by Paul Cave
“Jacob’s still nowhere to be seen,” Hutson said, now back at his side.
Ben stepped down from the railings and returned to the searchlight. “Give him time,” he said. He started to drag the light and gyroscope into the centre of the platform. The wheels of the gyroscope squealed in objection as it rolled forwards. Together they delivered the heavy combination over to the railings.
“Here should just about do it,” he said.
The helicopter rotors beat out a tattoo, and Ben and the lieutenant felt the strong push of wind against their backs. They stooped instinctively and shuffled back, waiting until the crate had swung into view. It appeared above their heads like a cage awaiting its prize. Ben stepped closer and communicated to the cockpit with a series of complicated hand gestures. The crate swung slightly to the left before slipping in one graceful motion to the platform. A deafening boom sounded as the heavy wooden box landed on the iron flooring. Ben rushed forwards and quickly unhooked the cantilever from the crate. He slipped the hook free and stepped back. Then, he waved them away from the tower. Black Bird swooped right, quickly disappearing around the other side of the building.
“Help me with this,” he said, once the clatter of rotors had died. She joined him and together they lowered the front of the crate to the floor. Ben returned to the searchlight and began to push it over.
“You get the cables,” he instructed her.
“Right,” she responded, and headed for the pile of coiled wires. She heaved one onto her shoulder and returned to Ben’s side.
“Inside,” he said, with a gesture of his woolly chin.
She climbed in and dropped the cable at the rear.
“Four more to go,” Ben told her as she stepped out. He found himself on the receiving end of a vicious scowl. “Hey, I’m the one who tore his hands to pieces getting them,” he moaned defensively. Hutson stormed off, unwittingly developing Ben’s amazing ability to manipulate the English language into nothing but a tirade of curses and expletives.
***
With a fire-extinguisher in each hand, Jacob fought to keep his balance as he descended the last few steps. Clamped between his teeth, the torchlight bounced and flickered and made phantom shadows dance all around him. He dropped one of the canisters onto the step and then quickly took the other to the landing below. He returned, heaved the large canister up and over his shoulder and then tottered back to the landing. The extinguisher fell against the wall next to three others. It had taken him precious minutes to find the right kind of fire repellent. Most were of the water dispensing type. Just a few had been the powder ones that Jacob required.
His small collection now consisted of four canisters, each having the potential to become a makeshift explosive. He clipped the flashlight onto the rifle barrel. Took a couple of minutes arranging the canisters until he was confident they were all in an adequate line. One or two of the dials indicated low pressure, but they would have to do. Putting distance between him and the canisters, he climbed four levels higher. He took a deep breath, clicked off the flashlight and waited.
Nothing happened for a few minutes.
Then, through the scope, he saw a dark outline take shape. A second appeared and then a third. Before long the entire landing was a mass of dark bodies.
Jacob pulled the trigger. The gunshot sounded like a clap of thunder in such a tightly confined space. A bright line of gunfire cut a pathway four storeys below. In the next instant, the scope turned white as the extinguishers erupted in a blinding flash. All four canisters disintegrated in a shower of deadly shrapnel. Any vampires standing nearby were instantly reduced to nothing more than a frightful memory.
Jacob climbed to his feet. He looked down to find charred bodies strewn about the steps and landings below. Some of the vampires had managed to claw their way higher. Their flight had been halted once the flames had turned their flesh into tight, constricting carapaces. He stuck his head back through the doorway, took a deep breath of clean air and then began to climb the stairs towards the observation deck. As he neared the 86th floor, the sickly, pungent smell began to weaken and only a light haze of smoke lingered.
He reached out to push the door open. A sudden sound came from above. His hand paused an inch away from the door. Something moved above him, just on the outskirts of his peripheral vision. Now would not be a good time to lead the beast or anything else towards his comrades. The Ray of Hope needed to be saved, or all else would fail. He checked the assault rifle. Black soot marked the stock, but otherwise it looked okay. He chambered a round and continued his ascent towards the unknown.
***
The last cable turned out to be the heaviest. Hutson’s back ached and her arms were about ready to give up. Her biceps had contracted into two solid knots. She wrestled with the thick cable for a moment, finally balancing it upright, and then staggered in the direction of the crate, rolling the coiled loom over to Ben.
Unexpectedly, the platform rocked sideways and Hutson fell to her knees. She desperately hung on to the cable, unwilling to lose it, and so finished up with it on top of her. Sprawled on her front, she found that the cable had pinned her legs painfully to the metal walkway.
“Ben,” she called.
The wind stole her voice.
“BEN!”
Hutson tried to kick one of her legs free. But it was trapped underneath the heavy copper wire. She reached behind her and pushed at the cable. It weighed a ton. As she struggled, the platform seemed to vibrate through her body as something pounded against it.
“What the hell?” Hutson muttered to herself.
Two more shockwaves pulsated along the observation deck. She sensed that they had originated from behind. She twisted around as best she could and peered into the darkness. Another tremor – and this time it confirmed the direction. Something was moving in the shadows, and the platform shuddered under its might.
Suddenly, the disturbance revealed itself.
***
Jacob kicked open the door, rolled into the room and found it…
Empty.
For a second, he found himself torn between relief and disappointment. He’d followed a trail of bones to the room, expecting the monster to be in there, but had found only an empty office space. A single desk with no chair or personal items occupied the centre of the room. He turned around and withdrew. Twisting the head of the flashlight, he adjusted the beam of light to a wider arc. The shadows retreated slightly and the corridor stretched out like an endless tunnel. So far, he’d failed to find a room with a single window - this level was as tight as a drum.
He scratched at his head. Which way now? He’d checked nearly all the rooms, left and right, and still nothing. He felt as if the architect had lapsed into some kind of temporary narcosis and had simply forgotten to include the windows. Instead he’d created a labyrinth of tightly enclosed boxes and corridors with no discernable approach. For this reason, Jacob had assumed it would have made a good nest.
He moved to the last door and used the muzzle of the assault rifle to push it open by a crack. The second the door opened he was hit by a putrid surge of decay. He took a deep breath before stepping inside.
The room was deceptively large, much larger than any of the others. In fact, it was almost three times the normal office space. In the centre, cutting its way into the darkness above was a spiral staircase. The stairs looked ancient, a huge brass monstrosity from an age long past. The smell of decay came from something other than that of a decomposing body. The offensive smell came from the four walls. From ceiling to floor, the walls were lined with row upon row and stack upon stack of books: old hardbacks; paperbacks with deep creases or tears along their spines; magazines and periodicals of various sizes; and finally, great tomes of darkly bound journals and yearbooks, which sat purposefully and proudly at the top of the bookracks.
On one side the paper had turned to pulp as foul water dripped from a dark patch on the ceiling, drenching everything underneath with its stagnan
t liquid. Slow, migrating paper lava had forced its way towards the centre of the room, pushing tables and chairs out of its way.
Jacob stepped around the mush. As he did so, a pocket of gas burst open, leaking noxious fumes. The stench made him retch. Holding his breath for a second time, he quickly made his way to the opposite side of the room. There, the air was only slightly more breathable. More books lay scattered about, forming the circular shape of a large bowl.
He’d found the beast’s den, and here were the bones he expected.
They littered the bottom of the makeshift lair. Some looked as if they had been boiled clean, while others had been chewed into short sticks. Yet it was one set of bones in particular that drew the tracker’s attention. They formed a full skeleton, which, apart from one or two small cracks, appeared to be undamaged. The entirety of the thing looked even more morbid than the scattering of white fragments that littered the floor all around him.
What the hell was this?
He stepped closer and began a careful examination. Smooth bone shaped the front of the skull, the brow free of any ridges, and Jacob guessed then that they were the remains of a woman. A skeletal hand rested against the left side of her ribs. Something dull and yellow had slipped from the third finger, and was in danger of falling off completely. Jacob bent to study the ring. It was a plain golden band with no jewel or discernable design. A simple wedding band, he surmised. Why the hell was she so intact in respect to all the other bodies?
“What’s your story, honey?” he whispered under his breath. The skull grinned back at him silently.
With a creak of hollow bones the hand with the ring slipped away from the ribcage. The gold ring bounced and rolled to Jacob’s feet. He looked down and stared at the yellow band. He could just about make out tiny letters that formed an inscription. He reached down and picked it up, then held it to torchlight.
The message read: My dear Marianna, thank you.
Jacob read it again.
What was she being thanked for? He stood there for a moment, silent, trying to think what she could have done. Then he chided himself for his own stupidity. Of course, it was so obvious and simple. She’d married him – whoever he had been. Jacob grinned and for a second he remembered his own wedding day. It had been a beautiful sunny day and he and Hannah had felt like the only couple in the world, deeply in love and excited about spending the rest of their lives together. What a cruel joke fate had played upon them. He turned to the skeleton and nodded sympathetically. Fate had crapped on everyone, and not just him. He bent over and gently replaced the ring back over her finger. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it with the intention of laying it back onto her ribs and over her heart.
He stopped, and the blood in his veins went cold.
A gaping wound had been punched through her ribcage, leaving a huge jagged hole of split bones. The wound looked as if a fist had caused it. And not just an ordinary fist, but a large, powerful one.
“Dear God,” Jacob moaned.
The strangeness of the complete skeleton made immediate sense. This poor soul had been brought here alive and well, to become a… mate.
Oh… shit.
He spun on his heels and looked frantically around. Now, he saw other limbs protruding from under piles of books and paper. He reached the first and dragged the manuscripts away. Another full skeleton, female – and another terrible wound. The right side of her skull was depressed inwards and the eye socket on that side had narrowed into a tight oval shape. Jacob shuddered. The wounds looked as if they had healed to some degree. He moved to the next pile of books and found a third set of bones. This one smiled back at him through a crack of missing teeth. The mandible was split in two, right down the centre. He stood back and the walls of books became a blur of motion as the room spun crazily around him.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
A single word broke free from the recesses of his mind.
It was a name.
And the name was Hutson.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A veil of anger covered Elliot’s features. The cloud of annoyance had taken up permanent residence, and simply refused to dispel, no matter what Squirrel or Alice said. “You should turn back,” Elliot insisted. The mechanic and Alice stood silent. Squirrel kicked the dust at his feet, and Alice stared back defiantly. She couldn’t believe how pigheaded and ungrateful he was being.
“We came to help,” she told him.
“It’s reckless,” he snapped at her. “Not to mention totally stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah.”
“To hell with this,” Alice huffed. “Squirrel, we’re leaving.”
“What?” the mechanic asked.
“We’re leaving right now, before this fool really ticks me off.”
“But what about the fire?” the mechanic asked. The blaze had just about successfully chased away the numbing cold from the room, and for the first time since leaving the underground he could feel the ends of his fingers and toes. He was in no rush to sit in the open truck and endure the snow and wind unless he had to. “I think we should wait, see if the snow stops or the wind drops.”
“I’m not waiting here with him any longer,” Alice grunted.
Elliot watched as she barged past and stomped through the passageway towards the front of the store. He made eye contact with Squirrel and the mechanic shrugged. Damned if he knew what had gotten into her. “Wait here,” Elliot told him. He spun on his heels and chased after her.
Elliot caught up with her as she was pulling open the door to the front of the store. The bell rang out but it sounded little more than a faint chime in comparison to the bellow of the wind.
“Hey, wait!” he called.
She continued outside, ignoring his plea. He chased after her. The second he stepped onto the sidewalk, icy slivers of snow slipped down his collar and in a moment he felt drenched again.
“Alice, come on… wait.”
She stopped and Elliot saw her shoulders tremble. Her golden-blonde locks had already become sodden, sticking to her skin, hiding her face. He took hold of her and forced her to turn. He ran his fingers over her face, clearing her hair away. Two teardrops filled her eyes. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked, his anger forgotten instantly.
“I only wanted to help,” she told him. “Because… I care.”
“I care too. That’s why I’m here. For the good of the underground and Jacob.”
Alice shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t mean them.” She paused for a moment, feeling that her last comment had sounded harsh. “Wait, that came out all wrong. I do care about them, but I’m here because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Alice paused again. She wanted to find the right words and not mess this up. She opened her mouth and explained it as simple and as best she could.
“I love you.”
Her words stole his breath.
“What?” he eventually managed to ask.
She moved closer and took his hands. “I love you, Elliot. I love you. That’s why I had to come, to make sure you were okay.”
“You love me?” Elliot asked, his face battling between happiness and disbelief.
“Yes,” Alice replied, her own face a picture of joy, despite the icy sleet that stung at her cheeks.
His confused emotions eventually faded and joy took its place. “You really love me?” he asked again.
“Yes, you stupid oaf,” she said, and raised his hands to place a kiss against his frozen fingers. He grinned, stupidly, his angular face an expression of delighted disbelief. “I … I never knew,” he stuttered.
She mirrored his features with an awkward grin of her own. “I’ve always felt like this.”
“Really?” he asked, amazed.
“Really.”
“Me too,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really…”
; They stood there, soaking up the icy rain and the sudden revelation of shared emotions. The moment dragged out, both unsure as to what should follow. Alice eventually broke the awkward spell by leaning closer and kissing him gently on the lips. He held her face between his hands and returned the kiss with equal passion. They held on to each other. Elliot pulled away and his face had taken on a more serious look.
“What is it?” Alice asked, scared he’d changed his mind.
“Squirrel, what about Squirrel?”
She looked to the floor, unable to hide her concern.
“How will he take this? He’s pretty keen on you, you know.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I think it’s gonna be okay,” she replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I told him back at the underground, and he still chose to come.”
Elliot remained surprised for a moment. He hadn’t realised how lucky he was to have such good friends, who both were willing to risk their safety for his.
“He cares about you too, you know,” Alice told him.
He nodded. Squirrel had a good heart and took his friendships seriously. He felt a slight pang of guilt for loving Alice, knowing how Squirrel felt, but then he also knew that it would have been impossible to hide his feeling indefinitely.
“I think you should go easy on him,” Alice suggested. “It was my idea to come, and he only followed to make sure I was going to be okay.”
“I guess,” Elliot said.
She squeezed his hands in gratitude, leaned in and kissed him again. “Thanks,” she said, once she’d broken away.
Elliot shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”
“So we’re coming with you all the way?” she asked.
The young tracker held her gaze for a moment and then replied, “No.”
“What?”
“You’re going straight back to the underground,” he declared, with serious conviction.