Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

They'd come at the gates like all hell, and for a time there I thought they might actually break them down. They left after a while… probably realised they didn't stand a chance. Since then it's been one thing after another. I tell you, some of them I can't bear to look at. It's enough to give you nightmares.' He clutched at a gold crucifix at his throat.

'What are we going to do?' Mallory mused to himself.

'We pray for God's guidance, as we always have,' Julian said. 'Life is filled with trials, but with the right approach, we overcome them.'

Mallory studied Julian surreptitiously. Everything about die cleric gave the impression of a modern man — urbane, intelligent, insightful — so it was odd to hear him using a religious language that was almost medieval.

'Will we have enough food to see us through the winter?' he asked.

Julian chewed the inside of his lower lip in contemplation. 'Procedures were put in place the moment we realised we might be in this for the long haul,' he began. His words were so transparent there was no point in Mallory even stating the obvious.

As they stood there, Mallory felt a strange tingling along his spine that forced him to turn. It was instinct, a feeling of being watched, as inexplicable as anything else they had witnessed that night. The areas around the cathedral buildings were a place of whispers, which even the torches placed along the pathways failed to illuminate. It was impossible to determine any sign of life there, but he was convinced someone stood in the gloom, looking up at him. His heart began to beat faster as an uncontrollable rush of anxiety defeated any attempt to dismiss it as a primitive, irrational reaction to the fears of that night.

Just when the sensation became almost unbearable, it faded. A moment later, he saw a figure move across one of the illuminated pathways, but it appeared insubstantial, wavering as if seen through a heat haze. Even at that distance, and with the features hidden by a cowl, he recognised it immediately as the brother who had turned and looked at him during compline shortly after his arrival at the cathedral. As then, he was deeply unnerved for no reason he could explain.

Duncan interrupted his thoughts with a barked warning. A man, weak and staggering, was just passing through the shadows surrounding St Thomas' Church on the other side of Bridge Street. 'Bloody idiot,' Duncan said. 'Don't the locals know not to come around here any more?'

'That's a knight,' Gardener said at the same instant that they all saw the cross glowing through the gloom.

'It's Hipgrave.' Mallory recognised the body language despite the rolling gait.

His confusion at Hipgrave's survival was washed away by the certain knowledge that the captain wouldn't last much longer. Already the shadows behind and around him were beginning to thicken.

'Poor bastard,' Duncan said.

Gardener looked down, sickened. 'I can't see this again.'

Mallory tried to turn away himself, but he was rooted. For a few seconds, he wavered, before cursing, 'Oh, bollocks to it.' He prepared to lever himself over the edge.

Julian caught his arm. 'You're mad!'

'It's the job I chose so I've only got myself to blame,' Mallory replied, still wavering himself.

Gardener gave him a shove so hard he almost rolled over the top. 'Stop gassing about it, then,' he said, joining Mallory on the wall.

The silent acceptance of their responsibility flashed between them in a glance before they clambered over the top, hanging for a second before dropping to the ground. They hit the road running as fast as they could. Hipgrave was so dazed he hadn't seen them.

The miniature army was forming thick and fast, seemingly from the very shadows themselves, the gloom twisting and shaping as if it were Plasticine.

Mallory and Gardener reached Hipgrave together, each taking an arm. Their appearance shocked him from his daze, but he didn't have the strength to speak; his eyes rolled in fear.

'Don't worry, man,' Gardener said to him. 'We'll have you back in no time.'

They both saw that was a lie the moment they started to haul Hipgrave towards the gates. The road was already blocked by the pale black-eyed people.

'I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into this,' Gardener said.

'Yeah, an old bloke like you should have more sense.' Mallory looked around; the only way out was through the maze of ancient streets surrounding the cathedral compound. 'This way. We might be able to find somewhere to hole up.'

'You heard what they said, you stupid bastard. The only reason these fuckers can't get into the cathedral is because it's sacred ground. Anywhere else and they'll be in like shit off a shovel.'

'Just shut up and run.'

They each slipped an arm around Hipgrave's back to lift him and ran. As they headed into New Street, Mallory realised what they had to do. 'We need to get through to the camp at Queen Elizabeth Gardens.'

'Why?' Gardener grunted.

'Because it's protected, like the cathedral's protected.'

'How can it be?'

'It just is.' Mallory glanced back. The army had rounded the corner in pursuit, their eeriness magnified by their silence and speed, their small stature oddly making them even more threatening. They surged along New Street at a run, spreading out to cover the whole road, weapons lowered for use.

'How do you know?' Gardener pressed. His voice held a note of suspicion.

'I just do.' Mallory didn't meet his eye.

They hauled Hipgrave as fast as they could into the nearby shopping precinct, taking refuge inside W H Smith's, which had been cleared out by looters. The first floor was pitch black, but they managed to find the door into the staff area and then made their way up to the roof. The army at their heels didn't relent, but Mallory's circuitous route got them to a point where they could make a break for the travellers' camp.

It was only then that Mallory noticed something that shocked him. 'He's still got both his hands.' Confused, he grabbed Hipgrave's wrists and held them out so Gardener could see.

'So?'

'I told you I found a severed hand at Bratton Camp. It had to be one of ours. It wasn't there on the way in, but it was when we came out.'

Gardener waved him away; he didn't have time for such things. 'Ah, you've got it all wrong-headed.'

The mystery made Mallory's spine tingle. It hinted at something important just beyond his reach, the difference between life and death, if only he could access it.

When they crashed across the invisible boundary surrounding the camp, Mallory felt for the first time whatever protective force lay there. Outside, the air was charged with tension; inside, it felt so peaceful that he began to calm almost immediately.

'We're safe.' Mallory reached out a calming hand, but Gardener knocked it away instinctively. It was only when the pale-skinned people surged around the invisible boundary before retreating back into the night that he began to relax.

Slowly coming to his senses, Gardener began to take in the unique mood of the camp, the flag with its entwining dragons, the colourfully dressed people cautiously venturing towards them. His face hardened. 'What is this? Bloody travellers?'

'We're safe,' Mallory repeated, recognising the signs of righteousness rising in Gardener's eyes.

'They're not Christians, you know.' Gardener raised his sword menacingly towards the approaching travellers. 'A lot of them are pagans… witches…'

Mallory recognised one of them from the group he brought back with Sophie from the Plain. Scab was unmistakable, with his shock of bright green hair and a T-shirt that bore the manifest colour sense of an LSD user.

'Back off!' Gardener yelled, brandishing his sword. 'Back off!' The expression on his face was so terrifying that the youth blanched and froze in his tracks.