Poison City (41 page)

I grit my teeth. Mother Durban stares into my eyes.

I scream in anger and frustration, throw my gun aside. ‘What is it with you people?’ I shout. ‘Why can’t you just do something good? Why do you always need a piece of someone’s soul?’

‘It is not a price worth charging if it is not worth giving.’

I point a shaking finger at her. ‘Fuck you and the bike you rode in on, you sanctimonious bitch.’

I turn to Armitage. ‘I can’t. I won’t. The world can fucking burn. I won’t give up the name.’

‘I’m not asking you to,’ she says softly.

‘Why not?’ I’m shouting again. Can’t seem to make myself stop. I’m pleading with her. ‘Ask me! Tell me I have to do it!’

‘I can’t.’

‘No. It’s all down to me, isn’t it? Fucking marvellous.’

I stalk away from them, pacing in circles just below the stage. I can’t do this. I can’t lose hope again. I’ve just got it back. I can find her. I can get her back. We can be a family again. Me, Cally, Becca—

I freeze. No. Not Becca. I can’t save her. She died thinking our daughter was dead, murdered by some sick fucking bastards who got their kicks out of torturing kids. She’ll never know the truth.

But
I
do. I can get Cally back. I know I can. All I need to do is walk out that door.

I approach the door with the red EXIT sign above it. I pull it open, step out of the theatre, into the hallway. The door swings shut behind me.

Just keep walking. Find Cally. Leave the country. Go back to London. Start a new life. Leave everyone to sort out their own mess.

Except, this isn’t their own mess, is it?
I
caused it.

I drop to my knees. After all this. After everything I’ve been through. Everything I’ve given away.

I sold my soul for this name. Fuck, I sold out
humanity
for the name. And oh, sweet irony, if I want
my
humanity back I have to give the name away again. I shake my head. Where’s the justice there? Where’s
my
justice? Can’t I have something for myself, just this once?

I start to laugh. I can’t help it. It’s all a big fucking joke, isn’t it?

I see Cally’s face. What would she look like now? After three years. If I walk away now, what would she say when I told her how expensive her freedom was? Would she be grateful? Would she understand? When she’s older and the world is gone to shit. When Night has taken over and humanity is . . . what? Wiped out? Enslaved? What would she say to me? Because all that crap Lilith fed me about being fair, about letting the good survive, that was obviously all bullshit. She never intended to keep her word.

Unless everyone in Durban deserves punishment.

I run that thought back again. What was it she said? Lilith? The guilty will be punished. The innocent will be spared.

And there you have it. I straighten up. She’s not breaking her word at all. She meant it. Because who, when you got right down to it,
wasn’t
guilty of something, at least in their own minds? Whether it’s cheating on a spouse, not paying their taxes, lying to their kids about being too busy to play.

Everyone’s guilty of something. It’s the human condition.

Lilith tricked me.

No, I’d
let
her trick me.

Ah, fuck. I slump back against the wall, rub my face wearily.

I can feel it inside. I’m going to give her the memory.

I have to. I can’t sentence humanity to death in Cally’s name. What kind of fucking justice is that?

I pull myself to my feet, push open the door. The stage has changed again. A painted backdrop of the hallway I’d just been in. As I walk into the theatre, my actor is moving towards me. His face is blurred, almost featureless. I don’t stop as he leaves the stage, still walking. We move towards each other, neither of us slowing. I can see Armitage and Mother Durban watching behind him as we meet . . .

. . . A sensation like pushing against the wind. I look behind me and see him glancing over his shoulder at me. I don’t know what this means. It’s symbolic of something, but I have no idea what. That the story is ongoing? We’re all acting out parts?

I shake my head, turn back to Mother Durban. Now she’s a tall Asian woman, watching me expressionlessly.

‘Do it,’ I say.

‘London—’

‘Armitage, it’s fine. I have to.’

Mother Durban nods. ‘You realise it is not just
your
memory? But that of the man who told you. Whoever knows. None will remember.’

I nod. ‘Figured as much. Get it over with.’

Mother Durban puts her hands on my temples, closes her eyes.

I try to hold on to the memory. I repeat the name over and over in my head. But it’s no good. I can feel it slipping away, like water through my fingers.

I don’t forget that I once knew the name. I just forget what it is.

I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Good, I think. At least I still know she’s alive. I just won’t know who has her. Or where.

And then it’s done. An empty space in my head that fills up with thoughts of regret and anger, with guilt and sadness. Mother Durban steps back and I scrabble through my memories, hoping she left something, anything.

She didn’t. All I’m left with is the knowledge that I once knew how to save Cally and I gave it away.

‘Lilith is beneath my streets,’ says Mother Durban. ‘There are storm drains that lead to the sea. In the place you call Whoonga Park. They will take you to her.’

I feel Armitage’s hand on my arm, pulling me away. I pick my gun up from the floor and follow after her, out into the corridor, then back out onto the streets. Armitage says nothing. Hell, even the dog is quiet for once.

Whoonga Park is an inner city area off limits to the likes of you and me, a dry, scruffy piece of land squashed between the M4 and the train tracks.

The place is a nightmare. Even the police tend to stay away. Every now and then you read news reports about ‘clean-ups’ and ‘evictions’, but it never lasts. The hundred or so vagrants who live there – the homeless, immigrants, the dying – all gravitate back to the spot like bacteria to an open wound.

I’ve only ever seen Whoonga Park in passing. Every time I look I see a huge group of people milling around like mindless zombies, shuffling back and forth across the tracks, smoking their drug of choice and looking like extras from
The Walking Dead
. They always look like they’re in some kind of trance. Blank eyes, vacant expressions.

Until they rise to action. Until an intruder walks into their midst. Then they go apeshit crazy, feral animals protecting their territory.

Armitage, the dog, and I stand on the bridge that crosses the rail tracks. Over to our left I can see the addicts, shuffling around, sitting around small fires. But the area to the right of our location is clear, the train tracks pushing right up against a steep bank.

‘The storm drains are over there,’ says Armitage, pointing towards a freeway overpass beyond the vagrants. ‘To the left of that flyover.’ She points to the right. ‘Reckon we head along the tracks by the bank and loop around behind them. No need to intrude, eh?’

I nod. I’m surprised the vagrants are still here. I thought they would have joined in the riots. They’re getting even worse. The cops have given up and word on the police radio is the Defence Force is on its way.

Which means more guns and more deaths. Time is running out.

There’s a hole in the wall above the bank that borders the track. We duck through and slide down the grass into the gravel the rusted rail tracks are resting on.

A few of the whoonga addicts turn at the noise. We duck low. After a few seconds they turn away.

Armitage raises two fingers and points ahead. The dog doesn’t even wait for us, probably thinking he’s got more of a chance on his own. He moves into the darkness, vanishing from sight.

Armitage and I follow the railway lines for about two hundred metres, moving parallel to the vagrants. Once we get past them we cross over the tracks, moving towards the shadows of the concrete pillars supporting the overpass. They’re covered in graffiti, pictures of an odd-looking rowing boat, signatures and tags one atop the other until all that’s left is a confused mess.

The dog pads back to join us.

-The opening into the storm drains is up ahead. Keep quiet, though. There’s a few of them sleeping in the entrance.-

We move beneath the flyover. There’s no light here. Just shadows and darkness. We pass over broken rubble and old playing cards. Empty bottles and discarded syringes.

I hear a scuffing behind me. I freeze. Turn around. My eyes scan the darkness, but I can’t see anything. The massive support pillars can obscure a multitude of sins, though.

Including the spot on the tracks where the addicts were milling around.

I wait a few seconds, peering into the night.

-Come on, London.-

I turn back. Armitage and the dog are waiting about ten paces ahead, backs up against another support. I join them, cast an uneasy look over my shoulder.

‘You see something?’ whispers Armitage in my ear.

I hesitate, then shake my head.

We move forward. Around the next pillar and I can see the entrance to the drains. A concrete culvert that delves below the ground. A dark opening, easily two metres by two metres.

A shift in the wind brings a vile stench our way. I jerk my head to the side, quickly clamp my hand over my mouth and nose.

-Yeah. They use the entrance as a toilet. Tends to keep the cops away.-

As we draw closer we emerge out from the shadows of the overpass. I can see the vagrants sleeping outside the drain entrance. About ten of them. No fires here, but then, none are really needed. It’s a humid night. My own sweat is prickling on my skin, making my shirt stick to my back.

We move slowly, silently. Aiming our feet between the broken glass, the empty packets of Nik-Naks and Cheese Curls.

The opening is only about ten feet away when there’s a sudden flare of white light behind us, etching our shadows into the ground.

We whirl around—

—To find a hundred or so vampires standing there, their eyes blazing with white light.

Fuck.

A noise behind us. I glance over my shoulder, see Armitage pulling out her wand. The ‘sleeping’ vagrants are rising to their feet, their eyes flaring to life like they’ve been plugged into electrical sockets.

Armitage and I close up, back to back. We turn in a circle, ready, waiting as the vampires start to close in.

Shit. These are numbers we can’t win against. We need backup.

Real backup.

I lick my lips, nervous, wondering what to do. If I summon the dragons, I’m not sure I’ll be able to put them away again. It’s too soon after the last calling.

On the other hand, I don’t really have much of a choice here.

I mutter the words of awakening and they stir to excited life on my skin. Green and red light bursts into the darkness as the dragons rise up and coil above my shoulders.

They spit and lunge, trying to pull me forward. Armitage grips my arm, holding me back. I dig my feet in, grit my teeth.

‘Wait, you bastard things.’

I can feel the air shivering as Armitage draws in power to her wand. The dog is making some sort of unholy growling noise.

It’s all a waste of time, though. How the hell are we supposed to fight off a hundred vampires? We’re finished.

Maybe so. But we’ll take a few of them with us.

‘I want everyone to imagine I just said an incredibly witty comment about coming to your rescue, OK?’ says a voice from behind us.

I glance over my shoulder and see Parker standing on top of the stone culvert of the storm drain, framed against the fire-tinged sky, holding some kind of old-fashioned shotgun.

Movement behind her, and another seven figures arrive to flank her, all from the DD. Allison, Lisa, Jasmine. Cole, Daltry. Cass. Even Russells, looking a bit nervous as he holds a flaming sword as far from his body as possible.

‘And Armitage,’ says Parker, ‘I want this taken into account when you calculate my performance bonus this year. Shit!
That
should have been my opening comment.’

She jumps over our heads and lands directly in front of the surprised vampires. She fires the shotgun at the closest. Its head evaporates in a cloud of mist.

That’s when all Hell breaks loose.

The vampires scream and surge forward. The other members of Delphic Division leap down from the culvert and start laying about them with whatever weapons they brought.

I run forward, releasing any control I have on the dragons. They snap forward, yanking heads and limbs from vampire bodies, pulling me around like I’m attached to a parachute in a gale. I have to just go with it. Orange flame and heat to my right as Russells waves the sword around, going for sheer determination and rage over skill.