The End (19 page)

He was one giant being, as big as London
– bigger – with arms stretching out in all directions, hundreds of fingers reaching out, and hundreds of mouths all calling out. Come to me if you can hear me.

He felt so strong now. And peaceful. Not hungry any more. They didn’t need to eat; they had all the energy they needed, stored inside them. They just had to do this one last thing – this great push – and then … peace.
Nirvana. Eternity. At one with the universe.

His army was quiet and still. Waiting for the others. When the others came, they would move. They would attack.

First. First things first. They had to take the boy. The small one.

He’d seen the tiddler, the sprat, back at the stadium. All that time ago. He’d seen the boy, but back then he hadn’t known. Hadn’t realized who he was.
He knew now. Because the voices had been screaming it in his ear. And he knew what he had to do. Find the boy. Kill the boy.

He stared at the sky, still singing in his head, still calling, and all his army calling come to me, come to me, come to me …

And they were coming. He could feel them. Moving closer.

He turned from the sky and looked at his people. All packed in
together in a dark and greasy heap, lying on top of each other, spreading out as far as he could see in all directions.

He walked, and as he walked his people got up and made way for him, parting to make a path. They all looked to him. He was in all their brains and they were in his. They were one being. A giant bug colony with only one thought. He loved them. They would do whatever
he said. One came over, a mother, threw herself at his feet, her mouth moving, no sound coming out, just a soft call in his brain, his inner ear. He loved her. She was his. Utterly devoted to him. He looked at her. And he put thoughts into her mind and she smiled and put her fingers to her face, hooked the tips into her lower eyelids, and pulled and pulled and scraped until her
whole face had come off. He made her do it because he could. How she smiled at him now. You’d never seen such a big grin.

And then he told the others to eat her. Not because
they were hungry, but because he could. And she never stopped smiling. She loved him so much.

These people were his. They were his hands, his eyes, his heart.

And here were his soldiers walking towards
him, the ones who had been with him from the start. They’d brought what he’d asked for, the tools to finish the job – blades and points and hammers. Sharp things. Hard things. Cold things. Things to do harm, to cut and club and smash. He chose one – a cleaver. The name came back to him.
Cleaver
. A good word that. He had used that word before; he had used the tool. He’d been a butcher
after all, hadn’t he? He’d already established that. The cleaver was a good tool. It cut through meat and bone and fat and gristle and sinew and veins and arteries. Clean.

He held it above his head and showed his people and they understood. They started to move away, to spread out. They were going out into the city to find whatever tools they could. No, not tools. There was a
better word. It was there. Waiting for him. It was a word that had made his kind kings of the planet.

He just had to let it come.

Seven.

Weeping.

Wept on.

Slept on.

Went on.

Weapon.

I am St George and I will slay the dragon with my cold weapon.

26

‘So what am I then? What rank?’

‘I don’t know. What rank do you wanna be?’

‘Corporal, no, captain, that sounds good – Captain Achilleus, like Captain America … Colonel? Could I be a colonel? Maybe a lieutenant, not a sergeant or sergeant major. What about major? Is that above captain? What’s one rank below general?’

‘Brigadier maybe?’

‘Nah, sounds crap.’

‘You can be whatever you like,’ said Maxie. ‘Just not a general.’

‘Oh no, not a general. That job goes to the high-and-mighty Jordan Hordern. He is our Führer.’

‘Don’t make this hard, Achilleus.’

‘I ain’t. I told you. I don’t want to be no general. Generals don’t fight. Generals don’t win medals. Nobody used to make films about generals, because generals were boring.
Giving out orders all day and sitting on horses and looking at maps. No thanks. I want to be on the frontline, kicking butt, living it, yeah? My spear slippery with their blood. So who do I get to be captain of?’

They were in Hyde Park. Jordan had chosen it as the best place to practise manoeuvres, and if possible he was
going to have his battle with the sickos here. He had it
all planned. There’d been another big meeting at the Houses of Parliament, with maps and everything, just as Achilleus had described the life of a general.

‘Wellington beat Napoleon and his armies because he was very good at picking battle sites,’ Jordan had explained. ‘Choosing the right site means the battle’s halfway won.’

The meeting had gone on for ages. They’d discussed
every aspect of the plans. Everyone had been there except, of course, David. He’d sent Jester with a letter explaining that unless he was general then he wouldn’t be sending any troops. But Jester had stayed all the same and joined in. He wanted to know what was going on. Maxie had taken him aside at one point and had a go at him. He’d tried to defend himself, said that if it was down
to him he would have accepted Jordan taking charge, no problem, and brought the fighters from the palace with him. But it wasn’t his call. There was no democracy at the palace. What David said went.

‘So why don’t you have a coup?’ Maxie had asked.

‘Don’t think I haven’t dreamt about it,’ said Jester with a sly grin. ‘Imagined David’s head on a pole. But the thing is – David
might be a prick, and a pompous jerk, but he holds things together. People feel secure and happy at the palace. I couldn’t rule in the way David does.’

Yeah. Jester was a right-hand man, a lieutenant, not a leader. An ambassador. An adviser. In that he was like Achilleus. Who didn’t want to be in charge.

So what was Maxie?

She was just someone who wanted to make things
right.

And now it was down to her to explain to everyone what their duties were.

‘You’re in charge of the right flank infantry,’ she explained.

‘The right?’ Achilleus sounded theatrically indignant. ‘What if I want to be in charge of the left flank?’

‘What if you want to be a douche? It doesn’t make any difference.’

‘Yeah? Would of been nice to have been asked,
all the same.’

‘You don’t want to be a captain? Fine. You can be a private if you want?’

‘No. Is cool. I’ll take the right flank infantry.’

‘OK. Ollie’s in charge of artillery.’

‘Artillery now, is it? Not just throwing shit?’

‘Got to call it something.’

‘And who takes the left flank?’

‘Matt and his green kids.’

‘That it?’

‘Jordan holds the centre. That’s
where me and Blue will be, sticking close to him. Making sure what he wants to happen happens. Ryan and his hunters are going to patrol the streets round the perimeter, make sure no sickos try to get past us. And there’s a reserve unit at the back, the less strong fighters. They’re under the control of that Boggle kid from the museum. They’ll be fed into the other units as needed.’

‘OK. Sounds organized. So Boggle’s the only museum kid who gets to be a captain. What about Jackson? She’s good.’

‘Jackson was offered it, but she said she wanted to be in your unit.’

‘Yeah? Crazy girl. She can be my corporal or whatever. So do I get to pick all my own officers?’

‘I guess so.’

‘What about Will?’

‘What about him?’

‘I reckon I’ll take him. He
knows what he’s doing.’

‘Yeah, he’s OK.’

‘You think he’s good-looking?’

Maxie hadn’t been expecting this question.

‘He’s all right,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘You’re a girl. You think about these things.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Oh, come on, Maxie.’

‘Are you asking me if I fancy him?’

‘Well, do you?’

‘I’ve got Blue. You know I do. I don’t think about anyone
else.’

‘Bet you do.’

‘Bet I don’t.’

‘Well, if you didn’t have Blue. If you were a free agent. A girl about town. Would you go for Will?’

‘He’s OK. I don’t know. Maybe. He’s nice. Clever. Civilized – unlike you. And yeah, he’s OK-looking.’

‘Does he have a girlfriend?’

‘I don’t know.’ Maxie was confused. She’d never had a conversation like this with Achilleus before.

‘Ask him.’

‘Achilleus …?’ Maxie looked at the boy. He was sitting on the grass, spinning his spear in his hands. ‘I am not interested in going out with him. OK?’

‘I’m just making conversation. I’m a captain now. People got to listen to me.’

‘You
will
take it seriously?’

‘Up to a point.’ Achilleus spat. ‘In the end all this organization ain’t gonna account for much.
It’s just gonna
be fighting. Hard and nasty. Makes no difference whether I’m called captain, head honcho or chief cheerleader.’

‘The thing is,’ said Maxie, ‘it’s an important position, yeah? Everyone said you were the best guy for the job. You should be proud.’

‘You sound like my science teacher when I got a D.’

‘I mean it. We don’t always tell you, Achilleus, because,
well, frankly you’re a pain in the arse, but we appreciate all you’ve done. OK? We’d probably none of us from the Holloway crew be here if it wasn’t for you. You’re far and away the best fighter around.’

‘Aw. I’m touched.’

‘See. Arsehole.’

‘Maxie?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Maybe nobody tells you things either.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘After Arran died we could’ve fallen apart.
But we didn’t. Because you held it together. “
Arran Lives
” – you remember that?’

‘I remember.’

‘He lived on in you, Max. You done well. I like you. You’re cool.’

Maxie didn’t know what to say. She was waiting for Achilleus to pull the chair away, to laugh at her as she crashed to the floor. But he didn’t. In the end it was he who spoke next.

‘So? We gonna win this thing?’
he asked.

‘We’ve got to,’ said Maxie. ‘Otherwise it’s the end for all of us.’

‘The Last Battle … We’ll do it. Arran Lives. We all live.’

Now Achilleus did laugh and Maxie was going to say something when she realized that he wasn’t laughing at her. He was watching the smaller kids who were drilling in an area away from the main block. Paddy was shouting orders, his high
young voice carrying in the still air.

‘Look at them little mugs,’ said Achilleus. ‘What’s Jordan gonna do with them? Use them as cannon fodder?’

‘No bloody way,’ said Maxie. ‘Sam’s too important. ‘Don’t tell them, but they’re gonna be nowhere near the fighting when it kicks off. They’re staying back at the museum, under guard. Whitney’s got the job of keeping them away and
keeping them safe. That what we’re fighting this battle for after all, to protect Sam long enough to make a cure. If he dies this is all a waste of time.’

‘Should I be scared?’ Achilleus asked.

‘You don’t ever get scared.’

‘You’re right.’ Achilleus laughed. ‘I don’t have the imagination. You know me. Point me at the enemy and I’ll fight. All this stuff, it’s way complicated.’

‘Not really,’ said Maxie. ‘When it comes down to it, you’ve got the right idea – all we gotta do is kill more grown-ups than they kill of us.’

‘That I can understand,’ said Achilleus. ‘
That
– I can understand.’

27

Paddy felt ten feet tall. Out here with all the big kids, shouting orders, being in command, with his own troop. An officer. Jordan Hordern had even sent over a marshal, Hayden, to help with his training. She was a girl, but that was OK. She was a cool girl. Paddy used to do football training at the weekends, with a club, and there’d been lots of girls like Hayden helping
out. She knew proper weapons drill and, when Paddy had shown her what his troop could already do, she’d been well impressed, Paddy could tell. She’d even clapped and whooped a couple of times. She’d been impressed by all of them except
Blu-Tack Bill. Bill did this thing where he’d just stop what he was doing. He’d stop marching, or drilling, or mock fighting or whatever, and wander
off to the side, saying numbers out loud. In the end Hayden had asked him what the matter was. Bill said nothing was the matter, he was just counting.