by Ellis, Tim
‘Here.’
‘Yes, here.’
‘Yeah. Who’s that?’
‘Why does it matter who the fuck I am?’ she said. ‘Anybody got any ideas on how to get out of here?’
‘Just a minute.’
‘I’m Avery Malpass. I’ve got a knife. We’re waiting for the clown to come back and then we’ll jump him.’
‘Let’s say the clown isn’t coming back. Have you got a Plan B?’
‘No, no Plan B.’
‘Then we’re going to die in here.’
‘What about those people that came before?’
‘You can forget about them as well.’
‘Oh!’
She moved back to her place against the wall and sat down. That was it. She was all out of ideas and energy. The end of the world was nigh, and she had nothing left to prevent it.
***
Thompson stopped and made the closed fist signal for them all to freeze.
They froze.
Thompson crept back to speak to Caesar.
‘It’s the railway car, Sir. I had the feeling that as soon as we found that, we’d reach our destination. I think we’re here. I can hear noises up ahead.’
‘Okay,’ he said, turning back to Nagpal and Bouette. ‘You two stay here. Thompson and I will go and take a look at what we’ve got.’
Nagpal and Bouette glanced at each other and then nodded.
He followed Sergeant Thompson, and was reminded of his ancestor’s early trials in one of the armies that crushed Sparticus and the slave rebellion.
Behind the rail car was a crack in the rock wall. Faint noises filtered through the gap. They squeezed through the fissure and found themselves in what was essentially an abattoir – or slaughterhouse – it was Slaughterhouse 8.
The railway track, which brought in the paying customers strapped in their cattle cars, went up and down and round and round until it left through a tunnel on the far side of the cavern.
For their money, the adventure-seekers experienced visual, auditory and tactile thrills, which included all manner of animal and human carcasses clanking around the cavern on meat hooks, victims being herded into corrals so that they could proceed in an orderly manner to their deaths, and victims with their heads clamped in vices to keep them still while the meat workers fired a metal bolt into their brains, butchers sharpening long knives with demented smiles on their faces. This was definitely the place to come if you liked to live on the edge.
Blood oozed and seeped everywhere. Visitors were treated to a warm bloody drenching as a meat worker hacked off the head of a naked screaming woman, and they were caught in the spray from a severed artery.
Of course, the animal and human effigies were the latest in anatomical design. For all intents and purposes – apart from a few cogs and wheels and, of course, electrical power – they were as real as Caesar and Thompson.
There was a large square pit in the centre of the room, which appeared to be for unwanted meat. They could hear strange animal noises emanating from the hole.
‘What is that, Sir?’ Thompson whispered.
‘Does it matter? The sooner we torch this place, the better.’
Then they saw the person they’d been searching for. Caesar checked the photograph he’d been given by AC Hayton. Yes, it was definitely the female scientist – Caroline Jobson. She was a large woman with dark hair to her shoulders.
He nodded and put the photograph back in his pocket. ‘Let’s go and get the other two.’
‘Who’s that with her, Sir?’
Standing next to the scientist was a tall, stooped thin man with a bald patch and glasses, and they were joined by a hooded figure another head taller than the stooped man.
‘It doesn’t matter, Thompson. They’re all going to burn in hell anyway.’
On top of a long stainless steel metal table were three computers, odd-looking machinery and a whole jumble of scientific equipment. Some of the machines were whirring and droning, while others stood silent. Sitting atop other tables were different sized cages with strange-looking animals inside . . .
‘Jesus!’ Thompson hissed.
Caesar stared at him. ‘What?’
‘Have you seen what’s in those cages?’
‘Animals, aren’t they?’
‘Take a closer look.’
‘Jesus!’ Caesar didn’t normally blaspheme, but when he looked more closely at the contents of the cages it shocked him to his very being.
They made their way back out through the crevice in the rock, and along the tunnel to where they’d left Nagpal and Bouette. Neither was there. All that remained was a backpack and one carbine.
Thompson put his finger in a pool of liquid splattered on the pack and looked at it. ‘Blood, Sir.’
‘Are you ready to die for Queen and country, Sergeant Thompson?’
‘I’m ready, Sir.’
‘All right, let’s collect up all the incendiary devices and put them in two packs. We’ll take our weapons and ammunition. Leave everything else here. Either we’ll get out in one piece and won’t need any of it, or we’ll die in a blaze of glory.’
‘Death or glory, Sir.’
‘Nex vel palma, Sergeant.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Those damn kids are crazy,’ Mulley said.
He was tired. Although he wasn’t unfit, he wasn’t fit either. If he managed to get out of this alive he’d have to go down to the gym – hit the weights, pound the running machine, tone up his muscles. Maybe, he could have his own personal trainer to advise him on how best to keep everything in top shape. ‘They’re frightened I’m going to lock them up and throw away the key, I suppose.’
Mulley made a raspberry noise with his mouth. ‘The government should bring back conscription, that’s what I say. Get the little bastards off the streets, give them some discipline and make them work for a living. We’re far too soft with the toerags nowadays.’
His ankles were killing him. They were walking along a railway track, and the ground was all uneven with rocks and soil.
The kids could move a lot quicker than he and Mulley. Although Mulley was wearing boots, which protected his ankles to some extent, whereas he was wearing shoes. Yes, they were real leather, but not ideal for walking along railway tracks. In fact, his complete attire was totally unsuitable for the job at hand. Instead of a suit, shirt and tie he needed a boiler suit, metal tipped boots and a hard hat.
As they drew level with the place they’d seen the children, they spotted the two security guards hanging upside down with hooks pushed through their ankles.
‘What in God’s name . . . ?’ Mulley said.
He grimaced. ‘Are those your people?’
Mulley puked. ‘Yes, no wonder we couldn’t get them on the radio. What type of animal would do something like that?’
‘Man,’ Quigg said.
‘We need to go back.’
‘That’s certainly an attractive suggestion, but I don’t have a reverse gear.’ As he stared up at the dripping corpses he wished he did, because he wasn’t optimistic about his chances of survival. He was paid to be here – not nearly enough by any stretch of the imagination – but he’d known the dangers when he’d signed on the dotted line. So, he planned to carry on until he found what he was looking for – a child, DC Kline, DI Caesar, the killer – any or all of them would make the effort worthwhile. Was Slaughterhouse 8 where his life would end?
‘You’re making me feel guilty,’ Mulley said.
‘That’s not my intention. If I was in your boots, I’d want to go back as well. How much further is there to go?’
‘Yeah! It doesn’t work that way.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Well, this railway track carries on all the way back to the start.’
‘You mean, we could never catch those children?’
‘Mmmm.’
‘You could have told me that before we started.’
‘Sorry. The ride goes up and
down and round and round the slaughterhouse and then starts off back to the surface. It’s a continuous track.’
‘Great. So, how much further until we reach the slaughterhouse?’
Mulley shrugged. ‘Maybe half a mile.’
‘Half a bloody mile?’
‘Sorry. I’ve decided I’m not coming with you, but I do have an idea.’ He passed Quigg his radio. ‘You take this. I’ll get Debbie King’s radio and wait by the exit. If the kids come out, I’ll call you.’
‘That sounds reasonable. Thanks for your help up to now anyway.’
‘Good luck, Inspector.’
Mulley turned back up the track.
Quigg clipped the radio on his belt and followed the children into Slaughterhouse 8, but he wished he was going back with Mulley.
***
‘Hello?’
Kline’s heart began beating like a bongo drum when she saw the face at the grill.
She stood up. ‘Are you going to get us out of here this time?’
‘Yes.’
‘What changed your mind?’
‘I didn’t sign up to kill coppers.’
‘Thanks for coming back. I’m DC Tallie Kline.’
‘DC Cat Bouette.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ They touched fingers through the grill. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a key?’
‘No, but I’ve got the next best thing – Semtex with some very pretty detonators.’ Bouette shrugged off her backpack and began rummaging inside.
Kline watched as the CO19 officer began fashioning charges and slotting them into the keyholes of the cell doors. Next, she inserted short period delay detonators into the explosive and connected the long terminal wires to a small Shrike exploder.
‘Okay, get everyone back against the far wall and facing away from the door.’ She backed out of the room and moved into the tunnel behind the wall.
Kline, and the people in the other cells, huddled together like rugby players in a scrum as Bouette had instructed them.
‘Five – four – three- two . . .’
Considering that eight cell doors were blasted open at the same time, the noise wasn’t excessive. There was a considerable amount of air movement that made Kline’s ears pop, and dust that made everyone cough and splutter, but at last they were free.
‘Let’s not hang about here,’ Bouette said to Kline. ‘As well as DI Caesar and Sergeant Thompson, there’s something else that’s been killing our team one by one.’
‘Something else?’ Kline queried.
Bouette shrugged.
‘They weren’t able to get off a shot before they were slit from throat to gut. Never seen anything like it.’
‘You lead everyone out,’ Kline said to her. ‘I’ve got to go the other way.’
‘You may as well have stayed in the cell.’
‘I’ve got a job to do. There’s a killer to catch, and I promised Caesar I’d kill him if I ever got out of that prison. You could give me your gun and ammunition though?’
Bouette thought about the request for a few seconds, and then handed over her bullet proof vest, the carbine, and her utility belt with the spare magazines stuffed into two pouches. ‘Good luck.’
Kline put the vest and belt on and said, ‘Thanks.’
The people from her cell wished her luck as well and said goodbye.
Avery Malpass hobbled out of his cell using a young woman as a crutch. ‘Thanks to you,’ he said, tears streaming down his face. ‘I have my daughter and my life back.’
She stood and watched as the survivors shuffled back along the railway track. It reminded her of a scene from a zombie disaster movie.
Flicking the safety catch to “Off”, she began jogging in the opposite direction. She didn’t know what she would find up ahead, but anything was better than dying in that cell like a spluttering flame on a candle.
***
Before they squeezed back through the fissure into the cavern of Slaughterhouse 8, they agreed on a plan of action. Thompson would go right and Caesar would go left. As they moved around the cavern they would place as many incendiary devices as they could. Each device was to have a five-minute countdown, which would result in staggered detonations over approximately sixty seconds.
Once that part of the plan was complete, they would set up a cross fire to try and kill the cloaked figure. Thompson would act as a decoy by killing the scientist first.
If that was successful, they would kill the scientist’s assistant, the creatures in the cages and whatever else was in the central pit, and then – if they were still alive after that – make their escape through the fissure. They both knew, however, that getting out alive was extremely unlikely.
***
Goldie, Dunkin and Wingnut burst into the cavern. All three were out of breath from running.
‘Wow! It’s ginormous,’ Goldie said, craning her neck to look around.
Wingnut nudged her forwards. ‘We’re not here to sightsee.’
‘Yeah, come on,’ Dunkin urged her. ‘That copper is still following us. It don’t look as though he’s ever gonna give up. He must want you real bad. What you been doin’, Goldie?’
‘I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ ‘cept what I usually do.’
They had to cross the cavern to get to the far side where the railway track left through another tunnel.
‘What’s that awful smell,’ Wingnut said squeezing his nose.
‘It ain’t me,’ Goldie said, looking at Dunkin.
Dunkin turned red. ‘Don’t look at me.’
‘You been eatin’ those baked beans again?’ Goldie asked.
‘Look,’ Wingnut hissed, pointing across the cavern and darting behind a large board displaying a crazy butcher with a meat cleaver. ‘There’s people here.’
Three heads peered round the edge of the board. Goldie was at the bottom, because she was the shortest. Then came Wingnut, and at the top – because he was the tallest – was Dunkin.
Goldie peered up at the others. ‘What they doin’?’
‘Why don’t you go and ask them?’ Wingnut suggested.
‘Why don’t you?’ Goldie threw back at him.
‘Looks like they’re doing things to animals,’ Dunkin said. ‘Take a look what’s in those cages.’
‘Strange looking animals,’ Wingnut said.
‘I’ll say,’ Goldie agreed.
Dunkin ducked back behind the board. ‘What we gonna do?’
‘Yeah, we can’t stay here,’ Wingnut said.
Goldie saw the copper come into the cavern. ‘Uh oh!’
***
Quigg entered the cavern and switched the torch off. His feet were killing him. He thought he might have at least a hundred blisters – probably more. He’d twisted his right ankle halfway down the tunnel, which was now beginning to turn black and swell up like a ten-day old sausage. There was nothing he could do about it though. He just had to grin and bear the pain like a martyr.
He’d never been in an abattoir or slaughterhouse before, but he imagined that it wasn’t a pleasant place to work. Certainly, animals – and some humans for that matter – would be better off avoiding abattoirs entirely.
He was definitely fond of his meat, and tried not to think about the journey a fillet steak might have endured to get to his plate. He could imagine if each piece of meat came with a short history – or provenance – most people would be vegetarians:
The juicy steak you are about to consume came from a cow called Ermintrude. She was a very amiable cow who liked nothing better than to work at her cross stitch while grazing. She leaves behind three calves called Brutus, Daisy and Monty . . .
He shook his head. Maybe he’d been in that tunnel for far too long. Maybe he should book himself into the Waterbury – like Perkins – for an extended stay.
The slaughterhouse was spread out before him. Coming into the cavern through the tunnel meant that he was at one of the high points, and could see nearly everything. The railway track turned left, wen
t up and down, round and round, and left the cavern on the far side to his right. There were anatomical models of animals showing the cuts of meat, mechanical models illustrating how the animals were slaughtered, and these soon became examples of human dismemberment, decapitation and torture. If there was a meat grinder in Grisly Park – this was where he’d find it.
Then he spotted the scruffy children – two boys and a girl – in front of a large cut-out of a butcher with a meat cleaver, and was reminded of the street urchins in Oliver Twist.
They were preparing to bolt, but he held up his hands in surrender and signalled for them to stay where they were.
As he approached them, he could see they were like coiled springs. If he said or did the wrong thing he wouldn’t see them for dust.
‘You’re safe. I’m not going to arrest you. I just want to talk.’
‘Talk about what, Mister,’ the golden-haired girl responded.
She was the youngest, but appeared to be in charge.
‘Did you hear about the murders in the hotel?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you know anything about them?’
‘We didn’t kill nobody.’
‘I’m not saying you did, but you might know something about them.’
‘We don’t know nothin’.’
‘I see. What is this place?’
‘We ain’t been here before. And if it weren’t for you chasin’ us we wouldn’t be here now. Sanchez . . .’
One of the boys nudged her.
‘Someone told us there was strange things goin’ on down here.’
Just then, shots rang out.
Quigg said to the three children, ‘Lie down and stay here.’ He stuck his head round the board and picked out the movement in the cavern.
A large cloaked figure was holding up a police officer by his ankles with one massive hairy hand. The man had been slit open from throat to gut and his insides were spewing out.