The Day Before Tomorrow (15 page)

‘What the hell …?’ she stared in utter bewilderment.  ‘B-but these things were not real.’ she said.  She picked up a photo of herself aged about three, with a big shaggy nondescript dog.  ‘My mother took this,’ she said in a shaky voice.  ‘That’s me and Flopsie.’  She started to cry.  ‘Oh God.’  Denny darted forward to comfort her, while Stiles hung back awkwardly.  Cindy was in the kitchen. 

‘What does this mean?’ sobbed Tamar.  ‘Was it real or not, how can there be pictures?  I don’t understand it.’ 

Denny shook his head helplessly.  He knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that Tamar had never had this family, never had a dog called Flopsie.  (It sounded like the sort of name they would come up with in Hell; there were just too many Beatrix Potter books floating around down there) had not been a human child within the last 5000 years.  And yet, the pictures were here.  Her parents, her best friend, her eighth birthday party.  He knew that, nowhere in the world was there a mother waiting at home for a phone call from Tamar.  He
knew
it.  On the other hand, he was not sure.

Tamar was not sure anymore either.  

Within a few minutes, the whole world had fallen apart in a welter of confusion.  Of course, if you were Stiles, you might wonder, in a cynical part of your brain (which was the part that he used the most) whether, from somebody’s point of view at least, that was not the point. 

He gathered up the photos and unceremoniously dumped them back in the box.  Neither Tamar nor Denny attempted to stop him.  Tamar was still crying.

Stiles then took his life in his hands and hauled Tamar up by the shoulders and stood her up facing him, he looked her right in the eye and told her straight.  ‘They may or may not be real, but for right now, it doesn’t matter.  Do you hear me?  We’ve got more – well not more important maybe, but certainly more immediate problems.  Don’t you agree?’

Tamar nodded.

‘And it’s worth keeping in mind who is responsible for all of this confusion in the first place,’ he added.

Tamar’s face darkened.  ‘Askphrit.’

‘If it helps, think of it like this.  It’s like you told us. It
was
real, all of it.  It’s not anymore.’

‘Tamar nodded.  ‘I guess,’ she said. 

* * *

It was almost dawn, and most of the group had fallen asleep.  Denny had tried, but Tamar was restless and he kept on waking up, to see her pacing the room.  She said that she was thinking about Askphrit and what his next move might be and what they could do to counter it.  And she may have been too, but Denny thought.  ‘Well we
know
what his next move will be, what is there to think about?’ 

Around ten, he could stand it no longer.  ‘Look, what’s up really?’ he said, quite kindly, leaning up on one elbow. 

‘An army,’ she muttered.  ‘Hmm.’

She snapped her fingers at the puzzled Denny. ‘I’ve got it,’ she said.  ‘I’ll be back later,’ she vanished.  Her face reappeared briefly – just her face, hanging in mid-air like the Cheshire cat, she was grinning like him too.  ‘Don’t start the fun without me,’ she said. 

‘We won’t,’ Denny assured her, with a fixed smile.

 Tamar nodded, without her neck, this was a peculiar sight. 

‘Askphrit might, though,’ Denny muttered to himself after she had gone. 

He waited all day.  The others woke variously at two, five thirty and nine pm.  The last to wake was Jamie.  Stiles was first up.  At around seven, Hecaté appeared.

They sat, they ate, Stiles smoked, and Denny drank beer and they talked about trivia.  No one mentioned the coming night, or tried to speculate on what Tamar might be doing, although all of them were separately thinking about it. 

At ten, every light in the street went out; this was customary these days under the blackout law.  But tonight, it was like a signal.  Everyone tensed.  Denny clenched and unclenched his fists.  Where the hell was Tamar?

Then they heard the screaming.  It was cut off abruptly as only a vampire knows how to do.  But only to make way for some more screaming, which had been queuing politely, waiting its turn.  Then all such good manners were forgotten, and all Hell was let loose.  

When people use the term “All Hell was let loose”, let me assure you now, they do not know what they are talking about.  This expression can be used for anything from a Saturday night at the Two Goats and a Bucket to a political incursion.  They are referring to a riot, perhaps at a football ground or at a political rally that has got out of hand.  Where the police turn up in riot gear and make everything worse.  Then arrest the recumbent when it’s all over. 

They may say it of the overthrowing of governments or dictators.  Almost every country has seen this at some point.  And, although all Hell has not, in fact, been let loose on these occasions, perhaps from a certain point of view, it is hard to tell the difference.  Until now. 

At the last official count, done by a bishop in the later days of the sixteenth century, there were officially estimated to be over fourteen million devils in hell  (only lazy people refer to ‘The Devil’) and that’s just the ordinary devils, not even counting the minor imps and demonic entities – including vampires, or the Lords and Princes of Hell.  And that count was a long time ago. Askphrit had been doing a lot of promoting since then.  I invite you, therefore, to reconsider the words “all Hell was let loose.”    

‘Marie Antoinette said.  ‘Let them eat cake.’  And the people threw stale bread at her.  Vampires tend to have a more direct – go for the throat – type of approach.  Devils, of course, just frighten you to death. 

  However this may be, on the London Streets, a Saturday night quite often looked like Hell – from a certain angle – for instance, face down in a gutter full of vomit, not necessarily your own, with both knees broken. 

Quite a few people, certainly more than was usual, were experiencing this exact view of the city tonight.  And there was worse than this going on. 

The term “Bloodbath” is also one that is often used, and, without going into another diatribe about it, I invite you to really think about this one too.  Of course, this has been, on occasion, a pretty accurate description of human behaviour. – The massacre of St Bartholomew’s Eve in 1572, when the Seine actually ran red with the blood of the Huguenots, comes to mind, well to my mind anyway, I am sure you can think of your own examples. But nothing on this scale had been seen before, or rather nothing this concentrated.

Because of course, the carnage that was going on was at this time, confined to a handful of streets and a mere forty thousand vampires and devils.  But it was spreading.  More were coming.  This was only the beginning.     

* * *

‘Well,’ said Denny eventually, ‘I suppose, we’d better …’

Stiles shrugged.  Between them was the unspoken assumption that they would go and they would fight, even though there was no hope of them winning or even surviving for more than a few minutes – if they were lucky. 

Even if Tamar had come back, they would have no chance; it was obvious to them now.  They were several streets away from the centre of it.  But even from here, the noise and the smell of brimstone and blood was indescribable. 

They all grabbed what weapons they could carry and just stood looking at each other for a moment. They did not say “Lock and Load” or “Let’s kick some arse”.  This was not the time.  They were headed out to an unheralded, useless, pointless inglorious, tasteless and probably rather greasy certain death.  There did not seem to be anything to say, or any point in saying it.  No valiant last stand, this.  It was more like suicide.  No one would see them fight and die. No one would care or remember them.  They would save no lives.  But they were going to do it anyway.  Because, in the end, what else was there to do?  This was what it was all about in the end.  This is why soldiers go over the top. It’s not for glory, it’s because there’s nothing else they
can
do.  Because, some things are worth fighting for. Even if you are already beaten before you start, that’s no reason not to try.

‘It is better to be a broken jade,’ muttered Denny.  Part of an old Chinese proverb, which runs:   “It is better to be broken jade, than a rude, whole clay pot.”

‘Death before dishonour,’ translated Cindy surprisingly.

He smiled at her; she was loaded up with a crossbow, an axe, a sword and a backpack full of wooden stakes.  It was clear that she intended to go down fighting.  That was if she could even walk under all that weight.  At least she was not going to run away.  She would not be able to. 

* * *

The devils etc. were making themselves at home.  The streets actually looked quite a lot like Hell, as Denny remembered it from his brief visit.  Every house for miles was on fire.  This was an effective way of driving people out into the streets.  Although, Denny thought, had they realised what was waiting for them outside, most people would have preferred to burn.  They were going to anyway.

Stiles was in the lead for some reason. He would have said, had he been able to articulate his motives, that it was for reasons of seniority.  But, since Hecaté was with them, this argument, on its own, would have fallen down. Just as he did, as soon as he entered the seething crowd of frenzied vampires and devils. 

Denny followed him.  Abruptly, like walking through the back of an enchanted wardrobe, he was in a different world.  A blood red world punctuated by indistinct black shapes dancing against the flames, hazy in the heat and smoke.  He felt as if he was moving in slow motion.  Up ahead of him, he saw the figure of Stiles; he seemed to be moving quite fast.  He watched him swing a large battle-axe at a vampire and remove its head in a shower of dust. 

Suddenly he was running.  ‘I’ve got your back,’ he yelled.  He surged forward unhampered dragging Cindy in his wake, who dragged Jamie in hers.  Hecaté was ahead of him.  

They formed a circle facing out, while the vampires moved in on them menacingly. 

Vampires traditionally do not play well with others, but these seemed to have learned a level of cooperation, or at least, the basic tenets of ganging up on a common enemy. 

As paleontologists have extrapolated that the velociraptors may have done, but which Tamar said was nonsense, they all leapt at once.  As they had done the night before, they employed the “divide and conquer” method.  Jamie was the first to be dragged away.  Denny did not see any more.  It took twenty vampires to bring him down.  But there was no shortage let’s face it. 

Stiles was next; Cindy saw him being hoisted up and passed along the top of the screeching crowd, before she herself was grabbed from behind by her hair.  The claws passed within millimetres of her head, slicing off a large chunk of her shining, blonde crowning glory. 

Cindy was furious. ‘That was my
hair
, you bastard,’ she screeched, turning on the unfortunate devil with a ferocity that was rarely seen, even in Hell.  The devil was soon in tiny pieces, if it had been on its own, Cindy would have been laughing.  As it was, there was nothing funny about fifteen enraged devils bearing down on you and banging your head against the pavement.  

It was Hecaté who had the best view of what happened next. She was in the centre of a phalanx of circling vampires, none of whom seemed too keen to get near to her, the reason being, she was on fire.  Or at least, she
appeared
to be on fire, which is nearly the same thing.  The vampires suddenly stopped moving. 

Denny was on the ground waiting for fanged death, when he realised that everything had gone quiet. The vampire that had him by the throat was frozen in an attitude of vicious ferocity that now looked faintly absurd.  Denny leapt to his feet and looked around him.  The shrieking world around him was now silent.  The grotesque dancing figures, a ghastly frieze.  Time had stopped.

Only one person was capable of that, that he knew of.  This was confirmed when a loud familiar voice was heard echoing around the silent streets.  ‘I thought I told you not to start without me.’

Then another sound could be heard. The sound of many thousands of marching feet.  Behind him, he heard Hecaté gasp. 

The marching stopped.  A cold wind blew suddenly through the streets, clearing the smoke away and revealing, by the light of the frozen flames, Tamar standing triumphantly at the head of an army of … of …

‘Oh the clever, clever girl,’ said Hecaté.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Denny.

‘Do not say that,’ warned Hecaté. ‘Half the magic is in the belief.’ She smiled abstractedly ‘You needed an army.  She has made you one.’

‘How?’

‘They’re golems.’

‘What are
they
?’ hissed Denny. 

‘Oh the clever, clever girl,’ said Hecaté.  ‘And look behind you.’

Behind them was another army, just the same.  And, in fact, all around them the streets that the hordes of hell had occupied were now blocked off on every side by Tamar’s multitudes. 

‘But,’ persisted Denny.  ‘What the hell are they?’

‘They’re golems,’ Hecaté repeated. 

Denny’s brow furrowed ‘Gollums, what’re they?’

‘Go – lems,’ corrected Hecaté.  ‘They are … well, any inanimate three dimensional representation of a human being, like for instance, a statue can be … well, not brought to life exactly, but …’

‘Okay, I get the idea,’ said Denny.  ‘Sort of like robots – artificial intelligence?’

‘Yes,’ said Hecaté dubiously.  ‘That is not a bad interpretation of it.  They are not alive, as we understand it.  They have the accoutrements of life, but not the living spark.’

‘You mean that they can walk and talk but there’s nothing going on inside, a bit like Civil Servants?’

But Hecaté had never heard of Civil Servants.  However, she assented to the general thrust of this statement.    

 Statues eh?’ he continued.  He looked more closely at the ranks of warriors ahead.  They did indeed, now he looked at them, seem to be statues of some sort, although they were a rather unattractive shade of reddish brown. 

‘I think that the first few ranks of each – battalion?’ said Hecaté.  ‘Would that be the term?