Chapter Fourteen

The following morning was bright and chilly as Arthur strolled across the estate to the Barry house. There was a crispness to the air that told him an early spring was on the way. When he reached the house, he realised that the family people-carrier wasn’t in the drive. Hoping it didn’t mean that Ash wasn’t in, he rang the doorbell. Almost instantly, he saw a shadow pass over the eyepiece and then a moment later he heard several locks clicking open within.

‘Arthur, it’s you,’ Max said, peering through the crack between the door and the jamb. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles underneath them.

‘More nightmares, Max?’

The boy shook his head, stepping back to let Arthur in. ‘I didn’t sleep at all in case Loki …’ He trailed off. ‘You looking for Ash? She’s in the living-room.’

Arthur stepped past him and Max shut the door urgently, once more fastening each lock. He sat down on the floor, clutching a hurl tightly to his chest. With one last look at the boy, Arthur went into the living-room. Ash was stretched on her belly across the sofa, twiddling a minute screwdriver at the inner circuit boards of what looked like her new mobile phone. Ice was sitting up on the rug, staring at the television – it was almost as if she was watching the cookery programme that was on. She looked at Arthur when he entered the room, then turned back to the television without greeting him, clearly remembering what had happened the last time he was in the house.

‘Something wrong with your phone?’ Arthur asked, collapsing into the nearest armchair.

‘Nooo,’ Ash replied, concentrating on the screw she was tightening. ‘Just adding a few extra features.’

‘Such as?’

Ash clamped the cover back on the phone. She threw something across the room to Arthur, which he just managed to catch. It was a plastic sphere about the size of a ping-pong ball and when he turned it in his hand he discovered a lens staring up at him in the front.

‘A webcam?’ he asked, looking back at her with raised eyebrows.

She walked over and turned the phone towards him. A live video stream filled the three-inch screen – a close-up of his own chin! He looked down at the webcam in his hand and back at the phone. The stream was coming directly from the camera he was holding.

‘Wireless connectivity between that camera and my phone,’ she explained. ‘A makeshift security camera!’

‘Great idea,’ he said, admiring the camera once again, with one eye on the video of himself on the phone.

‘It was simple enough. I had the camera lying around, but I added a few extra features to it: GPS, a two-year battery and so on. I still have to get the recording function working but I’m sure I’ll manage it.’

‘Cool.’

‘I figured it might come in handy. What with … well, you know.’ She didn’t feel like saying his name out loud. If she did, it made it real in her mind. Loki was back. She nodded to shut the living-room door. ‘Max has been guarding the front door for hours, ever since our parents and Stace left for the day. He won’t move, no matter how much I ask. So what’s up with you? Did you tell your dad about yesterday?’

‘Well, luckily he was out late last night so I didn’t have to face the Inquisition. I told him this morning before I came over here.’

‘And?’

‘Same as always. He warned me not to get myself into dangerous situations any more.’

‘Our parents were the same when we told them at breakfast,’ Ash said. ‘But it’s not like it was our fault this time so they kept the nagging to a minimum. So what are the plans for today?’

Arthur was about to answer when he noticed that Ice’s attention had strayed from the television and she was watching him with her big black eyes.

‘Um … Ash, can we …’ He nodded at the staring pup. Ash instantly understood what he meant and rolled her eyes.

‘Really?’ she said, mildly irritated.

‘Yes, really. Please, Ash.’

‘OK.’ She sighed, then got to her feet, took Ice by the collar Stace had bought her and dragged her out of the room. She shut the door but Arthur just knew the pup was still waiting outside.

‘You still don’t trust her?’ Ash asked, exasperated, sitting back down.

‘No,’ said Arthur in a hushed tone. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you whispering?’

‘Because.’

‘OK.’ Ash rolled her eyes again but fell into a whisper to appease him. This wasn’t the time to be falling out. ‘What’s your plan for today?’

‘We should go to the Vikings. And learn to defend ourselves.’

‘You mean with weapons?’

He considered for a beat before answering, ‘With whatever it takes.’

‘But didn’t you say–’

‘I know,’ he said, louder than he meant to. ‘Weapons are dangerous, blah, blah, blah. But not as dangerous as Loki. Not as dangerous as all those raiders shooting arrows at us. We need to be prepared in case they come back. You, me and,’ he glanced at the door meaningfully, ‘Max.’

‘Actually, I agree with you.’ She stood up determinedly. ‘My parents and Stace are bringing my granny back to her place so they’ll be gone for the day and won’t miss us. I’ll try to convince Max to leave the door.’

Max didn’t take much convincing. He would have happily gone anywhere with Ash and Arthur on that day, but the idea of learning to defend himself made him even more delighted to go. When the three of them were ready, they mounted their bicycles. It was still freezing, but not cold enough for them to choose the bus over the freedom of the bikes.

On the way out of the estate, they stopped by the clump of trees on the green. Eirik was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree trunk when they walked up. He leaped to his feet and stood to attention immediately. Arthur told him to relax and then explained where they were going. Eirik nodded sagely as he listened; he clearly thought it was a great idea. They hopped onto their bikes once more and the Viking waved them off.

Meanwhile, back in the Barry house, Ice was frantically scratching her paws at the front door and yelping to be let out. Her claws dug into the wood of the door, making deep indentations. A rage built inside her at being trapped indoors by herself.

Seconds later, Eirik was stretching his back with a loud creak. He rubbed his belly and looked at the sun through the trees. It was early in the day and his charges wouldn’t be home for hours yet, so he could relax because he knew they’d be safe with the others. Back in Scandinavia, when he’d been alive, Eirik had loved to go hunting. He would happily chase down a boar for days through the wild forests of his homeland, never tiring. The hunt gave him strength, gave him an unrivalled energy, adrenaline coursing through his body. He was contemplating going hunting again – even just for a small bird or a rabbit maybe – simply to feel that thrill. As he was wondering if he could find a suitably barren piece of land to hunt in Dublin, something caught his eye on the green.

A little dog was racing across the grass. Only her front legs worked; a set of wheels acted in place of the crippled hindquarters. That was the girl Ash’s pup, he knew. The one they had rescued from the frozen lake. He half-wondered if he should catch the dog and return it to the house, but then he remembered that Arthur had warned him not to be seen. So he remained in the shadows, watching it go.

Bjorn grunted happily when Arthur told him what they wanted. After the boy had rejected the suggestion previously, the Viking had been concerned that it was a mistake. He was pleased to hear that the boy had had second thoughts on the subject.

He clapped his leathery hands and snorted a loud command. Three soldiers emerged from the watching mob, each holding a weapon. The one on the left had long scraggly wisps of hair falling from a mostly bare head. He had no beard on his narrow jaw and no teeth left in his dry gums. In one hand, he held a shield: a perfect circle of hard wood with an iron ring around the edge and a matching bump in the centre. Rays of black and yellow were painted on the wood, spreading out from the middle. In his other hand, he held a wooden longsword. Arthur recognised it as one of the Viking Experience props. It was in pretty good nick and with a hilt shaped like a tree, the branches forming the cross guard. The Viking’s name, Arthur remembered, was Gunnar.

Next to him was Knut. He also had uncut and greasy hair, as well as a bushy beard. He was shorter than Gunnar but with broader shoulders and muscled arms that hadn’t withered much during death. He squinted his eyes continuously, which gave him a fierce appearance. Arthur knew, however, that he could be as gentle as a kitten and loved to play-fight with Max when they visited. Knut was carrying a bow and arrow.

Last in line was the Viking known as Magnus. He was the shortest of any of the surviving men, barely breaking the five-foot mark. But he was also stout, with great thick legs and arms and a barrel of a chest. He was totally bald with a thick handlebar moustache sitting on his upper lip and a unibrow over his eyes. As with the other two, he carried a shield. In his spare hand he held a war-hammer. It was smaller than Arthur’s and the iron head had rusted brown over time.

Just then, Arthur’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the screen: an unknown number. Feeling all the eyes around on him, he pressed the little red phone icon, cancelling the incoming call.

Gunnar pointed at Ash and stalked away. With a quick glance at Max and Arthur, she followed him. Knut led Max to the far side of the Viking Experience, while Magnus lumbered away with Arthur. Training had begun.

The day flew past and before they knew it, it was time to go home. The sun was low along the horizon, casting their shadows far inside the Viking Experience. No one else will ever do anything like we did today, Arthur thought as he met up with Ash and Max to leave, although he still hadn’t decided whether that was actually a good thing or not.

The three Vikings had begun by instructing their wards about the correct use of their shields. The shields were made from thick timber and iron and felt like they weighed a tonne, so first they were taught how to carry them – the proper way to hold them to minimise the stress on their arms while maximising their effectiveness. The Vikings drilled into them time and time again the importance of protecting their faces, throats and chests. Lunchtime arrived and, before Max could moan that he was getting tired, the soldiers moved on to the second part of the training.

They’d covered the basics of defence, now it was time to start on offence.

Gunnar had taken one of the unused mannequins out of storage and set up a practice area for Ash. He demonstrated how to assault an enemy first. He ran at the mannequin, swinging and hacking his sword through the air and roaring a harsh battle cry. In one swift movement, he chopped the mannequin’s plastic head off. It bounced onto the ground with a hollow thud. Gunnar looked down at it and chuckled a throaty laugh, then nodded to Ash, who was holding the wooden sword.

‘I don’t want to chop off anyone’s head,’ she told him. ‘I just want to learn to defend myself if they have a sword.’

Gunnar gave her a look that clearly suggested he was surprised that anyone wouldn’t want to know how to decapitate a foe, but slowly nodded. He ducked into one of the nearby huts then came out with a broom. He brought the broomstick down on his knee and it cracked in two. He discarded the shorter end that had the mop head and twirled the longer pole in his hand, appraising it. He grinned, seeming happy with his own wooden sword, then sliced it through the air at Ash’s head.

She barely had time to react and failed to raise her sword in defence, but Gunnar stopped his assault just shy of her face. She looked up at him, slightly shaken. The Viking was smiling. He tapped her longsword with his own.

‘Oh!’ Ash murmured, getting the picture. She swung back with hers, sending the Viking’s stick clattering to the ground. He looked at it in shock, then back at her with a satisfied grin and a nod.

In another part of the Viking Experience enclosure, Max was learning the basics of archery. Knut had also raided the props room and arranged a variety of fake plastic fruit on the window ledge of one of the huts. He led Max away from the ledge, as far as he could in the confined space. Max looked back at the fruit. It seemed so distant now; he’d be surprised if Knut could hit any of the pieces.

The Viking dropped to one knee and lined up a shot, squinting even more than usual. He held the arrow steady, keeping the bow string as taut as possible, and then loosed it. Max heard a whistle as the arrow sliced through the air. Before it had even found its target, Knut was lining up the next shot. He fired again and immediately aimed and loosed arrow three. He left the bow on the ground and the two of them walked back to the ledge. Max was shocked to see that Knut had made all three shots: an arrow speared through each piece of plastic fruit. The Viking pulled the arrows out and handed them to Max.

Back at the opposite end of the archery range, Max picked up the bow. It was light but clearly very strong and came up over his hip. He put an arrow in the little nocking point and pulled back the bowstring. He strained to wrench the string back far enough and Knut even motioned to him a couple of times to pull it more. By the time the Viking was smiling, Max’s arms were quivering. He heard the wood groan as he held it and part of him hoped it wouldn’t snap. He shut one eye and focused on the first piece of fruit – an apple. It was so far away he could barely see it. He was about to loose the arrow when Knut held up his hand to stop him. The Viking put one hand on Max’s shoulders and another on his lower back and straightened his posture, pushing his chest out. He grunted at the boy, satisfied now. Max looked back at the apple then let the arrow go. It flew through the air – nowhere near as straight or steady as Knut’s – but it still managed to reach the far end of the range. He saw it sail just over the apple and into the plywood wall behind. Even though he hadn’t hit the target, he was immensely pleased with himself. Knut patted him on the back proudly, then gestured for him to continue.

Arthur wasn’t having as pleasant a time with Magnus. This Viking had always struck Arthur as grumpy, cantankerous and sullen, but he really had no idea how bad-tempered he was until he started training with him. Magnus hadn’t put in as much preparation as the other two Vikings. He began by simply heaving his hammer down a narrow laneway. It tumbled through the cold air and smacked into one of the metal emergency-exit doors that were peppered around the exterior wall. The force of the blow gave off the sound of a church bell, which rang throughout the Viking Experience. Magnus picked up the hammer and wobbled back to Arthur, pushing it into his waiting arms.

Even though this war-hammer was smaller than Arthur’s own one at home, it was much heavier. Or, at least, it felt much heavier. He was able to pick his own up one-handed but had to use both hands to lift this monstrosity.

‘It’s too heavy,’ Arthur complained.

‘Grnk,’ Magnus grunted ambivalently and stood with his arms crossed, waiting.

‘Fine!’ Arthur said. He swung both his arms backwards between his legs, then let the momentum carry the hammer forward again. As it reached the peak of the arc he let go. It landed with a hefty clang a few feet away.

‘See?’ said Arthur, looking at Magnus. ‘It’s too heavy.’

The Viking just grunted and pointed to the hammer on the ground.

‘Again? You want me to do it again?’

Magnus nodded impatiently, so Arthur took a second try. This time was no better. Arthur looked at the Viking but he only pointed to the hammer once more.

‘But it’s not going to work this wa–’

Magnus rolled his eyes up to heaven and grunted a high-pitched and whiny imitation of Arthur. When he was done, he nodded to the hammer once more. Arthur picked it up and tried again, his biceps feeling the strain already. The day continued like this. Arthur would try to reach the door and fail, and Magnus would have him do it again. There was only a marginal improvement after a few hours. On top of that, Arthur’s phone rang a couple of times throughout the day – always with the unknown number. Even though he always cancelled the call, Magnus sighed loudly each time. Arthur was understandably delighted when it was time to go home.

The sun was just setting when they got back to the Barry household; Stace and her parents were already home. Arthur, Ash and Max were about to run upstairs to discuss their training in private when Mr Barry called Ash into the living-room. He and his wife were sitting on the couch and Arthur could guess from the redness in his neck that he was annoyed about something.

‘Where have you lot been?’ he asked furiously.

‘We just went to the cinema,’ Ash lied.

‘And you left the front door wide open!’ Mr Barry accused.

‘No, we didn’t,’ she cried. ‘I definitely locked it on the way out!’

‘Well, it was wide open when we got home,’ said Mrs Barry. ‘How do you explain that?’

‘I don’t know but I definitely locked it, didn’t I?’ She turned to Arthur and Max and they both instantly backed up her story. Arthur distinctly remembered Ash making sure the door was tightly shut.

‘And what about the scratches on the door?’ Mr Barry went on. ‘If it’s that dog of yours, we’re getting rid of her!’

‘Scratches?’ Ash repeated, running into the hallway. She knelt down and studied the deep grooves etched into the wood of the door. They definitely looked like claw marks. Before anyone could say anything else, she ran through the house, going from room to room and calling her pup’s name. Ice was nowhere to be seen.

‘Arthur,’ she said, out of breath, when she was finished her search, ‘Ice is gone.’

Flashlight beams broke through the darkness of the estate as calls of ‘Ice!’ shattered the silence. They walked the length and breadth of the estate, shining their torches under cars, behind wheelie bins and down the narrow alleys that ran between every second house. Even Mr and Mrs Barry were going from door to door, asking the neighbours if anyone had seen the dog. While Stace and Max concentrated on the far end of the estate, Arthur took his chance to search the green.

Eirik was concealed in the depths of the trees when Arthur got there, keeping a close eye on the proceedings in the estate. He wore a pained, worried expression.

Arthur felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. A quick glance told him it was the unknown number again. He still didn’t have time to talk to anyone so he cancelled the call once more. He looked up at Eirik.

‘Have you seen Ash’s dog, Eirik?’

The Viking nodded in response and pointed at the green, drawing the line with his finger where he saw Ice run earlier in the day.

‘She followed us?’ Arthur asked. Eirik nodded. Why would she follow us, Arthur wondered as he headed off in the direction Eirik had indicated. He snuck through the brush rather than going around it as he usually would. Whatever Ice was up to, he aimed to find out for himself, without Ash’s input.

He emerged right at the edge of the road that ran behind the estate. Two lanes of traffic flew at breakneck speeds in both directions. Car headlights blinded him and trucks rattled loudly, shaking the very ground beneath his feet, but there was no sign of the pup.

Arthur was about to turn back when he heard the bark.

It was a high-pitched yap – not unlike Ice’s own cry – and it was so faint that Arthur wasn’t sure if he had heard anything. A second bark confirmed that the sound had been real. It was distant and broken, the sound bouncing to him from across the busy road. There was a third bark, this time accompanied by a persistent and shrieking yelp. Whatever animal had made the sound was clearly in some pain or discomfort.

He squinted across the road. There was a matching estate and clump of trees on the opposite side. Although he couldn’t get a clear view through the hurtling traffic, he could just make out some of the low bushes moving over there. It could have been caused by the wind or by the gusts from the cars, but the shuddering of the shrubs seemed too urgent to be either.

The nearest set of traffic lights – and pedestrian crossing – was a few hundred yards from where he’d seen the bushes move. However, in the other direction was a footbridge over the road itself, which Arthur headed straight for, taking extra care on the narrow pavement along his side of the road.

Both sides of the footbridge had a set of steps and a long, winding wheelchair ramp. At the top of the stairs on each side were tall poles with a pair of iron suspension cables holding the bridge itself aloft. The walkway spanned the entire four lanes of the road. Arthur took the steps, bounding up them two at a time. As he passed over the walkway, he felt the slightest vibration of the traffic below his feet. He came to a stop midway and peered over the edge. It was a strange sensation, being up so high over the busy road. Despite the fumes and noise, it felt oddly peaceful to look down at the disappearing lights. After a moment, he continued on across the bridge.

A figure was slowly moving up the ramp he was approaching. He squinted in the amber glow of the streetlights and the person came into focus. It was an old woman, frail and hunched over, with a headscarf fluttering in the slight breeze. She was heaving a shopping bag on wheels up the last few feet of the ramp. From the way the bag bulged at the sides, it was clearly very heavy. Arthur ran forward to help her with it.

‘Oh, thank you, dearie!’ she said, her voice crackling with exhaustion as Arthur took hold of the trolley. She wore green eye-shadow and bright-pink lipstick – both applied liberally. Her teeth were yellowed – no doubt the result of a lifetime of smoking. And she reeked of flowery perfume. ‘Me legs aren’t what they used to be.’

‘No problem at all,’ said Arthur cheerily as he set the cart down on the walkway. ‘Would you like a hand down the far side with it?’

‘You’re very good. But I should manage that side by myself. Thank you again, dearie.’ The woman gripped the handle and went on her way.

Arthur continued down the ramp – half running, half skipping – and then towards where he’d spotted the rustling bushes.

‘Ice?’ he called as he walked. ‘Ice, are you there?’

There was no discernible sound over the traffic now. No barking or yelping. Just his own footsteps and the speeding cars.

‘Ice?’ He ducked into the shrubbery in a gap between two dense briar patches. As soon as he was inside the clump of trees, the noise of the traffic lowered to a distant groan. The trees were denser here which meant that it was darker than on his side of the road and he had to use his phone flashlight to see anything.

‘Ice? Come here, girl.’

No answer, no sound.

Arthur moved deeper through the trees and bushes. All he found was the remains of a campfire and beer cans that some teenagers had probably been responsible for. After a few minutes, he gave up and trudged back towards the footbridge.

He went back up the ramp more slowly than before, lost in his thoughts. Where was Ice? Why had she followed them? Or, rather, had she been following them?

Arthur shuffled his feet dejectedly across the walkway, gazing down at the hurtling lights. He thought of all the people in all those cars and wondered where they were going, where they were coming from, who they were with. Regardless of the answers, he was quite certain that they didn’t have to deal with the same kind of problems that he did.

He was midway across the bridge when his foot kicked off something. He bent down and picked it up.

An iron nut.

It was painted black but with a fine layer of rust around one of the threads. He looked at the metal floor of the walkway around him and spotted the matching bolt. It was around six inches long, also painted black and also with a crust of rust along some of the threads. Odd, he thought, turning the two of them over in his hands. Where did they–

He looked behind him. There, where the ramp met the walkway – the railing of the ramp should have been attached to that of the bridge but there was a gap. It was slight but it was definitely there. He’d missed it because he’d been looking at the traffic.

He turned back in the direction of home. The old woman with the shopping bag was standing at the far ramp. There was a wrench by her feet, a bolt-cutter in her hand and a grin on her face. She turned her fist over, dropping a handful of nuts and bolts. They thumped heavily onto the walkway. When Arthur pulled his shocked gaze away from them, the woman was lost in a cloud of green light. It faded away, revealing Loki in her place.

Arthur was rigid with fear as Loki swung the bolt-cutter up over his head. He vaguely recognised it as the same one that Will had used all those months ago at the Metro site. With one screeching shriek, like nails on slate, the god snapped one of the suspension cables.

The walkway lurched underneath Arthur’s feet, shaking him from his stupor. Without waiting to watch Loki cut through the second cable, he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Every second counted, yet every footstep felt like an eternity.

All the muscles in his body were straining to get him off the bridge, to safety.

Above Loki’s laughter, Arthur heard the second cable snap behind him and felt the bridge lurch downwards.

He gave one last push, his legs cramping, and–

He landed with a thud on the ramp, crashing onto his hands and knees. He turned, just in time to see the far end of the walkway ploughing into the road below. The squeal of brakes reverberated around him as the traffic tried to avoid hitting the bridge. One car screeched to a stop just in time to avoid being squashed underneath it. The cables above Arthur’s head groaned and creaked but stayed attached to the bridge. He heard the crunch of metal below him as someone failed to react in time. He really hoped no one was seriously hurt.

When he looked back across the chasm that had been the bridge, Loki was gone.