The Beast

Dedication

For me old mucker, Tommy Donbavand, aka Wobblebottom.

Sorry for nailing you to that ceiling in the last book.

Contents

 

 

hat had I expected to see? I wasn’t sure. An empty street. One or two late-night wanderers, maybe.

But not this. Never this.

There were hundreds of them.
Thousands
. They scuttled and scurried through the darkness, swarming over the village like an infection; relentless and unstoppable.

I leaned closer to the window and looked down at the front of the hospital. One of the larger creatures was tearing through the fence, its claws slicing through the wrought-iron bars as if they were cardboard. My breath fogged the glass and the monster vanished behind a cloud of condensation. By the time the pane cleared the
thing
would be inside the hospital. It would be up the stairs in moments. Everyone in here was as good as dead.

The distant thunder of gunfire ricocheted from somewhere near the village centre. A scream followed – short and sharp, then suddenly silenced. There were no more gunshots after that, just the triumphant roar of something sickening and grotesque.

I heard Ameena take a step closer behind me. I didn’t need to look at her reflection in the window to know how terrified she was. The crack in her voice said it all.

‘It’s the same everywhere,’ she whispered.

I nodded, slowly. ‘The town as well?’

She hesitated long enough for me to realise what she meant. I turned away from the devastation outside. ‘Wait... You really mean
everywhere
, don’t you?’

Her only reply was a single nod of her head.

‘
Liar!
’ I snapped. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening.

She stooped and picked up the TV remote from the day-room coffee table. It shook in her hand as she held it out to me.

‘See for yourself.’

Hesitantly, I took the remote. ‘What channel?’

She glanced at the ceiling, steadying her voice. ‘Any of them.’

The old television set gave a faint
clunk
as I switched it on. In a few seconds, an all-too-familiar scene appeared.

Hundreds of the creatures. Cars and buildings ablaze. People screaming. People running. People
dying
.

Hell on Earth.

‘That’s New York,’ she said.

Click
. Another channel, but the footage was almost identical.

‘London.’

Click.

‘I’m... I’m not sure. Somewhere in Japan. Tokyo, maybe?’

It could have been Tokyo, but then again it could have been anywhere. I clicked through half a dozen more channels, but the images were always the same.

‘It happened,’ I gasped. ‘It actually happened.’

I turned back to the window and gazed out. The clouds above the next town were tinged with orange and red. It was already burning. They were destroying everything, just like
he’d
told me they would.

This was it.

The world was ending.

Armageddon.

And it was all my fault.

woke up screaming. This, of late, was not unusual. The seats beneath me creaked in complaint as I sat upright and tried to shake away the memories of the nightmares before they could fully take hold. No such luck.

The faces of the fiends I’d fought leered at me – vague, half-formed shapes tormenting me from the deepest recesses of my own mind:

Caddie, make-up smeared across her bone-white skin.

The Crowmaster, his empty eye sockets alive with maggots.

Doc Mortis, scalpel in hand, blood spattered across his filthy white coat.

Other images, too. The blubbery remains of the dead man on the train; Marion’s flesh-stripped skeleton; my mum, unconscious on a hospital bed.

For a long time I’d tried to resist them, to fill my brain with other thoughts until there was no room left for monsters and horror. It never worked. If anything, it just prolonged the whole ordeal. I’d eventually learned not to fight them, to let them wash over me instead, paying them as little attention as possible.

So there, in the darkness, I closed my eyes, sat still, pulled the collar of my stolen coat tighter around my neck, and let the monsters do their worst.

Several minutes later, I blinked my eyes open. I spent a few more seconds steadying my breath, watching it roll from my mouth as shaky white clouds. Only then did I begin to pay attention to my surroundings.

It was dark, but then it was January and it was early. I never slept late any more. I was on the back seat of a bus that was parked up at the depot. We’d been sleeping here for the last few nights. Not the same bus every time, but the same depot, sneaking through a hole in the fence long after the place had been locked up for the night.

We took it in turns sleeping on the back seat. It was a padded bench, designed to take five or six passengers. This made it much longer than the other seats, and so more comfortable to sleep on. Not
comfortable
, but
more
comfortable.

Last night had been my night up the back, so tonight I’d be on one of the two-seaters. I was dreading it already.

‘Ameena.’

Her name came out as a whisper of white mist. Sometimes, my early-morning screaming fit would wake her up, but more and more often these days she was able to sleep through it. Maybe she was getting used to it, or maybe she was just too tired to respond. Either way, she hadn’t reacted this morning.

‘Ameena,’ I said again, louder this time. It was too early for anyone to be at the depot, but there was still part of me that was too afraid to talk at normal volume, in case it attracted attention. Ameena had laughed when I’d told her that. Everything we’d been through, and I was scared of a telling off from a bus driver.

I didn’t want to risk raising my voice any more, so I took hold of the cold metal handle on the back of the seat in front and leaned over it.

‘Ameena?’

No. Not Ameena. Not anyone.

I looked to the seat across the aisle. Empty. I looked along the aisle itself, squinting through the gloom. No shape curled up on the floor. No legs stretched out across the gap. No signs of life anywhere.

I’d woken up alone. This was very unusual.

We’d been on the run for two weeks. Well, technically I’d been on the run, and Ameena had just been keeping me company. The police thought I’d killed my mum’s cousin. They also thought I’d attacked my mum, beating her so violently she’d been left in a coma, barely clinging to life.

I hadn’t done either of them. But I’d confessed to both.

Long story.

I’d had to fake taking Ameena hostage to get past the police at the hospital. Amazingly, it had worked, and we’d managed to get away without being caught.

For days afterwards, our faces were all over the newspapers. The TV too, probably, although I hadn’t exactly had time to tune in. We’d kept moving, never settling in one place for long, sleeping in alleyways and in doorways and, on one particularly stormy night, a bus shelter.

It was the bus shelter that had given Ameena the idea of finding the bus depot. We’d been spending the night there ever since, going to sleep together every night, and waking up together every morning.

Until today.

‘Ameena.’

I said her name again, more for the comfort of hearing it spoken out loud than anything else. She wasn’t on the bus, and that raised one very obvious question: where was she?

The windows were thick with frost, making it impossible to see anything but the hazy glow of the streetlights on the pavement beyond the depot fence. There was nothing else for it. If Ameena wasn’t on the bus, I’d have to go out and find her.

Go outside.

In the dark.

Alone.

Recent events told me this probably wasn’t a great idea, but what choice did I have? Had I been the one missing, Ameena wouldn’t hesitate before coming to find me. I owed her the same, at least.

I headed for the door, checking each row of seats, hoping I’d find her curled up on one of them, snoring softly. By the time I made it to the front, all my hopes were dashed.

She was out
there
somewhere, and I had no idea where or why. I pulled my coat tighter, took a steadying breath, and reached for the door.

Before my fingers were anywhere near it, the door opened noisily, folding inwards like a concertina. I stepped back, tripping over the step and landing heavily on the floor as a figure stepped from the darkness, bringing with it a cloud of cold, frosty air.

‘Morning, kiddo,’ Ameena said. Her teeth were chattering as she pushed the door closed and held up a flimsy white carrier bag. ‘Say hello to breakfast.’

I ran my finger along the inside of the plastic sandwich-pack, scooping up the last few stray crumbs. We’d had half the sandwich each, washed down by swigs from a one-litre carton of milk.

Only when we’d finished the lot did I ask where it had come from.

‘Petrol station,’ Ameena replied, crushing the milk carton and stuffing it back in the now-empty bag. ‘Found some money on the floor when I was going to sleep. Thought I’d give us a treat.’

I suspected Ameena wasn’t telling me the whole truth, but I wasn’t about to start asking questions. The sandwich had been the only thing I’d eaten in the last 24 hours, and I was beyond caring where or how she’d managed to get her hands on it.

‘I was worried,’ I admitted. ‘Thought someone had...’ I left the sentence hanging there, not quite sure what I’d thought had happened to her.

‘Kidnapped me?’ she said.

I nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘Murdered me?’

‘Well...’

‘Fed me to their evil crow army?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

She shook her head. ‘Nope. Just buying sandwiches.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s OK then.’

We were both on the back seat, facing each other, our feet almost touching. She slid backwards and leaned against the window. I did the same, then leaned forward again when the frosty glass began to bite at me through the thin coat.

‘So, what’s the plan for today? Some fine dining? A shopping spree?’ Ameena asked. ‘Roaming the streets for hours, then legging it every time we see a cop? The decision, Mr Alexander, is you—’

‘I want to go home.’

‘Oh. Right.’ She blinked, and I could almost hear her brain processing this information. ‘I dunno...’

‘I just...’ I lowered my head and looked at my hands. They were knotted together for warmth, so I couldn’t tell which fingers belonged to which hand. ‘We won’t stay long. I just... I want to see it.’

It was Ameena’s turn to lean forward. ‘She won’t be there,’ she said, her voice taking on a soft edge she hardly ever used. ‘Your mum. The papers said she was still in the—’

‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘I know that. But that was three days ago, and it’s...’ I untangled my hands and stared down at my open palms. ‘I just need to see it.’

‘It’s a long way.’ Ameena looked around at the inside of the bus. ‘And we’ve got it good here. Roof over our head. Something to sleep on. It could be a lot worse.’

I didn’t say anything. Ameena wasn’t going for the idea, I could tell.

‘Of course, we could have it even better,’ she continued, ‘if someone would use his magic powers to—’

‘Stop it,’ I said flatly. ‘They’re not
magic powers
. And I told you already, I’m not using them again. Not unless it’s an emergency.’

‘But you could—’

‘We don’t
know
what I could do!’ I snapped, and I realised I was standing up now, glaring down at her.

I’d first discovered my “magic powers” while fighting Mr Mumbles. It started with an itchy tingling across my scalp. Next thing I knew, things I imagined started to become real. I’d used the power to defeat Mr Mumbles, but I’d since found out that it was more dangerous than I could’ve guessed.

‘The Crowmaster told me that every time I use my, my
... abilities
, I’m playing right into my dad’s hands.’

‘The Crowmaster said a lot of things,’ Ameena shrugged. ‘Don’t think he was the most trustworthy of sources, to be honest.’

‘Well, I’m not taking the chance. Not unless there’s no other choice,’ I replied, lowering my voice again. ‘My dad told me that one day I’d help him kill everyone on Earth, and I don’t want to risk proving him right.’

Ameena shook her head, then gave another half-hearted shrug. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said. ‘But you
could
just conjure us up a cake or something. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s ever been killed by a French Fancy.’

I opened my mouth to argue, but then saw the smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

‘Shut up,’ I said, smiling on the inside, if not the outside. ‘So, are we going home or what?’

Down at the front of the bus, the door slid open with a soft
hiss
. We ducked at the same time, dropping to the floor behind a row of seats. The bus dipped to the left a little as someone heavy climbed inside.

Ameena mouthed something to me from the other side of the aisle. I had absolutely no idea what it was, so I just shrugged in reply. She shrugged back, leaving me even more confused than I had been. As I tried to guess what she’d said, the door of the bus hissed closed.

There was silence for a moment, before footsteps clacked along the aisle, slow and steady, like the ticking of an old clock. With every step the floor beneath us gave a slight shake. The vibrations got worse as the steps drew closer and closer, until...

‘
Ruddy Nora!
’

The voice was sharp and panicked. I looked up into the wobbly face of a grey-haired man. ‘Oi!’ he cried. ‘Who are...? What are...? Why...?’ His voice trailed off. ‘Oi!’ he said again, although you could tell his heart wasn’t in it this time.

Ameena stood up first. I was a second or two behind her. The man took a step backwards, eyeing us nervously. He was slightly shorter than Ameena, a little taller than me, wider than both of us combined. He wore a light blue shirt with a dark blue tie and a badge identifying him as “Dave Morgan, Driver”.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his eyes constantly flitting between us. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’

‘Says who?’ Ameena demanded.

‘Sorry,’ I said quickly. Ameena had a lot of strengths, but diplomacy wasn’t one of them. ‘We didn’t... It was freezing. We didn’t have anywhere else to go.’

Dave Morgan, Driver, kept his gaze on me. ‘What,’ he began, ‘you homeless or something?’

I nodded.

‘Bloody Hell,’ he mumbled. His round shoulders seemed to sag. ‘How old are you?’

‘Thirteen,’ I told him.

His eyes opened wide. ‘
Thirteen?
And you’re...’ He shook his head. To his credit, he looked genuinely concerned. ‘Bloody Hell. That’s not right. That’s not right, that. There must be somewhere you can go?’

Neither of us replied.

‘We could get you to the police,’ he suggested. ‘They’ll find a—’

‘No!’ Ameena and I both said it at the same time. The driver must’ve heard something in our voices, or spotted something in our eyes, because he took another step back, suddenly suspicious. He looked at Ameena for a long time, then back to me. A flicker of a frown crossed his face.

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘I know you. You’re them kids from the news, aren’t you?’ He glared at me. ‘You’re the one what killed that woman.’