by Tim Ellis
Quigg didn’t have the strength to stop her. He also reasoned that if Byrd wasn’t in the corridor, then she must be in one of the flats, so they had justification.
They switched the lights on and wandered inside. It was a normal-looking flat where people obviously lived, but where were the residents?
Kline opened the fridge. ‘There’s food in here.’
‘We can’t steal people’s food.’
She stuffed a chunk of cheese in her mouth. ‘We could requisition food under the Emergency Order Act.’
‘I’ve never heard of that.’
‘Oh, it definitely exists, and this is an emergency. I’ll just write your name and address on a piece of paper . . .’
‘My name and address?’
‘You’re the senior officer.’ She pushed another lump of cheese into her mouth. ‘I’m eating this food under your orders and this is an emergency. Hence, an emergency order act.’ She laughed and nearly choked on the half-eaten cheese.
‘Come on, we’re meant to be finding Byrd not eating other people’s cheese.’
He walked towards the door.
‘I’m gonna come back and make myself cheese on toast or something.’
‘What about me?’
‘I thought you had a thing about stealing food.’
‘If there’s an Emergency Order Act, then we’d better use it or lose it.’
‘That’s the idea. I think you might have moved up the chart.’
‘Chart! Did you say . . . ?’
‘You must be hallucinating. I didn’t say anything about a chart.’
‘I could have sworn . . .’
The name on the brass plate of 26/5 was Mr Thomas Newby.
Kline banged on the door. ‘Open up – armed police.’ She banged again. ‘The stun grenades and teargas are coming in next.’
No response.
‘Okay, men.’ She kicked the door in . . .
Kline soon got bored. The other flats were occupied, but empty of inhabitants.
When they reached Flat 26/7 she just kicked the door open without even knocking.
The smell hit them as soon as they entered the flat.
‘Jesus!’ Kline said.
Quigg switched the lights on.
Byrd was in the living room – stripped naked and nailed upside down to the wall like a work of art. Thick rusty nails had been hammered through her wrists and ankles, and the contents of her abdominal cavity spilled out through a horizontal cut across her bikini line and dangled down over her pendulous breasts and face.
‘She’s still breathing.’ Kline knelt down, took a pair of plastic gloves out of the back pocket of her jeans, put them on and moved Byrd’s hanging intestines to one side. ‘Hang in there, Byrd – we’ll get you to the hospital.’
‘Who did this to you?’ Quigg asked.
‘Name her,’ Byrd whispered with her last breath.
***
‘What the hell does it mean?’ Kline asked.
They’d moved back into the corridor and were sitting on the floor facing each other. Byrd had been left where she was. It would have been good to have taken her down and covered her over as an act of respect, but not only was it a crime scene, Quigg didn’t have the strength to start hauling bodies about.
‘The upside down cross is something to do with black magic or Satanism, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘No, I didn’t mean that, I think we’ve established that everything, which has happened falls within that category. I mean the “Name her” thing.’
‘As far as I can see, there are two parts to it. First, we don’t know what name people are referring to. And second, we don’t know who they want us to name.’
‘You’re a great help.’
‘I’m more concerned with who killed Byrd.’
‘Yeah,’ Kline agreed, looking up and down the corridor. ‘I could do with a fucking bazooka, or something.’
‘If we can’t get off this floor, then neither can the killer.’
‘You’re full of the joys of spring.’
‘And not only that – Byrd was in uniform and he had no compunctions about killing her.’
‘Meaning?’
‘He doesn’t care that we’re coppers.’
Kline stood up. ‘We can either go and find him, or wait for him to find us.’
‘Sit,’ he said. ‘We haven’t finished talking yet.’
‘There’s a time for talking . . .’
‘And this is it – sit.’
Reluctantly, she slid back down the wall.
‘I’m not going to be much help if we do go up against him,’ he said, ‘and as good as you are I don’t think you’ll stand much of a chance . . .’
She opened her mouth to protest.
‘. . . You saw what he did to Byrd, and I don’t want to lose another partner – it’ll make me look very bad and the paperwork is a nightmare.’
‘You’re all heart.’
‘There are other options besides the two you’ve mentioned. We could barricade ourselves into one of the flats and wait for the stairs to reappear, or we could try and find a way out of here.’
‘I thought there was no way out of here.’
‘I have a couple of ideas.’
‘Go on then.’
‘I think there’ll be a shaft that brings all the services to each floor.’
‘A shaft?’
‘For electricity, gas, water and so forth. They put everything into a shaft so they can easily maintain, replace and upgrade the services.’
‘Hey, I never knew that. So, there’ll be a ladder?’
‘That’s my guess.’
‘Twenty-six floors?’
‘We could go up instead of down?’
She rubbed her chin between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. ‘It’s still a long way. Maybe we only need to climb up one floor?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What’s your other idea?’
‘The lift.’
‘That doesn’t work.’
‘We can force the doors open with something.’
‘And there’ll be a maintenance ladder in there as well?’
‘Yes.’
Kline pulled a face. ‘I think I prefer the services shaft.’
‘If it exists.’
‘You want to make your fucking mind up.’
‘Instead of building two shafts, the engineers might have used the lift shaft for both the services and the lift.’
‘How do you know all this shit?’
‘I don’t, I’m simply making an educated guess.’
‘Well, here’s another educated guess for you – what if all the services run up the outside of the building?’
‘Then we’re limited to the lift shaft.’
‘Any idea where the services shaft might be?’
He pointed to a square access panel in the ceiling that he’d just noticed. ‘Probably up there.’
‘Oh great! Tell me you have ladders in your pocket.’
‘Go into the flat and see what you can find. Maybe a chair on top of a table will do it.’
‘Do I look like someone who does removals?’
‘You know I’d help, but . . .’
‘. . . You’re a lazy bastard.’
‘Your communication skills with senior officers needs some more work.’
She dragged a table and chair out of the flat, stacked the chair on top of the table and began climbing up the precarious furniture tower.
‘Byrd had a torch.’
‘Fuck! You could get that for me.’
‘You know I would if I could, but . . .’
‘I’m beginning to think you’re a con artist, you know.’ She jumped down, returned to the flat and retrieved Byrd’s torch. ‘Right, I’ll go first. You follow, and no staring at my arse.’
Quigg held the chair and stopped it from sliding off the table. ‘Do I look like I’ve got the strength to ogle your backside?’
Kline jumped
onto the table first, and then climbed up onto the chair. She pushed the access panel up and to the left out of the way, gripped the sides of the opening and hauled herself up. Once her body was completely through the hole, she stuck her head out. ‘You’re not going to be able to get up here, are you?’
‘No.’
‘You knew, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Go and get help. If you can make it outside – call the Chief for reinforcements.’
‘What about you?’
‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll barricade myself into that flat where you stole the cheese.’
‘Requisitioned it.’
‘I’ll write an IOU out for when the occupants return.’
‘Very community-spirited of you. Be careful, Sir.’
‘And you, Kline.’
She put the access panel back.
***
She switched the torch on. Was she doing the right thing leaving the inspector alone? He looked like shit. There was no way he could have come with her. What was going on with him? She crawled towards the end of the building and found the services shaft. It had an access ladder that looked like a tunnel with circular metal strips attached every two feet or so.
Up or down? She didn’t know. Up or down? If she went down – it was twenty-six floors, but climbing down was a lot easier than climbing up. If she went up – where would she go? She could climb up to the next floor and find Perkins, but what could he do? He was trapped on the twenty-seventh floor the same as she and Quigg had been trapped on the twenty-sixth. Beyond that, what was there – the roof? Maybe she’d be able to get a signal on her phone and call for help – maybe not.
Down. It seemed to offer the best chance of success, but first she’d go up one floor and let Perkins know what was happening. Quigg needed help, otherwise he wasn’t going to last very long. The stairs might reappear, or the lift could start working again, while she was climbing down the shaft. If Perkins could get to him first, then he stood a better chance of survival.
She began climbing up the ladder, and soon reached the ceiling cavity of the twenty-seventh floor where she scrambled along the dusty concrete to the access panel.
Ah!
If she jumped down, how was she going to get up again? Maybe this hadn’t been the brightest idea she’d ever had, after all. She lifted the panel, lay down on her stomach and stuck her head through the opening – she couldn’t see or hear anyone.
Was Louise still on duty? She and Byrd were meant to be relieved at eight o’clock – what time was it now? Probably way past that time.
‘LOUISE?’ she shouted at the top of her voice.
She tried again. ‘ANYBODY?’
She couldn’t see any movement, but she heard something in the cavity space next to her. As she pushed herself up to look, something smacked on the back of the head.
Everything went black.
***
Was he doing the right thing letting Kline go off on her own? She’d have more chance without him than with him. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel so weak? He must have caught a virus – the bubonic plague maybe.
He dragged himself along the corridor to Flat 24/4 – belonging to Mr & Mrs J Moore – closed the door, locked it and did the best he could to create an effective barricade behind it. He jammed a chair under the handle, which seemed to work in the movies. He’d actually never tried it, but it was the best he could come up with. He added a small bookcase with three books on the top shelf: A History of Thimbles by Edwin F Holmes; Mole Catching: A practical Guide by Jeff Nicholls; and A New Look at Wife-Swapping by Roger Blake, which he might have skimmed through if he hadn’t felt so drained of energy.
Instead, he decided that something to eat followed by a good night’s sleep would hit the spot.
After rifling through the cupboards and fridge, he made himself beans-on-toast with grated cheese on top. Once he’d eaten it, he helped himself to a double quilt and pillow from the bedroom, wrapped himself in the quilt and lay on the sofa.
Sleep took him even before his head hit the pillow.
***
The lump on the back of her head was caked in blood. Involuntarily, she drew a deep breath when she touched it.
‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ a woman with staring eyes said.
‘I’m a fucking police officer – are you crazy?’
‘What you are doesn’t make much difference in here. I had to stop you shouting out.’
‘Why?’
‘If they found us, they’d kill us.’
‘They?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Some of the other residents.’
Kline shook her head and winced at the pain. ‘No, you’ve lost me.’
‘I’m Emma Lovelock. I live in Flat 14/7 with my . . . or I used to. They killed my husband and took my two children away.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about? It’s a joke, isn’t it?’
‘If only,’ she said. ‘Ask these other people if you don’t believe me.’ She shone a torch over a small ragtag group of desperate-looking people.
A middle-aged man with thinning hair, glasses and a sleeveless jumper over a checked shirt and tie said, ‘I’m Jeffrey Moore from Flat 26/4. What Emma says is true – they took my wife.’
‘I broke your door down and requisitioned some cheese from your fridge.’
‘You didn’t bring any of it with you, did you?’
‘No, but my boss is holed-up in your flat. We have to . . .’
‘Forget about him,’ another man said.
Kline’s jaw set hard as concrete. ‘We’re not forgetting about him. We should . . .’
Another woman grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t you understand – he’s gone?’
‘What do you mean – gone? Gone where?’
‘They’ll get to him. If they don’t kill him, he’ll join them.’
‘He wouldn’t join them – he’s not well.’
A grey-haired black woman pushed her way to the front of the group. ‘My name is Jeannette King – I have a PhD in African studies. They’re like zombies, they’re under the influences of something or someone.’
She half-laughed. ‘Zombies! Don’t be pathetic. I’ve stumbled onto the set of a zombie film, haven’t I? Is Brad Pitt in here somewhere?’
‘Mock us if you want to,’ Emma Lovelock said, ‘but this is for real. We have as much idea about what’s happening as you do. It started two nights ago. Some of the residents began breaking down the doors of our flats. Dragging husbands, wives and children away, and killing others . . . We tried to escape, but the stairs had gone, and the lifts didn’t work. We tried reasoning with them, but they wouldn’t listen. It was as if they’d been hypnotised. They weren’t dead, but they weren’t alive either . . . God, it was awful – they showed no mercy.’
‘How did they drag the people away if there were no stairs and the lifts didn’t work?’
‘They control them.’
‘Of course they do,’ Kline said. ‘So, what’s your plan now?’
‘Plan?’
‘Well, surely you’ve got a plan. I mean, you’re up here hiding from them – now what?’
‘Now nothing,’ Jeffrey Moore said. ‘We’re just glad to be alive.’
‘What are you doing for food, water and the other things you need?’
‘A couple of us are lowered down, grab what we can from open flats and then get hauled back up.’
‘Have you got any weapons?’
Emma Lovelock seemed to be their spokesperson. ‘No, what for?’
‘To kill them.’
‘We don’t want to kill them.’
‘But they’re trying to kill you.’
‘Some of them are our husbands, wives and children,’ Moore said. ‘I couldn’t kill my own children.’
‘Then you’re all going to die.’
‘Not if we stay up here and keep out of their way.’
She looked from face to
face. ‘Is that your plan – to stay up here out of the way?’
They each nodded.
‘For how long?’
‘We haven’t got any answers,’ Lovelock said, and began crying softly.
Kline put a hand on her knee. ‘Sorry, but you need a plan. You can’t stay up here forever. We have a forensic team and some officers on this floor. I was going to . . .’
A woman with short brown hair, a double chin and a torn blouse showing her ample breasts said, ‘I’m Lisa Bradbury from Flat 17/6. Haven’t you noticed that the building keeps shifting?’
‘What I’ve noticed is that you’re all as crazy as loons. Buildings don’t move.’
‘All I know is that one minute we’re in a corridor with people trying to kill us, and the next they’re gone – the corridor is empty.’
Yes, she had noticed that, but she wasn’t going to admit it to these crazies. She was sure it wasn’t the building shifting – buildings didn’t move for fuck’s sake. But if it wasn’t the building – what was it? None of it made any sense. She was meant to be here investigating a murder with her partner – DI Quigg. Instead, she was huddled in a ceiling cavity on the twenty-seventh floor with a bunch of lunatics, and DI Quigg looked as though he was going to die unless he got some help.
‘I’m sorry, but your plan isn’t my plan. I’m going down onto this floor. I need to get help for my boss, and then I need to call for back-up.’
‘They won’t let you leave,’ Moore said.
‘Nobody stops Tallie Kline from doing what she wants to do. I’ll be leaving this place, and nobody had better try and stop me.’ She lifted the access panel. ‘I’m going down there. You can either stay here and help me get back if I need to, or keep out of my way.’
‘We’ll help if we can,’ Lovelock said.
Kline nodded, and lowered herself into the corridor.
***
His eyes dropped open.
Surely, he’d only just been sucked into the whirlpool of sleep. His head felt as though it had been used as a volleyball in a World Championship qualifying match. What time was it? Why had he woken up? Didn’t he need as much sleep as he could get?