He ignored the porter’s mocking words, knowing full well that he had deliberately missed. Franklin was playing with him, spinning out the game and the pain - for Jen as well as him.
“Lucky for you, cunt,” Andy snarled. He shuddered at the pain these words cost him. Every breath was agony. Speaking was almost unbearable.
But I won’t give this psychotic bastard the satisfaction of silence.
The head porter leant over him. A drop of blood from the scratch on his cheek ran down his jaw line and dripped onto Andy’s nose. Andy closed his eyes and forced himself to take slow, calm breaths. Gently. Focus on the breathing, not the pain, the breathing not the pain…
An explosion ripped through Andy. A tunnel of fire bored down from his shoulder blade into his abdomen. Shotgun wound and goring injury met. His elbow gave way and he crashed to the floor, his screaming so loud it fluttered and extinguished two of the candles closest to him.
Franklin stopped patting Andy’s ravaged shoulder and stood up.
“Not so lucky for you, Hughes. You’ll wish that shell had gone through your throat by the time I’ve finished with you.”
Franklin waited patiently for Andy to recover. When he was satisfied that Andy wasn’t going to pass out, was fully conscious of his surroundings and situation, was on the verge of getting to his feet again, his foot lashed out and slammed into Andy’s ribs.
Two voices spoke then, two voices ringing in Andy’s ears as he doubled up. By then the pain was so great, so all-pervading, that they didn’t register.
Only when the red screen lifted from his eyes did they filter into his consciousness. The first had come from Jen. A cry of anger and hatred, spitting out the name “Franklin!”
The second came from above. Lower in volume, but with just as much fury as Jennifer’s.
The Master of All Souls stormed down the stairs, his footsteps echoing around the stone walls of the cellar. Franklin turned lazily and shone the torch in his face.
Searles’ face was a mask of barely contained fury. Eyes widened, they didn’t even blink in the harsh glare of the Krypton bulb.
“That’s enough!” The Master’s hand came down in a fast downwards strike, knocking the torch out of Franklin’s hand. It hit the floor, spinning its harsh beam directly into Andy’s face.
Andy sensed Searles crouch down by him, sensed Franklin move backwards, away from the fury of the Master of All Souls.
“This has gone on long enough, Franklin! For God’s sake, just finish it. Now!” He grabbed the torch and thrust it at the porter. He turned his attention towards Andy. His expression softened.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. I truly am. I wanted you to see how necessary this all is before you died - that’s why I wanted you to see through the eye of the stone, see what Andraste is capable of.”
“And you think it’s changed my mind?” Andy spat blood onto the concrete floor. “You really thought I’d die happy, just by seeing your fucking proof?”
He coughed again, spat another lump of blood. This one landed on Searles’ left shoe. He wanted to rise again, at least get his head off the floor. But it wasn’t happening.
“What d’you think I saw, Searles? What did you see? Let’s compare notes.”
Searles looked behind Andy for a moment, with guilt and self-loathing as he saw the girl.
“I saw Hell,” he said quietly. “I travelled to a red globe at the far end of the universe. And in there I saw countless men and women torn to pieces in a silent void. Torn to pieces, coming back together: rebuilt, somehow - only to be ravaged again. Again, and again and again. Eternal, unceasing pain and despair. And the awareness that this awaited every man, woman and child on Earth unless she was properly appeased.”
Andy moved his head against the stone floor. It was the closest he could come to a nod.
“Yeah. Pretty much what I saw. Except I didn’t have this…awareness that that was the fate for all mankind if Andraste wasn’t fed properly. Perhaps I missed something that you more enlightened guys picked up on. Didn’t you ever have doubts?”
Searles’ face came closer to Andy’s. It had stopped spinning, but the pain still wracked his body. He was light-headed, and knew he was going into shock.
“Of course we had doubts, Andrew. The Fellowship always had doubts. From the date of our college’s foundation, many of the Fellows believed they were doing the work of Satan by performing the propitiation. How many prayers were said to God for guidance on this matter, we’ll never know.”
Searles looked at him with sympathy. But Andy sensed a change in him now. He saw before him a man who had been undergoing a crisis of conscience for a very long time, and had finally come to a decision. The Master continued.
“If any good came out of our agonising, it was a reminder that we are all alone. That only we have the power to save the human race from extinction. It is up to us alone, and this we do for the love of humanity.
“We have been abandoned by God, as have the souls that Andraste has taken. Oh yes, Andrew, we know they suffer for all eternity. And where is God now? If He will not intervene on earthly matters, surely the last word on a human being’s immortal soul belongs to Him? No. Further proof He cares nothing for his creatures.”
“Assuming God exists, Master.” Franklin’s voice was low but taut. Andy craned his neck past Searles to stare at him, could feel the tension between the two men as much as the pain in his shoulder.
They’ve had this conversation before, he thought. And they’ve disagreed on it, more than once…
Perhaps that was it. That was Searles’ crisis - one not just of conscience but of faith. Deep down he still had a shred of belief in God: one he had fought against and tried to deny.
An all too human desire, Andy thought. One he could exploit. It’s all I’ve got now. Nothing to lose…
“For the love of humanity…” Andy spat more blood. He felt cold. “You’re not saviours. Freeland was right. Jason Franklin was right. You’ve been lied to, right from the start. You think that just because you agonise over your task that that makes your continuance of it justifiable?
“I saw something else in the stone, Searles. Something that I don’t think anyone else did. Your Andraste has grown cocky. I know what her plan is. She told me. You appease her one more time and she has the strength she needs to break through. To turn this planet into a world of blood and fire.
“Haven’t you guessed yet? Do you know what you are? You’re caretakers, that’s all.”
Searles frowned. “Caretakers? What do you mean?”
“Read your history, Searles. An old definition of a caretaker is a land maintainer. Someone put in charge of a farm after the tenant’s been evicted.
“And that’s what happened. Boudicca’s little pet was evicted by the Romans, but Andraste still had a group of misguided idiots who looked after her farm. Watering it with blood: feeding the soil with pain - until she’s strong enough to come back and take possession.
“For the love of humanity…no. For the service of Andraste. That’s all.”
Searles shook his head. “No. You’re wrong…”
“Yeah? Think about this. There’s another factor in this equation, something that Jason was put away for - and one that I’m now starting to believe for myself. The Elder may not be much of an ally - shit, an ally that sends you insane isn’t much of a friend - but he’s real. And he doesn’t just appear in dreams.”
Andy stared at the Master of All Souls. Come on Searles. Face up to your doubts. Face the truth.
The Master sighed heavily, and then his face hardened. Andy knew then that Searles had come to the end of his crisis. He had made his decision.
Andy had lost.
“This thing called The Elder is nothing more than an aberration created by the mind of a very sick young man.” He cast a glance at Jennifer, his eyes impassive now, and then glared at Andy.
“It is that aberration that turned him against the college and his father, that almost dest
royed the Fellowship and our college last year - and thus our efforts to appease mankind and safeguard humanity’s future!” His voice rose. No longer a thin, tremulous voice, his words were now hammer blows that pounded the thick stone confines of the chamber of appeasement. This was worse than the violence meted out by Franklin. Andy Hughes’ last hope had gone.
“I will hear no more of this ‘Elder!’ Freeland, Lotson, yourself - all taken in by this phantom. And you - to bring in a manufactured stone likeness of this…this delusion, and to bring it here on this of all nights, to make us question ourselves and our duty even more…” Searles closed his eyes, clenching his fists. He took a deep breath, a visible attempt to calm down.
Even Franklin looked surprised by this outburst. And then Andy knew.
“It’s all about Jason, isn’t it? Your son.”
Searles’ eyes were incandescent with rage. “I broke the rules. I had a son, in spite of what we were taught. Just as Charles Harvey did two centuries ago, I wandered from the path of duty. Andraste forgave my trespass, with the condition that I offered him to her before he reached adulthood. To do so, Jason had to be kept in college grounds, within site of the Fellowship and its servants at all times.”
“So you made him adopt the head porter’s name, made him believe he was Franklin’s son. Not yours.” Andy shook his head. “And then kept him here until the time of offering.”
“Precisely.” The Master’s words were ice. “It was up to me to offer him, and I failed. I weakened. I denied Andraste, gave her an offering that was a poor substitute. We feel her power - and her anger - more this year than ever before, and it’s all my fault. But I’ll not fail in my duty again. I will offer unto Andraste everything she demands. Jason is in the grounds of the college. Andraste will have him before today has ended. And she’ll have the other she demands…’
His eyes looked past Andy. There was no sound from Jen. Andy shuffled on the bloodstained floor, his eyes searching for signs of life in the woman he loved and would fight for. Would die for. She had passed out, but even in her unconscious state she shivered.
“You’re - not - having her, bastard!” He shuffled forward, the nails of his right hand scratching the cold stone. His hand outstretched, trying to grasp her mutilated hand.
Andy heard him Franklin walk behind him. He tensed, expecting another kick, but he was still not going to let Jen go. His fingers brushed her hand and he heard Searles speak.
“I sympathise Mr Hughes, I really do. But you cannot expect us to share your delusion. I have already told you of the anguish we go through every year. We do not expect thanks or recognition for our painful duty. We do not even ask you to believe in what we do. We know what we are doing. We pay the price: we shoulder the burden, and we endure. And for the continued survival of mankind, for the love of humanity, we must not be stopped.”
Jen’s skin was so cold. Andy felt tears well in his eyes. The arm dropped from his grip and he watched the damaged hand fall to the floor of the chamber with the wet slap of dead meat. She didn’t stir. Her eyes remained closed.
Don’t wake up, darling. Go now, before the knives return. Sleep, darling, sleep…he didn’t hear the exchange that followed.
“Franklin, I’m going to the SCR. The Council will reconvene for their task in precisely half an hour. Ensure the chamber is fit for the sacred duty. While this lady sings to Andraste you will find Jason and bring him here.”
“Very well, Master. And Hughes?”
Searles’ voice tightened, but it was strong with self-belief.
“He’s had his chance to say goodbye. Finish him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
“Here’s what we’ll do.” Jason Franklin slowed the vehicle as the road changed from dirt track to gravel pathway. “I’ll drop you off at the service area of the kitchens. You can’t avoid being seen, so get in there as fast as you can. That cannon of yours should be enough to freak Cassell out. Wave it about a bit, fire once if you have to…but you probably won’t need to.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because, Roberto, all hell will have broken loose on the other side of the Hall.” Jason grinned and patted the nearest plastic fuel can. “And it’ll be me doing the breaking. Don’t ask for a signal, you’ll know what it is the minute you hear it. Not sure how much time that’ll give you to get your friends out - assuming there’s anything left of them to save.”
Rob swallowed nervously. Cheers, pal. Horror and fear filled his guts with ice water.
“But remember, you won’t have long so don’t hang about. Get them - and yourself - out as quick as you can.”
“What about you? How’re you getting out?” Rob almost regretted the question. Jason Franklin’s eyes still had that spark of madness, but now combined with an animalistic look of anticipation. Hunger.
“In a puff of smoke. This is the end of the road for me, Roberto. I’m going to finish the job and the bastards behind it.”
The van moved onwards and Rob almost wished they were back in the woods. Here, in the stone surroundings of Cloister Court, he felt they were helplessly exposed and all-too visible in the stolen van.
Exposed to what? He asked himself. What can be worse than those things in the woods?
He didn’t know, couldn’t think of an answer to such a ridiculous question. It just felt like there was no safe place in the college of All Souls. You left one hazardous hell-spot for another. Human beasts or unnatural, undead four-legged ones, there was no quarter from either.
And now, straight into the centre of the hell-hole driven by an insane man who relished the prospect of suicide and the chance of taking as many members of the college to hell with him…
The black clunch walls of Cloister Court enveloped them in cold, dead stone for a moment and then they were in New Court. Rob saw the service yard of the kitchens, the green wheelie bins and the pile of black refuse sacks. He remembered his last visit there, with Jasper, and the grief Cassell had given him. Christ, it felt like years ago.
He remembered where Jasper was now. Lying in state in the back of the Granta Office Supplies vehicle. Poor fucker, never even had a chance to bury you properly, did I? He knew now he never would.
Jason brought the vehicle to a halt. He gestured to the service yard.
“Well, mind how you go Roberto.”
Rob exited the van on shaking legs, the Browning held nervously to his chest. He was more exposed and vulnerable now, about to enter a whole new world of shit - but he also felt massively relieved to be away from this suicidal fruitcake.
“Don’t stop for any scraps from the table!” Jason added. “You won’t know what you’re eating!”
Rob slammed the door with such force rust patches flaked away from the sills. He stared daggers at the van as it drove away. Good fucking riddance, mentalist.
He turned to the kitchen entrance. One set of double doors, seemingly unlocked. Bright fluorescent light peeped through the square glass panels at the top, briefly blotted out as moving figures within passed in front of the lights.
Sounds of cutlery and crockery moving on metal surfaces, along with raised voices and muffled swearing - the sounds of a large kitchen preparing for an important function.
To the right of the doors, underneath a steel safety rail, a concrete ramp covered in gritting salt sloped downwards to the wheelie bins. Rob stepped up to the ramp and wrinkled his nostrils in disgust at the smell from the bins. The lids were firmly closed and were padlocked. He thought he heard the summery hum of flies buzzing around rotting meat, but not in these temperatures surely? The gunshots in the clearing earlier must have made his hearing fuzzy.
But his nose didn’t lie. And he remembered the words Jason had said about their unearthly attackers as they sped away in the van. Some of them made a permanent home here because of the food available…whatever was left over from the propitiation. Given to the beasts of the forest…
“Jesus, no. It can’t be…”
Emma. He had
to know. Had to be sure. He took the butt of the Browning and smashed it down on the lock of the nearest bin. It fell in two pieces and was swallowed by the snow. The tensed plastic lid fluttered as it was released. He pulled the bin away from the wall to allow the lid to roll back fully.
More noises came from beyond the double doors. Closer now, but Rob didn’t notice. His assault on the wheelie bin hid them, as did the cry that escaped his lips. A roar of anguish as he tore open the black bin bags and saw what had been responsible for the stench of decomposing meat.
Now he knew how the followers of Andraste disposed of the bodies. The wheelie bins were unmarked: they certainly would not be collected by the City Council for emptying. These would be sent to the beasts in the wood.
It seems that flesh ravaged by the followers of Andraste’s ritual has special powers of its own…
Healing powers. The power to transcend death. To return from the grave - again and again and again.
But that wasn’t the worst part. He broke open the padlock on the second bin, steeled himself for the grim discovery, for the heads, faces of his friends. Instead there was a second pair of legs, male by the look of them, and offal in the third.
But that didn’t explain why there were only the arms and legs of Emma and Dan in the bins. Where were the heads? The torsos?
Whatever is left over from the propitiation. Cassell is prepping the boar meat, you’ll know then.
“Oh, Jesus,” he breathed. He tore himself away from the bin and its hideous contents, thundered up the ramp towards the double doors, his eyes streaming with tears of rage and grief.
The doors suddenly swung open. Rob cried out in alarm, swerving to avoid being hit in the face by the nearest door. His trainers skidded on the snow and he felt the world tipping sideways. His right arm shot out and inadvertently pulled on the trigger.
The kitchen worker was slammed into the door by the force of the gunshot, tearing it off its hinges. The muzzle-flash turned the sudden spray of blood into a glittering shower of rubies.
Rob’s vision swam as his head made contact with the steel guard rail. He winced but somehow managed to grab onto the railing, stopping himself falling to the ramp. The Browning had dropped to the ground, wrenched free from his loose grip by the powerful recoil.
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