And there, at the center of the room, stands the crazy clown. He’s bent over a table, chewing a corner of a map, surrounded by mutants and babies. Kinslow is by his master’s side, pointing to an area on the map, discussing something with his fellow mutants. Claudia, the girl whom Owl Man spared in the pub in Wapping, is with them, though she isn’t saying much.
Nobody spots us as we fan out. We thought this was a trap, but it looks like we aren’t expected. I’m confused, and I can tell that Dr. Oystein is too. Maybe our foes are only pretending to be unaware of us, to lull us into a false sense of security.
I keep waiting for the floor to open beneath us or nets to drop from overhead, but nothing happens. The mutants carry on their conversation as if we aren’t there, and we study them incredulously, nobody wanting to be the first to break the bizarre spell.
Holy Moly bounds up to Mr. Dowling and leaps onto his back. The clown pats the baby absentmindedly and carries on chewing.
“daddy,” Holy Moly says.
Mr. Dowling ignores it.
“daddy,” Holy Moly says again.
“Not now,” Kinslow says with surprising sweetness. “Daddy’s busy. He’ll play with you later.”
“but i brought mummy to see him,” Holy Moly says, and the mutants fall silent.
Kinslow half-turns to stare at the beaming baby. “What?”
“holy moly brought mummy,” the baby says, leaping from Mr. Dowling’s back to point at us.
Kinslow turns the rest of the way round, along with the other mutants. The babies swivel too, all at the same time, in their eerie, synchronized fashion. Mr. Dowling is the last to look, reluctantly letting go of the map, spitting out a few pieces, then turning to smile at me crazily.
The mutants and babies stare at us. We stare back. Nobody says a word. The sense of shock is almost palpable.
Then Holy Moly cries out, “mummy. daddy. kiss and make up.”
NINETEEN
“Kiss and make up!” Kinslow cackles. “That’s a good one.”
“Hello, my beloved,” Mr. Dowling whispers inside my head, ignoring his henchman, his soft, telepathic voice contrasting with his wildly rolling eyes and peeled-back lips. “It is good to see you again, even if the circumstances are far from ideal.”
“Hi, hubby,” I mutter. “Sorry for ruining the wedding night.”
The clown laughs hysterically and claps loudly.
“Albrecht,” Dr. Oystein says, stepping forward, and Mr. Dowling stops clapping. “This does not have to end in tears. Let us reach a compromise. We do not need to shed blood here today.”
“Why is he looking to compromise?” Mr. Dowling asks, his words only sounding inside my head. “Didn’t you give him the vial?”
“Share nothing with him,” Owl Man murmurs in my ear before I can reply. I don’t think he can eavesdrop on my conversation with Mr. Dowling, but he can see that we’re in contact. He doesn’t want me to give the game away.
The clown cocks his head and stares at me when I don’t answer his question. “Your mind is not your own. Zachary has tinkered with it. I understand now why you attacked me. It was not your doing. I forgive you.”
I smile warmly at that and turn to Owl Man. “Let me speak with him. Please. I won’t tell him anything about the vial.”
Owl Man exchanges a glance with Dr. Oystein, who nods slowly.
“Very well,” Owl Man says. “But reveal nothing of our mission or what has happened to the sample of Schlesinger-10.”
I face Mr. Dowling and open my thoughts to him. “Sorry,” I say again, but this time without moving my lips. “This wasn’t something that I planned. I know how much you were prepared to sacrifice for me. I didn’t mean to betray you before you had a chance to prove yourself.”
“Perhaps it was for the best,” Mr. Dowling sighs as his mutants glare at us and growl softly. “I don’t think I could have made you happy. The heavens were set against us. It wasn’t our time. But perhaps it can be, depending on how things play out today.”
“I doubt it,” I tell him truthfully. “Too much has happened. Besides, how could you trust me? You don’t know what else Owl Man might have done to my brain. Even I don’t know.”
“Clever little Zachary,” Mr. Dowling says bitterly. “I taught him too well.”
The clown does a quick pirouette, catching everyone by surprise, then opens his mind to the rest of his followers, including Kinslow, who gives voice to his words for the benefit of those who haven’t bonded with him.
“You did well to find me, Oystein. I didn’t think you would track me down to my war room. I was going to face you in my personal chambers later, when I’d stripped you of all your followers and hopes.”
“This doesn’t have to be a room of war,” Dr. Oystein says, taking another step towards his estranged, deranged brother. “It can be a room of peace. Let us build bridges, restore what we’ve destroyed, work with one another again, like we did in the past.”
“There can be no going back,” Mr. Dowling transmits sadly, and Kinslow says it aloud for him.
“I’m not talking about going back,” Dr. Oystein says. “I want to move forward with you and Zachary by my side, to forge a new world. The three of us can be the architects of the future. We have come so far separately. Let’s go the rest of the way hand in hand.”
“I wish that we could,” Mr. Dowling says through Kinslow, “but you and I crave different things.”
“We don’t have to,” Dr. Oystein presses. “Zachary and I can work on your damaged brain and try to repair it. Trust us, Albrecht. Work with us. I’m your brother, Zachary is your son, and, despite all that we have been through, we’ve never stopped loving you. Let us help you, so that we can be a family again.”
Mr. Dowling rubs the v-shaped grooves in his cheeks. Kinslow is looking at his master oddly, aggressively. The mutant has picked up a scythe. I think he might chop off the clown’s head if he sides with Dr. Oystein.
“What do you think, children?” Mr. Dowling asks the babies, looking down upon his mini terrors. “Would you like it if I kissed and made up?”
“with yummy mummy?” the babies all ask together.
“No, sillies,” the clown chuckles. “With Oystein.”
The babies look blank. They don’t care about the doc or anybody else. The question means nothing to them.
“If I grant you the support of my people,” Mr. Dowling says softly through Kinslow, facing his brother again, “what will you give me in return?”
“What do you want?” Dr. Oystein asks eagerly, taking yet another step forward. He’s almost within touching distance of the clown. Mr. Dowling glances at Kinslow and shares a private thought with him.
“Will you return his vial of Schlesinger-10?” Kinslow says pleasantly.
“I can’t,” Dr. Oystein says. “I don’t know where…”
The doc stops, his face falling, as he realizes he’s been tricked.
“I thought as much,” Mr. Dowling crows, his laughter echoing inside all of our heads. “He doesn’t have it. The vial has gone missing.” Then, as Dr. Oystein flounders, Mr. Dowling throws his head back, waves imperiously at his followers and screeches telepathically, “Children—attack!”
TWENTY
As the mutants and babies surge forward, Mr. Dowling launches himself at Dr. Oystein. The brothers fall to the floor, tearing and punching at one another.
Shane moves in on Kinslow as the mutant sweeps to the aid of his master. Kinslow spots the threat and swings his scythe. Shane ducks beneath the blade and slams his foot into the mutant’s stomach. Kinslow’s driven back with a winded cry.
Josh Massoglia and Reilly marshal the few human troops who made it through, roaring at them to aim carefully, not fire wildly, and choose their targets.
Master Zhang glides ahead, most of the Angels falling in behind him. As the mutants attack, he swats them aside, barely exerting himself, a lethal, tightly wound fighting machine.
Ashtat follows Shane a
nd throws a few karate kicks at Kinslow, knocking him off his feet. He doesn’t know what’s hit him. Go, girl!
Vicky Wedge carries on a running commentary, telling Justin Bazini about the battle, adding words to the images that he’s picking up from the various cameras scattered among his remaining soldiers. She looks white as a ghost, and flinches anytime someone comes near, but she doesn’t back off.
Carl springs about the room like a bionic bunny. This is his specialty. He comes down upon his foes from out of nowhere, thrusting them aside, breaking up groups, causing confusion.
The babies swarm towards me. I’m not sure if they plan to hug me or eat me. Before I can find out, Holy Moly throws itself between us and bellows at them, “mummy.”
The babies stop instantly and I’m reminded of the power struggle in my wedding chamber, when they would have torn me apart if not for Holy Moly’s intervention. This time it’s easier for the idiosyncratic little baby to distract them.
“lots more for us to kill,” Holy Moly says, pointing at the soldiers and Angels. “leave mummy and daddy alone.”
“yes,” the babies say. “we love mummy and daddy.”
Then they hurl themselves at the humans. Lots of the babies are caught in the crossfire and blown apart, but there are so many of them that more push in to replace the casualties and they descend on the soldiers without slowing.
A few of the babies target Owl Man, who has been standing by my side, looking worried. As they attack, Sakarias bounds to his defense. The dog grabs one of the infants and shakes it like a doll, grinding through its rib cage, tearing it apart, letting its carcass drop.
The dead baby’s comrades hiss and leap onto Sakarias’s back. The dog snaps at them, then rolls over, trying to squash them. Owl Man leans down to pull them off, but one of the babies latches onto his hand and flashes its fangs. Owl Man yelps and jerks away. Two of his fingers have been ripped clean off. He stares at the bloody stumps, dumbfounded.
A pair of babies clamber onto Sakarias’s exposed belly. As the shaggy sheepdog howls, they rip the lining of its stomach to shreds and burrow in. I stare with fascination as one of the babies crawls through the mutant canine’s body and up its throat. I spot a hand shoot through the space at the back of the dog’s mouth. Then the baby’s fingers find Sakarias’s brain and tear into it. Moments later the dog falls still and the light leaves its sad, soulful eyes.
I feel sorry for Sakarias. It didn’t ask to become Owl Man’s mutated pet. It was a friendly thing in its own fierce way. But there’s no time to mourn a dead dog. Owl Man is still staring at his mutilated hand. This might be my chance to break free.
I spin round towards the exit, meaning to run and leave the fighting behind me. I jam my hands over my ears, to hopefully block out any commands that Owl Man might yell after me when he sees me taking off. My plan is to call to Holy Moly as I flee, ask the baby to join me, so that I can find out where it hid the vial of Schlesinger-10.
But Rage, standing next to me, has other ideas. As I swivel, he wraps his arms round me and murmurs, “Going somewhere, Becky?”
“Let go, you bastard,” I shout, kicking out at him.
“Not a chance,” he grunts. “This is the endgame. No one leaves before the fat lady sings.”
As I continue to kick at Rage, I spy Kinslow back on his feet. He lashes out blindly with his scythe and the tip burrows itself in the side of Ashtat’s head. She steps away from the mutant, stunned, blood seeping from the wound, staining her otherwise pure-white headscarf.
Shane roars furiously and knocks Kinslow to the floor. He throws a series of punches at the mutant, cursing wildly. The girl from the pub, Claudia, tries to pull him away, but the furious Shane shrugs her aside and carries on punching.
“Ashtat,” I moan.
I don’t know if she hears, but she turns towards me. Rage had been chuckling, but he stops when he sees Ashtat.
“Poor cow,” he sighs.
Ashtat reaches towards us. The scythe is sticking out of her head, the handle quivering.
Somebody drops a gun, and Claudia kicks it across to Kinslow. I yell a warning to Shane, but Kinslow grabs the weapon before the Angel can react, jams it up under Shane’s chin and fires. The gun snags on one of the chains that Shane always wears, throwing off Kinslow’s aim, so, instead of tearing through the middle of Shane’s head, the bullet explodes out behind his left ear. He falls to one side, screaming with pain, desperately trying to poke bits of his brain back into place.
Claudia laughs hysterically, picks up a few pieces of Shane’s brain, and stuffs them into her mouth, pretending she likes the flavor. I wish now that Owl Man had killed her when he had the chance. If this is what comes of being merciful, I’ll never show pity again.
Kinslow growls like a bear and Claudia spits out the cranial pulp and helps him back to his feet. Without thanking her, he grabs the handle of the scythe and yanks it from Ashtat’s head. She cries out once, then sinks and convulses, one of the undead no longer, at rest for all time.
The blond, leather-clad Ingrid and quick-fingered Ivor have swept ahead of Master Zhang, finding a temporary gap and exploiting it. Having slipped through the net of bodies, they close in on the battling brothers at the eye of the storm. Dr. Oystein and Mr. Dowling are tearing at one another like a pair of rabid dogs, biting, scratching, ripping. Flesh hangs from them in strips, and each is coated in blood.
Ivor is just ahead of Ingrid, looking ready for business, but then a stray bullet hits the side of his head and he drops suddenly, an unmoving husk, and I know with a single glance that he’ll never pick a lock again.
Ingrid roars vengefully but doesn’t slow down. Ignoring her fallen friend, she grabs Mr. Dowling, to tug him off her beloved doctor. The clown turns, smiles, opens his mouth and spits a stream of large ants into her eyes. Ingrid screams with alarm and flails sideways, slapping at the ants as they dig into her cheeks and target her eyes. They must be some breed of super ant, because they bite in hard, making it almost impossible for her to dislodge or squash them.
Reilly and Josh are standing near the rear of the remaining soldiers, still yelling orders. They’re holding the team together, getting them to cover as many angles as possible. It’s hard work staving off the lightning-fast babies, but they’re coping.
Then a stray zombie lurches into the room through the door that we didn’t think to shut behind us. It stumbles towards Josh. Reilly spots it, shouts a warning and shoves Josh aside. The zombie misses its target, but the bones sticking out of its fingers catch the flesh of Reilly’s throat and tear softly into it.
Reilly curses and shoots the zombie through the head. It collapses in a heap. Reilly curses again, then presses his fingers to his throat. They come away wet and red. It’s only a flesh wound, but, when you’re one of the living and the wound is the work of a zombie, that’s enough.
Reilly catches my eye and smiles miserably. “If you see her, tell Ciara I love her,” he cries.
“She already knows,” I shout back.
Reilly salutes me, then presses the mouth of his gun to his own temple, closes his eyes and releases himself from the grip of the nightmare that would otherwise claim him whole.
Carl leaps through the air, lands beside us and winces. “What a sickener. I had a lot of respect for Reilly.” He looks at me, still struggling and trying to break free, and asks Rage, “What are we going to do with B now?”
“That’s for Owl Man to decide,” Rage huffs. “Hey, Owly, are you compos mentis or are you gonna go on staring at your fingers all day?”
Owl Man looks up, blinks dumbly, then smiles shakily. “My apologies. I was not expecting this. It hurts. I had almost forgotten what real pain was like.”
“What about Becky?” Rage asks. “What do you want her to do?”
Owl Man studies me for a moment, then nods. “Call Holy Moly,” he tells me.
“Holy Moly,” I shout, having to obey.
The baby is close by, keeping an eye on me,
and it runs across, beaming.
“Ask it where the vial is,” Owl Man says.
“Holy Moly,” I say softly, kneeling before the baby. “Did you hide the vial like I asked you to?”
“yes mummy,” Holy Moly says proudly.
“Where?” Owl Man barks.
“Where?” I repeat.
Holy Moly bares its teeth at Owl Man, not liking the tone he took with me.
“It’s okay,” I soothe the baby. “Don’t worry about him. Where did you hide the vial?”
“in a safe place,” Holy Moly says. “i’m clever like mummy and hid it where no one would think to look. do you want me to show you mummy?”
“Yes,” Owl Man gasps.
“Yes,” I’m forced to echo.
Holy Moly’s smile spreads. Then it bends and shakes its head from side to side. At first I think the baby’s having a fit. But then something glints inside the hole in its head. As we gape, the baby reaches up, sticks a few fingers inside the wound in its skull and gently eases out the vial of Schlesinger-10.
“ta-dah,” it exclaims.
TWENTY-ONE
Rage has loosened his grip. His gaze is fixed on the vial of Schlesinger-10. It’s such a powerful weapon that even the usually sneering Rage is reduced to a solemn, wide-eyed figure, thinking about all of the people who will die if the vial is uncorked and its toxic fumes released.
Carl is also staring at the vial, awestruck, as is Owl Man. The trio are momentarily frozen.
But I’ve no time for freezing. This is my chance. It hits me in an instant what I must do, how I can turn this to my advantage. But, if I’m to succeed, I can’t hesitate.