“What are we going to do, though?” Audrey asked, exasperated. Even in the earliest hours of the morning, the streets of London teemed with crowds, despite the imposition of a curfew. What would have once been a pleasantly long walk to St Paul’s had become nothing short of a hike.
Many protesters had exhausted themselves for the night and were lying on the ground. People curled under jackets for warmth. Their arms hooked awkwardly into pillows under their heads. Some sat upright, holding pieces of pipe, bricks, planks of wood. Anything that could be a weapon if necessary. Just in case, they’d said. Just in case.
“You’re very quiet, Felicia,” said Rachel. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m doing exactly as okay as I presume you’d expect.”
Rachel placed her hand lightly on Dr Mortlock’s back. “We’re going to stop him.”
“I dare say we’ll try,” said Dr Mortlock.
“We need a plan, though, don’t we?” Audrey insisted once more. “It’s not like we can just waltz in there and he’ll see us and say ‘oh darn, you got me’ and all of this will stop?”
“Audrey, please calm down,” said Hugo.
“Oh, I’m sorry, is my anxiety bothering everyone?”
“We don’t know what to do!” Jessa snapped. “You’re supposed to be the smart one, why don’t you figure out a plan?”
“How am I supposed to know, evidently you’re the one with the superpowers!”
“I am not!”
“Ugh!” Audrey rubbed her face hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Jessa sulked at the ground.
“Jessa, I apologise.”
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“But before we go any further, can you please just tell me that you’re sure it’s St Paul’s you saw?”
“I’m sure, I’ve seen it before.”
“Have you been there before?” asked Rachel.
“No, but I’ve seen it in movies. I’ve watched streaming concerts online when they have shows there. Just the other day I saw a post on HeadBread that was called something like “Top 15 Coolest Buildings in London” and St Paul’s was in, like, the top five.”
They were interrupted by a group of people quickly exiting a supermarket, grappling with components of computers. Through the broken glass of the windowed shop front, they could see mostly bare shelves. A few people stood in the aisles, shoving cans of food into bags or holding their sweaters out into hammocks for harbouring whatever foodstuffs they could grab.
“Come on,” Hugo urged, “we should see if there’s any food left.”
“I don’t think we should,” Audrey hesitated at the door.
“Why?”
“Because it’s stealing.”
“Audrey, love. I know you want to do the right thing. But look around, would you?”
“Fine, but when all this is over, can we come back and pay?”
“Absolutely. You lovely, lovely nutcase.”
“That’s mean!” she followed him inside through the smashed door.
The food supply had been almost obliterated. The fresh produce section was completely empty. The cleaning products had all been snapped up. All the fridges and freezers were depleted of their contents.
“Did you find anything?” Hugo asked as he and Audrey met up with Jessa and Flynn in the ready-meals aisle.
“Nope,” said Flynn, “everything’s gone.”
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“I found two first-aid kits, but nothing else of note,” Dr Mortlock handed the kits to Audrey, who put them in her bag.
“Hey guys, I found something!” Rachel joined them and took out four cans from the large pocket in the front of her hoodie.
“Tapioca?!” Jessa pulled a face.
“It’s all that was left, just a few of these at the back of the shelf.”
“Gross. You should put them back.”
“Jessa, now is not the time to be fussy,” Audrey scolded.
“What is tapioca?” asked Hugo. “I’ve never had it.”
“You’re lucky,” said Jessa. “It’s our dad’s favourite pudding.”
“It’s not that bad,” said Audrey.
“The only thing worse than no pudding, is tapioca.”
“Come on, let’s keep moving,” Hugo ushered them all out of the supermarket.
“I actually really like tapioca,” Flynn mumbled.
“Don’t ever let me hear you talk like that again,” said Jessa.
#
“What is that smell?!” Audrey exclaimed, hiking the neck of her shirt up over her nose. The others quickly followed suit. Dr Mortlock prudently closed her nostrils with a thumb and forefinger.
“Just don’t think about it. Walking alongside the river is probably going to be the most direct and safe route to St Paul’s.”
“I don’t think I can do it, Hugo,” Rachel held her nostrils closed.
“Where is it even coming from?” Jessa whined, her mouth inside the crook of her arm. “Is it just the river?”
“I think it’s less a river and more of a toilet right now,” said Flynn. Jessa wondered if it was just the light or if his face was indeed a very pale shade of violet.
“People are revolting,” Audrey stated. “Why can’t they be decent and just find a real toilet?”
“I guess hygiene isn’t a priority at this moment,” Hugo replied, rubbing Audrey’s back affectionately.
Flynn gagged, hocking up a massive ball of watery spit onto the pavement.
“All right, maybe we should find a different way there,” said Hugo.
They speedily made their way back up through the smaller side streets, which felt less dangerous than the main roads, but still bustled with life. There was nowhere they could turn, no road they could travel, that wasn’t occupied by people or fear.
Jessa kept looking up into the windows of houses and flats, noticing rooms flashing with the glare from the televisions that warned everyone to remain afraid. Occasionally she would see a person at the window, looking down to the streets below. They would share a fleeting glance.
“Hey, you!” a man’s voice spoke loudly out from the hushedness. “Kid!”
The six of them turned around.
“It is you! The girl from the telly! And the woman! Hey lads, look!” A few other gruff men hung back behind him, staring at Jessa and her group with a quiet savagery. Hugo took a stride forward, pushing Jessa behind him. Dr Mortlock stood to his side, but he turned and gave her a knowing nod. She stepped back.
“Hey man, we don’t want any trouble,” Hugo said.
“I’m not talking to you, pretty boy. I wanna talk to the kid.”
“She has nothing to say to you, so just back off, yeah?” he said gently. The men continued to step toward them.
“Do you know him, girl? Do you know Lynch?” the main man asked, as Hugo continued to shield Jessa behind him. Rachel and Flynn too, stepped forward to flank Hugo.
“I said back off,” Hugo said more forcefully.
“Fuck you, ponce!” the man said, throwing a punch that landed right onto Hugo’s cheek. He snapped into action, returning the punch with a surprising velocity.
The man readied his fist once again, but before he was able to land another thump, a shot rang out into the air and the man cowered.
They all recoiled, waiting for a second shot. But it didn’t come. Instead, a crochety voice sounded from an upstairs window.
“Leave ‘em alone, Sonny Jim.” They all looked up and saw Detective John Cane standing there, pointing his loaded gun down toward the brawler.
The man and his angry cronies receded, shuffling and huffling back to the other end of the narrow street. Puffing and shrugging his shoulders in his umbrage, the main man disappeared out of sight.
“I’m buzzing you in,” John called out through his open window.
“Wow, I’m happy to see you,” Hugo greeted John with a hearty hug.
“Ah, you could have taken ‘em,” John replied buoyantly.
“Maybe so, but I’m still glad we ran into you.”
“And I’m glad you did too. Come in, everyone. Make yourselves comfy.”
A myriad of muffled voices grunted statically from his desk.
“What’s that?” said Flynn.
“I’m listening to police radio frequencies. They’re getting a lot of reported sightings of Lynch, but I suspect they’re all false.”
“Those reports are rubbish. He’s at St Paul’s,” Jessa blurted.
“The Old Cathedral?”
“Yes. I saw it.”
“Another of your intuitions, eh?”
“Yes, sir, the same kind of intuition that led me to figure out that Silas Lynch was behind all this a long time before you and your Agents did.”
He raised an eyebrow but realised he was out of reasons to doubt Jessa anymore. “All right, so he’s at St Paul’s. What else?”
“That’s all we know,” said Hugo.
The group looked from one another. Nothing needed to be said. None of them had a plan. Nobody knew what to do next.
“It’s almost 6 am, have you been up all night? You must be knackered,” John Cane said as his guests rested into his floral upholstery.
“Yep,” said Hugo. “And I don’t know about the others, but I could eat a horse.”
“Let’s rustle you up something,” John pulled out a pyrex dish from the refrigerator.
“Shepherd’s pie?” Jessa almost felt herself retch at the thought of eating minced beef and mashed potato at six in the morning. A small piece from the corner of the pie had already been eaten, leaving behind a gravyish residue and some leftover peas sitting on the dirty glass.
“This is all I have, sorry. We were meant to go shopping today, but then, well, this, all happened.” He dished out portions for them to microwave.
“My wife, Martha, drove out of the city as soon as she could, to be with her parents in Hertfordshire. The poor old folks were petrified. But anyway, she put some things in the fridge to defrost so I’d have something to eat.”
“Thank you so much,” Audrey said gratefully, then glared at her sister who was poking at a wet carrot slice in her bowl.