The End

  The father collapsed to the ground, his flesh boiling off his body, his insides spilling out. Paddy wondered if they’d all go the same way, but while the others clearly didn’t like being out in the light none of them burst like the father.

  The hunters were merciless, chopping at the grown-ups from both sides as one by one they came staggering out of the door. Achilleus was among them, darting in and stabbing with his spear. Paddy didn’t join them. He made the faces. He yelled at the grown-ups. He took up a position with his spear, copying the little plastic action figures he loved to play with. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go in and cut them with the Gáe Bolg. It was a mixture of fear and squeamishness. The memory of the sentinel. The press of Paddy’s blade against his skin. The way it pushed back and then gave, went soft, opened up. The memory of the sentinel’s belly ripping open. His guts falling out. Spraying his filth over Paddy.

  Paddy wasn’t ready for that again.

  Was it nearly over? Paddy stared at the door. Waiting. The animal hadn’t come out. The dark shape he’d seen crawling down the corridor. He was trembling. No idea what to expect.

  A black nose peeped out of the doorway, sniffing, a face – brown fur and bright eyes.

  A hunter moved in, spear raised.

  ‘No!’ Paddy shouted. ‘Don’t. It’s a dog. It’s just a dog.’

  The hunter held back.

  It was a brown Labrador, and as it came fully out Paddy saw that it had a yellow hi-viz harness round its body. It was on a lead, bringing a father out into the light. Blind. Empty eye sockets. Flesh rotted away almost to nothing. Instead of a white stick, he was feeling his way with a long, thin child’s arm clutched in his free hand.

  The hunters looked at each other, then to Ryan for leadership. To Achilleus. What should they do?

  Achilleus stepped up behind the father and struck him quickly and cleanly in the neck, cutting his spine. The father fell and the dog turned, whimpered once, sniffed at him, licked his face. Sat down next to him.

  Paddy watched as the dog looked at Achilleus, then got up, its tail wagging, and went over to him. Sniffed his hand. Achilleus knelt down.

  And Paddy saw him smile in a way he’d never seen before.

  4

  ‘He’s a champion, Akkie. He’s a prince.’

  ‘He’s a princess actually,’ said Achilleus and he laughed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s a bitch.’

  ‘Does that mean she won’t fight?’

  Achilleus laughed even louder. ‘Girls can fight just as well as boys, caddie. You’ve seen it for yourself.’

  ‘Sure. Yeah. Sure. She won’t be a princess, though. She’ll be a warrior queen!’

  Achilleus wasn’t sure why he’d changed his mind. Paddy had pleaded and pleaded and pleaded with him and in the end he’d given in. There was something about the dog. Something special. For a start she was well trained, not at all aggressive. She might be good for Paddy. The little boy didn’t need another killer around; he needed a friend. She might settle him down and give him a sense of security. It was like she’d been given to them. A gift from the gods. And she was Achilleus’s gift to Paddy.

  Jesus, the boy was happy. He was marching along the road back to the museum, chattering away, praising the dog. The fear had lifted from him. Achilleus felt good that he’d done a good thing – something that hadn’t involved extreme violence.

  Before they’d left, Ryan and his hunters had cleared out the building and lugged the dead grown-ups out behind the gallery where they’d made a fire from broken chairs and wood. Set fire to the lot of them, filling the park with smoke and the smell of roasting meat.

  ‘This is how we live,’ said Ryan, joining them. ‘We keep these places clear of any bastards. We keep the park safe so that kids can come get water. We collect useful stuff. We clean up. And to pay us the settlements give us food and drink and anything else we need.’

  ‘Don’t seem to be so many grown-ups around here,’ said Achilleus.

  ‘Not any more,’ said Ryan. ‘Not since the other day. There was, like, an army come through. God knows where they all went. Some days we still find some hiding out like today, but otherwise I don’t know where they are, where they gone.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Paddy. ‘It’s spooky. They can’t all just disappear.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Achilleus. ‘Have you felt it? Before a big storm? There’s a stillness. Like the day’s become heavy.’

  ‘The calm before the storm,’ said Ryan, ‘is what they call it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Paddy. ‘The calm before the storm.’

  ‘So you saying we about to be hit by a big storm?’ said Ryan.

  ‘A shit storm,’ said Achilleus.

  ‘A sick storm more like,’ said Paddy.

  ‘I sure would like to know where they all gone to, though,’ said Ryan.

  ‘I know,’ said a voice and Achilleus looked round to see someone standing by the fence at the edge of the road. None of them had spotted him before. It was like he’d appeared from nowhere. Must have been hiding in the bushes or behind a tree. He had on a grey cloak with a hood and was carrying a crossbow and a long staff that he was leaning on slightly as if he had a bad leg.

  Ryan’s lot all stopped and took up a defensive position, ready for anything, wary of this new kid.

  ‘Do I know you?’ Ryan asked, his voice cold and hard.

  ‘Nope,’ said the boy. ‘But you’ve been enjoying my beer.’

  ‘Your beer?’

  ‘Yeah. Ed bartered it with me.’

  ‘So those crossbow bolts we got were for you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Achilleus knew all about the arrangements Ed had made to get hold of the car. The series of exchanges that had meant Ed ended up driving off west in a big blue people carrier and Ryan and his hunters had got drunk on the steps of the museum. Ryan had given Ed crossbow bolts, Ed had given them to this guy, who’d given him the beer, and Ed had given the beer to Ryan.

  ‘So, you got any more beer?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Might do.’

  ‘I’ve heard of you,’ said Zulficker. ‘You’re the kid called Shadowman, innit?’

  Achilleus sniggered. ‘Dumb name,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Paddy agreed. ‘Dumb.’

  ‘You really Shadowman?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Respect.’

  ‘You don’t run with no crew, do you?’ said Zulficker.

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  ‘So you reckon you know where all the grown-ups have gone?’ Achilleus asked.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve seen them. To the north of here. An army of them. Moving slowly down from Kilburn. And any day now they’re going to get here and that is gonna be one bad day, let me tell you.’

  ‘So what is it you want, Shadowman?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘I want to stop them.’

  ‘Yeah, fair enough, but what is it you want from us? Precisely?’

  ‘Why do you assume I want anything?’

  ‘You’re human.’

  ‘Guess so.’

  ‘You’ve broken cover,’ Ryan went on. ‘You’ve worked up a sweat to track us down and follow us and pop out the bushes on us here in the park. And you ain’t out walking your dog, because you ain’t got a dog. What I know of you, you ain’t gonna do none of that without a reason.’

  ‘If you want more beer, I can trade with you.’

  ‘We ain’t got no more bolts, Shadow. You cleaned us out.’

  ‘I’ve got enough bolts.’

  ‘So what is it you need?’

  ‘You know a guy called Jester?’

  ‘At the palace? Yeah.’

  ‘He there now? As far as you know?’

  ‘Raggedy kid?’ said Achilleus. ‘Wears a patchwork coat? Some call him Jester, some call him Magic-Man, some call him Bell-end. Slippery? Don’t trust the little rat?’

  ‘That’s him,’ said Shadowman.
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  ‘He’s there,’ said Achilleus. ‘I know, because we saved his raggedy arse and took him there.’

  ‘You from the Holloway crew?’ said Shadowman.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What do you want with Jester?’ Ryan asked Shadowman.

  Shadowman smiled.

  ‘All I need is for you to take him a message.’

  5

  Maxie was kneeling by one of the vegetable beds in front of the museum. Scrabbling in the dirt. She’d gone into a sort of trance, forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. She stared down at her hands. They were streaked with mud. It looked like blood. She closed her eyes. Wanted to sleep. All her energy was gone. She could hear birds singing in the trees. So many of them. She realized she was shaking.

  Pull yourself together, girl.

  She stood up. Took a deep breath. She knew that after an adrenalin rush, when the body had been fighting to keep you alive, there was always a massive comedown. Turned out that was harder than she’d imagined. When they were doing things – fighting, moving, hiding – there wasn’t time to think. Now there was lots of time. Too much time. As the weight of danger was lifted, it allowed darkness and depression to seep in. Post-traumatic stress – that’s what they called it. She’d seen a documentary about it once. Soldiers coming back from the Middle East.

  For them war had been easier than peace.

  She didn’t want war again, though. She didn’t want to be back in the world of danger among the blood and the warm stink of attacking grown-ups. She didn’t want to be fighting for her life again soon, or any time, thank you, God.

  She looked over to where a bunch of little kids were playing. They were all clustered round Paddy’s new dog, which sat there patiently, as the kids’ puppy, Godzilla, barked at it and jumped up to bite its ear. It sounded like they were trying to think what to call the new dog, all shouting out names …

  ‘Chocolate – Brown Eyes – Mulan – Rogue – Killer …’

  There were nine of them. Paddy, Wiki, Jibber-jabber, Zohra, Froggie, Blu-Tack Bill, Small Sam, The Kid and Yo-Yo. It was Small Sam that held her attention. He was with them but somehow not with them. There was something haunted about him. Maxie thought back to when he’d arrived here at the museum. Remembering the strange procession that had come in through the doors. Ed, tall and grim with the ugly scar down one side of his face. His friends, Macca and Will and Kyle, coming in with a certain ‘show-me-what-you-got’ swagger. Then Sam and The Kid and Yo-Yo, clutching her violin case. And, under a blanket, the Green Man. It had all felt so surreal that at first Maxie hadn’t registered how amazing it was that Sam was there. A ghost from their past turning up. She’d held back with all of the others, frozen, just watching. Like it was some crazy play. Trying to take it all in.

  Trying to get her head round the fact that Sam was alive.

  She didn’t need to carry the guilt any more – that he’d been snatched by grown-ups on her watch.

  Sam gave them hope. If this little boy could survive then maybe they all could. Maybe the nutters in St Paul’s who thought he was a god were right after all. Maybe he was special? The secret to their survival. Since then Maxie had made it her special duty to watch out for him, especially now that Ed had gone to look for Sam’s sister. Maxie was going to make sure that nothing bad happened to Sam again. She’d asked Whitney to act like a sort of nanny. The big girl was there now, sitting on a bench, watching them. Smiling.

  Maxie couldn’t get her head round this.

  Peace.

  London was quiet. No grown-ups on the streets. It was a dream-time. Were there really no monsters lurking in the shadows? Could she really allow herself not to be scared any more? Could it be as simple as just getting from one day to the next? Eat, drink, work, sleep. Survive.

  She prayed that nothing bad would happen, that the quiet times would continue and they could grow up in peace and safety. But at the back of her mind was a deeper animal thought. That is wasn’t over. That something worse was coming.

  She shivered. Looked around for Blue. Spotted him by the fence. Just standing there, alone, staring at the road. She knew he got depressed as well. He kept up a tough exterior, but was more sensitive than he let on to anyone except her. Maxie went over to him and put her arms round him from behind, and he put his hands over hers.

  She looked over his shoulder at the empty buildings opposite – flats and offices mostly. One day maybe she could go back to living in a regular house, not having to be surrounded by other kids for safety.

  ‘Will life ever be normal again?’ she asked.

  ‘Not until every last grown-up is killed,’ said Blue. ‘Not until the enemy is gone for good.’

  ‘And how many of us will be around to see that day?’ said Maxie.

  ‘I intend to grow old, girl. I wanna see you with wrinkles.’

  ‘You say the sweetest things.’

  Maxie felt something nudge her ankle and she looked down to see Godzilla trying to eat her shoe.

  Sam came running up.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘He got away. He’s jealous of the new dog, I think.’

  ‘You got a name for her?’ Maxie asked, letting go of Blue.

  ‘The girls all want to call her Bright Eyes,’ said Sam. ‘Paddy wants to call her Ripper.’

  ‘Ripper’s a terrible name,’ said Blue.

  ‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘I said they should call her Ella. Like my sister.’

  ‘Not a good idea,’ said Maxie.

  Sam looked at her, sadness in his eyes.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Imagine when she comes back,’ said Maxie. ‘Finds out she’s got the same name as Paddy’s dog. How weird would that be?’

  Sam smiled. ‘I just want something to remember her by,’ he said, and his lip trembled.

  ‘Hey.’ Maxie squatted down to his level. ‘I didn’t say if she comes back, did I? I said when. OK?’

  Sam nodded, holding back the tears. ‘Ed should’ve let me go with him,’ he said. ‘She’s my sister. I want to see her again. That all I’ve been doing – trying to get back to her. And now Ed’s gone off without me. I feel wrong being here, not looking for her, not helping her. I was supposed to look after her. I promised her I would.’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ said Maxie. ‘Slow down. Ed did the right thing. OK? Trust me. You’re safe here.’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Sam. ‘What if Ella did the right thing? What if she’s safe and we’re all in danger? What if we get attacked and Ed comes back with Ella and I’m dead? She’ll be sad.’

  ‘Look out there, shrimp,’ said Blue, pointing to the empty road. ‘Does that look dangerous to you?’

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ said Sam, ‘everything looks dangerous to me.’

  6

  David was getting impatient. Was this ever going to work? He very much doubted it. Right now he wanted to hit the strange, sick-looking boy. What a waste of space he was. Paul Channing. He’d turned up from the Natural History Museum, babbling on about how he could talk to grown-ups, or strangers, as David called them. Paul had claimed he could even control them. Yeah, right. Every time he tried to demonstrate his amazing abilities it ended like this. A ridiculous failure.

  Talk to them? They were all just ignoring him.

  David had his own captive strangers here at the palace. The remains of the royal family. A diseased and rotting bunch of ratbags who lived in a room at the top of the palace where their stink wasn’t as noticeable. David hated coming in here. So, to be constantly dragged up here by Paul – ‘This time it’s going to work, I promise you!’ – was a right royal pain in the arse. He kept a handkerchief clamped over his nose and mouth. It had been soaked in rosemary oil, but the stench of the captive royal family got through. They had no standards of personal hygiene. They sat there dumbly in their tattered, rotting ball gowns and dinner suits, leaking into the furniture. It stank worse than the elephant house at the zoo. At least they’d stopped doing their stupid statue
thing. For days they’d just stood there like scarecrows, arms outstretched, faces turned to the ceiling, not moving.

  Since then, though, they’d been more lifeless than ever. David wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep these vile specimens alive. Bits kept falling off. One minor princess had lost most of her face. All the flesh had been eaten away, leaving her thin, boil-studded skin stretched over her skull. Her blue eyes staring out, lidless and weeping.

  They’d been his great hope. He’d wanted to show them off, parade them in front of other kids, to show that he was the right man to rule London.

  ‘Look at me, folks, I’ve got the royal family! I’m the rightful heir to the throne of England!’ But they were worse than a joke now. On top of it all, they’d been let out recently and a couple of the more lively ones had been killed before they’d been safely rounded up.

  That had not been a good night.

  He’d really been hoping that things were going his way when Jester had turned up at the palace with a small army of tough north London kids. David had wanted them to fight for him and help him make his point about being in charge. But they’d wanted none of it, and after eating half his food they’d just left one night, freeing the royal family on their way out. They were on his shit list. Right at the top. One day, when he was in charge, he would punish them very publicly and very painfully.

  So when Paul had arrived, claiming he could communicate with strangers, it had felt like a gift from above. Paul was going to be their secret weapon. Their nuclear device.

  Only he was proving to be a dud.

  ‘You can’t do it, can you?’ said David and Paul looked at his shoes. He was tall and thin and very pale, his skin the colour of paper. He was dressed all in black with a greasy roll-neck jumper covering his scrawny neck. He was nearly as bad to be around as the strangers. Sweating all the time, his eyes darting around like nuts. Yeah. Let’s face it, he was a nutter. Why had David ever believed in him? For one moment? Talk to strangers? Talk to the moon more like, you useless nutter.