He entered cautiously. A man lay dead on the stairs, his throat torn out. On the first-floor landing, a woman hung over the banister, both eyes missing. His heart pounding, Church followed the trail of blood to a door on the second floor. It swung open at Church’s fingertips.
The first thing he saw was writing on the walls in blood: Helter Skelter. Death to Pigs.
The Libertarian was admiring his handiwork. He turned to Church blithely. ‘Just getting in a little practice for nineteen sixty-nine. Or repeating what I will do then, depending on your point of view. Charlie’s spelling is atrocious.’
A ponytailed man with sunglasses sat on the sofa as if watching TV, a hole punched through his chest to where his heart had once been. The missing organ sat on a side table next to a lava lamp.
‘You’ve got the Shears,’ Church said flatly.
‘There was never any doubt. We’ve been searching for them for a long, long time, Mr Churchill.’ He dipped into the inside pocket of his long, black coat and pulled out what at first looked like a blinding white light. As Church forced himself to peer into it, he saw something that resembled a giant crystal snowflake, and then a series of circling orbs, and finally a pair of gold shears with ornate handles.
The Libertarian smiled at Church’s unease. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I have no intention of using them now. One wrong snip and the whole thing could start to unravel. We will take our time, ensure everything is just right, safe for us, not so for you, and then …’ He made a snipping motion with two fingers of his free hand. ‘Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold.’
Knowing he had no choice, Church advanced. The Libertarian smiled mockingly just as Church saw movement in the corner of his eye. Hands like dry wood clutched at his wrist before an arm moved across his throat. In the mirror opposite he could see Etain’s dead eyes staring back at him. The loamy smell of her filled his nostrils.
‘Despite what you might think, we really do know what we are doing.’ The Libertarian strode to the door and paused. ‘Oh — remember when we met not so very long ago in that cold city? I told you then what would happen if you ever chose to re-enter the game.’
‘Don’t hurt Gabe and Marcy.’ Church strained in Etain’s grip. ‘They’ve got nothing to do with this.’
‘I can’t go back on my word,’ the Libertarian said indignantly. ‘Well, perhaps just one of them. I shall attend to that piece of business before I take a very long flight to the East. Have to see how our boys are getting on scaring up a few Fabulous Beasts with their napalm.’
Church could hear him humming merrily as he walked down the stairs. Etain closed the crook of her elbow tighter around Church’s throat. In the mirror, her unblinking stare never left his face.
‘Etain, I’m really sorry about what happened to you,’ Church said hoarsely. ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but I wanted to say that. There hasn’t been a day gone by when I haven’t regretted what Veitch did to you, or felt guilty for getting you into it.’
Etain didn’t register a flicker of emotion.
‘But I can’t go on beating myself up over that. There’s too much at stake now and too many people relying on me. I hope wherever you are you understand that.’
While he was talking, Church had been shifting his position. He drove backwards with all his weight and smashed Etain into the wall, then pulled forward and did it again. While she was off-balance, Church jackknifed at the waist. Etain flew over his shoulder and crashed into the TV set. Amidst the flash and the sparks there was the smell of burning dead flesh.
Church didn’t wait to see the results. He was soon racing into the night to save his friends.
24
The panic at the intersection had subsided when the police allowed some of the crowd to flow up Ashbury. Unmarked vans were already being loaded with body bags containing the plague victims. The demon-queen was gone.
Church found Ice and Grace helping some of the people who had been hurt in the crush.
‘Bummer of a way to end the Summer of Love,’ Grace said.
Gabe came up, dismayed. ‘The fascist pigs took my camera,’ he said.
‘Where’s Marcy?’ Church looked around, then pushed his way through the crowd in time to see Marcy being dragged into the back of a black car with smoked windows. The Libertarian saw Church, nodded and climbed in after her before the car sped swiftly away.
25
Back at the apartment, Gabe was beyond consoling. Church left him to Niamh’s ministrations while he consulted with Tom.
‘You did your best,’ Tom said.
‘It’s not over,’ Church responded defiantly.
‘If they have the Extinction Shears, it really is. Existence will be remade in the image of the Void for all time. No ebb and flow of hope against despair, no Blue Fire to hold back the dark. We will live in the best of all possible worlds, and the best of all worlds will be the worst imaginable.’ Tom sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the middle distance.
‘The Libertarian wasn’t planning to use them straight away. Now that the Enemy has them, they can take their time. And if the Shears are as powerful as everybody says, they can’t afford to rush into using them blindly.’
‘So what are you saying — that you’re going to parachute into Vietnam?’ If I have to.’
‘I can help.’ Gabe was at the door, his cheeks flushed.
I know how you must be feeling,’ Church began, but the likelihood is that Marcy isn’t alive.’
‘You don’t know that. You never turned away when the odds were against you. You’re not doing it now. You’ve taught me a lesson there — blame yourself. I’m not going to give up on Marcy until I know for sure she’s dead.’
‘All right. What do you suggest?’
‘I got an offer from Life magazine to do some work for them. They need photographers in the war zone. Tim Page, Errol Flynn’s son, a few others — they’re doing good work, but there aren’t enough of them. Nobody wants to risk their neck.’
‘You can get accreditation for me?’ Church said.
‘As a writer, maybe. If you’re ready to take the risk.’
‘Ten thousand Americans have already died there this year,’ Church said. ‘The chances of getting out alive aren’t good.’
Tom nodded. ‘Then it’s a suicide mission. Can I have your Frank Sinatra records?’
26
Vietnam, 31 January 1968
A heat haze hung so heavily over the thick jungle vegetation that Vietnam appeared to be boiling in the afternoon sun. In the sweaty, oppressive atmosphere clothes became sodden in minutes and Church’s brain thudded inside his skull with every beat of his heart.
As he looked out across the treetops from the open door of the chopper, Church accepted that while he thought he had come to understand despair on the long, weary road from the Iron Age, he hadn’t really come close. Below him, soldiers were being slaughtered, blown apart, tortured, burned alive, turned into quadriplegics. Civilians were being murdered, their livelihoods destroyed. Troops turned against their own leaders. Countrymen killed each other by the thousand. And as the sickening death toll mounted day by day, and the waves of escalating violence washed out across the region, across the world, it was clear there was no point to it at all. Vietnam was a machine fuelled by human suffering and it would go on for ever if they let it.
Church knew from the hindsight of history that it wouldn’t. Instead, the Enemy would get smart and simply shift the conflict to new venues around the globe, from Africa to the Middle East, a perpetual world tour of misery.
‘Are you ready for this?’ Gabe was checking his camera equipment in the next seat.