Soon they were pulling up in front of the church. Burnett checked his gun.
'This is it?' he asked Tana.
'Yep.'
'Let's take a look.'
The air was still, the only sound the occasional chirrup in the trees. There were no bodies here, and for a moment it was as though nothing had happened to this sleepy hamlet. Burnett scanned the buildings, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Across the road was a bakery. Tana went over to it. 'I don't know about you, but I'm fucking starving,' he called to Burnett.
'Be my guest,' Burnett replied.
Tana tried the door. Locked. A swift kick later, it gave way. Burnett wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of those barges.
The church itself was as austere and imposing as most village churches tended to be. Burnett had been inside this one a few times, for the funerals of people whose deaths he'd been investigating, to provide the liaison between the police and the family, but more often than not he'd been trying to work out who in the room had done the deed.
So why had their man chosen this place to give himself up? He didn't know much about him, but he knew enough to know there'd be some kind of symbolism to it. Tana had said the man was full of religious rhetoric, had this been his church?
He needed to go inside, but Tana was right, he needed something to eat first. Tana emerged from the bakery laden with pastried goods and cans of fizzy pop, a big grin across his face.
'I guess this'll all go off in the next few days, so we might as well load up while we can.'
The two of them sat on a bench and started devouring pasties. The coke was still cold. They ate in silence for a few minutes. The sausage rolls were good, and Burnett managed to push their killer to the back of his mind for a while.
'We've got to go in there, haven't we?' Tana asked.
'Yep,' Burnett replied.
'You religious?' Tana asked.
Burnett shook his head.
'Me neither. I hate churches. My school was dead religious, I seemed to spend half my life listening to some priest or another prattling on and on about my sins, or someone else's sins.'
'Sounds about right,' Burnett said.
'Fuck me I've got killer indigestion now,' Tana said, throwing half a pasty into the bin from the other side of the bench. He smiled at Burnett. 'Worth it though.'
He started to wonder if Tana had a point. If this was the end of the world, why the hell was he still turning up for work? But he knew the answer to that already.
'Come on, let's check it out.'
The large oak doors were sealed shut, the stained glass and gloomy interior giving nothing away. Burnett tried the cast iron knocker, neither expecting nor receiving a response. Tana had gone round the side, and after a few moments he returned, munching away at a second Cornish pasty.
'Locked up solid,' he said.
'I thought churches stayed open,' Burnett said.
'What, like a twenty-four hour Tesco?'
'I suppose.'
'Don't think it works like that. They'd be full of homeless and the like,' Tana said.
'Well they wouldn't want to give shelter to the needy, would they?' Burnett replied, half under his breath.
'I'm sensing a lack of partiality for the church there, Detective Inspector.'
'How keenly observational of you.'
They worked round the building once more, and found a door which couldn't withstand their combined foot power.
The air inside the church was putrid. Tana retched, his mouth still full of pasty.
'Fuck me,' he said, spitting out a mouthful of pasty before retching again.
'You need to go outside?'
'No, I'll be okay.'
'Here,' Burnett said, handing Tana a cigarette.
'What's this, old Detective trick?'
'Used to be,' Burnett replied, lighting one himself. 'You can't smoke at a crime scene anymore.'
'I won't tell if you won't.'
They moved into the main hall, and both stopped in their tracks. Even in the dull light from the stained glass windows the sight before them was more than they could register. A crudely erected crucifix hung, upside down, from the roof. The naked body of the priest hung from hammered nails, his genitals mutilated, his throat cut. Blood pooled on the floor alongside the corpses of two altar boys, their faces disfigured and throats cut, bodies posed in mock worship of the crucified figure.
'Jesus,' Tana said.
'Do you think he's trying to make a point?' Burnett asked.
Tana didn't reply. They stared at the scene for a moment, until a thud came from behind them, making them both jump and pull their weapons.
They scanned the room, but nothing moved.
The bang came again, a hollow thud of something hitting wood. Burnett motioned Tana to move forward, and they moved towards the sound, guns raised.
Another bang. It was coming from inside the altar.
He lifted the heavy bible and hymn books, pulled off the white sheet and opened the lid, revealing the bound and gagged figure of another man, dressed in priest's robes.
They lifted him out. His eyes and mouth had been taped, and he recoiled from their first touch. Tana spoke to him in the reassuring patter of a beat bobby.
Once they had him on the floor they pulled the tape from the man's eyes and mouth. As soon as they did the priest uttered a howl of abject sorrow, so loud that Burnett's first instinct was to cover the man's mouth again.
'Let's get him out of here,' Tana said. Together they carried him past the scene of ruination and out into the daylight.
The man moaned at the sight of the crucifix. By the time they got him outside he was so wracked by sobs, all they could do was lay him out on the grass, where he curled up into a ball and continued to sob.
Tana ran over to the bakery and came back with a bottle of water, helped the man into a sitting position, and urged him to take a drink.
'Thank you,' the priest said, when the sobbing passed. He took another deep gulp of water.
'Try not to move too much,' Tana said.
Burnett checked the man over. There didn't seem to be any obvious injuries.
'Can you tell me what happened?' Burnett asked.
Tana shot him a look, but he ignored it.
'He was a madman,' the priest began, but seemed to be unable to go any further.
Burnett looked into the man's eyes and saw the distant stare of someone who had long since left the state of shock behind and moved onto something much worse.
'He's not going to be able to tell us much,' Burnett said, turning away from the priest and trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
'We need to help him,' Tana said.
'He's beyond our help,' Burnett replied.
'What the fuck are you talking about?' Tana asked. 'Show some fucking compassion!'
'What? What exactly is it you think we can do for him? Take him to a hospital? Nurse him back to health ourselves? Bring him three square meals a day until he's feeling better?'
'If that's what it takes!'
'No, what we need to do is find the sick mother fucker who did that in there, and stop him from doing it to anyone else.'
'For Christ's sake, he probably doesn't even know the world has ended!' Tana shouted. 'We can't just leave him here.'
'Sorry,' the man said in a quiet voice. 'The world has what now?'
They took the priest and led him into the bakery, where they could sit him down and go through what they knew, which they realised through the act of recounting, was very little indeed. The priest seemed to be growing in strength with every minute, aided by the energy from a not-quite-stale sandwich and a can of sugary drink. He listened to their tale. When Tana drew to a close they sat in silence. When the priest spoke, it was in the calm even tones Burnett remembered from his own school priest.
'I will tell you what I know about this man you are looking for, but I also want to urge you to look away from the pa
th you are heading down.'
'You think we should continue to let him run around killing the few people who survived the apocalypse?' Burnett asked.
The priest mulled that over for a second.
'Why don't you tell us your name first?' Tana asked.
'I am Father Leonard.'
'Okay, Leonard, what can you tell us?' Burnett asked.
'It's Father Leonard,' the priest replied, and shot Burnett a look before continuing. 'A man came to see us a few days ago. A student, he said. He told us he was not a man of God, but that he'd seen something that had made him question his lack of faith. I don't know what it was, because Father Connelly took him away to talk to him at greater length.' He shifted in his seat, and arched his back. 'Excuse me, my muscles are cramping up.'
'I'll see if I can find some paracetamol,' Tana said.
'Thank you.'
'Carry on,' Burnett said.
'As I say, Father Connelly took him into another room to talk to him. The young man was upset. After their talk he had left in a hurry, and Father Connelly would only say that he was a troubled young man.
'The young man came back the next day, and as soon as he walked in the door I could see there was something not, how do I put this?' He paused. 'Not altogether the same person came in. He walked with purpose. We were planning the fayre I believe, and we had Mrs Wilson there and a few of the boys from the choir.
'When Father Connelly stood up to greet the young man he pushed him aside, and that's when I saw he had a carving knife in his hands. He…'
The priest paused for a second and took in a deep breath, steeling himself to continue with the story.
'Before any of us could react he had stabbed Mrs Wilson, in the chest. He picked up Marcus, one of our choirboys, round the throat, and pinned him to the wall.'
Tana returned with some painkillers, and the father washed them down. He fixed Burnett with a stare.
'I am not a violent man, Detective, but I don't believe the Lord will condemn me. I picked up one of the heavy candlesticks and swung it at the man's head, but alas he read my intentions and blocked my blow. He struck me, and at that point I must have passed out.
'I woke up unable to move, my hands and feet bound, my eyes and mouth gagged, and all I could hear was screaming. Wailing. It went on and on. I couldn't identify who it belonged to, but soon it were gone. Then came the silence, which was worse.
'At one point I thought I was going delirious because it felt like there was some kind of pressure or something, and my head felt like it was going to split in two, and I could see stars, and I passed out. When I woke up I was still in the box. I started to resign myself to the fact that I would die there, and I made my peace with my Lord.
'Then you both came.' He looked at them in turn. 'Thank you, both of you.'
Burnett nodded.
'Now, please,' the priest continued, 'for the love of all that is holy, do either of you have a spare cigarette?'
Tana fished out a battered pack from his back pocket, and lit one for the priest, who took in a hungry gulp.
They sat in silence as he smoked.
'So what do we do now?' Tana asked, once the Priest had stubbed it out.
'I'm going to find the man who did this,' Burnett replied.
'You two must do as you see fit, of course,' the priest said. 'But I believe you would put your skills to better use by helping to rebuild after everything that has happened. "Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise." You could be of great service as a man of authority.'
'Don't quote your book to me, Father,' Burnett said. 'It's not my book. And anyway, "he that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong which he hath done, and there is no respect of persons".'
'Interesting that you say it is not your book, Detective, and yet you can quote it at will. People out there will be lost, confused, and they will need order and hope to guide them through the next dark days and weeks. They will, in short, need you, Detective.'
'Well I'm afraid they're going to have to get along without me,' Burnett replied. 'I am going to find this man, and I am going to stop him. If you're so convinced we need a new messiah, Father, perhaps that's something better suited to your job description?'
The priest looked wounded by his words, and Burnett felt a stab of guilt.
'Yes, well. What about you, young man?' The priest turned to Tana.
The other policeman had been sat in silent contemplation as both men had spoken, and he looked at each in turn.
'I'm with the Father,' he said. 'If you need me, I'll be there, but if this is the end of the world, of civilisation as we know it, someone needs to help the survivors. We need to regroup, and we need to rebuild. I'm sorry, Detective.'
'Fine,' Burnett said, relieved and disappointed at the same time. 'What are you going to do?'
'I guess we need to find some kind of refuge we can use and start to gather supplies,' Tana said. 'We'll need food, blankets, medicine, and somewhere to operate from.'
'Excellent,' the priest replied, his face breaking out in a smile for the first time.
Tana stood and gave Burnett a guilty look.
'You be careful,' Burnett said to both men. 'What you are planning is going to be exactly the sort of place he'd want to hit.'
'We'll take a few of the guns,' Tana said.
Burnett nodded. The priest looked to argue for a second but thought better of it. Burnett and Tana stood in front of each other for a moment, until Tana stuck out a hand. Burnett shook it.
'You know where we are,' he said. 'Good luck.'
Tana started to walk away, then turned round. 'You get that fucker.'
Burnett nodded. 'Good luck to you as well.'
Burnett left the bakery and got into the car, but didn't start it. He stared at the broken bakery door, and contemplated his next move.
Chapter Eleven
How We Land
'Sam! Watch where you're fucking going,' Jen said, making him jerk the wheel. The car swerved and took out the wing mirror of a parked Mercedes. It had been two hours in the cramped car before she'd discovered the boy's name. It had taken her considerably less time to realise he'd less than truthful when he'd declared his ability to drive.
Four hours into their drive around the suburbs and their carnage-strewn streets and they'd not made it more than a few miles. To be fair to the boy, he'd not had the easiest of tasks. The roads were strewn with bodies and they'd yet to see a single one that didn't have a wreck of some kind blocking their way. Finding their way out was like negotiating a maze, and Jen felt like they were never more than twenty seconds from an ambush.
Crossing the bridge had been the hardest part. The car climbed the pavement, scraping down the side of the bridge. Her new driver sucked air between his teeth in exasperation.
If Sam hadn't been a great driver to begin with, he was definitely getting better, although his insistence that he drove while smoking a spliff 'to ease his nerves' had done little to ease her own.
The plan was to head to the Designer Outlet for some good old-fashioned looting, then find somewhere safe to hide out and find out what was going on. That the prospect of looting had provoked such unabashed enthusiasm in her new travelling companions was by the by. They needed supplies. It wasn't unlikely they were the only survivors to have the same idea, Jen knew. They might be driving towards terrible peril.
'Oh for fuck's sake, give me a drag on that,' she said, and took the spliff off the now grinning boy.
'Go Jen!' came the voice from the back seat.
Stupid, she knew, but her nerves were shot and she needed to calm down. She took a drag and closed her eyes, preferring not to watch the endless parade of bodies and coffin cars as they passed.
'We're nearly there,' Sam said, pulling off the main road. 'At this rate we'll be there in twenty minutes.'
'Wait,' Jen said, 'pull over.'
'What's the matter?'
'It's getting dark,'
Jen said. 'I don't like the idea of going in there when it's dark. We'll have no idea who's in there, and we won't be able to see for shit. I don't want to spend an hour scrambling around trying to find a sleeping bag, only to find out I'm in the fucking teapot shop.'
'I don't think I want to be murdered today,' Mira said.
'Fair point. What do we do instead, sleep in the car?' Sam asked.
'I'm sure I saw a pub back there,' Mira said.
'I could definitely use a drink,' Jen agreed.
The front door swayed open.
'What do you reckon?' Sam asked. 'If there were people in here they'd have locked up, right?'
'Stay close and stay quiet,' Jen replied. They moved through the bar. Only a few corpses remained, most having opted to view the storm from the pavement outside. Enough remained to ensure a fetid stench had filled the room. Jen locked the doors.
They checked the whole building for other survivors. Jen's heart remained in her throat with every door she pushed open.
Confident they were alone, they made their way back down to the bar.
'We'll sleep down here tonight,' Jen said.
'What?' Sam asked.
'Do you want to be trapped upstairs if there's a fire? Or if someone tries to break in? Better we're together down here.'
'If someone breaks in we'll be no safer down here than upstairs. Chances are we'll die a little bit sooner,' Sam replied. 'At least if we are upstairs we get to sleep in a bed, and who knows how often that's going to happen. Besides, we can keep watch out of the windows.'
'Fine,' she said.
She walked behind the bar, grabbed two bottles of wine from a fridge and a glass and made her way upstairs.
The wine was enough to take the edge off the impending sense of doom, but not enough to see off her reservations. She stared at the door of her bedroom, and ran over how she might get away from these two without them noticing. It was the end of the world and she'd been burdened with looking after two teenagers she hadn't even met that morning. How had that happened? She could leave now, walk out the door. They'd be okay, and if they weren't, what the hell did it have to do with her? She never asked for this. She never asked for any of this.
Blood on the Motorway, #1 Page 7