Pandaemonium Part 26

Kirk reels, a little dazed from the impact, but nothing compared to the demon. It staggers drunkenly, struggling to get back on its feet, black blood spurting from its nose and mouth.

Kirk doesn't hesitate. He kicks it in the face with everything he has, knocking it on to its back. With it lying there stunned, he kicks and stamps on its head - again and again and again - until he feels a hand on his arm, tugging him back.

'It's dead,' says a voice. It sounds miles away, but that's because his ears are filled with the whoos.h.i.+ng of his blood around his head as he thrashes away with his feet. 'Let's go.'

Kirk wheels around and sees Matt standing beside him.

He looks down at what's left of the creature's head, realises he's trembling with the adrenalin, sweating despite the cold.

He's never killed anything before. Christ, look at it. What a f.u.c.king mess. He looks at Matt, thinks of what he felt less than an hour ago, thinks of what else could have been lying at his feet, thinks of what he wanted for Barker, thinks of Dunnsy, thinks of Dazza, thinks of Ewan. He feels something welling up, something he knows he can't stem. He pulls Matt closer, throws his arms around him and starts to cry.

Marianne tugs on Cameron's arm and urges him to slow down. She's breathless, she needs to get her bearings, and the intervening events have thoroughly vindicated Deso's suggestion of hiding out somewhere indoors. She doesn't know where Deso and Rosemary ended up, and more to the point, nor does she know where she and Cameron have ended up. When the creatures converged on poor Bernadette, they all just scattered.

The music is distant now, though still b.l.o.o.d.y playing: Radar must have had a whole default set-list cued up on his laptop. It's easy to imagine the party still going on in one of Adnan's parallel universes: all of them are still dancing, none of this horror has happened, and the only thing she's anxious about is whether either she or Adnan will get up sufficient nerve to initiate a snog.

By a dim glow of light through the trees, she is able to deduce that they are just north of the Fort Trochart compound. From memory, the barn should be the first thing they come to, as good a place as any to fortify themselves.

'I'm guessing if Adnan was here,' Cameron says very quietly, 'you'd be finding it pretty hard not to say "I told you so".'

'Why?' she asks, with p.r.o.nounced consternation.

'You're the one who already believed in all this stuff. Demons, I mean: that's what we saw, wasn't it?'

'I'm into Tolkien as well. Doesn't mean what we saw were orcs. I believe in the power of myth, but that's not the same as believing the myths themselves. Reality is what you're left with when you stop stop believing in things, so it doesn't matter what these f.u.c.kers are: what matters is how we keep them from killing us.' believing in things, so it doesn't matter what these f.u.c.kers are: what matters is how we keep them from killing us.'

'Don't suppose you've got any pointers on that score: do we need stakes through the heart, silver bullets . . . ?'

'Pointers? Yeah.' She glances towards the dark grey shape of a two-storey structure just distinguishable against the black of the night. 'We barricade ourselves inside there and wait for the cavalry.'

'Okay,' Cameron says. He strikes her as too scared to dissent, even if he did disagree. The one good thing about the blind leading the blind is that the follower is unaware that the leader can see f.u.c.k-all either.

Having caught her breath just enough, they both set off at a cautious jog, trying to cus.h.i.+on their footfalls as they proceed. While they were aimlessly running, it never occurred to them to exercise any such stealth, only to put as much distance as they could between themselves and whatever was tearing Bernadette apart. As soon as they had a goal, however, despite neither making an entreaty to that effect, they were both instinctively endeavouring to conceal their movements. There is a palpable fear of being set upon from any angle at any moment, ramped up the closer they get to their destination, a thought that hadn't crossed their minds either of the times they fled in panic.

They reach the outbuilding at its rear, Cameron accelerating when he sees the narrow door at the left-hand corner of the gable end. Marianne can't shout, so she has to draw upon the last of her reserves to catch up with him before he can open it.

'No,' she says. 'We need to do a circuit. We don't know what's already in there.'

They make their way cautiously around to the front, where they can examine the main entrance.

'It's okay,' Marianne concludes. 'It's still locked from the outside. Give us a hand with this crossbeam.'

They lift the beam from its brackets and lower it to the ground as quietly as possible, before Cameron tugs the door open. Marianne glances back, anxiously looking out for possible pursuers, then follows him inside. They both stop as they feel a squelching underfoot.

's.h.i.+te,' Cameron says.

'Probably.'

'Hang on, is that a light switch there?'

'Yeah. Let me close the door first, though.'

'Got you.'

Marianne pulls the door to, then Cam flips the switch. They look down and see that he is standing in a puddle of blood, more dripping into it from above. Slowly, reluctantly, they look up, just in time to see a baling hook swing down into Cameron's chest. He gets hauled rapidly upwards out of sight, blood spraying around his wildly kicking legs.

Marianne turns and runs, pus.h.i.+ng the door open only to slam into another creature, who grips her around the throat and lifts her up. The image of Fizzy's death flashes into her mind and she wets herself as she spots a knife in the creature's other clawed hand.

Marianne closes her eyes but the blow doesn't come. Instead, she hears a guttural issue that she deduces must be speech. She looks again and sees another, larger creature approach, gesticulating towards the main building as it talks. The one holding her gives a growled response, then carries her, still by the neck, into the building, where she is thrown against a pillar and drops to the floor. She feels the ground cold and tacky under her hands and looks to her side where she sees two bodies lying close by, naked and mutilated beyond recognition. The larger demon looks overhead and growls some form of command. This prompts movement above, and she glances up to see a third creature perched on the overhang of the upper level, blood smeared all over its mouth and chest, the baling hook in its hand.

There is a discussion, or possibly an argument, after which the one with the baling hook briefly disappears from sight, then rather angrily shoves Cameron over the drop. His arms flap as he falls, thrust out in front just before impact, then he cries in agony as snapped bone rips through muscle and skin. Marianne instinctively gets up to run to him, and is promptly sent reeling back against the pillar by a blow that lifts her feet off the ground. The creature then seizes her by the left wrist and drives its knife through her palm, pinning her in place.

Her scream threatens to shake the barn, shake the night.

Then the creature giving out the orders looks at her thoughtfully, very thoughtfully indeed, and says something in what sounds unmistakably to be Latin.

Kane fears they may be approaching feeding time in the executive dining room. Every five seconds brings another crash against the door, with the creature outside enjoying more success than Rocks in attempting to force it open. The sideboard and other furniture piled in front slides forward a little with every impact, before being shouldered back again by Sendak. The lock has already given, splintered out of its frame. The blockade is preventing the door from opening more than an inch or two each time, but the door itself is cracking horizontally at around chest height.

Sendak digs his heels into the floor and uses himself as a human wedge, addressing the room as he does so.

'Okay, people, the good news is that I made a call and help is on its way. The bad news is we'll be lucky if it gets here inside two hours, and as you are all aware, party crashers never come alone.'

'Where are the rest of the kids?' Kane asks, though he's dreading the reply.

'Games hall. It's the best place to defend. Two exits, no windows. Creatures took the dining room, killed at least one of the kids, I couldn't see for sure. Some of them ran outside. It's sealed off now. Guthrie didn't make it either.'

Sendak fires it out, blank and neutral. No sorrys, no plati tudes, just pertinent information. Kane understands: they can't afford anything else right now.

There's another crash at Sendak's back.

'What about Heather?'asks Blake.

'She's in the games hall, got my shotgun. And that's where we gotta fall back to. This door's not gonna hold much longer.'

A section of veneer tears away, sprinkling sawdust beneath it as the plywood starts to crumble.

'That door opposite leads to the kitchen. I need some of you to get inside, get hold of something heavy and stand by to barricade it as soon as I get through.'

'The kitchen?' asks Kane. 'But you said they took the dining room. Aren't they connected?'

'Only by serving hatches, and they're sealed by roller-shutters. There's a door leading back out to the corridor, then round one corner we've got a clear run to the games hall.'

'How long a run?' asks Blake, mindful of having carried Rebecca on the last mercy dash.

'The longest one you'll ever make,' Sendak replies.

'Hey, don't sugar-coat it, give us the truth.'

Sendak offers him a grim smile, then shakes as the next crash impacts.

'Get moving, people.'

Blake helps Rebecca through to the kitchen. She still seems dazed, but she has resumed the ability to perambulate herself from one spot to another, which could be the difference between life and death for both of them. She and Yvonne stand out of the way as the others a.s.sess what kitchen appliances would make the best barrier. The consensus is the huge double-doored Maytag fridge opposite the hobs. It takes Kane, Blake, Rocks and Beansy to manoeuvre it across next to the door, and they all hold their position as they wait for Sendak to make his move.

The Sergeant waits for the next crash, forces the sideboard back one last time, then sprints for the kitchen, Caitlin slamming the door as soon as he's clear. They shuffle the fridge in front of it, but Sendak directs them instead to tip it on its side. They shuffle the fridge in front of it, but Sendak directs them instead to tip it on its side.

'Less likely to topple, and we can pile some more s.h.i.+t on top of it,' he explains.

As they set about further bolstering this barricade, they can hear the rending and splintering of wood as the adjacent dining room is breached. The first slam against the kitchen door follows seconds later, accompanied by a horrible guttural roar that vibrates through all of them like pins and needles.

'What . . . are . . . those . . . things?' asks Caitlin, shaking.

'They're f.u.c.kin' demons, man,' Beansy replies, his tone implying it's an astonis.h.i.+ngly stupid question. 'Demons from h.e.l.l.'

Caitlin turns to Blake and forces the question that, like the demons themselves, he's been able to evade so far, and which he still hopes to remain a step in front of.

'You said there were no demons, Father.'

He is resolute and grave, answering to more than Caitlin and Beansy.

'There are monsters, of that there can be no dispute. But we don't know what they are, and we d.a.m.n sure don't know where they're from.'

Kane happens to catch a glance at Sendak, whose expression betrays that he just might have an idea regarding this latter question.

XXIV Deso can see light again through gaps in the trees. They lost sight of the buildings after fleeing from the attack on Bernadette, and having run blindly for who knows how long, the effect was similar to doing somersaults underwater: you no longer know whether the direction you are headed is actually taking you further from the surface.

He's still got a hold of Rosemary's hand. He remembers grabbing her because he feared she was going to freeze in the sight of Bernadette's death, and she hasn't let go since. It's the only part of his body that isn't cold. Running made him warmer but he couldn't keep it up, and after the initial panic, he didn't feel inclined to drive forwards at anything above the most cautious pace. They've both been staring into blackness, starting at shadows, flinching from every whisper of wind. Now they can most definitely hear something close by: a low, rumbling animal sound.

'There!' Deso whispers, and points towards the outline of a small, one-storey structure only twenty or thirty yards away. It's a storage shed on the gravel path that skirts the boundaries of the compound, which means they've come around two hundred and seventy degrees.

They maintain a cautious pace through the last of the trees, then can't hold back from sprinting the last dozen yards across open ground. It is indeed a shed: a rea.s.suringly st.u.r.dy-looking concrete-and-aluminium affair. It is also, less rea.s.suringly, padlocked shut.

'Oh G.o.d, it's locked,' Rosemary whimpers, threatening to lose it.

'Shhh.'

They hear more movement in the trees: that low rumbling again, and the sound of heavy footfalls.

'You got a hairpin on you?' Deso whispers. 'A kirby grip?'

She shakes her head.

'f.u.c.k.'

He is clutching his naked torso against the cold, delicately fingering the shallow gouges where the demon's claw dug in. He enviously eyes Rosemary's top, which gives him an idea.

'Take your bra off.'

'What? Listen, if this is the "don't want to die a virgin" routine, you picked the wrong girl.'

'f.u.c.k's sake, I need the wire. I'm working on the "not dying" problem rather than the "not dying a virgin" one. Take it off. It's not like you need it anyway.'

Rosemary lets out a tut of indignation but complies nonetheless, pulling her bra out through her sleeves. Deso bites into the material to tear it, slides out one of the underwires and begins attempting to pick the lock.

'Have you done this before?' she asks him anxiously.

'Yeah. Just don't tell Big Kirk in case he works out who it was stole his bike that time in second year.'

They hear the guttural growl again, sense more movement. Rosemary sees Deso's face betray growing desperation, not conducive to the task at hand.

'Mother of G.o.d, please, hurry.'

'Hurry? I've a regulation tea-break to take yet. f.u.c.k's sake, what do you think I'm doing here?'

'I don't care, but do it faster.'

Deso bites back another retort, realises he's getting himself in a state. He pulls the wire out of the lock for a moment and takes a breath. As he does so, he glances at Rosemary, who is anxiously scanning their surroundings. He catches sight of her chest, the material of her top now clinging tightly to the outline of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. When he said she didn't need the bra, he'd meant to imply she'd no t.i.ts, but having seen the results of her taking it off, he realises it was an accurate, if unintentional compliment. Talk about a way to find your centre. He's calmer now, the moment of fl.u.s.ter pa.s.sed. He pa.s.ses the wire delicately back into the slot and a few seconds later, the padlock pops.

They slip quickly in and close the door. It's dark inside, almost completely so, with only a few slivers of light admitted through a single transparent plastic window that is largely obscured by the contents of a shelving unit. Rosemary pads her palm around the wall until she finds a light switch. She is about to turn it on when Deso's hand intercepts hers and stops it. With his other hand, he puts a finger to her lips.

Outside, they hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel.

His eyes adjusting to what little light there is inside the shed, Deso gets a grip on the shelving unit and drags it against the door as quietly as he can. The footsteps continue their approach. Their gait is irregular, broken, unsyncopated. It makes Deso think of a lizard on hot stone: quick bursts, pauses, scuttling: definitely not human.

He hears more moving gravel, then another, growing silence. Has it stopped again? No. It's on gra.s.s. Closer.

f.u.c.k's sake. It's right outside. He can hear it breathing.

The door moves, given a trial push. It comes in only a centimetre before being blocked by the shelving unit. A second push follows, this time with greater intent. It opens a fraction further: enough to betray that there is something blocking it: something that can be s.h.i.+fted. He holds himself steady against the shelves, keeping his centre of gravity low. Rosemary crouches alongside, also leaning into the blockade. The outside pressure on the door relents: he worries it's ahead of a more determined charge. Then a scream carries through the air from not so far away: a human scream of pain.

The third push never comes. There are more footsteps on the gravel, hurried this time, retreating. Deso breathes out, his long sigh rendered vibrato by his s.h.i.+vering and the tremulous chattering of his teeth.

Rosemary stands up straight again next to him and places a hand on his shoulder, getting a guide on where he is in the near-darkness. He can barely see her, but her face is only inches away, close enough for her breath to feel warm.

'You're freezing,' she gasps.

'Least of my worries, I'd have thought,' he whispers.

'But one I can do something about. Just don't take this the wrong way.'