by Conrad Jones
The side walls followed the access road for a hundred yards, where the main gate led to a sweeping horseshoe drive. It was barely recognisable now. The gravel had been overtaken by greenery. The spiked iron gates were fastened with a rusted chain and a newer security mesh had been fitted in front of them to discourage trespassers. From what I could see, the security fittings were intact. The lane was empty, as was the area around the gates. I hadn’t expected there to be guards dressed in sackcloth cassocks, their faces hidden by cowls but I was almost disappointed by the lack of activity. I decided to circumnavigate the walls by following the rear structure to its end, where it met the harbour wall with a ten metre drop to the rocks below. The walls encompassed three sides; the sea formed a natural barrier to the east.
I carried the bombs in the crook of my left arm which left my right arm free to hold the shotgun. Progress was slow as I picked my way over rocks and boulders until I reached the breakwater. I rested beneath the turret for a minute and then followed the wall towards the sea. Coastal erosion had taken its toll on this section of the hotel grounds. The harbour wall was still well maintained by the port authorities but they didn’t extend their maintenance to the privately owned properties which formed part of the marina. The section which met the hotel grounds had fallen away into the marina, leaving a perilous overhang. Water gushed over the edge in deep rivulets carrying more of the land with it every second. There was no way that I could get around the walls there. I retraced my steps and took another breather beneath the turret and wiped the rain from my eyes, before ducking low and jogging down the lane as quietly as I could. When I reached the gatepost, I pulled the security mesh and looked at the fastenings. The clasps and bolts were pitted with rust spots. I was happy that they had not been opened recently and then resealed. I thought about climbing over but the bombs were too cumbersome and Joseph’s warning to reconnoitre the area properly was fresh in my mind.
I carried on down the lane until the walls were interrupted by another turret, signalling that the boundary had been reached. I climbed through a hedge to follow the wall to the east away from the lane. Trees of different sizes tried to breach the wall, their branches reaching over defiantly. The canopy of leaves gave me some relief from the downpour. I scanned the area in front of me. I was in the grounds of Porth-y-Felin House now; the wall separated one dilapidated property from the other. I was also somewhere that I had no former knowledge of. This part of the properties wasn’t visible from the road or the sea. I knew that the jetty, which belonged to the RAF was in front of me somewhere. I scanned the thick undergrowth between myself and the humungous mansion, searching for any signs of sentries but the goggles showed nothing of any interest. The bushes and thickets which encircled the mansion looked alive with movement but I knew that it was just the rain hammering the foliage. I pressed on until the trees gave way to a low fence and a five bar gate. The gate gave access to the marina.
I climbed the gate and slid down a steep slope, which brought me to a rock outcrop above the jetty. I realised that I could use the metal structure to get around the hotel wall into its grounds although I would have to be careful. As I looked for the easiest way to go, I heard a whisper on the breeze. At first I thought it might be a voice from the marina across the bay carried on the wind, but it was much closer. I froze to the spot and tried to melt behind the nearest tree trunk. Water dripped from the tree, running down the back of my neck but I couldn’t move. There was a rhythmical rippling of the water below almost lost beneath the relentless rain and constant rattling of the rigging on the yacht masts in the marina. Ting, ting, ting, ting. I heard a splash below me. At first I thought that it may be a sea-bird or a conga eel jumping for an insect but it was too persistent and it was coming nearer.
As I watched, four green shapes emerged from behind the yachts. They were sat in a line, obviously in a kayak of some kind. Two of the figures moved in time, paddling the vessel towards the jetty. I sat and waited, my heart pounding, my breathing sounded deafening inside my ears as the boat came closer.
I clicked the goggles up, so that I could see the individuals in detail. My eyes struggled to adjust at first but then I focused clearly. Lightning streaked across the sky arcing from one black cloud to another. Ear splitting thunder followed immediately. The sudden flash revealed that there were three men and a smaller figure, a female or young male. They neared the jetty and I tried to see where they had gone but they were out of sight. I stood and peered from behind the tree. From my elevated angle, I could see them tying up the boat and I could also see two other boats already tethered there. We had planned to land at the jetty and if Joseph had come along, we probably would have. It would have been a mistake. I had a feeling that some things happened for a reason. Whispers drifted to me but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. My breathing was shallow as I waited for them to appear on the jetty. I could hear them climbing up the iron ladders. It took them forever, the rungs made greasy by the rain. When they reached the platform, they exchanged words and then walked up the boards towards the landing and to my surprise, headed in different directions. Three walked towards the old RAF building but one of them climbed over the railings and walked towards the hotel. I flicked the goggles back down when they split up, not sure who to follow. I needed to know where they were entering the buildings but I couldn’t see in two directions at the same time. The group of three climbed up the steps which led to the front of the mansion and then they took a path which led them left around the building, out of my line of vision.
That made my decision simple. I had to follow the lone figure. He picked his way through the thick undergrowth with remarkable ease. It was a path which he’d taken many times before. I remembered that this area was once a shrub garden about half the size of a football pitch. It was dissected by paved footpaths allowing guests to wander and enjoy the flowers and manicured rose bushes. Somewhere up ahead, there were wide steps which led up to the front lawns and the horseshoe drive. A huge triple fountain once dominated the upper lawns, the setting for hundreds of wedding photos. The contrast to what it had become was hard to comprehend. Mother Nature had reclaimed the area as her own. There was no symmetry any more just a never ending free for all, as bushes, trees, shrubs and vines all wrestled for light and space.
Using my memories, I tried to pick my way through the vegetation without making any giveaway racket. I heard a swishing sound up ahead, like the noise of supple branches springing back into their space and when I looked up, the green figure had gone. I crouched down and tapped the goggles as it they might not be working properly. If in doubt, give it a knock. There was still no sign of him. He had been about twenty metres ahead of me when he disappeared so I edged a few metres closer. When I focused, I could just make out lines in the foliage. The tree canopy seemed to be much higher beyond which told me that the lines that I could see were the curved stone steps which led up to the hotel lawns. The figure had disappeared before the steps. He couldn’t have climbed them without me seeing him. I remembered that there was an ornate wall with a stone balustrade which separated the gardens from the lawns above. Wherever he had gone, I couldn’t follow blindly without covering my escape. I turned and retraced my steps. It was hard going, my clothes were clinging to me and the rain was sapping the warmth from my being.
Tiptoeing back through the brambles, I climbed onto the jetty and set the storage box down. Keeping the spot where the lone green figure vanished in sight, I took one of the bombs out and placed it tightly beneath a tree root against a rock. I twisted the top from the bottle and added some of the liquid metal. My hands were trembling as I fixed the detonator to the device, slipping the fuse wires into the liquid. I stood back to gauge the arc where the shrapnel would rip everything to shreds; the killing zone. I decided then that the jetty would be the escape route for me or for the niners. I primed a second bottle and set it close enough to the first for it to be detonated by the other, but far enough away for it to impact a different ar
ea, widening the killing zone. The rocks would deflect the blast forward, aiming the metal fragments towards both the path and the jetty. When the number was dialled, anyone in that area would be torn to pieces. I could only pray that no one else would call that number before I did or my plan was dead in the water.
Chapter 40
I made my way back to the gardens and crouched down under a bush. I could see the steps beneath the undergrowth but the walls either side were swamped by ivy. The wind was picking up driving the rain sideways; the salty air was filled with the ting, ting of the yachts. I took the remaining bomb out and then slid the storage box into the leaves and crouched low as I searched the area. I studied the grasses and brambles for breaks aware that every footstep caused the sound of cracking twigs. Although the noise was minimal, each tiny snap sounded like a bullwhip cracking in my mind. I heard something but I wasn’t sure what it was. The noise of the storm and the marina was drowning everything. I listened hard and there it was again, a sobbing noise.
I froze and listened intently, nothing but the ting, ting of the rigging and the rustle of the wind and the rain dripping from the trees. I relaxed and took another step and there it was again but this time it was more of a cry. The rain was distorting where the sound was coming from. I held my breath and waited; another sob and then the muffled echo of a door being slammed. I wasn’t the only one who heard the noise. A rat the size of a toy dog bolted from the ivy thicket. The sudden movement stopped my breath and tested the strength of how anally retentive I was but it also gave me a clue as to where the door was. I looked down at where the rat had come from and sure enough, there was an area of trodden ground. It was barely visible in the thick undergrowth but there none the less. Muddy prints were visible beneath the vegetation. I used the shotgun to lift the thinner branches of ivy. Behind it, there was a narrow doorway, arched at the top. The cracked wooden door was decorated with metal studs and a plaited metal knocker. The frame was warped and the rats had chewed holes through the weather bar. I took a deep breath and ducked beneath the ivy, pushing the door open with my foot.
I looked around a gardener’s storeroom; the gardener himself at one with earth, his body long since riddled with worms. The image of his rotten skull jumped into my mind. Hideous millipedes slithered out of his empty eye sockets, pincers snapping closed. I could smell the stench of rotting flesh; it was almost overpowering. I blinked and the image was gone replaced by the web strewn room in front of me. My mind tried to comprehend what I’d seen and what I thought I’d seen. I focused on reality. A heavy grass roller stood against the far wall next to a dilapidated clothes locker. The floor was littered with broken terracotta pots. The vision of the rotting corpse had startled me. I hadn’t experienced anything like it since the last time I’d been in close proximity to Jennifer Booth. I wondered if she was aware that I was here and she was playing with my mind or if it was just my imagination picking things up. She said that I had the type of imagination which could see more than most. I clung to that rather than believing that she could get into my head. I had to believe that or I was finished.
A stifled cry shook me back to reality. I looked around. The storeroom was no bigger than the average bedroom. There were no doors and no windows. The floor was compacted earth. I looked up. The ceiling was vaulted and made from limestone bricks. If the lone figure had come in here then I couldn’t see how he’d got out. Voices murmured, almost whispers and then I heard the sobbing again. I walked over to the locker. It was made from tin. I pulled it from the top but it wouldn’t budge. There were metal fastenings bolted to the wall, the metal was warped and blistered by time. I opened the doors, hoping for a Narnia type door but there was nothing but spiders and rust. I jammed the second device into the corner of the empty locker, primed it with liquid metal and then set the detonator. I didn’t know where it was but there was an entrance to somewhere in here. I just had to find it.
I tugged the grass roller but it wouldn’t move an inch. I grabbed both handles and yanked hard. There was a creaking noise and then a snap as the handle ripped off. I was sent backwards by my momentum and landed heavily on the soil. The noise was enough to awaken the dead. I held the Mossberg tightly against my shoulder and waited for the onslaught. Nothing happened. After long seconds, I put my hand on the ground to push myself up and felt a draft on my wrist. I flicked a large piece of terracotta pot with the back of my hand but it didn’t move. The soil around it felt spongy. I put my face to the floor and felt the draft once more. I could also hear sobbing. Not just one voice but several. I stood up brushed the shards of pot with my boot. Some of it was stuck, fixed with some kind of adhesive. Then I saw a dull metal ring beneath the rim of a large piece. I pulled it and a trapdoor lifted. There was a rush of foul air and my video screen vision was awash with an orange light.
Slimy stone steps led down to a corridor below and although I could only see a small square, I could tell that the rock floor had been worn smooth by time and use. Candlelight flickered giving the place an eerie glow. I had come too far and seen too much to be frightened. Whatever was down there needed to be equally as afraid of me. I took the steps slowly keeping the shotgun aimed high. As I went lower, I closed the trapdoor above me. There was a bolt which fastened it to the joists around the hatch and I slid it home. It could delay my escape if I was in a rush but it was better than allowing more of them to come from behind me. The steps curved to the left and then met the corridor. The walls were carved from the rocks, the floor was uneven and pitted with lips and ledges. The ceiling was higher in some places than in others. I knelt down and looked along the length that I could see. It looked like there were doors fitted randomly on both sides. The stench was stomach churning a mixture of animals and death. I could smell decaying flesh but I could also smell the living. The smell of body odour and human waste was choking.
At the end of the corridor another set of carved steps led upwards. The murmuring voices were coming from that direction but the sobbing wasn’t. It was coming from somewhere much closer. I stayed low and edged down the corridor slowly. The first doorway was shoulder high. There was a hatch near the top of the thick metal door and a keyhole fitted halfway down on the left. The size and shape of the keyhole told me that it was very old. I listened against the door but couldn’t hear anything. I slid the hatch open and peered inside using the goggles. I recoiled at the smell that came from the hatch; stale urine and excrement and the putrid odour of unwashed humans. I held my breath and looked again. There was a green figure in the far corner of a tiny cell, which was nothing more than a two metre hole in the rock. It cowered against the cold rock. I couldn’t make out any features but it had long wispy grey hair.
“Hey,” I whispered. The shape twitched but only made itself smaller still. “Hey.” The figure trembled visibly. “I’ll be back to get you out, okay?”
“Fuck off!” it hissed. I couldn’t tell what sex it was. “I like it here. So will you.” The creature cackled like a witch from a cartoon although it wasn’t funny at the time. “You’ll love it when they come for you!”
I figured that they had lost their marbles, sympathy replaced disgust. “I’ll come back,” I whispered. “Just hang on.” There was no response. I slid the hatch closed and moved on. The urge to hammer the door down was almost irresistible but my primary goal would be compromised. The murmuring voices seemed to be growing louder; an incantation or a chant in a language which I couldn’t identify. I reached a doorway on the opposite side of the corridor identical to the first. The sobbing which I’d heard was coming from inside. I slid the hatch open and stepped back to allow the worst of any offensive smells to dissipate.
“Help me!” a voice sobbed from within.
“Who are you?” I looked in and caught my breath. A young boy stood naked in the cell. There was a pentagram painted on his chest and his arms were tied behind his back.
“My name is David,” he whispered. “Please get me out of here.”
“I will, D
avid,” I kept my voice low but firm. “I will come back for you.”
“No please don’t leave me.”
“I promise that I’ll be back.”
“Oh, God, please help me, mister!”
“I will,” I tried to reassure him. “How did you get here?”
“I was hitch-hiking to Ireland to find my grandmother,” he began to sob. Tears rolled down his face leaving tracks in the dirt on his face. “My mum died and they put us into care. We ran away. We got into a van and they took us here.” He broke down and cried hysterically. Snot dribbled from his nose and dangled from his chin. His knees buckled and his head was against the damp floor. “Please help me!”
“Who were you with, David,” I tried to calm him. “You said ‘we’. Who were you with?”
“My sister, Sarah,” he blubbered. “They took her up there.”
“Where?”
“Up the stairs to the big room,” he sobbed incoherently. “That where they hurt us.”