The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  She let it go. It was all too much to take in and she needed to get back to the surgery, start tidying up before she went to the airport and met Mr McCloud. “Have you the time?”

  He told her, then gently laid his hand on her arm. “Jenny. I'm sorry about all of this. I had to make it look convincing, especially when you asked for Haslam to come and represent you.”

  “I didn't know anyone else.” She looked at him, pleadingly. “You do believe me, don't you?”

  “I do now, yes.” He smiled. “Just, you know, take care of yourself. Phone me if you need anything, or if you have any more wild ideas about going up against the Burks.”

  “If I had my mobile, I would. They took it, and my watch.” Her eyes grew moist, “And my dog.”

  The detective gripped her arm. “It'll be all right. I promise.”

  But promises weren't going to get the surgery sorted any more quickly. Fortunately, it was just a short walk from the police station to the rescue centre. It was cold and unfriendly when she walked across the courtyard. It seemed as if she hadn't been there for days, and there was an abandoned feel about the place. She quickly checked the dogs and gave them enormous helpings of food to try and cheer them up. She promised herself that she would take them out for a prolonged walk later. A quick call to the garage to arrange for the van to have two new tyres followed and then, with a heavy heart, she crossed over to the surgery, dreading what she now had to do.

  She'd left the surgery in a terrible mess, not thinking for one moment that she would be away for so long. Images of the devastation burned behind her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, stepped inside and gaped.

  The surgery was completely tidy, everything put back in its proper place.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They went through the morning's business with their usual efficiency. Mr McCloud didn't ask Jenny very much about what had been happening with the Burks since his last visit. Indeed, he seemed totally occupied with the day's normal business. Dogs, cats, rabbits and birds in the morning, then a brief visit to one of the farms in the afternoon. Just before he was due to leave for the airport, he finally asked Jenny if she had learned anything about the creature she had been looking after. “I see it's gone,” he said, nodding towards the empty holding cage.

  “Yes,” she said, biting down on a digestive biscuit, trying not to get too embroiled in an explanation regarding the creature's disappearance.

  “And you say someone from the Natural history Museum is coming over to have a look at it…” He was frowning deeply.

  “Yes.” She took a sip of her tea.

  “But-er-it's not here. Jenny, where has it gone?”

  She shrugged, “I don't know.”

  “You don't – Jen, don't you think you should contact the museum and tell them, before they send someone over here on a wild-goose chase?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Is there something wrong? You don't seem yourself. A bit vague.”

  “No, I'm fine. Honestly.”

  “As long as you're sure…”

  “I am.”

  He carefully placed his cup on its saucer and stood up. “Well, best be off. It was a good morning, you did really well. I've been thinking, I suggest we look into some more training for you. I've always had high hopes for you, you know.”

  She nodded, wanting so much to tell him everything that had been going on, but now that the detective had taken her into his confidence, she didn't feel that she should. “I'd like that.” She gave him a smile of reassurance then, without any further words, she drove Mr McCloud to the airport.

  Back at the flat she quickly got herself ready. It was still light and would remain so for a few more hours yet, if she hurried. She'd made her mind up almost as soon as she'd returned from the police station. In fact, if she were completely honest, she had very little choice in the matter. She gave herself up to the inevitability of it all, knowing she was going to go back to that tunnel. It was that simple.

  It was damper and colder than she remembered and the light from the torch did little to alleviate the feeling of dread that settled around her with every step closer to the hatchway. She'd armed herself with the appropriate tools – oil, chisel, hammer. But when she finally stood over it, staring down at the rusted handle, her confidence seeped away. Her hands were shaking as she got down and began to pick away at the rust. What was she doing, did she know? And what was down there, waiting for her? There were no groaning voices this time, so what was it that was driving her on? Jenny couldn't explain it, and was never going to

  be able to. It was as if control was no longer hers, all decisions made by someone – or something else.

  The minutes crawled by as she fought relentlessly against the rust, drenching it in oil, working away at the handle, trying to prize it free from the years and years of corrosive sea-air that had welded it firmly shut.

  Her hands, red raw, ached with little splinters of rusted metal embedded in her skin. She looked forward to a long, hot soak in her bath when she finally made it back home. If she ever did.

  Pressing hard to dislodge a large knuckle of rusted metal, when she jabbed forward, the chisel slipped, projecting her forward to smack her chin against the hard ground adjacent to the hatch. She hissed with the pain, sat back, and pressed the back of her hand against the graze. When she took her hand away, there was blood.

  But there was something else. Something which made her forget all about the pain in her chin. The handle was free.

  With a little whoop of triumph, she put down her tools and, gripping the handle, twisted it with both hands. It moved, slightly at first but then, with more pressure, it turned completely, the lock drawing back with a satisfying clunk.

  Holding onto the handle, feet astride the metal entrance, back muscles straining, the door inched open. Neck muscles straining, she gritted her teeth and continued to pull the heavy door back, sheer determination driving her on. She'd never been part of a tug-of-war team, but if anything was going to prepare her for it then this was it.

  The door passed the point of no return, its own weight helping it continue on its way, and it hit the ground with a mighty clang that echoed throughout the dark, lonely tunnel. It was open, the blackness from below searching out, urging her to enter. Standing, mouth open, gulping in the stale, fetid air, Jenny resisted plunging into the abyss. The stench of old, rotted fish invaded her nostrils and she stepped away, stomach heaving. Biting down the nausea, she picked up the torch and trained the beam into the blackness.

  The single beam of light pierced the inky depths, but she couldn't make details out. A large void, a room or, perhaps, a storage area yawned black beneath her. An iron ladder disappeared into the void and she tentatively tested it with one hand whilst keeping her torch trained on the blackness with the other. Satisfied it was secure, she took a deep breath and began the descent.

  She took her time, careful not to slip and fall. Each step rang out loud and she paused every now and then to steady herself. When, at last, she reached the ground, she took a few deep breaths, wondering if all of this was going to be a complete waste of time. Carefully she trained the torch beam ahead, the spot of light picking out the details of a wall, the plaster flaked away, steel reinforcing rods jutting out dangerously, red with rust. Arcing the light to her right, she made out the shapes of old metal filing cabinets, chairs, an upturned table, and a body.

  Jenny a shriek, instinctively throwing up her hands in shock. The torch clattered to the ground and she stood, frozen to the spot, fear causing her muscles to fuse, useless.

  The torch beam continued to streak ahead, revealing the blackened husk of a human being slumped in the corner, back against the wall, legs splayed out, head hanging down, chin on the chest.

  The silence eked out from the walls, the only sound the wheezing rush of her laboured breathing, fast and harsh. Repulsed yet fascinated in equal measure, unable to tear her eyes from the corpse, she bent down and retrieved th
e torch. Taking two more steps forward, the corpse came into finer focus. Its hair was short, closely cropped, the clothing like a suit of pyjamas, or overalls, baggy and shapeless, as well as sexless. There was no way of knowing how long it remained hidden down in this dreadful place, nor indeed how it had died – would it be from thirst, or horror?

  Jenny leaned forward, staring more closely at its stricken face.

  And then, it moved…

  Chapter Eighteen

  The walls pressed in, crushing her, temples squeezed, throat constricted, brain and eyes throbbing. She felt she was drowning, the air thick, making it difficult to breathe. Clamping her hands against the sides of her head, she fell to her knees, a dead weight, heavy, no control. This couldn't be real; she must have fallen into a dream…or a nightmare.

  The body shuddered, its head coming up, rotating, eyes like beacons, searching. Turning its head to Jenny, its mouth dropped open, almost as if it too were in shock before it began to wail, a low, mournful sound at first, rising slowly in tempo and pitch, until it was a hellish, prolonged shriek, filling the room. Jenny buried her head in her knees, whimpering like a child, begging it to stop, to release her from this hell.

  Then, without warning, it did stop.

  The unearthly stillness throbbed. She dare not look up, for to meet those eyes again, those glass marble eyes, black and lifeless, would fill her with such horror she felt she might lose her mind. So she waited, the only sound her breathing, her only company the beat of her heart.

  As the seconds ticked by, with no further screams or groans, she thought perhaps she had imagined it all, the light and shadows playing tricks. Exhaustion, fear, combining to cause horrible, vivid hallucinations. That had to be it, she convinced herself and with painful slowness, she brought her body upright and opened her eyes.

  Rigid with terror, she gazed at the truth before her.

  It was real.

  The body.

  It sat there, head tilted back, lifeless eyes staring straight at her. But the mouth remained closed and there was no more screaming.

  Mouth open, chest heaving, she struggled to settle her nerves, fighting back the urge to run. With the corpse remaining still, she finally climbed to her feet, and trained the torch slowly around the rest of the room, gripping it with both hands to lessen the shaking.

  She saw a heap of bodies in the far corner, at least six, piled up on top of each other, as if they had died trying to climb over one another to escape.

  But escape from what?

  She turned the torch to the ceiling, the only thing other than the hatch, an old, useless fan. With the hatch sealed up, these people had died in their desperation to get out, all hope obliterated by the enormity of the knowledge they were trapped forever in that fearful place.

  In the opposite corner, two more twisted bodies lay sprawled out on the floor in grotesque shapes, mouths open at the moment of death, trying vainly to take in one more precious breath. Suffocation. That was how these people had died. Locked inside this tomb, forgotten. Was this what the creature had meant when it told her about secrets? This awful tragedy, remaining undisclosed for…how long? Years? And why would the creature tell her, for what purpose, and how was everything linked to the Burks and their disgusting crimes?

  She moved the beam slowly around, past the opposite corner, past the bodies on the floor, to another cabinet, a large chest and then to a group of sketches, or drawings, yellowed and dog-eared but still clear, pinned to the wall. Jenny took a breath and stepped closer, to peer at the images.

  They showed a camp, or a prison. Barbed wire fences, guard posts, soldiers with German helmets from the Second World War. She knew enough history to identify them. And prisoners, or could they be inmates. They all wore similar clothing. Thick, coarse, striped pyjamas. Identical to the ones the bodies wore.

  With a gasp, she realised what it all meant. The tears tumbled down her cheeks unchecked. They were inmates, concentration camp inmates. And these bodies…Very slowly she turned the torchlight to them, and studied them more closely, noting they were indeed clad in those distinctive pyjama like overalls. Just as in the drawings. The uniform of the damned.

  “Jenny? Jenny, are you there?”

  She swung around, not daring to breathe, snapping off the beam. The voice seemed to have come from the open hatchway, but whose voice she couldn't be sure. A man's, but too distant to be recognisable. She waited, then a thin torch light drizzled through the gloom and a person descended the ladders.

  “Jenny, thank God, I thought I'd never find you.”

  She flicked on her torch and gaped, not believing her eyes. It was the young policeman who had taken her back to the station for questioning. But he wasn't alone. Someone else was coming down the ladder. And it wasn't a man this time.

  It was Mrs Burks.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The glint in the woman's eye was clear enough for Jenny to see. Such a look of hatred. As the policeman kept his torch centred on Jenny's face, Burks loomed forward, taking Jenny by the throat and shaking her, “You interfering little wretch. Couldn't keep your nose out, could you.”

  She hit Jenny, hard across the face, dropping her to her knees, the torch falling to the ground, to roll over into the corner, coming to rest against the outstretched arms of one of the corpses.

  Whimpering, Jenny put out her hands, trying to deflect anymore blows, but Burks picked her up, her strength frightening, and ran with her across the room, slamming her against the far wall, pressing her face up close to the young veterinary nurse. “What did you do to my boys?”

  Blinking through the pain, Jenny looked about her frantically, “I don't know what happened to them.”

  “Liar!” Burks yanked Jenny forward and threw her over an outstretched foot, sending her flying across the floor. She landed heavily, face down, hitting the ground with a slap. Despite the gloom, Jenny saw the drops of blood dripping to the ground and she cried out in terror. Was this it, the end of her life, murdered by this horrible woman, left in this dreadful place, never to be found.

  “Leave her alone,” said the policeman, sounding bored. “We haven't got time for this – we need to start taking things out. We can leave her in here.” He bent down and turned Jenny over with surprising gentleness. “You know, it's thanks to you that we're here.” Jenny frowned, looking up at him, not understanding. He smiled the smile one might use to reassure a small, frightened child. “You see, Jen, we've been looking for this place for a long, long time. We knew it was somewhere, we found some papers you see. Telling us all about this guy,” he pointed towards the wall and the sketches. Burks was carefully taking them down, treating them with almost reverential care. “They were drawn by a certain Manuel Sanjurjo-Ramos. Heard of him? No, I didn't think so. He's Spanish, was Spanish. Very popular before the War, before the Spanish Civil War. But then he fought against Franco and he sort of went out of favour. Ended up here, as a prisoner. He still carried on with his drawing though. Worth a fortune they are, an absolute fortune.”

  Jenny sat up, pressing her fingers across the bridge of her nose, trying to stop the bleeding. “I…I don't understand why you…What have you got to do with any of this?”

  His smile broadened, “I'm the third son, Jen. This is my mum.”

  Burks came over, the drawings in her eager hands. “I don't know why you're being so nice to her – she's done away with your brothers.”

  “No, I don't think so, Ma. How could she? No, they'll turn up – probably drunk somewhere.”

  Jenny knew how untrue that statement was, but she didn't say anything, keeping her eyes away from their faces, breathing through her mouth, watching the blood spot on the ground.

  “We're going to go now, Jen. I'd try and save your torch as best you can – it'll be awfully dark in here when we close up the hatch.”

  The dreadful reality of what was about to happen gripped her, and her hands flew at the man's jacket, pulling him down. She was close to losing control, an
d her voice was breaking as she screamed, “Please, you can't just leave me here. Please, don't do it, I'm begging you.”

  He stepped back, pushing her away from him. “Oh dear, she's getting upset. Don't be silly, Jen. Too much shouting and screaming will use up all the air.”

  “Come on,” said Burks, ignoring Jenny huddled in a heap on the ground, moaning like a wounded animal. She took hold of her son's arm and pulled him around to face the ladder.

  But their way was blocked.

  Their screams were far more terrible than anything Jenny had uttered. Whereas Jenny felt overcome with the fear of what fellow human beings might do, what the Burks now faced was something far beyond anything that they had ever imagined, and far beyond anything that lived in this world.

  Facing them, preventing them from leaving, were the dead. The bodies of those poor unfortunates now returned, standing there silent and grotesque, lifeless empty husks regenerated and returned to reap their revenge.

  Burks shrieked, high-pitched, tried to run away, but only succeeded in colliding with another group of re-animated corpses. They pawed at her, took hold of her arms, dragged her down to the ground where they fell over her as she writhed and kicked, her yells muffled by the press of bodies.

  Dragging herself across the floor, eyes wild with disbelief, she watched as the policeman, arms flaying, was overcome by at least five of the corpses. They wrestled with him, toothless mouths opening impossibly wide, sinking blue, cold lips against his throat, gums fetid and rank still able to pierce the flesh, ripping out sinew and vein, great gouts of blood spurting outwards. Screaming, the man fought to break free, legs threshing, arms whipping, but all to no avail. They had him in their grip and they would not let go. In a heap, the group fell to the ground and held him there whilst his blood leaked out of the wounds and pooled around him like a great, red blotch of ink. So red, so vibrant, so precious. His life, seeping out into the debris.