Pandaemonium Part 33

Then the robed figure opens the vessel and gives a flick of his wrist.

'Holy water burns their skin,' says Rosemary in tremulous awe.

Adnan is standing furthest from the monitor, which is why he is able to notice a slight motion off to his left. He whips his head around, convinced the body slumped over the packing crate moved one of its legs.

'Sendak, I think this one's alive.'

Adnan hurries closer to it, and as he does so, the figure definitely moves again, apparently trying to sit up. Then its torso rises enough for Adnan to see that half of its head is missing above the jawline, a millisecond before a demon leaps out from behind the crate. In his panic, Adnan shoots the demon three times and pumps the gun for a fourth before Sendak restrains him.

'Adnan, easy. You can only kill it once.'

The blood is rus.h.i.+ng around Adnan's ears, its sound almost as loud as the constant pulsing. He needs to get it back. His HUD displays an increase to his frag count, but his ammo level is looking less healthy. It was true what Old Man Murray said: first-person shooters go downhill from the moment you see a crate.

's.h.i.+t. Sorry. One shot left.'

'That's okay. Bound to find some more twelve-gauge sh.e.l.ls in this . . .'

Sendak is distracted by a clatter of metal from the other end of the lab, and turns around in time to witness Blake disappear, hauled backwards down a hole in the floor next to a punched-out grate.

Sendak grabs the shotgun from Adnan and rushes to the gap, but when he looks down it he can see only shadows. He pulls out the torch and points the beam into the shaft. It drops a couple of metres to a pa.s.sageway below.

He could crawl down there, but he knows it could be suicide. Blake is gone, and he can't risk himself while there are so many others relying on this expedition coming through.

'f.u.c.k!' he roars in anguish, kicking the grate. 'MOTHER-f.u.c.kING . . .'

He lets out a deep sigh, feels his discipline take the wheel once again. 'Okay,' he says. 'Okay. We gotta keep going.'

'Which way?' Rosemary asks. 'Back to the main corridor, or . . . ?'

Sendak indicates the cylindrical door.

'They didn't have nuclear blast s.h.i.+t when I was posted here. I want to know what's on the other side of that.'

Blake is in semi-darkness, a few slivers of light coming through tiny slits somewhere above. He is in a duct of some kind, pipes and cables running along both walls. His captor has suddenly stopped dragging him, but keeps a hand clamped to his mouth. There have been no blades, no claws, only the blind fear of being hauled helplessly down into blackness.

A human voice speaks very softly, calm but firm.

'Shh. Quiet, Father. Be still.'

Blake tries to turn his head but it is too awkward given the position in which he is being held.

'Don't move,' the voice tells him, a concerned warning rather than a command.

Forced to stare ahead, it is now that Blake notices an air vent low in the wall to his right, its grille straining as something pushes it from behind. Suddenly, the grille gives and a demon's head and shoulders burst through. Before it can fully emerge, it is disintegrated completely by a blast from something close to Blake's side.

His captor then releases his grip and allows Blake to turn. He sees the robed figure he just watched on the monitor, though his face and garments are now bloodied and dirty. Blake's gaze is drawn irresistibly to the sight of the futuristic-looking rifle slung around his shoulder.

'You get further with a holy word and a ray-gun than just a holy word,' he says. 'I'm Cardinal Terrence Tullian. Peace be with you, Father . . . ?'

'Blake. Father Constantine Blake. My friends . . . I need to . . .'

'I'm sorry, Father Blake. I know how difficult this will be to hear, but you're going to have to summon your deepest faith and believe me when I tell you that as men of G.o.d, you and I are the only ones who can still end this evil.'

They venture cautiously through the circular portal and emerge into a vast vault, high-ceilinged and extensive in dimensions but nonetheless cramped by virtue of the sheer mult.i.tude of its contents. It is like a warehouse, Adnan thinks at first, seeing only the side view of so many rows of cube-shaped boxes, stacked three high. It smells like a zoo, almost bringing tears to his eyes. Then as he glances along the rows, each fronted by steel bars, his impression is revised until he realises he is looking at a prison.

'This used to be a weapons testing range,' Sendak says.

'So many,' Rosemary says. 'Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe.'

'All these cages are open, every one,' Sendak states. 'Computer error maybe, some kind of malfunction.'

'Oh, f.u.c.k,' Adnan reports, having proceeded one row further along and encountered more mutilated remains.

'What?'

'Think I found the screws.'

Adnan steps away carefully from this latest discovery, mindful of his most recent encounter with a corpse. Blood has coated the wall above the bodies, and almost but not quite obscured the existence of a gla.s.s cabinet attached to the stonework. He tugs up his sleeve and wipes the spray from the front panel. The blood smears slickly across the gla.s.s, but is cleared enough for him to make out the contents.

'Whoa. Sarge, you have to see this.'

'I've seen me enough corpses today to last a lifetime. I'll take a rain check.'

'Not the bodies, Sarge. Weapons.'

Sendak and Rosemary retreat from the row they had entered and come around next to Adnan. As they approach, there is a burst of noise from high up on one of the walls, and they turn in startlement, only to be met by the sight of steam venting from a broken pipe.

's.h.i.+t. This thing's gonna give me a G.o.dd.a.m.n heart attack before-'

There is another sudden noise heralding movement behind and above, but this time it's no false alarm. Two demons are bounding along the tops of the cages, gaining speed and preparing to pounce, each gripping some kind of sparking blue pole in its claws.

Rosemary and Adnan react instinctively, each getting off a shot and hitting their target. Unfortunately they both pick the same target. The surviving demon checks its approach, coming in now from a different flank as it bears down on Sendak. He swings around to point the lance and squeezes the trigger, but sprays only liquid, the sudden motion having snuffed his makes.h.i.+ft pilot light.

'Ah, s.h.i.+t,' he breathes, figuring this is it as the demon launches itself from on high. He hears a sound that seems to grind electrically at the inside of his skull, like when the dentist is drilling his teeth, then feels a wave of dust on his skin and a taste in his mouth of blood and metal. It's a sound, a sensation and a taste he's encountered once before, and in this very room.

They all look for the source and locate a solitary figure at the far end of the row of cells, gripping a rifle similar to the ones locked in the cabinet. He limps towards them, his clothes torn, his face caked with dust, grime and blood.

'Nice shooting, soldier,' Sendak hails him. 'What's your name?'

'I'm not a soldier,' he replies. 'And my name is-'

'Steinmeyer,' Sendak interrupts, recognising the face that's under all that s.h.i.+t.

Steinmeyer is taken aback for a moment, then he also recognises who he is talking to.

'Sergeant Sendak.' Steinmeyer looks at the two armed teenagers in Sendak's keeping, like that's that's the weirdest thing going on around this place. 'What are you doing here?' the weirdest thing going on around this place. 'What are you doing here?'

'I still live in the neighbourhood. But if you mean what am I doing down here right now, well I think the answer to that has more to do with whatever the f.u.c.k you're you're doing here. I see you never sc.r.a.pped those guns you were working on. What other little experiments might have gotten out of hand?' doing here. I see you never sc.r.a.pped those guns you were working on. What other little experiments might have gotten out of hand?'

Steinmeyer bows sheepishly.

'Those guns were the price of my soul, which I sold to fund my other work. I never got to apologise personally for what happened to your comrades and yourself. They kept the accident from me, and I didn't even find out about it until months after you-'

'The price of your soul just saved my a.s.s, so consider the debt paid. I think you better keep back the act of contrition for your subsequent work. What's been going on in this place? How come there are demons running loose on my property, slas.h.i.+ng up my paying guests?'

Steinmeyer shakes his head.

'Not demons,' he says.

'What the f.u.c.k else could they be?'

'I don't know what they are. Only what they're not.'

'Holy water burns their flesh,' Sendak argues. 'They have horns on their heads and they have some pretty f.u.c.king serious issues with crucifixes, to say nothing of the whole ripping-people-apart thing they got going on.'

'Come and see this,' Steinmeyer says. 'All of you. Follow me.'

He leads them back along the row of cages and swings open one of the barred doors.

'There.' He points.

They draw closer, despite being repelled by the smell. On the walls of the chamber, etched in claw marks, blood and excrement, are a series of pictures.

'It looks like cave paintings,' Adnan opines.

'I've found several just like this,' Steinmeyer says. 'It's a narrative. The occupant of this cell telling his story, in some despairing attempt to express himself.'

He points to what now appears to be the first picture in a sequence: a rendering of a horned figure standing over another. The artwork is crude but recognisable, enough to make it clear that the creatures are clothed. The next shows a group of them before two isolated individuals: one boasting a headdress, the other identifiable as the standing figure in the first image.

'A murder,' Steinmeyer says. 'Followed by a trial. This is a civilisation: primitive, possibly fifty thousand years behind our own, possibly a hundred thousand, but a civilisation nonetheless. If you look at the drawings in other cells you'll see that they were all all prisoners: some of them convicts, others captured in battle. Their punishment is always the same, however: they are stripped naked and cast into this black portal. Sometimes it appears as a cave, sometimes a pool, sometimes a pit. But it's what happens next that is truly revealing.' prisoners: some of them convicts, others captured in battle. Their punishment is always the same, however: they are stripped naked and cast into this black portal. Sometimes it appears as a cave, sometimes a pool, sometimes a pit. But it's what happens next that is truly revealing.'

'Oh s.h.i.+t,' says Sendak, reading ahead.

'I'm interpreting some of these marks as religious symbols. At this point they believe they're dead, and have pa.s.sed through into the next life.'

'And this is their h.e.l.l,' states Rosemary, having reached the parental-discretion-advisory parts of the narrative. She sees torture, crucifixion and . . . 'Is this cannibalism?' she asks.

'They were fed only their own dead,' Steinmeyer confirms. 'And those who didn't eat simply starved. But you are right: this is their h.e.l.l. We are their demons, and they have learned to recognise those who carry crucifixes as the worst of their tormentors. They are murderers and warriors, starved and brutalised, and they will kill on sight any and every human being they encounter, because they believe us to be capable only of evil.'

'I think the monsters have finished their f.a.g break,' Kirk announces, staring through the window in one of the emergency doors. 'Could be game on again. Aw f.u.c.k,' he adds, his tone suddenly less laconic.

'What?' asks Rocks, then he sees it. 'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.'

Heather rushes across to join them, equally impatient and dreading to discover whatever could have inspired such gloom in anyone with Kirk's apparent appet.i.te for the fray.

In that respect, the view doesn't disappoint. There are four demons moving towards the games hall carrying a long and formidable-looking section of timber, several others attending on the fringes.

'Must have cut away one of the open joists from the barn,' Kirk suggests. 'Gaunny use it as a battering ram. Anybody got some boiling oil?'

From what Heather can see, the closest they have is an outside tap attached to a garden hose.

'Naw, but we do have an archer,' Rocks replies. 'Beansy, I hope you werenae lying about having used one of those things on holiday, because you're up.'

'I wasnae lying,' Beansy insists. 'But I didnae say I was any good.'

'Well, you don't need to hit a f.u.c.kin' bullseye,' Rocks a.s.sures him. 'You just need to plug a few of these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'

Rocks and Kirk open the doors and Beansy takes a pace forward on to the top of the steps. Caitlin is standing beside him, ready to hand him more arrows.

Heather feels suddenly very ashamed. These mere kids are out there defending everyone's lives while she's barely holding herself back from hysterics. She didn't want Blake to leave because she literally wanted someone to hold on to, and because she knew that if he left, she might well be losing him forever.

All fear and desire is naked now, all pretences and facades stripped away. She can admit to what she wants. She doesn't want to die. Life is all that matters. Life is all there is. She wants to hold Blake again. She wants to tell him the truth. She can admit to that truth. But whatever she wants, she needs to make it happen.

She steps back from the doorway and rushes to the storeroom, looking for anything that might yet be put to use. Alongside footb.a.l.l.s, team bibs, hockey sticks and a.s.sorted racquets, the only item of any weight is a buffing machine for polis.h.i.+ng the floor, yards of flex wrapped around its handle. On the wall beside it is a large grey circuit box. Heather crouches down and flips it open. Like everything else around here, it's a modern affair, with the lights on a different circuit to the power points, and its express purpose is something she knows how to circ.u.mvent.

Beansy looks out across the gra.s.s towards the barn where everything turned to s.h.i.+te a few hours back. One minute he's heading in there, healthy buzz off a jay and in with a serious shout of a wee footer with Yvonne; the next minute . . .

Aye. Payback, ya b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

Beansy tugs the string between his fingers and draws a bead on his first target. The f.u.c.kers with the battering ram seem worryingly near when you're just looking at them, but become a lot further when you're taking aim.

He lets fly. The arrow sails into the darkness to no apparent effect.

'a.r.s.e-candles.'

'Steady, Beansy, don't get fl.u.s.tered,' Kirk tells him as Caitlin hands over the next arrow.

Don't get f.u.c.king fl.u.s.tered. Aye, nae bother, big yin. Demons heading towards them lugging a battering ram, but nae f.u.c.king pressure, eh?

He takes aim again, holds his breath, remembers this time what that instructor woman told him when she was standing right behind him with that lovely perfume in his nostrils and her t.i.ts occasionally just brus.h.i.+ng against his back. Fire as you breathe out. Fire as you breathe out.

He lets go the arrow as he lets out his breath, and this one thunks into the demon's belly, downing the f.u.c.ker and causing the other three to drop the timber.

'Get in,' cheers Rocks.

Caitlin feeds him again. He scores a second, shooting his mark in the thigh.