Reaper's Legacy: Book Two (Toxic City)(18)

Jack let himself roll ahead of the hang glider. As he came to rest on the pavement he took a moment's pause, looking up at the clear blue sky and enjoying the brief silence.

“Thank you for flying Sparky Airways,” Sparky said. “Please ensure you have all your belongings. Apologies for the bumpy landing. I can confirm that the pilot shit himself.”

Jack sat up and grinned at his friend. Sparky smiled back, then shrugged as if it was nothing.

“All in a day's work, eh?” Jack asked.

Jenna was slowly releasing the strut and unwinding the strap from around her arm. She wiped absently at where it had chaffed her skin raw, smearing blood, then stood on the solid ground. Her knees bent a little, and when she reached out for balance Sparky grabbed her hand. She nodded, stood upright, and looked around, as if only just waking from a deep sleep.

“Jenna?” Sparky asked.

“Sparky,” she said, her voice a croak. “If you ever do that again, I'll slit your throat in your sleep.” Then she let go of his hand, turned around, and vomited on the pavement.

Jack frowned and stood. And even though his girlfriend was puking, Sparky saw Jack's expression, and recognised that something was wrong.

“What?” Sparky asked.

“Ever feel like you're being watched?” Jack asked. He scanned their surroundings—the bus slewed across the street, other cars parked along the road on flat tyres, the silent fa?ades of buildings on both sides. Shopfronts were smashed, burnt out, or the windows were dusty and dirty, hiding anyone or anything that might be watching from inside. A pavement café was a mass of overturned timber tables and rusted chairs. Along the street, an Underground entrance was a burnt-out mess, as if a great fire had belched from beneath London. The taint of fire was still on the air. A breeze rustled litter along the street. Dark circles of chewing gum speckled the pavement around him. He saw and sensed all these things, yet the overriding sensation was of being observed.

And it was not Nomad. Her memory in his mind was already a familiar feeling. This was something else. Something other.

“All the time,” Jenna said. She seemed a little better, and was allowing Sparky to hold her upright, one arm around her waist.

“No,” Jack said. “By someone particular.”

“This one of your powers?” Sparky asked.

Jack shook his head, though he was unsure. “Sixth sense.”

“Prickly-neck feeling,” Jenna said.

“Yeah,” Sparky said. “Tingly balls.”

“We should be moving,” Jack said. “We covered, what, a mile?”

“I reckon two,” Sparky said.

“So we put more distance between us before we take a rest,” Jack said.

“And you know how to find your father?” Jenna asked.

“I'll figure it out,” Jack said.

He saw the look passing between Sparky and Jenna, and turned away. He was already feeling more distant from his friends, and not because of their growing closeness. He was becoming more and more different.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's run.” Jack led the way. They passed the bus and a wrecked van hidden behind it, and Jack caught a glimpse of a dead face following him from the driver's window. He gasped with shock, then saw the hollow gaze of a skull. It had been picked clean by carrion creatures and it leaned against the window frame, grinning as they ran by.

Perhaps the bus was full with passengers who would never arrive at their destination. He had no wish to see.

He heard his friends’ footsteps behind him. As he ran he tried to analyse the sense he had of being watched, and why it felt so strong. This was not a new power, he was certain. Perhaps it was merely a self-perpetuating idea that became more definite the more he thought of it.

As they approached a confluence of three roads he was looking up at the buildings, some windows smashed and some dusty and closed, searching for the face of their watcher. Doing so meant that he didn't see the Choppers.

“Jack!” Sparky shouted.

There were three blue-painted vehicles powering along a road towards them, each of them large enough to hold six Choppers. The front vehicle, a Jeep, bore a heavy angled plough, and it shoved an abandoned BMW convertible aside with barely a pause.

They were a hundred yards away when brakes screamed, and the windscreen of the Jeep shattered into a glittering, blood-red haze.





Lucy-Anne's fascination with Rook was growing by the minute. And though she was seeing some terrible things, she could not deny that she was also enjoying her adventure. That's mad, she thought. This isn't an adventure, it's a disaster. But she was happy to deny her inner voice.

“What's your story?” she asked him as they left the Transport Museum.

“Mine?” Rook looked at her in surprise.

“I'm putting my trust in you,” Lucy-Anne said. “You're taking me into the north of London.”

“I haven't said I would yet,” he said, but the ensuing silence between them spoke volumes. She already knew that he was interested in her. Now she wanted to know why.

“This way,” he said, nodding along the street. “Let's keep moving and I'll tell you as much as I…” He started walking, and Lucy-Anne followed. Rooks drifted above them, like shadows of a shattered night. Much as I want to? she thought. Or as much as I remember?