Others

by James Herbert

  ‘We can’t just leave him!’ she screamed at me.

  ‘We’re not going to!’ I yelled back as she struggled to get away.

  A hand tugged at my shirtsleeve – I’d lost my jacket somewhere back there in the hallway. I glanced down at Joseph, my head busy with thoughts of how I could reach the dormitory again.

  ‘Michael’s calling,’ Joseph said, and his lips were quivering as if he were about to cry. For a moment, in that bleaching moonlight, he almost looked like the child he truly was. ‘He’s afraid, Dis. He’s calling you, he wants you to go to him.’

  ‘My God,’ said Louise, ‘I can hear him too, but this time it really is like a voice and not just a thought. He’s calling your name, Dis.’

  Terrific, I thought. Even if I’d had a choice a moment ago – and I had decided to go back for him – I had no choice now. Not with Constance watching me. Not with Joseph’s ancient-child’s eyes on me. Not with Louise on the point of passing out with anxiety. Not with them all seeing the good side of me, the side they all imagined they saw. I was no saviour, no matter what they felt about me. I was a coward. And it was the coward in me that was going to force me back inside that burning building, because I was too scared to let them down! Shit.

  ‘Louise,’ I said without giving myself further time to think, ‘have you got my cellphone with you?’

  She nodded her head, hastily reaching into the deep pocket of her summer dress.

  ‘Good. Call the emergency services from here. We want all of them – fire, police, and ambulances. Do that before you warn the staff in the main building – it’ll save time if they haven’t already called them.’ Because the windowless annexe was so cut off from the home itself, I suspected the staff were still not aware of the fire, unless somebody at the windows above had seen the smoke. ‘I’m going to use the fire escape to get back up to the dormitory – it’s how I reached it in the first place.’

  ‘I’m coming with you, Nick.’

  I turned on Constance. ‘Oh no you’re not!’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ she persisted, her jaw set tight.

  ‘You can’t. You’ll slow me down.’

  It was the blunt truth, but she merely shook her head.

  ‘I can help you.’

  I held her away from me. ‘I don’t have time to argue. Please, just stick with your friends here – they need your help.’

  With that, I was off, limping towards the fire-escape, my leg dragging. People were shouting down to us from the windows, but I ignored them, too busy just getting to the metal stairway and cursing myself for ever getting into a situation like this. Now that Wisbeech was dead, killed in a most horrible way, my anger had dissipated somewhat, revenge, justice, already exacted (though not by me) in brutal fashion. I started to climb, but felt the metal rail judder behind me.

  ‘Constance,’ I yelled, ‘please go back!’

  ‘Michael is in my care!’ she shouted back. ‘I have to help him.’

  It was pointless to argue: Constance was going to follow me whatever I said. Although exasperated, I think my love for her reached a new high at that moment. I understood her compassion for these others, others like her, others like me, and I also understood the guilt – mistaken though it was – she felt. Perhaps she thought she could have done more for them, that she should have exposed her guardian and the ‘researches’ he indulged in here; she didn’t understand that she was also a victim of Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech, that she had been manipulated and used by someone she thought cared for her. Someone who would have had her killed that very night. What else had this so-called physician done to her over the years, what other abuses had she suffered? How far had he gone with the drugs he had used on her? I shut the last screaming thoughts from my mind.

  I went on, aware that even in my worn condition she’d have trouble keeping up with me. Smoke swelled across the courtyard from the ground-floor door opposite, curling around the iron stairway like a drifting fog. More shouts came from windows, the old folk beginning to get agitated. I was on the last flight of steps when a light came on above me. I stopped as a figure stepped out on to the fire-escape’s top landing.

  ‘Who’s there? What d’you want here?’

  It was a female voice and I thought I recognized the accent. She was dressed in a kimono-type dressing-gown, her hair in large rollers, and in her hand she held a key that I assumed was to the fire-escape door. I knew I had seen her before and I couldn’t remember where or when. It was only when she peered over the railing – perhaps to locate the smoke’s source, perhaps curious about the noise from below – that it came to me. It was the rollers that had put me off, maybe the kimono too, for the last time I had seen her she was wearing a nurse’s uniform and her ginger-blonde hair was tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck.

  ‘Lord save us, what’s going on?’

  It was the Irish accent that made something in my brain click. ‘Theresa . . .’ I said. Then I remembered the correct pronunciation: ‘Theraisa, it’s me, Nick Dismas. We met the – ’

  ‘Ah, I know you. You were with Constance, weren’t you?’

  It was then that Constance caught up with me.

  ‘Constance, d’you think you’d be tellin me what’s happenin here?’

  In the light from the doorway I could see her chubby face was set in a frown. She cocked her head to look around me at Constance.

  ‘There’s a fire in the annexe, Theresa,’ Constance said breathlessly. ‘You have to get everyone out before it spreads.’

  ‘Oh Mother Mary, I’d better get on to the fire services.’

  ‘Already done.’ I scurried up the last few steps to the landing. ‘You just sound the alarm and concentrate on getting people out.’

  ‘But how did it start, who – ?’

  I shut her up by pushing past her and entering the building. As I made for the alcove further along the corridor, I heard Constance’s voice behind me ordering the plump young nurse to arouse everyone on that floor before going down to alert the patients and residents. Mercifully, I had left one half of the double doors in the alcove slightly open, resting against the edge of its partner, afraid of the noise it would make if I pushed it shut completely. (I thanked God that the nurse, Theresa, had come out on to the fire-escape to see what all the ruckus was about, because I was no longer wearing the jacket with my lock-picking tools in its pocket.) I went through into the annexe and found myself back inside the large area at the end of which lay the dormitory.

  It was filled with smoke coming through the door to the staircase next to the lift which was wide open, no doubt left that way after Louise had shepherded the ‘others’ through, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for the fire to follow the smoke. I quickly looked into the office on my left, not expecting to find anyone there, but taking no chances. It was empty and I assumed the orderly, who had almost discovered us earlier, had returned to the activities below before Louise’s arrival. A noise behind me made me whirl round.

  Constance was coming towards me through the smoke, the rubber tips of her elbow crutches clumping against the floor, her anxious face smeared with smoke-grime, tear-streaks creating white rivers down her cheeks.

  ‘Go back!’ I told her roughly. ‘I can manage on my own.’

  She came on and was in my arms before I could raise another protest.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m so sorry,’ I heard her say.

  ‘You don’t have to be, Constance,’ I said close to her ear. ‘None of this is your fault. You couldn’t know the full story.’

  ‘I should have done something about it. I’ve had suspicions for a long time. I shouldn’t have cooperated in the way Hildegarde did. When I talked to Leonard about it, he said that nobody could do as well for them as he. Outside this home they would all be treated as freaks. He told me that only he knew how to keep them alive. His researches had taught him how. He knew the treatment, the best drugs to use – Leonard believed he was the only physician who could help them properly and I wante
d to believe him. I made myself believe him.’

  ‘Maybe he was right in a sense. How many like them are out on the streets, how many do we see outside? I find it hard to believe they all die at birth, so where are those who survive? In places similar to this? In the test laboratories somewhere? Or are they quietly terminated when nothing more can be done for them? I despised Wisbeech, but in the beginning, and in a weird way, he was trying to do something for them as well as his own brother. I guess the ideal just got corrupted along the way.’

  I could feel the heat coming through the soles of my shoes as we stood there and smoke was seeping from the cracks between floorboards.

  ‘Jesus!’ I exclaimed. ‘We don’t have much time, Constance. Let’s find Michael and get out of here!’

  I started to move away, but she clung to me.

  ‘Nick. Downstairs . . . what was . . .’

  She was finding it hard to say the words, so I made it easier for her.

  ‘You were tranked. You didn’t know what was going on. Your caring guardian had spiked something you drank with Rohypnol and God knows what else. He’s . . . he was . . . a skilful doctor and he knew the correct dosages to give you. Hell, he knew all about drugs and their effects.’

  I squeezed my eye shut but the thoughts only became sharper, the pictures more focused. Oh Lord, what had Constance been forced to do when she was under . . . ?

  ‘I love you, Nick.’

  I hugged her close. She had said something I’d waited all my life to hear, just someone saying they loved me; but only in the wildest of my dreams did I imagine it would come from someone as wonderful as Constance. You might think I was compromising, taking the love of a crippled girl because I couldn’t do better. You might think that, but you’d be wrong. Constance was no compromise, despite her disability: she was a prize, a wonderful, unexpected prize.

  I was shaking my head in wonder as I began to say, ‘You’ve no idea – ’

  A soft hand on my lips stopped me. ‘I do,’ she said simply. ‘I felt it the very moment you arrived in my life. I know how you feel, Nick, because it’s the same for me. I hope I haven’t let you down . . .’

  Something crashed on the level beneath us. Something in the laboratory. The floor seemed to tremble for a second or two.

  ‘Let’s hurry,’ Constance said and sprang away from me, turning around with the aid of her crutches and making for the entrance to the dormitory.

  I should have held on to her for a moment longer, should have squeezed her tightly, should have crushed her to my chest. Right then, I should have kissed her. But there was no chance – she was gone.

  I hurried after her.

  Light from the open doorway helped us find Michael as we made our way along the cot beds. The heat was stifling in the dormitory and the smoke was like a drifting haze before us and I offered my handkerchief to Constance so that she could use it as a mask. She declined, telling me she could not hold it and use the crutches at the same time, so I reluctantly stuffed it back into my trouser pocket: I’d use it myself only when absolutely necessary – which wouldn’t be long by the look of things, for as we had passed the stairway in the area outside the dormitory, I had noticed the red glow on the far wall, reflections of the fire raging on the lower floor.

  Michael was squirming helplessly on his cot and I could hear that peculiar keening sound coming from him as he rocked his tiny head from side to side. I still found it hard to look at him, despite everything else I’d seen that night, but I reminded myself that this was a human being – a young human being – with a soul like everybody else. And if there was no such thing as a soul, well, he had a goodness inside him that had won him the affection of his fellow-inmates, and he had used his special telepathic gift to help them all. He had also insisted that Louise help the others before attending to him.

  He stopped moving as I leaned over him, only that lipless mouth continuing to pulsate. His pink, blind eyes seemed to seek me out.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Michael,’ I said as soothingly as I could. ‘Constance is with me and we’re going to get you out of here.’

  ‘He knows,’ Constance said.

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘Michael is aware I’m here. He always knows.’

  ‘Will he hear me if I speak to him?’

  ‘He’ll hear you if you only think.’

  When I reached down and touched his silky skin, an odd sensation swept through me, travelling up my arm and settling in my chest. It was a feeling of prodigious warmth – warmth that had nothing to do with the raging fire threatening us, for it was of the emotional kind. It might sound trite, but it was a feeling of immense love and I almost staggered back with the impact. Michael was showing me his gratitude; his gratitude and his trust. It was as if he had physically embraced me.

  I began to understand his power then, this sensory gift that had enabled Michael and the others to reach out collectively with their minds to find me, Louise Broomfield the bridge between us, her own psychic skills the necessary link, for I had no such powers. What Michael could not foretell, though, was that the minds of the creatures kept in the underground cells, these other ‘others’, had also linked with his mind and it was their malign nature that had changed it into a nightmare for me. They had usurped the message so that it had become an abomination.

  Almost tenderly, I wrapped the bedsheet around him and lifted him from the cot. All sense of revulsion immediately left me and I held him to my chest as you might hold an infant.

  Constance tucked in the edges of the bedsheet around him before softly placing two fingers against his undefined cheek. Smoke was pouring between the floorboards as we headed back towards the door. Constance saw it first and gave out a small, shrill cry. I groaned when I looked.

  In the wide, open entrance to the dormitory there now lurked the thing that had murdered and mutilated Henry, the monster that Wisbeech had wanted to film copulating with Constance. The creature I thought had died in the fire below.

  It swayed in the doorway, naked once more, the fire behind silhouetting its figure so that it really did resemble a demon from Hell. I could not see the shadowed face, the damaged eye, those terrible needle-sharp teeth.

  But I knew it was watching me. I could feel its hatred.

  It was then that flames began to leap upwards from the dormitory’s crackling floor.

  47

  We could hear its snuffling as it suddenly loped towards us, waving those wicked-looking claws before it as it came, as though trying to smote the smoke-filled air away.

  ‘Nick!’

  Constance’s scream was directed at me, as if she, too, understood the creature’s intention, that I was the one it was coming for.

  The robe it had been forced to wear had probably been burned away by the fire in the studio-room and I briefly – very briefly, for the distance between us was rapidly diminishing – wondered how the hell it had escaped the conflagration. It seemed impossible that it could have got to the burning door and opened it while others inside were burnt alive. I remembered that this thing was lacking in fear so maybe it had just run right through the fire; or maybe it had found its way back to the dungeon, using the same route we’d taken earlier to reach the studio, past the cells, then up the staircase, all the way to this level, because the other floors and hallways were burning. Maybe its mind had tuned into Michael’s – these creatures had done so before – and so it knew where to find me.

  As it came towards me I saw that its black, wiry body-hair had been completely burned away, its skin horribly blistered and scorched, its flesh seared to a deeper red than before; its big hands were raw, its clawed fingers glistening with seepages, catching the light from individual fires around the room. Its long penis hung down between its legs, still peculiarly menacing even in its flaccid state. I wanted to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction (my brain wasn’t missing any special neurons), but there was nowhere to run. The dormitory ended in a blank, windowless wall. I knew I had to
stand and fight for the sake of Constance and Michael alone; I also knew that, as before, I didn’t stand a chance against it.

  ‘Take him!’ I yelled at Constance, thrusting my burden towards her.

  She immediately dropped her crutches, and took Michael from me. I didn’t even bother to see if she could bear his weight: I twisted round and picked up a narrow cot by its metal frame, tilting it so that the mattress slid off; then, holding it like a battering ram, the springy wire base against my chest and shoulder, one hand at the end, the other holding the lower side of the frame, I charged towards the rushing beast, yelling a hoarse war cry as I did so.

  We met midway and, using all the considerable power of my arms and shoulders, I smashed the metal headrail straight into the creature’s face. It hadn’t even had the sense to try and avoid the makeshift ram and it staggered back, too stupid to be surprised. It gave a kind of animal grunt and I followed up with another hard blow, aiming for the chest-centred head again. The beast lost balance and I ran at it again, this time knocking it down, opening up a wound in its skull. It crouched over its knees on the floor, head turned so that its yellow eyes could watch me, those deadly needle teeth gnashing at the air.

  As I raised the cot-frame yet again, hoping to knock the creature senseless, its hand shot out and caught the end rail. It tried to pull the cot from my grasp, but I hung on and went with the momentum, adding my own force to push the beast backwards. It toppled and I pushed even harder, trying to keep it pinned to the smouldering floor.

  ‘Constance!’ I yelled. ‘Get out, quickly! I can’t hold it for long!’

  She hesitated and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was afraid to get past the thing struggling on the floor, or because she didn’t want to leave me.

  ‘Constance!’ I shouted her name as a command and this time she obeyed.

  With Michael in her arms, she cautiously edged round the floundering figure, her wasted legs moving awkwardly, while I fought the beast, constantly shoving the end of the cot into its face, knocking it back each time it tried to rise. The demon-thing grabbed the end rail again and pulled, bringing me with it. I let go and swiftly reached for another cot nearby, dragging it towards me, its metal legs scraping against the floorboards. With strength I hadn’t known I had left, I lifted the cot and threw it on top of the beast. Immediately, I grabbed another, sliding it over the floor, lifting and hurling it on top of the beast, who was frantically grappling with the two already bearing down on it, kicking out with its legs so that they became caught up in the metal frames. It yowled in frustration as it tried to get clear, but I kept them coming, burying it beneath more and more cots and beds, using mattresses and chairs too, anything I could find to build a tangled pile over the feral creature. As I hauled yet another bed towards the growing stack, the mattress fell to the floor, its cheap plastic cover instantly melting as it brushed one of the many fires springing up through the floorboards, the material inside – a foam block, I think – flaring up, rapidly becoming a blaze. I dropped the bed-frame and picked up the burning mattress by its corner, tossing it on to the heap. Fiery pieces of melting plastic dripped on to other mattresses in the heaving pile and these, too, caught alight.