was sure it was Radden.” He paused, then shrugged. “But it’s just my imagination. I’ve never even seen the place. Anyway, it’s all nonsense. Seeing other places, having visions, it’s all bumpf.”
Alex was quiet. Somewhere outside, some of the others were arguing. “Anything else?”
James shrugged. “There was a man. Some pale-faced guy with this big hyena grin on his face, and dark marks under his eyes.”
Alex’s face fell slack upon his skull, formless and drooping, like jelly thrown over a spear of rock. The colour drained from his skin until he was paler than the whitewashed wall behind him. But his eyes were the worst: haunted, sunken in his skull. “Dark marks?” he muttered.
James frowned. “That’s right. But it was just heat madness, that’s all.”
Alex wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes. Yes, just madness.”
“It was just my imagination,” James said. “I’ve never seen anywhere north of Manchester. You know that. And so what? I saw some guy, a figment of my imagination. Somebody who looked like they’d misapplied mascara and—”
“—and looked a little like a wolf,” Alex finished.
James stared. “How did you know that?”
Alex’s brow flickered. “What did he say?”
“Alex …”
“What did he say?”
James sighed. “He said he was waiting.”
Alex stood over what seemed an age, meandering his way around the room as though blind, steadying himself with chair-backs and upholstery. James’s skin came out in gooseflesh, seeing him that way. He reached the door and turned around, looking more child-like than James had ever seen him. “And the frost?” he said. “Did you feel that too?”
James’s throat closed down to a pinhole as he remembered the ice crystals that had evaporated off his temples the moment the man’s hands had left his head. “How did you know about that?” he whispered.
Alex hung his head. He cursed under his breath. A long silence passed between them, and then he said, “We have to go.”
“Where?”
“Radden.”
James almost fell off his chair. “We can’t! We just arrived. The students from the Moon will be here by morning. The others are up in arms.” He flung his hands in the air. “And this is crazy! He was just a madman, like you said.”
“No. He wasn’t.”
“How can you say that?” James yelled. He was on his feet. “There’s no such thing as magic powers or psychic visions. You taught me that. Anyone with a mote of rationality knows that.”
“James,” Alex said, “look out the window. Does anything out there look like a world that subscribes to the rational? There’s a reason the North is overrun with the Rapture sects, that the roads are overrun with zealots. It’s so easy to think all this is God’s punishment, or aliens swooped down and took everyone. It’s just that crazy.” He pulled the door open and stepped onto the threshold. “We have to go, as soon as possible.”
“You’re serious?”
Alex said nothing, just nodded.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
James watched him until any doubt he was joking had dissipated, then said, “Fine, then I’m coming with you.”
“Yes.”
James realised he didn’t have a choice, either way.
*
Later, one of James’s pigeons fluttered onto the windowsill. He untied the scroll tied around its leg and read the fine cursive scrawled upon it. He recognised Ms McKinley’s hand at once, and breathed a sigh of relief.
She had been the first person to ever reply to the endless messages he had sent across the land when he had been a boy, when he had been feverish with excitement, certain he could unite the world with a few handwritten greetings, and goodwill.
Since then, the messages they exchanged were the one thing James kept to himself. It was his little secret.
Today, however, his heart sank. The message ended with a shaking scrawl.
Looks like Malverston’s tired of my meddling. I hear them coming. Be careful, you little shit.
CHAPTER 11
Canterbury cathedral hadn’t known the ravages of the End. A few short years of vacancy had elapsed before survivors had once again sought shelter and guidance under its roof. Since, various groups had come and gone, but the transept floors had stayed swept, and the myriad spires had been well cared for. Like many other ancient buildings, the decay of time had left it almost untouched, especially compared to the modern homes that had all but melted into plasterboard sludge after a few short years.
The figures depicted in the stained glass windows, beauteous gilded things of dazzling complexity and splendour, stared out over the encroaching wild lands, untroubled and angelic.
It was the only place left anyone felt safe. And now