The Dead (50 page)

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.

Ed was standing on the battlements with Kyle, looking at the Thames as it flowed sluggishly past. It had rained the night before and everything glistened with wet. Now, though, a patch of blue appeared in the sky, the sun broke through the clouds and everywhere was lit up gold and silver.

He turned his scarred face towards Kyle and smiled.

‘The sun actually feels warm,’ he said.

Kyle grinned back at him.

‘You’re right, skipper,’ he said. ‘Soon be summer.’

‘Slow down a bit,’ said Ed. ‘We haven’t had spring yet.’

‘I never did work out which way round the seasons went.’ Kyle laughed. ‘Account of me dyslexia. If you asked me, I couldn’t even tell you how long we been here.’

‘Feels like forever.’

Ed thought back to when they’d first arrived. The first few weeks at the Tower had been very busy. Jordan had kicked everyone into shape, insisting that the key to survival was organization. Left to themselves the kids would have behaved like kids. They would have drifted into anarchy and squabbling. But Jordan wasn’t going to let that happen. He had a vision, and he had drive. He was going to make sure they survived.

He’d started by organizing a military system. Guards and soldiers and scavenging parties. The White Tower was full of weapons and armour, and the buildings were well protected. Ed was made captain of the Tower Guard, in charge of defending the castle. He was a strong solid figure who everyone trusted. Knowing that he was watching out for them made the younger kids feel safe and secure. Kyle acted as a sort of personal bodyguard. Ed could do nothing to shake the big square-headed boy off; wherever he went, Kyle was at his side.

When spring arrived, the moat had been dug over and planted with seeds. The kids had been inspired by old photographs they’d found showing the moat during wartime when it had been turned into a giant vegetable garden.

Spring had turned into summer and the kids’ spirits had been lifted by the light and warmth and sense of new life. But summer had drifted into autumn and autumn into winter. Food was always short. The scavenging parties had to search buildings further and further away to find stuff to eat. Twice they’d struck lucky and found warehouses stacked with provisions, but despite rationing even that had soon started to run low.

The worst part was the lack of fresh food. The vegetable gardens hadn’t been very productive. The kids had a lot to learn and in the winter the Thames had risen and flooded the moat, so they’d lost all their crops. They raided health food shops and chemists for supplements, vitamins and minerals, but they were no substitute for real fruit and vegetables. Lots of the kids had got sick; with their poor diet and no proper doctors there was nothing they could do about it. Too many had died.

With the winter had come the cold and the dark, and attacks on the scavenging parties from sickos had become more frequent. They’d been just as desperate and hungry as the kids. It had snowed in January, and while some of the kids enjoyed playing in it, the relentless freezing dampness made everyone miserable. At night they’d huddled together in big piles like hibernating insects. The death rate rose. The kids were kept busy carting bodies away to be dropped into the icy Thames.

To Ed it had seemed like the winter was never going to end, so now feeling the sun on his back filled him with fresh hope. A year. They’d survived for a whole year. Hard to believe. And now it was possible, just possible, that they were going to make it. The world wasn’t going to end.

Ed had been so busy, so tired at night, so distracted by everything that needed to be done that his birthday had come and gone without him even noticing. He’d realized with a shock one day that he must be fifteen. He’d kept himself to himself for a few days but had shown no symptoms apart from a mild cough, and as all the kids had constant sore throats, coughs and colds he didn’t worry too much about that.

He smiled. In a couple of weeks he would be sixteen. It looked like Justin had been right. Whatever the sickos had got, the kids weren’t going to get it as well.

‘We’re alive,’ he said, and Kyle looked confused.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean we’re
alive
, Kylo. Against all the odds we’re standing here, breathing.’ He slapped the top of the wall and gave a great whoop of joy. Kyle shook his head and looked at him like he was nuts. Kyle didn’t ever really think too deeply about anything.

There was a shout and DogNut appeared. He’d shown his strength and reliability in the last year and was well respected by the other kids. Jordan had made him captain of the Pathfinders, the name he’d given to the scavengers.

‘See that!’ he said cheerily, turning his face to the sky. ‘Sun’s out at last!’

Ed smiled at him. ‘Better get some of your guys to find us some sunblock,’ he said.

DogNut laughed and settled next to him, arms over the wall. ‘Feels good.’

‘I was just thinking back to when we first arrived,’ said Ed.

‘I think about them mad days in south London sometimes,’ said DogNut, ‘and it all seems like a dream, or a film I watched once a long time ago.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Ed.

‘Do you ever wonder what happened to the others?’

‘Used to,’ said Ed. ‘Not so much any more. Hardly remember them, to tell you the truth.’

‘You must remember them?’ said DogNut. ‘They was your mates.’

‘All my close friends died,’ said Ed quietly. ‘Malik, Bam, Jack …’

‘What was the nerd called, who drove the lorry?’

‘Justin,’ said Ed. ‘Couldn’t forget him. And there was little Wiki and his mate, Jibber-jabber. Then there was, God, what was he called?’

‘Who?’

‘Guy who was always reading? Chris Marker! That’s it, and Kwanele.’

‘Which one was Kwanele?’ DogNut asked.

‘Guy who was always really well dressed.’

‘Oh, yeah. The Zulu dude. See, you
do
remember!’

‘Yeah. Just needed to jog my brain.’

‘What was he called, the religious nut?’ DogNut asked.

‘Mad Matt,’ said Ed quietly. ‘Good riddance to him, I say. It was his fault the boat sank and Aleisha drowned. He could have killed us all. But the others. I hope they made it all right. They had all that food on the lorry, and that weird kid, David, watching out for them, so I guess they’re probably holed up somewhere like us.’

‘Don’t you never think about Brooke?’ DogNut asked.

‘Oh, yeah, Brooke.’ Ed blew out his breath noisily through his nose. ‘Think about her now and then, I guess.’

‘I think about her all the time, man,’ said DogNut. ‘I mean, back in the day, I knew I was waiting my turn. She was hot on you –’

‘Until I got this,’ Ed interrupted, putting a hand to the jagged scar that pulled his face out of shape.

‘Is that why you ain’t interested in her?’ DogNut asked.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You think she won’t like you no more?’

‘I don’t really care,’ said Ed.

‘Don’t you want to find out what happened to her?’

‘I’ve not really thought about it, to tell you the truth, DogNut. There’s been too much going on, just trying to stay alive. Yeah, I mean, obviously now and then I do wonder.’

‘I do more than wonder,’ said DogNut. ‘She had her problems, but she was
tough
, man, and I like that in a girl. She’s the sort of gyaldem you
need
in times like this. Plus, she was choong, bruv,
bare
choong.’

‘What’re you saying, DogNut?’ Ed asked. ‘You want to go and look for her?’

‘We should be finding out what other kids are up to out there, man,’ said DogNut. ‘We can’t just sit behind these walls and pray that the world’s gonna go away.’

‘But you’re captain of the Pathfinders.’

‘Yeah, so I should be exploring! I’ll clear it with the general. He won’t have no beef with me. Things is quiet here. I’ve talked to some of the other kids, and a few of them want to come along. They got split up from brothers and sisters and best mates. Courtney, too, she misses Brooke.’

‘Well, good luck to you, mate,’ said Ed.

‘Reason I’m telling you, Ed,’ said DogNut, ‘I thought you might want to come with us.’

Ed turned away and looked back at the castle grounds. Kids everywhere busy. Safe. It was like a little town.

‘This is my home, DogNut,’ he said. ‘
These
are my people now.’

In the days after DogNut left Ed thought about their conversation. He hadn’t told the whole truth to DogNut. His friends were still with him more than he’d let on. He had bad dreams most nights in which Jack was still alive. He’d come at him out of the darkness, his wine-coloured birthmark splashed down one side of his face. He always looked sad and angry, and always asked Ed why he’d abandoned him and left him for dead, and then Ed would see boils on Jack’s skin and realize he had the disease, and he’d wake up gasping for breath.

All the kids were plagued by nightmares. It was understandable really, but there also seemed to be something strange about this part of town. This was the edge of the old City of London, the historic heart of the capital since Roman times. It was easy to believe that there was some ancient magic living deep in the stones here. The kids never went into the City itself, what had been the financial district before the collapse, an area of offices and skyscrapers and old, old churches. They’d made it a no-go zone. Not only was there little food to be found in those concrete and glass canyons, there was also a creepy, unsettling atmosphere and the sickos who lived there were dangerous and unpredictable.

One rainy evening Ed and Kyle were out guarding a works party who were securing the gates at the Tower Hill underground station. The kids had been meaning to seal the place up for some time. The dark tunnels below were a potential hiding place for sickos. The boys were alert and well armed. No kid would have dreamt of leaving the castle grounds without some kind of weapon. Ed carried a knife, a heavy sword in a scabbard and a crossbow. His pistol had long since run out of ammunition, but he kept it by his bed as a reminder of the old days. Kyle carried a halberd. It was the perfect defensive weapon, a cross between a spear and an axe.