“What are all these discs for?” Izzy asked.
“I don’t really know. It looks as though they were filming the people in the village.”
“Why would they want to do that?”
“That’s what we’ve got to find out.”
As Ratty ejected the DVD, a thought occurred to him and he walked down the aisles, checking the dates for the latest recordings, and brought back discs marked Church, which he began to play, skipping through each chapter.
Some of them showed the vicar preaching to an empty church, others showed a few people in attendance, but they seemed distracted, rapping their fingers on the pews. On one disc he saw Chase asking the vicar questions and getting frustrated by his replies before they disappeared outside.
“That was the girl who’s moved into my granddad’s house,” Ratty said. He still couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t have won the house in a competition. It didn’t make any sense.
On another disc, Ratty watched the vicar talking to a figure with their back to the camera. They seemed to be in a heated discussion and the vicar was trying to placate the other person, grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them before turning away and kneeling before the altar where he started to pray. Ratty watched as the figure pulled out a knife. A funny feeling danced in the pit of his stomach as the disc played, and he watched wide-eyed as the figure grabbed the vicar by the head and slashed the knife across his throat.
“Oh my God,” Izzy shrieked, covering her face with her hands.
Clutching the wound, the vicar fell forward on his knees. The attacker raised the knife to plunge it into the vicar’s back, but then stopped. Disturbed by a distraction at the side of the church the figure scurried into the shadowy pews.
Ratty watched Chase appear on the screen, furtively creeping along the wall before she tried to get the vicar’s attention. Panic swelled in his chest as he watched Chase. She was in the church with a killer, and yet she didn’t know it. He felt like a macabre voyeur as he watched her approach the vicar and touch his shoulder, causing him to slump to the floor. Then she was running for the door, the figure chasing her.
As the camera angle didn’t show the main door, Ratty couldn’t see what was happening out of shot. Recorded after he met Chase, he wondered whether she was dead too.
Watching the screen felt surreal, made him feel angry that he couldn’t help. He wanted to know if Chase was alive. As he continued watching, the figure came back into view and looked up at the camera as though knowing it was there. The face on the screen was haunted, lost and distressed. Ratty had never seen a real killer before, and as the killer fled, he hoped never to see one again.
Because the cameras were motion activated, the next shot happened without a pause and showed figures in white coveralls and strange masks enter the church, remove the body and quickly clean the mess. A digital clock on the screen showed the time elapsed in real-time was about fifteen minutes before the next arrival, which was a man who quickly scanned the area and then left. Ratty felt a sense of relief as the man returned, dragging Chase behind him. So she wasn’t dead, but she looked scared, very scared.
The killer had obviously disappeared, but to all intents and purposes, so had the vicar’s body.
“Ratty, have you finished yet? We’re going to get caught if we hang around here any longer.”
Ratty nodded. “I’ve seen enough.” Ejecting the disc, he slipped it under his T-shirt and tucked it in to stop the disc falling out. He didn’t know what it meant, but it was evidence of something and he left the room feeling uneasy.
The corridor was empty and Ratty and Izzy made there way along it like furtive rats, ears twitching at the slightest sound. Ratty’s heart raced as he led the way back to the storeroom. He knew he was pushing his luck hanging around, but he still needed answers.
Voices suddenly broke the silence. Hesitant, Ratty peered around the corner, quickly withdrawing his head when he saw Moon and Drake walking toward him.
Izzy tugged his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she whispered.
Ratty held his hand up. “One minute.”
Izzy pursed her lips. “Now.” She looked as though she could have punched him.
“Why did we have to step in like that?” Drake asked.
“Because she was getting too suspicious. I always find it’s better to get things out in the open. Let them know how powerless they are, and they’ll become acquiescent. She’ll be a bit angry for a while, but now she knows we’ve got her friend and her boyfriend, she won’t try anything. She’s a clever girl.”
“I’m not so sure. It’s taking too much of a risk. We should have just left things as they were.”
“Crush the spirit and you kill the motivation, Mr Drake. I think her spirit is well and truly crushed, don’t you. Besides, now we know she’s pregnant ... well, that’s a whole new ballgame. We want to make sure nothing happens to interfere with the birth of this baby.”
Ratty heard the squeaking footsteps stop.
“Nothing, do you understand me, Drake? That’s why I’ve decided to bring her into the complex. I’ll admit things are getting a bit out of hand in the village. In fact, I’m beginning to think we should concentrate all our efforts on Miss Black and that we should send a disposal team in to take care of the problem.”
They started walking again and Moon continued talking. “Do you realise how important this baby could be? It could hold the key. If my calculations are correct, it will be the first child born with perfect immunity from disease. I think that’s where we’ve been going wrong. From little acorns, Mr Drake, from little acorns. We have lots to do. I want you to ensure Miss Black is monitored around the clock.”
Ratty heard a door open and close, cutting the conversation off.
“Did you hear that,” Ratty whispered.
“Yes, but I didn’t understand it.”
“Well Miss Black, that’s Chase. I remembered her name as soon as Moon said it. They’re saying she’s pregnant, and for some reason the baby’s going to be immune from disease.” He shook his head. Things had gone from strange to downright bizarre. “It also sounds as though they’re holding some friend of hers to make her do what they want.”
“Yes, but what was that about sending in a disposal team?”
“It sounds as though whatever they’re doing has gone pear shaped and they want to get rid of the evidence.”
“Which is?”
“Paradise.”
CHAPTER 22
No matter how hard she tried, Chase couldn’t get the tears to come. She wanted to cry, wanted to cry for Mat, for Jane, for Mandy, for everyone affected by Moon’s evil project, but she couldn’t. She had gone beyond tears, to a place of cold numbness. Her stony face appeared devoid of expression, a granite block waiting to be given a facial cast. Moon had detained Mat and Jane, leaving Chase to return to the cottage. The threat of what he would do to her friends was her prison.
Even though the house was cold, she didn’t feel it and although night had fallen, she didn’t switch a light on, letting the darkness surround her as if it would hide her from the horror. Apart from the occasional blink of her eyes, she didn’t move and the only sound was the regular cadence of her breathing, slow and steady.
Thoughts raced through her head, carrying her on an emotional roller coaster. She couldn’t believe Mat was here, in Paradise, and that Jane was being held as a prisoner. It was too unbelievable to take in. She clenched her fists.
What Moon had said about people getting away with things echoed through her thoughts. She knew he was right. What reason did he have to lie? But she still couldn’t believe things like this went on, where human life was used as an unwitting pawn in experiments. She couldn’t believe someone could be so callous to another human being.
One thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to eat any more of the tinned food.
Although she knew she should have remonstrated more, the thought of what might happen to her fri
ends had kept her mouth shut. She couldn’t risk their lives.
She knew mentally berating herself achieved nothing, but there was nothing else could she do.
A furtive knock at the door brought Chase out of her reverie. She turned her head to look toward the hallway, but didn’t move to answer it. The knock came again, more insistent, the hollow sound echoing along the hall. Fear prickled Chase like a rash. She would never have believed such an innocent sound could instil so much dread, but after what she had been through, nothing was innocent anymore. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was the devil himself knocking at the door asking her to sign her soul away, but he would be too late because Moon had got there first.
The knock came again. Whoever was outside obviously wasn’t going to go away. Chase stood and crept toward the window. She peered out, but couldn’t see anyone.
Flowers swayed in the nocturnal breeze, keeping time with the malodorous night time melody of rustling leaves.
After a couple of seconds, Chase backed away from the window and the knock came again, louder, heavier, longer, as though whoever was outside was trying to break the door down. She ran back to the window, pressing her face against the glass in an attempt to see the front door, but it was no good, the angle too acute, allowing whoever was out there to remain out of sight.
Panicked, Chase instinctively picked up her shoulder bag and ran toward the back of the house. Another loud knock at the door caused her to risk a backward glance, but she didn’t stop. She opened the back door and ran outside, hoping to put as much distance between herself and whoever was at the front of the house. Fear fuelled her flight as she ran up the cobbled path, and out through a small gate at the top of the garden. There wasn’t a proper road at the back of the house, just a worn path between hedgerows leading to a copse on the top of the hill. As she ran, the trees seemed to close in around her, living barriers that formed a wooden jail. Nocturnal sounds pervaded the area, the hoot of an owl, the sibilant rustle of leaves, the flutter of dark wings; feral creatures that passed through the undergrowth, the darkness their domain.
The path ended abruptly, and she brushed through the feather-like fronds of ferns, which gave the copse a wild and untamed primordial aspect. A fallen tree lay like a dragon across the ground, its bark transformed into scales by the bewitching darkness. The ground became uneven, formed into dips and hollows. Movement caught her eye as a large animal with a ghostly black and white striped head scurried through the ferns. She didn’t know what it was – didn’t want to know what it was. She momentarily wondered whether there were snakes slithering through the undergrowth, which made her run faster.
Something scurried up a tree, disturbing leaves in its wake.
Something flitted past her face, winging its way into the night.
The gloom embraced a phantasmagoria of sights and sounds. A chimerical domain inhabited by hunters and prey. Too tired to run any more, Chase doubled over and clutched her stomach as she fought to catch her breath. She felt like the prey. She didn’t know whether it was because she was pregnant, but she felt an overpowering determination to stop running and stand up for herself, a mother’s instinct to protect her unborn baby.
When she recovered from the exertion, she looked up to find she was standing in a depression surrounded by trees. She walked to the top of the hollow and looked down on the village. The fog was visible in the distance like dragon’s breath, a grey smoky residue that encircled the village. Although it appeared the fog went on forever, she could see lights in the distance, twinkling like stars in a luminescent sea. It was hard to judge how far away the lights were, but she guessed they were about six miles, although they may as well have been fifty miles away for all the good they were.
Looking down at the village, she could just make out the houses through the trees. Most were in darkness. What lights were lit seemed to be moving, sweeping in arcs like lighthouse beams, but she didn’t feel they conveyed warmth and safety. Some of the beams converged and flashed toward her, forcing her to duck down. She instinctively felt whoever was down there, was searching for her. In the distance, someone shouted an unintelligible order.
A shot rang out, puncturing the night and a flare flew into the air, illuminating the night sky with an incandescent light that slowly descended on a small parachute which swayed in the breeze.
Cautiously, Chase crawled back down into the hollow, out of sight. When she felt it was safe to stand up, she ran toward the far side of the hill, dodging trees, and began to descend. The flare illuminated her path, but she hoped the searchers were all on the other side of the hill. As she dashed through the undergrowth, branches whipped her face and hawthorn bushes scratched her hands, but she ignored the pain.
She didn’t spot the rusted barbed wire fence hidden in the undergrowth until too late, and she tripped on the wire, sprawling painfully onto the ground. Picking herself up, she winced as pain lanced up her leg from her ankle. She bent down to inspect the injury, saw blood oozing through her ripped jeans from a nasty gash across her shin.
The sound of animated voices from back up the hill forced Chase on, each step causing her to grimace when she put weight on her ankle. She silently cursed as she tried to hop on her uninjured leg, using branches to support her weight.
Overhead, the flare petered out, the darkness returning with a vengeance after the bright light. It took a few minutes before her night vision returned, by which time the voices seemed closer and louder. Lights flashed between the trees behind her as torches scanned the area. She thought she heard someone shout ‘blood’, but if she was leaving them a macabre Hansel and Gretel trail, there was little she could do about it as she didn’t have anything to staunch the flow with.
She struggled on, staggering, tripping and hopping down the hill. Whenever she could, she used branches like monkey bars to try and take the weight off her ankle, using her good leg like a pogo stick to launch herself to the next handhold. She was making more noise than she wanted as branches bowed beneath her weight.
The light beams flickered through the trees, making the leaves appear to dance. Nocturnal animals scurried away, causing ferns to sway as they moved through the undergrowth, adding to the confusion as Chase thought the hunters had gotten in front of her.
Through the thinning trees, she recognised the derelict farmhouse Mat had been hiding in and she headed toward it. Moved by the breeze, the front door squealed and she hobbled inside, heading straight for the back room. The hatch to the cellar was still shut from when she had tripped Mat over and she hopped toward it. Beams of light played across the walls as her pursuers broke from the trees, shining their torches across the building. Hurriedly, Chase opened the hatch and hobbled down the steps, closing the hatch behind her so that she was in total darkness. She prayed that her pursuers wouldn’t know about the cellar, and that they wouldn’t spot the hatch. It was only by chance she had found it. If she hadn’t heard the dull echo of the broken cup as it hit the floor, she would have been none the wiser to the cellar’s existence ... and Mat would still be free. She felt a pang of guilt that she had unwittingly gotten him recaptured. She didn’t know how long he had been hiding down here, but from the smell, it was quite a while.
Footsteps echoed overhead and Chase held her breath. Torchlight played through cracks in the floorboards, illuminating clouds of dust that fell from the ceiling above.
“Anything?” a deep male voice asked.
“No.”
“Well, keep looking. Drake wants the girl taken back to the compound. She can’t have just disappeared. Find her, because if I’m in the shit, then you men are drowning in it. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” a chorus of voices replied.
Chase fearfully listened to the men traipsing through the house, overturning cupboards and kicking down doors. The search seemed to go on for ages before the men left. By this time, Chase’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light enough for her to see she was in a room that appeared to run the length of
the house. She could only see so far into the room, the far end a black abyss, but from what she could see, the room appeared to have been used to store preserves. Jars lined the shelves. A lot of them had been opened, the contents devoured, but there were still a lot of full ones: strawberry jam from 1970 to 1982, pickled onions from 1969 to 1982, gooseberry jam from 1978 to 1980, honey from 1972 to 1976. As she perused the shelves, Chase realised just how hungry she was and her stomach growled. When had she last eaten? She felt hungry enough to eat anything, as long as it wasn’t in a white-labelled can. Spurred by hunger, she took down a jar of pickled onions and a jar of strawberry jam, opened them both and dipped the onions in the jam before eating them. The combination tasted delicious and she devoured half a jar of each before she was full, contentedly licking the sweet and sour residue from her fingers.
In a corner of the room Chase spotted a makeshift bed and she hobbled toward it. A small photograph stood next to the bed, and Chase picked it up, holding it so that she could see it more clearly. Tears filled her eyes. It was a worn photograph of Mat and herself, taken in a photo booth outside Birmingham train station. She remembered having the photo taken. Mat had taken her out shopping for her birthday. Chase looked surprised on the photograph because after discovering she wasn’t wearing a bra, Mat had grabbed her boob as the flash went off. He meanwhile smirked like the cat that had got the cream. She smiled thinking about it. Holding her hand up, she looked at the ring he’d bought her that day, turning it with her thumb like a prayer bead.
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