Kill Baxter (18 page)

The generators are surrounded by jerrycans filled with petrol. I’m gathering them up when I see Nom hurtling across the courtyard followed by three Kholomodumo. I take aim with the rifle and catch one right between the eyes. It skids to a halt. Nom turns and fires wildly but misses the remaining two. I try to get a bead on one of them, but Nom keeps obscuring my line of fire. The things close on him and he stumbles on a cobblestone and falls to his knees.

Faith and Chastity appear, blonde and black hair streaming behind them, an Uzi in each hand. They gun down the Kholomodumo, emptying their clips into the muscular bodies, and grab Nom, as red dots dance across the courtyard looking for targets. Fuck, there are snipers at the top of the canyon. A
clak-clak-clak
bounces off the canyon wall and the cobblestones next to my friends are ripped up by bullets.

I duck out from behind the generator and spray a line of fire across the canyon. Nom and Faith and Chastity sprint for the generators and drop behind them. I spray another haphazard burst of fire and then follow them. Stone and masonry explodes near us, but we’re safe. For the moment.

‘Holy fuck,’ Chastity says. ‘They’re not messing around.’

We watch as Crows pick figures off the wall, lift them up and drop them on to the stony ground below.

‘We need to get this petrol to them,’ I say. ‘Fast.’

‘I’ve got a plan,’ Nom says, handing me his gun.

He puts his face to the cobblestones of the courtyard and begins hissing and chirruping.

‘Not sure an insanity defence is the best tactic here,’ Chastity says.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I think he’s—’

Cockroaches begin pouring from the walls around us. I get an instant tingling-spine feeling and resist the urge to scream and scramble up on to the generator. ‘There’s a whole nest of them here,’ Nom says, lifting his head. ‘We sometimes get together and talk Derrida and Foucault.’

The cockroaches scuttle around us, climbing over each other. Nom holds up his hands and issues a series of hisses. The roaches respond, and I close my eyes and grit my teeth as the sound washes over me. With a final salutary hiss they break away and swarm over the jerrycans. I flatten myself against the generators as a wave of brown chitin starts to ferry the petrol across the cobblestoned courtyard. Sniper bullets rip into them, but the mass of roaches absorbs them and keeps going. I sneak the barrel of my rifle out from behind the generators and provide covering fire.

The roaches reach the wall and the Boer gives us the thumbs-up across the courtyard and starts overseeing the making of Molotovs.

‘Nicely done, Nom,’ Faith says with a sweet smile.

He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘It was really just a question of engaging their philosophical understanding of freedom …’

‘OK, nerd,’ Chastity says. ‘Save the wordwank for later.’

The thudding of a helicopter circling above, the sound amplified by the surrounding canyon, drags our attention from the walls. I swing my rifle up towards it and pull the trigger.
Click.
Shit. I throw it down and draw the handgun from its holster. A bright spotlight strafes the ground and we press ourselves up against the generators. The chopper circles downward, banking sharply out of the way of an RPG fired from the walls and responding with a heavy burst of gunfire, before dropping sharply and landing neatly next to the gallows.

A platoon of goblins in balaclavas and flak jackets disembark and take up positions around the chopper. They are followed by a tall, hunched figure wearing a frayed black cloak with a cowl that covers his face, and leaning on a gnarled staff. A tall, teetering crown is balanced on top of his head. A crown made of teeth.

‘You don’t think that’s …’ Nom starts.

‘The Muti Man,’ I whisper.

‘We need to kill that creepy mofo,’ Chastity says, checking the clip in her Uzi.

‘Where’s Gigli?’ I look around for his long pink shape.

‘I saw him go through the hole in the wall with some of the other Draken,’ Nom says.

‘Shit. If we start firing at those goblins, we’re dead.’

‘How about a game of Sanity?’ Chastity says with a grin.

‘You’re good, Chas,’ Nom says, ‘but you can’t take them all on.’

‘That’s why Faith is going to help me,’ Chastity says. The conjoined twins can’t really look each other in the eye, but each turns her head a little.

‘I’m not,’ Faith says. ‘That’s your thing.’

‘Come on,’ Chastity replies. ‘You’ve seen me do it a thousand times. And we share the same central nervous system, so I know you know how to do it. Plus I reckon all that repressed stuff going on in that little Barbie head of yours will make for some pretty scary shit.’

Faith scowls. ‘OK. But if we get out of this alive, we’re doing facials and pedicures together. Both of us, not just my half of the body.’

‘Fine,’ Chastity says. ‘I’ll goddamn vajazzle us if it gets you to Sanity those ugly fucks.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Faith says primly.

They each put a hand out and begin chanting, Afrikaans, Xhosa, Zulu flowing into each other. Shapes start to form around the goblins, misty, incoherent shapes that begin to yelp and scream. The shapes solidify into images of goblins cutting their own throats, goblins eating each other, goblins collapsing in rivers of blood. The terrifying screams warp and pitch in a pure cacophony of terror and helplessness. I have to admit, it’s a masterpiece.

The real commando goblins start firing wildly. Some shoot at each other; some clutch their heads, whimpering; the rest just run.

The Muti Man turns towards us, and beneath his cowl I can see nothing but small bright eyes. His raises his staff, and Faith and Chastity fall to the ground, both holding their heads.

‘Illusion is a dangerous game,’ he calls across the courtyard. His voice is reedy and wheezing. ‘And I play it better than most.’

He walks slowly, painfully towards us, his staff clacking on the cobbles. I raise my gun and fire. The bullet takes him in the shoulder. He grunts but carries on walking.

‘A Dreamwalker playing with guns like he’s a minion,’ he says. He flicks his staff and my hand spasms in pain, the gun clattering to the stones. I clutch it to my chest and use the other hand to drag the long, ugly knife out of its sheath. ‘Please,’ the Muti Man says. ‘You’re embarrassing us both.’

He is right in front of me now, at least two feet taller than I am, and looming over me like the Grim Reaper.

‘When my informants told me of a Dreamwalker at Hexpoort, I had to investigate. And here he is hiding away in a dark corner.’ He leans down, and I can see those bright little eyes shining in the depths of his hood. ‘Hexpoort and its masters have insulted me beyond my ability to bear. They harbour a false Chosen One, one who they say bears the marks of prophecy, and a Dreamwalker who they claim rivals my power.’

He reaches up and throws back his cowl. His face is distorted, half human and half Crow, lined with folds of scarred flesh. It’s the beak that is the worst, a mangled crescent that dangles down, revealing the twisted mouth beneath.

‘Marked with the crescent,’ he wheezes. ‘The Muti Man come to erase the lines between Known and Hidden. So show me, Dreamwalker,’ he says. ‘Show me your power.’

I scrabble for the beads in my pocket and drop them on the ground. The Muti Man laughs, a horrible hacking sound. ‘A boy playing with a toy from a Christmas cracker. More human lies.’

There’s the whooping sound of battle cries above us. I look up to see creatures with white wings and dark skin scything through Crows with flaming swords. They’re part of the Flock, African Valkyries like Katinka, and they’re on our side.

‘Remember this moment, Dreamwalker,’ the Muti Man says. ‘Remember the moment I let you and your friends live.’

He turns on his heel and walks back towards the chopper.

The fight in the skies is raging, and between the battling white and black wings I see a huge ship ponderously cutting through the air. It’s black, sleek and angular, like one of those stealth bombers, but shaped like an old frigate, the black sails marked with a red pentagram surrounded by runes.

‘Dwarven airship,’ says Nom.

‘We’re saved,’ Chastity adds. She and Faith are both pale-faced. I can only shudder at the thought of what the Muti Man made them see.

The dwarven airship turns and its gun turrets open fire, tearing through the escaping chopper, which spins around frantically like a bird trapped in a room and then slams into the side of the canyon and explodes.

‘Yes!’ says Faith, pumping her fist in victory. ‘What?’ she asks when we look at her. ‘That was some sadistic stuff he forced into my head.’

We run up on to the walls. The Humvees are retreating but are being picked off by the airship’s superior firepower. A pack of Draken are chasing the fleeing goblins, and I see Gigli run down a commando and snack on its face.

The airship turns and hovers above us, a rush of air whipping my hair and clothes about me like I’m in a wind tunnel. It docks against the wall and a metal gangplank opens up and clangs on the granite. Dwarven legionnaires in black combat fatigues and yellow berets, carrying heavy assault rifles, jog down the gangplank and take up positions along the wall. A dwarf in a long black coat appears and follows them slowly, hands clasped behind his back. His coat has a high collar marked with a turquoise insignia of a forked tongue. He has a sabre at his waist and a rifle in a scabbard on his back. As he gets closer, I can see that his black-bearded face is ragged with scars, one eye white, the other dark and menacing.

Stevo joins us on the wall, breathing heavily. Timothy and Hunter are peeking out from his shirt pockets, still not convinced that the fighting is over.

‘That’s a Samnite,’ Stevo whispers. ‘From Dwarven High Command.’

‘You all right, Stevo?’ I ask.

‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘Managed to keep away from most of the fighting.’

‘What a hero,’ Chastity says.

Stevo shrugs. ‘I’ll leave that to other people.’

The Samnite steps on to the Hexpoort walls and looks around disdainfully. The Witch approaches and inclines her head, which in Witch terms is the equivalent of a curtsey.

‘We thank you for your assistance, Malachi.’

‘Assistance?’ he says, in a cold voice. ‘Deliverance more like. You were almost overrun.’

The Witch’s mouth twitches. I step back. She’s going to throw this guy from the walls.

‘Yes, of course,’ she says through gritted teeth. ‘We thank you again.’

‘I’m commandeering the teachers’ quarters for my men,’ he says. ‘I trust you can take care of the clean-up? Or should we help you with that too?’

‘Thank you. We have it under control.’ I can see the Witch’s fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

‘Right,’ she shouts as the dwarves descend from the walls. Her eyes are burning with anger and frustration. ‘I want clean-up units formed. If you find any enemy survivors, alert the Boer. We need them for interrogation. If you are badly hurt, make your way to the infirmary. The rest of you, I want to see action, or there will be hell to pay.’

The adrenalin is wearing off and my hands start to shake. Nom turns away and throws up against the wall. Chastity is shaking her head and opening and closing her eyes like she’s trying to flush something from her memory. Faith is staring down at where students’ bodies are being dragged out of the courtyard and covered with sheets.

‘How many do you think we lost?’ she says softly.

I scan the walls and the courtyard. ‘Lots,’ I reply.

‘What the hell just happened? Why did they do this?’

It’s a question I’m not sure I want an answer to.

THE CLEAN-UP IS
almost as brutal as the fight. We drag bodies into the middle of the courtyard: kids to the left of the gallows and goblins to the right. We work mechanically, dragging people we know from class across the cobblestones with a kind of methodical intensity that’s our only protection against their vacant wide-eyed stares and garish wounds.

The pile of goblin bodies is huge, a tower of grey limbs and sagging faces. The Boer drags several goblins, burnt and bleeding but still alive, into Hexpoort for questioning. The torched Crow bodies are torched even further until they’re nothing but black lumps of smouldering ash. There is no sign of the Muti Man in the wreckage of the helicopter.

The Flock, dozens of dark-skinned Valkyries wearing shining metal faceplates that show only the intense eyes beneath, help us. The tall, white-winged women talk to each other in a combination of Afrikaans and flickering hand gestures, but ignore the rest of us completely.

I find myself staring down at the corpse of the kid from Magical Design that I spoke to when the attack started. He has a bullet hole through his cheek. I have my hand wrapped in his shirt collar, ready to drag him to our growing pile of bodies, but I can’t seem to move.

‘Zevcenko,’ the Boer says, coming to stand next to me. ‘Get your
fokken
ass moving.’

‘I …’ I say, staring down at the body.

‘
Ja
, I know.’ The Boer’s face is caked with blood and his khaki shirt is burnt and slashed. ‘In all my years here I’ve never lost a
fokken
student. Now I’ve lost twenty.’

The official count is twenty-two. The Boer helps me drag the corpse of the kid on to the pile and we stand back staring at it. ‘Go wash yourself,’ the Boer says. ‘The Witch wants to convene everybody in fifteen minutes.’

I find Stevo, Nom, Faith and Chastity and we help each other clean the blood and grime off. The bandage around my ribs is stuck, and Faith helps me peel it off and dab at the lacerations. We replace the bandage and then I go in search of a clean T-shirt.

By the time we’re ready, the rest of Hexpoort has gathered in front of the gallows. The dead kids have been covered with blankets but the goblins remain open to the air, a giant shrine of grinning mouths and glassy eyes. The Flock stand at the back, lounging against the Hexpoort walls, but the dwarven Samnite and several of his men have ascended the gallows platform with the Witch. They stand looking over the assembled students with hard expressions.