Tube Riders, The (16 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Preparations

While Switch and Paul both headed south, Marta headed north. Feeling reluctant to go back to the train station, instead she jumped on the first bus that came past, feeling safer off the street.

It took her on a long, circuitous route around the outer city centre towards Camden Town, near where she lived now. Instead of getting off, though, she rode for a couple more stops and then changed buses on to another route. Fifteen minutes later, she alighted on a quiet street in East Finchley and walked up a narrow residential street leading off the high street until she came to a small churchyard.

It was overgrown and untended now; the few remaining graves rising up out of the tall grass. Most of the granite and basalt stones were gone, pulled up by looters, lugged away and sold. Some less-valuable slate stones remained, along with a few varnished wooden crosses, many of them leaning bent and broken like a mouthful of crooked teeth.

Marta followed the remains of a gravel path around the side of the old church. She noticed another of the old stained glass windows had been destroyed in the months since her last visit, leaving just one intact, near the back corner. Like the others, it had been boarded up from the inside and now just a few jagged shards of coloured glass remained sticking out of the wall.

The church still functioned with a resident minister and a regular congregation, although guns were their religion now. She knew she was being watched, either from a tower or a spy-hole somewhere, maybe with a rifle or a handgun trained on her, depending on what weapons they had.

At the back of the church she followed the path through the stones to a section at the rear of the churchyard which was home to the freshest graves. There, near a low stone wall that backed onto a fenced-off alleyway, she came to a small rectangle of ground where the grass was not as long as the surrounding area. At the top end was a flat, rounded rock that had long ago been borrowed from a riverbed. Marta could just make out the words written on it in faded white paint:

John Richard Banks.

September 18
th
2022 to August 9
th
, 2072.

Forever in our hearts.

Rachel Mary Banks, beloved wife of John.

March 15
th
2026 to July 17
th
2073.

Rest in Peace.

‘Hey Mum, Dad,’ Marta said, brushing tears out of her eyes. ‘Sorry I’ve not been up here for a while, but you know how it is … busy and all that. Huh. Working hard, you know.’

The stone her brother had painted watched her in eternal silence. She hadn’t added his name to it; she refused to believe he was dead.

‘I just came to tell you that I have to go away for a while.’ She squatted down, but didn’t sit. She felt vulnerable enough already, and the memory of Jess’s parents was still fresh in her mind. ‘I don’t know for how long,’ she continued. ‘But I’m in a little trouble, I think. Some bad people are after me and my friends. I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just ... I don’t know ... wrong place, wrong time.’ She sighed. ‘I just wanted you to know, that if it all works out – which is unlikely, of course – things are going to change. We know things that could hurt the government, and … and, we’re going to tell the right people, who can fix it all, so that no one else needs to die.’

She sat down, her legs falling out from under her. ‘So, Mum, Dad, I just wanted to tell you before I go, and I hope that, whether it works out or not, I hope you’re proud of me. Because, I’m proud of you. What you tried to do for me, you know. For ... for
everything
.’

She stopped talking. She ran her fingers through the grass as a cold wind ruffled her hair. Looking up at the sky, she saw dark, spongy clouds drifting in the direction of the falling sun. To the east, the sky was almost completely dark, lit only by the glow of street lights and office buildings.

She stayed that way for quite some time, as darkness fell around her. She didn’t have a watch but she guessed from the sky that it was close to eight o’clock when she climbed to her feet. She needed to get back to her flat and grab some belongings. Every second she stayed here was a second closer that the Huntsmen got to her, but for a while she had been locked into the moment by her memories. She didn’t know if she would ever be able to come back, and she needed to say goodbye, not just to her parents’ memory, but to her entire past.

‘Hey you! Stop or you’re dead!’

Marta jumped at the voice, spinning around. After all, she’d been here a while, and most of the higher members of the congregation knew her. She heard the click of a gun being cocked, saw a slight movement in the grass not far from her. She was about to say something when a familiar voice shouted: ‘Don’t fucking shoot! I’m with her!’

‘Switch?’ She saw him now, in the shadows cast by the church. How did you…?’

‘He cool, Marta?’ A muscular blonde man carrying a rifle stood up out of the grass just yards from her. It was Craig, one of the ministers. He’d been in the grass the whole time, watching over her. How much had he overheard?

‘It’s okay, Brother Craig,’ she said, using the church’s “family” title. ‘He’s a friend. He’s cool.’

The man shouldered his rifle. ‘Long as you say so, Marta. If you have any problems, just shout.’ He walked off back towards the church, giving them some privacy. She was happy he had kept his distance; she didn’t want her scent around him, not after what she had seen today.

Switch stood a few feet away, looking a little embarrassed.

‘How did you find me? Did you follow me?’

‘I figured you might need some protection since I knew you’d come here. I had to do some, um, shopping first.’

‘Really? She raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you buy?’

He grinned, and shook his coat. It gave a metallic rustle. ‘Man toys. Oh, and a new pair of shoes. You know, since Paul didn’t keep his end of the bargain.’ He lifted a foot to show her. The sneaker looked pretty old, but it was a definite improvement on the sock.

Marta smiled. ‘Where did you get your money from? I thought you were broke.’

‘I traded.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘
Really
. What with?’

‘Promises, mostly. You know how it is. Rules of the street.’

She thought it probably best not to ask. ‘Did you get anything good?’

‘Not good enough. There’s no current market for flame throwers or hand grenades. At least not ones I can afford.’ He grinned. ‘But I got some cool shit that might help us out. Take out one or two of those canine mutant fuckers if we have to.’

Marta smiled back. ‘Switch, how do you stay so cheerful through this? We’re being hunted. We could be dead in hours.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess … hmm.’ He shook his head, searching for the right words. ‘I guess it’s just that inside, I’ve felt dead for a long time.’ He shrugged again. ‘Fuck. Not literally
dead
, you know, just … you know how it is. Idling. Like I’m just treading water, waiting for something to happen.’ She nodded in agreement. ‘And now, suddenly, we’re alive. We have something to battle for. We get to open up a can of whoop-ass in the name of revolution. If we can escape those government monsters, of course.’

‘I guess you’re right. I just wished I shared your confidence.’

He nodded towards her parents’ grave. ‘You need more time?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It’s time to go, I think.’

Back around the front of the church Brother Craig materialized out of the shadowed porch. ‘Wherever you kids are going, take care,’ he said, and then added: ‘Godspeed.’

‘So you were listening to me!’

He cocked his head. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, but you looked like you wanted your own time, and I didn’t want to blow my cover in case whatever it is that’s after you came along.’

‘It’s okay.’ Before she could stop herself, she hugged the older man. Suddenly realizing what she’d done, she stepped back and said: ‘Brother Craig, after we’re gone, go inside the church and bolt all the doors. Don’t open them for any reason. Bad things are after us.’

‘I figured that. Don’t worry, we’ve been protecting this place a long time. What are you going to do?’

She grinned. ‘Bring down the government.’

Craig laughed. ‘Well, good luck to you! It couldn’t come soon enough.’

She thanked him and they headed back out on to the street.

‘Thanks for thinking of me,’ Marta said to Switch when they were alone.

His bad eye fluttered and his cheeks darkened. Embarrassment wasn’t one of his common attributes, and it quite amused her to see it.

‘No problem,’ he said, regaining his composure. ‘I figured that being a chick and all you might get a little emotional and leave yourself open to attack.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ she agreed with a smirk. ‘Being a chick and all. Don’t you need to grab some stuff? I have to get back to my flat to get my handbag and my makeup, but we don’t have much time.’

Switch smiled. ‘There’s something I never told you about where I live,’ he said. ‘It’s St. Cannerwells. I kind of live there.’

‘
Live
there?’

‘In one of the old shops. I can just grab anything I need on the way back, though as a general rule I carry everything important with me.’

Marta shook her head. ‘You’re crazy, Switch. I suppose at least it’s warm down there –’

Switch put a hand on her arm to cut her off. The strength of his grip surprised her, his fingers digging into her skin.

‘What are you doing…?’

‘Marta, we’ve got a problem.’ He pointed down the street, past the scatterings of vendors setting up street stalls outside shops and wholesale markets, to where a dirty London Underground sign identified West Finchley. A man in a robe had just emerged from the stairs and was looking up and down the street. His face was covered by a hood, and his head was moving in an arc around his chin, swinging from side to side like a pendulum on a clock, almost as if he was smelling the air.

‘Please God tell me that’s not–’ Marta began.

‘Um, yeah, I think it is. I saw one on a train a couple of days ago. They were transporting it, I think. I was having a practice.’

The figure turned and began to walk in their direction, quickly picking up pace. It moved like a man, but with its head stooped forward as though straining to see something on the ground.

‘Oh shit,’ Switch said. ‘It’s following my trail. I came by tube. I rode. It’s tracking me.’

‘Come on,’ Marta said, her heart hammering. ‘We can hide from it, maybe double back around into the station.’

‘I say we stay and fight it,’ Switch said, turning around. ‘I got some stuff that might work.’

Marta looked back down the street. The Huntsman had started into a slow jog. It was heading right for them.

‘Uh, no, if it was you alone I’d say go for it, but since I’m here I say we run.’ She grabbed his arm, pulling him back up the street. He didn’t need much encouragement; pretty soon he was outpacing her despite his injury.

‘Is it gaining on us?’ he gasped.

‘I don’t know … this way!’

They took a turn towards Finchley town centre, large abandoned office buildings looming up on either side of them. Marta glanced back. The Huntsman was just three hundred feet behind and closing fast, running at a full sprint.

‘Quick! In here!’ Switch said, grabbing her arm and pulling her sharply into the foyer of an abandoned building. ‘Back there, get up the stairs! I have a plan.’

Marta didn’t hesitate. She pushed through a fire-door and sprinted up a metal staircase. Below her, Switch was trying to jam the door shut. From the second floor landing she watched him stick a knife into the lock and turn it, then jam an old chair under the long handle of the fire-door. Suddenly something slammed into the door from the other side, rocking it on its hinges.

Marta yelped with fear. Switch shouted something at the door then rushed after her up the stairs. ‘Go on, run!’ he shouted. ‘It won’t hold for long, but we just have to stall it.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘All the way up. The roof.’

‘Oh, God. Why?’

‘Just go!’

Marta dashed up the fire escape, feeling the burn in her thighs as she turned each corner and rushed up each new flight of stairs. She’d judged the building to be six or eight floors tall, but passing a door into the ninth floor, and with a couple more turns above her, she wondered if she’d make it. Far below, she heard a splintering sound, followed by a crash, and then a growl as the Huntsman burst through the fire-door.

She couldn’t help but look back. As she did so, she heard a rough scream, a noise that sounded like a word fed through a salt grinder:

‘
Stop!
’

She shivered, the word cutting right through her. She stared down towards the floor far below, saw something rushing up the stairs towards them, moving so fast it was a blur.