London Under Midnight Part 7

'This is our bridge.' The man angled his shaved head so he could see what Ped had inscribed. 'You've no friggin' right.'

Another of the guys peered over. 'Hey, who's there with you?'

'Just my brother.'

'What's he doing?'

'He gets scared sometimes.'

One of the shaved heads tilted to one side. 'Hey, I know him. It's Sparky.'

Ped shook his head. 'That was at school. His name's Mickey.'

'Sparky Lectric. That's what we called him. He's scared of batteries and plug sockets, anything to do with electricity.'

'I don't care what the f.u.c.k they call him.' The gang leader's eyes blazed with fury. 'They've messed our logo.'

'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to slash your piece.'

The leader pointed. 'You? I'm going to break your arms. Your brother? We're taking him down to the track to fry his d.i.c.k on the live rail.'

'We'll go home. We didn't-'

'Get them!'

The gang weren't listening. Ped knew that he and his brother were in for a kicking at least.

'Come on, Mickey. On your feet!'

'Electric Man.'

'If we don't get away they're going to hurt us, Mickey. Move!'

Ped noticed that the gang split into two. One pair to block the end of the gantry, while the others would trap them at the other side, then work into the middle. Ped bundled Mickey along the gantry as a train hummed beneath them. Electric contacts shot sparks from under the carriages. Mickey groaned with fear.

'Mickey, listen. We're going down the ladder. Then we cross the track. See the ca.n.a.l at the far side? There's a path we can use.'

As much as mapping out the route it was a way of distracting his brother from what would be the biggest obstacle. Mickey would have to step over the high-voltage rail. Just to see that gleaming band of steel was enough to scare the bejesus out of him. To get close would freak him out. 'It's either that or get pounded,' Ped grunted. 'I'll go down the ladder first. Follow me. But fast, okay?'

In the gloom he could see the gang members, who were going to seal one end of the gantry, had already climbed over the bridge wall, then they'd jump the last five feet on to the steel pathway. Down the ladder was the only exit.

'Keep following me, bro,' Ped called. His brother obeyed. The kid might be cursed with a phobia but he wasn't simple. He knew the gang wanted to hurt him, so the two brothers clanged their way down the ladder that was fixed to the wall. Soon they descended into a deep cutting where the trains clattered.

Ped glanced up. The gang had reached the top of the ladder. One of them was pointing down, so they'd spotted their prey. 'Keep moving, bro!' He climbed down another dozen rungs to where a light was fixed to the brickwork alongside the ladder. Ped zipped by it without a second thought, then he noticed his brother had stopped just a couple of feet above it.

'Come on, Mickey. You can't stop now.'

'I'm going back up.'

'No!'

The steel ladder convulsed under his hands as the gang swarmed on to it; they descended with their boots clumping against the rungs. In ten seconds they'd reach Mickey; then what? Stamp on his hands until they made him fall the twenty feet to the tracks below?

'Mickey,' Ped hissed. 'Hurry up.'

'Can't.'

'What's wrong?'

'Light.'

'It's just a light.'

'Red for danger. Danger of death. Electricity.'

'd.a.m.n.' Ped eyeballed the b.l.o.o.d.y light. It was nothing special; merely one of those signal lights that festoon the London Underground. Only to Mickey it represented danger. It was danger. Mickey saw it as a pulsating reservoir of electricity - a swarming hive of amps, volts and watts that were waiting to attack him. The kid probably imagined the light would fire a jet of crimson electricity at him that would blast through his body to make his bones pulse with that same blood-red light before burning the flesh from him. Mickey panted with sheer panic. Above him, the skinheads were descending fast. Soon the first boot would smash down on his brother's head.

'Mickey. It can't hurt you.'

'Red for danger. It'll burn.'

'No, it won't. Look.' Ped slapped the flat of his hand against the light. It wasn't even hot, but try telling his brother that. Mickey just moaned and closed his eyes.

One of the thugs shouted, 'Hey, Sparky? Sparky Lectric! We're gonna take you down to the live rail. You know something? A million volts go shooting through it. If you drop a rat on that it explodes. Boom!' The skinheads laughed. 'We're gonna pull your d.i.c.k out of your underpants then stick it on the electric rail. Can't you just see what's going to happen to it? Just get that picture in your mind's eye. Your p.r.i.c.k touching all that electricity. It'll go black. Shrivel up! Then your b.a.l.l.s are going to get hotter and hottera then boom!'

Mickey's scream echoed along the cutting.

Ped yelled up at the gang. 'Shut up! Can't you see he's scared?'

The gang could easily have reached Mickey now, but they were laughing so much at his terrified screams that they had to hang on to the ladder as they roared with hilarity. This gave Ped a chance. He pulled the aerosol from his jacket pocket.

'Mickey. Watch me. Please, open your eyes. See what I'm doing. I'm putting a circle around the light.' He sprayed a ring of florescent green round the red light. 'See, bro. I've closed it in. I've trapped it. Now it can't hurt you.' He reached up and yanked his brother's ankle. 'Now move!'

Mickey stared at the red light with the gleaming boundary of green. In his eyes the paint had become the protecting force field. The magic s.h.i.+eld that stopped electrons streaming from the lamp to sear his face. Gulping repeatedly, he quickly descended; so fast, in fact, that he stepped on Ped's fingers.

'That's alright, bro. You can stand on my face if you want to. Just keep moving. That's beautiful. Yeah, beautiful, Mickey. You're doing the business.'

Seconds later they reached the gravel base of the cutting. Across the rails he could see the gleam of ca.n.a.l water. Nearly there. He glanced up. The skinheads' anger at being thwarted from simply booting Mickey off the ladder had killed their fit of laughter. Now they were h.e.l.l-bent on catching their victims. The ladder shook as their boots clattered on the rungs. The clatter became a thunder. It was so loud it made the ground tremble. For a moment he believed it was the force of those feet cras.h.i.+ng down the ladder. Then a flicker of light raced across the horizon. 'Great,' Ped muttered, 'all this and a thunderstorm, too.'

He grabbed Mickey by the elbow. After a train had pa.s.sed, all lights as it clanked forward in the darkness, he urged his brother to move. Mickey's legs froze as he saw the dreaded live power rail in front of him. Running between the two rails that accommodated the wheels of the train, it was a thick continuous band of iron that even for Ped appeared to pulse with ominous energy.

'For G.o.d's sake, step over it when we cross. Don't touch it.'

But Mickey had clearly decided to go nowhere near it.

'C'mon, Mickey. We've got to cross over the rails. It's the only way we can escape those guys.'

Mickey shook his head.

'Don't worry. I can make it safe.' Ped leant over the track. He'd use the aerosol to spray two parallel lines. Then Mickey could walk through with the protecting lines on either side of him. Okay, its protective power only existed in Mickey's imagination, but it would be enough. He painted the first green line across the live power line. However, as he tried to spray the second, only a hiss of propellant emerged from the atomizer. Not so much as a drop of green. Behind him, the thugs reached the bottom of the ladder.

One shouted, 'We're going to fry your d.i.c.k, too!'

A train roared down the track. Ped saw its lights in the distance. Another twenty seconds and this wouldn't be a healthy place for two very good reasons. The gang, or the train, was going to leave their mark, and Mickey had locked up tight with fear. His eyes bulged as he stared at the electrified metal bar that fed the motors of the approaching train.

Ped shook the aerosol and tried again. Just that fizzing sound. No paint. No way of creating a magical pathway for his brother.

'I'm going to have to drag you across.' He seized Mickey, but the kid seemed to have embedded himself in the gravel. No amount of wild horses, nor desperate siblings, were going to haul him across the line of living death. As Ped tried to wrestle the man forward he felt a hard cylinder in his brother's jacket pocket.

'Why didn't you tell me you had a can!'

Mickey merely stared at the electrified rail without uttering a word. Ped dragged the can from his pocket.

As he sprayed the green line across the track, he shouted, 'See what I'm doing? I've sprayed you a magic road. The electricity can't hurt you.' As long as you don't touch the live rail, was his unvoiced thought. 'Okay, Mickey. Run.'

Mickey leapt over the rail like a gazelle. Ped followed.

Behind him, those booted feet clattered over the gravel. To his right the train roared down at them. It was nothing less than a h.e.l.l-storm of light and noise and movement. Twenty tons of electric-driven locomotive that would splatter any human standing in its way. Ped could swear that the carriage-work brushed a heel as he raced after his brother. Mickey didn't stop now. He leapt over the fence then ran down the slope to the ca.n.a.l towpath.

Five seconds later he stopped. In the light falling from buildings across the ca.n.a.l three figures stood in their way. To one side of them were the glistening waters, on the other side ran a high fence.

'h.e.l.l!' Ped screamed. 'There's more of them.' The gang must have sent some of its members down here. They had the foresight to appreciate that their victims might try to escape this way. The figures didn't move. They were purely silhouettes of ominous intent. Silently, they stood there, blocking the path as effectively as a brick wall.

Ped was running short of options. Nevertheless, he grabbed his brother and dragged him into the bushes that formed a green boundary ten feet deep between this section of path and fence. With luck there might be a gap that would allow their escape. A moment later he knew that there wasn't. The steel fence hemmed them in. All the pair could do was crouch there in the darkness. The gang would find them. That much was sure.

Then Mickey whispered, 'Those threea'

'I know. The gang sent them to cut us off.' He sighed. 'I'm sorry, bro.'

'They aren't skinheads.'

Ped groaned. 'Don't start this now. They're not electric men. Electric men don't exist.'

'No, they're not electric men.' Mickey spoke with conviction. 'They're not any kind of men.'

Ped risked a peek through the foliage. Only it wasn't the three figures he saw, it was the gang of four with their shaved heads. This is where thug collided with something altogether more monstrous. And when the end came it was fast, brutal, b.l.o.o.d.y.

Ped heard one of the gang snarl, 'Get out of our way.'

Then came weird grunts as if a pack of hungry carnivores had found fresh meat. A second later Ped watched the thugs run back toward the track. They were howling in terror. The hunters now the hunted. It was too dark to see much but suddenly figures flashed by with the speed of panthers. They pounced on the skinheads in a furious maelstrom of movement. All Ped could make out was that the figures from the ca.n.a.l path were biting the men. He saw heads twisting from side to side as they bit through skin. Just for a second a blue-white face lifted itself from the frenzy of limbs. Ped had the impression that the owner of that uncanny face had raised their head so they could swallow a ma.s.sive mouthful of food. But what kind of food?

The face was female. It was smeared with blood. Worse than the sight of blood was the expression of rapacious gluttony. Ped listened to excited grunts, then came a gulping as if thirsty people drank - noa more than thirsty - these were individuals maddened by thirst. They quenched their arid throats in an orgy of drinking. Meanwhile, the skinhead gang fell silent. After a moment of stillness came splashes from the ca.n.a.l as heavy objects dropped into the water.

When it had been silent for a time Ped emerged from the bushes with his brother beside him. The path was deserted. Briefly, ripples ran across the surface of the waterway. Mickey watched something gliding through the dark waters. Ped made a point of not watching. A sixth sense warned him that his sleep would be haunted by nightmares for years to come if he did see what manner of creature swam there.

Then came a scuffling sound from the bushes. One of the skinheads blundered by them; he wasn't interested in the brothers now. His blood-smeared face was furrowed with worry. He stared down at a heap of wet things in his hands. The thug carried his own intestines where they spilled out through a gash in his belly. As he walked he made gasping cries. Whether that was shock or pain Ped wasn't sure. All he could do was watch in stunned silence as that man cradled his own b.l.o.o.d.y entrails in his two hands.

The brothers saw the shaven-headed man stagger back toward the railway track. The intestines were slippery. It must have been like carrying a mound of soft, wet pasta. A length of it slipped through his fingers. Clearly, he was so deep in shock that he never noticed the five-foot strip of flesh dragging behind him.

'Electricity,' Mickey whispered. 'Danger of death.'

The skinhead limped on, trailing his flesh behind him.

'Voltage,' Mickey intoned. 'Amps.'

The intestine dragged through the dirt, then across the first track where it touched the live rail. Violet lightning blasted up the b.l.o.o.d.y ribbon into the man's body. As he convulsed a howl of agony burst from his lips.

Mickey stared as the man collapsed on the live rail that emitted searing flashes, which engulfed the body in an ocean of blue fire.

For the first time in his entire life Mickey was calm as he nodded. 'Electric Man,' he whispered. 'Electric Man dead.'

ELEVEN.

At midnight Ben Ashton walked down to the river to look into the water. The hermit in his boat atop the pole had warned that London was under threat. Only was that a threat from an actual, touchable enemy? Or did Elmo Kigoma mean a spiritual threat? He'd talked about Edshu the trickster G.o.d testing the city's people. If they pa.s.sed the test then they would live, if not, they'd be destroyed. Although the hermit hadn't been able to reveal the ident.i.ty of the Vampire Sharkz graffiti writer it did lend a different dimension to the article now. The plot thickens, as they say. He could draw Elmo's warning into the investigation of the mysterious graffiti. After all, Elmo was a famous figure now. He'd been featured widely in the media. For a while there'd even been 'Elmo Watch', a live observation camera that could be accessed by 'pressing the red b.u.t.ton' on digital news channels. The downside of using Elmo's words was that many considered him a nut. Ben didn't think so. That's why he'd left the comfort of his apartment for this midnight riverside stroll.

At the barrier between path and river Ben gazed down into the water. It reflected what appeared to be around a million city lights, so it was difficult to see past those s.h.i.+mmering glints on the surface to whatever might lurk beneath. Maybe Elmo's poetic use of language might have confused a simple explanation; maybe the old man had been talking about pollution in the river? After all, those exotic p.r.o.nouncements about 'saving your life', and the touch of Edshu were Elmo's way of saying consume less; that the secret of longevity was a more Spartan diet. Yet Ben liked the man. He'd been impressed by the octogenarian's pa.s.sion to save his fellow human beings.

Thunder grumbled over the capital. In the distance forked lightning sped from the sky. Humidity combined with the heat to make even breathing uncomfortable. The rain, when it finally arrived after this hot spell, would be a relief. Ben stared into the river for a while. Patches of oil made iridescent rainbow patterns for the city's lights to fool around with and make gorgeous, if fleeting, artworks. Beyond that there was nothing he could see. Certainly nothing to threaten a city of seven million people.

Okay, he told himself. Another ten minutes, then home to bed. Elmo's warning about a danger in the river was starting to look symbolic in some way that Ben failed to grasp. Not that the river appealed to him. To even glance at it usually brought back that old memory of the corpse in the water. Who needs ghosts when you have memory to haunt you?

As he varied the focus of his eyes in an attempt to peer past that glistening surface of the Thames, his phone sang out. When he answered he saw the caller's ID on screen.

'Raj,' he said before his caller could begin. 'You're more predator than editor. I'm on to it. I've another week before the deadline. I'll have your Vampire Sharkz artist in the next twenty-four hours.'

'I'm not calling about the article.' The editor's voice was chillingly grave. Immediately Ben tensed. 'Ben, are you alone?'

'I'm just outside my apartment.'

Raj paused for a moment. 'There's no easy way to say this, because I know you and April Connor were close friends.'

'April? What's happened?'

'I don't have all the facts but I've just heard from a colleague of April's that she and her boyfriend were attacked a couple of nights ago.'

'Are they hurt?'

'Well, that's just it. Her boyfriend is in hospital with head injuries. But there's no trace of Aprila Ben, she's vanished.'

As Ben stood there with the phone pressed to his ear the first drops of rain began to fall.