Apocabigbang: Fic: Postremus Regum Britanniae; Merlin; R; Chapter 4
Chapter 3: A Journey in the Dark
Chapter 4: London Calling to the Underground
When Gwen did arrive it wasn’t quite as expected - in fact it was nothing like expected. Merlin had sort of been imagining unflattering pictures of slightly overweight women with bleach blonde hair and a horrendous fashion sense. He knew he was prejudiced but, when you thought of sex chat operators you did not think of that.
They had heard the noise on the stairs and, armed with the kind of flotsam and jetsam they could find, had gone to investigate.
They had accumulated forms of weaponry as they went, struggling to find some sense of security. Arthur had still not parted with his metal piping and Merlin had picked up the remains of what might once have been a floor tile - he didn’t think it would be a particularly good weapon and his current plan, hazy and insubstantial as it was, involved flinging it in the direction of danger and running very fast in the opposite direction, while hoping that he had either hit the danger in such a way as to render it not-so-dangerous, or at least avoided hitting it anywhere that would make it especially angry.
Will had opted not to grab a weapon, reasoning that whatever danger they were going to encounter would be far more likely to attack those people trying to hurt it first, leaving him free to make his noble escape. Morgana too had declined to sift through the rubble for something suitably lethal, but there was a look in her eye that made Merlin think that perhaps she didn’t need one. Jeff had steadfastly refused to brandish his guitar like a club, insisting that even if the world was shuffling off this mortal coil that was no reason to become philistines.
This, of course, had led to a lengthy argument with Will over whether, in the event of being stuck in the Louvre when the world was suddenly plunged into the next ice age, it was permissible to use the Mona Lisa as fuel.
“You can’t burn one of the most important artistic accomplishments of all time!” Jeff had said, aghast.
“Well, of course,” Will had replied, “you’d work your way through all the rubbish first, but this is an ice age we’re talking about: you’d get to it sooner or later.”
“Rubbish?” Rubbish?” Jeff had repeated. “You think that Delacroix, Titian, Rembrandt are rubbish?” Will had shrugged, unimpressed.
“They’re just pictures,” he had said.
“Just pictures?” Jeff drew in a deep breath. “I notice you haven’t mentioned food or drink in this scenario. You won’t survive long enough to get to the Mona Lisa.”
“Melted snow and cannibalism,” Will had replied, without even pausing. Merlin had, with everyone else, taken a moment to stare at him and wonder about the wisdom of being trapped with him at the end of the world.
“Anyway,” Will had continued, either not noticing the worried looks cast at him or not caring. “I maintain that Da Vinci, as a forward thinking and practical man would have considered burning his masterpiece as an unfortunate but necessary occurrence. In fact, I believe he would have actively encouraged us to d so.”
“Next thing you’ll be saying that if we were stuck in a library you’d burn a first folio of Shakespeare.”
“It’d be the first to go,” Will replied cheerily and, for a second, Merlin had thought that Jeff was going to punch Will. Arthur, where he stood, had looked a little irate at the very suggestion as well. Lance, on the other hand, had looked more amused than outraged.
“You-” Jeff had sputtered.
“In the event of the apocalypse human survival is the main concern,” Will had said, as though he was writing a training manual of some kind.
“Says the man who was advocating cannibalism,” Jeff had responded.
“Sacrificing the old and the weak for the good of the young and the strong,” Will had pointed out. “In times of crisis Darwinism is forefront in most people’s minds.”
“Will, Merlin had said with a strange sort of wonder, “you are twisted.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s not going to be any cannibalism,” Arthur said, glaring at Will like he was the worst kind of fiend.
It was at that point that Lance had heard the noise from the entrance and arguments about who was going to be eating or burning, whom were put on pause for a moment of mortal peril.
Lance, in some sort of strange move of bravery (or insanity if Merlin through about it) went first, holding what might once have been an iron railing as though it were a sword. The sight of him made Merlin blink in déjà vu. It was like a memory he couldn’t recall. He shook it off, turning away, but was caught by the look on Arthur’s face and realised that he was staring at Lance too, his features etched in confusion, like maybe…
Merlin shook his head again. He wasn’t going to get into that, wasn’t going to buy into Morgana and her strange notions. There were other things to worry about, like whatever was at the top of the steps.
They stood there with bated breath as the footsteps stopped and were replaced by voice.
“Don’t worry about it, really,” a man’s voice said, “I’m used to it. The bloody tube is the least accessible place in the world.”
“Not quite,” another man’s voice said, both of them had a slight hint of a Welsh accent, though nothing strong. “Remember that time when you said you wanted to climb Mount Everest.”
“I could get to base camp, it’s been done before.”
“You wanted to go to the summit as I recall.”
“Really?” A woman asked, “Mount Everest?”
At the bottom of the steps, the assembled group looked at each other in confusion. You could almost imagine, if you didn’t look at the cracks in the walls, or the blood and dirt soaked into their clothes, that up there everything was all right.
“If you don’t mind taking the chair?”
“Oh no…” said the woman, “It’ll give me somewhere to put the biscuits.”
“Biscuits?” Arthur mouthed at no one in particular Merlin just shrugged. His stomach was starting to remind him that it was being neglected; biscuits sounded like a great idea.
There was a slight grunt of effort before the footsteps began again.
All six of them at the bottom of the steps looked up expectantly. They had no idea what to expect.
A pair of trainered feet came into view, sticking out from under the hems of filthy denim. Thin legs gradually acquired knees and thighs and then… another pair of feet, off to one side, dangling in midair. The second pair was also in trainers, but ones that looked almost unused. Then what seemed to be two bodies were revealed until it became clear that it was one person carrying another down the steps.
“Hello,” a voice said, one of the male ones - the one who wanted to climb Mount Everest, Merlin identified. Then two heads came into view, both with bright red hair and a spattering of freckles, both male. “Not exactly the way I like to be introduced to people,” said Mount Everest voice, coming from the mouth of the man being carried, “in my brother’s arms like some damsel in distress.”
“Wish you were a damsel,” the other man - his brother - said with a grunt. “You might weigh less then. Do you have to eat like a horse?”
It did make a rather comical sight. The brother who stood had a similar physique to Merlin - thin limbs but with wiry strength that Merlin did not have, while the brother being carried was stockier - broad shoulders and arm muscles. If Merlin had been asked before he would never have guessed the smaller one could have lifted the first, let alone carried him down a long flight of stairs.
“Need to keep my strength up.”
“Why? It’s not like you’re running around all day.”
“And you are? I’ve never seen anyone so lazy in my life.” There was a pause as the two of them took in the confused faces at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sorry, we should really introduce ourselves,” the man being carried said, smiling. “I’m Gawain; this is Gareth, my little brother.”
“I’m taller than you,” Gareth muttered.
There was a strange metallic clicking noise from behind them and another pair of feet (and a couple of pairs of wheels) appeared, growing into a young woman pushing a wheelchair full of shopping bags.
“Gwen?” Will hazarded a guess and she smiled.
“Yes. Will?” he nodded.
“Yeah, this is Merlin,” he said, pointing, “Lance, Jeff, Morgana and Arthur.”
“Gwen!” Morgana called out, running to wrap her arms around Gwen in an unexpected bear-hug.
“Hello?” Gwen said, a little confused. “Do I- Do I know you?”
“Don’t worry,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “She does that to everyone.”
“Oh,” Gwen, clearly deciding that crazy women hugging her were the least of her problems, returned the hug tentatively. “It’s nice to meet you, Morgana.”
“Uh,” Gawain said, looking at the shopping bags still inhabiting his chair. “Would you mind?” Lance stepped forward immediately, taking the bags and Gareth and Gawain proceeded to embark upon a very complicated manoeuvre to lower him into the seat. “Thanks.”
That was about the moment that Merlin realised that Gawain did not have any noticeable injuries and, even if he had, where would they have got a wheelchair from anyway? The man noticed his gaze, or maybe stare would be a more appropriate word choice, and winked. Merlin flushed, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, everyone does that,” Gawain said, stretching his arms up over his head. Merlin did not feel much better. He shouldn’t be like everyone then, his mother had taught him better than that. “Really… it’s normal.”
“Sorry,” Merlin said anyway.
“God, you really are an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur said from behind him.
“You know,” Gawain said, smiling a little, “not looking’s probably worse than staring. At least Merlin noticed I was here.” He began to wheel himself forward and Merlin realised that there was an obvious explanation for the musculature of his arms. “So this is home sweet home,” Gawain said, looking around. “Lovely, place, though it might need a lick of paint.”
“I think someone agreed with you,” his brother commented, nodding to a piece of graffiti on the wall.
There was a moment of silence as they looked around at their newest abode and Merlin realised that this might be it, he might be stuck here in a rundown tube station for weeks or months. His mind quailed at the thought of the word ‘years’ but he knew that it might be true.
He drew in a quick breath, seeing Arthur’s jaw set firmly, clearly having the same thoughts. It was important to remember, he told himself, that this was better than being burnt alive by a dragon. It was better than being ripped apart by one of those hippogriff things. It was better than falling out of a window and hitting the ground so hard you broke every bone in your body. This was the best they could hope for.
He thought, for a moment, that maybe they could go upwards, risk living in a building, squatting, or trying to find his way home. But there were too many things up there, too many dangers. He did not doubt that they would find themselves cornered before they even went around the block, and this time he didn’t think there would be a unicorn to help them.
He shuddered, imagining a life down here in the dark.
“I brought some tea,” Gwen said, her cheerful smile looking a little forced. “And biscuits, a couple of loaves of bread, some water and a camping stove I found in an outdoors shop on the way.” She began to lift things out of her bags, one by one. “I hope everyone likes Hob Nobs.”
*
Will and Lance volunteered to go back up with Gwen to find the Outdoor shop again and see if they could find any sleeping bags and warmer clothes. Only Gwen had thought to bring her thick winter coat with her when fleeing her house, and the others were beginning to feel the chill deep in their bones.
“It’s all coming together,” Morgana said, smiling a little less crazily than usual. “Gwen and you two getting here as well.” She looked over to Gawain who nodded, although he appeared just as confused by her ramblings as everyone else.
They put some water on to boil and found a handful of mugs that Gwen had thought to bring with her as well. Merlin blinked in amazement and even Arthur seemed to have some admiration for how prepared she was. There seemed to be a collective agreement that they were going to handle the apocalypse in true British fashion - by looking at it over a cup of tea.
Jeff confessed that he wasn’t a fan of tea, but he did break out the Hob Nobs, and they sat, relating stories of how they had survived to each other.
Gareth had been visiting his brother when the first shockwave had hit, they had been grabbing a sandwich from the deli round the corner from Gawain’s office.
“If we hadn’t gone out for an early lunch, we wouldn’t be here,” Gawain said. “My building was almost completely ruined when we went to look at it. The designers didn’t plan for earthquakes.”
“We bumped into Gwen as she was coming along the road,” Gareth told them. “She almost knocked me out with a hammer.”
“A hammer?”
“Best weapon she had in her house, apparently,” Gawain said with a laugh. “She’s got quite a swing on her, though; if Gareth hadn’t been quick to duck, she would have taken his head off.”
When the other three got back, they found three mugs of tea waiting for them. They each wore about three coats each, and Will and Gwen had sleeping bags strung over each shoulder and stuffed under each arm. Lance, on the other hand, carried a huge hold-all that he lay down gently on the ground.
“Torches,” he explained, pulling one from the bag and stuffing some batteries into it. “One each, though we should probably only use a couple at a time to save energy. What we really need are a few of those ones your wind up, or shake.”
“These will do for now,” Arthur said, pulling a huge flash light from the bag and fiddling around with batteries and covers before switching it on. It was one of the high powered torches used by campers and hikers, able to light up half a wood easily.
“We almost got caught by one of those flying horse-eagle things,” Will told them, peeling off layers of coat and throwing them towards people. “Turns out they’re not that smart though. They don’t realise that you can hide under things.”
“I though it had seen me for a second there,” Gwen admitted, sitting down and clasping her mug to her eagerly. “I’ve never seen anything like it before…”
“Griffin,” Morgana said, “They’re griffins. I’ve seen one before. A long time ago.”
“Great,” Arthur said with feeling, “griffins, dragons and unicorns…”
“And those people,” Gwen said, “the ones on my street, rounding people up, herding them like sheep.”
“Who were they?” Merlin asked, huddling into the thick material of his coat. “Could you tell?”
“No idea. Just, they looked like they were normal until…”She trailed off.
“Until you saw them in the mirror,” Morgana finished, her voice sounding far-away, almost ethereal.
“Yes,” Gwen shuddered, tightening her hand on her mug until her knuckles whitened.
“What did they look like then?”
“Like,” she paused to draw her breath and to set her shoulders. “Like monsters. They were,” she considered her words carefully. “Emaciated. Like they had been dead for years, like mummies or something from a horror film. They looked hollow. Some of them.”
“Immortals and Liches,” Morgana commented. “Beings that were forced beyond the veil. There were probably some vampires in there two, maybe a few elves.” Gwen looked at her, thoughtful rather than scared for a moment.
“Elves, were those the sharp ones. All angles and hard edges: even their smiles.”
“Yes, that’s the best description I’ve heard of them for a while,” Morgana agreed with a nod.
“Vampires and elves?” Arthur asked shaking his head. “This gets more ridiculous every minute.”
“I’m guessing we’re not talking Elrond here,” Will muttered. Morgana stared at him in confusion. “Elrond… Halfelven, Lord of the Rings. Liv Tyler’s Dad? Hugo Weaving? ‘Hobbits are a virus’?”
“I-” Morgana began.
“It doesn’t matter,” Will told her with a shrug.
“Elves as in the fair folk,” Morgana told him, trying to clarify. “People used to guard against them with iron. A horseshoe over the door would stop them passing the threshold.”
“Fairies?” Jeff asked, his eyebrows rising. “We’re hiding from fairies?”
“The Fair folk,” Morgana corrected.
“Well… for now it’ll be best if we stay down here,” Arthur said, clearly deciding that fairies was one step too far for any conversation “We don’t know what’s going on up there, except that it’s dangerous.”
“We should make north,” Merlin said, thinking about his mother, up in Essex. “Maybe if we get out of the city things will be better.”
“Or maybe they won’t,” Will said, unhelpfully. “If we’re going anywhere, it should be south. Try and get across the channel, get to France.”
“We don’t know how widespread this is,” Lance pointed out, “this could be happening everywhere.”
“Or it could just be happening in London,” Gareth said, hopefully.
“We need to find out. Does anyone have a radio?”
Three hands went into pockets. Gwen had a radio on her phone, Lance had found one in the shop and thought it might be useful, while Gareth and Gawain had taken one from the body of a policeman they had found.
“He wasn’t using it,” Gawain said, looking a little uncomfortable.
They flicked through every radio station they could find, but there was nothing but static. Nothing at all.
“Well, that’s only to be expected,” Arthur said, calmly. “Signal would be dreadful down here. Gareth, Gawain, can you get anything?” No one mentioned Will’s phone, but Merlin guessed it was on most minds.
Static came up on all channels until, going through the ordinary radio again, they came across something, faint but still there nonetheless. It crackled like
A hush fell across the assembled company and everyone stared at the box, listening t the faint crackling voice that came out.
“I don’t know if anyone can hear this, I hope someone is listening,” the voice said. It was a man’s and it sounded familiar. Arthur could see a face in his mind’s eye, an earnest reporter speaking about the political situation in some far away country or other, worn and darkened by the sun and running for his life. But the usual ‘reporter’ intonation was lost, and his voice had the breathless speed of terror to it. “Communications went down about an hour ago now, but I managed to find this broadcast station still open. Before the phones stopped working we got word from the continent, from America. This isn’t just us.”
There was a pause of lengthy static before the man began to talk again.
“The earthquake hit everywhere, though the early reports we got suggested that it started here, here in London.” In their circle in the Underground, they exchanged glances, trying to cover their fear. “And we had reports of the same phenomena everywhere, fire breathing- fire- flying - dragons, and other creatures, people who aren’t people. The last reports we had were of multiple attacks, worldwide.
“Then communications went dead. We have no way to know what’s happening now and I’ve been asked to… I’ve been asked to give you instructions. Stay out of sight, stay in your homes. Do not leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary. The government is doing everything it can to rectify the situation. We believe this is a coordinated terror attack. Do not fear, there are-”
Suddenly there was only static to be heard, the man’s voice gone, then silence and a woman, speaking. It felt to Merlin as though she was speaking right to him.
“Greetings Albion,” she said, her voice chiming clearly like a bell. “You may have forgotten us, left us to rot and decay beyond the boundaries, but we have refused to leave this world to you, to mortals with your greed and filth. This world was once ours and you bowed to us and now we will take it back.
“We have reclaimed our land. Anyone who fights or rebels will be executed.”
Silence and then static again. They looked around, staring at one another, mouths parted, wordless comments passing between them.
“This is not their land,” Morgana said firmly, looking at Arthur. “This land belongs to you and you have to win it back for us.”
*
Arthur did not respond to Morgana’s claims, just ignored her, but Gwen asked Will what was going on and Merlin heard his friend explaining, in a higgledy piggledy sort of way, about Morgana’s strange claims and the name coincidence.
Gwen laughed.
“That is strange,” she said, shaking her head. “But you know what’s stranger?”
“What?” Will asked.
“My Mum liked old fashioned names,” she said, pulling a pack of matches from her pocket to relight the stove.
“Gwendolyn?” Will asked, smirking a bit.
“No, Guinevere,” she said, laughing again. Will gaped.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely,” she said, nodding. “One hundred percent, I’m afraid.”
“That’s insane.” Will said in shock. “Bloody mad, the lot of it. Dragons and hippogriffs and now… It’s not even like they’re common names. I don’t believe in- Well, I didn’t believe in all that new age stuff but- But the chances of all of you coming together. The chances of…” He trailed off again.
Merlin turned away, his mind spinning frantically. He found himself looking directly into Morgana’s eyes, like they could see right through him. Sickness rose up his throat. He couldn’t quite banish her ideas from his mind, as much as he wanted to. There was no such thing as reincarnation and Arthur, King Arthur was a legend, a construction of medieval romanticists and historical mistakes.
It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true.
She shook her head and Merlin hurried over to find a sleeping bag, he suddenly did not want to hear anything more.
*
The second time they went up for supplies, the next day, they had a longer shopping list and a lot more trouble.
Arthur had gone up this time, Lance at his side and Gawain had insisted on coming too. No one had dared to argue with him.
Although Arthur had had his reservations about bringing him along, worried about the logistics of running away, it was Gawain who saved their lives in the end.
Arthur and Lance had been getting food and extra clothing, grabbing toiletries as well, when Gawain had spotted the shop, a grubby place, dirty windows and a door that was almost off its hinges. There were a couple of bodies around the door, men who had died with their cigarettes in their hands, great slashes across their cheeks like something had sliced them open. A claw, Arthur thought, trying to be clinical about the situation.
He had once thought about going into medicine, when he was a lot younger and the television programs had made it seem a glamorous life where blood spatter was more of an aesthetic accessory than a grim fact of life. His father had raised an eyebrow and told him that he would grow out of it. In the end Arthur had.
He was grateful for that now, and ashamed. He did not know how to handle the bodies that lay in the streets, they reminded him of his own mortality and it made his hands shake. At the same time he was worried that he didn’t know how to help anyone, ashamed that he had chosen to do something that had helped no one, something that, in the long run, was pointless.
He had stepped over the bodies, though, like he had stepped over a dozen or more others on this trip, and gone into the shop, turning to help lift Gawain’s chair over them and up the small step.
It was the kind of shop that Arthur had only ever imagined existing in the worst cop films, the ones where the hero would use his last cigarette to light the trail of petrol. It purported to be a knife shop, hunting gear maybe, but the back room - that was where they found the other stuff. The stuff that Arthur was not entirely sure was legal. He was a little amazed by how easily Gawain took it all, just moving forward and assessing everything with an almost professional eye.
Arthur had never touched a gun before, but he knew the basic principals from flashy Hollywood films- bullets in, safety off, pull trigger and bullets came out again, just much faster.
“We need them,” Gawain said, though he did not sound enamoured of the idea. “We can’t go around unprotected.”
They grabbed guns and knives and Arthur was surprised at the power that just holding weaponry gave him, settling deep in the pit of his stomach. He was taking charge again, taking control of everything. He was unstoppable.
Lance looked even less happy, but he added the weapons to the bags he carried (holdalls grabbed from the nearest sporting goods shop) and looked over at where Arthur stood, his face grim.
“I don’t even believe in the death penalty,” Lance said with a harsh laugh, “I don’t believe in fox hunting and here I am loading a shot gun.”
“Survival,” Gawain said, but with no relish. “Sometimes things are resolved with words, with courts, other times you have to fight.”
“And this is one of those times that we have to fight,” Arthur agreed.
It was quiet as they emerged from the shop, the same unsettling silence that was everywhere today, no sound but their own footsteps and the whir of the wheels of Gawain’s chair.
Arthur should not have relaxed. He should not relax in this new world, a world that looked almost like the one he had grown up in, just shattered into a million pieces.
There was a screech, feral and bestial from above them, and the three of them had turned.
Arthur had not quite believed Will and Merlin about the hippogriff things - griffins - but, faced with one, he felt a bit sorry for all the times he had mocked them about it.
He fumbled with the gun in his hand, trying to work out what to do, but his hands were too clumsy, he couldn’t manage to get them to manipulate the mechanisms. It should be simple. He had seen it in a thousand television shows, a hundred films, slip off the safety, point and shoot, easy.
He was still raising the gun to point at the thing when there was an explosion of sound to his right. When he looked, Gawain was still pointing his gun, his face grim.
The hippogriff thing reeled, screeching again, in pain or shock, but it kept coming.
Lancelot and Arthur ran, but Gawain was still aiming his gun, calmly pointing it towards the creature. Instead of taking the time to yell at him, they grabbed the handles of his chair and dragged him backwards. Strangely it seemed to be the best tactic. Arthur felt his ‘own’ gun hanging uselessly in his hand, but Gawain, somehow, seemed to know what to do.
The shot gun had little effect, but it was powerful enough to make the creature pause, powerful enough to make it stare at them before beating its wings once and flying away to regroup.
They didn’t stop running though, Gawain turning round until the three of them were going as fast as they could towards the station entrance and the rest of their party.
“Do you think it’s still here?” Lance asked, breathless.
“No,” Arthur told him, there had been something intelligent in that creature’s eyes. “I think it’s gone to get reinforcements.”
*
Getting down the steps proved easier than they had anticipated, maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was just that Arthur’s mind was elsewhere, but he and Lance carried Gawain, chair and bags down under ground without even noticing.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Lance asked. Gawain shrugged.
“I’m a lawyer, some of my colleagues are the kind of people who have clay pigeon shoots. Also, I grew up on a farm, we had a shot gun. Not that we were technically allowed to use it.”
“Useful,” Arthur said, nodding, but his mind was miles away. He had not been joking about the reinforcements, and if guns had so little effect on one, he did not want to think what good they would do against an army. Will and Merlin had mentioned seeing dozens of them, lining the rooftops. He shuddered. They needed to move, get as far away from this place as possible, as soon as possible.
*
He had expected his words to be greeted with argument, but there was a weary acceptance from everyone. They began to pack up, stuffing as many things as they could into hold alls and wrapping things up in coats and jumpers to create make-shift bags.
“You really think more are coming?” Will had said, for once not even bothering to be abrasive.
“Yes.” Arthur had told him, and that had been that. The only question.
They set off that night, eating hastily made sandwiches as they went, too-pink ham stuffed between tasteless pieces of sliced bread. No one talked much but Jeff began to hum eventually, unable to keep quiet for too long. Arthur caught himself mumbling the words under his breath as they walked. London calling to the underworld…
They walked on.
*
Chapter 5: Law and Order
Chapter 4: London Calling to the Underground
When Gwen did arrive it wasn’t quite as expected - in fact it was nothing like expected. Merlin had sort of been imagining unflattering pictures of slightly overweight women with bleach blonde hair and a horrendous fashion sense. He knew he was prejudiced but, when you thought of sex chat operators you did not think of that.
They had heard the noise on the stairs and, armed with the kind of flotsam and jetsam they could find, had gone to investigate.
They had accumulated forms of weaponry as they went, struggling to find some sense of security. Arthur had still not parted with his metal piping and Merlin had picked up the remains of what might once have been a floor tile - he didn’t think it would be a particularly good weapon and his current plan, hazy and insubstantial as it was, involved flinging it in the direction of danger and running very fast in the opposite direction, while hoping that he had either hit the danger in such a way as to render it not-so-dangerous, or at least avoided hitting it anywhere that would make it especially angry.
Will had opted not to grab a weapon, reasoning that whatever danger they were going to encounter would be far more likely to attack those people trying to hurt it first, leaving him free to make his noble escape. Morgana too had declined to sift through the rubble for something suitably lethal, but there was a look in her eye that made Merlin think that perhaps she didn’t need one. Jeff had steadfastly refused to brandish his guitar like a club, insisting that even if the world was shuffling off this mortal coil that was no reason to become philistines.
This, of course, had led to a lengthy argument with Will over whether, in the event of being stuck in the Louvre when the world was suddenly plunged into the next ice age, it was permissible to use the Mona Lisa as fuel.
“You can’t burn one of the most important artistic accomplishments of all time!” Jeff had said, aghast.
“Well, of course,” Will had replied, “you’d work your way through all the rubbish first, but this is an ice age we’re talking about: you’d get to it sooner or later.”
“Rubbish?” Rubbish?” Jeff had repeated. “You think that Delacroix, Titian, Rembrandt are rubbish?” Will had shrugged, unimpressed.
“They’re just pictures,” he had said.
“Just pictures?” Jeff drew in a deep breath. “I notice you haven’t mentioned food or drink in this scenario. You won’t survive long enough to get to the Mona Lisa.”
“Melted snow and cannibalism,” Will had replied, without even pausing. Merlin had, with everyone else, taken a moment to stare at him and wonder about the wisdom of being trapped with him at the end of the world.
“Anyway,” Will had continued, either not noticing the worried looks cast at him or not caring. “I maintain that Da Vinci, as a forward thinking and practical man would have considered burning his masterpiece as an unfortunate but necessary occurrence. In fact, I believe he would have actively encouraged us to d so.”
“Next thing you’ll be saying that if we were stuck in a library you’d burn a first folio of Shakespeare.”
“It’d be the first to go,” Will replied cheerily and, for a second, Merlin had thought that Jeff was going to punch Will. Arthur, where he stood, had looked a little irate at the very suggestion as well. Lance, on the other hand, had looked more amused than outraged.
“You-” Jeff had sputtered.
“In the event of the apocalypse human survival is the main concern,” Will had said, as though he was writing a training manual of some kind.
“Says the man who was advocating cannibalism,” Jeff had responded.
“Sacrificing the old and the weak for the good of the young and the strong,” Will had pointed out. “In times of crisis Darwinism is forefront in most people’s minds.”
“Will, Merlin had said with a strange sort of wonder, “you are twisted.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s not going to be any cannibalism,” Arthur said, glaring at Will like he was the worst kind of fiend.
It was at that point that Lance had heard the noise from the entrance and arguments about who was going to be eating or burning, whom were put on pause for a moment of mortal peril.
Lance, in some sort of strange move of bravery (or insanity if Merlin through about it) went first, holding what might once have been an iron railing as though it were a sword. The sight of him made Merlin blink in déjà vu. It was like a memory he couldn’t recall. He shook it off, turning away, but was caught by the look on Arthur’s face and realised that he was staring at Lance too, his features etched in confusion, like maybe…
Merlin shook his head again. He wasn’t going to get into that, wasn’t going to buy into Morgana and her strange notions. There were other things to worry about, like whatever was at the top of the steps.
They stood there with bated breath as the footsteps stopped and were replaced by voice.
“Don’t worry about it, really,” a man’s voice said, “I’m used to it. The bloody tube is the least accessible place in the world.”
“Not quite,” another man’s voice said, both of them had a slight hint of a Welsh accent, though nothing strong. “Remember that time when you said you wanted to climb Mount Everest.”
“I could get to base camp, it’s been done before.”
“You wanted to go to the summit as I recall.”
“Really?” A woman asked, “Mount Everest?”
At the bottom of the steps, the assembled group looked at each other in confusion. You could almost imagine, if you didn’t look at the cracks in the walls, or the blood and dirt soaked into their clothes, that up there everything was all right.
“If you don’t mind taking the chair?”
“Oh no…” said the woman, “It’ll give me somewhere to put the biscuits.”
“Biscuits?” Arthur mouthed at no one in particular Merlin just shrugged. His stomach was starting to remind him that it was being neglected; biscuits sounded like a great idea.
There was a slight grunt of effort before the footsteps began again.
All six of them at the bottom of the steps looked up expectantly. They had no idea what to expect.
A pair of trainered feet came into view, sticking out from under the hems of filthy denim. Thin legs gradually acquired knees and thighs and then… another pair of feet, off to one side, dangling in midair. The second pair was also in trainers, but ones that looked almost unused. Then what seemed to be two bodies were revealed until it became clear that it was one person carrying another down the steps.
“Hello,” a voice said, one of the male ones - the one who wanted to climb Mount Everest, Merlin identified. Then two heads came into view, both with bright red hair and a spattering of freckles, both male. “Not exactly the way I like to be introduced to people,” said Mount Everest voice, coming from the mouth of the man being carried, “in my brother’s arms like some damsel in distress.”
“Wish you were a damsel,” the other man - his brother - said with a grunt. “You might weigh less then. Do you have to eat like a horse?”
It did make a rather comical sight. The brother who stood had a similar physique to Merlin - thin limbs but with wiry strength that Merlin did not have, while the brother being carried was stockier - broad shoulders and arm muscles. If Merlin had been asked before he would never have guessed the smaller one could have lifted the first, let alone carried him down a long flight of stairs.
“Need to keep my strength up.”
“Why? It’s not like you’re running around all day.”
“And you are? I’ve never seen anyone so lazy in my life.” There was a pause as the two of them took in the confused faces at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sorry, we should really introduce ourselves,” the man being carried said, smiling. “I’m Gawain; this is Gareth, my little brother.”
“I’m taller than you,” Gareth muttered.
There was a strange metallic clicking noise from behind them and another pair of feet (and a couple of pairs of wheels) appeared, growing into a young woman pushing a wheelchair full of shopping bags.
“Gwen?” Will hazarded a guess and she smiled.
“Yes. Will?” he nodded.
“Yeah, this is Merlin,” he said, pointing, “Lance, Jeff, Morgana and Arthur.”
“Gwen!” Morgana called out, running to wrap her arms around Gwen in an unexpected bear-hug.
“Hello?” Gwen said, a little confused. “Do I- Do I know you?”
“Don’t worry,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “She does that to everyone.”
“Oh,” Gwen, clearly deciding that crazy women hugging her were the least of her problems, returned the hug tentatively. “It’s nice to meet you, Morgana.”
“Uh,” Gawain said, looking at the shopping bags still inhabiting his chair. “Would you mind?” Lance stepped forward immediately, taking the bags and Gareth and Gawain proceeded to embark upon a very complicated manoeuvre to lower him into the seat. “Thanks.”
That was about the moment that Merlin realised that Gawain did not have any noticeable injuries and, even if he had, where would they have got a wheelchair from anyway? The man noticed his gaze, or maybe stare would be a more appropriate word choice, and winked. Merlin flushed, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, everyone does that,” Gawain said, stretching his arms up over his head. Merlin did not feel much better. He shouldn’t be like everyone then, his mother had taught him better than that. “Really… it’s normal.”
“Sorry,” Merlin said anyway.
“God, you really are an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur said from behind him.
“You know,” Gawain said, smiling a little, “not looking’s probably worse than staring. At least Merlin noticed I was here.” He began to wheel himself forward and Merlin realised that there was an obvious explanation for the musculature of his arms. “So this is home sweet home,” Gawain said, looking around. “Lovely, place, though it might need a lick of paint.”
“I think someone agreed with you,” his brother commented, nodding to a piece of graffiti on the wall.
There was a moment of silence as they looked around at their newest abode and Merlin realised that this might be it, he might be stuck here in a rundown tube station for weeks or months. His mind quailed at the thought of the word ‘years’ but he knew that it might be true.
He drew in a quick breath, seeing Arthur’s jaw set firmly, clearly having the same thoughts. It was important to remember, he told himself, that this was better than being burnt alive by a dragon. It was better than being ripped apart by one of those hippogriff things. It was better than falling out of a window and hitting the ground so hard you broke every bone in your body. This was the best they could hope for.
He thought, for a moment, that maybe they could go upwards, risk living in a building, squatting, or trying to find his way home. But there were too many things up there, too many dangers. He did not doubt that they would find themselves cornered before they even went around the block, and this time he didn’t think there would be a unicorn to help them.
He shuddered, imagining a life down here in the dark.
“I brought some tea,” Gwen said, her cheerful smile looking a little forced. “And biscuits, a couple of loaves of bread, some water and a camping stove I found in an outdoors shop on the way.” She began to lift things out of her bags, one by one. “I hope everyone likes Hob Nobs.”
*
Will and Lance volunteered to go back up with Gwen to find the Outdoor shop again and see if they could find any sleeping bags and warmer clothes. Only Gwen had thought to bring her thick winter coat with her when fleeing her house, and the others were beginning to feel the chill deep in their bones.
“It’s all coming together,” Morgana said, smiling a little less crazily than usual. “Gwen and you two getting here as well.” She looked over to Gawain who nodded, although he appeared just as confused by her ramblings as everyone else.
They put some water on to boil and found a handful of mugs that Gwen had thought to bring with her as well. Merlin blinked in amazement and even Arthur seemed to have some admiration for how prepared she was. There seemed to be a collective agreement that they were going to handle the apocalypse in true British fashion - by looking at it over a cup of tea.
Jeff confessed that he wasn’t a fan of tea, but he did break out the Hob Nobs, and they sat, relating stories of how they had survived to each other.
Gareth had been visiting his brother when the first shockwave had hit, they had been grabbing a sandwich from the deli round the corner from Gawain’s office.
“If we hadn’t gone out for an early lunch, we wouldn’t be here,” Gawain said. “My building was almost completely ruined when we went to look at it. The designers didn’t plan for earthquakes.”
“We bumped into Gwen as she was coming along the road,” Gareth told them. “She almost knocked me out with a hammer.”
“A hammer?”
“Best weapon she had in her house, apparently,” Gawain said with a laugh. “She’s got quite a swing on her, though; if Gareth hadn’t been quick to duck, she would have taken his head off.”
When the other three got back, they found three mugs of tea waiting for them. They each wore about three coats each, and Will and Gwen had sleeping bags strung over each shoulder and stuffed under each arm. Lance, on the other hand, carried a huge hold-all that he lay down gently on the ground.
“Torches,” he explained, pulling one from the bag and stuffing some batteries into it. “One each, though we should probably only use a couple at a time to save energy. What we really need are a few of those ones your wind up, or shake.”
“These will do for now,” Arthur said, pulling a huge flash light from the bag and fiddling around with batteries and covers before switching it on. It was one of the high powered torches used by campers and hikers, able to light up half a wood easily.
“We almost got caught by one of those flying horse-eagle things,” Will told them, peeling off layers of coat and throwing them towards people. “Turns out they’re not that smart though. They don’t realise that you can hide under things.”
“I though it had seen me for a second there,” Gwen admitted, sitting down and clasping her mug to her eagerly. “I’ve never seen anything like it before…”
“Griffin,” Morgana said, “They’re griffins. I’ve seen one before. A long time ago.”
“Great,” Arthur said with feeling, “griffins, dragons and unicorns…”
“And those people,” Gwen said, “the ones on my street, rounding people up, herding them like sheep.”
“Who were they?” Merlin asked, huddling into the thick material of his coat. “Could you tell?”
“No idea. Just, they looked like they were normal until…”She trailed off.
“Until you saw them in the mirror,” Morgana finished, her voice sounding far-away, almost ethereal.
“Yes,” Gwen shuddered, tightening her hand on her mug until her knuckles whitened.
“What did they look like then?”
“Like,” she paused to draw her breath and to set her shoulders. “Like monsters. They were,” she considered her words carefully. “Emaciated. Like they had been dead for years, like mummies or something from a horror film. They looked hollow. Some of them.”
“Immortals and Liches,” Morgana commented. “Beings that were forced beyond the veil. There were probably some vampires in there two, maybe a few elves.” Gwen looked at her, thoughtful rather than scared for a moment.
“Elves, were those the sharp ones. All angles and hard edges: even their smiles.”
“Yes, that’s the best description I’ve heard of them for a while,” Morgana agreed with a nod.
“Vampires and elves?” Arthur asked shaking his head. “This gets more ridiculous every minute.”
“I’m guessing we’re not talking Elrond here,” Will muttered. Morgana stared at him in confusion. “Elrond… Halfelven, Lord of the Rings. Liv Tyler’s Dad? Hugo Weaving? ‘Hobbits are a virus’?”
“I-” Morgana began.
“It doesn’t matter,” Will told her with a shrug.
“Elves as in the fair folk,” Morgana told him, trying to clarify. “People used to guard against them with iron. A horseshoe over the door would stop them passing the threshold.”
“Fairies?” Jeff asked, his eyebrows rising. “We’re hiding from fairies?”
“The Fair folk,” Morgana corrected.
“Well… for now it’ll be best if we stay down here,” Arthur said, clearly deciding that fairies was one step too far for any conversation “We don’t know what’s going on up there, except that it’s dangerous.”
“We should make north,” Merlin said, thinking about his mother, up in Essex. “Maybe if we get out of the city things will be better.”
“Or maybe they won’t,” Will said, unhelpfully. “If we’re going anywhere, it should be south. Try and get across the channel, get to France.”
“We don’t know how widespread this is,” Lance pointed out, “this could be happening everywhere.”
“Or it could just be happening in London,” Gareth said, hopefully.
“We need to find out. Does anyone have a radio?”
Three hands went into pockets. Gwen had a radio on her phone, Lance had found one in the shop and thought it might be useful, while Gareth and Gawain had taken one from the body of a policeman they had found.
“He wasn’t using it,” Gawain said, looking a little uncomfortable.
They flicked through every radio station they could find, but there was nothing but static. Nothing at all.
“Well, that’s only to be expected,” Arthur said, calmly. “Signal would be dreadful down here. Gareth, Gawain, can you get anything?” No one mentioned Will’s phone, but Merlin guessed it was on most minds.
Static came up on all channels until, going through the ordinary radio again, they came across something, faint but still there nonetheless. It crackled like
A hush fell across the assembled company and everyone stared at the box, listening t the faint crackling voice that came out.
“I don’t know if anyone can hear this, I hope someone is listening,” the voice said. It was a man’s and it sounded familiar. Arthur could see a face in his mind’s eye, an earnest reporter speaking about the political situation in some far away country or other, worn and darkened by the sun and running for his life. But the usual ‘reporter’ intonation was lost, and his voice had the breathless speed of terror to it. “Communications went down about an hour ago now, but I managed to find this broadcast station still open. Before the phones stopped working we got word from the continent, from America. This isn’t just us.”
There was a pause of lengthy static before the man began to talk again.
“The earthquake hit everywhere, though the early reports we got suggested that it started here, here in London.” In their circle in the Underground, they exchanged glances, trying to cover their fear. “And we had reports of the same phenomena everywhere, fire breathing- fire- flying - dragons, and other creatures, people who aren’t people. The last reports we had were of multiple attacks, worldwide.
“Then communications went dead. We have no way to know what’s happening now and I’ve been asked to… I’ve been asked to give you instructions. Stay out of sight, stay in your homes. Do not leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary. The government is doing everything it can to rectify the situation. We believe this is a coordinated terror attack. Do not fear, there are-”
Suddenly there was only static to be heard, the man’s voice gone, then silence and a woman, speaking. It felt to Merlin as though she was speaking right to him.
“Greetings Albion,” she said, her voice chiming clearly like a bell. “You may have forgotten us, left us to rot and decay beyond the boundaries, but we have refused to leave this world to you, to mortals with your greed and filth. This world was once ours and you bowed to us and now we will take it back.
“We have reclaimed our land. Anyone who fights or rebels will be executed.”
Silence and then static again. They looked around, staring at one another, mouths parted, wordless comments passing between them.
“This is not their land,” Morgana said firmly, looking at Arthur. “This land belongs to you and you have to win it back for us.”
*
Arthur did not respond to Morgana’s claims, just ignored her, but Gwen asked Will what was going on and Merlin heard his friend explaining, in a higgledy piggledy sort of way, about Morgana’s strange claims and the name coincidence.
Gwen laughed.
“That is strange,” she said, shaking her head. “But you know what’s stranger?”
“What?” Will asked.
“My Mum liked old fashioned names,” she said, pulling a pack of matches from her pocket to relight the stove.
“Gwendolyn?” Will asked, smirking a bit.
“No, Guinevere,” she said, laughing again. Will gaped.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely,” she said, nodding. “One hundred percent, I’m afraid.”
“That’s insane.” Will said in shock. “Bloody mad, the lot of it. Dragons and hippogriffs and now… It’s not even like they’re common names. I don’t believe in- Well, I didn’t believe in all that new age stuff but- But the chances of all of you coming together. The chances of…” He trailed off again.
Merlin turned away, his mind spinning frantically. He found himself looking directly into Morgana’s eyes, like they could see right through him. Sickness rose up his throat. He couldn’t quite banish her ideas from his mind, as much as he wanted to. There was no such thing as reincarnation and Arthur, King Arthur was a legend, a construction of medieval romanticists and historical mistakes.
It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true.
She shook her head and Merlin hurried over to find a sleeping bag, he suddenly did not want to hear anything more.
*
The second time they went up for supplies, the next day, they had a longer shopping list and a lot more trouble.
Arthur had gone up this time, Lance at his side and Gawain had insisted on coming too. No one had dared to argue with him.
Although Arthur had had his reservations about bringing him along, worried about the logistics of running away, it was Gawain who saved their lives in the end.
Arthur and Lance had been getting food and extra clothing, grabbing toiletries as well, when Gawain had spotted the shop, a grubby place, dirty windows and a door that was almost off its hinges. There were a couple of bodies around the door, men who had died with their cigarettes in their hands, great slashes across their cheeks like something had sliced them open. A claw, Arthur thought, trying to be clinical about the situation.
He had once thought about going into medicine, when he was a lot younger and the television programs had made it seem a glamorous life where blood spatter was more of an aesthetic accessory than a grim fact of life. His father had raised an eyebrow and told him that he would grow out of it. In the end Arthur had.
He was grateful for that now, and ashamed. He did not know how to handle the bodies that lay in the streets, they reminded him of his own mortality and it made his hands shake. At the same time he was worried that he didn’t know how to help anyone, ashamed that he had chosen to do something that had helped no one, something that, in the long run, was pointless.
He had stepped over the bodies, though, like he had stepped over a dozen or more others on this trip, and gone into the shop, turning to help lift Gawain’s chair over them and up the small step.
It was the kind of shop that Arthur had only ever imagined existing in the worst cop films, the ones where the hero would use his last cigarette to light the trail of petrol. It purported to be a knife shop, hunting gear maybe, but the back room - that was where they found the other stuff. The stuff that Arthur was not entirely sure was legal. He was a little amazed by how easily Gawain took it all, just moving forward and assessing everything with an almost professional eye.
Arthur had never touched a gun before, but he knew the basic principals from flashy Hollywood films- bullets in, safety off, pull trigger and bullets came out again, just much faster.
“We need them,” Gawain said, though he did not sound enamoured of the idea. “We can’t go around unprotected.”
They grabbed guns and knives and Arthur was surprised at the power that just holding weaponry gave him, settling deep in the pit of his stomach. He was taking charge again, taking control of everything. He was unstoppable.
Lance looked even less happy, but he added the weapons to the bags he carried (holdalls grabbed from the nearest sporting goods shop) and looked over at where Arthur stood, his face grim.
“I don’t even believe in the death penalty,” Lance said with a harsh laugh, “I don’t believe in fox hunting and here I am loading a shot gun.”
“Survival,” Gawain said, but with no relish. “Sometimes things are resolved with words, with courts, other times you have to fight.”
“And this is one of those times that we have to fight,” Arthur agreed.
It was quiet as they emerged from the shop, the same unsettling silence that was everywhere today, no sound but their own footsteps and the whir of the wheels of Gawain’s chair.
Arthur should not have relaxed. He should not relax in this new world, a world that looked almost like the one he had grown up in, just shattered into a million pieces.
There was a screech, feral and bestial from above them, and the three of them had turned.
Arthur had not quite believed Will and Merlin about the hippogriff things - griffins - but, faced with one, he felt a bit sorry for all the times he had mocked them about it.
He fumbled with the gun in his hand, trying to work out what to do, but his hands were too clumsy, he couldn’t manage to get them to manipulate the mechanisms. It should be simple. He had seen it in a thousand television shows, a hundred films, slip off the safety, point and shoot, easy.
He was still raising the gun to point at the thing when there was an explosion of sound to his right. When he looked, Gawain was still pointing his gun, his face grim.
The hippogriff thing reeled, screeching again, in pain or shock, but it kept coming.
Lancelot and Arthur ran, but Gawain was still aiming his gun, calmly pointing it towards the creature. Instead of taking the time to yell at him, they grabbed the handles of his chair and dragged him backwards. Strangely it seemed to be the best tactic. Arthur felt his ‘own’ gun hanging uselessly in his hand, but Gawain, somehow, seemed to know what to do.
The shot gun had little effect, but it was powerful enough to make the creature pause, powerful enough to make it stare at them before beating its wings once and flying away to regroup.
They didn’t stop running though, Gawain turning round until the three of them were going as fast as they could towards the station entrance and the rest of their party.
“Do you think it’s still here?” Lance asked, breathless.
“No,” Arthur told him, there had been something intelligent in that creature’s eyes. “I think it’s gone to get reinforcements.”
*
Getting down the steps proved easier than they had anticipated, maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was just that Arthur’s mind was elsewhere, but he and Lance carried Gawain, chair and bags down under ground without even noticing.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Lance asked. Gawain shrugged.
“I’m a lawyer, some of my colleagues are the kind of people who have clay pigeon shoots. Also, I grew up on a farm, we had a shot gun. Not that we were technically allowed to use it.”
“Useful,” Arthur said, nodding, but his mind was miles away. He had not been joking about the reinforcements, and if guns had so little effect on one, he did not want to think what good they would do against an army. Will and Merlin had mentioned seeing dozens of them, lining the rooftops. He shuddered. They needed to move, get as far away from this place as possible, as soon as possible.
*
He had expected his words to be greeted with argument, but there was a weary acceptance from everyone. They began to pack up, stuffing as many things as they could into hold alls and wrapping things up in coats and jumpers to create make-shift bags.
“You really think more are coming?” Will had said, for once not even bothering to be abrasive.
“Yes.” Arthur had told him, and that had been that. The only question.
They set off that night, eating hastily made sandwiches as they went, too-pink ham stuffed between tasteless pieces of sliced bread. No one talked much but Jeff began to hum eventually, unable to keep quiet for too long. Arthur caught himself mumbling the words under his breath as they walked. London calling to the underworld…
They walked on.
*
Chapter 5: Law and Order