Discoredia, page 25
Furnace like heat, radiating from the burning wreckage of the downed chopper, greeted him. People ran every which way in an effort to flee from the terror in which they had been imprisoned. An explosion off to the right sent red-hot shrapnel flying across the courtyard. One piece almost decapitated a bloke in a Hardcore Heaven t-shirt, another was embedded into the stomach of a confused guy in a white tracksuit. Warren watched the man’s expression swiftly change from bewilderment to the blank look of the dead as he fell to his knees. A blood red apron spreading over his legs, before he fell forward as if to kiss the star of his favorite DJ.
The crowd was thinning out as it moved into the courtyard. Warren veered off to his left, as the last explosion came from the direction of the food stall. He doubted that they’d only brought a single gas canister. He was almost at the wall when he saw Emma. He had no real chance to save Steve, even less to save the girl caught in the stampede. The whole mess was, in large, his fault. There was enough blood on his hands already, and he had a chance to save at least one person from the surrounding mayhem.
Emma looked dazed and confused, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. She shied away from him as he approached, his arms wide in a gesture designed to offer protection. And then a flicker of recognition as she realized who he was, the shaking eased, but she didn’t greet him with any sense of relief; she greeted him with the anger of a Fury.
“You. Don’t you dare come near me; this is your fault! You let this happen, you fucking murdering arsehole!” She was screaming and looked ready to pounce on him and throttle the life out of him. “I saw you kill that man, too. I hope you burn in hell.”
It was no time for a debate, no time to suggest he was already in hell and she was with him. The fire was spreading, and although the killing seemed to have stopped, he had no intention of lingering in the courtyard for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
“I didn’t spike the pills and I didn’t force people to take them, but if you want to blame me, fine. I killed that glass muncher before he killed us, but again, you want to blame me, fine. And if you want to die here, that’s fine too, but if you want to live, let’s get the fuck out of here.” He held out his hand as he spoke. If she took it, so be it. If not, he’d leave her to whatever fate destiny had in store.
“But the zombies,” she said, pointing behind him as she did so.
At this, he turned and looked. How had he missed it before? Admittedly, not everyone was affected, but amongst the throng of people spilling out of the main hall, he could see who she was referring to. Released of Neromark’s enchantment maybe, but the effects were still visible––open sores, flesh pealing away from arms, legs, and faces. It was the mutations Neromark had told him to expect when he knew him as Mr. Woodrose. The changing DNA was making his customers resemble the walking dead to an ever greater degree than normal.
“They don’t seem to be paying us any attention at the moment, so let’s make the best of it and get out of here.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, feeling some degree of relief as she followed his lead.
Another mutant stumbled toward them with his eyes rolling into his head and spittle drooling from the corners of his mouth. His head was bent onto his right shoulder. From the left side of his neck grew something that looked like a mushroom with a blackened purple head, but also appeared to be pulsing like a jellyfish. A rhythmic throbbing, perhaps in time to the heartbeat of its host. The mutant tried to speak. Warren pushed him aside, causing him to tumble feebly to the ground. His body fell still as the thing in his neck continuing to throb, with spores puffing from it in little purple clouds.
“Come on,” said Warren.
“Where to?” she asked, as she stared at the pulsating growth emanating from the unfortunate man who appeared to be decomposing right before her eyes, with his body providing nourishment to whatever was using him as a human grow-bag. She thought she recognized him, but there was no time for the memory to be recalled.
“Come on,” Warren repeated, shaking her as he spoke. “The garage. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
He pulled her after him, barging a chubby girl out of the way, whose face had melted and then reset; her right eye was running down her cheek like the white of a fried egg.
“WARREN”
He heard the shout despite the crowd, the ongoing THUMP THUMP THUMP of the music, and the numerous fires crackling around them. It was as if the shout was in his head. Both he and Emma turned.
In the doorway of the south tower, stood Mike. The doorman who used his homemade, Blue bloody Peter, rocket launcher to down the chopper, which was burning in the courtyard. He was armed with a traditional piece of weaponry: the five-foot long broadsword that had, until recently, decorated Warren’s office. His belt was stuffed full of fireworks, with more stuffed down the back of his black bomber jacket. “Time to die Warren,” he said, as he strode forward.
For Warren it was time to make a stand. He had run, and Steve had died. He would run no more. But there was no need for the girl by his side to suffer the same fate, and he was certain that Mike would be happy to turn on her once he had the chance. Sacrificing himself would afford him a slight degree of redemption.
Pressing the key for his Land Rover into her palm, Warren told Emma to go. And go she did. No Come too, or Save yourself… not even a Thanks. She just went. She owed him nothing; he’d cost her everything.
He wished he had a weapon, but had none. If he kept his gun he could have used it as a club, but he didn’t. He was unarmed, facing a man renowned for his steroid abuse, who was equipped with one, big, fuck off, sword.
The coming together of the two couldn’t even be described as a fight; it was an execution. Mike ran forward and Warren was too slow to react. The sword, leveled like a lance, pierced his side and ran him through before Mike collided into him and took him to the ground. The impact forced the sword through his body. Mike stood up and pulled it free; blood gushed from the wound like a fountain. He stood over his former employer, savoring his moment of victory.
Warren’s body may have been slow, but his mind was racing. Grabbing a burning flyer from the ground he used it to ignite the fuse of one of the fireworks strapped around Mike’s waist. The look of victory on his face changed as soon as the fuse spluttered into life. The sparks from it ignited a second rocket, which lit a third, and a fourth. He dropped the sword and beat his hands against his sides but it was no use. If he’d had the presence of mind to drop on the floor and roll around he may have had success, but he didn’t.
The first rocket went off, scorching his chest and face as it shot into the night sky, as did a second. The third caught him beneath the chin, penetrating his mouth, lighting him up like a Halloween pumpkin. He fell back, keeping his footing as the rest of the rockets shot off in all directions. It was a brief display, but the damage was done. The human firework stumbled away from Warren before falling to the ground, with a final rocket arching lazily into the sky before crashing to earth like a shooting star across the midnight sky.
Warren pushed himself onto his elbows. “Fuck you, you’re sacked,” he said, through a mouthful of blood, and blacked out.
CHAPTER 39
He couldn’t have been out long, a minute at the most. He could see someone approaching. It was a figure he recognized, despite looking younger than he had when they first met, and older than when on stage, stealing the life from the crowd, like the pied piper stealing the children of Hamelin. It was Woodrose, Neromark, the mother-fucking mischief demon.
Checkmate, thought Warren. I lose.
Neromark smiled in greeting. As he hunkered down beside Warren’s head he wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his host’s mouth. His hand felt as cold as it had on the first day they had met. Cold like a corpse.
“I must confess to feeling a little guilty, Mr. Charlton. You built this place as a shining edifice to your lost love, a hardcore Taj Mahal, so to speak. Then I come along and destroy everything, fill it with death and destruction. I’ve had such an excellent time, too. Please, accept my apologies and share a drink with me.” Neromark offered Warren the small silver flask he took from his coat pocket. “It will dull the pain and ease your transition to the other side.”
Warren took the flask and drank. The whisky tasted sweet and warm as it ran down his throat. He wanted to tell the madman to get fucked, lunge at him, and beat the crap out of him, but the fight was gone; his body was shutting down. He was too weak to move and could feel death’s icy grip upon him, extinguishing the whisky-fire in his belly.
All around him was chaos: screams, fire, discord, all set to a remorseless soundtrack of hardcore techno booming from the main hall.
But there was serenity––he lay, waiting to die, talking to a man who was… what, a demon? He decided to ask; the concentration needed to speak and listen eased the pain.
“Who… what, are you?”
Neromark looked at him and winked. “I have been many, and am many more, too many to tell you of here, as your time is short. But I suppose I do owe you some form of explanation. You won’t be getting the benefit of the sixty thousand pounds I paid you for tonight’s extravaganza, will you? Unless you have spent it already, a place like this must have cost an arm and a leg.”
He took the flask from the dying man, took a drink, and passed it back. Another explosion sent chunks of metal screeching through the air. Neromark never flinched. The only movement he made was to suppress a small chuckle. The situation obviously amused him. He helped Warren lift the flask to his lips and allowed him a sip as he continued with his story.
“My kind walked the Earth many thousands of years ago, ruling a green and bountiful land entombed beneath the icy wastes you know as Antarctica. We possessed knowledge, which in many ways, surpasses that of the modern world, knowledge of what would now be deemed magic, sorcery, alchemy. Knowledge of space and time, the natural order of the world, the eternal spirit. Such knowledge, however, could not save us from the comet that was hurtling toward us from the outer reaches of the solar system. We did not care, of course, for we did not fear death. We knew it was not an end, just a change of state. Something you shall soon experience for yourself.”
Warren took another drink, the warmth stopping half way down his gullet as death tightened its grip upon him. He had no idea if what he was being told was true, but after what he had seen, he wouldn’t be surprised if the man was part of an ancient master race of psychopaths.
“As the comet approached, most of us waited for the inevitable, the scenes in the night sky were truly a sight to behold. A thousand time’s greater than the display you so kindly provided us with this evening. Admittedly, a few did set out as ambassadors to the four corners of the Earth, to preserve our knowledge. A handful went to Egypt, some to Cambodia, some to the Americas. They lived as Gods and bred with the primitives they ruled over, ensuring our bloodline lived on, although only in a tainted and diluted form. On the whole, we waited to die and die we did. And once we crossed to the other plane we used our superior intellect to impose our rule upon those who had gone before us: the Neanderthals and the primitive men. For a time all was well, as it had been here on Earth. But we were a divided society and over time the schisms grew until we fought amongst ourselves and separated to create what you would call heaven and hell. You shall be visiting the latter soon, although it is not as you would imagine, and you should not be unduly fearful. You certainly won’t find little red devils with pitchforks to ram up your backside.” At this Neromark laughed.
Warren didn’t feel like laughing, his time could be measured in minutes and he no longer had the energy to drink from the flask held loosely in his hand.
“No. No need to be fearful. Heaven and hell are merely cultural opposites. That, however, you shall find out for yourself. It was my story you were intrigued by, was it not? No need to answer. I can see there is little life left in you and it would be a shame for you to miss the end of my tale.”
All around was chaos. Here was calm. Warren lay as still as a child listening to a bedtime story, but with the eternal sleep of Hades and Persephone, rather than the temporary embrace of Morpheus trying to claim him before the story was done.
“So we split, and the two realms of the afterworld were established. Some of us missed the old place, an irrational homesickness, yet homesickness all the same. So we found a way back, using the raw power of the lost souls of the dead child and unborn infant, paedomancy you could call it. We found a way to feed on the living in a way we could not feed from the dead on the other side. Such feeding made our movements easier and supported the bodies we no longer had the right to own. So we move back and forth between planes to feed. We have ways of draining the essence of life. We are the vampires, the succubus, the incubus and the wendigos of your myths and legends. We are the demons of your nightmares. But here is the killer, the angels feed as well. Unseen, in secret, they feed in the Churches, the Mosques, and the Synagogues. They feed while the living pray to the false Gods they created, simply to harvest the life essence of those drawn to worship. Angels and demons, one and the same, the only difference being that we have the monopoly on fun.”
Warren’s eyelids were drooping. He heard enough. His time was up and he’d lost track of Neromark’s tale. It was just gibberish, nonsense, and not worth struggling to stay alive for.
“Warren, Warren.” The voice was insistent and Warren opened his eyes. He wanted to die. Couldn’t he be left alone? “Do not expire on me yet, old fellow. There are a couple things I should tell you before I bid you farewell. I know not how long you shall need to wait, for although his soul is condemned, his flesh walks the Earth. But, upon his arrival on the other side, you should seek out a man named Arthur George. Seek him out for he killed your wife, Warren. Since her death will lead to his downfall, he will seek her on the other side to have his vengeance. I suggest you get yours first, and save her from the peril in which she has found herself.”
Neromark stood as Warren felt a burst of life course through him like an electric shock. Although the energy left as quickly as it had come, he had managed to raise his head. What danger was Elle in? How would he find this Arthur George? He forced himself to speak, but his throat hoarse and dry. “What more do you know, you mad bastard?”
Neromark looked at him; his eyes swirled with all the colors of the rainbow. The corners of his lips toyed with a sadistic smile. “I know much, but you have no time left here. Move on to the other side. There are answers there aplenty. Plus a few more questions.” He walked away, into the main hall and the flames that raged within.
His energy spent, Warren lay his head down. He watched snowflakes drift toward him and settle on his body, but felt no cold. He no longer felt anything in a physical sense, and his mental faculties had wound down to such a point that they had virtually stopped. He was finished, but no longer feared death if it gave him a way back to his Elle.
Sorry for leaving you, Shelly, he thought, but Mummy needs me. He looked up at the sky, the moon, and the stars, and died.
CHAPTER 40
It had been surreal. Led to the clearing by a rabbit, like Alice into Wonderland. Shelly was propped up against a log while Carmen tended her ankle. She’d done a First Aid course a few summers back, but this was the first time she had to put her knowledge to use. The ankle strapped with a combination of a branch and her tights, she stood back to admire her handiwork.
“That should hold it steady until we get back to the cottage, and then we’ll just have to wait until the phones are up and running.” It was typical that the network had gone down when she needed it. She could picture the crowd at Discoredia, complaining that they couldn’t send a text back home, but they had no idea. She’d been distraught when she noticed Shelly was missing and hadn’t been able to raise a soul. Even now, the blasted thing was registering no service and it was well past twelve.
“You’ll have to keep your weight off it, so I’ll find you a stick to use as a crutch. What on earth were you doing out here? You scared me witless.”
The tracks of her tears had dried on her cheeks, and a little bit of color was back in her face. “Sorry, Carmen. I don’t know what happened. I had another dream, I think, and when I woke up I had to see Dad. I started running, and then I don’t know what happened. I came around and my ankle was bust, and I’d bumped my head and I didn’t know where I was, and––”
“Shhh,” said Carmen. “It’s okay, calm down. I think you tripped over that root over there and hurt your ankle.” She avoided the word broke. “You bumped your head when you fell. Knocked yourself a bit daft. Well, dafter than you were.” There was humor in her voice and Shelly settled a little.
“You’re lucky I found you.” said Carmen, as she hunted around for a stick that would make a suitable crutch. She found one and picked it up, but it was too brittle to risk Shelly’s weight on it. She threw it into the trees and resumed her search.
“How did you find me?” asked Shelly.
“You weren’t down the road so I doubled back and tried down here.” Another potential crutch was examined and cast aside.
“Why did you turn back?”
Carmen stopped what she was doing. She wasn’t in the habit of telling lies but the reason she turned back seemed so strange, so bizarre. She was reluctant to tell.
“Carmen?”
According to her Mother, honesty was the best policy. Although the sentiment had ruined Christmas for Carmen when she was five years old, mother and daughter agreed. She postponed her search and sat on the log by Shelly, stroking the young girl’s hair.
