Terror Byte

by Park, J. R.

  ‘I’m not hanging round to find out what did this, come on!’ said Jayne as she opened the lift door and beckoned Tim in.

  They entered the lift and pressed the button marked G for the ground floor and to safety. The lift started to move then abruptly stopped, shuddering as it came to its sudden halt. The lights began to flicker sporadically and a buzzing sound of intense electrical current hummed from the fittings. Tim pressed the alarm button but neither of them could hear any sound to signal their predicament. He pressed it again, and again.

  ‘Come on!’ he shouted. ‘Come on!’

  The alarm still didn’t ring but, without warning, the speakers began to emit the sound of static. The lift began to shake and then suddenly it dropped. Faster and faster they felt the lift fall as it sped past each floor. It shook and shuddered as it bounced off the sides of the shaft on its free fall to the bottom. Tim and Jayne turned to each other with terror in their eyes. They sensed the lift was falling and knew what was coming. Together they embraced. Holding each other tightly they closed their eyes tighter still as the lift car hurtled toward the ground and their certain death.

  The Areas building stood tall in the fashionable and cosmopolitan sector of the city. It was surrounded by beautiful old trade buildings that had long been converted into banks. Exquisite sculptures of angels and animals adorned these structures as they overlooked busy roads full of business women and men that never stopped chasing the next sale. In contrast to the surrounding designs of antiquated splendor the Areas building was a twelve storey concrete block. But what it lacked in outside grandeur it made up for in popularity. The rent was cheap and the area was good which meant each floor was full; rented out to separate companies desperate to give themselves a business edge with the prestigious address the building provided.

  A security guard stood outside the main entrance letting the rain soak him. As he felt the rain splash against his face he hoped it would wash away the repulsive sight of what he had glimpsed earlier. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he first heard a loud metallic crash from one of the lifts and prised apart the two sliding doors. That had happened yesterday but he had been not been allowed to forget the image. He had been held overnight for questioning and for nearly twelve hours he’d been asked to repeat what he had done and what he had seen, again and again. He wanted to sleep and forget. He looked back through the glass doors of the entrance and studied the lift lobby. He hoped the police would allow him to go home soon.

  The floor of the lift car was awash with blood and broken bone. Pieces of flesh were splattered up the walls like crimson graffiti and slowly dripped from the ceiling. The impact had been so hard it had snapped bones, torn flesh and turned its unfortunate occupants into an unrecognisable pool. The twisted metal box of the lift car had been both their executioner and their tomb.

  As they hit the ground in a fearful and desperate embrace Tim’s face had smashed into the top of Jayne’s head. The resilience of her skull had caved his face in, obliterating his nose to nothing more than a gaping hole and knocking his teeth out leaving some imbedded deep into Jayne’s cranium. Their limbs had been twisted, broken and bent round to such unnatural degrees that they stopped looking human. So much so that when the police had first arrived on the scene they were unsure just how many people had met their grizzly end in this doomed lift car.

  ‘Lucky buggers,’ the remark came from a grey haired man in a police uniform. He was taking photos of the inside of the car, stopping between each photo to ponder. As he did so he twisted the corner of his moustache with his thumb and index finger.

  Around him the hallway was a hive of activity. Blue lights flashed through the windows, emitted from the swarm of police cars parked outside.

  He turned to face a stocky, well built detective. The detective was no taller than 5’9” but was almost as wide. He carried a certain amount of fat on his frame that rounded his belly and hid the separation of his head from his shoulders, but that also concealed a large bulk of well earned and well fought for muscle. He had thick, powerful hands, his hair was black with flecks of grey and his face was hardened with age and experience. Standing in the lift lobby he wore a brown suit, but somehow managed to make it look scruffy, like he’d slept in it for the last week. Although his weary and tired expression put paid to any theory that he might have actually had some rest in the last seven days or so.

  ‘Lucky buggers? How do you think that, Gilbert?’ the stocky detective asked the police photographer, scratching his strong, stubbly chin and surveying the blooded lift car.

  ‘These two, and we’re pretty sure it’s only two, would have died almost immediately. As soon as the car hit the ground, bang, they’d have been dead. It’s the ones upstairs I feel sorry for Norton.’

  ‘What happened upstairs?’ Norton asked, still scratching his chin and wondering what horrors were going to be worse than the sight in front of him. He’d seen a lot in his long career in the police force but that didn’t make seeing these sights any easier.

  ‘Well at first we thought it was some kind of disease or chemical terrorist attack. But we’ve had this place shut down all night, had the bio-hazard unit in. Plastic tunnels, gas masks and chem suits; the lot! But they found nothing. Not a trace of anything. The building has been given the okay otherwise we wouldn’t be standing here now.’ Gilbert stopped taking photos and waved the detective to follow him, ‘Come on up, I’ll show you.’

  They both got into another lift car and Gilbert pressed the button marked 6. The car shuddered then began its climb; the two continued to talk.

  ‘Is this thing safe?’ Norton tapped the lift with his fist as he asked.

  ‘Completely,’ Gilbert assured him, ‘we’ve had a full engineer and systems check on the building. This lift is as sound as any other.’

  ‘That’s not very comforting,’ Norton remarked shaking his head.

  ‘Aside from the bodies on the ground floor all the action happened on the sixth floor,’ Gilbert explained, ‘and only the sixth floor.’

  ‘So why did you think it was chemical or disease related?’ Norton queried.

  ‘The mess of them all, Norton,’ a look of horror spread across Gilbert’s face. ‘I’ve seen a lot of bad shit, but this! So much awful mess! Horrific! The whole office was dead, eyes were burnt out, tongues bitten off, people crushed in stampedes. And the vomit and crap that these people excreted as they died.’

  They exited the lift and walked across the lobby to the office door.

  ‘It’s right through here,’ explained Gilbert.

  He led Norton through a door to reveal the horror that he was talking about.

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Norton.

  As Gilbert had described, a massacre lay in front of his eyes. Bodies strewn everywhere, crumpled where they fell. Furniture tipped over, computer screens smashed. The place was a riot zone. The smell caused Norton’s stomach to tighten and he felt bile shoot up his throat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief, placing it over his mouth to filter the air he was breathing.

  ‘Pretty rough huh? You’ll get used to it. Hold on,’ Gilbert said as he put his arm out to stop Norton walking forward into the crime scene.

  Norton looked up to a see a large camera on a mechanical arm being operated by a police officer. The camera emitted a red light that swept over the room.

  Gilbert explained, ‘A wonderful piece of technology. This thing will scan and make a computer simulation of every detail of the scene. We can then pick over the whole thing at our leisure in the lab. Fascinating stuff. It can make scans right down to particle level. It really is amazing what computers can do now-a-days.’

  Norton looked at the machine with a sense of bewilderment.

  ‘No substitute for getting your hands dirty,’ he muttered.

  ‘There’ll be plenty of that. As soon as the scan has finished, clean up will commence. There’ll be plenty of dirty hands then,’ Gilbert quipped, ‘should al
l be done today. Then the world can carry on its business.’

  ‘Leaving us to pick up the shitty end of the stick,’ Norton cut in.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Gilbert retorted matter-of-factly.

  The scanning machine stopped moving and its red light faded as it reached the end of the recording process. Norton’s attention snapped back from the state of the art policing technology and turned itself to the foul stench and homicide at hand.

  ‘So what happened here?’ he puzzled. ‘The place is a mess with obvious signs of struggle. Any witnesses? What do the cameras show?’

  ‘Well,’ said Gilbert, in a tone that suggested bad news, ‘the security on the front desk report no unauthorized entry. The whole mess was only discovered after the lift car hit the ground. Security evacuated the building and did a sweep. Unlucky buggers.’

  ‘And the camera footage?’ asked Norton pointing to a security camera in the corner of the room. It was attached to the wall, close to the ceiling, and overlooked the whole office.

  ‘Nothing. The cameras…uh…stopped working,’ came Gilbert’s response.

  ‘Stopped working?’ Norton could barely believe what he was hearing. ‘All of them? There’s one in each corner!’

  ‘Well…yes,’ Gilbert spoke like he agreed with the incredulous mood in which the questions were asked, ‘some sort of temporary malfunction. But they seem to be working fine now.’

  ‘That’s insane,’ muttered Norton as his big frame walked about the office.

  Mel.

  Norton stopped in his tracks and looked down at a memory stick lying on a blood soaked desk. He read the scratched and scuffed letters on its casing. His face changed from an expression of outward disgust to one of inward horror.

  He turned and headed to the exit.

  ‘It’s like I’m being haunted,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’ Gilbert called after him.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ came Norton’s reply as he walked back to the lift.

  The police station was an archaic building; a light stone dome with tall, chipped pillars on either corner, making it resemble a Roman relic, a monument to law enforcement and budget cuts. Its tattered and dilapidated state made it nearly fit in with the surroundings, for it was positioned on the edge of the industrial sector of the city. Surrounding it were old factories, some used, some long since abandoned. Chimneys puffed plumes of smoke and the smell of sulfur hung in the air. If it hadn’t been raining so hard the wind would have been throwing paper and litter around like suburban tumbleweeds; but as the rain lashed down the rubbish was floating along makeshift rivers, the drains blocked a long time ago and neglected for even longer.

  Police Constable Andrews stood outside nervously checking the shine of his shoes and wondered if he should have made so much effort. He had just been enlisted to this station and at first was excited about the opportunity but now he was left wondering who he had upset.

  ‘PC Andrews,’ his worried meditations were broken by the voice of a female officer. She walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘I’m Sergeant Robinson, pleased to meet you.’

  Sergeant Robinson smiled at him, the hat of her uniform framed a face that held a welcoming softness, but behind her big, friendly, green eyes he could sense the flickering of a fire that was not to be reckoned with. Andrews extended his hand and they shook with a firm grip.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, shouting to be heard over the storm.

  ‘Welcome to your first day. Let’s get out of the rain. I’ll show you around,’ Sergeant Robinson said as she turned and walked back towards the entrance of the station.

  Andrews followed her inside.

  ‘It may not look like much, but we work hard. I’m sure you’ll have heard of our reputation,’ she explained as they walked through the entrance and out of the storm. ‘I’m not one to brag but we have a great team and get great results.’

  The inside of the station was just as run down and grim as the outside. Paint was peeling off the walls, patches of damp festered in the corners and chunks of plaster were missing as if punched out, leaving mementos of the violent forays that had taken place over the years. The holes held the gravitas of a warning to anyone that entered that this was a force demanding respect. Before them was a large plastic screen manned by a tired looking Police Officer, his hair was a sandy color, his eyebrows big and bushy and bags sunk heavy under his eyes. A strange looking gentleman had just finished talking to him and was making his way out of the station. He was a short, middle-aged, man and completely bald. His skin was tanned and hardened by the sun whilst his bottom lip hung in an uncontrolled and peculiar way.

  ‘Hello Mr Light,’ said Sergeant Robinson to the odd looking man. She spoke in a friendly but slightly condescending way, ‘How are you today? Have you spoken to the other officers? Have they been able to help?’

  ‘I have, thank you Miss…..I mean…Sergeant,’ he spoke with a lisp and spittle began to collect round his bottom lip as he continued to converse. ‘I hope they can help, I really do. It’s getting worse you know! Good day.’

  His lisping words were spoken with an innocence normally reserved for children and he tapped his head as he gave his leave before wiping the saliva from his lip with a dirty sleeve.

  ‘Good day Mr Light,’ Sergeant Robinson said cheerily.

  They watched him walk out of the station before the Sergeant turned to the man behind the desk.

  ‘What’s that, the seventh time in the last two weeks?! What wondrous tales have been happening at 16 Ashgate Place now, Mills?’ Sergeant Robinson asked.

  ‘A regular then?’ enquired Andrews.

  ‘Oh yes. Mr Light is exactly as named; a shard of light in our day,’ Mills replied. ‘I think that’s actually the ninth time in the last two weeks.’ Mills flicked through a note pad on his desk, ‘Yep that’s the ninth.’

  ‘Come through,’ Sergeant Robinson beckoned to Andrews.

  They walked through a heavy-duty door to the other side of the Perspex screen where Mills was sat. He smiled at them as they entered. Other members of the station approached them along the corridor to greet the new recruit and his tour guide.

  ‘I asked some of the team to meet us,’ she said to PC Andrews in a friendly tone.

  As Sergeant Robinson listed each person in turn they stepped forward to shake his hand. That was until she came to introduce Detective Norton. His brooding disinterest had been felt the moment Andrews had set eyes on him. PC Andrews had heard of Detective Norton’s reputation. He had been quite the talk of the force with his arrest record and was held in high esteem. The talk of his successes where only matched by the rumours and tales of his unpredictable behaviour. He was said to be quite the charmer and a loyal friend though, once you proved yourself and got on the right side of him. The young constable knew this would take time and expected some kind of attitude from the outset. It was an honour that the detective had even showed up as part of the welcoming committee.

  In an attempt to soften the hostility Andrews asked him as he extended his hand, ‘I hear you have seen an interesting case this morning at the Areas building, downtown?’

  Norton looked at the man’s outreached hand but made no attempt to reciprocate the greeting. He looked in Andrews’ eyes and made a low growl.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Sergeant Robinson, gently taking PC Andrews’ hand and lowering it down, ‘Norton isn’t the best conversationalist.’

  ‘You met Mr Light then?’ another PC said, bringing a sense of comedic relief to the meeting once more. ‘What’s he been saying this time?’

  ‘Has the girl with impossibly long legs been following him again?’ another chipped in and they all laughed. Even Norton’s cheeks flexed at the humour.

  Mills put his feet up on the desk in front of him and sighed, ‘He believes he is being stalked and followed by an attractive women with long legs. Which obviously narrows it down a bit!’

  ‘Well he did bring in that photo,’ a PC added.
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  ‘That he did,’ replied Mills, ‘I’ve got it here. Not the most concrete evidence to go by.’

  He handed to Andrews a blurry, pixilated photograph that must have been taken on a cheap mobile phone camera. Andrews studied it for a minute or two and began to make out a crowd of people in the city centre.

  ‘Oh don’t you see her?’ said Mills. He wheeled his chair over, shuffling along with his feet whilst still remaining seated. He thumbed the photo, pointing at a space. ‘Mr Light would have us believe that piece of wall was where the lady was when he took the photo. As soon as he took the photo she was gone.’

  ‘So what happened today?’ asked Andrews as he handed the photograph back.

  ‘It appears this time Mr Light has seen the lady in question in his flat. He reports that she was looking through his underwear drawer when he came in and disturbed her,’ Mills explained in a deadpan manner.

  The audience that had gathered round to hear the latest update burst into laughter and banter began to fly around the station.

  ‘Ha ha, he’d be so lucky!’ someone cried through their mirth.

  ‘Disturbed her, he’s the disturbed one,’ screamed another.

  ‘Bloody mentalist,’ exclaimed PC Watts as he held his sides, ‘he’s the danger to her. A guy like that could probably kill a girl.’

  Suddenly the laughing stopped and the mood tensed. Andrews was not sure what happened but reacted to the change as well. He looked at PC Watts cower and step backwards, away from the crowd.