Chapter 59: 427,499 |
Fire! The world is burning!
Red flames towered like mountain ranges beyond the city’s silhouette. With each fierce gust of night wind, glowing embers floated like dandelion seeds, settling gently upon buildings and streets.
Wherever these embers landed, tiny flames blossomed anew. The fire spread instantly through the dry winter streets of London. The roads teemed with a terrible, primal energy.
“What’s happening!”
“Fire! There’s a fire!”
“Call the fire brigade!”
“Help us!”
The rumbling of panicked voices swelled…
Under London’s crimson sky, screams and wails hung thick in the air.
It was painfully obvious this situation wouldn’t resolve itself. Someone needed to take control.
Yet amidst the chaos, the true instigators were something else entirely.
Like the wind-borne embers spreading fire from above, small, cunning creatures scurried about at ground level, setting blazes wherever they went. Every place these young beings touched, aged wooden structures surrendered to flames.
It was nature’s cycle. They were merely hastening the inevitable end of a city that had forgotten how to die with dignity.
In such an emergency, my military training should have prompted immediate action.
But shamefully, since rushing from my house, I had done nothing but stand rooted to the spot. My eyes fixed on the burning streets, my mind completely overwhelmed by the shocking spectacle.
The sight was intoxicating, almost obscenely captivating.
The flames danced more seductively than any courtesan. Sometimes they languidly licked at ceilings, then suddenly leapt toward me, startling me from my trance. These unpredictable movements held me spellbound. Her destruction possessed its own terrible beauty.
“Aargh!”
Wilson’s scream jolted me back to awareness.
“Wilson!”
I shouted, finally spurring myself into motion.
“What’s happening?”
The fire hadn’t yet reached the alley. I rounded the corner with my gun raised and encountered another horrifying scene.
“This one keeps squirming.”
“Kill it, kill it.”
“Let’s cut off his fingers.”
They were creatures that resembled humans in disturbing ways.
I couldn’t immediately place what they were. They looked like imps from old folk tales, or perhaps oversized rats standing upright.
These bipedal creatures stood roughly at the height of my pelvis, though they might have been taller if they straightened their hunched backs. Their forelimbs ended in five-fingered hands designed for grasping. Looking closer, I noticed some had only four digits.
These creatures had peculiarly smooth, hairless skin. Their flesh was black—a shade no natural creature on Earth possessed. Clearly, what might once have been pale skin had been darkened by years of wallowing in filth.
Their skin looked vulnerable, lacking both fur and durability. Perhaps to compensate for this weakness, they wore tattered scraps of linen over their bodies.
Though mostly hairless, they possessed tufts of yellowish hair concentrated solely on their heads, varying only in shades of light and dark.
Their eyes were of similar hue, but peering into them sent a chill through me. While I wouldn’t credit them with human-level intelligence, the profound sadness dwelling in those eyes convinced me they possessed something akin to souls.
But they were certainly not human.
They had pinned Wilson to the ground, each creature gripping one of his limbs while slashing at his flesh with crude blades. Their metal scraps and glass shards were already smeared with bits of flesh and streaks of blood.
“Get away from him, you filthy bastards!”
I brandished my cane like a man scaring off scavengers. Strangely, they showed no fear of humans whatsoever.
“I have a gun!”
Foolish words. Every second I hesitated, Wilson’s life ebbed away. Weighing one life against another made my choice brutally simple.
I could wait no longer and leveled my rifle. What followed was muscle memory—actions my body recalled better than my conscious mind.
────BANG!
The firing pin struck, and a thunderous explosion hammered my eardrums.
Acrid gunpowder smoke filled the air, and then silence.
A small metal projectile—no larger than a knuckle—tore through the creature’s soft flesh and delicate skull, pulverizing its brain. From the collapsed corpse, a grotesque mixture of gray matter and crimson blood gushed forth.
“He actually shot!”
“He’s mad! Run!”
The creatures panicked at the sight of their fallen comrade and scattered in terror. By the time I’d ejected the spent casing and loaded a fresh round, they had vanished completely.
An abrupt end to the confrontation.
I hurried forward and helped Wilson to his feet. He leaned against the wall, struggling for breath.
“Are you alright? Can you walk?”
His wounds weren’t deep. I couldn’t help recalling the American I’d rescued recently—the circumstances were remarkably similar.
These creatures had torn his skin and scraped against his ribs, but had failed to reach any vital organs or major blood vessels.
“Have you had a tetanus shot?”
“No.”
“Then pray for luck.”
Unlike last time, we had no access to hospitals. In this chaos, no medical facility would be functioning normally—and even if one were, they’d hardly have capacity for Wilson’s relatively minor injuries.
I gripped his shoulder firmly, urging him onward.
“The wounds aren’t serious. We need to move. We can’t afford to linger here until dawn.”
“You killed a child.”
Wilson’s voice was hollow.
He stared at the lifeless form with disbelief etched across his face. Not a fallen enemy—a dead child.
“Yes,” I said. “I did.”
I acknowledged the brutal truth without emotion.
“I killed a child.”
“It’s… horrifying.”
“There was no other way to save you.”
“I know.”
Neither of us spoke further. We needed time to process what had happened. Silently, I tore strips from my shirt and bound his wounds as best I could.
“I can manage now.”
“Good.”
After a moment, Wilson rose shakily to his feet. Proving his resilience, he even helped steady me despite his injuries.
We ventured back into the burning streets.
“Where do we go now?”
I couldn’t answer Wilson’s question immediately.
“Where in London could over 400,000 children hide for more than a day? How is that even possible in this overcrowded metropolis?”
We began walking without clear direction.
“Actually, I have an idea.”
“So do I.”
I glanced at Wilson.
“I’m not sure we’re thinking of the same place. I’m considering somewhere that could conceal hundreds, perhaps thousands of creatures beneath our feet.”
“I don’t know about creatures, but I know where transformed people are frequently discovered.”
He looked down at the cobblestones.
“Also beneath our feet.”
“Exactly.”
“Narrow passages adults can’t navigate. A labyrinth as vast as the city itself, with such a foul stench that men would rather pay children pennies to venture down than descend themselves.”
We halted simultaneously before the same object. In that moment, our separate suspicions converged into a single certainty.
An open manhole cover.
“The London sewers. The children have been hiding there all along.”
Everything suddenly became clear.
Where the children concealed themselves during daylight hours. How they traversed the night streets without police detection. How they had emerged simultaneously across the entire city to set their fires. All explained by this single discovery.
“This would have required extensive preparation. Access to sewer schematics, the means to recruit and sustain nearly half a million children for weeks. Someone with extraordinary leadership must be behind this.”
I fell silent.
A bloodcurdling scream from down the street sliced through the air between us. Unspeakable horrors were unfolding throughout these streets and alleyways.
Meeting Wilson’s gaze, I spoke with grim certainty.
“Whatever the purpose, this is an insurrection—meticulously planned and long in preparation.”
“We must alert Scotland Yard!”
“You propose running all the way to Whitehall? Don’t be absurd. Not only would police intervention prove futile, but this is no time for group thinking. Survival now depends on individual strength and action!”
My vehement outburst startled Wilson. I could see realization dawning in his eyes as he finally grasped what I was implying.
“Sir,” he said, his voice unsteady, “this isn’t warfare.”
“The war has already begun, Detective. Our city is under siege.”
I turned toward where King’s Cross Station would be.
“By now, the nearest regiment has surely been alerted to London’s plight and mobilized. They’ll arrive by rail within two hours. And consider the three Guard battalions at Wellington Barracks—currently protecting Buckingham Palace, but once they assess the situation, they’ll deploy throughout the city. Do you understand what I’m saying? In mere hours, London will become a battlefield, soldier!”
Wilson’s face drained of color as the implications sank in. Despite his detective’s facade, his true nature revealed itself. Indeed, his anxiety seemed proportional to how long he’d maintained his disguise.
“We must save these people!”
“And how many can we possibly save? A hundred? Two hundred?”
“Shouldn’t we try to save even one?”
“Once the military arrives, hundreds will die in the ensuing massacre. I can’t speak for all 420,000, but at least several thousand will certainly perish.”
Wilson choked, struggling for breath before crying out:
“Then what do you propose? You know better than anyone that war can’t be stopped by a single hero!”
Despite appearances, Wilson was assessing the situation with remarkable clarity. The fact that he prioritized saving others over his own safety marked him as an exceptional man.
“Perhaps not… but maybe this can.”
I felt genuine reluctance to draw him into my desperate gambit, yet I doubted I could succeed without him.
“As we’ve seen, they’re merely children. No army in history retreats when holding the advantage just because a single soldier falls. However they were recruited, if we eliminate the mastermind behind this plan, their organization might collapse instantly. The children would return to the streets, and the army would find itself without an enemy to fight.”
Hearing my strategy, Wilson whispered as comprehension dawned:
“The child thief…”
“Or the angel, as some call it.”
Wilson’s face creased with worry.
“Can it really be that simple? Look at London now—not since the Great Fire two centuries ago has the city suffered such devastation. I doubt the authorities will simply release those responsible, even if they surrender and return to the streets.”
“What choice would they have? We’re talking about tens of thousands of indistinguishable children. Once they disperse back into the population, who could possibly identify the perpetrators from the innocent? Even in a city as corrupt as London, they wouldn’t dare round up every child on suspicion.”
Whether persuaded by my reasoning or simply seeing no alternative, Wilson nodded grimly.
“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”
I shouldered my rifle, securing it firmly against my side.
“London is under attack, Detective. And there’s no glory to be found here. Are you prepared to die for king and country?”
“You already know my answer to that.”
Wilson’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“But I must ask you the same. Now, as before, you have no obligation to risk your life. Even a former soldier isn’t duty-bound to sacrifice himself for his nation.”
I couldn’t fathom why Wilson chose this moment for such remarks. He wasn’t trying to dissuade me, yet his words seemed calculated to undermine my determination and resolve.
I paused, gathering my scattered thoughts. Though I’m hardly the picture of unwavering courage, what emerged from my mouth was so grandiloquent I could barely suppress my embarrassment.
“What nonsense. The capital stands besieged, and hundreds of thousands of lives hang in the balance. I can imagine no more worthy purpose for my existence.”
With that declaration—before my tenuous resolve could falter further—I stepped toward the open manhole.
Then, bending low, I plunged my foot into the darkness, beginning my descent into the underworld beneath London.