by Shaun Hutson
It too was empty.
The last of the three doors was locked tight and the handle twisted impotently in his grasp. He took a step back then threw his weight against it. There was a shriek of buckling metal as the lock broke and Davies tumbled into the room. He sprawled heavily. The shotgun fell from his grasp and skidded across the floor. Suddenly seized by a spasm of terror, he grabbed for the weapon and looked up.
The room was empty. He cursed himself, realizing that the atmosphere was getting to him. Another empty room he thought and shook his head. Where the hell were the bloody things hiding?
It was as he emerged onto the landing that he heard the scraping from above.
His heart leapt, thudding against his chest, the breath catching in his throat. He looked up.
'Oh God,' he gasped.
The trapdoor of the attic was out of place, half of it drawn back, revealing the impenetrable blackness within. The sound came again, louder this time. Davies leant back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the half open hole. My God, he thought, it was so obvious. The attic. What better place for them to hide? It was dark, out of sight, not easily accessible. His heart began racing and he took three deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Perhaps his imagination was getting the better of him, maybe it was just birds up there. They very often nested in lofts. Nevertheless, he would have to know for sure.
But how to get up there? He looked around for something to stand on and remembered a chair in the second bedroom. Hastily retrieving it, he positioned it carefully beneath the black hole, his eyes constantly alert for any sign of movement. Cautiously he climbed onto the chair and found that he could reach the wooden surround of the attic entrance. He shook his head. That would mean him hauling himself up gradually, getting a firm handhold and dragging his bulky frame into the enveloping darkness. It was too risky, besides the fact that he would be momentarily unable to use his gun if there were any of the things up there. He shuddered at the thought, leaning against the guard rail which ran along one side of the landing.
That was the answer.
If he could use the guardrail as a further step up from the chair then he could ease himself up into the attic and still retain a firm grip on his gun. Davies set the plan in motion, finding that it was not as easy as he had anticipated. The guard rail creaked protestingly under his weight but he grabbed the wooden lip of the attic entrance, laid the shotgun inside and hauled himself up.
Christ, it was dark in there. He reached for his flashlight, fumbling around inside his jacket. He grabbed it and swung its powerful beam around the inside of the attic.
There were four of them in there and, even though he had half expected it, Davies was still shocked by their appearance. In fact, one, a man in his fifties, was already on his feet and advancing towards the policeman. Davies shone the light in his direction and the man covered his face against the bright light. The eyeless sockets remained open, glaring at Davies through meshed fingers. With a grunt of disgust, the policeman fired.
The blast hit the man in the chest and blew him across the small attic, but now the others were stirring and Davies realized that he couldn't hold the light up and fire at the same time. Praying, he fired off th6 remaining four cartridges, using each subsequent muzzle flash as a guide. When he'd finished, the room stunk of cordite and his ears were ringing from the swift deafening explosions. Hurriedly, he reached for the light and shone it in the direction of the living dead things. Joyful at first, he counted three bodies but then suddenly the awful realization hit him. He had seen four when he first entered the attic. Where was the fourth creature?
He swung around in time to catch it in the beam. What had once been a girl in her twenties, her eyeless sockets still caked with dark dry blood, ran at him, dark liquid gushing from a savage wound in her side which had exposed the intestines. Her mouth was open in a soundless scream of rage and, arms outstretched, she lunged at Davies. He rolled to one side and the girl tripped, falling head first through the open trapdoor. There was a sickening thud as she hit the landing below. Davies leapt down after her, his full weight landing on her torn body. His gun now empty, he snatched up the chair and brought it crashing down on her head. The one blow was all that was needed. Her skull collapsed like an egg shell, greyish slops of brain plopping onto the carpet. Seized with an almost insane hatred, the policeman reloaded his shotgun and fired two more shots into the inert form as if not quite satisfied that the creature was finally dead. The second blast tore off her head. What remained of it.
He stared down at the body, shaking with rage and fear.
'Bastard,' he said. 'Bastard. Fucking bastard.' It was a moment or two before he recovered his composure and left the house, wondering what he would find in the next.
* * *
Walford brought Puma Three to a halt in the car park at the back of the block of fiats where constable Ferman lived. The two of them had been ordered to check out the block with its twelve storeys and ninety flats. The two men sat in the car for a moment, gazing upwards to the top storey.
'Shit,' muttered Walford, 'we'll be here all day checking this lot.'
Ferman grinned and climbed out of the car. Walford followed a second later, wondering what his companion found so amusing.
'Don't worry about it,' said Ferman, 'we'll have this done in less than half an hour.'
They were already inside the main entrance hall, the lifts in front of them, two corridors on either side stretching away for hundreds of yards.
'Half an hour my backside,' said Walford, indignantly.
'Just shut up and come with me,' Ferman told him, heading for the flat nearest them. He fumbled in the pocket of his trousers and produced a key. 'My flat,' he announced. He opened the door and Walford shrank back. Curled up in front of the dormant gas fire were two of the biggest Alsatians he'd ever seen. The first animal looked up, saw Ferman and bounded across to him. He smiled and grabbed the dog, patting it and running his hand along its sleek body. 'This is King,' he announced, stroking the animal which looked at Walford lazily, regarding him as if it were looking at its next meal.
'They're big bastards, Stuart,' said Walford, trying to hide his apprehension. He wasn't too keen on dogs at the best of times and these bloody things looked like ponies, he'd never seen any as big.
'I look after them,' said Ferman proudly, stroking the second dog which licked at his hand. 'This one is Baron. If they can't sniff out those bloody things then no one can.'
'You know, you're not as daft as you look,' said Walford, smiling.
Both men checked their weapons. Ferman led the dogs out into the corridor and hastily locked his flat door behind them.
'What makes you so sure they'll be able to find anything?' Walford asked as they set off up the first corridor, the dogs leading.
'Dogs can usually sense when something's wrong,' Ferman said. 'It'll save us a lot of time if they can.'
They checked the place, floor by floor, all the time their ears and eyes alert. Ferman watching the two dogs, observing their reactions as they paused now and again at a door, one of them sniffing around, the other pacing back and forth.
* * *
On the fifth floor a door opened and a woman stuck her head out, suddenly alarmed by the sight of gun-carrying policemen and dogs.
'What's going on?' she asked, worriedly.
'Nothing to worry about,' lied Walford, 'just a check. We got a call from someone in the flats who'd reported someone suspicious hanging round.'
The woman looked at the two men and then at the dogs. She hesitated a moment then closed her door and both policemen heard a bolt being slid into place on the other side. They walked on.
'Mrs Cole,' Ferman announced, 'we probably interrupted her and one of her customers.' He laughed to himself. Walford looked puzzled. 'She's a bit of a goer if you get my drift.'
Walford did.
'Her husband's in the nick, some big black bloke. Right fucking headcase, alcoholic too. He used to knock the
shit out of her. I dragged him in twice for assaulting her but she stayed with him. I suppose she's making up for lost time now. There's a different bloke in there every night.'
Walford started to sound interested. 'How old is she?'
'Thirty, maybe younger. Who knows?'
They reached the flight of steps which led up to the sixth floor and the dogs raced ahead. Ferman watched them go, wondering if they'd found something at last. When he and Walford finally caught up with the animals he saw that it was a false alarm. They continued their endless trekking along the maze of corridors. Doors were tried; those that were open they investigated, the ones that were locked they bypassed.
'I hope you're right about these bloody dogs,' said Walford. 'I mean, what if they've missed something?'
Ferman shook his head. 'No chance. If there's anything here, they'll find it.'
Someone else popped their head out of the doorway on the tenth floor. Mr Wilkins. A retired solicitor, Walford was told afterwards.
'Pompous old sod,' said Ferman as they walked on. 'He's a nosey old cunt, too. There's not a thing goes on in this bloody block that he doesn't know about.'
'Do you know everyone who lives here?' asked Walford, irritably.
Ferman smiled.
* * *
Eleventh floor and still nothing. The sun was beaming in through the huge picture windows at either end of the corridor and Walford leant back against the wall to rub his aching thighs.
'Only one more floor,' Ferman told him. 'Thank Christ for that. My bloody legs are killing me, all these stairs.'
It was King who started barking first. Walford looked around to see the animal standing at the far end of the corridor, hackles raised, barking madly at something which he couldn't see. A second later, Baron joined in and the entire corridor was filled with a cacophony of harsh yapping and growling. King began scratching at the door, growling, backing off then barking once more. The two policemen ran to where the dogs stood and Ferman grabbed their collars, pulling them back, finding that he needed all his strength to do so.
'Try the door,' he said, watching as Walford gently turned the handle. The dogs' frenzied barking had now subsided to a low guttural growling; both had their sharp eyes fixed on the door as the policeman turned the handle and pushed it open a few inches.
'What do we do?' asked Walford. 'Let them go in?' He nodded towards the waiting animals.
Ferman bit his lip contemplatively. 'There is the chance they could be wrong.'
'You said…'
'All right. But I'll go in with them.' Ferman swallowed hard. He told his companion to hold the two Alsatians while he himself worked the pump action of his shotgun, chambering a shell. Walford held the dogs as best he could, stunned by their power.
'Let them go,' snapped Ferman, simultaneously kicking open the door.
The two animals hurtled in, Ferman following. There was a flurry of barking and howling from the room beyond him as he ran to catch up with the dogs. They had barged through a half open door inside which the policeman knew led into one of the bedrooms. All the flats were built the same; this one was no different to his own. He kicked open the second door and froze.
What had once been a man in his forties was struggling with the two animals, yellow spitde dribbling over his chin. He snarled and bit like they did, uttering the same harsh animal sounds so that it was difficult to determine who was making the noises. He had one hand clamped round Baron's throat, while the bulk of King clung to his other arm, teeth firmly embedded in the flesh. The living dead thing grunted and hurled Baron away, the animal smashing into the far wall, staggering for a second then racing back at the creature. He tried to bludgeon King away and, by turning, left his face exposed. Baron launched himself at the man's unprotected side and tore away a large chunk of skin. Blood spurted into the air and the dog fell away. The living dead thing spun round, bringing one hand down hard on King's head. The animal dropped like a stone and Ferman raised his shotgun, anger boiling within him.
'You bastard,' he muttered, and fired twice. Both shots hit their target and the man was slammed back against the wall. He stood there for a second before slumping forward, a huge crimson smear trailing out behind him, his entrails spilling in an untidy pattern on the floor before him.
Ferman dropped his gun and ran to King. He knew before he reached it that the animal was dead, its skull crushed to pulp by the powerful blow it had received. Baron, whimpering softly, licked at the policeman's hand and he had to fight hard to keep back a tear.
Walford appeared in the doorway. He looked in, saw the dead dog and the corpse and left, staggering into the corridor outside. Ferman finally emerged, carrying the body of the dog, Baron close behind him. The policeman's face was set, his jaw firm, the knot of muscles at its side pulsing angrily.
'I loved that dog,' he said, softly. And Walford reached out to touch his shoulder.
'Come on,' he said, still shaking from what he'd just seen, 'we'd better report in.'
* * *
Lambert was surprised at how many people there were in the centre of Medworth that morning. Perhaps they just chose not to hide or realized that they were not in so much danger during the day light hours. The sun shining brightly overhead seemed to add much needed reassurance.
He had just received the reports from the three other cars, well over half the town had been covered now and, as yet, only eight or nine of the things had been found. The evidence seemed to support Lambert's own theory that the bulk of them hid together during the day. But where?…
He glanced up at the clock on the council offices as he guided the Capri along the main street. It was 1:30 P.M. They had less than five hours of daylight left. Bell and he had covered an extensive area themselves that morning but had found nothing. A search of two pub cellars had revealed nothing, neither had a house to house probe which had taken in most of Medworth's largest estate.
Lambert swung the Capri round the roundabout at the top of the main street and guided it into the narrow delivery road which led up to the back of the supermarket which was the next sight of their quest. It had, up until three days ago, been a large branch of Sainsbury's but, as events in the town had become progressively worse, the management had pulled out, closing the store down. The Inspector brought the car to a halt in one of the loading bays and shut off the engine. Better to go in the back way, he thought. The people in the town were jumpy enough without seeing two coppers walking around with shotguns. He radioed in to the station, telling Grogan that they were going in. The Inspector hesitated a second, considering the handset which he held, then, almost as an afterthought, he said, 'Any word from Doctor Kirby yet?'
Grogan said that there wasn't and Lambert switched off the set. He sat for a second then reached for his shotgun and swung himself out of the car. Bell followed. As they reached towards the twin doors which marked the back of the supermarket, the Inspector's thoughts returned to his wife. Kirby had promised to contact the station as soon as Debbie woke up. He must have given her a pretty strong dose of sedative if she was still out. Lambert hoped that she would wake up in time. She was, after all, the only one who knew the horrendous truth behind all that had transpired these last two months. He hoped that her knowledge would be enough.
The two men reached the large doors and Lambert pressed down hard on the locking bar. It wouldn't budge an inch either way.
'Stand back,' he said, working the pump action of the shotgun.
Bell took several steps back and watched as his superior fired a blast, point blank, into the end of the bar. Lumps of metal and pieces' of shot ricochetted into the air. Lambert kicked at the bar and it gave. The door swung back.
Both men looked at one another and, with the Inspector leading, walked in.
From the piles of boxes and cans, both men realized that they were in the supermarket's vast storeroom. On all sides, every kind of tinned and packaged food rose in huge towers and Lambert almost smiled to himself. Christ, the owners must ha
ve been anxious to get out to leave this amount of stuff behind. There was a fruity smell in the room, a more pleasant odour than the perpetual mustiness they had encountered nearly everywhere earlier in the day. They separated, ensuring that every inch of the storeroom was searched.
Away to his left, Lambert heard a crash and spun round, the shotgun at the ready.
'Bell,' he called.
'I'm all right, sir,' came the reply. 'Just tripped over a box of bloody baked beans.'
Lambert smiled and made his way cautiously towards the next set of doors which confronted them. Bell joined him and the men found themselves faced by row upon row of shopping trolleys, all arranged in front of the doors. They heaved them to one side, making a path. Lambert pushed the doors, relieved to find that they opened easily. The two policemen found themselves in the supermarket proper. He remembered it when it had been full of people, bustling up and down the aisles like ants moving around the nest, snatching things from the shelves to put in their baskets and trolleys. Now the place was deserted, as quiet as a grave, its once powerful banks of fluorescents now dead, leaving the entire huge amphitheatre in a kind of semi-darkness. Lambert thought about turning on his flashlight but realized that he could see perfectly well without it. Away to their right was another doorway, this one open; it led into the meat storage area. There would be time later to check that.
'You take the end aisles,' said the Inspector, softly, almost reluctant to disturb the peace and solitude within the vast empty building. 'Work your way to the middle. I'll do the same from that side.' He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. Bell nodded and walked off, his boots echoing conspicuously on the tiled floor.
As he made his way slowly down the furthermost aisle, Lambert had already made the assumption that this was not the resting place of the creatures. It was too open, even the fridges didn't have tops. He reached the bottom of the aisle and peered across through the gloom to see Bell emerge at the far end of the supermarket. The constable raised a hand and Lambert nodded. They both started up the next aisle, giving mutual signals when they reached the end.