Averton had not changed much since she was last in the town with Bray some few weeks ago. The chemist from which they had taken the dye to turn her black hair blonde and the contact lenses to make her violet eyes blue, was much the same. The windows smashed, front door kicked in, just like the other shops along the narrow town centre. Empty, fire scorched and ruined.
Jaygen led her through the quiet street, the clopping of their horses’ hooves the only sound as they struck the tarmac. Cars lay abandoned, parked haphazardly at odd angles along the roads. The owners leaving the vehicles that had failed to work once the leviathans had sung to rid the world of all electrical power, including the stored energy of batteries. A van lay on its side, doors wrenched open and the remains of food wrappings left to swirl about inside at the mercy of the wind. The only life around the town were the pigeons, happily pecking along the main road now void of people.
They rode through other roads and lanes, passing a row of terraced houses - all quiet. The houses and dwellings of an estate were much the same. Empty, some with doors left open, hinges creaking as they moved in the breeze, curtains flapping through open or smashed windows. A cottage on the edge of town had furniture strewn across an unkempt lawn, the signs of a struggle or fight showed in the smashed chairs, the upturned table and the dried blood which stained the wall. A body lay half buried under a rose bush, legs sticking out - one of which was twisted at a wrong angle.
Those that put up too much resistance would have been killed. Innocent civilians wouldn’t have stood a chance against trained and armoured soldiers that had spent thousands of years waiting for the chance to let their weapons sing. The Dark Army would have swept through the town in moments, taking the healthy, killing those that opposed and leaving nothing but the weak and the dead. Was this what the rest of the country looked like? The rest of Europe?
Her father had the numbers, his army was big enough already – she had witnessed that with her own eyes in the Shadowlands. If the takwiches stole bodies along the way, the army would be swelling to an even greater number. How was she to turn such a tide and return Earth to how it was?
They turned onto a narrow lane, high privet hedges to either side and followed it to a large three-story building that sat raised upon a small hillock, surrounded by once manicured lawns and gardens. The grass was now yellow and gone to hay, burying the flowers that edged the property. A wooden sign with black scrollwork read: Averton Lodge. Elora guessed it was an old people’s home.
As they approached a hooded figure stepped from behind a thick birch tree, levelling a shotgun on them. Two Staffordshire bull terriers were at his heel, mouths pulled tight to reveal sharp teeth.
“That’s far enough,” he said. The voice sounding young, yet tired. The face hidden under a dark hoody, the peak of a baseball cap poking out.
“Mayor?” enquired Elora, recognising the voice and the gun both.
The youth’s fingers gripped his weapon tighter as he sucked air through his teeth.
“It’s you,” he said, taking a cautious step back. His dogs whimpering as they also backed away, tails hiding beneath their legs.
The last time Elora had met this boy was at the chemist in town. He had aimed the same gun at her then, demanding payment in kind for the things they needed, stating that he was the Mayor of Averton. She had almost torn his friend’s arm off as Bray disarmed him and took care of the other thugs. The memory had haunted her since; she had come within a gnat’s whisker of killing them all.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she said, resting her hands on her saddle horn.
The Mayor lowered his gun, then lowered his hood. “I did what you told me,” he said, fear edging his voice.
Elora climbed down from her horse.
“Show me,” she said, giving her reins to Jaygen.
The Mayor nodded and gestured for her to follow him into the home.
Bolts slid back from the inside and the door was pulled open by the same thug she had hurt in their last encounter. His eyes widened as he recognised her, his hand resting against the arm covered in a plaster cast. A small girl of maybe three or four clung to his legs, large blue eyes staring through untidy blond curls.
Elora smiled at the child, disarming the fear that she saw in her young features.
“Don’t worry bruv,” said the Mayor. “She’s just here to check.” Then he turned to her. “Come on I’ll show you around.”
He led her around the ground floor introducing her to the elderly who were sat in the common room, an aged man on a stool at the centre reading stories to a crowd of children that sat before him on the floor; faces gawping up in fascination. Another young hoody, one which she recognised as having a baseball bat that he swung violently at Bray the last time she had seen him, was now crouched in front of an old lady in a wheelchair, spoon feeding her porridge with a gentleness that belied his appearance. Rocking a baby in his arms by the window, was another one of the Mayor’s crew, the baby appearing tiny in his huge hands.
“They left the oldies,” explained the Mayor. “The monsters which came to town. There were these spider insect things that jumped around biting people and sending them crazy. Everyone changed and began to walk off, marching like soldiers out of town. They just appeared out of nowhere, them and the dog monsters. Huge stinking things that sniffed out anyone hiding and dragged them to the spiders.”
“Bulworgs and takwiches,” explained Elora. “How did you get away?”
“We did what you told us to do. I was here with my crew, bringing in food for the oldies, making sure they had water and stuff, you know, helping. Been here for a few days, even brought them medicines from the chemist. Then a couple of weeks ago these creatures appear and began to attack. We hid in the attic, me and my boys.” He looked down in shame, his voice becoming softer. “We stayed up there for a few days, like scared kittens.”
Elora laid a hand on his shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“No, I guess not. They took everyone, the entire town, anybody that was here after the electricity stopped working. Even my boys that were out foraging never came back. I think they got what the rest had - bitten or something. When we eventually went back out to search for food we found a bunch of kids. Little children, loads of em. Last count we had forty-seven and each time we go out we find at least another toddler, hungry and alone.”
“You’ve done a brilliant job. What’s your real name? I can’t keep calling you Mayor.”
“Melvin,” he answered. “Not so gangsterly, is it?” He smiled sheepishly, most probably unused to the compliment. Then his face hardened once again. “What’s happened? Why has the country gone completely nuts?”
It’s all my fault, I set the Dark Army loose. I’m responsible for the deaths of thousands, maybe millions. All for the price of just one single song - Elora wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him the truth, he deserved it they all did. But she was the Shadojak, the balancer. Telling them would make enemies of the very people she was trying to save.
“Who’s this?” came a female voice from behind. Elora turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties, hands on hips and heavily pregnant. She stepped carefully out of a kitchen, her hands supporting herself while gripping the door frame.
“She’s, actually I don’t know,” admitted Melvin.
“My name’s Elora, I’m the Shadojak,” she said and watched the puzzled looks written in both the faces of Melvin and the woman. “I’m kind of a protector, judge and executioner all in one.”
“Really?” asked the woman. “You’ve not done a good job of it.”
“You’re right, I haven’t. But I’m here now,” Elora replied, realising the words sounded pathetic.
“And what good is that now? We have a protector already,” argued the woman, her belly appearing incredibly big as if she was about to go into labour at any moment.
“I know. Melvin and his friends have done a great job, but it isn’t over, those things, the bulworg and takwiches will be back.”
“Not them, some wolf-man killed a dog monster just last night. Cut the ugly thing down with a huge sword. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have made it back here.”
This new information intrigued Elora. Was there somebody other than herself willing to fight?
“Who? What wolf-man?” Elora asked as Jaygen stepped into the corridor.
“I don’t know,” continued the woman. “He wore a huge helmet and visor in the shape of a snarling wolf. It covered his face so you could only see his eyes.”
