Contagion (Toxic City) (4 page)

She only hoped it was over quickly.

I'm so sorry, Jack
, she thought.
Sparky, Jenna. I'm so sorry. I only hope you get out anyway, but I can't pretend that I'm sad at what's going to happen
to London
. She blinked and saw Nomad once more, silhouetted against the nuclear blast that would sweep away all that had gone wrong, and every twisted thing that London had birthed.

When she opened her eyes again, someone else was there.

Lucy-Anne frowned, squinted, trying to make sense of who and what she saw. It was a shadow on the light where no shadow was cast, and when it moved it was like a blind spot in her vision. It flowed from the doorway of the sports shoe unit, and then the ape-things were screeching as it moved amongst them. They darted away, one of them passing so close to her that it collided with the truck's hood, tripped over the bumper and sprawled on the ground, scrabbling for purchase before sprinting away on all fours. One took a huge leap up onto the building's roof and disappeared from view. The others ran across car parks and roads, vanishing between units. In moments they were gone, and Lucy-Anne was alone with whatever, or whomever, had saved her.

Someone new
, she thought, but she instantly knew that was wrong. This was someone she
already
knew. She dropped the knife, barely noticing the sound as it struck the ground.

“Rook!” she whispered as the shadow formed before her. A shape where no shape should be, his features manifested from the light, coalescing into the form he used to take. Almost solid, but not quite. Nearly there, but still absent in some fundamental way.

And not Rook.

“My sweet sister,” Andrew said.

Hurrying through the streets towards Trafalgar Square once more, Jack felt the weight of responsibility press down on him. He'd seen the way Jenna had been glancing at him, and he knew what she would have to ask again soon:
Why can't you warn everyone?
And he was trying. He truly was. Now that he knew the mystery of that huge red star he was more at peace cruising his internal universe of potential. But that didn't mean he was no longer afraid of it. Perhaps he even feared it more.

He moved from here to there, acknowledging powers he had already tapped, searching for those that might help him now. He discovered amazing things—the ability to implant false memories; cold breath that could freeze; a touch that could turn any solid into a liquid, and then a gas, without heat—but there was nothing to communicate en masse to everyone left in London. The more he looked, the more hopeless it seemed.

Jack wished everything was the way it had been before coming to London.

He thought of Camp Truth, their place in the woods where he, Lucy-Anne, Sparky, Jenna, and sometimes his sister Emily used to gather, collecting scraps of information about London left to them by similarly minded individuals. They'd sit there for long hours, talk, make plans, and then go home to the respective houses to dream away another night. Sparky would work on the old Ford Capri that reminded him so much of his brother, his parents ghosts of what they
had once been. Jenna would try to talk to her father, but he was cold now, changed by whatever had been done to him. Lucy-Anne went from home to home, never settling because dreams of her parents and brother would not let her. And Jack would return home to look after his sister Emily. There was help for orphaned families, but there could not be homes for all of them. Doomsday had made too many. So Jack and Emily lived in the home they had shared with their parents, and it was only since leaving that Jack realised that it had really been Emily looking after him.

He could wish for those simpler times, but he did not really want them. Not now he had found his mother and she had escaped London.

And not with what he had now. A curse, perhaps. But some of the things he could do…

“I can't,” he said, answering no one in particular. But they all seemed to know what he meant. “I'm looking. But there are limits. It's still confusing.”

“Maybe we need to be a bit more creative,” Sparky said.

“What do you mean?” Rhali asked.

“Dunno. Lateral thinking.”

“So let's think laterally while we walk,” Jenna said.

Fifteen minutes later they heard motors and ducked into a pub doorway. Jenna tried the handle—locked—and Jack grasped it, eyelids drooping as he delved inside, and he heard the lock's tumblers rolling and clicking. He pulled the handle and the door fell open. They tumbled inside. Sparky shut the door gently, then peered through a dusty window as the engines drew closer.

“You picked the lock with your fingers,” Rhali said. “That's pretty amazing.”

Jack smiled, blew on his nails, polished them on his jacket.

“Four Land Rovers,” Sparky said from the window. They all
ducked down and fell motionless. “Choppers. Couple of them are sitting on the Rovers’ roofs. Got rifles. They look…odd.”

“Odd how?” Jack asked. The vehicles passed by without slowing, and Sparky waited until the engines were fading before answering.

“Like they haven't washed in a while. Dishevelled. You know?”

“Smelly, like you,” Jenna said.

“Yeah,” Sparky replied. He looked troubled.

“Desperate,” Rhali said. Jack realised that she was hunkered down beneath a table, shivering, and he sat beside her. Her eyes were wide and fearful.

“They've gone,” he said softly.

“They're hunting,” she said. “Looking for revenge. You told us what Reaper and the others did to the Choppers at Camp H. Killed them all.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He'd watched the Superior they'd rescued from the cages freezing the Choppers, seen them fall and break apart like fragile statues. No mercy. No humanity.

“So they're looking for us,” Jenna said.

“Looking for anyone,” Rhali said. She closed her eyes and frowned. “And there are plenty of people around. Lots of movement, through back alleys and beneath the city.”

“Movement where?” Sparky asked, still watching from the window.

“Towards where we're going,” she said.

Jack stood and went to Sparky. “Clear?”

“Think so. What do you think?”

Jack shrugged. They were all watching him, but it was Jenna who answered.

“Breezer's calling them to him,” she said.

“Perhaps. Planning an escape, maybe.”

“So he's doing what you can't,” Sparky said to Jack. “Communicating with everyone.”

“Perhaps,” Jenna said. “But he doesn't know how long's left, like we do. We've got to get to him, tell him we should try Miller first. If Breezer just tries an escape, they might all be massacred at the Exclusion Zone.”

Jack glanced at his watch. “Come on. Less than fourteen hours.”

“That's if what Nomad said was true,” Jenna said. “She spooks the hell out of me.”

“And me,” Jack said. “But I don't think she had a reason to lie.”

They left the pub and moved along the street, listening for more engines. Choppers were abroad, intent on murder. Just another day in the toxic city.

It took another hour to reach Trafalgar Square, and from there they moved east until they were close to Heron Tower where Breezer had once made his base. They had to hide twice more from roving Choppers, the second time almost getting caught when a large foot patrol approached along a narrow side street. It was only Rhali's gift that warned them, and they ducked into a Tube entrance with seconds to spare. It was the first time they'd seen a Chopper patrol without vehicles of any kind. There were at least twenty of them, all heavily armed, and it marked another change to their methods.

These soldiers also looked more rag-tag than usual. Jack wondered whether they'd been given their marching orders ahead of the bomb, and had decided to exact revenge on as many Irregulars as they could before leaving London. If so, it was a good sign, because it confirmed that zero hour was still some time away.

Of course, he wouldn't have put it past Miller to not even tell many of his soldiers that the countdown had been triggered.

They hid along the street from the tall office building, listening for danger. Rhali was alert; Jack waited for something to happen.

“Looks deserted,” Jenna said.

“That's the way Breezer wants it,” Sparky said.

“Yeah, but…Rhali said there were loads of survivors coming this way. I thought we'd see some sign of that.” Jenna turned to Rhali, who was leaning against Jack. He propped her up. She was growing tired very quickly, her months of abuse at the hands of the Choppers all too apparent.

“The upper floors,” Rhali said, nodding. “There are scores of them. And…below us. In the tunnels and the Tube lines. I think there's a way into the basement of the building.”

“Right,” Jack said. “Well. Front door, anyone?”

“We're becoming regular visitors to the place,” Jenna said.

“Yeah,” Sparky agreed. “They should give us season tickets.” His eyes opened wide. “Hope they've got some of those great burgers on the go!”

“The dog burgers?” Jenna asked. “Ewww.”

“Dog, cat, rat, don't care what they were. Tasted divine.”

As they approached the building, a voice called from shadows. “Howdy, Jack. How's it hanging?” The girl walked from the building's lobby, leaned against the door and put one hand on her hip. She grinned.

“Fleeter,” Jack said, surprised.

“Come on in. The kettle's on.”

There were so many questions to ask Breezer—about his plans, how he was calling the Irregulars here, why Fleeter was with him, whether he and Reaper were still in contact. But instead Jack opened their conversation with the bombshell.

“We know how long it is until Big Bindy blows.”

Breezer seemed shocked to see them. He blinked as if he had dust in his eye, frowned, turned and walked back through the doors, leaving Jack and the others out on the staircase. They'd come up a dozen floors and were breathing hard. Sparky was almost carrying Rhali.

“Still a grumpy bastard,” Sparky said.

“Shall we jump off the roof again?” Jenna quipped.

Jack shoved the closing door and marched through. The open plan office area beyond was bustling with two dozen people, and the smell of cooking food wafted through the air. Dividing screens were still ranked a few feet in from the windows, and the people kept to the central area, careful not to cast shadows that might be seen from outside.

“Breezer!” Jack shouted. Heads turned, and a couple of people told him to
Shhhh!
Jack laughed. “It's not a bloody library!” he said. “He hasn't called you all here to sit down quietly to read. You're all going to die!”

“Er, Jack,” Jenna said from behind him. Jack raised a hand without looking back. He wasn't sure where the sudden anger had come from, but it felt good to let it flow. Breezer was not the appropriate target—Miller and Reaper were far more suited for that. But right now, he was all there was.

“Jack, don't,” Rhali whispered behind him.

“Breezer!” Jack shouted again. The man paused by the dried skeleton of a huge, dead potted plant and turned around. He looked haunted.

“There's nothing we can do,” Breezer said. “Clinton died this morning. Remember Clinton?” Jack did. The black man sat in a shopping trolley, snatching truths from the air like flies, affected by the same sickness that was taking root in many of London's survivors. Even Nomad had displayed signs, though she'd denied it.

“It doesn't matter,” Jack said. He breathed deeply, trying to make sense of his outburst. Fear contributed, he was sure, and fury at what had happened here, what London had become. Anger, too, at the monster his father had turned into. “We'll get out of London, and out there we'll find a cure.”

“It
does
matter,” Breezer said. “He was my friend. Every death matters. And at a time like this…when so many have died…every death matters even more.”

Jack felt himself filling up. Tears burned behind his eyes. He nodded, said nothing.

“We've brought as many here as we can,” Breezer continued. “Passed the word however we could. Word of mouth, pre-arranged signs. We've even got a woman who can talk with pigeons, use them as messengers. But…two groups have already been caught by the Choppers. Three people hanged from Blackfriar's bridge. Two more machine-gunned in Waterloo. I'm doing the best…” He gasped, swallowed deeply. “The best I can. And we're going to make a run for it.”

“Not yet,” Jack said. “Anyone crossing the Exclusion Zone will be slaughtered. Is that the end you want for all these people?” Jack looked around at everyone watching the conversation and wondered what they could all do. It was a room of wonders, but he felt only sadness. He could see several who were obviously in the final throes of the sickness. “Is that what you
all
want?”

No one answered.

“So how long do we have?” Breezer asked.

“Midnight.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Would it matter?” Jack asked.

“Can't you stop it? Nomad's touched you, so can't you disarm it, or take it somewhere else? Or…I don't know…break it?”

“I don't think so,” Jack said. He walked closer to Breezer, lowering his voice in the hope that no one else would hear. His friends most of all. “I'm a mess, Breezer. I have so much inside me, but I'm scared at what I'll do. So no, even if I knew where it was, I don't think I could take that risk. I need time to learn.”

“Don't
have
time,” Breezer said.

“No. But we've got a plan. A way to get out, perhaps safely. Are you ready to hear it?”

Breezer seemed to shrink into himself a little, slumping down with the unbearable weight on his shoulders. Perhaps he had burdened himself, but that didn't matter. His tired nod did.

“Anything,” he said. “God help us all.”

“Not Him,” Jack said. “Miller. We need to find him, and you should come with us.”

“Let's talk,” Breezer said. He looked past Jack and nodded, and at first Jack thought he was greeting Sparky and Jenna again. But when Jack turned around he saw Fleeter standing back by the stairwell doors. She was smiling her usual faint, superior smile.

“Okay,” Jack said. “First things first, though. You need to tell me about that.”

Nomad lied to me
, Lucy-Anne thought.
He's not dead at all!
But her excitement was tempered, and everything here felt like a dream. She was dislocated from her surroundings. Moments before, the creatures had been facing her with bared teeth and curved claws, things that had once been human ready to eat human flesh. Her fear was rich and deep, her senses alert. Now Andrew was before her and everything had changed. Her surroundings had faded into the background. She concentrated on her brother and what he had become.

Not dead at all, but surely no longer alive.

He moved towards her slowly, and she remembered the expression he wore. Four years ago she'd come home from school and Andrew had been waiting for her in the living room, watching TV but obviously distracted. Their parents were at work. Andrew was seventeen then, and he was always home just before Lucy-Anne, ready to get her a snack and make sure she'd had a good day in school, tell her to do her homework, and generally look after her for a couple of hours before their mother arrived home. But from the moment she'd walked through the door that day she'd known that she was in control. Andrew had looked nervous, contrite, and as he'd walked towards her he'd seemed to lessen in stature.
Lucy-Anne, I was playing a game on your iPod and I dropped it in the kitchen, and you know how hard the floor tiles are. I'm sorry. I'll buy you another
. Troubled though their relationship was—he was the Good Boy, the hard worker, the apple in her mother's eye—she could not find it in herself to be angry at him.