Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

by Robert Enright

  Argyle instantly leapt to his feet, his hand reaching and clasping the handle of his sword, the blade wet and casting a glow in the moonlight.

  His eyes frantically searched the darkness.

  It zipped by.

  He could almost see it.

  Bermuda slowly got to his feet, cautiously standing behind Argyle, his own search for their attacker as successful as Argyle's. He heard the footsteps scuttling, the clang of the metal fence as it lurched from the barricade.

  What was it?

  Bermuda, keen to get inside before the gap in the fence became public knowledge, took a few steps towards the door.

  The mystery attacker launched itself from the shadows, its sharp-talon-covered hands looming for Bermuda's throat.

  Argyle leapt across and snatched it out of the air, wrestling its slippery body as it tried to escape. Within seconds, the mighty warrior's strength dominated, and the beast became still and dormant. Bermuda turned back, hurrying over to his partner as they wrenched the beast into the glow of the street light.

  Marco.

  Perplexed, Bermuda approached the Neither; the creature was on their side.

  'Marco? What the hell?' Bermuda asked, the Neither struggling in vain against Argyle's firm grasp around his neck.

  'Fools. Both of you,' Marco sneered, his lisp dominating his speech. His skin, dark and scaly, glistened in the wetness of the night.

  'Why are you here?' Argyle demanded.

  No answer. He squeezed his mighty fist around his neck again.

  'WHY?!'

  Instantly it clicked and Bermuda looked up, his eyes wide with anger as Hugo raced towards the doors of Big Ben, about a hundred yards ahead of them.

  He had been followed.

  This was Hugo's revenge. He had Marco distract them so he could apprehend Barnaby, the only reason Bermuda had been kept on by the BTCO.

  Then he would be gone.

  He had no idea of the danger on the other side of the door.

  Bermuda screamed for him to stop, even trying to run through the pain as Hugo raced towards the door. They fell on deaf ears.

  But before Hugo reached the massive wooden doors they flew open, wind whistling through and revealing a figure of sheer terror.

  Barnaby had watched them; their little fracas on the lawn of Big Ben was as pathetic as he would have imagined. Bermuda and his treacherous pet, Argyle, fighting an unknown assailant whilst the clock struck midnight. With the day anew, Barnaby was ready for the final stage of his convergence. Sophie lay prone, ready to be harvested and then eradicated like the rest of her pathetic race.

  Bermuda would have a front-row seat.

  With his power growing, he lowered himself down through the centre of the staircase, the winding spiral of three hundred and thirty-four steps. Gravity was slowly becoming a power weaker than his own.

  He marched through the entrance of the tower, his newfound lackeys cowering at his presence.

  His stolen adorned the walls like trophies, all lifeless and loose.

  In the centre, the blond woman from the alleyway was ready for her death.

  Bermuda would see how helpless he was when she choked. When the final breath left her before his very eyes.

  It was time to welcome them in.

  With a wave of his hand, the two doors ripped open, revealing the wind and wetness of the night. It whistled through, the water splashing against his grey skin, his white hair hurled frantically in every direction.

  The man before him was no Bermuda.

  Instantly, he snatched the human being by the neck, lifting him from his feet and holding him in the air.

  The man was handsome, his face disguised by what appeared to be a broken nose and bruises around his eyes.

  His accent was strange. Not like Bermuda's.

  There was fear in his eyes.

  He was useless.

  'Please, monsieur,' the man started to plead.

  Barnaby clicked his jaw a few times, his jet-black, pearl-like eyes alive with murder.

  He flashed his jagged teeth and Hugo thought his final thoughts.

  With a flick of the wrist, Barnaby snapped Hugo's neck, dropping his lifeless body to the ground in the doorway of one of London's most famous landmarks.

  Racing through the rain, Bermuda screamed in anger at the death of his comrade, something that brought joy to Barnaby as he walked back into the structure, leaving the door wide open.

  He was inviting Bermuda and Argyle in for the final moments of the human race.

  Bermuda dropped to his knees, reaching out for Hugo. He grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket, shaking the body and willing it back to life.

  'Come on, you bastard. Don't fucking die.'

  He knew the words were useless. Bruising and swelling had already surfaced across the snapped neck, the spinal cord severed from the brain.

  Hugo was dead.

  Rain crashed down around them, slapping against the concrete as Bermuda gritted his teeth with fury. The man may have been as antagonistic as they come, but he was a good agent.

  He didn't deserve to die.

  Argyle and Marco slowly approached, their rain-soaked scuffle ending when they heard Bermuda's cry of anguish. With a sense of dread they approached, Marco slithering next to Bermuda, his pained eyes staring at his dead partner.

  'I'm sorry, Marco,' Bermuda muttered.

  Marco just stared at the body. The man he had spent the last eight years with lay motionless. Slowly, Marco hissed his bitter words.

  'All he wanted was your recognition.'

  'I know. I never asked for this,' Bermuda said, gently patting the Neither on the back as he got to his feet. Marco hung his head, the rain crashing against the scales that covered his body.

  'Don't let it be in vain.'

  Bermuda nodded and turned towards the large doors, the wind hurtling through as the clock tower welcomed them. Argyle gently rested a hand on Marco's back, urging him to return to the BTCO and request help, to ensure Hugo's body would be properly taken care of.

  Marco took a few more moments, saying a silent goodbye to his fallen partner before slithering off into the shadows as Argyle suggested. With powerful, purposeful strides, Argyle approached the tower, joining Bermuda.

  'Let's do this.'

  Argyle's voice echoed with bass, the warrior ready for battle. With a vengeful scowl painted across his face, Bermuda lead the way, the two of them crossing the threshold and into the famous tower.

  The doors slammed shut behind them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Their footsteps rebounded off the high concrete walls, encasing each step with its own echo. The walls were lined with a thin wooden skirting that ran around the entire room like a bow around a neatly wrapped present.

  The floor itself was wet and slippery, the rain that managed to infiltrate only adding to the cold dereliction of the mighty tower.

  Bermuda looked around. The bare walls were unnerving, and the most famous clock in the world was surprisingly hollow on the inside.

  Argyle walked with calm, measured steps, one hand reaching high behind his neck, his fingers dancing a few inches from the handle of his blade.

  Ready for anything.

  Towards the far wall was a thick wooden door with a small window that revealed only darkness.

  Splashed across the frame in white letters, was 'Clock Tower'.

  'Here we go,' Bermuda said, more to himself than to Argyle.

  Creaking on large hinges, the door slowly opened, revealing a wooden floor that disappeared a few feet further into darkness. The crunching of mechanised cogs was extremely loud, drowning out any second thoughts that could have possibly infiltrated Bermuda's mind.

  There were none.

  Barnaby had Sophie.

  He had just killed Hugo and was going to end the human race.

  Bermuda needed to stop him.

  Nudging slowly ahead of Argyle, Bermuda cautiously stepped into the darkness, his hand un
der his coat, ready to draw his weapon at any moment. Pain slipped away from him, the numbness of his ribs abandoning him, replaced by a steely determination to save the world.

  Beyond the cranking of the clock's mechanics turning, Bermuda heard a shuffling, the sound of beastly claws dragging across the wood.

  Something was in the room with them.

  Argyle clearly heard it too, his hand clasping the handle of his mighty blade, his body ready for action. His voice full of menace.

  'Show yourself or face death.'

  Bermuda was impressed, fearing for any creature that defied his partner.

  The lights suddenly burst into life, the large room they were in bathed in a sharp glow. Large, rusty cogs slowly circled each other, the mechanised motor shifting in different directions as the clockwork tower continued its job as being a large timepiece.

  There was no sign on Barnaby.

  It was what framed the wall that caused Bermuda the most distress.

  With their hands wrapped in thin, coarse rope, ten humans hung from the wall, their arms outstretched, their eyes lifeless. Vincent had mentioned there was still hope for them, that they were not dead.

  Just lost. Their bodies empty and void of life that could be returned to them. Bermuda knew how, but retrieving the latch stone from Barnaby was another job entirely. Proudly displayed, ten of the stolen draped around them, a punishing layer of proof of just how powerful Barnaby had become.

  'Bermuda.'

  Argyle hauled Bermuda's attention away from the prizes that lined the wall, his eyes widening in shock.

  It was Jessica.

  Recognising her from the photo, she again stood lifeless, her feet precariously planted on a small, shaking wooden stall. Around her neck, a noose, ready to catch, tighten and remove her from existence.

  Argyle slowly approached, sword ready as three Others—thin and gaunt with sharp, pointy features—surrounded the human, ready to end her.

  Argyle took one more step.

  They kicked the stool.

  Jessica dropped, the cable wrapped around her neck caught tight, instantly cutting off her air supply. She began to choke. Argyle reached for his blade, but was set upon instantly by two of the Others, their speed jolting and confusing, their movements hard to gauge as they dodged his wild, swinging arms.

  Bermuda ran towards her, grabbing her legs and lifting her upwards, causing the rope to slack and return air to her body. The redness of her face began to fade, Bermuda trying his best to keep her alive.

  A blade plunged into his shoulder.

  Roaring with agony he stumbled forward, releasing Jessica, who dropped and swung again. Her timer began again as Bermuda fell to his knees, the ripping of his flesh only outdone by the searing pain of being connected to the Otherside.

  The Other circled him as he reached for the blade, slowly pulling the sharp, otherworldly blade out of his shoulder, the link trying hard to reconnect and force its way back in again.

  Just as he was about to remove it, the Other slashed his face with a clawed hand, blood splattering across the wooden slats.

  Argyle struggled on the floor, the two Others holding him down by his mighty arms, using their weight to hold him in place. With slow, synchronised movements, they began to drag him across the jagged wooden boards. Arching his head back, he saw the destination as the mechanical cogs twisted and turned merely a few feet away.

  Somewhere in the tower, Barnaby was ready to steal Sophie from the world.

  The ten stolen hung from the wall, unaware of what was going on.

  Swinging from the ceiling, Jess's final breaths were leaving her body.

  Bermuda slowly pushed himself up to all fours, only to receive a vicious kick to his shattered ribs, taking him off the ground and slamming into the concrete wall. His breath shot out of his body, the impact cracking a few more ribs.

  Jess slowly began to fade, the final breath imminent.

  A ferocious cough and Bermuda spat blood onto the wood, his hand once again reaching for the blade that was adamantly lodged into his shoulder.

  The Other slowly approached, baring its teeth as it sized him up.

  Bermuda yanked at the blade, his roar of anguish bouncing off the walls like a rubber ball.

  The Other leapt.

  He pulled the blade from his shoulder, blood flicking against the pale concrete.

  The Other collided with him, sending them both rolling across the floor. After a few moments of silence, Bermuda pushed the Other to the side, the blade sticking in its neck, its dark blood spurting like a fountain.

  It died quickly and painfully.

  Bermuda slowly stumbled to his feet, dropping again to one knee as the Otherside clawed at his wound, its link trying its hardest to converge with him.

  Jess's final breath left her body.

  Bermuda spun his body to face her, his fingers clasping the handle of his tomahawk. Using all of his strength, he launched it upwards, the blade slicing through the cable and dropping Jess to the floor. The remaining cable was slowly swallowed by the mechanics that it swung from.

  With blood oozing from his shoulder, a few more broken ribs, and pain shooting from the cuts across his face, Bermuda quickly checked her, exhaling in relief as he found a pulse.

  Argyle struggled, trying his best to draw himself away as the cogs slammed together a metre away from his head. Soon he would become part of the rotary system that powered Big Ben, a grisly demise.

  The two Others held him down, one of them sneering at him as they dragged him to his death.

  It suddenly howled in agony.

  Bermuda stepped back; the blade that had sliced the neck of his attacker now pierced the foot of Argyle's, pinning it to the floor. It temporarily let go of Argyle, which was all he needed.

  With a free hand, he caught the pain-stricken Other with a ferocious right that sent it straight to the floor. Panicked, the other attacker tried to flee, only for Argyle to catch its ankle, dragging it to the floor.

  A few punches later and it too was unconscious.

  A beaten and battered Bermuda helped Argyle to his feet.

  'Thank you,' Argyle offered, concerned for Bermuda.

  'Don't mention it.' Bermuda scurried towards the door to the stairwell. 'I have to stop Barnaby.'

  Just as he approached the door, it burst open, knocking him onto his back. Spinning around, his eyes widened with horror as the goliath muscled in. It was a Gorgoma, a feral Other similar to the one they found in the Cutty Sark.

  As big and as menacing, this one was more proportionate to a human, its arms not as long but still topped with razor-sharp claws. Its eyes, black and furious, locked onto Bermuda, who slowly crawled back.

  Argyle stepped forward, his hand on his sword.

  'Go,' he commanded, drawing his blade. 'I have this under control.'

  Not needing a second invitation, Bermuda slunk to the side of the room, following the display of lifeless humans until he came back to the door.

  He slowly and silently slipped through, looking up at the spiralling stairs that disappeared into darkness. His heart sank at the task ahead.

  He slowly began his ascent.

  Argyle walked slowly into the middle of the chamber, the cogs slamming together every few seconds. Three Others lay dead or indisposed on the floor.

  Eleven human bodies were motionless.

  Before him, the Gorgoma circled, brandishing its claws as it prepared for battle.

  Argyle swung his sword into position before charging forward, meeting the giant beast head on. It swung its hefty arm forward, four blades slicing through the air. Argyle slid under, ducking the swipe before slicing it across its spine, the skin between its sharp, numerous spikes splitting.

  It roared, disconnecting its pelvis and spinning unnaturally to face Argyle again. It swung right then left; each time Argyle blocked it with his sword. It pushed against the resistance, backing Argyle towards the wall before launching a beastly foot into his chest, sha
king his armour and sending Argyle flying into the wall.

  The concrete dented, cracking on impact.

  The giant beast growled, dragging its claws across the floor as it stalked Argyle. Slowly pushing himself to his feet, Argyle touched fingers to his temple, recoiling in anger at the appearance of blood. With his sword still in his hand, he drew it to his side, approaching the beast, the two of them making eye contact as they circled the room.

  Death was the only way to finish this battle.

  They both silently agreed before charging once more.

  A hundred steps high and Bermuda held his side, collapsing against the dusty concrete wall beside him. The steps were endless, each one mocking him for his life as a smoker.

  Each step he took sapped more energy. Each foot hitting the concrete sent a wave of pain lapping over his shattered rib cage.

  The pressure to quit was overbearing, mocking him with the idea he could save the world.

  Somewhere below him, Argyle was risking his life to battle that monster, willing to die to save the world.

  Somewhere above was the creature that wanted to destroy it.

  Barnaby had Sophie.

  He was ready to complete his convergence.

  With a grunt of anguish, Bermuda pushed himself off of the wall and began to climb the dusty steps, ignoring every pain that rattled through his body.

  Argyle flew through the air, colliding with the harsh concrete between two lifeless humans. Slamming into the concrete, he dropped to the floor, his spine another throw closer to breaking point.

  Blood trickled from his eyebrow, and another large gash across his neck also trickled as the pool of dark blood gathered around him. The floor shook as the Gorgoma approached, its large, merciless hands grabbing the back of his armour and dragging him across the jagged wooden floor.

  His collection of splinters was astounding.

  Somewhere in the room was his sword. The behemoth that clutched him and smashed it from his hand before subjecting Argyle to a ferocious mauling with his sharp, razor-like claws, was now dragging him effortlessly across the floor. Argyle mused on his fate.

  Would he die here?