Step by step, he carried her up the carved stone stairway. Below, the sand drifted further away until the distance made her head spin. Again, Eliza’s body started to slide off Mr. McKenzie’s shoulder. There was nothing but the dead of night and a whopping long drop below her, and she grabbed the leather belt securing his trousers, closed her eyes, and hung on for dear life.
“You can walk from here,” Mr. McKenzie said when they reached the top.
Eliza’s feet touched the ground. Blood rushed from her head, and for a second she felt even more lightheaded than when in the tunnels.
“Careful.” Mr. McKenzie pulled her away from the cliff edge. “Now go that way. Towards the light.”
Eliza glanced up. Through spotted vision she saw a flickering glow in the darkness some distance away. This was it.
Loose gravel replaced dirt and mud, and she slipped several times. The light grew nearer and the pathway narrowed, the overgrown foliage eventually thinning out to unveil an old, rusty handrail. Three stone steps led up towards a crumbling archway, and Eliza stopped. She glanced up at the ruins of the derelict tower, a place where she’d played with Billy as a child. So this was where she was going to die?
Beneath her wet robe, she felt trickles of blood start to flow from her thigh.
“Keep moving,” Mr. McKenzie said, shoving her into a circular room, each quarter lit by a torch flame.
A timber frame shaped like a cross lay in the centre of the floor, a small sign written in Latin nailed to the top of it. Behind it, two men she didn’t recognise hung from wooden poles. Light glowed across their dirt-smeared skin and unwashed hair. The nearest one glanced up, clearly struggling to focus, and unsure of his surroundings. Horror filled his eyes when he spotted Eliza.
A man stepped into the doorway, the flicker of light behind him silhouetting his shape perfectly. Even donned in the long cloak and hood, Eliza could still tell it was her father.
“Where the hell have you been?” James asked Mr. McKenzie.
“She—”
“Never mind. We don’t have long.” He rubbed his hands together like an excited child on Christmas morning. “Get that robe off her, and turn her around.”
He picked up the leather whip he’d used on her earlier, but Mr. McKenzie interjected. “I don’t think you should do that anymore.”
“Oh? And why would that be?”
“The blood, her blood.” Mr. McKenzie glanced around. “I thought the Shadow was a myth…”
“What Shadow?”
“From God.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve never heard of this entity.”
“Most haven’t, but it came looking for her. Down on the beach—”
A darkened shape crawled from the edges of the tower and crept across the floor.
Mr. McKenzie noticed. “It’s here,” he said, releasing Eliza and grabbing a torch from the wall.
James backed away towards the door. “What does it want?”
“To kill your daughter, and stop you from opening the Gateway.”
“Can you stop it?”
Mr. McKenzie smiled. “Aye, that I can.”
The Shadow rolled to the middle of the room, where it swelled to a size much larger than the one Eliza had seen in her house. She closed her eyes, accepting her fate. With her senses dulled, she had no chance of beating it, just as Mr. McKenzie had no chance of beating it. At least the Shadow would kill her much more quickly than her father.
Mr. McKenzie stepped forward, the torch held at arm’s length in front of him until it hovered inches from the dark mist. Taking a deep breath, he took one last step forward and waved the flame through the Shadow like a child writing his name with a sparkler. The amber fire zigzagged its way left and right. To Eliza’s astonishment, the Shadow caught fire, glowing embers fizzling and crackling like lit gunpowder until all that was left was a mass of ash floating in the air.
He’d killed the Shadow? As easy as that?
“Is it dead?” James called from the stone archway.
“Yes.” McKenzie glanced up at the sky. “One thing Heaven and its inhabitants up there can’t stand, and that’s Hell’s fire.”
James entered the room, the whip heavy in his hand and ready to use again. “How did you learn that?”
Mr. McKenzie dropped the torch and untied Eliza’s hands. “Everything has an answer. You just need to know where to look for it.” He pulled the belt free from her waist and the wet robe fell around Eliza’s feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her soaked and sand-covered underwear.
Immediately, Eliza edged away from her father.
James smiled at her. “Now, where were we? Oh yes.” He raised the whip.
“No, please. You’re my father...”
James lashed the whip, striking Eliza across the thighs and hacking through her flesh like a garden strimmer. She cried out, clasping the severed flesh, and hardly noticing Mr. McKenzie spin her around until the second lash cracked across her shoulder blades. Eliza wanted to fight her neighbour’s hold, but all she could do was scream in pain. The third lash landed across the base of her spine and she collapsed to her knees, begging for mercy, praying unconsciousness would come for her. Another lash against her skin jarred her back to full consciousness in an explosion of agony. She fell completely to the floor. Her eyes closed, and her senses dulled again.
Another strike. Another agonising eruption. Her eyes shot open. A blurred glance at the blood-splattered dirt around her, and then darkness once more. The pain slipped from her mind, and in the distance she heard a voice shout for her to wake. The Shadow was supposed to have killed her. She’d wanted it to kill her. But instead, it had been defeated – and so easily, at that.
A fiery irritation burst into her nasal cavity. Her eyes opened and her lungs hastened, pumping out breath after rapid breath. She flinched away from the smell, but a hand clamped the back of her head and the rancid odour found her again. Mr. McKenzie leered down at her. In his hand, he held a small bottle. He stuck it under her nose again, and the pungent aroma attacked her nostrils like acid. Eliza tried to knock the bottle away, but Mr. McKenzie laughed and shoved it closer.
Eliza gagged. Her arms flailed. Her heartbeat raced, and images of Mr. McKenzie flying back away from her and smashing against the far wall raced through her mind.
“Get her to the Cross,” James said.
Mr. McKenzie dragged Eliza to her feet.
Then the movie reel inside Eliza’s head came to life, just as it had every other time before. Mr. McKenzie catapulted away from her. Not as vigorously as she’d visualised – he didn’t even reach the wall, falling short by three or four metres.
Surprise marred his expression, and he leapt to his feet. “The ammonia’s aroused her senses.”
“Then force some more drugs down her throat before she’s time to do any more damage.”
Mr. McKenzie grabbed Eliza by the arms and dragged her across the dirt. Eliza screamed, imagining a torch flame hoisting from its iron holder and hurling towards her father.
It did just that. James saw it coming, and ducked. The torch crashed into the wall behind him and landed on the floor, the flame extinguishing in the dirt.
“Hurry, she’s getting stronger,” James said.
Mr. McKenzie slammed Eliza down on to the wooden frame and pinned her. Eliza writhed beneath his body weight, then visualised the whip wrapping his neck and tightening until every blood vessel in his face burst. The whip floated from the floor as if on invisible wires. It coiled Mr. McKenzie’s neck, who promptly released Eliza and tried to loosen it.
“Don’t release her,” James said. “Hold her.”
Mr. McKenzie grabbed Eliza again. His face reddened and his eyes bulged. Slight breaths wheezed from his throat as the whip continued to strangle him, but he didn’t release his hold on her. James stepped into view, the water bottle in his hand. Eliza glanced around, looking for anything to knock him off
balance, but he already had his hand clenched around her jaw. She tried to shake free, but his grip only tightened, and she felt the open bottle forced between her lips. Water swirled across her tongue and around her mouth, but as quickly as it entered, she spat it out, spraying her father’s face. His nostrils flared, and he tightened his grip, pressing his fingers into the hollows of her cheeks. Her lips parted, and more water sloshed into her mouth, this time slipping straight to the back of her throat. Eliza gagged and tried to straighten her head, but her father held on even tighter. More water entered, and then the bottle disappeared and her father’s empty hand pressed down and covered her mouth. Mr. McKenzie’s grip loosened, and Eliza broke free, clawing at her father’s fingers. Water filled her mouth, and she struggled to keep it from slipping down her throat. She reached out and scratched at her father’s face, her nails drawing blood. But her father fought her attack and pinched her nostrils shut.
“Now swallow before I’m really forced to hurt you.” He pressed her lips harder together.
Eliza couldn’t breathe. She gagged and reached out again, pressing against her father’s chest, trying to push him away from her.
A crooked smile curled the corners of James’ mouth. “You stupid girl. Just swallow before you pass out.”
Liquid filled Eliza’s throat. Instinctively, she coughed as her body tried to reject it. No air could escape her mouth, and the water at last slipped from her oesophagus down into her stomach. Her choking intensified. She saw the whip fall from around Mr. McKenzie’s throat and heard him gasp new air into his lungs. Her vision blurred, and images swayed before her eyes as the drugs took effect. Her hands flopped beside her, too heavy to lift again, and she knew she’d blown her last chance to escape.
“Stretch her out. I’ve wasted enough time,” James said, standing.
Mr. McKenzie extended Eliza’s right arm across the length of timber.
“Now, hold her still.” James knelt beside his daughter, placed a nail against her skin, and raised a mallet above his head.
“Why?” The word whispered past Eliza’s lips.
“Because it’s both our destinies.” And James brought the hammer down, impaling the nail into her wrist.
Eliza screamed, her torso arching from the wood. James whacked the nail again and again, and Eliza’s body contorted with each agonising scream until nausea blocked her airway.
“Get her other wrist,” James said, stepping over her and kneeling beside her other hand.
Eliza curled away, but Mr. McKenzie extended her left arm, stretching her upper body across the top of the Cross.
“No more,” Eliza begged.
James’ eyes widened with sadistic pleasure, and he brought the mallet down upon the second nail. Eliza’s body jerked and convulsed, and she cried out for mercy.
“She’s gonna bite her tongue off,” Mr. McKenzie said.
James wasn’t listening. He banged the nail again, ramming it down into the wood.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Billy whacked the steering wheel.
Thanks to the Shadow he was shirtless, freezing, and not one icon on the dash illuminated as to why the hybrid refused to start. He pumped the accelerator a couple more times, and turned the key. The full beam activated, and the tiny engine roared to life. Billy relaxed back in the car, allowing himself two seconds to rejoice in this break of luck. In the rear-view mirror, the brake lights illuminated the darkness.
“You should never have stopped the bloody car in the first place,” Roman said.
“Fuck you.” Billy pushed the gear stick into first, lifted his foot from the brake, and punched the accelerator. The little yellow car shot forward, four thousand rev’s rumbling through the engine before he slammed the gear stick down into second.
“What the...?” Billy eased his foot from the accelerator.
In the light of the full beam, a strange mist swept across the road ahead of him. Billy leaned forward, his chin brushing the top of the steering wheel, and wiped the windshield.
“It’s outside,” Roman said, also wiping his window.
The hybrid continued forward, although at a much slower pace, and the mist engulfed the car like a cloud, tiny particles of grit hitting the windows. Billy wound down the window a couple of inches, and a shower of sand rushed in. He spat the grit from his mouth and fumbled to reclose the window.
“Shit. Davis must have already started the ceremony.”
Billy glanced at Roman. “You mean he’s started to kill Eliza?”
A figure ran into view, and Billy slammed on the brakes. The wheels locked. The car skidded into the person, knocking him into the air like a bowling pin. The car continued on several feet before it finally stopped, and the engine stalled.
Billy gripped the steering wheel. His body shook, and for several seconds he found himself incapable of reacting. He repositioned the rear-view mirror. The body lay in the middle of the road behind him, face down and unmoving.
“Shit.” Billy raced through his options. He couldn’t radio for help because the police station had been taken over by zombies.
He reached for the door handle but Roman pulled it shut. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’ve just hit someone.”
“You’ve just hit someone who’s already dead.”
Billy checked his rear-view mirror. The body still wasn’t moving.
“You open that door and you’re going to bring a shit-storm down on us.”
Billy looked at him. “What if he isn’t dead?”
“And what about your sister? You get out of this car and I guarantee she will be.”
Roman was right. Billy knew it. He turned the key. The car groaned.
Shapes began to materialise from the sandstorm, arms outstretched and heading straight towards the moan of the hybrid engine.
“I’d get this thing started if I were you,” Roman said.
Hordes of zombies emerged into view, way more than had been at the police station, with more gathering by the second.
“Hurry up.”
A zombie, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, climbed onto the hybrid’s bonnet. A child appeared at the back of the car and thumped the window with slow, clumsy punches. A woman dressed in a blue baby-doll nightdress slobbered across the passenger’s window. Roman responded by winding it down and allowing the woman to lean inside.
“Are you insane?” Billy turned the key again.
“Relax.” Roman grabbed the woman’s hair and, holding her head steady, wound the window tight. The glass inched upwards into her neck, and a black substance dripped from her throat. The zombie gurgled a cry, but one last crank of the handle and the woman’s head popped free. Roman lifted her head out of his lap, and shook the sand from her hair.
“What are you doing?” Billy said. “Get rid of it.”
They heard glass smashing behind them, and Billy turned in his seat to see the young child climb in through the back window. Blonde ringlets bounced around her face, and navy blue ribbons decorated her pink lace dress. She looked almost angelic.
Roman threw the severed head behind him and knocked the little girl clean out of the car.
This shit can’t be real. Billy turned the key. The engine sparked to life, and he whacked the gearstick into first. Through the sandstorm, in the glow of taillights, Billy watched the little child roll across the tarmac and disappear into the darkness.
A smug smile creased the corners of Roman’s mouth. “Drive through them.”
Billy punched his foot down on the accelerator and sped forward into the crowd of zombies. Bodies bounced across the hybrid’s bonnet, face after face hitting the windscreen, some women, some men, and others whose gender were totally indecipherable. One – a man wearing paint-covered boots and grubby clothes – held tight to the wipers. His lips curled open, saliva dripping over plaque-covered teeth. Billy swerved the car across the road, trying to shake him off, but the man cl
ung tight, his face pressed against the glass, which only emphasised the light-blue veins beneath his skin. The engine screamed for second gear, but Billy ignored it. He flicked a button, and the wipers swished across the window, skimming the man’s nose repeatedly until he slipped from the bonnet and rolled onto the tarmac. Only then did Billy manoeuvre the gear stick into third, bypassing second altogether, and give a sideways glance towards Roman.
“Okay. I’m impressed.”
“Damn right you’re impressed. Fucking Zombies.”
“They’re not zombies. They are just the undead.”
“Whatever.” Billy rotated the steering wheel left, and the car swerved into a lane too narrow for two-way traffic.
“Where’re you going?” Roman secured his seatbelt.
“You want Eliza, right?”
“I thought you didn’t know where she was.”
“I don’t.” Billy pushed the gear stick into fourth. “But she isn’t at the police station and she isn’t with you.”
“So?”
Car tyres squealed as Billy rounded a corner. “So, we’re going to Fowey.”
“You think she’s at your father’s house?”
“It’s the only other place I can think of.” Billy whacked the gear into fifth.
“Your father isn’t even in the country.”
“Which is perfect for Davis.”
Roman leaned on the dash. “Then you’re going the wrong way. The ferry’s quicker.”
“Even if this was a normal functioning night, the ferry wouldn’t be running at this hour.”
“Where’s the river’s narrowest point?”
Billy half laughed. “Seriously? You wanna swim to Fowey?”
Irritation clouded Roman’s eyes, and he turned his attention back towards the road. “I thought you wanted to save your sister.”
“And you think swimming the river will help do that? You’re out of your mind.”
He heard Roman sigh, and waited for an answer. It never came.
The Sacrifice Page 24