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A NECESSARY N E D SARAH PINBOROUGH F. PAUL WILSON A Necessary End © 2013 by Sarah Pinborough and F. Paul Wilson All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author. Interior fly image art from http://karenswhimsy.com/public-domain-images/ Cover Art © 2013 by M. Wayne Miller Interior Layout by Leigh Haig This book was first printed as a limited edition from Thunderstorm Books ALSO BY SARAH PINBOROUGH Mayhem Poison Charm Beauty The Language of Dying A Matter of Blood The Shadow of the Soul The Chosen Seed The double-edged sword The Traitor's Gate The London Stone Into the Silence Long Time Dead Feeding Ground Tower Hill The Taken Breeding Ground The Reckoning The Hidden ALSO BY F. PAUL WILSON Repairman Jack The Tomb Legacies Conspiracies All the Rage Hosts The Haunted Air Gateways Crisscross Infernal Harbingers Bloodline By the Sword Ground Zero Fatal Error The Dark at the End Nightworld The Teen Trilogy Jack: Secret Histories Jack: Secret Circles Jack: Secret Vengeance The Early Years Trilogy Cold City Dark City Fear City The Adversary Cycle The Keep The Tomb The Touch Reborn Reprisal Nightworld The LaNague Federation Series Healer Wheels Within Wheels An Enemy of the State Dydeetown World The Tery Other Novels Black Wind Sibs The Select Virgin Implant Deep as the Marrow Mirage (with Matthew J. Costello) Nightkill (with Steven Spruill) Masque (with Matthew J. Costello) Sims The Fifth Harmonic Midnight Mass The Proteus Cure (with Tracy L. Carbone) A Necessary End (with Sarah Pinborough) Short Fiction Soft & Others The Barrens & Others The Christmas Thingy Aftershock & Others The Peabody-Ozymandias Traveling Circus & Oddity Emporium Quick Fixes – Tales of Repairman Jack Sex Slaves of the Dragon Tong Editor Freak Show Diagnosis: Terminal The Hogben Chronicles (with Pierce Watters) Omnibus Editions The Complete LaNague Calling Dr. Death (3 medical thrillers) For Penn & Teller “Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.” Julius Caesar – William Shakespeare THURSDAY NIGEL O you really think that shit has any effect, or is it just for D show to make us all feel better? I know where I’d put my money. Those insecticide companies are all laughing hard at our expense.” Nigel had barely noticed the man sitting beside him; he’d been too busy letting his sweat cool in the air-conditioning and enjoying the relief at having made it onto the plane. His AMEX card had taken the three-thousand-pound hit for the business- class seat with no chance in hell he could pay it back, but he’d worry about that when he got home. Maybe the data he had stored on his thumb drive would persuade Malcolm to part with the cash from the newspaper’s accounts. Still, he was on the plane and that was all that mattered. British Airways flights out of moribund Cairo were rare now and were taking only nationals. Even with the city nigh desert- ed, they had far more people waiting than seats. England was supposed to be safe and everyone wanted to go home. He’d been lucky. “I mean,” the man continued, “it’s hardly a secret that it’s gone worldwide.” Air stewards holding masks over their faces moved up and down the aisles spraying the air with insect repellent, the smell at once acrid and comforting. Nigel looked across at his fellow passenger. Shirt with wide wet patches circling low from his armpits. Hanging jowls. A nose red as much from booze as the Egyptian sun. Twat was the word that sprung immediately to 15 A NECESSARY END mind. The plane’s engines thrummed louder and they jolted slightly as the pilot pushed them back off the stand. “But then it’s all their fault, isn’t it?” The man leaned in conspiratorially across the divide, close enough for his tangy breath to assault Nigel’s senses. “You know. The blacks.” “You think?” Nigel said, unable to stop himself despite not wanting to get drawn into five hours of inane conversation. As soon as they were up, he intended to sleep. Hadn’t had enough of it recently, and he found something reassuring about being thirty-six thousand feet in the air above the plague and its attendant madness. “Of course.” The jowls wobbled in affirmation. “Just like AIDS. All comes down to Africa. To the blacks.” The man must have seen some flicker of amusement in Nigel’s expression and his eyes hardened. “Only idiots think otherwise.” “Champagne, sir?” The air hostess smiled at them, break- ing the moment. Nigel took a glass. The whole world was descending into chaos but you still got champagne on take-off. Stiff upper lip and all that. Sometimes you just had to laugh. Or cry. Or simply wonder if anyone truly sane was left in the world. As they pulled onto the main runway, he leaned back in his chair and peered out of the window at the shimmering heat on the tarmac. To the west, a huge plume of black smoke marred the cloudless sky. Cairo was burning. Again. But his mind was still on the man beside him, and those diminishing millions of others like him. Maybe he should add some of this hysteria to his article. Malcolm would like it. Race. When you can’t blame anything else then blame the color of someone’s skin. “They say Paris was the fault of a white man,” Nigel said 16 PINBOROUGH & WILSON after a long enough pause to allow the man beside him to get comfortable in his chair. He kept his eyes on the endless blue sky that cut across the dusty desert horizon. Now that he was settled perhaps it was time to unsettle him. “I beg your pardon?” “He was Spanish. A Catholic of all things. God Squad ter- rorist. A crazy.” He turned back to the man. For a second he wondered what his name was and then realized that he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t imagine anything about this man he wanted to retain. “You’re lying.” “I’m a journalist, so that’s always a possibility.” Nigel kept his tone light and conversational. “But not this time. I could tell you how he snuck them in, got them past the sprays and border checks, but that would spoil the story for you when it comes out in the papers. But he was white and he said he was doing it for his God. And that”—this time it was his turn to lean forward a little—“was it for Paris.” He smiled and took a small amount of satisfaction in seeing the smug face beside him pale slightly. “So maybe you’re right. Maybe all the sprays and DDT planes are just to make us feel better. Because you can’t stop the crazies.” He took another sip of his champagne. “So if you want to blame anyone, why don’t you look to the Almighty? Seems like everyone else is, one way or another.” The aircraft surged forward as it built toward take-off and Nigel leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Goodbye Cairo International Airport and thank you. Something told him the next five hours would be peaceful enough. 17 A NECESSARY END People could speak of God or color, but he was pretty sure he had the answer tucked into his pocket. They could all read it and weep when it went to press. Abby would. What would she make of his story? After they’d finally got a connection last night and managed a ten- minute crackling chat, he’d actually been looking forward to getting home. She’d sounded like Abby—the Abby in his head— warm and sweet and healthy. Now the first twinges of dread were kicking in. The needles. The machines. And that fistula. His stomach lurched as the plane rose but he wasn’t sure it was entirely due to the momentum. He felt the familiar tightening in his shoulder muscles and tried to force it to let go. More champagne, that was what he needed. More cham- pagne and then five hours of peaceful rest high above the in- sanity that raged below. NAVY OPENS FIRE fleeing North Africa, the ON AFRICAN Royal Navy received FLOTILLA orders to open fire. “Let them land in GIBRALTAR – After Spain or France,” one warnings to turn around officer was overheard. and return to their home “They’re not setting foot ports were ignored by the on British soil.” countless small craft (The Times of London) 18 ABBY BBY stepped into the TARDIS-size vestibule of the Purr ’n A Woof and closed the outer door behind her. She’d thought it was hot out on the pavement—unseasonably so for Septem- ber—but this box was an oven. She did a slow turn, inspecting the stifling air around her. A speaker in the upper right corner crackled. “All clear?” “Looks good,” she said. A prolonged buzzzz and the inner door swung open. She yanked off the sunglasses and ski mask as she stepped into the air-conditioned interior. “Oh Lord, this feels heavenly,” she said. The proprietor, known to her only as George, stepped from behind the counter. Skinny, pale, wild hair, thick glasses, wear- ing a faded yellow Hawaiian shirt aswarm with giant carp. He indicated the padded stool to her left. “Just drop your things there. How is it?” “Outside?” She pulled off her knit wool gloves and long raincoat. “Not bad.

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