Birthdays for the Dead

by Stuart MacBride

  Six stone steps led down to a large dirt-floored room, the walls covered with pink rockwool insulation. Not a basement at all, some sort of outbuilding. It was divided into small rooms by plasterboard-and-stud partitions that didn’t go all the way up to the ceiling – like the set of some twisted horror film. It was colder in here than outside; my breath fogged in front of my face.

  I shoved my way into the middle room: where the screaming was coming from.

  Megan Taylor froze. She was strapped into a wooden chair, legs fastened at the ankle with cable-ties, arms behind her back. Her eyes went wide, then the screaming got even louder.

  ‘It’s OK: police. I’m the police.’ I stuck the gun back in my waistband and limped over. Then stopped, turned, and looked back towards the door I’d just come through. ‘Oh shite…’

  Megan wasn’t the only one in here. A digital camera sat on a tripod, but behind that was another girl, tied to another chair. Blood covered every inch of skin … where there was skin. Naked, head shaved, throat open in a thick dark slash.

  My stomach churned.

  It wasn’t Katie. It was the girl in the photographs – the ones on the SD card. What looked like an old kitchen table was against the other wall, its wooden surface laid out with knives and hammers and chunks of flesh.

  ‘Jesus…’

  I backed up, knocked over the tripod. The camera crashed to the ground.

  She’d been here at least a week.

  Behind me, Megan kept on screaming.

  ‘Alice.’ Shit – Alice was chasing him on her own. I turned and yanked at the cable-ties holding Megan to the chair. Solid. I took one of the serrated knives from the table and hacked through the plastic. Dropped the knife at my feet. ‘You’re OK, it’s over.’

  Megan tipped out of the chair and fell to the dirt floor, grabbed the knife, and scrambled back into the corner, holding the blade in both trembling hands, pointing it at my face.

  ‘I’m not going to… For fuck’s sake, I don’t have time for this shite!’ I backed out of the room, tried the one next door – empty, except for the stains on the floor. The third one was the same.

  ‘Listen to me, Megan: I have to go. Someone’s going to come for you, OK?’ I backed up the stairs and into the corridor. ‘Try not to kill them.’

  I shoved through the back door into the garden. The pale looping bones of a giant honeysuckle loomed in the growing darkness. The garden wall was eight feet tall, red brick, with a gate at the bottom. A private entrance into Cameron Park. It hung open.

  The wet grass grabbed at the walking stick as I lurched through into the park. Everything was jagged shadows and indistinct shapes in the gloom. I stopped… No idea which way to go.

  Shouts came from somewhere to the left. ‘Hoy, you: come back here!’

  I limped past a copse of trees and there was one of the SOC marquees, glowing like a carnival, a cluster of white-suited techs standing around the entrance, a couple running off deeper into the park – bobbing white shapes against the dark.

  By the time I reached the tent, the crowd had thinned a bit – Alice was sitting on the grass, holding a hand to her head, someone on their knees beside her, stroking her back.

  ‘Where is he?’

  Alice looked up at me. One of her eyes was already starting to swell, the side of her mouth too – a line of blood trickling down from a split bottom lip. ‘I tried…’

  The Scenes Examination Branch tech helped her to her feet, then ripped off his facemask revealing a huge moustache. ‘Who the hell was that?’

  I pointed back the way I’d come. ‘House over there: gate’s open. Megan Taylor’s inside…’

  The SEB tech stared at me.

  ‘Why are you still here? Go take care of her, you idiot! Call an ambulance, backup, preserve the scene. And watch out: she’s got a knife.’ I hauled Alice to her feet. ‘Come on.’

  I turned to hobble after the two SEB techs chasing Frank McKenzie, but she wrenched her hand free and sprinted towards a mud-spattered SOC Transit van instead. Pulled open the driver’s door and climbed in behind the wheel. The headlights snapped on, then the engine roared into life, the front wheels spinning. Mud and grass spattered up the sides of the cab. The wheels caught and the van slithered forwards onto the path, pulled up beside me and stopped. The window buzzed open. ‘Get in.’

  I clambered into the passenger seat and she put her foot down.

  The Transit van surged forwards, then lurched off the path onto the grass again, bucking and slithering through the bumps.

  Up ahead, one of the SEB tripped and went sprawling, but the other one kept going, his SOC suit glowing in the van’s headlights.

  We crashed through a knot of brambles and out the other side.

  The park’s boundary wall loomed into view. In the middle distance, the twin chimneys for Castle Hill Infirmary’s incinerator reached towards the heavy sky, warning lights twinkled at their tips turning the billowing steam to boiling blood.

  The SEB figure slowed to a trot, then a walk, then stopped – bent double with his hands on his knees, back heaving as we roared past. The headlights caught someone up ahead, running, hairy arms pumping. Frank McKenzie.

  He ducked through one of the park’s arched entrances, and Alice swung the van after him. Closer. Closer.

  ‘Oh, shite…’ We were never going to fit. Not in a Transit van. I clutched at the grab handle above the door.

  She didn’t slow down. The brick arch exploded above my head as we smashed through. BANG, and the windscreen was an opaque mass of cracks. The van’s bodywork squealed, sparks flying in the gloom.

  Alice stamped on the brakes and the Transit screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. ‘Bastard!’

  I tore off my seatbelt, dragged my left leg up, and kicked. The shattered windscreen buckled. Another two kicks and it was clear, crashing down onto the road. Only one of the headlights was still working, peering myopically into the darkness.

  Alice jabbed a finger through the hole where the windscreen used to be. ‘There!’

  A screech of tyres and we jerked forwards. I fumbled my seatbelt back into its buckle.

  McKenzie was heading for the hospital.

  ‘Run the bastard down!’

  Alice almost had him, but he leapt over a short retaining wall and legged it across the grass towards the west wing of Castle Hill Infirmary. She swung the van around at the junction, taking the road marked ‘MATERNITY WARD, EYE HOSPITAL, OUT PATIENTS, RADIOLOGY’. Only halfway down she swung right, mounted the kerb and bounced onto the grass, making a straight line for McKenzie’s back as he shoulder-charged his way through an emergency exit into the building.

  Chapter 48

  Alice sprinted off down the corridor while I lumbered along – falling further and further behind, forehead peppery with sweat. Clenching my teeth every time my right foot hit the cracked linoleum. The thunk, thunk, thunk, of the cane’s rubber tip was like an icepick in my lungs.

  What was the point of a nerve block if the bloody thing wore off?

  Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  A trail of scarlet dots speckled the floor. Fresh blood, red and glistening in the fluorescent lighting. Frank McKenzie might have got away from Alice in the park, but it looked as if she’d done some damage first. The trail led through a set of double doors and into another two-tone institution-green corridor.

  No sign of Alice.

  A pair of nurses were helping an old lady up from the floor, glancing back over their shoulders. ‘For God’s sake, someone should call that girl’s parents.’

  ‘Come on, Mrs Pearce, let’s get you back into bed.’

  I clumped past, breathing in time with the cane.

  My phone blared. I dragged it out, cutting the thing off mid-ring.

  ‘Ash?’ It was Alice. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m … I’m going as fast … as I can…’ Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  ‘He’s gone
downstairs to the basement.’

  ‘Don’t go after… Hello? Alice? Hello?’

  She’d hung up.

  Why did no one ever bloody listen?

  Through another pair of doors. My phone went again. I jabbed the button. ‘I told you not to follow him! Wait for—’

  ‘Guv, where are you?’ Rhona. ‘We got a call from the SEB – they’ve got Megan Taylor, she’s alive. We can—’

  ‘Get a firearms team down to Castle Hill Infirmary. Full lockdown. No one in or out unless I say so.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘The Birthday Boy is Frank McKenzie: tell Dickie. And get that bloody firearms team down here now!’ With any luck it’d be too late to stop me beating the fucker to death. I stuck the phone back in my pocket and lurched through one more set of doors.

  The corridor opened out onto a hallway. Signs hung from the ceiling: ‘RADIOLOGY’, ‘ONCOLOGY OUT PATIENTS’, ‘NUCLEAR MEDICINE’, pointing in three separate directions. On the right was a hospital lift, flanked by stairs – one lot going up to ‘CARDIOLOGY’ the other down to the basement.

  The trail of blood snaked off into the depths, shiny red spots on the grey concrete steps.

  Screw that. I limped over and pressed the button, my back wet with sweat. Ding. The lift doors slid open.

  Going down.

  The air reeked of mildew, mingling with a metallic tang. Not the hot coppery smell of blood, something older. Industrial.

  I stopped for a moment – rested my head against the cool concrete wall.

  Deep breaths. Ignore the pain. Ignore the pain. Didn’t hurt… Didn’t hurt at all…

  Load of shite, it burned.

  The wall was rough against my skin. No sound of footsteps, or shouting, or a struggle, just the buzz and hum of unseen machinery somewhere in the depths.

  Where the hell was she…?

  A light up ahead crackled, flickered, then died – altering the patchwork of light and dark.

  I pulled out my torch and clicked it on. Flicked the beam across the floor until it picked up the trail of glittering red droplets. They crisscrossed the black line painted on the concrete, leading off towards the mortuary.

  Told Alice not to follow the bastard down here.

  Move.

  I hobbled on, leaning heavily on the cane, sweat running down my face. Every step was like someone hammering a burning nail into the sole of my foot.

  Sodding tunnels were a maze.

  Deeper into the gloom.

  Another T-junction. I paused, panted, wiped a sleeve across my face. Blinked.

  Left or right? The line to the mortuary stretched off to the right, the other direction led away down a corridor more dark than light. No more blood.

  Bastard…

  I dug out a couple of Tramadol and forced them down.

  Where the buggering hell was Alice? Why did everyone—

  A scuffing noise from somewhere down the left-hand corridor. I brought the torch up. And there she was – Alice, in her black and red stripy T-shirt and long-sleeved black top, a length of metal pipe clutched in her hands.

  I limped towards her, keeping my voice low. ‘Alice?’

  She spun around, eyes wide. Then a pause. Then a smile, twisted out of shape by the swollen cheek and black eye. ‘Sorry…’

  She shifted her grip on the pipe and nodded at a door a couple of feet away: ‘AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY’.

  ‘I told you not to go after him!’

  ‘Why do you think I’m standing out here, when he’s in there? I’m delightfully quirky, not stupid.’ Frown. She reached up and touched my cheek. ‘You’re absolutely sodden.’

  ‘How long’s he been in there?’

  ‘Three, maybe four minutes?’

  I wiped my hand across my face – slick with sweat. ‘Right.’ The gun seemed to weigh a ton as I dragged it out. ‘You go back down the corridor and you wait in the mortuary, understand? Backup’s on its way.’

  Alice nodded. ‘Ash, don’t…’ She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Be safe.’ Then turned and crept back to the junction, then on to the mortuary. She paused on the threshold, peered back at me, then disappeared inside.

  I shifted my grip on the gun. Limped over to the ‘Authorised Personnel Only’ door and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.

  It swung open on a dark room – the only light a faint red glow coming from overhead. Like emergency lighting.

  A row of metal shelving units blocked the rest of the room from view – stacked with boxes of rubber gloves, big tubs of bleach, rolls of bin bags, and bottles of disinfectant. Hot in here, the sharp stink of ammonia overlaying something foul and earthy. Like peanut butter and raw bacon.

  I raised the torch and ran the beam across the shelves. ‘I know you’re in here, McKenzie. It’s over.’

  Scuffing noises. Something small: scrabbling.

  I kept my back to the wall and limped down to where the units stopped. ‘Shite…’

  One wall was covered in metal cages – stacked floor to ceiling. Hundreds of red eyes shone in the torchlight. Rats. A couple of the little bastards hissed at me.

  I swung the torch around, and there was Frank McKenzie: back pressed up against another set of shelves, trembling. His nose would never be straight again. Blood made a Rorschach inkblot on his shirt.

  I brought the gun up. ‘Where’s Katie?’

  He flinched back, staring at his feet, hands spidering along the shelves. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘WHERE’S MY FUCKING DAUGHTER?’

  ‘It wasn’t me, she made me do it, they—’

  ‘Where is she?’ I hobbled closer. The rats turned to stare at me. Scaly pink tails writhing.

  ‘I…’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘They took her away. They dug her up and took her away.’

  They dug her up? Something solid wedged in my throat, cutting off the air… Rebecca: they’d dug Rebecca up with all the others.

  ‘Not Rebecca: Katie. Where’s Katie? She wasn’t in your torture porn dungeon. WHERE IS SHE?’

  He looked up at me, frowning. ‘Katie? We didn’t… Who’s Katie?’

  ‘Katie Henderson. Katie Nicol. My bloody daughter!’ I hauled my wallet out, held it up so he could see her photo. ‘Katie!’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve never seen her before, it—’

  I jammed the gun against his forehead.

  McKenzie squealed, hands flapping against the shelves, sending cartons and tins clattering to the concrete floor. ‘I didn’t do anything, I just took the photographs, it was all her! I didn’t want to! It—’

  ‘WHERE IS SHE?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve never even—’

  The gun barked like a pit bull.

  McKenzie screamed, clutched both hands over the hole where a big chunk of his left ear used to be as the boom echoed back and forth from the breeze-block walls.

  He sank down onto his haunches, blood oozing out through his fingers.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I DON’T KNOW!’

  I backhanded him with the gun, and he clattered back against the shelves.

  ‘Aaaaaagh…’

  ‘Katie Henderson: your fourteenth bloody victim.’

  He blinked up at me, eyes wet with tears. ‘Fourteen?’

  There was a sink in the corner, by a mop and wheelie-bucket. The bucket was full of greasy grey water. Wasn’t exactly a ’96 Pinot Noir, but it’d do.

  ‘Last chance.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’ He stared at me, eyebrows pinched together, mouth turned down, blood trickling down his cheek. ‘Why would we need fourteen?’

  Have to find something to tie the bastard down to. The door was too heavy – couldn’t kick it off the hinges anyway. The shelves would do though. I grabbed the nearest set and hauled them away from the wall – toilet roll and bottles of cleaning fluid bounced off the floor as it smashed into the concrete.
/>   McKenzie screamed, both arms wrapped around his head. ‘I didn’t touch her!’

  ‘Ever been waterboarded? Because you’re…’

  A noise behind me.

  God’s sake: why did no one ever listen? ‘Alice, I told you to wait in the mortuary.’ I turned. Froze.

  It wasn’t Alice. It was the Rat Catcher. She was huge, shoulders hunched, staring down at me. Her eyes shone in the torchlight, like the rats’ in their cages… She bared her teeth. ‘Leave my little brother ALONE!’

  The fist came from nowhere – sparks exploded deep inside my head, making everything fuzzy as the floor rolled beneath my feet. Then another one.

  I lurched back, stumbled over something, went crashing against the wall of cages. Hissing, rattling, snapping yellow teeth.

  The next punch drove all the air from my lungs, and wrapped barbed wire around my chest.

  Fight back. Fight back, you useless bastard.

  I swung for her face. Missed. Got another punch in the stomach for my troubles.

  Knees wouldn’t work any more.

  She grabbed me by the lapels, pulled me forwards, then slammed me into the cages again.

  Screeching rats. The stink of piss and droppings.

  Gouge her eyes out. Bite her. Kick her in the crotch. DO SOMETHING!

  She curled her fist back and grinned at me. ‘You’ve been naughty.’

  Bang.

  I blinked. How…? I was on the floor, lying on my back, looking up at a network of wires and pipes. Ringing in my ears, black dots swirling in front of my eyes. ‘Unnngh…’

  Voices in the red-tinted gloom.

  McKenzie: ‘Who’s Katie Henderson?’

  Rat Catcher: ‘Dunno.’

  ‘He thinks we took fourteen girls, I mean, why would we take fourteen girls? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  It took three goes to haul myself up onto my elbows. I blinked again, tried to shake the black dots away. My head throbbed.

  The pair of them were sitting on the concrete floor, the wall behind them full of glowing eyes.

  McKenzie brushed the hair back from his sister’s face. ‘It’s OK. Soon be time to go home.’