Page 50 of No Man's Land

Josef had no reason and, in all honesty, no will to argue further and so he let Alex lead him through the quiet streets of Belgravia towards the bustle of Knightsbridge. It was a comfort to have the other man’s company, but even so, his ears were pricked for the sounds of footsteps behind him, and his nose twitched in dread of that death-stench.

Into the quiet, he said, “Tell me this, then. Are they…?” He thought back to Sykes’s body in the morgue with its sepulchral blue gaze. “Are they reanimated dead men, or do they just look like them?”

Alex gave a slight nod, as if in approval of the question. “By nature, ghouls feed on the dead—in graveyards or plague pits, typically. But at the front, in no man’s land…” His expression darkened. “There, they’ve started to feed on the dying, and sometimes their victims become infected, for want of a better word, before they pass.”

“Bloody hell, is that—?” Josef stopped walking, staring at Alex, who also stopped. “The black rot on Sykes’s arm?”

“Yes. We believe that men infected like Sykes can transform after death.”

“Transform into a ghoul?” Josef almost laughed; the idea was preposterous. “Like… Like Count Dracula?”

Alex winced, but only said, “Different process, but yes. The same outcome.”

“Fucking hell.”

“That’s what I said, or something like it.”

Josef laughed, although it came out wobblier than he’d have liked. “So, what you’re saying is any of these poor buggers who got bitten at the front could turn into a ghoul when they die?”

“That’s about the sum of it. We’re trying to weed them out before they leave the Continent, or at least when they reach the hospitals, but a few are slipping through. Clearly.” He added, “I’d hoped that Sykes had been spared that fate.”

“There are worse things than death,” Josef said, staring into Alex’s stark, pale face. “That’s what you said at the clearing station. I thought you meant dishonour, or some crap like that.”

Alex cocked his head. “And now you know better?”

Something in the man’s direct, dark gaze made Josef admit, “I don’t believe in ghosts or ghouls, but… I’m struggling to find another explanation.”

Alex held his gaze, and there was a warmth in his eyes at odds with the subject. “Well, as the great man said,There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“True, but Hamlet was doolally, wasn’t he?” He grinned at Alex’s look of surprise. “What? Didn’t think I’d know my Shakespeare?”

“I’ve come to realise, Josef, that there are more things toyouthan one might dream of.”

“Oh yeah? Dream about me, do you?”

With an unexpectedly self-conscious smile, Alex said, “If I did, I’d hardly confess.”

There was no reason whatsoever for that smile to work its way into Josef’s chest, and yet he felt an anticipatory flutter of wings beneath his sternum just the same. “Come on,” he said, “I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

“And we wouldn’t want that,” Alex observed mildly, and started walking again. But his smile was still there and, aggravatingly, Josef’s lips also curved up as he fell into step next to him.

They were halfway along Piccadilly when Josef heard the first boom of a distant explosion, then a second. A moment later, whistles began to screech in warning, and everyone started to run.

“Air raid!”

A new, different fear seized Josef as he looked up to find the night sliced by searchlights. In the distance came the rat-a-tat-tat of antiaircraft guns, and below that the ominous drone of huge German Gotha aeroplanes.

“Damn it.” Alex pulled Josef back against the side of a building, out of the path of the panicking crowds.

They’d almost reached Burlington Arcade, and its well-heeled clients were being directed to shelter by the stoic Beadles in their ridiculous top hats and frock coats.

“Dover Street tube,” Josef said, grabbing Alex’s arm, “that’s the closest.”

Alex hesitated. “Not underground.”

“What? Come on—it’s a fucking air raid!”

“You know what’s down there.”

---