‘What have you taken?’ Owen repeated, quickly sorting through the bottles of painkillers and decongestants spread across the floor. There was nothing too serious here.
‘Found anything?’ Strong asked.
‘What?’
‘The blood tests. What did they show?’
‘Nothing,’ Owen said truthfully. ‘All clear.’
Strong was frowning now. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s true. You’re the picture of health, according to your blood tests, mate.’
‘Feels like I’m gonna die,’ said Strong. There had been, for a moment, a fleeting expression of relief on his face, but it was quickly displaced by a look of bewilderment and fear. ‘So what the hell’s wrong with me?’
Owen picked up his wrist and checked the pulse. He counted the beats off against the second hand on his watch. The heart rate was fast but steady. ‘You’re not going to die yet,’ Owen told him. He prised open one of the puffy eyelids and looked at the eye beneath, producing a slim pencil torch from his jacket pocket to help.
The eyes looked sore but the pupils contracted when he shone the penlight at them.
‘Open wide, Bob,’ Owen said, turning the man’s face towards him. ‘I need to have a look at your throat, mate.’
The mouth duly opened, and, using a pencil as a makeshift tongue suppressor, Owen shone the torch into the man’s throat.
It looked red and inflamed, which was what he expected. But there was something else there. Across the wet skin at the back of the mouth were a number of white sores, almost like mouth ulcers, some of them speckled with blood. There was a layer of foul-smelling mucus there too. So far so bad throat infection.
Then something moved at the back of Strong’s throat.
Owen blinked, hardly believing it. He kept very still and shone the torch steadily at the soft flesh.
There it was again: a tiny movement, beneath the skin. The pink flesh rippled slightly as something squirmed under the surface.
Owen clicked off the torch. ‘OK, close up. Nothing happening here.’
Strong swallowed with difficulty. ‘What is it?’
‘Too early to tell.’
‘That’s what you said last time.’ Bob suddenly started coughing again, and Owen jerked back, not knowing what to expect but nevertheless wary.
‘You been near any ponds recently? Canals? Stagnant water of any kind?’
‘Don’t think so. No. Why?’
‘Do you know Saskia Harden?’
‘Sorry?’ Now Strong sat up, coughing abruptly, a querulous look replacing the worried frown. ‘Saskia Harden? What’s she got to do with anything? How do you know her?’
‘I don’t,’ Owen said. ‘But you obviously do.’
Strong swallowed painfully again. ‘Is she connected with this? Is she carrying something? A virus?’
‘It’s possible. We really need to talk to her.’
‘You’d have to check the records at the medical centre.’
‘We already have. The address on her file doesn’t exist.’ Owen saw Bob frowning and carried on, pressing home the questions. ‘Do you have any idea where she might be? How we could find her?’
‘Wait a minute. I … I saw her yesterday. In surgery. She came to see me. She’s not been well — mental problems, that kind of thing. Some attempts at suicide. I don’t know her all that well, but she …’ Once again the words disappeared under a series of coughs. Strong grabbed a handkerchief, but not before he’d had to bring up an odious lump of green and red matter. ‘Oh, God, I don’t know how long I can take this,’ he gasped. ‘What’s wrong with me? I should be in hospital, surely …’
Owen shook his head. ‘No. Definitely no hospitals. Not yet. I don’t want you taking this into a hospital, not until we know exactly what it is.’
‘But they’ll have facilities,’ Strong argued. ‘Quarantine.’
‘This may not be something they would know how to deal with,’ Owen warned.
‘They have facilities for this sort of thing-’
‘It’s unlikely. No hospitals, not yet.’ Owen stood up, signalling that the subject was closed. ‘Is there anyone else at the medical centre who might know how to find Saskia Harden?’
Strong shook his head. ‘No one. All we know is what’s on the records.’
‘OK. Sit tight.’ Owen stood up, speed-dialling his mobile phone. ‘Ianto? I can’t trace Saskia from here. You’re gonna have to find her yourself. Go back to the police records. See if there are any clues there. If you don’t find anything, go back and check again. And get Gwen to help you — she’s got a cop’s instincts.’
‘Gwen’s gone out with Jack,’ said Ianto.
‘What for?’
‘There’s been a sighting — a water hag, we think. In Garron Park.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Owen snapped the phone shut and turned back to Strong. ‘If you think of anything, anything at all, that might help us find Saskia Harden, ring me on this number.’ He jotted something down on a piece of notepaper and handed it over.
‘OK.’ Bob glanced at the number and then folded it and slipped it into his shirt pocket.
Owen paused, raising a hand to rub at his neck. He swallowed, wincing a little.
‘What’s up?’
Owen shrugged and headed for the door. ‘Nothing. Just getting a bit of a sore throat, I think.’
FIFTEEN
Jack and Gwen were in the SUV, hurtling through the streets of Cardiff. Jack was at the wheel, Gwen sat in the passenger seat, loading a fresh magazine into her automatic. Jack’s eyes never left the road but he was still talking.
‘I don’t like this,’ he said, biting the words off. ‘I don’t like running after something when I don’t even know what it is.’
‘The sighting was yesterday,’ Gwen said. ‘We have to follow it up.’
‘The sighting was unconfirmed. It’s internet chatter. An old woman lurking near the lake in Garron Park? Give me a break.’
‘Then why are we speeding there like our lives depend on it?’ asked Gwen.
‘May be I’m just tired of waiting around.’
Jack swung the SUV into a tight bend, the street lamps painting stripes of orange across his face as the car roared along the avenue. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘Tosh says there’s a pattern of Rift activity centring on the park. Rift sparks. Best place in the city to find the kind of water these creatures like.’
The SUV skidded to a halt by the park gates, and they scrambled out. Jack flipped open his leather wrist-strap and checked the readings. A green light flickered on the display and it beeped metronomically. ‘Chronon discharge — this way,’ he said, starting towards the park gates.
The main paths through the park were lit, but it was deserted and some areas were in total darkness. Gwen had made a quick study of the geography of the park in the SUV on the way here, but she had taken the precaution of downloading a map of the area, combined with an aerial photo, onto her mobile.
Five minutes later, they were at the lake, and the light from Gwen’s torch floated across the shimmering blackness of the lake. It looked as cold and still as slate.
With a hiss of impatience, Jack snapped shut the cover on his wrist-strap.
‘Anything?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. He took a small single-lens night-sight out of a pocket and scanned the lake. ‘What exactly am I looking for here?’
‘Don’t ask me. Ianto said some school kids reported seeing an old woman floating in the lake yesterday afternoon …’
‘School kids?’
‘It was all over the internet chatrooms, apparently,’ Gwen continued.
‘Ianto has too much time on his hands.’
‘He was searching for specific references — woman, water, local canals, rivers, parks … key words that came up with this.’
‘That was yesterday, this is now,’ said Jack. ‘If she was here then we’re too late. This is getting to be a habit.’
A do
g barking some way off drew their attention. It wasn’t a good bark; there was real aggression in there. The sudden, obsessive noise of an irate dog going in for the attack.
Automatically, Jack was moving towards the noise. ‘It’s over there,’ he said as he picked up speed.
Gwen ran after him, shouting, ‘It’s only a bloody dog!’
But there was no stopping him now. His greatcoat flapped like a superhero’s cape as he circled the lake. The barking grew louder, more frenzied, and Gwen’s instincts told her that, whatever was happening, it wasn’t right and they needed to stop it. It could be someone under attack, or just a dogfight, but they had to intervene.
They found the dog by the edge of the lake, where the water was covered with a film of green algae and some tangled reeds. It was a pit bull terrier, a fired-up bundle of aggression, its teeth flashing in the moonlight, saliva spraying from its brutish jaws with every bark. It was jumping around the edge of the water, attention focused on something just out of reach.
The dog’s owner was with him, a muscular young man, no less brutal than the pit bull, wearing jeans and a hoodie. He was waving a length of chain in the air at the dog and swearing. ‘Leave it! Karlo! Leave it I said!’ He was bellowing at the dog now, angry as hell but scared too — he’d lost control.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jack wasn’t looking at the man or the dog. His attention was directed entirely at the water.
‘Stupid bastard saw something in the water,’ spat the man. ‘Rat, probably. Now he’s gone effing mental.’
The dog was barking itself hoarse. Its paws were splashing at the edge of the water, sending ripples out into the green scum.
‘Get back here, you little horror,’ the man stepped forward, trying to reattach the lead.
But the dog was having none of it.
‘Get it away from the water,’ warned Gwen. ‘It’s not safe.’
‘Get lost,’ said the man. ‘I’m only out walking my dog. Mind your own business.’
‘Hey!’ said Jack. ‘Watch your manners. And get the mutt under control.’ He’d raised his voice initially, so that he could be heard over the barking, but at the last moment the dog suddenly fell quiet.
Automatically, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at the pit bull.
It was standing four-square at the edge of the water, flanks heaving as it panted, tongue lolling, drool hanging in thick strings from its jaws.
And then, with a sudden spray of water, something rose out of the lake just in front of the dog with the savage speed of a crocodile.
Gwen didn’t even see it properly. She stepped back from the edge of the lake, away from the splashing, her heart hammering in her chest after the initial shock. She could hear Jack shouting something and the dog’s owner screaming, but all she could see was the pit bull staggering backwards, minus its head.
She could see it quite clearly, as if the world had slowed to a standstill. The dog’s legs were still working, at least for a few moments as its body scrambled away, but the muscles must have been operating on the last vestiges of nervous impulse: at the neck there was only a red stump, blood jetting madly from the severed arteries. Gwen glimpsed a nugget of white bone where the dog’s thick vertebrae were still visible, and then the torso gave a final, huge convulsion and lay still.
The water was still boiling. Jack had his gun out, aimed at the lakeside, but there was nothing to see. Algae swilled around his feet, and in the mud Gwen saw the pit bull’s head staring out at her from where it had fallen.
The torchlight picked out a wide stream of red in the murky water, and the dog’s owner finally realised what had happened. ‘God almighty! It’s taken his head off!’
‘Get back!’ Jack ordered.
But the dog’s owner was staring in mute, wide-eyed incomprehension at the dead animal at his feet. ‘Karlo?’
Jack grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and dragged him away from the edge of the lake. ‘I said get back! Keep away from the water!’
‘What the hell was it?’
‘Well I don’t know!’ yelled Jack. ‘D’you want to go back and take a closer look?’
The man shook his head, then turned quickly away and vomited.
Gwen ran back to where Jack stood at the lakeside, scanning the swirling green surface for any signs of life. ‘Don’t get too close,’ she warned. ‘Did you see what it was?’
‘No. Did you?’
‘Too fast, just a blur,’ she replied. She tried to speak quietly and calmly, to control her racing pulse and natural inclination to panic, fighting down the desire to keep away from the edge of the lake. ‘Think the dog had the best view.’
Jack had his gun trained on the water. ‘Didn’t even see which way it went.’
The dog’s owner was walking back towards the lake in a daze. Gwen saw his blinking, disbelieving eyes and recognised the look of a man shocked into a silence that was about to erupt in fury. She could see the spark lurking in his dark eyes as he glared purposefully at Jack.
‘Did you do that?’ the man said, somewhat unreasonably.
Jack didn’t even spare him a glance. ‘Easy, fella. We don’t know what happened yet.’
The man stepped up, close, squaring his shoulders, legs apart. He jabbed a thick finger at the remains of the pit bull. ‘Have you seen that? Have you?’
Jack nodded. ‘Kinda hard to miss.’
The man balled a fist, cocking his arm ready to throw the punch, but Jack had seen it coming five seconds before and put the idiot on his backside with one meaty left hook.
‘Forget it,’ Jack said as the man sprawled in the mud. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
The man touched his lip, found it bleeding, and began to get up. It was impossible to tell whether he was going to admit defeat or have another shot but, with a sudden cry of alarm, he fell down again. For a moment, Gwen thought he had simply slipped in the wet mud, but then she realised that he was being dragged into the lake feet first.
Gwen and Jack saw it clearly. Two long, thin arms reached up out of the water, trailing wet, green weeds and grabbed the man around the neck. Bony, twig-like fingers closed around his throat and pulled, hard. Jack didn’t know whether to shoot or not — he had the gun trained on the lake, but he was worried he might hit the man if he fired.
The man thrashed madly in the water and then disappeared under the foaming surface with horrifying speed. There was a brief, gurgling skirmish during which a last, desperate shout could be heard bubbling below the surface.
And then nothing but disturbed waves running like rats beneath the blanket of green.
SIXTEEN
Three shots roared into the night air as Jack fired into the churning water. The bullets kicked up a fine mist but struck nothing.
‘He was grabbed,’ Gwen said, backing away from the lakeside. ‘I saw arms — they reached up and pulled him under.’
Jack continued to pace along the edge of the water, gun levelled. ‘Call Ianto and Tosh, get them to bring some depth charges from the armoury. We’ll blast that thing right out of the water.’
Gwen was already dialling.
When Toshiko answered, her first words were drowned out by a series of harsh coughs. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped after a moment, ‘frog in my throat.’
‘We’ve found the water hag,’ said Gwen without preamble. ‘It’s in the lake in Garron Park. We need depth charges, and fast.’
‘Depth charges?’ Toshiko’s puzzled response was suddenly overtaken by a tremendous roar from the lake and a shocking blast of water.
‘Down!’ yelled Jack, turning and hurling himself at Gwen, catching her under the arm with one powerful hand and sweeping her to the floor. She hit the grass winded, but nevertheless had the presence of mind, the fascination, to twist around to see what was happening.
The body of the dog-walker — or what remained of it — landed with a damp thud and a shower of water on the bank. Gwen knelt up for a better look and then regretted it instant
ly. The man’s legs were still intact, but that was about all. The torso had been ripped wide open from groin to chin, clothes and flesh sliced through as if they were nothing more than wet paper. Internal organs protruded from the scarlet wound like spilt shopping from a carrier bag. It looked like the victim of a shark attack, right here on the bank of a small lake in a park in the middle of Cardiff.
The man’s head was hanging on by a thin strip of twisted flesh and gristle. Blood was flooding out of the shredded throat and soaking into the earth beneath the man’s face, which still bore a rather shocked expression. His eyes were wide but sightless.
With fumbling fingers, Gwen found and drew her pistol. She felt her hands shaking as she disengaged the safety catch and cocked it, already turning in a kneeling position to aim at the lake. Whatever came out next was going to come under heavy fire.
‘Gwen?’ Toshiko’s voice sounded small and far away. ‘Gwen? What’s going on? What’s happened? Gwen, can you hear me?’
‘Tosh, I think it’s too late for the depth charges,’ Gwen replied eventually. Her mouth had that familiar dryness, the numbing shock of coming face to face with the incredible and the deadly. It was at once terrifying and electrifying, the thought that these next few seconds could be her last on Earth. Her last anywhere.
Flashing blue lights were approaching from the south east, accompanied by the long mournful wail of police sirens.
‘Damn,’ said Jack quietly.
‘Someone’s probably reported the dog barking,’ said Gwen. ‘Asbo time.’
‘Look!’ Jack shouted, pointing.
Twenty feet away, rising from the lake, was a thin, humanoid shape trailing long wet weeds like the rags of a cloak. Gwen scrambled for her torch, sweeping the beam across the lake, catching the dangling trail of slime as the figure rose higher into the night hair, water gushing from it like a miniature rain cloud.
It floated away into the darkness and Jack immediately sprinted after it, splashing spectacularly through the water.
‘Jack!’ Gwen called, just as a voice crackled in her ear. She put her hand up to her ear, shouting, ‘What?’
Something in the Water t-4 Page 10