by Robin Jarvis
Rising, he was about to give Martin a parting snarl when a military ambulance braked at the end of the corridor and Doctor Choe stepped out, yapping instructions and slapping the vehicle’s side. Two soldiers jumped from the back and together they hauled down a stretcher bearing the body of Marshal Tark Hyun-ki.
The children had crowded out of the refectory to watch Lee and Martin’s fight and the few in the dorms had come to their doors to do the same. Now they watched in silence as the Shark was carried past. A blanket had been thrown over him. Doctor Choe guided the bearers down the corridor. They passed the guard stationed beyond Lee’s room and disappeared round the corner, into the prohibited area. When they had gone, the teenagers noticed a trail of blood dotting the concrete floor.
They stared at it in thoughtful silence. Lee was right: the power of the book had infiltrated the base and the clock was ticking. They weren’t safe here any longer.
“Never saw Doctor Frankensoo so stoked,” Lee observed dryly. “Like she got a whole new set of sticky toys to play with.”
“I wonder who the Shark thought he was in Mooncaster,” Spencer mused aloud.
“Hope it was the dung guy,” Lee said. “Nobody’s gonna waste no tears over him. That piece of crud wanted to turn me into a suicide bomber. Sizzle in Hell, you sorry-assed douche.”
The others began filing back into the refectory and the girls from the dorms hurried across to join them to find out what had been going on. Maggie went in search of a mop and bucket.
“So here it is, merry Christmas,” she muttered under her breath with heavy sarcasm. “Everybody’s having fun. Look to the future now, it’s only just begun… not.”
Little Nabi wanted to take a closer look at the blood, but Gerald led her back inside instead. There was something he wanted to ask her. Doctor Choe had just used the same word he had noted earlier in the meeting.
“Nabi,” he began with a friendly, coaxing smile.
“Itsy bitsy!” she demanded, pouting because he had denied her young bloodlust. For a little girl whose name meant ‘butterfly’ she took great delight in the gruesome.
“Later,” he promised. “I want to know, what does pookum mean?”
“Itsy bitsy!” she said, stubbornly folding her arms and glowering.
The old man realised he’d get nothing out of her until he complied. It was one of the nursery rhymes he had taught her. She enjoyed it because there were actions. She loved making spider legs with her fingers and miming raindrops and sunshine. Gerald spoke the rhyme with her and then she insisted he do it a second time.
“She’s got you well trained,” Spencer commented.
“Now pookum,” Gerald asked her again. “What does it mean?”
The six-year-old laughed and shook her head. “Nabi no no,” she gurgled.
“Maybe you’re not pronouncing it right,” Spencer suggested.
Gerald tried again, using the same inflection he had heard in the meeting earlier and just now in the corridor. Nabi put her head to one side attentively, but smiled ever wider.
“No!” she declared.
“Never mind,” Gerald sighed. “You’re probably too young to know anyway.”
“What do you think it means?” Spencer asked.
The man shrugged. “Probably just me fretting over nothing as usual. Evelyn’s always telling me—” He broke off, startled at himself. He tried not to talk about ‘Evelyn’, having suppressed her since leaving Felixstowe with Martin a year ago. But her name had been on his lips more and more recently. It was as if she refused to be forgotten. That was so like her.
Spencer noticed Gerald was disconcerted, but he didn’t like to pry. He fiddled with some snippets of olive-coloured cloth lying on the table and waited. He was slightly in awe of Gerald, ever since he discovered the old man had once worked with the legendary John Wayne on a movie, in London, back in 1975. Gerald’s part only amounted to one line that had been cut from the final edit, but he had still shared the screen for a few seconds with ‘the Duke’ and that elevated him in Spencer’s eyes to some stratospheric level way above ‘cool’.
Nabi gave a small exclamation of understanding and pulled at Gerald’s arm enthusiastically.
“Boo gum!” she cried. “Boo gum!”
Grabbing the discarded stuffed bear, she laid it on its back with its legs in the air. Then, using the scissors, she mimed cutting it open.
“Boo gum!” she said gleefully, her eyes vanishing in her expansive grin.
“What was that?” Spencer asked, mystified.
“I think she’s just demonstrated an autopsy,” Gerald murmured faintly.
“Oh, well, that makes sense,” the boy said, not sure why the old man looked so afraid all of a sudden. “That’s what Choe’s going to do to the Shark, isn’t it? Although I’d have thought cause of death was pretty obvious, what with it happening right in front of you all.”
The old man made no response. He didn’t want to tell Spencer the doctor had used that word long before the Marshal had been shot. A ghastly chill crept along his spine and he shivered.
“I need to talk to Martin,” he said quickly. “We can’t stay here.”
Doctor Choe Soo-jin dismissed the stretcher-bearers and her technicians from the laboratory, which also served as an operating theatre, and put on a plastic apron.
The lab, like much of this base, wasn’t furnished with the most up-to-date equipment, but what it had still did the job efficiently. It was vaguely reminiscent of an old-fashioned, large and sinister kitchen and smelled sharply of antiseptic. Yellow tiles covered the walls, one of which was taken up by four great ceramic sinks. A blood analyser that looked more like a bulky photocopier stood in one corner and a cream-coloured refrigerator, showing signs of rust, occupied another. Cylinders of gas stood in a row like the artillery shells in the munitions section of the base. Electrophoresis apparatus, microscope, centrifuge, organ bath, steriliser and other instruments were stored neatly along two Formica counters, as if they were food appliances. Then there were metal trays containing surgical saws, serrated knives and scalpels, drill bits, retractors, clamps and rasps. Beneath the counters were built-in cupboards that housed the beakers, test tubes, flasks and Petri dishes. The glass-fronted cabinets fixed to the walls contained drugs, medicines and chemicals that were kept under lock and key.
Two stainless-steel examination tables, with leather restraints, were in the centre of the room. The body of Marshal Tark Hyun-ki occupied one of them; a cardboard box containing the remains of the spider creature he had shot near the demilitarised zone was on the other.
The doctor hooked a paper mask over her nose, mouth and ears. Her excitement caused her hands to tremble slightly. At last she would have a subject to study, in forensic detail. She needed an affected specimen such as this and she had never liked the man. He had been more than vocal in his scepticism of her competence and had insulted her more times than she cared to remember. Medicine was not considered a suitable occupation for women and she had worked and studied three times as hard as any man to get to where she was.
But there was no sense of triumph or acrimony involved as she looked forward to dissecting him. Her scientific hunger pushed any personal feeling aside. The Marshal was merely a resource now, an object to document and label. She was eager only to discover answers to this mystery. The power of that book simply had to change the biology. She had a theory about the hypothalamus that she was keen to explore, and other investigations would prove invaluable. She was glad also that the restriction had been lifted and she would presently be able to test those same theories on the English refugees.
Moving to the table, she lifted the blanket and extreme disappointment registered in her eyes. As a result of the gunshot wounds, there wasn’t a hypothalamus to examine. Letting the blanket fall once more, she looked up and her glance rested upon the cardboard box on the other table. Curiosity dispelled her frustration. The box had arrived in her absence and she approached it with interest
.
A copy of the Newspaper of the Workers, Rodong Sinmun, covered the dead creature inside. Cautiously, Doctor Choe Soo-jin removed the paper and peered down.
Her surgical mask distorted as she inhaled sharply. The thing was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was the size of a small terrier and its eight spidery legs were wrapped in a tangle round a body covered in matted black fur. The repulsive face with its wide mouth, crammed full of sharp fangs, was upturned and the round, glassy eyes seemed to be staring straight at her. She couldn’t help shuddering and she wondered how it was possible – how could this have come from a book of children’s make-believe?
Her thoughts returned to the meeting and those introductory words the Marshal had read out. She recalled that they had sounded pleasant at the time. What was there to fear in them? A wide sea, dappled with silvery light, sparkled in her thoughts, giving way to a green land of thirteen rolling hills and, in the central plain, rising over a quiet, sleepy village, the turrets and high walls of a beautiful white castle.
Inside the vault, in the room adjacent to the lab, the wand of Malinda began to glimmer once more.
The doctor shook herself and her training regained control. She would record everything: tissue samples, blood, musculature, skeleton. This was a totally new species. A series of photographs would have to be taken before any examination could take place, however, and there simply wasn’t time for that at the moment.
Lifting the box and shying away from the pungent odour rising from the Doggy-Long-Legs within, she carried it to the fridge and deposited it inside. She would attend to this monster later. But first she had other experiments to conduct.
Pulling the mask under her chin, she went to the door and spoke to the guards outside.
“Bring one of the Western children,” she commanded, “immediately!”
The guards bowed smartly and hurried up the corridor.
Doctor Choe returned to the metal trays and began selecting the knives she would need, a razor to shave the child’s head – and a surgical saw.
5
GERALD HAD HASTENED out on to the terrace to find Martin. The thick fog had lifted a little and the bluish-grey blur of distant peaks could be glimpsed through the shifting vapour. Martin wasn’t wearing a coat. He’d been too wrapped up in his angry thoughts to feel the cold, but now it was beginning to bite. The dense mist drank up the noises of the base, distant voices sounded small and lonely and a truck departing down the rough mountain road was remote and strange. He was astonished to hear a helicopter landing on one of the pads. Even that sounded weirdly unreal and he found himself thinking it was a cretinous risk to fly in this sort of weather.
Gerald hurried past the female guard who was watching at the entrance and took his friend by the arm.
“We have to get out of here,” he told him urgently.
Martin looked at him in astonishment. “What’s happened now?” he asked.
“I know what that doctor is planning. She’s been impatient to do it since we arrived, the sadistic maniac.”
“Slow down. What are you on about?”
“Her argument with the Chief of the General Staff earlier: I understand what got her so irate. She’s done all the tests she can on us and found nothing.”
“So? We knew she wouldn’t find anything.”
“Exactly! Now she wants to take it further. She wants to have a go at some post-mortems. She wants to cut us up, to prove there’s a medical reason for the book not working on us. That’s what the restriction was: they wouldn’t let her.”
Martin almost laughed. “You’re imagining it. Look, it’s been a really bad day; we’re both strung out.”
“Martin! I’m serious. Don’t let your pig-headedness lead you into making another fatal mistake. Look what happened the last time. If you’d have believed Paul when he came to you, right at the beginning… well, that’s in the past, no use dredging it up again. What’s vital right now is we need to get out and quick, before that doctor gets all Sweeney Todd on us with her snickersnee. How long do you think the restriction is going to last after what happened to the Shark today? Those Generals have finally witnessed what that book can do, at close range, and they won’t want to be next. If they can turn on their own, like they did with that poor aide, they’re not going to give us a second’s thought.”
The other man began to listen. Gerald wasn’t one to panic unnecessarily. Throughout all of this he had been the solid foundation that Martin depended on, the one who had stopped him giving in to black despair, time and again, and kept him fighting. If Gerald Benning suspected something then, for him, that was as good as proof. He didn’t question his assessment of their situation again.
“OK…” Martin said. “But you’re forgetting two important things. There’s no way out of here. Even if there was, there’s nowhere to run to.”
“We’ll worry about that second little detail later,” the old man told him, brushing it aside as if it didn’t matter. “Our first priority is escape. I suggest we get the kids out here on the terrace and scramble down the mountain. It’s not as ludicrous as it sounds; it isn’t quite as steep over at the far end there. We might be able to make it to the valley and the shelter of the trees. It’s a bit too like The Inn of the Sixth Happiness for my liking, but there’s no other option.”
Martin spluttered. “What? I thought you meant steal a truck and smash our way out the main entrance. We’ll break our necks climbing down there; not only that, but there’s guards with machine guns stationed all round.”
“And in this fog they couldn’t see the cast of Show Boat promenading underneath their sentry posts. But it’s starting to thin so we don’t have much time.”
“Wait, you mean right now, this minute?”
“Absolutely. These military types aren’t going to mess about any longer. They’ll be more desperate to find this mythical vaccine than ever – and Lee was right: the power of the book has arrived. This place is done for. We’ve seen it time and again everywhere we’ve been. You know how fast it takes over.”
“But how? I mean… what about the guards here in the medical centre? We can’t get past them. They’re not going to let us bring the kids outside en masse. They’ll know we’re up to something.”
Gerald’s jaw tightened. “We could if we were armed, Martin,” he said bluntly. “They won’t be expecting that; we’d take them by surprise.”
“What? Guns! Are you… how are we going to get hold of them?”
“Quite easily. I’ve been thinking it might come to something like this for a long while. I know just where we can lay our hands on four rifles. We’re going to need weapons once we leave here anyway; there’s no knowing what we’ll encounter out there.”
“God, Gerald,” Martin breathed. “You’d have to be prepared to use them. Actually shoot someone.”
“I know. But the alternative is too horrendous to think about. In difficult times there are no easy choices. It’s them or the children, Martin.”
“They’re not kids any more, not after everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve seen. But yes… you’re right. So where are these rifles? Have you got them stashed away someplace? You’re amazing.”
The old man gave him a grim smile. “No,” he replied. “Four very generous guards are going to give them to us.”
“Sorry?”
“Our young friend Lee’s entourage. We’re going to snaffle their rifles.”
Martin finally understood. “No,” he said firmly. “That’s madness! He’ll never agree for one thing and, even if he did, we can’t trust him. You know what he’s going to do when he gets there!”
“We need those rifles, Martin. This is the only way. Lee is going to have to perform that special hoodoo he does and go into the world of that evil book, taking the souls, or whatever you want to call it, of his guards with him. What’s left behind of them here will fall down in a faint and all we have to do is relieve them of their weapons. It’s so simple, it’
s frightening.”
“No, what’s frightening is what Lee intends to do once he gets there.”
“Let’s deal with one crisis at a time, shall we? What Lee does, or doesn’t do, will be up to him. I don’t believe he’s the vile scum you think he is.”
Martin could feel his temper rising again. “You don’t?” he hissed. “Really? That lout in there – that selfish, idle thug – is going to Mooncaster for one reason only: to do Austerly Fellows’ dirty work. He’s the one person in all creation with the power to kill the character called the Bad Shepherd who, according to Maggie and Spencer, is some warped manifestation of none other than Jesus flaming Christ! And you don’t think that lad is scum? He’s worse than that; he’s itching to be a second bloody Judas!”
“That isn’t the real reason he wants to go, Martin. He’s been torn apart by grief and horror. He wants to be reunited with that lovely girl. So no, I don’t think he’s scum. He’s just a person in pain.”
“Don’t give me that. He’s chucking the whole of humanity over for the sake of a dead chav who, from what I’ve heard, was so dumb she thought Jane Eyre was a cheap airline to Ibiza for hen parties – and that toerag is laughing in our faces about it.”
“Martin!” Gerald snapped angrily. “You disappoint me sometimes, you genuinely do. You can be such an elitist snob! Lee is the way he is because people like you made him that way, long before Jax happened. Outside of his family, Charm was the first person to reach out and love him for who he was – is it any wonder he’s so churned up about her? Neither you nor I met the girl, but she sounds magnificent. I know what’s really biting you; it’s what he said about Carol. I’ve told you before, she can’t help what’s happened to her. She’s a victim.”
“Is she? She knew what the book was capable of, yet she read it deliberately. She wanted to get turned. That’s what I can’t get out of my head and what eats me up inside. She wanted it.”