by Perrin Briar
“No,” Selena said. “That’s just what it looked like. They are animals. They cannot think.”
“But they can think now,” Anne said. “At least, one of them can. For all we know, right now they’re coming up with a plan to ambush us in here.”
Selena moved closer to the door.
“We could hide up in here,” Stan said. “In the morning we’ll be able to see where we stand and make a plan.”
Anne nodded. “That’s not a bad idea – so long as they don’t find us in the meantime.”
Selena looked between Anne and Stan. “There is one other place we can go. The compound.”
Stan shook his head. “We don’t know where it is.”
“I do,” Selena said. “Corporal Nasser told me.”
Anne’s legs shook with the effort of standing. “How far is it?”
“Twenty minutes north – if we walk quick.”
“I think it’s safe to say we have no intention of walking slowly.”
There was a pause, and then Stan said, “That sounds our best bet. But what about Jordan?”
“He’ll be fine,” Anne said. “Knowing him, he’s probably already at the compound.”
There was an uncomfortable pause as everyone considered the alternative.
Somewhere in the distance a bell rang with the low, dull thud of giant bells.
“What ever’s that?” Anne said, moving over to peek through one of the door’s many peepholes.
Stan joined her with a big smile on his face. “I’ll tell you what it is,” he said. “Church bells. From the biggest parish church in England.”
103.
At first there was nothing but the vaguest clink from the darkness above. Sunlight spat through gaps in the ancient brickwork around the base of the tower, but went up so high the roof was lost in shadow. Three ropes hung suspended from the darkness. From one of them a skeleton dangled by the neck, swaying to the rhythm of the bells as Jordan pulled on the rope.
Jordan grabbed the rope as it came back down through its cycle and pulled harder. Bell ringing was harder than it looked. On the third attempt the bell really clanged, and Jordan regretted not having something to stuff in his ears. The sound was deafening, and though it was by no means beautiful, it would echo over the whole city.
The rope pulled up unexpectedly high and lifted Jordan off the ground, wrenching his shoulder. A hot pain rose up his neck and down his arm. A cold sweat beaded his brow. As the rope came back down, Jordan pulled on it harder, and the rope jerked not just up and down, but side-to-side. Jordan let go, or risk losing the skin on his palms.
Jordan headed for the arched stone doorway, letting the bell continue its merry singing.
Jordan paused every few steps down the spiral staircase, certain he heard something, before shaking his head and continuing on. He peered around the blind curved corner.
There was no chance of moving silently, nothing to dull the sound of his footsteps reverberating off the cold stonewalls. He came out behind the altar and looked out at the dark open space before him. It appeared empty. He walked past the religious effigies, statues and iconography of a dead religion. His eyes were drawn to the Jesus on the cross. He found himself praying under his breath. It would always have a certain magnetic power. You couldn’t just ignore the influence of religion after thirty years of lectures, study and idolization.
He heard the screams over the chiming bell well before he got outside.
104.
“It could be a trap,” Stan said, crouching in the shadow of a headstone in the church’s graveyard.
Anne nodded. “Could be.”
“What do you suppose we should do?”
“We wait.”
The bells fell silent.
Selena shook her head and said, “We don’t know it was him who rung the bell.”
“We don’t know it wasn’t either,” Anne said.
“We’re exposed.”
“Just a little longer.”
Anne fingered the lettering on the gravestone before her. It was dotted with soft moss and the brown stains of time.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF MARGARET BLOTT
6TH JUNE 1889 – 28TH AUGUST 1945
WHO KNEW THAT ANGELS LIVED AMONGST US? LET ALONE IN OUR HOMES?
The minutes rolled by. A Lurcher stumbled past, no more than five feet away. It tripped on a gravestone and crawled up the stairs leading to the church.
“We should go,” Selena said.
“She’s right,” Stan said. “We can’t stay here all night.”
A voice whispered in the darkness behind them. “Guys! Guys! Over here!”
They turned to find Jordan crouched low in a tuft of thick reeds on the riverbank.
Anne’s heart fluttered. The pain in her legs faded. She ran out heedlessly from her cover. He was blurry as tears shimmered in Anne’s eyes. She hugged him close.
“We thought… We thought…” she said.
“Me too,” he said.
“But you’re…”
“And kicking.”
“Sorry to break up this beautiful moment,” Selena said, “but any minute the nzambi will come.”
Jordan stepped aside, revealing a mini powerboat. It was eight feet long, four feet wide. The white paint on its underside was faint and faded with age. They sat on splintered boards acting as seats. It was small, cramped, and had a small leak, but by God it felt good to be on water again.
“I found this in the reeds,” Jordan said as he pushed off from the riverbank.
Lurchers skidded to a halt, staring with undisguised fear at the flowing water before them. As they grouped together, the ones at the front were jostled forward. A Lurcher’s foot grazed the surface. The Lurcher jolted back as if he’d suffered an electric shock, turned and attacked the Lurcher behind him. The buffalo herd-at-the-watering-hole mentality.
“Come on in,” Stan yelled, enjoying himself. “The water’s fine.”
The Lurchers, as if aware they were being taunted, screamed and hissed at him.
Stan chuckled. Nervous smiles all round.
A large-breasted Lurcher was pushed forward, her foot drenched up to the ankle. She bit at those behind her.
A familiar tall figure stepped forward. Ugly barked and the fighting stopped immediately.
A grimace flashed across the large breasted Lurcher’s face before she stepped forward and threw herself into the river. The other Lurchers watched her as she flailed doggy-paddle style. She was clumsy and slow, but she was making headway. She half-walked, half-paddled toward their boat. Buoyed by her courage, the remaining Lurchers hesitantly took to the water.
Jordan pulled at the engine cord. It chugged over. It was a small engine with all the ferocity of a hairdryer, but was enough to push them through the water. It tossed up spray, dousing the large breasted Lurcher, who stretched toward the boat, her fingertips only brushing the hull.
Jordan turned the powerboat downriver to head toward the dock. The powerboat gave a slight tug as the river’s current caught it. “Why aren’t you guys on board the cat? I thought I told you to-” The words died on his lips as he looked downriver. Jordan killed the engine. It guttered to a stop.
Lining the riverbank on either side was a thick line of living dead, giant snakes winding half a mile before disappearing round a corner. They entered the water, clogging it up, acting as an undead dam. No way they were getting through.
“That’s why,” Anne said.
Jordan fired up the engine again and turned the powerboat around, coming within inches of the outstretched claws.
The large breasted woman’s head bobbed at the surface. Jordan opened up the throttle. Her head clunked on the hull, and disappeared underneath.
“We’re heading inland?” Anne said. “We’ll never get back to the cat this way.”
Jordan kept his eyes on the river. “At least we’ll be alive. We’ll have to find another way.”
Anne looked back at the long Lurcher chain fall
ing into the distance. Ugly grunted, and the Lurchers stopped hobbling, returning to their slower limping gait. The moonlight caught his eyes, making them shine like a predator at night.
Anne stared back. She shivered, a feeling of dread gripping her heart. Ugly’s features disappeared in shadow, along with his form as the boat took a corner and headed into the unknown.
Episode Four
105.
The hull nudged the reeds and came to a stop, causing a frog to belly flop into the stream. For all the activity on board it could have been a ghost ship. There was a low grunting noise, and the motorboat rocked lightly as a bleary-eyed Jordan peered up over the side.
His dirty brown hair hung over his bloodshot eyes. His usual smooth natural movements were hindered by his groggy countenance, but there was still the ever-present sense that he was always aware of his surroundings, always perched on the balls of his feet, always ready to strike at any moment.
An early morning mist clothed the uniform cottages poking out from their banks. A duck quacked nearby, shaking its bill in the brisk water before dunking its whole body under. It shook its feathers off in a vigorous display.
On the boat’s floor the women lay with their knees tucked in – Anne and Selena on either side of Jessie like a protective cocoon. A clutch of Jessie’s long blonde hair laid over the edge of the powerboat, her split ends kissing the water’s surface. She was only fourteen years old but her deep grey-blue eyes the colour of a twilight sea had seen more than most people twice their age.
Stan was curled up in a ball at the far end of the boat. He stirred. His wispy white hair stood up askance like a sail bracing the wind. He peered around at the uniform gardens that dipped into the stream.
“Where are we?” His breaths formed billowing clouds in front of his lined face.
“I think we’re on the Norfolk Broads. Here, take this.” Jordan handed Stan an oar. “Let’s see if we can get to that jetty.”
The jetty was twenty feet away, almost entirely obscured by reeds. Jordan reached out a hand and grabbed it, pulling the boat alongside it. The jetty was chipped and soft to the touch. No way it would take their weight. Jordan looked up the short blunt hill the jetty was attached to, and made out the top of a chimney poking up from behind it. They tied up the boat and dragged it into the reeds, out of sight.
Selena lifted her head, peered around at her surroundings without really taking them in, then lay back down to sleep. Anne yawned and stretched, flinching. She rubbed at her joints. She shook Jessie and Selena awake.
“Five more minutes,” Selena whined.
106.
The cottage was made of flint, timber and brick. A number had been written high into the wall using pale white blocks: 1901. The early dawn light caught the overgrown trellis. Anne raised a hand to the giant red roses as they passed underneath. Her hands were rough and muscular from hoisting ropes, swabbing the deck, and carrying out all the tasks necessary to maintain a boat. Her small, lithe, graceful frame belied her underlying strength.
The bright yellow door was locked, but after just a few minutes rummaging Stan found the spare key under a plant pot. “We have the same thing at our house,” he said.
A jingling wooden tonk noise greeted them as he opened the door. As the others stepped inside, Jordan reached up and unhooked the wind chimes. He sat them down on a side table.
They fanned out, searching each of the downstairs rooms. Jordan entered the living room. An antique armchair with the stuffing near hanging out of it sat facing the window. Thick wooden beams that jutted from the ceiling in irregular lines ran widthways. There were secret little crevices and corners hidden in half-concealed shadows like the gaunt eyes of a skull.
They met back at the front door. They shook their heads, each having found nothing. They climbed the stairs without a word, each splitting off into a separate room. Jessie, in her comatose state, stayed on the landing.
Jordan opened the bathroom door. It squealed on arthritic hinges. The room was small and tiled pale blue. There was a toilet and sink barely big enough to wash in. Toothbrushes sat convening in a small plastic pink cup, the bristles curled at the edges.
Jordan returned to the landing. One by one the others joined him, each shaking their head.
“If you guys don’t mind,” Selena said, stifling a yawn, taking Jessie by the hand and leading her to a bedroom, “we’re going to grab forty winks.”
Stan fell heavily on the sofa in the den and wiped a hand over his forehead and asked, “Well, just what are we going to do now?”
“Get back to the boat, I suppose,” Anne said. She picked up the items of clothing left on the floor, folded them and sat them on the coffee table.
“How?” Jordan said. “None of us know the way.”
“We could follow the river back,” Stan said.
Anne nodded. “We could. But what about the Lurchers?”
“What about them?”
“What if they followed us?”
Jordan shook his head. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”
Anne arched an eyebrow. “Up until yesterday, you would have been right, but things have changed.”
Jordan nodded. “You’re right. I’m so used to thinking of the Lurchers as thoughtless animals that it’s hard to think of them as anything else.”
“They are thoughtless animals,” Stan said. “Always have been, always will be.” He paused. “But that tall one. The ugly one with the blue eyes… He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t like any Lurcher I’ve ever seen.”
“How did this happen?” Jordan said. “A large species can’t evolve that rapidly over the course of a year, can it? It’s not possible.”
“Maybe they haven’t changed,” Anne said. “Maybe they’ve always been like this. We were just so busy running for our lives we never noticed before. Think about it. We all have different intelligence levels. Maybe they do too.”
Stan’s eyes were dark and hollow with fatigue. “You should have said we were meeting Rembrandt earlier. I could have asked for a signature.”
“Queenie,” Jordan said. “The soldiers called him Queenie – as in queen bee. He’s in charge of the others.”
“Do you reckon he’s the one?” Stan said.
“Like you said, he’s not like any Lurcher we’ve ever seen before.”
“If the soldiers know about him, why don’t they go take him out?”
“I got the feeling they’ve been trying.”
Stan shook his head. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Jordan said, putting a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder, “going to the Indian Ocean really is the best plan.”
“Doesn’t make much difference to us here, does it? We’re miles from the sea now.” He rubbed his grainy bloodshot eyes.
“We’ll get there, Stan. You’ll see.”
Anne put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “You’re tired, Stan. The past few days have been tiring for all of us. Go to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
The light filtered through the net curtains. “It is morning.”
“Later in the morning.”
“All right.” Stan got to his feet and headed up the stairs, his steps slow and heavy.
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” Anne asked.
“He’ll be fine.”
Anne moved to the mantelpiece and picked up a photo frame. A happy family beamed back at her. “They look so happy, don’t they? Beautiful home. Beautiful kids. A promising future.”
Jordan moved up behind her. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Do what?”
“Dream about what could have been.” Jordan took the photo from her hand and set it back. “We’re here now.”
Anne turned around. “I know. It’s just… Do you think it’ll ever be like that again? Where your biggest concern is paying the bills each month?”
“I don’t know. But we can hope.”
Anne smiled weakly. “We’ll ha
ve to find another route back to the ocean. We can’t follow the river back to the coast. They’ll be expecting that.”
“We couldn’t have come too far inland. If we head east, we’re bound to find the coast eventually.”
“We could go to another port, find another boat.”
“It was hard enough finding the one we’ve got. There might not be another one out there in good enough condition for us to find.”
Anne nodded. “But what about the Lurchers?”
“What about them?”
“If we assume the worst and they followed us, they could be here already. Or very close by.”
“If they chased us. But you’re right. It’s best to be cautious. We have to get back to the cat as soon as we can. The longer we take the surer they are to catch us. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“It is the morning.”
“Don’t you start.”
Anne frowned. “Can I ask you something? Is what they said true? The soldiers. Do you think you used to be in the army canteen in RAF Burgh Castle?”
“I don’t know. But I must have learned how to shoot somewhere.”
“No memories came back to you?”
“No.”
“We’ve been on the land less than a day and we’ve already discovered more about your past than I did in a year of treatment. This will be good for you. If it wasn’t for Queenie, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
Anne became interested in a valance hanging over the curtain. Jordan stepped up close to her.
“Anne?” he said. “What do you mean?
Anne sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think he wants you, Jordan. He tasted my blood, and then spat it out. But when he tasted yours… There was a look on his face like a kid with his favourite toy. There’s something about your blood he wants.”
“I must taste good, I guess,” Jordan said. He smiled without any mirth. “With any luck we’ll be long gone before he finds us again. Get some rest, Anne. It’ll be a long journey back and we might not be able to rest for long.”