Necroscope: Invaders e-1

by Brian Lumley

  The savagery of the blast was such that it hurled them all against the side of the car and rocked the vehicle on its shock absorbers. All eyes blinked, and hands were thrown up to shield startled faces. Then, as debris began to rain down, they looked back. The SAS man was in mid-air, a human Catherine wheel spinning there — torn almost in half, black and burning — and quite obviously dead.

  Bricks from the low wall where the NCO had taken cover — which had at least sheltered Trask and his group from the worst of the blast — were showering down; a jagged half-brick struck Chung on the forehead, threw him a second time against the side of the car. He slid to the ground in a hail of lesser debris.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ the Major straightened up, went to stagger toward the spot where his man’s body lay in a crumpled, smoking heap. Trask stopped him, croaked:

  ‘You saw what I saw. You can’t help him now.’

  ‘But what the hell…?’ The Major asked helplessly, of no one in particular. ‘A mortar, a grenade — an accident? Jesus, it must have been a fucking accident!’

  And meanwhile, the night had come deafeningly alive.

  From the casino, a withering stream of automatic fire sent bullets ricochetting off the far side of the car, and from somewhere in the night a soldier shouted, ‘I’m hit! God — I’m hit!’ It hardly sounded like the cry of a man, but more like that of a small, bewildered child.

  Then the casino’s entrance was lit by twin balls of brilliant white light — the blinding flashes and shattering reports of stun grenades — and figures were glimpsed briefly, silhouetted in the swift-dying glare.

  There were explosions from all around the Pleasure Dome as two-man units hurled grenades to breach the outer wall and gain entry, and covering fire as men went in through smoking holes.

  ‘We have to go in, too,’ said the Major. ‘We need to know what’s going on. But first let’s see to your man.’

  They laid Chung on the rear seat of the car. Mumbling to himself, the locator was already regaining consciousness. The Major gave Liz a field dressing, said, ‘Staunch the blood. He looks okay, but stay with him. Where’s your gun?’

  Liz took out her Baby Browning, cocked it and laid it on the rear windowsill of the car within easy reach.

  Trask leaned inside the car to touch her shoulder. ‘You’d better do as he says,’ he said. ‘And when we’re gone, lock the doors.’ For the moment shaken, disoriented, and concerned for Chung, Liz did as she was told. Through the window, she watched the Major, Trask, and Goodly move off towards the casino.

  In a little while Chung opened his eyes, looked up at Liz and said, ‘He’s up there… up high… Malinari!’ He managed to lift himself up a little as she applied the field dressing. He was looking at (or perhaps looking beyond?) the casino. The way he rolled his not-quite-focussed eyes, it was hard to tell.

  ‘The bubble on top of the dome?’ Liz answered, and nodded an affirmative. ‘We know. They’re going in after him now.’

  No!’ The locator tried to shake his head. ‘Not the Pleasure Dome, but up there! Up… up there…’

  ‘Up there?’ Liz had the dressing in place now. Tying off the bandage, she looked where Chung pointed a shaky hand. ‘The mountain?’

  ‘The cliffs,’ he mumbled. ‘He’s… he’s in the cliffs!’

  After that it was all instinct, and almost instantaneous. Liz didn’t think twice but sent out her telepathic thoughts to follow Chung’s line of sight, to be guided like a laser-assisted missile to his target. Except that in this case the target was far more dangerous than the missile. And:

  Ahhhhhhlsaid a voice in Liz’s mind — a voice like steam escaping from a kettle, or the hiss of a volcanic vent — It’s the sweet little telepath herself! And Liz could actually feel the patterns of her mind being scrutinized, fingerprinted, and memorized. She erected shields and felt the hideous, slug-like presence of Malinari withdrawing, dwindling, gone! Then:

  ‘My God!’ She exploded into frantic activity, grabbed her gun, scrambled backwards out of the car. ‘I have to tell Ben!’ But then, pausing to lean back inside: ‘David, I—’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Chung was really coming out of it now, beginning to make good sense. ‘Go find them, Liz, and tell them Malinari’s in those cliffs. If they call the chopper down, and get the pilot to use thermal imaging, he’ll spot the bastard easily enough.’ He managed to sit up, however groggily.

  ‘Lock the doors when I’ve gone,’ she told him. And, crouching down low, she ran for the casino…

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Trapped!

  Chopper one’s pilot had heard the Major’s call for action, seen the explosions, heard something of the messages passing between the men on the ground. The assault on the Pleasure Dome was proceeding just a few minutes behind schedule; it was time to give the ground forces a little aerial support. Bright searchlight beams — aimed inwards on the casino, to blind anyone trying to escape from that place — swept down from above.

  Like all the rest of the attacking force, Liz wore phosphorescent patches front and rear of her combat suit. It wouldn’t do for anyone to be shot dead by ‘friendly’ fire. Lit up like a human neon, gun in hand, she ran towards the doors at the top of the steps. Hanging askew, the doors were still giving off smoke from the grenades. Of soldiers there was no sign, but she could hear the occasional burst of gunfire from within…

  A few minutes earlier, not far inside the same shattered doorway, Trask, Goodly, and the Major had found a wounded NCO sitting on the floor with his back to a slot machine. He had taken a bullet in the leg but had seen to the wound himself. ‘This‘11 keep,’ he told them through gritted teeth. ‘I’m okay here — but you should take this with you.’ Trask accepted the man’s flamethrower and pack, and the precog helped him into the gear. The wounded man retained his machine-pistol; when they left he was slapping a fresh clip into the magazine housing.

  Then, moving deeper into the smoky gloom of the place, the Major spoke into his headset: ‘This is Zero. My group is inside the main doors and advancing. Sitreps, over?’

  And the answers came back:

  ‘Zero, this is Alpha Group. We’re on the stairs on the far side, going up one level. No opposition.’

  ‘Zero, this is Bravo Group. Stairs your side, going up one level. No opposition.’

  ‘Zero, this is Charlie. We’re ahead of you toward the central spindle. We have a man down inside the doors — and we just found something nasty.’

  ‘Zero for Charlie, how nasty?’

  ‘Charlie for Zero, not life-threatening — but nasty.’

  ‘Zero for Charlie, we saw your man,’ said the Major. ‘He’s okay… but you should have taken his flamer.’

  ‘Charlie for Zero, we couldn’t stop. We’re in hot pursuit. Our target is still in here somewhere. Towards the elevators, we think.’

  ‘Zero for Charlie, wait there/ said the Major, and moved on with Trask and Goodly close behind.

  Throughout the casino’s ground floor, mainly on the perimeter, several hissing phosphor flares had been lit; they gave light but also made smoke, which in turn made for a very eerie, shadow-etched atmosphere. Charlie group (which was now made up of just two men, WO II Red Bygraves and an NCO) was waiting midway between the doors and the central column of elevators. And indeed they had found something nasty. Zeroing in on their reflective patches, the Major’s group of three found the soldiers keeping well back from their gruesome discovery.

  Hanging by its ankles, upside-down from a chandelier, the corpse of a thin, spidery male figure turned slowly on a triple loop of electrical cable. The man’s throat had been cut ear to ear, and his flesh was like snow, drained of blood.

  But on the floor, only a very few scarlet droplets had been spilled…

  Despite that the body was inverted, Trask recognized him at once. ‘Liz Merrick’s watcher,’ he said grimly. ‘So much for working for a vampire! This will have to be burned. On our way out we’ll burn this whole fucking place!’ And the Major turn
ed to him and said:

  ‘Trask, steady up now, okay? Now listen, all of you. This group is now five strong. We’re all armed and we have a flamer. We have men climbing the perimeter stairs, closing them off. We know our main target’s trapped in the bubble on top of the casino, and that he has at least one soldier, guardian, or—’ He looked to Trask for help.

  ‘Thrall/ Trask told him hoarsely. ‘Call him a thrall/

  ‘One thrall/ the Major went on, ‘—the one you men were pursuing — watching his back down here; which might mean that he was guarding the elevators to keep his boss safe. So that’s where we’re heading, the elevators. But remember: this guy has the advantage of being able to see in the dark, and your flak jackets only give you so much protection. So spread yourselves out, but stay well within sight and sound of each other.. As he finished, the Major turned and headed deeper into the casino. And the others spread out on his flanks…p>

  Shortly, the central hexagonal column of elevators became visible, and at the same time the stutter of automatic gunfire sounded from ahead. Ripping into a row of silent slot machines, the stream of bullets was like an invisible buzz-saw that gutted them and spilled their coins on the floor. Then the raking fire found Bygraves and lifted him clean off his feet. Shot in the right shoulder, injured, but by no means fatally, the W.O. went down in a stream of bright silver, a splash of blood red, and his own cries of disgust and frustration.

  And in the central area, close to an elevator door marked PRIVATE, there stood a flame-eyed Thing in human form, cradling a gun that spat fire one more time, before the Major sent a single bullet in through his left eye. Swatted, the vampire thrall thudded backwards against the elevator doors; his feet slid out from under him, and he sank down onto the floor in a seated position.

  While Bygraves’s subordinate went to his aid, Trask and the others approached the vampire thrall. One of Malinari’s pair of minders, he must obviously be dead… but wasn’t. As his right eye opened, burning yellow in the gloom, so he toppled onto his side, turned himself face-down, and began to claw his way erratically away from the elevators. In another moment, however, the effort became too much for him. He came to a halt, coughed once or twice, and slurred out the words, ‘Oh, fuck it!’

  He had dropped his gun and no longer posed any real threat. He looked up at Trask and his colleagues, and his clenched left hand jerked and twitched where he reached out towards them. His left eye was a gaping black hole oozing blood and pulped brains, and the rest of his face was a red-and grey-smeared mess.

  But as the Major stood back a little and took careful aim, so the thrall’s hand opened and he dropped a metal key onto the floor. Then he gurgled, ‘This is wh-what you want, right? So go on, f-finish it. Then find that fucker and f-finish h-h-him.’

  The Major didn’t have to finish it. For as the man’s head slumped to the floor, so a gush of blood and morbid fluid erupted from his ruined eye, and he jerked once more and was done.

  Trask had called the elevator; as the doors opened, Goodly picked up the key, and the Major called out to Bygraves’s subordinate: ‘Try to get the Warrant Officer out of here. And see if your number three is okay. We’re going upstairs.’ He got in the elevator with Trask and Goodly.

  The push-button control panel in the rear wall of the elevator had buttons for two basement levels, the ground floor, and floors one and two; plus two keyholes, one of which was marked, PRIVATE — UP. The other keyhole was unmarked. The precog looked at the key in his hand and said, ‘Couldn’t be simpler… could it?’

  ‘Too simple by far,’ Trask growled. ‘And we’ve been losing

  men left right and centre.’

  ‘Your talent?’ said the Major. ‘You’re still uneasy?’ ‘Worried sick!’ Trask answered. ‘The whole thing is wrong.

  But we’re committed now.’ He gave Goodly a nod, and the precog put the key in the UP hole and turned it…

  Liz had found the wounded NCO inside the Pleasure Dome’s main doors and helped him out of the casino into the fresh air. She had thought he might be able to call down Chopper One, but his radio had been damaged when he was hit. When she’d left him to go back inside, he had told her that when he’d last seen Trask and his party they’d been heading towards the central elevators. Then he had warned her that for all he knew the vampire sniper who had shot him was still on the loose in there.

  Going back into the casino, and knowing what might be waiting for her, Liz hadn’t dared to call out after Trask. By that time some of the flares had burned out, leaving it much smokier and a lot darker in there. So that when she’d heard noises from deep inside — shouting, shots, and crashing sounds — then she’d taken a circuitous route in the hope of avoiding trouble. In so doing, she had somehow managed to bypass ‘Red’ Bygraves and his man on their way out.

  But intent as Liz was on what she was doing — finding Ben Trask, and relaying Chung’s message — her telepathic guard was down. Which was precisely the opening that Nephran Malinari had been waiting for.

  Ben, where are you? she anxiously wondered, as she saw the hexagonal spindle of the elevator column looming ahead. But of course Trask wasn’t a telepath, and Liz’s probe (if she’d actually sent one, if she had even tried to, for in fact she’d simply been talking to herself, a natural response to her circumstances, like whistling in the dark) would go unanswered.

  Or it should have gone unanswered. But:

  Liz? (it was Ben Trask’s voice — his telepathic voice? — in her head!) Is that you, Liz? But… can you hear me? If so, please listen. You’ve got to kip us. We’ve got ourselves trapped down here, behind a bulkhead that only opens from the other side. Your side, that is. But there’s been shooting and now the place is burning. We’ll burn, too, Liz, if you can’t reach us!

  She could actually feel the heat behind his mental SOS, could almost see the flames, it was so brilliantly clear. Clear like never before. So perhaps Jake was right: her talent really was growing stronger minute by minute! Yes, it must be so. And:

  Ben, she sent. But how can I reach you? Where are you?

  Down here, he answered. Down in the guts of the place. You can reach us via the elevators. It’s the only way.

  In the guts of the place? Underground in that maze of tunnels and pipes? At which she instinctively glanced at the floor… and at the ghastly figure of a dead man, who lay there with his brains trickling out through his eye.’

  Liz jumped a foot, but Ben had obviously seen through her eyes and quickly said: We got that one, and followed the others down here. But you’ll he safe because they’re on the other side of the fire. Use the elevator, Liz, the one marked PRIVATE. But please hurry!

  She had already called the elevator, and anxiously watched the tiny indicator lights bringing it down to the ground floor. But bringing it down? Well, the military must have used it. For of course, the whole place would have to be checked out.

  The doors opened and she got in, and the voice — Trask’s voice, in Liz’s mind — said: Is there a key in one of the keyholes? He sounded even more anxious, urgent now, and his voice was tinged with something else… anticipation, maybe? But of course it was! She had given him hope, and he was looking forward to being rescued.

  A key, yes, she told him. In the UP slot.

  Take it out, he said. Use the other keyhole. Turn the key ninety degrees clockwise. But quickly, Liz, quickly!

  She did as instructed. And the cage descended, taking her down, down, down…

  On Jethro Manchester’s island, Jake Cutter, Lardis Lidesci, and Joe Davis arrived at the open-ended, roofed-over section of the man-made channel that housed the millionaire’s yacht — in effect a boathouse — midway between the villa and the sea. Hearing voices in heated argument, they split up and Davis took the far side of the structure, while Jake and the Old Lidesci crept up on that end of the boathouse closest to the burning villa.

  The lock gates were open, but the yacht was still tied up. Both the boat and the ceiling of the flat-roofe
d structure were illuminated by their own lights. On the canopied deck, just aft of the cabin, two men faced each other down. The one was older, taller, white-haired and — bearded. Dressed in a khaki shirt and shorts, he looked almost military in his proud, upright stance. This was Jethro Manchester himself, Jake knew. The younger man, who was holding a shotgun on the first, was shorter, stockier; but his hard, leathery, sun-beaten features were very much similar to Bruce Trennier’s, his older brother’s, which Jake would never be able to forget.

  ‘Martin,’ Manchester’s voice rang out in the night, ‘can’t you see it’s all over and you can’t run from these people? Man, you’re like a walking plague, a pestilence — you and me both — but a far worse pestilence than any in the Bible! And would you take that among the people? I see that you would. Well, and why not, for you brought it down on me and mine! That was sheer treachery, Martin! So say and do what you like, you won’t be taking my boat. She’s mine and she goes with me… wherever.’

  Manchester held a jerrycan with both hands; as he had spoken, so he had been splashing its contents on the deck. The smell of diesel was unmistakable.

  ‘Jethro, I’m not forgetting that I owe you,’ Martin Trennier spoke up. It’s the only reason you’re still alive while we stand here and argue like this. But you’re wrong to think this is the end of everything. It’s only the beginning! You were the last to be taken — after he’d used your family to get his way — after he’d promised that he would give it all back, and cure us of this thing.

  Well, he’s a liar, as we’ve seen, and he made me take you, too. But you were the last and it’s still taking hold of you. When it does, and when it has fully taken hold — which it will! — then you’ll know I was right. So stand aside and let me get on. Or better still, come with me and let’s see what we can make of things together.’

  As he had spoken, Trennier had stepped to the port side of the boat to cast off a rope. But Manchester had taken the opportunity to pick up a second jerrycan. This time, before he could begin spilling its contents, Trennier stepped close and knocked it out of his hands. And now he trained his weapon dead centre on Manchester’s body.