Part 1 (1/2)

Simon Clark.

London Under Midnight.

For Janet.

FIRST BLOOD.

VAMPIRE SHARKZ.

* They're coming to get you *.

Just as spores drift in the atmosphere, the ones that are New-Life are carried from the mountains in fast-flowing rivers to infect the waterways of England. They advance through this myriad of arteries to reach deep into the heart of its capital city.

Here, the ancient Thames still runs its cold, dark waters between s.h.i.+ning office blocks. Once, where there was barely any life in the river, little more than eels and rats, now there is New-Life. And it's to this place that New-Life brings the Gifta ***

'Madam! You have ten minutes to save your life. Quickly! How are you going to do it?'

The girl merely waved at him as she jogged along the riverside path in the direction of Tower Bridge, London's iconic landmark of lattice steelwork and Cornish granite.

'Don't stay out too long,' he called after her. 'The sun is setting!'

So far, Elmo 'Diogenes' Kigoma had spent ten days in the mock sailing boat on top of the pole. He asked the same question of everyone who pa.s.sed by.

A pair of youths roller-bladed along the path.

'Gentlemen! You have ten minutes to save your life,' he told them. 'Quickly! How are you going to do it?'

'You daft b.o.l.l.o.c.ks!'

'Drop dead!'

Elmo had heard worse. 'I'll tell you how to save your lives. Abstain. Abstain.' He continued even though he knew they were out of earshot. 'Abstain. That, my friends, is the secret to longevity. I came from the Congo when I was twenty. I'm now eighty-six years of age. Abstain, my friends.'

The sun slipped behind the city's horizon. After the fierce heat of the day it would soon drop cool enough to drive him into his sleeping bag in the little airborne vessel, one that could only be accessed by the rope ladder that he'd pulled up after himself. The council promised they would come back again in the morning to take down the boat, which he'd fixed up here on top of the pole in the dead of night. His two sons had helped him. Both were as embarra.s.sed as h.e.l.l to do what their father asked of them. But they're good sons, Elmo told himself. They are loyal. He always knew they'd help him on his final mission. One that would end tomorrow; if the Mayor of London got her way.

He peered in the direction of Tower Bridge that spanned the Thames. It was one of the quirks of the river that its currents nearly always deposited the bodies of those it claimed at the foot of one of its baroque towers that soared almost two hundred and forty feet above the water. The bridge even boasted its own morgue for the drowned. One of the party boats glided downstream. Strings of coloured lights blazed along its flanks and festooned the superstructure. He could hear music from a band. On deck, sleek men and women in beautiful clothes drank champagne.

Elmo shouted, 'You've got ten minutes to save your life. Quickly! How are you going to do it?'

From the boat he heard a PA announcement. The captain was pointing Elmo out - London's latest landmark: an old black man in a plywood dinghy fixed ten feet above the ground on top of a telegraph pole.

'Save your lives. Abstain!'

The floating revellers cheered, then toasted him with their effervescent wine.

'If you desire longevity - abstain.' He sighed, then said to himself, 'Oh, they can't hear you, Elmo.' Nevertheless, he still had faith. Taking a deep breath, he tried to reach out to them with his voice. 'People ask of me, ”Elmo? Why sit in the boat?” I reply: ”I sail in search of the new man and new woman who have the ears to listen to my words.” '

Lights had appeared in the neighbouring hotels and apartment blocks by the time he'd finished calling out to the occupants of the pleasure boat, although they'd long since lost interest in him.

'Maybe I should debate with the fish in the river and the birds in the air,' he told himself. 'Will they have a better understanding of my message?' He allowed his gaze to settle on the bank of the river where bushes swayed in the breeze. For a moment his sharp eyes regarded the movement of leaves without realizing what he was seeing.

Elmo stood up in the boat; it swayed a little on the pole. It was safea even though the council claimed it wasn't. Elmo had built boats that had run rapids and navigated rivers full of crocodiles. So why should a boat that would never ever touch water be safe? He angled his head to one side to identify what he saw.

'Don't be afraid.' He spoke gently. 'Child, come out where I can see you.'

He was certain he could see a young woman standing in the bushes, as if fearful of being seen. 'Please don't be afraid, child. I can't hurt you. Look, I'm up here in the air in my little sail boat.' The girl stayed in the bushes, though he could see the glint of her eyes. 'My name is Elmo Kigoma. I have a mission. I'm here to save these people's lives, but no one will listen. Sometimes they shout out bad names. Yesterday, a boy threw bottles at me. Look at that on my arm. I had to use my scarf as a bandage.' The old African preacher tilted his head to one side. 'Why is it you won't come out here and speak to me? If you're in trouble I might be able to help.'

The gloom deepened the shadows, yet he could still see the pair of eyes. They shone like twin splinters of gla.s.s. 'Are you hungry?' he asked. 'Alas, I don't have money. There are sandwiches. And cake. A lovely ginger cake my neighbour baked for me.' A pause. 'Child, are you hungry?'

From the direction of Tower Bridge, a cyclist casually pedalled his machine, while listening to music on headphones. He was oblivious to the world around him as day decayed into night. Elmo watched the girl as she stepped out of the bushes. The movements were rapid, almost feline. He glanced from the girl, who stared at the approaching cyclist, to the area around the riverbank. It was as deserted as a graveyard at midnight.

His heart thudded as he stood up in the plywood boat.

'You!' he cried at the girl. 'I know what you are. Edshu the trickster made you. You're a Dead-bone Woman! Is your hair sticky to the touch? Can you feel the beat of your heart? Or does it lie still in your breast? Do you know it yet, girl? Do you know the truth?' He witnessed the cyclist's lazy approach. Elmo yelled at him, 'Go back! Don't come any closer! She will hurt you!'

The man simply stared vacantly forward as he pedalled. Even from here Elmo could hear the music pounding through the man's headphones. Dear heaven, the man wouldn't hear the thunder of Armageddon above that.

'Hey!' Elmo screamed. 'Watch her!' Then he turned to the young woman. She was incredibly gaunt. Her fingernails were the same deathly blue as her lips and the rings beneath those feral eyes that blazed so hungrily at the man on the bike. Her jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt were nothing more than worn bands of fabric through which he could see her pallid skin.

With a panther-like grace she leapt on the man. For a moment he continued to pedal as he fought to maintain the balance of his machine. But the girl clung to his back. As he twisted round to look at his attacker Elmo saw that she clamped her mouth over the man's face. She chewed with such an expression of bliss that Elmo had to turn away.

The metallic crash of the bike falling on to the path forced the old preacher to look once again. The man lay on his back. His fists were clenched in agony by his side. The girl sat astride his chest. After she slammed her mouth on to his bulging eye the head of tousled hair twisted from side-to-side as yet again her jaws crunched shut, like a starving man would bite into a ripe, juice-filled apple.

Elmo gulped. He could hardly breathe. Yet he couldn't turn away. Even when she moved from her victim's face to another part of his body, Elmo couldn't close his eyes. The horror of what the creature did next would remain seared on Elmo Kigoma's heart until his dying day.

ONE.

VAMPIRE SHARKZ.

* They're coming to get you *

The graffiti spread across London that long, over-heated summer in a great, blazing rash. The big blood-red lettering was everywhere: bridges, walls, subways, statues, gravestones - you name it. This time, some joker had sprayed it in crimson along the aluminum flanks of the train that squealed to a stop in the tube station at Piccadilly Circus.

The subterranean station lay deep under the London streets. On this humid July night it made the atmosphere more stifling than a tropical nightclub. The comparison wasn't a wild one. The platform swarmed with men and women who'd already spent hours in the pounding clubs and pubs. On the hot midnight air, perfume and alcohol odours clashed amid the sound of laughter and party beasts singing the night away.

'Vampire Sharkz! Vampire Sharkz!' A drunk male dressed as a nun used both his fists to pound the VAMPIRE SHARKZ graffiti on the side of the train. 'Vampire Sharkz! They're coming for you!' His foot caught in his wimple and he staggered backward ranting, 'Vampire Sharkz! They're coming to get you!' The drunken man-nun whirled across the platform swinging a fist. Mascara smeared the man's face. His lip-glossed mouth was a vermilion slash.

Ben Ashton stepped in front of the girl to s.h.i.+eld her with his own body until the man went windmilling away.

The girl smiled up at Ben; it was so warm it made the sultry air chill in comparison. 'Thank you,' she breathed. 'n.o.body's ever saved me before.'

Ben smiled back. 'Don't mention it.'