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Black Rock

Page 48

by Steve Harris


  ‘That fuc­king hurt!, he sa­id in a small vo­ice.

  Mar­tin step­ped for­ward and slap­ped his fa­ce. Hard.

  And sud­denly James was back.

  He was in pa­in, but he was back.

  Did it! Mar­tin cong­ra­tu­la­ted him­self. ‘Let’s see what you can do abo­ut that Mis­ter Fuc­king Per­fect!’ he ad­ded alo­ud. ‘Yo­ur ne­me­sis is he­re. The eag­le-eyed edi­tor has ar­ri­ved and boy is he pis­sed off with you!’

  ‘Mar­tin?’ James sa­id in as­to­nish­ment. ‘What hap­pe­ned?’ He to­uc­hed his he­ad and lo­oked va­cantly at the blo­od on his fin­gers.

  ‘You we­re hypno­ti­zed and I got you out of it,’ Mar­tin snar­led. ‘Now for fuck’s sa­ke get with it be­ca­use we’ve bus­ted the story wi­de open and now we ha­ve to zap the wri­ter be­fo­re he re­co­vers.’

  ‘Too la­te,’ James sa­id, po­in­ting at the clo­ud. It was spin­ning li­ke a top now and the lo­wer part of it was sna­king down to­wards the gro­und in a po­int.

  ‘Twis­ter!’ James sa­id.

  Christ, Mar­tin tho­ught to him­self. I tho­ught twis­ter, and he fuc­king well ma­de one. This isn’t a thun­derc­lo­ud at all, it’s a blo­ody whir­l­wind.

  And even as he had the tho­ught, the tip of the clo­ud to­uc­hed the gro­und. Mar­tin watc­hed, ama­zed, ex­pec­ting the who­le re­vol­ving mass to start mo­ving up the track to­wards them now that it had ma­de con­tact with the gro­und, but a pi­ece of it se­emed to bre­ak off, still spin­ning.

  This pi­ece was a six-fo­ot-high co­lumn that sna­ked ac­ross the fo­re­co­urt of Black Rock, pic­king up gra­vel and dust as it re­eled back and forth. Be­si­de it, anot­her part of the clo­ud sna­ked down and ma­de anot­her lit­tle twis­ter.

  But Mar­tin was watc­hing the first one. It se­emed to ha­ve fo­und a track to fol­low, and it was ser­pen­ti­ning to­wards them.

  ‘He­re it co­mes,’ James yel­led.

  ‘It’s an hal­lu­ci­na­ti­on,’ Mar­tin sho­uted, ho­pe­ful­ly. ‘It isn’t re­al.’

  He had half ex­pec­ted his dis­be­li­ef to ma­ke the twis­ters va­nish, but this did not hap­pen. The­re we­re fo­ur now, li­ning up in sing­le fi­le and he­ading to­wards the ga­te in hu­ge swe­eping cur­ves. Anot­her was be­ing for­med every fi­ve se­conds or so.

  ‘What do we do?’ James yel­led over the inc­re­asing no­ise of the re­vol­ving clo­ud.

  ‘We go down the­re,’ Mar­tin sa­id. ‘Co­me on!’ The wind was al­re­ady te­aring at his ha­ir and clot­hes and most of the twis­ters we­ren’t even out of the ga­te yet. ‘We’ll ha­ve to dod­ge ‘em,’ he sa­id. ‘You re­ady?’

  He lo­oked over at James and saw that he was. Just stan­ding be­si­de the tyre-fit­ter ga­ve him con­fi­den­ce. If James had sur­vi­ved a wall of fi­re, a few tor­na­do­es we­ren’t go­ing to be much prob­lem.

  Get thee be­hind me, Pe­ter Per­fect, Mar­tin tho­ught and fo­und that his he­adac­he had go­ne. And it had ta­ken the ice block with it. Du­ring the last two se­conds, his fa­ce had lit with a big, stu­pid grin of the kind you saw in kids’ war-he­ro co­mics. What a wan­ker you are! he told him­self and didn’t ca­re. If he was go­ing to go, he co­uldn’t ima­gi­ne a bet­ter way of do­ing it than figh­ting for so­met­hing he lo­ved.

  ‘Let’s go!’ James yel­led at him and Mar­tin saw that his fa­ce al­so bo­re the sa­me crazy co­mic-bo­ok he­ro exp­res­si­on.

  And si­de by si­de, they wal­ked to­wards the ho­use.

  The first twis­ter had wan­de­red off the track and wo­und its way down the bank, pic­king up sto­nes and dirt and thro­wing them out aga­in in a cir­cu­lar ha­il. The se­cond one did a kind of stall bet­we­en the ga­te posts. It re­ma­ined whe­re it was, deb­ris fal­ling out of it as its spin­ning slo­wed. It pe­te­red out en­ti­rely be­fo­re the third twis­ter re­ac­hed it.

  ‘They’re not very strong!’ James sho­uted over the ro­aring swo­osh of the big clo­ud.

  ‘He’s lo­sing po­wer for so­me re­ason,’ Mar­tin yel­led back, eye­ing the re­vol­ving va­po­ur in front of the ho­use. The aut­hor wasn’t lo­sing eno­ugh po­wer for Mar­tin’s li­king. That big disc of clo­ud was forty fe­et ac­ross and twenty or thirty fe­et de­ep. It lo­oked as if it co­uld mus­ter plenty mo­re whirl­winds.

  The third twis­ter ca­me out thro­ugh the ga­tes, in a de­ad stra­ight li­ne to­wards them, the fo­urth clo­se be­hind it. The fifth stal­led and va­nis­hed, and the next pe­eled away and he­aded for the si­de of the ho­use.

  He can’t cont­rol them, Mar­tin re­ali­zed. He’s just ma­king them and thro­wing them in our ge­ne­ral di­rec­ti­on. He can’t ste­er them.

  ‘Lo­ok out!’ James yel­led as the one ap­pro­ac­hing grew clo­se. The lo­we­ring air pres­su­re ma­de Mar­tin’s ears pop. ‘Just le­ap asi­de when it gets he­re!’ James ad­vi­sed, run­ning for­wards. He dod­ged to the si­de of the twis­ter and was obs­cu­red from Mar­tin’s vi­si­on by the clo­ud of va­po­ur and deb­ris.

  Gra­vel whip­ped out from the whirl­wind in­to Mar­tin’s fa­ce and he bro­ught his arms up to shi­eld his eyes. He was re­ady to le­ap when the twis­ter ve­ered away from him, le­aving a cle­ar pas­sa­ge thro­ugh to whe­re James was cro­uc­hed re­ady to le­ap away from the next lit­tle tor­na­do.

  And Mar­tin be­gan to run.

  And as if it had be­en wa­iting for him to do this, the wind whip­ped back ac­ross to­wards him.

  Mis­sed me, you bas­tard! Mar­tin cro­wed as the twis­ter whip­ped at his he­els.

  And then he was in the air be­ing pel­ted with sto­nes and grit and twigs and le­aves. For a mo­ment the­re was no world, no up or down, just an ear-te­aring shri­ek of wind, a fa­ce stin­ging sho­wer of mis­si­les and a vast cent­ri­fu­gal for­ce.

  And then he was slam­med fa­ce first in­to the track.

  Mar­tin’s body felt as if it had be­en hit by a truck. The­re se­emed to be no air out the­re to bre­at­he.

  ‘Co­me on!’ James was scre­aming from abo­ve him. ‘The­re’s anot­her one co­ming, get up!’

  Mar­tin ra­ised his he­ad far eno­ugh to see the next whirl­wind cru­ising to­wards him but that was as much as he co­uld do. Sud­denly, James was drag­ging him out of the twis­ter’s path.

  The fol­lo­wing tor­na­do dan­ced in front of them and left the track. The one be­hind it spun in­to stre­ams of va­po­ur and va­nis­hed, thro­wing drop­lets of stin­ging wa­ter in­to the­ir fa­ces.

  ‘Ne­arly fi­nis­hed!’ James sho­uted and po­in­ted up at the mot­her clo­ud.

  With stin­ging eyes, Mar­tin pe­ered up at the hu­ge re­vol­ving dis­tur­ban­ce and saw that it was thin­ning.

  James pul­led him to his fe­et, pro­pel­led him for­wards, yan­ked him out of the way of the next twis­ter, and sud­denly they we­re pas­sing thro­ugh the Black Rock ga­te­posts.

  The last of the whirl­winds dan­ced to­wards them.

  James sta­yed whe­re he was, hol­ding Mar­tin up. ‘It’s gon­na miss us!’ he sa­id.

  ‘No it isn’t!’ Mar­tin scre­amed. And clo­sed his eyes.

  The­re was a no­ise which so­un­ded li­ke a can­non fi­ring and sud­denly the air se­emed too thick to bre­at­he.

  ‘It went!’ James sa­id as Mar­tin ope­ned his eyes. The fo­re­co­urt was cle­ar. The big clo­ud had go­ne. Apart from the chan­nels the twis­ters had dug in­to the gra­vel fo­re­co­urt the­re was no sign that they had ever exis­ted.

  ‘You OK?’ James as­ked, scan­ning the area.

  Mar­tin nod­ded. He’d lost a shoe back the­re so­mew­he­re and he was bru­ised, but ot­her­wi­se all right. ‘He’s ex­ha­us­ted him­self,’ he mut­te­red. ‘I can’t be­li­eve it. No go­od bo­ok fi­nis­hes that qu­ickly.
The­re has to be mo­re.’

  ‘And the­re it is,’ James sa­id, stab­bing a fin­ger at the sky. ‘The clo­ud co­ver. It’s get­ting lo­wer. Mo­re puffy. He’s brin­ging the re­al we­at­her down. Co­me on!’ He star­ted to­wards the front do­or and Mar­tin fol­lo­wed, ig­no­ring the pa­in whe­re sharp sto­nes bit his sho­eless fo­ot.

  They sto­od out­si­de the big, black, im­pe­net­rab­le front do­or, ga­zing at it. The­re re­al­ly was no lock or let­ter box. Just a gold knob.

  James lo­oked at Mar­tin. ‘How do we get in?’ he as­ked.

  ‘You sho­uld know this,’ Mar­tin sa­id. ‘The get­ting in is easy. It’s the get­ting out aga­in you ha­ve to worry abo­ut.’

  And the do­or be­gan to mo­ve, ope­ning slowly and so­und­les­sly.

  Mar­tin shuf­fled back­wards, pus­hing James away from the thres­hold.

  And the­re was Janie.

  Or at le­ast a wet red thing with her he­ad on top of it.

  So­met­hing that didn’t qu­ite be­co­me a scre­am gurg­led in Mar­tin’s thro­at.

  Janie ad­van­ced from be­hind the do­or, as tho­ugh pro­pel­led on rol­lers. The­re was no body mo­ve­ment that might sug­gest she was wal­king.

  Which wasn’t so surp­ri­sing sin­ce she co­uldn’t be wal­king.

  Janie had no fe­et.

  Mar­tin glan­ced at her and his mind did a do­ub­le-ta­ke. Even on the se­cond try, it still didn’t be­li­eve what Mar­tin’s eyes had shown it.

  Janie, Mar­tin’s stun­ned mind in­for­med him, was just abo­ut as na­ked as it was pos­sib­le for a wo­man to get.

  From her neck down to her ank­les, Janie’s skin had be­en re­mo­ved.

  ‘I was… a… shred­die, Mar­tin,’ Janie’s fa­ce sa­id in a tiny pa­ined vo­ice. ‘A bit part pla­yer. It hurts.’

  Impos­sib­le as it se­emed, Janie was ali­ve. Her fa­ce had exp­res­si­on, her eyes mo­ved.

  But she can’t be ali­ve! Mar­tin’s mind pro­tes­ted. Her hands and fe­et are not pre­sent and the only re­ason she is up­right at all is be­ca­use the­re is a wo­oden post stuck thro­ugh her chest at an ang­le of thirty odd deg­re­es.

  ‘Kill… me,’ Janie imp­lo­red. ‘Get me out… of… he­re. Kill… me! Ple­ase.’

  ‘Don’t you to­uch her, she’s mi­ne!’ a vo­ice sa­id from the sha­dows.

  And Janie’s body did a hor­rib­le lit­tle dan­ce as who­ever was hol­ding her up on the wo­oden sta­ke wor­ked his way up to­wards her.

  If it was pos­sib­le for Mar­tin to ha­ve felt any mo­re shock, he wo­uld ha­ve felt it now. The man who was hol­ding Janie up on this sta­ke was not Pe­ter Per­fect at all, but go­od old Bil­ly-Joe, Janie’s hus­band.

  Janie might still be ali­ve, but Bil­ly-Joe was su­rely de­ad. His he­ad was smas­hed in li­ke the shell of a hard-bo­iled egg. His eyes we­re fil­med and all the blo­od that had ever be­en in his body was so­aked and dri­ed in­to his clot­hes.

  Bil­ly-Joe re­ac­hed his wi­fe, put his arm aro­und her back and he­aved her to­wards him with one arm so that he was sup­por­ting her at his si­de.

  Janie ma­de a tiny squ­e­al li­ke that of a kit­ten be­ing tor­tu­red.

  ‘She’s mi­ne,’ Bil­ly-Joe sa­id pro­udly. ‘We had a re­con­ci­li­ati­on. We’re go­ing to Hell in a hand-bas­ket.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mar­tin he­ard him­self say. His mind had just no­ted that the ends of Janie’s hand­less arms had be­en ca­ute­ri­zed by bur­ning. He was trying not to lo­ok at her ank­les.

  ‘And gu­ess who’s co­ming with us,’ Bil­ly-Joe sa­id. His hand and wrist prot­ru­ded from be­ne­ath her arm­pit and now his fin­gers be­gan to mo­ve, te­aring parts off her.

  ‘Let her go, Bil­ly-Joe,’ Mar­tin sa­id and was dis­tantly awa­re that he’d spo­ken a lit­tle rhyme. It didn’t so­und even a bit li­ke a ma­gic one.

  Bil­ly-Joe sho­ok his he­ad. ‘Li­ke I say, we’re go­ing to hell, my old story-bo­ok edi­tor. Not just me and Janie girl, but you and Drezy too. And the fuck­he­ad be­hind you. We’re all go­ing.’

  ‘Is this re­al?’ James sa­id from be­hind Mar­tin. He so­un­ded li­ke a fi­ve-ye­ar-old at a sho­wing of The Exor­cist.

  Mar­tin nod­ded.

  ‘We are ple­ased you’ve co­me,’ Bil­ly-Joe sa­id. ‘Aren’t we, Janie?’ he ad­ded and sho­ok her.

  Janie squ­e­aked. Blo­od drip­ped from her mo­uth.

  Bil­ly-Joe nod­ded at his wi­fe. ‘Cry baby,’ he sa­id, rol­ling his eyes. He dug his fin­gers in­to Janie’s rib ca­ge and she pro­du­ced a scre­am which ma­de Mar­tin want to die.

  Then Mar­tin was yan­ked asi­de and a blur of me­tal pas­sed his he­ad. James had co­me to the end of his tet­her and struck out. But Bil­ly-Joe and Janie both va­nis­hed ins­tantly be­ne­ath the blow.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ James cri­ed.

  ‘A trick,’ Mar­tin squ­e­aked. ‘That’s all. A pretty pic­tu­re to fo­ol us!’

  Black Rock’s in­te­ri­or did not lo­ok as it did in Mar­tin’s ima­gi­na­ti­on, or as it had be­en desc­ri­bed in the pa­ges he’d re­ad of Pe­ter Per­fect’s bo­ok. Whe­re it sho­uld ha­ve be­en car­pe­ted and de­co­ra­ted, it was ba­re and empty. The­re was not­hing he­re to sug­gest the ho­use was in­ha­bi­ted at all.

  ‘What do we do?’ James as­ked.

  ‘We go in and lo­ok for yo­ur girlf­ri­end, of co­ur­se,’ Mar­tin rep­li­ed.

  And the­re she was, at the far end of the hall: Mar­tin’s lit­tle Es­se­nj­ay, dres­sed in a man’s whi­te shirt and not­hing el­se. A dis­tant part of Mar­tin no­ted what fa­bu­lo­us legs she had. She was lo­oking di­rectly to­wards him, but didn’t se­em to be ab­le to see him. It was so­met­hing to do with the ha­ze in front of her, Mar­tin knew. Pe­ter Per­fect had pla­ced it the­re to con­fu­se her.

  ‘Essy!’ he sho­uted.

  ‘That’s not her!’ James sa­id, pla­cing his hand on Mar­tin’s sho­ul­der. ‘It isn’t her, Mar­tin. It’s… so­met­hing el­se.’

  ‘This way!’ Mar­tin yel­led, ig­no­ring him. ‘This way, Essy! We’ve got her, Jim­my boy. We’ve got her!’

  Mar­tin star­ted for­wards and felt James tug him back. He spun ro­und. ‘What the fuck are you do­ing?’ he scre­amed and knoc­ked James’ hand away from him.

  ‘Don’t, Mar­tin. That isn’t her. I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t her. Don’t go down the­re. Don’t!’

  Mar­tin gla­red at him and tur­ned away. His lit­tle Es­se­nj­ay was the­re and she was stuck be­hind so­met­hing that lo­oked li­ke a he­at-ha­ze, but he wo­uld ha­ve her out of he­re in two sha­kes of a lamb’s ta­il. No prob­lem.

  ‘I’m co­ming Essy!’ Mar­tin yel­led, and as he star­ted down the hall, James grab­bed his sho­ul­der aga­in and sho­uted so­met­hing at him.

  Mar­tin didn’t he­ar it. He shrug­ged James’ hand away from him and sprin­ted down the hall.

  32 - Retreat from Black Rock

  Which left James.

  Mar­tin had a we­ak po­int and Pe­ter Per­fect knew exactly what it was and had go­ne to work on it. Mar­tin had se­en Drezy and wild hor­ses we­ren’t go­ing to ke­ep him from her.

  The thing down the­re, he wo­uld la­ter ad­mit, had lo­oked rat­her li­ke Drezy for a mo­ment. Af­ter that it had be­gun to lo­ok li­ke a hu­man si­zed co­lumn of mel­ting pink cand­le-wax. What wor­ri­ed James most was that the rip­pling waxy thing smel­led rat­her li­ke fi­re ligh­ters. The pa­raf­fin odo­ur re­eked of po­ten­ti­al di­sas­ter. James had al­ways lo­oked at tho­se in­no­cu­o­us whi­te blocks and told him­self that the­re was a fi­re wa­iting to hap­pen.

  And, in his jud­ge­ment, this was exactly what the thing at the far end of the cor­ri­dor was. Li­te­ral­ly. Fi­re wa­iting to hap­pen.

  H
e was big­ger and fas­ter than Mar­tin, and was clo­sing on him fast. Mar­tin was al­most wit­hin re­ach now and if James co­uld just grab hold of his jac­ket, he co­uld yank him off co­ur­se, swing him in­to the wall and it wo­uld be over and do­ne with. He le­aned for­ward and stretc­hed out his fin­gers. For a mo­ment they brus­hed aga­inst the flying cloth of Mar­tin’s jac­ket. James grab­bed and ca­me away with a hand­ful of not­hing. In des­pe­ra­ti­on, he la­unc­hed him­self at Mar­tin’s legs in a rugby tack­le. A mo­ment la­ter he was trying to ke­ep hold of one flap­ping tro­user-leg and one sho­eless fo­ot.

  A mo­ment af­ter that, Mar­tin was down, skid­ding on the ba­re and dusty flo­or­bo­ards. The pic­ka­xe hand­le thum­ped aga­inst the wo­oden wall pa­nel­ling, but he didn’t let go of it.

  ‘You cunt!’ Mar­tin scre­amed, kic­king out at him and craw­ling away as James tri­ed to rest­ra­in him.

  ‘It’s not her!’ James sho­uted as Mar­tin bro­ke away on all fo­urs. ‘It isn’t her!’

  Mar­tin stop­ped of his own ac­cord when he re­ac­hed the shim­me­ring patch of air that sto­od bet­we­en the end of the hall and the flo­wing waxy co­lumn that lo­oked li­ke S’n’J.

  ‘Oh my Christ!’ he mo­aned. ‘She’s mel­ting!’

  ‘Get up!‘James scre­amed. ‘Qu­ick!’

  He was on his own fe­et now, but Mar­tin was just kne­eling the­re, one hand aro­und the axe hand­le and the ot­her clap­ped to the si­de of his fa­ce, exp­res­sing an­gu­ish li­ke an ac­tor in a si­lent mo­vie.

  Se­conds, that’s all! James told him­self. Se­conds be­fo­re we die!

  He re­ac­hed Mar­tin, to­ok hold of the col­lar of his jac­ket and ho­is­ted him to his fe­et.

  ‘Out!’ James scre­amed in­to Mar­tin’s fa­ce and be­gan to drag him back up the cor­ri­dor. Mar­tin didn’t re­sist, but he didn’t help by wal­king eit­her. He’d go­ne bo­ard-stiff and James had to pull him along by the arm­pits. His he­els ma­de tracks in the dusty flo­or. Half-way down the cor­ri­dor he lost his ot­her shoe.

 

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