"We won't be for long," Hellboy said.
"What do you mean?" Jim asked.
"They're all coming upriver," Liz said, "which means we'll be going downriver. There's not much we can do here, other than relay what we know to that SAS guy. We have to find Blake."
"What good will that do now that he's released these things on us?" Jim asked. For the first time Liz heard a note of panic in his voice.
"Stop him, and maybe we stop this," Liz said. "Hellboy?"
"It's worth a shot," he said. "He's got to be controlling things somehow, guiding this. As I said, these are animals. Where's their purpose? What's motivating them to destroy a hotel? They're puppets. We need to find the guy who's holding the strings."
Liz nodded. "And cut them. Here, let me talk to the SAS guy." Jim handed her the satellite phone, and she pressed it to her ear, covering her other ear to try to shut out the roar of the rotors. "Sergeant?" she said.
"Smith. Who's this?"
"I'm Liz Sherman from the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense."
"Hey, this must be just your cup of tea." Liz heard some shooting in the background, someone shouting, and then the gunfire was suddenly lessened by the slam of a door. "Excuse me if I talk while I'm on the move."
"No problem. Listen, Sergeant Smith — "
"Just Smith."
"OK, Smith, now listen. You have to get everyone down into the basement or whatever the lowest point is in that building. Understand?"
"I'm approaching the conference hall right now. If I can get anyone to listen I'll do my best. You in a chopper?"
"Yes."
"How does it look?"
Liz paused for a couple of seconds, looked down at the battle. There were more fires now, more explosions, and the sky was fining with smoke.
"That bad, eh?" Smith said.
"It's not good. You don't need me to tell you what's happening, what's assaulting you?"
"I've just been out onto the concourse. Two of my men were killed there by a lion with a man's head, and I emptied a mag into a giant bloody black dog before the damn thing even decided to sit."
"They're in the hotel already?"
"No, we're — " Smith broke off, and Liz held the phone away as the crackle of gunfire came again. "We're holding them off," he said. "So yeah, I've got a rough idea of what's happening. The world's come to us. That sound about right?"
"That's about right. Smith, there's worse to come. You're being harried at the moment, but there are things coming up the river — big things — and they'll be with you any time now."
"How big?"
"Well ... don't bother with machine guns."
"Right. Basement, then."
"We're heading away, but I'll keep the channel open," Liz said. "Good luck."
"Luck's got nothing to do with it." Smith clicked off, and Liz stared at the mouthpiece for a second, thinking she should have said more. But what more was there to say? He was the man on the ground, he was the one facing these things, not just watching from a safe distance.
"We need to go," Hellboy said. "Hey, pilot, follow the river down to the sea. Stay at this height, and keep a look out for ... things."
"Yeah, sure. Things," the pilot said in their headphones. His voice was flat, panic subdued by shock. "And my name's Hicks."
"Hicks, you got any guns in this thing?"
"Usually a door gun, but it's not mounted today."
"Great." Hellboy pulled his pistol, checked that it was loaded, and holstered it again. "Let's go."
The three of them remained at the door as the helicopter turned and headed east, watching the battle recede behind them, seeing a Tornado smash into the hotel, sending burning debris to the ground below. Something rose from the flames, itself blazing, but the fire soon died out as the flesh-and-blood creature from myth and legend spun around for another attack.
"This is bad," Liz said.
"Yeah, its bad." Hellboy turned to face Liz.
That was when the pilot started screaming.
* * *
Motorway approaching London — 1997