Jack of Ravens

9

‘You don’t get it, Gabe. Standing up and fighting for what you believe in is the only way. Malcolm was right. If you turn the other cheek they’ll just keep slapping it.’ Marcy had changed more than all of them in the months they had been together. She’d developed a flintiness as a defence against the attacks that were coming from all quarters.

She trudged through the snow towards the convenience store in her boots and ragged jeans, a thrift-store coat pulled tight for warmth, annoyed at the childish frivolity of Church and Gabe who had stopped for a snowball fight.

‘If you get involved in violence and confrontation you’re just as bad as the people you’re opposing,’ Gabe protested. ‘There’s always a peaceful route. JFK could have bombed the Communists like all the hawks in the White House wanted, but he talked his way out of it and saved the world in the process.’

When she was trying to keep her anger inside, Marcy always held her head in a way that made her appear haughty. ‘This is a war, and you’re on one side or the other. There’s no room for sitting on the fence. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. Sooner or later you’ve got to choose, Gabe.’

‘You know I’m with you.’ Gabe turned to Church. ‘What do you think?’

Marcy snorted. ‘There’s no point asking him. He’s already dropped out.’

Her comments were delivered off the cuff, but they stung Church. The hardest part was that he couldn’t argue with her because she was right.

While Gabe and Marcy went into the store to pick up supplies, Church watched the children playing in the park across the street and the gulls swooping across the Windy City’s skyline. It was a grey and white world of dirty snow and industrial smoke, the kids’ anoraks the only colour.

Every day his thoughts turned back to that day in Leary’s study and the revelation of why the world was the way it was. He hoped that soon it would fade and he could drift into a soporific acceptance. Marlowe must have known the truth all those years ago when he briefly broke off from his spy games to write Doctor Faustus: Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.

After ten minutes the cold began to get to him, and Gabe and Marcy were still not at the checkout. He ventured into the store, but they were nowhere to be found.

When he came back out into the cold, puzzled, he was met by a boy with red cheeks and a nose caked with dry snot. ‘Mister, your friends have gone over there.’ He pointed to a derelict tenement further down the street. The windows were broken and the walls were scarred with graffiti. Scrawled in big white letters were the words ‘Watch out for the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders’. The message was everywhere these days and it gave Church a kind of black satisfaction to know that he had set it in motion. When he turned back to ask for more information, the boy had already skipped away to rejoin his friends in the park.

The building smelled of damp and turps and long-dead fires. Church couldn’t understand how Gabe and Marcy had slipped past him even though his back had been turned, nor why they had come to such a desolate place. He called their names, but only echoes replied. He started to wonder if the boy had been playing a trick on him.

But on the top floor he came to a large space where all the walls had been knocked out, and there he saw two people sitting on chairs in the middle of the floor, their backs to him. It was Gabe and Marcy. Their heads rested against each other and they were unmoving. A pool of blood grew beneath them.

Church backed against the damp plaster, torn between the recognition of what was clearly a trap and the devastating shock of grief for his friends.

‘Is it really so bad? I’d have thought you’d have been used to it by now.’ The fruity voice rolled out from behind a pillar of bare brick and yellowing wallpaper. The Libertarian stepped out, dressed all in black, coat swirling around him like some silent-movie villain. A crescent of blood darkened the fabric covering his chest. He removed his sunglasses to wipe stray droplets off the lenses and fixed his lidless, red gaze on Church. ‘Surprised to see me again? I suppose you thought you could just slip back into the woodwork with all the other vermin.’

Church wished he had Llyrwyn and imagined himself hacking the Libertarian’s head from his body. He glanced at the dripping corpses of his friends, tongue-tied, trying to comprehend how things could slip away so quickly after months of inactivity.

‘Why did you kill them? There was no need.’ He hated himself for the pathetic tone he heard in his words.

‘There’s always a need for death. It reminds us why we’re alive.’ The Libertarian circled the bodies slowly.

Church followed, wanting yet not wanting to see Gabe and Marcy’s faces one last time. As they came into view, he was surprised and relieved to see that the two bodies were not his friends after all, but had been carefully selected to resemble them from the rear.

The Libertarian smiled as he watched realisation dawn on Church’s face. ‘It’s important to make an impact to drive a message home.’

‘You killed two people randomly to send me a message?’

‘You’ve been very good recently. No dashing around waving a sword trying to upset the apple cart. That’s very satisfying. And it’s how things should continue.’

‘I’ve walked away. There was no need for this.’

‘But you’re a contrary sort. I wouldn’t want you having second thoughts. See this as a subliminal affirmation. Picture the image you saw the moment you walked through that door. This will happen to your friends, wherever they are, if you start getting ideas above your station.’

‘You come anywhere near them or me again, and I’ll kill you.’

‘Wooh!’ The Libertarian flexed a mock-defiant fist.

Church backed towards the door.

‘You should be careful,’ the Libertarian continued. ‘We’re getting very close to the Source now. We’re getting stronger. Soon you can shine your little blue light all you want and it won’t do any good. You’ll be just like them.’ He nodded towards the two bodies.

Church marched out of the tenement and back to the apartment, where Gabe and Marcy were putting away the groceries. Church took Gabe to one side. ‘We need to split up. For a while.’

‘I thought you liked us travelling with you.’

‘I do.’

‘We’re like family, man.’

‘That’s why I’m doing this. There’s danger. I want you away from me until I’m sure it’s safe.’

‘We could go to San Francisco.’ Marcy was leaning in the doorway thoughtfully. ‘There’s a lot of energy out there, a lot of kids moving down … organising.’

‘All right,’ Gabe said. But you’ll join us, right? Every month we’ll put a small ad in the local paper, telling you where we are.’ He masked his sense of abandonment and went to pack his bag.

Tom was smoking in his room while Niamh lounged nearby, listening to music. Church told them about the Libertarian. ‘We need to hit the road, keep on the move.’

‘He’ll find you wherever you are,’ Tom said dismissively. ‘This is his world.’

It was Niamh who raised the most pertinent question. ‘If he could have found you at any time, why did he feel the need to come to you now, in this place?’

Church considered this and realised Niamh was right. The Libertarian would not have seen the need to send a message unless he perceived a threat. But what was it?