CHAPTER TWENTY: OF MADMEN AND MAGNATES

Howard Piers wasn't a stranger to violence at all. Even before the outbreak, he found no symphony better than the shrieks of those staring into the abyss. They had finally noticed it staring back at them.But good lord, did it hurt to be on the other end of things. First came the problem of having most of his ear blown off. He didn't quite like the sound of that one. Then came having his leg amputated. He couldn't stand it—he now had something akin to a pirate's peg leg, with a little knee joint and shock-absorbing coil on it. It was terrible the amount of soreness his hip had now, trying to convince the blasted thing to move with him. It felt like learning to walk all over again, but somehow more disorienting and way more painful. During the last two days, Piers had gotten very acquainted with the floor. Intimate, even.He liked to think that he could just hobble around and get things done as usual—hell, maybe even take his leg off and slap someone with it. But no, according to Xing, he must stay put to bear a swift recovery. In the meantime, he would cover things on Piers's behalf. As much as the gesture was touching, he very much wanted to swiftly recover his leg and throw it at Xing. He had an arms deal to be managing with his best middleman.But no. Here he was, stuck in the medical bay of his own fortress, and formerly a place of incarceration. Wormwood Scrubs. Next to his hospital bed sat Roland, who was busy trying not to doze off. Poor fella, Piers thought, he must be as bored as I am. He reached over, looking on the bedside table for something."Oi- Roland.""Wh-huh?" Roland straightened up a bit in his seat, holding the Mossberg in his hands, lifting it from his lap."Put the gun down- I just need you to tell me where the radio is."Roland nodded slowly, reaching under his plastic garden chair to produce a hand-powered radio, giving it a few cranks."Who're we chatting to today, then?""You know who. Put it on the classic FM channel."Another dutiful nod from the big guy. He knew about Xing and his Leicester Square operation, so it would have made sense to pick that station. An easy-access station, across the road from where he was at. Clever little lad, Xing. He was also aware of the changes made to Classic FM to make it a secure means of communication. Roland produced a walkie-talkie, hooking it up to the radio."Want some headphones, bossman?"The look on Piers's face said it all. He snatched the radio set out of Roland's hands, talking into it."Xing? You there, mate?"Ten seconds of waiting, before that measured, perennially calm voice came on the airwaves. "Yes, I am. With some very bad news, might I add.""I take ONE day off and- okay, what is it. No- let me guess. The dead are rising. Again - well, I guess they're doing it all the time. But you know what I mean." Piers asked."I'm afraid you're spot-on.""For God's sake- tell me what's happening, right now.""Arthur Langdon is alive."Piers smiled. Then he giggled. "That was the greatest joke of all time, Li. Now, tell me what's going on. Now.""I told you. Langdon is alive. Mr. Havelston failed to kill him.""I bloody what-" Roland started, only for Piers to put a finger to his mouth. "Nonono, shush. Where is he now? Where's Mr. Corporate?""He was last seen in South Yorkshire, possibly going to London." Xing said."Ha-ha! Even better! Next thing you know he'll be lying on a silver platter with an apple in his mouth. Thanks Li, you've been great." Piers put the radio to one side before turning to face Roland. That you-can't-make-this-up grin had faded altogether, replaced with the most wrathful of grimaces."Now, you're going to explain to me what happened before I shove my entire wooden leg down your throat.""Well, I don't bloody know-" Roland started, scoffing. "I shot the fella in the face after he tried taking the Mickey Bliss out of me, then I left him for dead.""Exactly. So WHY isn't he dead?!" Piers barked out, punctuating those last three words with swats to the face, courtesy of his now detached leg."I don't know. You wanna see what did?" Roland asked, pumping his shotgun."You know what, fine. Knowing you, you probably missed the idiot's head!"Roland pulled the trigger, giving the wall opposite him a new coat of red, with lovely hints of white and pink."Call that a mine, guv'nor? That's what I did to Langdon, idiot looked like he tried making out with a chain.""Fair enough," Piers said, taking a deep breath. "Piers ran a hand through his hair. If Xing wants me to stay here and not do anything, that's on him. His problem now." He shrugged, taking the radio to get back into his hands. "Now, who else uses the London frequencies?""Err, I don't know. What about those fellas on the Cutty Sark?""The what?""The big pirate ship that's been making laps round the Thames? With that drunkard for a captain?""Ohhh," Piers smiled. "So, what pub did you meet him at?""The one 'round the corner, the Pavilion. Lovely place- but I preferred the North Pole right next to it. Can't believe they turned it into a Tesco's.""If there's one thing I'm going to remember you for, it's for trying to recommend me pubs after the whole of humanity has gone to hell. But sure- who knows, maybe there's still a pint or two we can squeeze out of the tap down there?"Roland smiled back, standing up. "Don't tell Xing we're doing this, though.""You won't have to worry about him for long, mate. After this arms deal, it'll be smooth sailing. Now pass me that walking stick, will you?""Ain't that just a long baseball bat?""It's what I say it is."