Free Reaper's Legacy: Book Two (Toxic City) by Tim Lebbon

something. But they were falling everywhere. Along the street from us two cars crashed head-on, and another flipped over onto its back and smashed down the front wall of a house. There was a really big explosion, and screaming, and then my vision started blurring. David grabbed my hand. I passed out.” Rookheld up one hand as if to illustrate his brother's touch, but then Lucy-Anne realised that he had called a halt. A rook drifted down to land on his shoulder, he tilted his head, and the bird took off again.
    “It's okay,” he said. “Irregulars. Come on.” They walked on, past the entrance to an indoor market and a jeweller's with rings and necklaces still scattered on the pavement amongst broken glass. Lucy-Anne looked around but saw no one watching them. Whoever it was the birds had seen must have been hiding.
    “What happened when you woke up?”
    “Everyone was dead,” Rook said. “It was like…waking in another world. London was mostly quiet. Some shouts, screams, from a couple of people stumbling about. We never saw any, though. I suppose we were lucky. We had each other. So we went home. And our mother was dead. Sitting in her armchair, and the TV was still on, then. An advert for washing powder. Her cup of tea was still warm.
    “After that things are hazy. Time seems weird. We stayed together, I know that. Outside was terrifying and horrible. So silent , and when there were voices, they were screaming or mad. It might have been a couple of days or three weeks, living in our house almost as normal. David made food, washed up, and we dressed in clean clothes every day. And when the TV and radio were off, and the Internet couldn't connect anymore, and David's mobile had no signal and after we'd buried Mum in the back garden, under the thornless rose bush she'd planted by the back gate so that we didn't prick ourselves on it when we were little…after that, when we did start thinking about leaving, a man told us not to.”
    “A man?” Lucy-Anne prompted when he seemed to drift off.
    “A black man. He looked like he was a hundred years old. I think I'd seen him before, selling flowers at the local market on Saturday mornings. He came down our street at nine forty-three every morning. Same time, exactly. He called himself a crier, like an oldtown crier, you know? And he told us to stay where we were, because everything was terrible. Told us stories. We didn't believe them, of course.”
    “What sort of stories?”
    “I'm sure you can guess.” He stopped walking and looked at a swathe of graffiti across a shop's side wall. It was a strange mixture of symbols and images, as if written in an alien language.
    “So we stayed at home, and then I discovered that I could…” Rook waved one hand around his head, and seven rooks circled above them for a few moments before drifting apart once more. “It was amazing to me, and strange to David. His own powers were so much greater than they'd been before, and he couldn't handle it. The day the black man didn't come, David went out. He was picked up by the Choppers.”
    “Do you know what happened to him?” she asked. Rook glanced back at her, his eyes hard, and Lucy-Anne realised that she'd asked an intensely personal question. If he did know, and it was as awful as she feared, then she had no right asking him to relive it.
    “They killed him,” Rook said.
    “You…” She trailed off, unsure.
    “What?”
    “You're sure?” she asked quietly. “Only…maybe the Choppers were trying to help. In the beginning, at least.”
    Rook walked to the kerb and stopped, as if waiting for the motionless traffic to start moving again. “You think?”
    “Well, maybe. At first. I mean, I know what they do now. We've heard the stories, and everything. But I just don't want to believe they were doing that right at the start.”
    “Really?” He stared at her, then his expression softened a little. “I only wish you could see.”
    “See what?”
    “What my rooks show