

‘Why, what was you gonna do?’ asked Kyle with a mad grin. ‘Slaughter them in their beds? Cut their throats while they sleep?’

‘Makes no difference now,’ said Jordan. ‘Here they come.’

Figures were emerging from one of the houses. Ed had lost his rifle, but he still had his pistol in its holster. He was just about to slip it loose when he saw that they were only other kids, three unarmed boys and a girl, wrapped in coats, looking cold, sleepy and confused.

‘Who are you?’ said one of the boys with a yawn. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. He was tall and thin with sunken cheeks and a bad cough. ‘How’d you get in?’

‘Who’s in charge here?’ asked Jordan.

‘No one really.’ The boy shrugged.

‘What about Tomoki?’ said the girl.

‘Yeah, Tomoki, I suppose.’

‘Go and get him.’

‘What?’

‘Go and get this Tomoki,’ said Jordan. ‘I want to talk to him.’

‘He’ll be asleep.’

‘Then wake him up.’

‘I’ll go,’ said a younger boy, and he trotted off towards the timber-framed building.

The two groups stood there staring at each other. Ed was shivering and just wanted to go inside and get warm. But Jordan wasn’t moving.

‘How many of you are there living here?’ he asked the boy with the cough.

‘Dunno,’ he replied. ‘Maybe thirty?’

‘OK,’ was all that Jordan said.

In a minute the small boy returned with an older boy who had long straight black hair and oriental features.

‘What’s going on?’ he said sleepily as he approached. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Jordan Hordern. Are you Tomoki?’

‘Yeah.’ Tomoki stopped and squared up to Jordan.

‘And you’re in charge in here?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘No one seems very sure of it.’

‘All right, yes,’ said Tomoki. ‘I am in charge here.’

‘Not any more, you’re not,’ said Jordan.

‘What?’

‘From now on I’m in charge.’

Tomoki laughed. ‘You can’t just walk in here, and –’

‘That’s just the point, though, isn’t it?’ said Jordan.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We did just walk in here.’ Jordan stepped towards Tomoki with such an air of quiet menace that Tomoki fell silent and backed away. He was shorter than Jordan and much less confident.

More kids were emerging from the buildings, curious and sleep-addled. Some were armed, but they held back. They didn’t look like they had the stomach for a fight.

‘You’ve got the best site in London,’ said Jordan, looking at the White Tower rather than at Tomoki. ‘The perfect place to live. A castle. Easy to defend. Full of weapons. And what are you doing? There’s no guards posted. The gates weren’t even locked. All we had to do was climb a couple of drainpipes and we were in.’

‘Yeah, well, mothers and fathers can’t climb drainpipes, can they?’ Tomoki protested.

Jordan pressed on.

‘You don’t deserve to be in charge here,’ he said. ‘And if you don’t care about running this place properly, then you shouldn’t be worried that I’m taking over.’

Tomoki gave a dismissive shrug and a grunt. He’d been half asleep when he came out, with no idea what was going on. Now he was pulling himself together.

‘We outnumber you,’ he said evenly. ‘So let’s not get into an argument, OK? Now, I don’t mind you staying here – we need all the help we can get, quite frankly. It hasn’t been easy for us. But you can’t expect to walk in here and take over just like that.’

‘I agree,’ said Jordan. ‘Let’s not get into an argument. I don’t like arguments.’

‘Good.’

‘So I’ll fight you for it.’

‘You want to fight me?’ Tomoki sounded incredulous.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s not the way things are decided.’

‘It is now,’ said Jordan. ‘The world’s changed. So, come on.’

‘No,’ said Tomoki, and he backed away as Jordan advanced on him.

‘Fight me,’ said Jordan.

He kept on coming and Tomoki was stumbling backwards. In the end he put up a hand to Jordan’s chest to try to stop him.

Jordan clipped him. The movement was fast and casual at the same time. Tomoki’s head jerked to the side and he crumpled to his knees.

Jordan stood over him for a moment then helped him to his feet. Tomoki wobbled on shaking legs, stunned and groggy.

‘Nothing personal,’ Jordan said quietly, and then he turned to face the ring of kids who had come out to see what was going on.

‘If the rest of you want to fight us, that’s fine. But you will lose. We’ve battled our way across town to get here – you will not be able to beat us. Tomoki can keep his position here, as your representative, but from now on we all work together and you all do what I say. If anyone doesn’t agree with me, come over here and I will talk to you.’

Nobody moved.

Ed felt an uncomfortable mixture of embarrassment and pride. He didn’t like Jordan’s cold bullying tactics, but he couldn’t deny that he was probably the best man for the job, and when it came down to it, Ed, like everyone else, just wanted to get this over with quickly so that he could go and lie down somewhere and fall asleep.

‘Good,’ said Jordan. ‘Then it’s decided.’

Ed sighed and closed his eyes.

Safe at last.

81

The morning sun was bright. Blinding him. He covered his face with his hands. He knew this place. A big open square, a pill, a pillar, big stone pillar in the middle. The statue of a man on the top. The man had a name. He was a hero. Yeah, what was his name? He had one eye and a hat.

Nelson.

Yes. He grinned. He still knew things. He was going to beat the disease. Hadn’t he told them? He was going to live. He was going to go home and live a happy life.

Home.

He knew the way to go now. He knew this bit of … Where was he? What was the name of this place?

Nelson.

Lord Nelson. Not Nelson. Lord Lumsden. London. Lord London. London Town.

As he limped across the square, a mess of birds took flight all around him, swirling up into the sky and confusing him. He flailed at them, cursing and swearing.

They were pigs.

Pigs might fly.

Pigeons too.

The next thing he knew he had one in his hand. He’d caught it mid-air. Like a golfer. A goalie. His grin grew wide. He was king of this place. He should be up on top of that pillar. Lord London! That was him. He squeezed the bird until he could feel its bones crack. Then he stuffed the corpse into the pocket of his jogging pants. He was cold. He’d lost his shirt in a fight over a dead boy. It had been ripped anyway.

The boy done that. Before.

He’d make that boy behave himself.

He’d won the fight, but lost his … what was the word? He’d had it just now. Save it for later.

Shirt. Yes. His shirt.

Something glittering caught his eye. An overturned stall. It had scarves and hats and …

Souvenirs.

That was a good word. A hard word to remember. How many people knew that word?

He shouted it.

‘Souvenir! Souvenir! Souvenir!’

He came to the stall and rifled through the stuff, throwing aside rubbish and tat and souvenirs.

Tat. Tatty souvenirs.

Then he found a sleeveless vest. He held it up. It looked good. The colours pleased him. There was a pattern on it, a picture, red stripes, one way and one way.

A criss-cross.

Cross.

He saluted.

‘Lord Nelson, sir,’ he said, the words clear in his head, but coming out as a slurred grunt.

It was a flag.

The cross of his country.

He pulled it over his head. Yes. He was the king now. The king of London, the king of the world. And he was going to get strong and take his revenge on those boys. Those clever-clever school kids who thought they could beat him.

Him! Lord Nelson. Lord London. King of souvenirs.

And worse. They done bad. They took his Liam from him. Yes. They killed him. He’d been looking after Liam and they killed him.

They couldn’t do that to him. He was a hero. He was Charlie George. Saint Charlie. Saint George, the pigeon slayer. Not a pigeon, a dragon. Yes. St George. And he was going to kill every dragon in the world.

But first he was going to go home and see his boy. And he was going to take his boy to the football. To the big church, what were they called? Catherine wheel? No. Catholic. Cathedral. Yes. His own cathedral. The stadium. The theatre of dreams.

Home.

The Arsenal.