London Eye: 1 (Toxic City) (5 page)

“Maybe over there,” Jenna said. She walked toward one corner, kicking through the layered dust at her feet. She looked up at the ceiling, then back at the group, nodding. “Must have been closed in ages ago.”

Lucy-Anne saw the discoloured ceiling above where Jenna stood. The evidence of a blocked in staircase, perhaps, or the remains of where a hatch had once led down to this place.

“Why'd you think it's a church?” Jack asked.

“Over there,” Rosemary said. “In the end wall. That's the way we have to go. You'll see.”

We'll see what?
Lucy-Anne thought. She was about to ask when she heard the growl.

Her heart stuttered, missing a beat and taking her breath away when it restarted. Her arms and chest went cold. A sound returned from her dream, as fresh and alive as if she were dreaming it again now: another growl, and a low, throaty bark.

They were all frozen. The sudden stillness would have been comical, were it not for the other growls now answering the first.

“Oh, no,” Rosemary groaned. And she sounded her age for the first time since Lucy-Anne had met her.

Emily dashed over to her brother's side. He glanced at Lucy-Anne, but she could not even blink.

“What?” Jack whispered. He stepped closer to Rosemary, and the others all turned to look at the old woman. Their eyes were wide in the darkness, glittering with strange yellow light. “Rosemary,
what?
”

“Dogs,” Lucy-Anne whispered.

“Yes,” Rosemary said. “I met them on the way out, but they were much further back, just beneath the Exclusion Zone.”

“And?” Jack asked.

“They're wild, Jack. From London. There are packs in there, big packs.”

“We've heard about them,” Jenna said. All of them had drawn close, subconsciously shielding Emily from whatever danger approached.

“Some of them went down beneath the city,” Rosemary said. “The Tube, tunnels, sewers. Dog, and…”

“Other things,” Jenna finished for her.

Rosemary nodded. Lucy-Anne knew what “other things” meant, because they'd had a series of reports left in the drops close to Camp Truth a few months before. Much could be put down to hearsay and
exaggeration, they'd agreed, but it also seemed likely that some of what they read was true. Alligators, snakes, poisonous frogs, deadly spiders, and even a pride of lions, all of them escaped from various zoos and private collections in and around London following Doomsday.

But dogs…

“I dreamed this,” she whispered, and she was aware of Jack's torch shifting as he turned to look at her.

Another growl came, much closer than before, and there seemed to be cunning there, and purpose.

Jack stepped in front of Emily, a four inch folding knife in his hand. Jenna also shielded the girl, and Sparky already had a knife in each hand, torch tucked in his back pocket.

“How many were there?” Jack asked the old woman.

“Five,” Lucy-Anne said.

“Yes,” Rosemary said, surprised. “But I think I broke one of their legs.”

“Four's still enough,” Sparky said. “Shit.
Shit!
Why didn't you tell us?”

“Would you still have come?” Rosemary asked.

“Yes!” Sparky and Jack spoke at the same time, and the woman looked down at her feet.

No
, Lucy-Anne thought, and when she blinked she saw a flash of her dream, a dog snarling with her own meat hanging from its teeth—

—and when she looked again, the growl was real.

The first dog emerged from the tunnel into the large basement, dodging their torch beams, darting from column to column as it came for them.

News from London is contradictory and confusing. Official sources talk of at least nine separate terrorist attacks, including explosions at the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, London Bridge, Leicester Square, and Buckingham Palace. A source at Scotland Yard has said that several terrorist cells are being actively pursued through London, and that more attacks are feared. There is still no clear news of which chemical or biological agent has been deployed. Eyewitness accounts tell of military roadblocks, bulldozers piling bodies in public parks, and execution-style shootings to contain certain areas of the population. Whatever is true, it's certain that this is a tragedy of extreme magnitude, and CNN will, of course, be broadcasting throughout the day to bring you updates as and when they become available.

—CNN: Tragedy in London, 12:42 p.m. EST, July 28, 2019

S
parky crouched down low, a knife held in each hand, relying on the light from everyone else's torches to give him sight. Jack stood beside him to the left, but Sparky took a step forward, insisting that he be the first.

Jack had once seen his friend get into a fight with someone twice his age and a foot taller than him. The man had stormed in with fists waving and a shit-eating grin, catching Sparky one on the chin. Sparky had staggered back, ducked down, kicked him in the nuts, and when the guy fell over Sparky put the boot in. Thirty seconds later the man was out cold.

Sparky was not one to mess with, and he'd never been afraid of the sight of his own blood. Jack knew what Sparky's brother had become, and sometimes, like now, his friend actually scared him.

More shadows darted from the tunnel at the other end of the room. Torch lights flickered and bobbed after them, but the dogs possessed an almost supernatural ability to dodge into darkness.

The first hound emerged from behind a stone column and jumped at Sparky. Jack almost laughed: it was a King Charles Spaniel, its black and white coat smeared with mud, long ears flopping back as it leapt at his friend. But the laughter died in Jack's mouth when he saw the animal's teeth, its lips pulled back in a furious growl, and he realised how wild this dog had become. If anyone had ever stroked it with affection, the animal's memories of such moments were long forgotten.

Sparky stepped to the side and lashed out, but the dog snapped at his arm, catching his wrist with its sharp teeth. Sparky grunted and dropped a knife.

Jack took two steps and kicked the dog just as it landed on all fours. Distracted by the taste of Sparky's blood, it had not seen his foot coming, and his boot caught it beneath the jaw. Its head jerked up and back with a sickening
crunch
of teeth jamming shut.

Sparky knelt beside the dog and buried his remaining knife in its throat.

The animal squealed and howled, kicking its back legs, pinned to the ground by the blade. The sounds it made were piteous, and Jack glanced back at the others. He was pleased to see that Emily had her face buried in Jenna's shoulder.

“Look out!” Lucy-Anne shouted. She came toward him in a blur, and for a moment Jack was disorientated, his girlfriend's torch flashing across his eyes and blinding him to the shadows.

Something hit him in the hip. It was warm and wet, and he
realised that was a dog's nose nuzzling at the fat of his waist, and beneath that was the warmth of blood as its teeth broke his skin and it tried to burrow inside.
A dog is trying to eat me!
he thought, and the idea jarred him from wherever he'd been. He brought the torch down and smacked it against the dog's head. The animal whined and ran, leaving Jack's hip still feeling wet.

“Pitbull,” Jenna said. “They were banned years ago.”

“Someone forgot to tell that one,” Lucy-Anne said. She was with him now, standing with her back to his so that together they could see all around. “Lucky. You must have caught it just right to drive it away, but it'll—”

“Lucky? My guts are pouring out and—”

“Don't be a wimp,” she said, her voice high with panic. “Just a scratch. Sparky?”

Sparky stood from the dog now lying dead at his feet, wiping his knife quickly on its coat. His face looked grey, eyes deep and dark. His right hand and wrist were black with blood. “Yeah.”

“Get your torch out,” Lucy-Anne said.

“Yeah.”

“Here they come!” Jenna shouted.

Light beams wavered and flashed, shadows danced, and within those shadows were the dogs. Jack could not count them, and in the chaos of the next couple of minutes he made no effort to do so. He simply fought. He kicked and punched, swung his torch, slashed out with his knife, edging close to Emily and keeping her at his back so that she was sandwiched between him and Jenna.

Rosemary seemed to drift in and out of the light, her arms and legs twisting and thrashing as she did her best to keep the dogs away from her flesh.

Jenna had started using her knapsack as a weapon, swinging it back and forth and—if a dog chose the moment between swings to
come at her—kicking out with her heavy boots. Dogs yelped and growled, people roared and screamed, and Jack tried to stay focussed.

A flash of yellow to his left marked the third attack by a dog he thought was a Labrador, though it was ragged and thin. Its fur was streaked dark, its muzzle wet with blood. Jack hoped it was its own.

As the animal leaped, he ducked low and thrust up with the knife. The dog's paws scraped the side of his head and it howled. He felt a gush of warmth across his hand. Swinging his torch around, he was just in time to see the wounded animal dragging itself away between stone columns.

He looked around at the others. Sparky was fighting the pitbull, using his feet and knees to keep it away from him as he slashed out with his knife. His right hand was hanging by his side now, and blood had darkened his jeans. The dog was mad, foaming at the mouth, growling, scrabbling at Sparky's legs with its claws and gnashing its teeth. For every wound the boy put in its body, it gave him one back.

Behind Jack, Jenna still had Emily. His sister seemed unhurt, though she was looking around with unbridled terror. He hoped she did not try to run. Jenna hefted her backpack, caught Jack's eyes, smiled.

Lucy-Anne had picked up Sparky's dropped knife and was kneeling on the ground, stabbing repeatedly at a meaty mess that had once been a dog. For an instant Jack thought it was the King Charles Spaniel that Sparky had brought down, but then he saw that this animal was larger, its legs black and brown. She stabbed, slashed, hacked, and though the creature was obviously dead, her rage seemed to be growing.

“Jenna,” Jack said, glancing back at his sister and friend.

Yet again, Jenna seemed to read his mind. She glanced past Jack at Lucy-Anne. “Go,” she said. “I've got Emily.”

Keeping an eye out for the injured Labrador, Jack hurried across to Lucy-Anne. As he drew close she span around and crouched, bloody knife in one hand, the other held out for balance. And for a moment shorter than a blink, he thought she was going to come at him. Her eyes were white pools in a face smeared with blood, her teeth bared, and she reminded him of one of their crazed attackers.

“It's dead,” Jack said. A waving torch beam played across the corpse at Lucy-Anne's feet. Steam rose.

Lucy-Anne's eyes closed slightly, her lips softened over her teeth, and she stood.

“Watch out!” Emily called.

A yellow blur erupted from the shadows and struck Lucy-Anne from behind. She went down, eyes widening in surprise now rather than fury, and dropped Sparky's knife. Jack actually heard the wind knocked from her as she hit the ground, the Labrador falling on top of her.

He went to help, but not fast enough. The dog bit into the back of Lucy-Anne's neck, jaw working as it tried to penetrate skin, flesh and gristle. It shook its head, and as Jack thrust his knife between its ribs Lucy-Anne shrieked, a terrible sound that turned wet.

“Lucy-Anne!”

Sparky appeared by his side, kicking at the dog even as Jack stabbed it again. It died with a violent shudder. Sparky heaved it off, and Jack had to use his knife to prise its jaws apart, away from Lucy-Anne's neck. Someone kept their torch played on her, and Jack wished he could not see so much detail.

“The other one?” he asked.

“Dead,” Sparky said. “All four, dead. Let's just hope there are no more.”

“This is the same pack,” Rosemary said.

Sparky surged upright, and from the corner of his eye Jack was
aware of a flash of movement, a growl of anger. “You led us down into this!” Sparky said. He grabbed Rosemary by her coat's collar and almost lifted her, pushing her back against one of the stone columns. “We followed you down here, and all the time you knew what could be waiting for us!”

“I was afraid you wouldn't come!”

Lucy-Anne was moaning before him, Emily was crying, face pressed into Jenna's neck, and now Sparky was about to beat on the old woman. Jack knew they did not need this at all.

“Sparky!” he shouted. His friend turned. “I need you here. We're through it, but we're all hurt.”

Sparky let go and came slowly to Jack's side. He was looking down at Lucy-Anne. There was so much blood.

“I'll help her first,” Rosemary said. “Then you, Sparky. Then Jack. I think Jenna and Emily are unhurt, so—”

“You're not laying your pissing hands on me!” Sparky said. “No way! Bloody witch.”

Lucy-Anne groaned again, trying to roll over onto her back. She raised one hand and clawed at Jack's boot, her fingers hooking into a lace. He felt her pull as she tried to sit up, but he leaned forward and eased her back down, whispering to her, telling her everything was going to be all right.

“She needs you now,” he said, looking up at Rosemary.

The woman came. Jack backed away slightly, but he would not let go of Lucy-Anne's hand. He watched as Rosemary laid her hands on the girl's wounds, and he remembered the way it had felt when she had been healing the knife wound in his leg. There had been an intrusion there, an invasion of his flesh, but then he had passed out. Now, it was his turn to watch.

Rosemary healed Lucy-Anne's wounds from the inside out. Her hand seemed to enter the girl's torn neck, neither aggravating nor
enlarging the existing wounds. Her fingers went deep. Then she slowly withdrew them, the tendons on the back of her hand flexing and stretching constantly, the fingers moving like individual living things as they emerged. By the time Rosemary had removed her hand fully, Lucy-Anne had stopped groaning.

The woman kept her fingertips in contact with the torn skin until it was healed over, and as she sat back with a sigh Jack leaned forward with his torch, searching for where the ugly bite marks had been, seeking the torn flesh, but finding smooth skin marred only by a smear of drying blood.

The others were silent. They had all been watching.

“That hand?” Rosemary said, nodding at Sparky's tattered right hand and wrist. The boy came forward, and Rosemary went to work again.

They waited in that subterranean room for an hour or more. Rosemary healed Sparky's hand and Jack's hip, and then she went back to Lucy-Anne and touched her more minor wounds. There were cuts and scrapes, bruises and bumps, and Rosemary's hands fixed them all.

Jack sat with Emily for a while, hugging her and talking with her. She no longer seemed to be afraid. He was once again stunned at how resilient his young sister was, and he wished he could live in the moment like her. The dead dogs disturbed her somewhat, but only because of the bloody meat of their injuries. The amazement at what Rosemary was doing seemed to wipe fear from the slate of her mind, and she watched wide-eyed as the woman touched cut skin and healed it without leaving a scar.

“It's just amazing,” she said, over and over, and Jack could only agree. But he was still shaken by the attack. And however benevolent Rosemary's touch was now, he could not help wondering how much more she had decided to keep from them.

Jenna came and sat beside them, and she and Emily giggled over something Jack could not hear. The girls had always been close—Emily seemed to be the sister that Jenna had never had—and right now Jack was very grateful for that. He tried not to feel selfish, but sometimes he needed time. Sometimes, he needed to be on his own.

And other times, there were things he did not want Emily to hear.

“Alligators?” he said, kneeling beside Rosemary. The old woman had sat against one of the side walls, resting her head back against the stone and closing her eyes. She seemed tired. Jack did not care. “Snakes? A pride of lions? What more will we have to face before we get there?” He was speaking quietly, but he was aware of Sparky watching him from across the basement. They'd arranged two torches so that they gave much of the room a diffused, even light, and Sparky had taken it upon himself to collect the four dogs’ corpses into one pile.

“Hopefully no more,” the woman said. “Jack, listen to me. You're the leader of this little group, whether the others realise or acknowledge that, or not.”

“We have no leader,” he said.

“Not true. You know that. I think maybe it's because you have Emily, and you have to keep rooted. Have to stay strong.”