The Sacrifice Read online

  ‘Don’t despair, little guppy,’ said The Kid. ‘We’ll find a way. We always do. We’re the dynamic duo.’

  ‘I don’t feel very dynamic right now.’

  ‘You don’t look it. You look like an upright poodle with a bad case of the singing squitters.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, you look like a shaved baboon who’s been got at by a blind face painter.’

  ‘That’s what I am, Sam, green eggs and ham.’

  They had come to a section of the Wall, strung out across the road between two low modern buildings. The Wall was piled high with junk and salvaged building materials. Through the gaps in it Sam could just make out a horde of grown-ups on the other side.

  Matt held up a hand and the procession halted; another wave of his hand and the musicians stopped playing. A ghostly echo of the music seemed to carry on all round them, however, and Sam realized it was the grown-ups outside the wall – the Clickee Cult as The Kid had named them – tapping on anything they could find. It was as if the City had been turned into a giant ticking-clicking-clanking machine.

  Matt waited while Archie Bishop selected a key from the collection that hung from his waist. He went over to a door that was chained and padlocked shut, fiddled with the lock until it snapped open and then unthreaded the chain. Meanwhile, many of the kids in the procession were busy lighting candles.

  Once the doors were open Matt led them all inside. There were more candles in here, fixed to the walls. Kids lit them as they went past. They went through two more locked doors and each time Archie had to unlock them with a different key. The noise of the chains as they rattled loose was very loud in the enclosed space. They seemed to be in some kind of industrial building. The walls were rough and undecorated and the doors they passed through were made of metal.

  Finally they came to a stairwell and Matt took them down, their feet scuffing on the concrete steps. At the bottom they passed through a final door into a vast underground room. Their candles now seemed feeble, unable to penetrate the dark depths. But Sam could see enough. His mouth dropped open.

  He hadn’t been expecting anything like this.

  41

  They were in a massive warehouse, filled with tall shelving units piled high with cardboard boxes. And it was clear what was in the boxes.

  Food.

  Sam read the labels on the nearest stack – rice, pasta, tinned vegetables, soup, cereal, baked beans, fruit juice. The next shelving unit was filled with an endless supply of drinking water in plastic bottles. Then there were oils and sauces, spices, salt and sugar and jam and peanut butter, chocolate bars and sweets, biscuits, tinned fish, tinned fruit, dried fruit, currants, raisins … Sam’s head was spinning.

  He’d wondered about the kids at the cathedral, why they put up with Matt’s madness and his rules, his cruelty, his smoke and his music. Well, this answered all his questions. You’d put up with anything, you’d believe anything, you’d go along with any rubbish for a taste of this lot.

  There was enough here to last them for years.

  Sam remembered when he’d first gone to live in Waitrose back in Holloway. A lot of kids had broken in there looking for food. There had been hardly anything left, just a few boxes of stuff hidden in a storeroom upstairs. They’d stayed, though. Lived there for a year. Their leader Arran had looked after them all. It had been good. Until that day when the grown-ups had got into the car park and captured him.

  He hadn’t seen any of his friends since.

  He missed them. Not just his sister, but Monkey-Boy, Maxie, Josh, Freak and Deke, Maeve, Achilleus … Arran would be looking after them, though, wherever they were.

  If only they’d found somewhere like this a year ago their lives would have been so different. So much better.

  Maybe, though, it was like this in Buckingham Palace. Sam pictured them all sitting round a big table having a feast, with silver goblets and waving big turkey legs. He smiled. The picture gave him some comfort. Took him away to a good place.

  Matt waited in the centre of the warehouse for the kids to form a wide circle round him. Nathan and the guard unfastened the dog leads and released Sam and The Kid. They couldn’t run anywhere – they were surrounded by the ring of children.

  ‘We have reached the holy place,’ said Matt. ‘This is the Tree of Life. Which was shown to us by the Lord, just as was prophesied … ’

  He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the ceiling, began to shout out some lines from his book.

  ‘The angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the Tree of Life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night.’

  He paused, looking round at the faces of his followers.

  ‘Everything that was told to me, everything that I tell to you, is the truth. And our Lord watches over those who are true. So, to give thanks to him, we come here to make our offerings. Today we offer up our greatest gift. Today we destroy the evil one forever. Today we sacrifice the Goat. And his blood will water the roots of the tree.’

  A murmur passed through the waiting kids and Matt silenced them by raising his voice.

  ‘I promised to provide you with everything you needed. And here it is. I promised to deliver the Lamb and the Goat. And here they are. But which is which?’

  Sam felt suddenly cold, even though it was no cooler down here than it had been outside. Matt walked over and stared at him and The Kid.

  ‘Beneath us lies the Abyss,’ he said. ‘One of you must go down to meet your fate. Wormwood is there and he will devour you, and we will all be cleansed. The Lamb will see the light and he will follow it and take us to victory against the Nephilim. But the Goat is a trickster. He is playing his games with us, trying to fool us. He is good at hiding. He has had thousands of years’ practice. So we must decide … Has he disguised himself as the Lamb and made the Lamb look like the Goat or is that only what he wants us to believe? He has cast doubt among us. That is his way. So which one of you is pure and which of you is evil?’

  ‘Neither of us!’ Sam shouted. ‘Why won’t any of you listen to me?’

  Matt ignored him, strode off and started to walk round and round the circle of kids, shouting into their faces.

  ‘Which of them must go down into the Abyss to be devoured by Wormwood and which of them will remain in light and live in the clouds of eternal bliss?’

  ‘By jingo,’ The Kid whispered. ‘This boy spouts more gibberish than me. I ain’t never heard such a crock of witless drivel.’

  ‘Two boys!’ Matt shouted, staring once again at Sam and The Kid. ‘One called Samuel, one called Angus Day. One dark and one fair. One good and one evil. But which is which? We must not be deceived. There is only one way to find out the truth. We must ask each in turn who should be sacrificed today.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Sam. ‘That’s not right. You can’t make us.’

  Matt hurried back to Sam with long strides and put his hand on his forehead, spreading the fingers wide.

  ‘Just answer my question,’ he said, lowering his voice. Sam couldn’t help but stare at the scabby mess in the centre of Matt’s own forehead. Matt realized what he was looking at.

  ‘It is the mark of the Lamb,’ he said. ‘A holy blessing, a stigmata that proves I am a true believer, a righteous follower.’

  ‘A dickhead,’ said The Kid, but Matt ignored him.

  ‘So, Sam?’ he said. ‘Which of you should we sacrifice today?’

  ‘Me,’ said Sam quietly and full of misery. ‘Sacrifice me. I can’t let you hurt The Kid any more.’

  Matt released Sam and strode over to The Kid, but when he put his hand on his forehead, the litt
le boy suddenly started to shake and shudder. Tears rolled down his cheeks, he sniffed, threw his arms round Matt.

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Not me. Don’t do it to me. Do it to Sam. Please. Please not me.’

  Sam swallowed hard. Tried to be brave. His own face was wet with tears now.

  ‘It is decided then,’ said Matt. ‘The Lamb has shown us the truth and the Goat has tried to hide behind a lie. We know for certain which one is which.’ He paused, like a judge on a TV talent show, looking from one boy to the other, building up the tension, making them wait and enjoying the power he held right then.

  All his kids were standing silently, watching him. Gripped. Trying to guess what he was going to say. Finally Matt fixed his eyes on the snivelling Kid.

  ‘You,’ he said, drawing out the pause. ‘Angus Day, you … are the Goat! And you must die today.’

  ‘What? No!’ Sam threw himself at Matt, beating him with his fists.

  Matt held him still.

  ‘You are the Lamb,’ he said. ‘Only one as brave and pure and true as the Lamb would sacrifice himself for a friend. Now!’ He turned to the musicians. ‘Drive the darkness out with your music!’

  Clutching Sam to his chest and muffling his protests, Matt bowed his head and all the kids in the circle copied him except for the musicians who started playing again. Sam wrenched his head round and looked at The Kid who winked at him and mouthed one word.

  ‘Morons.’

  Matt let go of Sam who ran over to The Kid before anyone could stop him. Gave him a hug.

  ‘I tried. I did try.’

  ‘Not hard enough, buster,’ said The Kid. ‘I outfoxed you with my acting skills.’

  ‘How did you know what Matt was going to do?’

  ‘Their twisted logic is wastepaper thin,’ said The Kid. ‘I’ve seen enough daft films to know how this was going to play out. Lemons all round. Farewell, brave companion.’

  Matt pulled Sam away and Nathan and the guard got hold of The Kid. He didn’t struggle, just raised his head and smiled at the circle of children.

  ‘Remember this day,’ he said. ‘Remember what you did to me. Now so long, suckers!’

  Sam watched as his best friend ever in the world was taken away, looking tiny between the two big boys. He couldn’t believe that he would never see him again. Couldn’t let himself believe it.

  ‘We’ll find a way, small fry,’ The Kid shouted, his croaky voice getting lost in the vastness of the warehouse.

  ‘Talk all you want, demon,’ Matt shouted back. ‘There’s nobody can save you now.’

  42

  Ed grunted as he swung his sword, bringing it down hard at the place where the father’s neck joined his shoulder. Blood exploded from the severed artery and the father seemed to split open, as if he was an overstuffed suitcase being unzipped. His skin separated and a foul mess bubbled out from inside. A mixture of pink flesh, bright red blood and a shiny grey jelly-like substance that Ed had never seen before today. The father fell to his knees, his head flopping to one side, his bones coming apart. He had become a shapeless sack that was slowly melting into the road. Guts and hideously swollen internal organs spilt out of him until he was just a stinking heap of offal.

  It wasn’t over yet, though; there was another father behind him and another. They’d come from nowhere and Ed’s group was surrounded.

  It had all been going so well. They’d made good progress along the beach at the side of the Thames, but the rising tide had forced them back up on to the road at Victoria Embankment. It had been quieter now that they’d got clear of the zone. They’d ignored the few lone sickos who were wandering around, and the three frozen ones, standing stiff and vacant, like shop-window dummies with nothing to sell. They’d hurried past them, anxious to press on, knowing that the frozen ones weren’t a threat. Even Kyle seemed to have had his fill of killing. Their last brutal fight back at Steelyard Passage had been enough for him.

  They’d felt relatively safe walking along the Victoria Embankment. It was a wide, tree-lined road with the river on the left and a string of public gardens and big, old office buildings set back behind spiked iron railings on the right. Ed felt like they’d definitely left the zone behind and were in the more secure area they’d been hoping to find on the other side.

  But then, as they’d headed up towards Trafalgar Square, they’d run straight into a gang of sickos. After a moment’s panic Ed had switched direction, with similar results. Whatever route he picked seemed to be blocked by sickos plodding doggedly along.

  This behaviour was totally unexpected. Ed had never seen anything like it before. The whole day had gone wrong. He’d watched sickos pouring over the bridges all morning. And now there were more of them, wandering the streets of London in greater numbers than he’d seen since the first days of the disaster.

  Where were they all coming from?

  There had been no time to fuss over these questions. Ed had to get his group away from danger. In the end he’d taken them back to the Embankment where he’d hoped to outflank the sickos, but then, not far from the Houses of Parliament, they’d been ambushed.

  Thirty, maybe forty sickos had come streaming out of a side-street, fast and determined. Now Ed’s group were once more fighting for their lives. As fast as they cut one sicko down, another took its place. Ed would have ordered the kids to run if there had been anywhere to run to, but they’d used up all their options. Their only hope was to kill every one of the sickos in this attack party.

  And that was just what Ed was trying to do. He’d gone beyond all rational thought and was like some unstoppable killer robot, cutting, hacking, slashing, stabbing, moving on. Some of those he whacked just fell dead; others, though, split open and erupted from their skins. The bursters made the surface of the road dangerously slippery. Ed was literally up to his ankles in human remains.

  He was dimly aware that he was tired. His arm ached. His shoulder was crying out in pain. This was just information, though. It didn’t affect him. It was happening to someone else.

  More information ticked over in a corner of his brain. Kyle was at his side, as always, working away mercilessly with his axe. Of the others he had no information at this moment. The conscious, rational part of his brain, shut away behind a closed door in a dark corner, hoped that they were holding up. Hoped he hadn’t lost anyone.

  The killing part of him didn’t care.

  ‘There’s more of them, boss,’ Kyle shouted.

  Ed flicked his eyes to the side – saw another gang of grown-ups approaching. This was rapidly becoming a big hungry mob. He summoned up a fresh burst of energy, went into overdrive, sped up the rate of his sword strikes, washing himself in the blood of the sickos he cut down. There were too many, though, even for Ed and Kyle to deal with. Slowly they were being forced back. Ed couldn’t keep it up: his arm was growing numb; his body was covered in scratches, cuts and bruises. As he turned to swipe at a father who was trying to get past him, he saw the rest of his group had formed into a tight huddle. They looked terrified.

  ‘We’re totally outnumbered,’ Macca screamed. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Ed wanted to snarl at him We’re going to die, but he couldn’t speak. Nothing would come out. Instead he turned back to the advancing sickos and waded into them. It was all he knew right now. The blood was singing in his head.

  And then Ed became aware of a new sound. A crazy roaring, yelping din. A ripple passed through the attacking sickos. They too were aware that something had changed. Their attack seemed to lose energy. Ed hissed between his clenched teeth and laid into them with a final, desperate fury, Kyle matching him stroke for stroke.

  And then the sickos’ attack completely fell apart. The mob broke up, started trying to get away, and Ed saw a gang of kids with big fighting dogs attacking them from their rear, driving a wedge through their ranks towards Ed and Kyle.

  ‘The helicopters have arrived!’ Kyle yelled. ‘Come on, let’s show them what we can do!’ With a
high, ululating war-cry, he swung his axe around his head and plunged into the nearest knot of confused sickos. Ed was with him, hardly aware of what he was doing, lost in a red mist, animated only by his killing frenzy.

  The newcomers fought well and hard, as merciless as Kyle and as cold-blooded as Ed. Very soon there were only wounded or dead sickos left. The others had moved on, heading eastwards, drawn by something the kids could only guess at, some silent call on the wind.

  ‘Let them go,’ said the leader of the newcomers, a wild-looking boy wearing a leather mask.

  Ed’s group stood there, panting, exhausted, drenched in sweat, their clothing stained dark red, their weapons hanging limply by their sides. Ed wearily checked the numbers, a bored shelf-stacker counting tins of soup.

  They were all still standing. A thought came into his mind – it was good that they were still standing, but there was no emotion to go with the thought.

  Just that.

  It was good.

  ‘Who’s in charge here?’ asked the boy in the leather mask, his voice muffled.

  Ed was still too wired to speak. Kyle nodded towards him and the newcomers came cautiously closer. Ed just stared blankly back at them.

  ‘Where you from?’ the boy asked. Ed shrugged. For the moment he couldn’t remember. He’d wanted to say, ‘Kent – Rowhurst School.’ For years it had been his automatic response to that question. A deeper, wired-in memory than the memory of his time at the Tower.

  But that was a long time ago. Another life. With Jack and Bam and all the others he had lost.

  ‘Tower of London,’ Kyle replied for him. ‘Out east along the river.’

  The boy in the mask sniffed and took a long look in the direction that Kyle was pointing.

  ‘That’s the badlands,’ he said. ‘We don’t go nowhere near there. The dogs don’t like it. They can hear something we can’t, start whining and pulling on they leashes.’