The Fear (41 page)

‘Are you suggesting an alliance of some sort?’ asked Nicola.

‘I am. A union between your camp and ours. You wouldn’t have to change anything. You could keep all you’ve got and run things how you liked at Westminster, but we’d be working together. We could hold regular meetings, share resources, information, fighters.’

David went over to a little side table and picked up a pile of papers.

‘I’ve drawn up a contract,’ he said, sitting back down. ‘It’s more than just a treaty – it’s a sort of constitution.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nicola as David pushed the papers towards her across the shiny table top. ‘It’s all a bit sudden.’

‘Why did you come here?’ said David, pressing on now that he felt he had the upper hand.

‘To talk.’

‘About what?’

‘Well …’

‘About something like what I’ve proposed.’

Nicola thought about this for a few seconds before replying.

‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Something like this. But, as I said, you’re not exactly popular at Westminster. Quite a few of the kids there came from here. You’re seen as being a bit, well,
bossy
. The idea of teaming up with you would scare some of them. They’d think you were just trying to take over.’

‘That’s where the royal family comes in,’ said David, smiling broadly, but trying not to look smug.

‘What do you mean?’ Nicola was more than a little confused.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ said David. ‘We have members of the old royal family here.’

‘I’d heard rumours,’ said Nicola, ‘but I never believed any of them. I thought it was a joke.’

‘It’s not. It’s all true. We found them here when we arrived. None of the big names, unfortunately. I think they’re all dead, or in a bunker somewhere. My lot are mostly minor royals, but royals nevertheless. It’s always been my dream to reinstate them on the throne. That way, it will appear that they’re in charge, and people won’t worry so much about what I’m up to.’

‘Let me get this straight, David.’ Nicola looked bemused and appalled. ‘These are adults? Diseased mothers and fathers?’

‘Think of them more as dukes and duchesses.’

‘But diseased?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, we keep them safely locked up in the dark, so that they don’t degenerate too badly.’

‘I don’t want to be ruled by a bunch of zombies.’ Nicola was shaking her head, her eyes wide.

‘You wouldn’t be, Nicola. They’d just be figureheads, something to put on the stamps. They’d just represent an old order. Stability. Tradition. Something to unite everyone. Kids need that sort of thing. You and me, we’d hold the real power.’

Nicola stared at the papers in front of her, trying to take this all in.

‘I don’t expect you to sign anything now,’ said David. ‘Take the agreement away with you and study it. Make any changes you think it needs. It’s nothing complicated, but
…
You’re like me, Nicola. We both like rules, structure. We both like things to be organized. Perhaps our beliefs might be slightly different, but in the end we both want what’s best. Best for our kids, best for the future, best for the country, if you like. Together we can be strong and we can deal with any future threats. At the moment, fighting off the grown-ups is what’s holding us all together. Once the last grown-up’s been killed and we don’t have a common enemy there’s a danger that everything will just fall apart. There’ll be more problems like the squatters, and who knows what Jordan Hordern might be plotting? This is the first step to properly uniting everyone in London. We can make alliances with more and more kids, all join together under one banner. We can clean out all the grown-ups in this area. Work out how best to use the hunters. Be ready to deal with people like Jordan Hordern. Make London safe. Then we really could call ourselves king and queen.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ said David, desperately trying not to give himself away. It had come out without his meaning to say it. ‘I’m talking metaphorically again. You know, we’ll be, like, joint rulers. Not husband and wife.’

Nicola leant forward, put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. She smiled at David in a slightly superior, mocking way that he found unnerving.

‘It sounded just a little bit like you were coming on to me there, David.’

‘No, no, not at all … Don’t be silly.’

‘Why? Don’t you like me?’

‘No. Well, yes, obviously, but that wasn’t what I meant. I just meant that, well, you must admit, Nicola, that if we were together like that, not that
that
was what I was suggesting, but just consider it for a moment, if we were, it would really seal our union.’

Nicola raised her eyebrows.

‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you, David King?’

David sniffed and became very businesslike, leafing through some pages of notes.

‘Why don’t you take the agreement away, study it and we’ll meet again in a few days …’

‘I don’t know if I really want to make some sort of official deal,’ Nicola interrupted.

‘What do you want then?’

‘I want to be safe. I don’t want the squatters to attack us again. I want to know we’re not going to, I don’t know, be invaded by you or anyone else.’

‘OK,’ said David. ‘Here’s the deal. To prove to you why we’d be better off working together, what if I promised to deal with the squatters, bring them into line, slap them down?’

‘Could you?’

David stood up and struck his manly pose. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And, if I do, will you promise to sign the agreement?’

‘OK, sure. If you think you can do that. If you can really properly deal with them and stop them raiding us, I’ll sign, we’ll form an alliance. We’ll be king and queen of London.’

‘Of England, surely,’ said David.

Now Nicola stood up and came round to David. She stood slightly too close to him and he could smell soap and clean hair and something else. Something mysterious and feminine.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ she said.

‘Yes.’ David’s throat felt dry.

Nicola leant even closer. ‘Me being your queen.’

‘Well …’

There was a knock at the door. Nicola laughed and backed off.

It was Pod again. David told him to come in. Nicola watched as he strode over to David and whispered something in his ear. David smiled, nodding his head happily.

Evidently it was good news.

‘OK, Nicola,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I don’t think there’s anything more we need to talk about. Pod will escort you back to your friends. Do what you need to do, discuss it with whoever you think needs to be in on it, and then we’ll meet again in, what? A week from now?’

‘OK, yeah.’

Pod led Nicola away and David hurried through the palace to the main function room at the front of the building where he found six of his boys waiting for him in their matching red blazers. David inspected them quickly. They had their rifles with them and looked smart and alert.

‘We’ll go out on to the balcony,’ he said, giving them a final once-over. ‘You know the drill. Look like soldiers. Look impressive.’

They all nodded. Straightened their backs. David took a deep breath and went out through the central French windows on to the balcony. His guards followed, falling into position on either side of him. David leant on the stone balustrade and looked down.

The other palace kids were gathered on the parade ground. They’d just let in a group of new arrivals who were marching towards the palace. David quickly assessed them. There were maybe twenty-five, thirty, armed boys and girls of all ages. Two of them were carrying a makeshift stretcher with a girl lying on it, her face heavily bandaged. At the head of the party was Jester, looking full of himself. There was no sign of the other kids who had set off with him two days ago.

‘Magic-Man!’ David called down to his friend, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. Everyone looked up at him.
David
. The boy who owned all this.

‘Well done, Jester,’ he shouted. ‘We didn’t think we were ever going to see you again.’

‘You didn’t doubt me, did you, David?’ Jester shouted back.

‘Never! But where are the others?’

‘They didn’t make it,’ said Jester, and the effect on the palace kids was immediate. A wave of moans passed through them, followed by mumbling. David tutted, chewed his lower lip, and then made sure he put a smile back on his face. It was bad news to lose anyone, but at least Jester had brought plenty of new recruits back with him. He wondered if they were any good or whether they’d be just more hungry mouths to feed.

As if Jester could read his mind, which David sometimes thought he could, he answered the question for him.

‘But this lot,’ he cried, ‘you should see them in action. They’re skilled fighters, David. They’re going to really make a difference.’

David’s smile grew wider. This was turning out to be a very good day all round.

‘Well, come on in!’

They never discovered Shadowman’s hiding-place in the burnt-out building, and he’d spent the long night there listening to them feed. St George and his gang first, and then the others, who fought over every last scrap of flesh and skin and bone. Finally, the most diseased, the weakest, had come to the table and Shadowman had had to watch them in the grey light of dawn as they licked the road clean of blood. Now he could see more clearly the mess they’d made. There was almost nothing left of Tom and Kate.

As the day dawned, some of them had started to drift away, first in ones and twos, and then in larger groups. Wandering off to find somewhere to sleep until it got dark again. The last to leave were the toughest, the ones who didn’t fear the daylight, St George and his boys. They trooped up the road past Shadowman’s hiding-place, looking pleased with themselves. St George at the front, his great fat head too heavy for his neck to hold upright. Then Bluetooth and the One-Armed Bandit, followed by Man U and …

Shadowman had to hold back a laugh. His bolt
had
hit something when he’d fired it into the night. It had hit the last member of the gang. The one he’d been struggling to name. It stuck out of his shoulder – either it was too deeply embedded to pull out, or he simply hadn’t bothered to try. He didn’t look too troubled by it. He almost seemed to wear it with pride. Like a medal. Shadowman wept with joy at this tiny victory. Not only had he wounded the bastard, but he’d given him a distinguishing feature. He was no longer just a faceless stranger.

When you named things you owned them.

A big smile spread over Shadowman’s face as he finally worked out what to call him.

Spike.

That bit there was a road. It ran beside the train tracks and led to the forest. Past the forest was the city, with all those houses and parks and fine buildings – the cathedral, the stadium, the row of theatres, the shopping centre. Next to the city was the farm. Where she lived. It was just like the one she’d made playing Farmville on Facebook. The hours she’d wasted on that! She tended her new farm just as carefully now as it hung above her. She planted seeds and pulled up vegetables. She milked the cows and fed the chickens and exercised the horses. Her sheepdog, Baxter, rounded up the sheep. She could look after this place, keep the animals well fed and safe and happy. Nothing bad was ever going to happen here. Not like in the real world. Not like the cold, heartless, unfair, unfair, unfair place London had become. Where she could do nothing to save her friends.

Her imaginary world was warm and sunny and bright. Everyone smiled all the time and there were no wolves to frighten the sheep, no foxes to get into the hen-house, no grown-ups to shoot the rabbits. No grown-ups at all. Anywhere. Not even healthy ones. And her farm was a private place. No one else knew the secret road to get there. There were just the three of them, Brooke, Donut and Courtney, sitting at the kitchen table, eating freshly baked bread and soft-boiled eggs and drinking cold milk. Sitting side by side, laughing and chatting.

Never mind that this farm didn’t exist, nor the city, nor the forest, nor the network of roads, that they were all just made up out of the stains and cracks and blotches that covered the ceiling above her bed.

Never mind …

She could lie there for hours, suspended somewhere between wakefulness and sleeping, staring up and wandering about in that imaginary world. She’d sunk so far into her depression that she’d reached a numb place, where nothing mattered any more. Nothing was real. She was detached from her body, oblivious to the pain that blazed around her wounded head. They gave her painkillers now and then, but they did little to help. She sensed they were rationing them. Pills like these were rare and precious these days. They probably wanted to keep them for their own. They’d stitched her face, though. She had felt them tugging and gouging and gathering her skin together where it had been sliced through clean to the bone across her forehead.

At first she hadn’t known where she was. Hadn’t cared. Had simply drifted in her dream world. Slowly, slowly, however, despite her trying not to, she had started to tune in to what was going on around her. They’d brought her to Buckingham Palace, where David and his followers lived. They’d carried her upstairs to some kind of sick-bay. It was quiet and peaceful in here, lit only by the soft glow of tea candles. Girls came and went, dressed as nurses. It was one of them who had stitched her, a girl called Rose. She seemed to be in charge. She gave Brooke her pills, took her temperature, fed her, took her to the toilet …

How long had she been here? A day? Two days? A week? Years …

She had no idea. Time had ceased to have any meaning for her. She just lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling as the seasons came and went on her farm.

She had to stay up there, among her animals, because there were places she couldn’t go, memories she couldn’t face. Every now and then she settled into a deep calm; she would be floating on pink fluffy clouds counting sheep, sliding on a rainbow, or sitting at that kitchen table with her friends. There were times when she’d feel warm and safe and well fed, cared for, looked after …