London Under Midnight by Simon Clark Page B

brothers now. His blood-smeared face was furrowed with worry. He stared down at a heap of wet things in his hands. The thug carried his own intestines where they spilled out through a gash in his belly. As he walked he made gasping cries. Whether that was shock or pain Ped wasn't sure. All he could do was watch in stunned silence as that man cradled his own bloody entrails in his two hands.
        The brothers saw the shaven-headed man stagger back toward the railway track. The intestines were slippery. It must have been like carrying a mound of soft, wet pasta. A length of it slipped through his fingers. Clearly, he was so deep in shock that he never noticed the five-foot strip of flesh dragging behind him.
        'Electricity,' Mickey whispered. 'Danger of death.'
        The skinhead limped on, trailing his flesh behind him.
        'Voltage,' Mickey intoned. 'Amps.'
        The intestine dragged through the dirt, then across the first track where it touched the live rail. Violet lightning blasted up the bloody ribbon into the man's body. As he convulsed a howl of agony burst from his lips.
        Mickey stared as the man collapsed on the live rail that emitted searing flashes, which engulfed the body in an ocean of blue fire.
        For the first time in his entire life Mickey was calm as he nodded. 'Electric Man,' he whispered. 'Electric Man dead.'
        

ELEVEN
        
        At midnight Ben Ashton walked down to the river to look into the water. The hermit in his boat atop the pole had warned that London was under threat. Only was that a threat from an actual, touchable enemy? Or did Elmo Kigoma mean a spiritual threat? He'd talked about Edshu the trickster god testing the city's people. If they passed the test then they would live, if not, they'd be destroyed. Although the hermit hadn't been able to reveal the identity of the Vampire Sharkz graffiti writer it did lend a different dimension to the article now. The plot thickens, as they say. He could draw Elmo's warning into the investigation of the mysterious graffiti. After all, Elmo was a famous figure now. He'd been featured widely in the media. For a while there'd even been 'Elmo Watch', a live observation camera that could be accessed by 'pressing the red button' on digital news channels. The downside of using Elmo's words was that many considered him a nut. Ben didn't think so. That's why he'd left the comfort of his apartment for this midnight riverside stroll.
        At the barrier between path and river Ben gazed down into the water. It reflected what appeared to be around a million city lights, so it was difficult to see past those shimmering glints on the surface to whatever might lurk beneath. Maybe Elmo's poetic use of language might have confused a simple explanation; maybe the old man had been talking about pollution in the river? After all, those exotic pronouncements about 'saving your life', and the touch of Edshu were Elmo's way of saying consume less; that the secret of longevity was a more Spartan diet. Yet Ben liked the man. He'd been impressed by the octogenarian's passion to save his fellow human beings.
        Thunder grumbled over the capital. In the distance forked lightning sped from the sky. Humidity combined with the heat to make even breathing uncomfortable. The rain, when it finally arrived after this hot spell, would be a relief. Ben stared into the river for a while. Patches of oil made iridescent rainbow patterns for the city's lights to fool around with and make gorgeous, if fleeting, artworks. Beyond that there was nothing he could see. Certainly nothing to threaten a city of seven million people.
        Okay, he told himself. Another ten minutes, then home to bed. Elmo's warning about a danger in the river was starting to look symbolic in some way that Ben failed to grasp. Not that the river appealed to him. To even glance at it usually brought back that old memory of the corpse in the water. Who needs