‘It’s all right, papa. I’m fine – strong like you.’ Vladimir smiled with contentment. Whatever strange relationship existed between him and his mother, he had all he needed right in front of him. He worshipped his father.
‘Not like me, but strong – yes.’ Kirill kissed his forehead and tucked him under the covers. ‘Now sleep, tomorrow is a new day,’ he whispered.
‘Goodnight papa.’
‘Goodnight Vladimir.’
2
Vladimir couldn’t be sure what had woken him, maybe a shout from downstairs. He sat up, trying to get rid of the ringing noise in his ears. He was thirsty too. He remembered that Nanny Fraer always kept a jug of water by her bed at night. He slid down to the floor. The night was cold, so he went to his wardrobe and retrieved his dressing gown and slippers. It was only a quick scamper across the hall to Fraer’s room, but something made Vladimir hesitate at the top of the staircase. Not getting caught was the only thing that mattered. Sure, his mother told him not to do lots of things, but going where he was not suppose to, on one of those nights, was the only thing his father warned him about with any kind of authority. He didn’t know what it was like to fall foul of Kirill’s trust, and nor did he want to.
On reaching the foot of the stairs, he looked both ways. He was about to turn left for the kitchen when he heard a shout. This time he was certain that it wasn’t part of a dream. Muffled voices followed and Vladimir strained in an attempt to locate their origins. He moved from the dark living room back into the hallway, and it was then he realised. The voices were beneath him, in the cellar. The one door in the house that always remained locked. He remembered his mother would turn purple with frustration whenever he played within feet of it. It was no time to be brave. Time to get going, he thought, forget the water.
A sudden thud came from below and someone groaned, as if in pain. Vladimir stopped dead and listened – another bout of muffled conversation. His heart raced, all he wanted to do was scamper back upstairs to hide under his duvet, but the pull from the basement door was too great. To his amazement, there was no resistance when he twisted the handle and the door opened. He could see a spray of light at the bottom of some rather flimsy looking steps and decided to take off his slippers so he could creep more quietly. A second thud halted his steps halfway down. He could hear the sound of splashing water. When he reached the ground, the concrete floor felt like an ice rink under his bare feet. The light emanated from the large bathroom his father had installed.
It wasn’t difficult to stay quiet because there were no creaking floorboards to step on. He just had to make sure he didn’t walk into anything hiding in the darkness. He heard the groaning more clearly. It was a man’s voice – one he’d never heard before.
‘For the last time, Efin, where is my shipment.’
He did recognise this voice. It belonged to his father. Carefully, Vladimir edged to the open door so he could peek around the frame. He was drawn immediately to the pools of blood. They led to the toilet where his father stood astride another man on his knees.
‘Fuck you!’ the man spluttered. Kirill grabbed the back of the man’s head, forcing it down against the edge of the toilet bowl. A jet of dark blood squirted from the man’s head wound. Kirill then lifted him by his hair and plunged his head into the red water in the toilet.
Startled, Vladimir peered further around the corner and saw Sasakia surveying the situation with a smirk of enjoyment. Her black ponytail hung over her shoulder, trailing all the way down to the silenced pistol in her hand.
The man’s arms and legs flailed as he struggled to get his breath. ‘Efin, your decision making isn’t getting any better,’ Kirill said.
Efin gasped for air, ‘what does it matter – your attack dog’s gonna kill me anyway,’ he said, looking up to Sasakia.
‘Either way, this can all be over if you tell me who sabotaged my shipment,’ Kirill said. Efin’s body went limp and Kirill prevented him from sliding onto the floor by gripping his hair.
‘I’ve told you, I don’t fucking know. The tip must have come from someone else. Two of my men were killed in the raid, for Christ’s sake,’ Efin was limp with exhaustion.
‘I’m sorry, my friend, but you’ve lied to me for the last time.’ Kirill moved away from the toilet and Sasakia readied her weapon.
‘Please, Kirill, you have to believe me. This has to be a set up. Please,’ Efin begged.
To his horror, Vladimir noticed his father’s eyes staring back at him through the reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. Time stood still. Vladimir could not run.
Sasakia saw what had caught Kirill’s attention and spun round. ‘What has your father told you, shit? Get out!’ she screamed.
Vladimir was deaf to her demands. The man staring back at him was someone he did not recognise. The man who had raised him, read him bedtime stories and promised to keep him safe from the evil in the world was an imposter. Instead, a monster stood in his place, another man’s blood dripping from his clenched fists.
The Volanovs were so preoccupied that neither noticed Efin produce a bullet knife from a sheath strapped to the inside of his thigh. With one swipe of his arm, he slashed Kirill across his throat, opening his jugular. The big man twisted as he fell and hit the ground facing his son. Before Sasakia could react, Efin swung again. She tried to snatch her head clear, but the tip of the blade cut through the edge of her chin and followed a diagonal line through her lips, escaping from the side of her right nostril. She stumbled backwards, smashing against the glass screen of the shower unit.
Efin staggered to his feet, sliding on the puddles of his own blood. He turned for the only exit and paused as he came face to face with Vladimir, who heard the two squeaks from the silencer, and saw the circular patches of blood soak through Efin’s chest. The desperate man’s battered body collapsed to the floor.
‘Kirill!’ Badly injured herself, Sasakia snatched a towel from the rail and crawled over to her dying husband. She tried her best to apply pressure to the wound, but the bleeding would not stop. ‘It’ll be okay, baby. Please stay with me – I need you.’ Sasakia wept as she continued in vain to help him cling to life.
The sea of red from the murders lapped at Vladimir’s feet. His father’s eyes stayed fixed on his, until whatever light left behind them faded away forever.
3
Vladimir stubbed out his penultimate cigarette in the ashtray of his new acquisition. He had found the Peugeot in a quiet Bedford side-road and boosted it. He took the A6, managing to get as far as Rushten before he encountered a military roadblock and was forced to turn around. He came across a country lane, followed it for a couple of miles until he reached an abandoned meat storage plant.
He’d been out to take a look around. Most of the doors to the place were unlocked. The pig carcases still hung by their tethered back legs in the huge freezer room. Vladimir held up his mobile phone, blowing out a stream of smoke onto its display. Little point dialling Dmitri’s number, he thought, may as well go straight to the source. It took two rings for Sasakia to answer.
‘I wondered how long it would take before you called back,’ she said calmly.
‘I was just thinking about you.’
‘Aww, Vladi, I’m touched. Have you made peace with your God?’
‘Not yet. Turns out, my God wasn’t what I thought it would be,’ Vladimir replied.
‘Fascinating…You have called to tell me where you are, haven’t you?’
‘Perceptive as always, mother.’
‘I wouldn’t call it that – you’re a Volanov. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that your hatred burns just as brightly as mine.’
Vladimir paused, taking the phone from his ear for a second, resting the speaker against his forehead. He felt like that lost little boy again, waiting an extra hour for her to pick him up from school. ‘I need you to come and get me. Will you come and get me?’ he said.
‘Tell me where you are?’ she replied.
A Voice Is Heard In Ramah
1
Kempston, Bedfordshire
Inspector Graystock leaned against the wall of the main entrance to Bedford station, watching Morrow and Reeves as they made their way toward him across the car park. He shivered at the chill breeze, pulling the sides of his unbuttoned overcoat together. He was young for a Chief Inspector, mid forties, but then again, Graystock had always known the right people on the way up. He came from a family with a long history in the force. He ran his hand through his rusty red hair, then greeted the detectives. ‘Inspector Morrow?’ he said.
‘Chief Inspector.’ Morrow shook his hand and stepped inside immediately. He’d not slept for the last forty-eight hours. The journey to Bedford had been a long, frustrating crawl due to the congestion on the roads. The fatigue made him feel the cold more than usual.
‘Detective Reeves,’ Graystock said.
Reeves shook his hand, heartened by the fact that the Chief Inspector could not be a great deal older than he was.
‘I’m surprised you two made such good time in getting here. I’ve been hearing some horror stories about the motorways.’
‘It’s all true, sir, and it ain’t just the motorways either. You can’t drive more than three miles without hitting traffic, or an accident, or a roadblock. It’s getting so bad that the military are starting to take control,’ Reeves said.
‘The military?’
The policeman on the reception desk buzzed them in, allowing access to the security staff entrance. ‘Heard something about your viral outbreak in Walton. I understand it’s under control now, correct?’
‘That’s open to debate,’ Morrow said.
‘With whom?’
‘Me.’
‘How so?’
‘All depends on whether you believe there was a viral outbreak in the first place,’ Morrow said.
Graystock peered at him with curiosity. ‘What did you see out there, exactly?’
Morrow thought for a second, aware he didn’t know the answer. ‘All I know for sure, is over two hundred people are dead and more are still missing. Now, where is Miss Meadows?’
Graystock’s expression changed. People were rarely offhand with him. ‘You forgot to say the magic word.’
Morrow gritted his teeth. ‘Inspector?’ he replied.
‘Ha, she’s just down the hall.’ Morrow was beginning to remind Graystock of old school coppers like his grandfather. He led both detectives to the interview rooms. ‘An officer found her wandering along Woburn road. Seeing as she couldn’t even tell him where she lived, he brought her back to the station and we found some ID on her.’
‘Is she talking?’ Reeves asked.
‘Barely. We tried to get a statement but she says she’ll only speak to Morrow. Seems to think you’re the only one who will believe her. I’m no doctor, but my guess is that she’s mentally disturbed.’
‘Very much so. In the last two weeks, she’s lost her fiancée and both of her parents,’ Morrow said.
‘So, who is this Jerrico Flynn I keep hearing about? A terrorist, or just a crazed ex-boyfriend?’
Morrow didn’t answer, pointing instead towards the door they approached. ‘In here?’ he said. Graystock let out a sigh and opened the interview room. The grey and featureless room contained three chairs and a table. Kate sat at the table with her back turned. She did not react to their arrival, not a flinch.
Morrow hung back just inside the door. ‘Do you mind if I do this alone?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Graystock replied. ‘I do mind. I’m sticking around for this one.’
‘You’re the Chief Inspector, and it’s your station, but I urge you strongly to reconsider.’ Morrow didn’t want him to jeopardise the investigation, not when he was so close. It had ceased to be about justice for Morrow, only truth mattered now.
‘Your unwillingness to share information about this case is only fuelling my curiosity. Speak to Miss Meadows, Inspector, and let’s see what she has to say for herself.’ Graystock left the two empty chairs for the detectives, taking up his position against the back wall so he could observe.
‘Very well,’ Morrow muttered. He opted for the chair at the opposite end of the table to Kate, and Reeves sat next to him. Morrow could hardly believe he was looking at the same girl he’d taken a statement from during the previous week. She seemed to have aged ten years since then. Her vibrant brown hair lay flat to her head, weighed down by grease and matted in places. Her skin was porcelain pale, grey and swollen around her eyes. She stared right through both detectives, to the dirty wall beyond them. ‘Miss Meadows? It’s Inspector Morrow, Miss Meadows. Can you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I’d like to be called Mrs Jeffers, if you don’t mind.’ Her voice sounded broken, the voice of someone who had lived for too long.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Mrs Jeffers, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now. I know you’re in shock, and things probably seem all jumbled in your head, but I want you to know that I’m not going to judge or disbelieve anything you tell me. I just want the truth, so I can help you put an end to this.’
‘Do you think you can?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Put an end to this?’
Morrow sensed that she asked in hope rather than belief. ‘What happened up there in Walton? Why did all those people die?’ he asked.
Tears fell from Kate’s cheeks on to the table’s surface. When she lifted her head, she looked directly into Morrow’s eyes. ‘After the murders, a man came to town – Mr Cradleworth. No one really noticed him at first, except Jerrico. He did something to the people in the village. He gave them something, and in return, he took something away from them, turned them into zombies. He kept what he’d taken in jars at the old post office building.’
‘The old post office?’ Morrow said, trying to keep up with her. ‘You saw this man, and you spoke to him?’
‘I left my home in the middle of the night. I needed to walk somewhere, but it was as if he was calling to me all along and I hadn’t noticed it.’
‘Why didn’t he do to you what he did to the others?’ Morrow’s question roused a memory within her that was too painful to bear. She started to weep, covering her face.
‘He wanted to make a deal with me. He promised me that if I brought Jerrico to him, he would bring Phillip back to me. I refused to do it, but he brought Phillip back anyway – only it wasn’t him, not really. It was Phillip’s body, but it wasn’t him.’
Morrow nudged Reeves, and the young detective reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small pack of tissues. ‘Jerrico did come though, didn’t he?’ Morrow said, passing her the packet.
‘Even though he knew it was a trap,’ she sniffed.
‘I don’t understand something, Kate. If this Cradleworth did what he did to Walton to entice Jerrico back, why did he let him escape when he came for you?’
Things had all moved so fast. This was the first time that fact had dawned on her. Cradleworth gained the opportunity he needed, but instead made her choose between Jerrico and Phillip. ‘I don’t know why. Cradleworth needs Jerrico, just like he needs the others,’ she replied.
‘Others? Is Stuart Matherson one of the others?’ Morrow asked.
‘The boy in the wheelchair? Yes, he is first-born too,’ she said.
Reeves and Morrow gave each other a glance, both recalling the phrase from their interview with Cedric Atterby. ‘First-born, what does that mean?’ Morrow said.
‘There are nine of them, I think. They came from another planet, and they have been hiding away inside human beings…Detective Morrow, if Cradleworth captures the first-born, something is going to happen – something terrible.’ Kate placed her forehead on the table, covering her face with her hands. She felt so exhausted that she couldn’t hold herself straight any longer.
‘I think that’s just about enough for now, don’t you, Inspector?’ Graystock cut in, moving over to the table to f
ace Morrow. He lowered his voice, even though there was no way Kate would not hear him. ‘This girl clearly needs psychiatric help, and you are landing yourself and my station in hot water by continuing.’
‘Do you think that you are in the best position to decide that, given your complete lack of knowledge about this case?’ Morrow said firmly.
Graystock lowered his voice to a hiss. ‘I want you out of this room and this station, and furthermore, I want you well clear of Miss Meadows, until I file a report with your superiors. I’m not sure what kind of game you think you’re playing, but I’m not going to watch you use this poor girl and gamble with her mental health any longer.’
Morrow turned back to Kate. ‘If I was to give you a map, would you be able to point out where Jerrico and the others are now?’
‘Inspector!’ Graystock insisted.
‘Yes, I can tell you where they are,’ Kate said.
‘Just allow me this one thing, Graystock, and I promise you that I’ll leave. I’m not indulging any fantasies. I’m just asking her to point out a location on a map.’
Graystock thought about it, deciding it would look better if he assisted the Inspector and allowed him to make himself look stupid. ‘Fine. I’ll get you a map under one condition. I’m coming with you,’ he puffed.
‘Of course. I need everyone you can spare. I’m calling the military in on this one as well. I have a contact who is waiting for word from me,’ Morrow said.
Graystock made his way to the door, then stopped and turned back. ‘I’ll get your map, and on the way there, you’re going to tell me all the information you are currently withholding,’ he said.
‘Agreed,’ Morrow replied. Graystock left, closing the door behind him.
‘Detective?’ Kate reached out to grip Morrow’s hand. ‘Please don’t leave me alone. I don’t ever want to be alone again.’
Infanticide (Fallen Gods Saga Book 2) Page 15