‘We waiting much longer?’ asked Dom.
‘Two minutes. We just need to speak to someone from David’s camp.’
‘What about them?’
Dom nodded and Ryan looked over to where two of John’s squatters were wandering across Park Lane towards them. Going home. Ryan wondered how many others were leaving the battle and drifting away. He stayed hidden and, as soon as the boys had come close, he and Dom stepped out.
‘Hold up.’
The two squatters were clearly terrified of Ryan’s dog and didn’t put up any kind of fight. Not that that was what Ryan was looking for.
‘It’s all right, cuz,’ he said. ‘Just want some intel.’
‘Yeah?’ said one of the squatters, not taking her eyes off the dog. The dog, in turn, wasn’t taking her eyes off the boy. She hadn’t been fed yet this morning.
‘You were with David and the others last night?’ Ryan asked.
‘Yeah,’ said the squatter.
‘Did you see a girl?’
‘Yeah.’ The squatter giggled. ‘A few.’
Ryan looked at him long enough to make the smile fade away.
‘One girl in particular,’ he said. ‘Nicola. Tall. Red hair. In charge at the Houses of Parliament. Went to talk to David.’
The boy nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She dead.’
‘What you mean?’ said Ryan, wondering if this was a joke.
‘I mean what I say,’ said the boy. ‘She dead. She had some kinda argument with David, I think. Ain’t that right, bro?’
The other boy nodded.
‘David shot her in the back,’ he said. ‘Bang. Had some of his boys take the body away. Gave it to the sickos. Get rid of the evidence, I guess.’
Ryan was hearing but not hearing. Understanding but not understanding. There but not there.
This didn’t make any sense to him. He’d brought the girl here. He was responsible for her.
‘You saying she really dead?’ he said. ‘For real?’
‘For real,’ said the first boy. ‘No two ways about it. She gone.’
Ryan had a sudden urge to lash out and punish these two kids for Nicola’s death, but that would be as senseless as what David had done. Instead, he just swore at them and they hurried away.
‘You believe that?’ he said to Dom.
‘Unbelievable, man.’ Dom was shaking his head.
‘Get the others,’ said Ryan. ‘We gotta take the news to her people.’
They ran all the way to the Palace of Westminster, Ryan turning the facts over and over in his head, trying to make sense of them. When they got there, they brought fear and confusion with them. If he had been stunned by what had happened, unable to believe it, Nicola’s kids fell apart. The place became filled with wails and angry shouts.
Ryan couldn’t take it. He went and sat out front with his hunters, wondering what they should do next.
And then, one by one, kids started to come out and join him. They were using their anger, turning it into action.
‘We want to fight,’ said a kid called Bozo, who always wore a policeman’s helmet. ‘We want to fight against David.’
Soon Ryan was marching past the big arch in the middle of the roundabout at Hyde Park Corner with a small army of Nicola’s kids at his back, armed and ready to get in the fight. Ryan looked up at the statue on top of the arch. He’d never been sure what it was supposed to be. It was made out of black metal and was of a woman with wings, maybe an angel, standing in the back of a chariot, being pulled by four horses. She had a wreath in her hand.
‘Victory,’ said Bozo, who had caught him looking.
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘I’m pretty sure.’
‘Let’s hope so, eh?’ said Ryan. ‘Is a good sign.’
Some of the other kids were shouting and pointing now, getting overexcited. Ryan saw what had stirred them up – a group of people coming along the road from the west, making for the gateway into the park.
‘Chill out, soldiers,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They ain’t no enemy. I know those guys.’
He’d recognized the boy who was leading the group. Muscular and powerful-looking, with a distinctive pattern of razor cuts in his short hair. It was Achilleus.
‘Yo! Fam!’ he called out, and Achilleus stopped.
Ryan jogged over and they gripped forearms. Achilleus was the best fighter Ryan had ever seen. He’d been pissed off that Achilleus hadn’t come to the fight on the first day, but he had his reasons. And now he had his reasons to fight.
Ryan’s mood was lifting. He could forget what David had done to Nicola and concentrate on the here and now. No more sneaking around the edges. Forget what Jordan wanted, he was going into battle. With Achilleus at his side.
‘Is early still,’ said Ryan as they started to walk. ‘Can’t hear no sounds of fighting. Jordan gonna be well pleased to see you.’
‘We ain’t going to his camp,’ said Achilleus. ‘We gonna hit the sickos from the side while they still sleeping. They won’t be expecting us. Nobody will be. We go in hard and roll them back. Don’t stop until every last one is dead.’
They pushed into the park, Achilleus and Ryan out in front, then Ryan’s hunters, then the mob of other kids who had merged into a single unit. Achilleus was leading them round the Serpentine to the east.
‘This ain’t Jordan’s tactics,’ said Ryan.
‘You don’t need tactics when you fighting dumb animals like sickos.’
‘This lot ain’t so dumb.’
‘They dumb enough,’ said Achilleus.
‘You seen how many they are?’
‘Don’t care,’ said Achilleus. ‘I’ll kill them all myself if I got to.’
‘Jordan won’t like it,’ said Ryan.
‘Doesn’t have to. He can command the defence. I’m commanding the attack.’
They could hear music now, the strange, ragged mishmash played by Matt’s musicians from St Paul’s, banging and clashing and the harsh rasp of horns. They rounded the lake and there were the barricades, kids on the other side. Some of them had spotted Achilleus and were running to the barricades, cheering and shouting. Achilleus raised his spear above his head, holding it like a banner, and he forged ahead, not slowing, in fact walking faster, eager to get to the sickos.
And there they were. They’d been sleeping in piles, half on top of each other, and were coming awake, standing up, looking around, as if all the graves in a cemetery had emptied and the dead were coming back to life.
‘You were right,’ said Achilleus, and he whistled. ‘That is a bare lot of pus-bags.’
‘You still don’t want to sign in with Jordan?’
‘I got the smell of blood in my nose,’ said Achilleus. ‘I need to kill something.’
Ryan had been swept along with him this far. He was used to fighting, but only in small groups. This was way different. Apart from his hunters, the kids with him weren’t the most experienced fighters. They were the ones from the Houses of Parliament and the museum who had avoided the fight on the first day. He didn’t want to imagine how they must be feeling right now. Being pulled straight into a battle. This can’t have been what they were expecting when they woke up this morning. But there was no time to think about any of that because Achilleus had started to run, and Ryan ran, and they all ran, and the hunters let the dogs loose and they were in among the enemy.
The dogs were snarling and biting at the sickos, who were milling in confusion, not ready for an attack. Ryan lashed out to left and right, bringing two sickos down. Achilleus was already working hard. His spear swiftly and expertly hammering and hammering at the sickos, stabbing them in their faces, their chests, their sides, their backs, their bellies. Ryan was aware of other kids all around him, driving into the sickos and pushing them back.
The rest of St George’s army had come alive now and were surging in all directions, some coming towards Ryan, some crashing into the barricades. Ryan saw arrows and spears in the air,
sticks and stones, a hail of death flying over the barricades and raining down on the sickos.
There was no turning back now.
67
‘What’s going on, Bill? You have to tell me what’s happening. Give me the numbers, Bill.’
‘New fighters,’ said Bill. ‘Coming in from the east. Attacking the enemy in his left flank.’
‘The numbers, Bill, give me the numbers.’
Bill started to rattle off the sicko numbers in that section, and the numbers of the new arrivals.
‘This wasn’t the plan,’ said Jordan, keeping his eyes shut.
‘It’s working, though,’ said Bill. ‘The kids are pushing forward. And the ones here in the camp are excited. They’re ready to fight now. Wait a minute. Now something’s happening over to our left.’
‘What is it?’ said Jordan. ‘What’s happening? I haven’t given any orders yet.’
‘The green kids are going out,’ said Bill.
‘What you mean?’ said Jordan and he opened his eyes, tried to see what Matt was doing, but it was nothing but a blur. Too far away. ‘Are they running away?’
‘No, they’ve opened the barriers, but they’re not letting sickos in, they’re going out.’
‘The numbers,’ said Jordan. ‘I need the numbers.’
And again Bill rattled them off. Jordan made quick calculations in his head. Studied the map he kept in there. Quickly adjusted his tactics.
Realized that it might work.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘We got a pincer movement going on. Two smaller forces coming in on the flanks. We won’t make a frontal assault yet, though, not till I know more.’
He shouted a series of commands to his trumpeters who started blasting out the signals – getting his best troops together. When he knew the shape of the battle, when he knew which flank attack was most effective, he’d send troops out to reinforce them.
Everything was back on track.
Jackson was standing with her troops. She couldn’t wait to get out there. Yesterday had been a long, grinding slog of defending the barricades, letting in small forces of sickos, dealing with them, then going back to the barricades. The rhythm and the tactics had changed today. It was no longer just a matter of waiting. Defending. There was going to be a proper attack, she could feel it. She’d watched Achilleus go past with his troops. Watched them plough into the sickos. She wanted to be out there with him. She wanted to be fighting. Anything was better than this waiting.
She had her eyes fixed on Jordan, up on his platform. Desperate for his signal. Willing him to give the command. To go out either right or left. To help Achilleus or to help Matt. A good general always reinforced his stronger units. Surely that would be Achilleus. The weaker units had to be abandoned. That was just how it was. Matt had gone out there trusting that the Lamb would protect him. His troops seemed to be mostly armed with banners. They were chanting. What hope did they have? If Jordan sent her out to back up Achilleus they could power through there, cut St George’s army in half.
Come on. Come on.
And then Jordan said something to Bill, the trumpeters blasted out their signal and Jackson was shouting.
‘Go right! Go right!’
She was running. Ollie’s squad was opening the barriers. Jackson’s troops were out of the camp, into open ground.
‘Keep up! Keep together. Don’t forget your training!’
Soon they were pushing through the rear ranks of Achilleus’s unit, the stragglers, the ones who were too reluctant or too scared to properly get into the fight. She charged forward, smashing stray sickos out of her way as she passed, flattening them with single, well-aimed blows from her heavy sword. It didn’t take her long to get right to the front, where she found Achilleus surrounded by dead sickos.
‘Glad you could join us,’ she said as she fell in beside him.
‘And I’m glad you could join us,’ said Achilleus.
He was painted red with blood. His hands, his face, his arms, his chest, his legs. And he was stepping over the bodies of the sickos he’d cut down, moving steadily forward. Leaving the wounded ones for the troops behind him to finish off.
Jackson joined him, cutting, chopping, slicing … This wasn’t easy, though. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done. There were just so many of them to kill. Too many. After the first brief burst of exhilaration, the charge to battle, the shouts and whoops of her kids, she’d got bogged down. Clogged in the thick of it. This was grim work, grim and bloody and exhausting. She was sweating, gasping for breath, her sword arm burning, as she cut into the bodies that swarmed around them.
And now they weren’t moving forward any more. They were being forced back by the sheer weight of sickos. She was hit by doubt. What chance did they have? These few kids against so many? She felt like she was fighting in slow motion. Even Achilleus was tiring. She could read his body language. You couldn’t keep up that level of energy all day. She saw her friends starting to go down, swamped by adults. Tried not to think about their clawing fingers and tearing teeth.
‘To me!’ she bellowed, the effort hurting her throat. ‘Stay close! Group together! Protect each other!’
She was desperate. For the first time she was scared. They were all going to be killed. Achilleus had got it wrong, Jordan had got it wrong, she’d got it wrong … And then she felt a mighty punch in the chest. Her head rattled. She was rocked back. Fell down, winded, stretched out on the grass, deaf. Found herself looking up at the sky, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. A ball of flame rising into the air.
As her senses returned, she struggled to sit up. All around her kids and adults alike were sprawled on the ground, stunned. She recalled a brightness just before the thump. And as she looked further she saw at the rear of the sicko army another blinding white flash followed by a red flare and an orange flash. Next moment a belch of filthy black smoke exploded into the sky, which was suddenly filled with what looked like a pink mist. At the same time there came a bang that deafened her again and left her head throbbing.
Her hearing came back in a shrieking whine and she saw Achilleus stand up nearby.
‘What was that?’ she said, struggling to her feet. All around her were fallen bodies. For the moment the fighting had stopped.
‘I dunno,’ said Achilleus, shaking his head. ‘Fire and brimstone?’
There was a third mighty bang. Then another. And another. Jackson clamped her hands over her ears. In all she counted nine explosions. Ripping into the sicko army. She could hardly think straight. Her brain was spinning in her skull.
‘Looks to me,’ said Ryan, grinning at the two of them as he came over, ‘like someone’s blowing the crap out of the sickos. That pink mist in the sky? That used to be people.’
‘Let’s finish this thing,’ said Jackson, and she and Achilleus and Ryan and the rest of their kids charged forward with a great shout.
There was a long moment of silence, as if the whole world had been shocked into numbness, and then bits started to fall from the sky. Soot and blasted metal, burnt pieces of flesh, a thin drizzle of blood.
Hideous screaming then filled the park. Ben looked up, seagulls, hundreds and hundreds of them, circling and then beginning to swoop down in a feeding frenzy.
‘Man, that was peak,’ said Bernie.
Ben couldn’t believe it. Nine out of the ten car bombs had gone off. Everything they’d rigged up had worked. The explosives, the self-driving cars, the makeshift triggers. Everything.
They’d lifted the explosives from the hell of Wembley. The stadium had been filled with a disgusting pile of human bones, the flesh mostly either rotted away or eaten by rats. The cars had been fitted with a simple combination of crook locks and wooden wedges jammed over the pedals to keep them on track. The triggers were simple clock timers attached to the detonators they’d found at Wembley.
It had been a rush to get them ready on time, working for days and nights up at Saif’s camp in IKEA. Like one of those cable shows
where men with beards made things from scrap. They wished they’d been ready yesterday, but hadn’t wanted to risk going off half-cocked. It had to work.
And my God, did it work! They must’ve blasted half St George’s army into dust. They looked round to where Saif and Shadowman were watching the carnage from behind some safety barriers. The two boys high-fived each and then came over and hugged Ben and Bernie.
‘They weren’t expecting that,’ said Saif.
‘I’m just pissed off that the last one didn’t explode,’ said Bernie. ‘Ten out of ten I was hoping for.’
‘Nine is plenty good enough,’ said Saif. ‘You two don’t need to come and fight,’ he added. ‘Take yourself somewhere safe and stay out of it. You done your part.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Bernie. ‘We’re not intending to fight.’
‘Takes all sorts to win a war,’ said Shadowman. ‘Stay alive.’
‘Now it’s our turn to fight,’ said Saif, turning to face his troops who were lined up on North Carriage Drive and the Bayswater Road. They were ready to march against St George’s army from the rear once all the chemicals had burned themselves out.
‘You with us, Shadowman?’
‘Something I have to do first,’ said Shadowman.
‘Always the same with you,’ said Saif. ‘Always got your own plans.’ And he slapped Shadowman’s palm again. ‘You know I never liked you at first, fam. Didn’t trust you. Thought I knew best.’
‘No problem,’ said Shadowman. ‘We all make mistakes. Main thing is – we gotta win this. That’s all that matters.’
Shadowman hurried away. Skirting along the top of the park towards Park Lane, moving fast, his grey cloak flapping behind him, his pack strapped tightly to his chest, his crossbow slung across his back. He then headed south down Park Lane towards where David and Jester had their HQ. He was confident he could get close without being seen. This was what he did best. He was always happiest working alone. Watching without being seen. He could hide three metres from someone and they’d never know he was there.