'There's a place that exists side by side with ours... the ancient Celts called it Tir n'a n'Og—'
'The Otherworld,' Mary breathed.
'The place where the dead go. The Celts' land of their gods. The source of all supernatural influence, of dreams and imagination ...' He was flushed, his breath short. 'It exists. The cure is there.'
'You believe what you were told? You know they don't always say what we think they say.'
'I know,' he snapped irritably. 'But this time I think it's right.'
Mary sat on the sofa and covered her face wearily. The blackness of the depression she'd fought all her life was snapping at her heels. 'What are we supposed to do, then?'
'There are places where one can cross over.'
She looked at him slowly as the implications began to dawn on her.
'Historically, they've always been known as thin places, where, if you know the right way to go about it, you can open doorways. The ancients understood this clearly. It's knowledge that's been lost to us, like so much of importance.' Crowther hauled himself to his feet. 'We can't stay here. Those riders ... they want to stop us.'
'Why? Who are they?'
He shrugged, gave his overcoat a shake before sweeping it on. 'I was simply told they were pursuing us.'
Mary had difficulty coming to terms with her life suddenly taking a right-angled turn. But she understood
obligation, and however apprehensive she felt, there was a job to do. 'Let me get some things together.'
'Not you.' Mary stopped and stared at him, puzzled. 'Just the girl, and me.'
'I thought you said you were led to me because I had a part to play?'
'You have. You've got to get that girl compos mentis ... at least enough for me to travel with her.' He shook his hat, then put the soggy mess on with a grimace.
Mary couldn't explain why she felt uneasy, but so much was happening that she didn't have time to think. She dropped to her knees in front of the fire and took Caitlin's hand. It was so cold that at first Mary thought she'd died. Slowly, Caitlin stirred from her deep sleep.
'Come on, lovey. Come to me.'
Caitlin's lips moved in her dream state. Mary couldn't make out the words, but she thought she could just hear the susurration of different voices, the timbre and intonation changing as if Caitlin were holding an internal dialogue. It was so unnatural that it brought a chill to her spine.
'Caitlin,' she stressed. 'We need you here.'
'She won't go.' The voice was sharp, not Caitlin's at all.
Mary rocked back on her heels, shocked, before composing herself. 'Caitlin,' she said firmly. 'It's Mary. You have to come now.'
There was a brief silence and then Caitlin's eyes flickered open. Mary saw in them the Caitlin she knew. The young doctor leaned forward and covered her face. 'What's happening?' she said weakly. Then, 'Grant . .. Liam ...' She started to cry silently. 'I know, I know.' Mary felt like her own heart was breaking as she hugged Caitlin to her. In recent months, Caitlin's family had almost filled that awful gap in Mary's life, that loss from all those years ago, when Mary proved what an awful person she was. Mary had taken such joy in seeing Caitlin with so much, knowing her friend was, despite the stress and the strains that arose from it, so fundamentally happy. It wasn't fair that Caitlin should have to suffer such a loss, someone who had always tried to do her best for other people. Not like herself, Mary thought; she had turned selfishness into a fine art.
'It's my fault,' Caitlin croaked to herself. 'If I'd been there for them— This is my punishment—'
'Don't say that.' Mary choked back her emotion. 'Don't you go blaming yourself. You're a good person ... these things happen—'
When Caitlin looked up at her it was with eyes that Mary didn't recognise. 'I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to help people. And I couldn't help the most important people in my life.' She bit her lip until blood started to flow. 'The last time I spoke to Grant we were arguing. That was the last thing he'll remember ... the last thing—'
'Hush now.' Mary stroked Caitlin's hair. Everything she said sounded so useless. How could any words make the slightest difference in a situation of such tragedy?
'I didn't even say goodbye to them. Now they'll never know ... they'll never know ... how I felt...'
'They know, honey. I'm sure they do. Wherever they are, they'll know your heart.'
Crowther watched all this impassively. Mary wondered how he could be so cold. Yet for the little she knew about him, she felt the inherent truth in what he had told her, about the warnings from beyond and the hope that there might be a cure somewhere for this damnable plague. Perhaps she was expressing the naivety of a child, but if Caitlin could be instrumental in bringing back a cure, her young friend might find some kind of salvation from the terrible thing she had experienced.
For the next hour, Mary sat with Caitlin in her arms while the younger woman grieved quietly. Caitlin wasn't herself - at times her voice would change inexplicably, or her words become incomprehensible - but the depth of her feeling was unmistakable.
Finally Caitlin subsided into an aching silence.
Mary waited for a moment, not sure if she'd done enough, and then left Caitlin to her grief. Crowther hovered near the door. 'You be careful with her,' Mary cautioned. 'Remember what she's been through. Don't you dare hurt her.'
'I have no intention of hurting her,' Crowther said with irritation. 'She's of vital importance to what has to be done. Without her, there's no hope.'
It wasn't quite the reassurance Mary had wanted, but it would have to do. She turned and helped Caitlin to her feet. 'Listen, lovey, you've got to go with Professor Crowther now. He's going to take you somewhere safe.' Mary winced at the lie. 'Don't ask questions. Just do what he says until you're away from here. Do you understand?'
Caitlin nodded, lost to her grief, but at least once more the Caitlin that Mary knew. Mary wrapped her in an old anorak and led her to the door. Once Caitlin had stepped out into the night, Mary caught Crowther's arm. 'I don't like you and I don't trust you,' she hissed, 'but I'm going on instinct here. You'd better do the right thing with this girl or I'll hunt you down, cut your bollocks off and make you eat them.'
'Oh, you are a charming lady,' Crowther replied. 'Don't worry. I'm putting myself at risk too, you know.'
Mary gave a snorting laugh to show how much she was concerned about that fact.
Crowther stepped out behind Caitlin, then half-turned. 'One other thing. If I were you, I wouldn't wait around here. Those hunters may decide you're too close to all this to live.'
'Where am I supposed to go?'
He made a couldn't-care-less gesture. 'Not my problem.'
And then he put his hand on Caitlin's shoulder to guide her, and they went down the path, into the lane, and away.
chapter three The Lament-Brood
'The human heart is like Indian rubber: a little swells it, but a great deal will not burst it.' Anne Bronte
The New Forest had grown dense and in some areas impassable in the months since the Fall. Without access to petrol, roads were mainly travelled by horse and cart, and on foot, and so vegetation had crowded in or forced its way through the cracking asphalt. In the Forest it was even worse. The ancient broad-leafed trees thrived in a silent world that rebelled at the fall of a human foot. If not for necessity, Crowther would never have ventured into the thick greenwood.
Caitlin had slipped in and out of a daze as they walked, but there were signs that she was becoming more lucid. Yet he was surprised to hear the sound of crying coming from her. He didn't know how to react, hated any show of emotion. Hesitantly, he asked, 'Are you all right?'
When she looked up, the pain in her tear-streaked face made him wince. 'It's not fair,' she said desperately. 'I loved them so much.'
The sound of her sobbing carried with it the weight of complete heartbreak. Crowther rested against a nearby tree, surprised at the overwhelming pity he felt. He had thought it was beyond him. Perhaps there was ho
pe for him yet.
As they continued on their way, Caitlin was, for the most part, lost to her own shifting thoughts, but occasionally she would speak either to herself or to ask him a question.
Often Crowther was disturbed to hear that the voice was not her own. He'd read accounts of dissociative identity disorder, but experiencing it at first hand was unnerving. He knew some research had shown that the separate identities, referred to by experts as alters, could exhibit differences in speech, philosophies, mannerisms, whole character traits - even gender. They could also have different physical states, such as allergies, whether they were right or left handed, and some were even shortsighted when the main personality had twenty-twenty vision. There were psychologists who denied the existence of DID, claiming that the personalities were simply fantasies of the patient, but if he had any doubts, here was the evidence.
'Brigid says you're scared.' Caitlin's voice surprised him.
He looked away quickly. 'Does she now.'
'Brigid knows things like that. She's very wise. What are you scared of?'
He laughed hollowly. 'What am I scared of? I'm scared of everything, as all wise men would be. I'm scared because we were taught to live in a world of Reason, and there's no reason anywhere any more. We don't have the tools to thrive here. And I'm scared because we're so far down the food chain, we're just above the bovine.'
'Brigid says you're hiding something in your coat.'
He flinched. 'Brigid should mind her own business.'
'There's a village up ahead.' Caitlin switched the topic of conversation with ease.
'How do you know?'
'I can smell it.'
He sniffed the air but couldn't pick up anything beyond the forest scents, although he knew some people with mental disorders had heightened senses.
Several yards further on, the sickeningly fruity smell of decomposition was unmistakable. Bodies left in the open to rot was a clear warning sign and Crowther was already preparing to skirt the area when Caitlin caught his arm. She had seen something beyond his range.
Fighting his natural instinct, Crowther allowed her to guide him. She ducked low, crawling through the vegetation until they had a view of a sixties-style bungalow. The ruddy glare of fire rose up behind one window, followed by thick black smoke pouring out of every opening. The front door burst open and out came two men clutching a box of food, a shotgun and a few other objects Crowther couldn't make out. They were both wearing some kind of strange uniform, black T-shirts bearing a scarlet V from shoulder to navel.
As the looters hurried away, Crowther edged ahead to get a better view. Further down the street he could see more of the oddly dressed men - some kind of gang, he guessed - coming out of other houses with their swag. They moved quickly and efficiently, taking only what they needed, and left the village in wagons parked at the far end of the main street.
'Well, we certainly don't want to be tangled up with those,' Crowther mused. There was a rustling beside him and before he could react, Caitlin had emerged from hiding and was sliding down a grassy bank into an overgrown field that bordered the main street. 'Wait,' he hissed, but she paid him no attention.
She skipped through the thistle and grass and clambered over a five-bar gate before checking up and down the road. Crowther waited for a long moment to see if she would be attacked, then reluctantly followed. He was weighing the advantages of tying her up for the remainder of the journey when she hailed him from a large detached house that must once have been considered desirable. The front garden was now heavily obscured by a tangle of undergrowth and it didn't look as if any repairs had been made to it since the Fall.
'You don't want to go in there,' he said, pointing to the red X painted roughly on the front door.
'I heard something inside.'
'It's a plague house.'
'This isn't the Dark Ages, Professor,' she said.
'You'd think, wouldn't you?' He turned back down the weed-clogged drive, then sighed as he heard the front door open. This time he wasn't going to follow her. There were limits.
The stench inside the house was overwhelming. Caitlin covered her mouth, fighting the urge to retch, not sure why she was in there, though she guessed it had something to do with the strange voices that occasionally surfaced at the back of her head.
She moved through the hall, with its damp, peeling wallpaper, and pushed open the door into the room where she thought she'd heard a noise. The sight that greeted her was horrific, but she felt only overwhelming pity.
Bodies marked with the unmistakable scars of the plague lay all around. At first some attempt had been made to stack them, but the last few had been thrown on the pile haphazardly.
That thought brought a succession of jarring images: the first case brought into her surgery, the sudden realisation, the mounting horror as the bodies piled up in the village hall. The faces ... her friends... acquaintances ... good people, undeserving people ... and then Grant ... and Liam ... She rammed her fists into her eye sockets to drive out the terrible pictures, the sickening smell of clay and the clammy feel of wet clothes.
The sound was barely audible, but it jolted her out of her emotional state. Something was in the room, alive. Rats? The arm of one of the corpses dropped suddenly and made her jump. Behind it she saw movement - too big for a rodent.
'Come out.' She could barely believe someone was hiding underneath those suppurating bodies.
Vibrations amongst the cadavers suggested a brief struggle was taking place, and then the corpses fell away as a boy of around nine or ten pushed his way out. He was black, his hair shorn to a bristle, and a little overweight, but he had big, expressive eyes that made him seem much younger. He blinked once, twice, his gaze filled with hope.
'Don't worry,' Caitlin said, shocked. 'I won't hurt you.'
There was a sudden rush of falling bodies and another figure emerged: a girl of about sixteen, also black, her features street-smart and hard. 'Don't come any closer,' she said menacingly. She was brandishing a switchblade.
Caitlin held up her hands. 'It's OK.'
The girl's cold eyes searched the room and the hall beyond. 'You're not with them?' she said, without lowering the knife.
'The gang with the V-shirts? No. I just got here as they left.'
The girl scanned Caitlin's clothes and came to her own conclusion. 'You'd better not try anything,' she said. Despite appearances, her voice had an educated inflection, but her attitude was unmistakably dangerous. Yet behind it Caitlin could see a hint of fear in the mirror of her eyes.
'My name's Caitlin. I'm a doctor.'
This piece of information reassured the girl enough for her to lower the knife, but it didn't remove the iciness from her face. 'Got here a bit late, didn't you?'
'Come on, let's get out of here,' Caitlin said gently. 'It's dangerous.'
'Everywhere's dangerous.' Hardness came to the girl's voice easily, but she still indicated for the boy to follow Caitlin out.
Crowther waited in the shade of a tall ash, watching the empty street cautiously. As Caitlin led the new arrivals up
to him, his face showed weary annoyance at another complication.
'I'm Caitlin and this is Professor Crowther.'
The girl made no attempt to venture her name in reply until the boy gave her a little shove. 'Mahalia,' she said. 'Jackson.'
Crowther raised an eyebrow. 'Like the singer.'
'Like me,' Mahalia replied.
Caitlin knelt before the boy, warmed by his open, honest features. 'And what's your name?' she said.
'He can't speak.' Mahalia's body language was defensive of her charge. 'Actually, I think he can speak - he just doesn't choose to. Don't ask me why.'
Caitlin looked into his face for confirmation, but all he gave was a broad, warm smile. His eyes, though, showed such depths they made Caitlin shiver.
'His name's Carlton Breen. He wrote it down for me.'
'Where are your parents?' Caitlin felt a jab of anxiety
. Mahalia snorted and looked away. 'Is this your home?' Caitlin pressed.
'We're from Winchester. At least I am. I don't know where Carlton's from. Have you got any food?'
'No, but we can probably find something—'
'Why don't we go shopping for clothes while we're at it,' Crowther snapped.
'We can't leave them here alone,' Caitlin replied.
'We can't take them with us. Do you have any concept of what we're going into? Believe me, they'll be far safer here.'
A sharp pain stung Caitlin deep in her head; she felt as if she was falling back into a dark tunnel.
'If you don't take them with us, I'm not going!' Mahalia and Carlton's eyes widened at the petulant child's voice coming from Caitlin's mouth.
Crowther swore under his breath. 'All right. For a little while.' He marched down the drive. 'Though you do realise having a nursery tagging along is going to be the death of us.'
They found some vegetables the looters had missed and cooked a brief, bland stew before setting off again. Striding ahead, Crowther made no attempt to hide his aversion to spending any time with the others; he was already plotting ways to jettison Mahalia and Carlton when an opportunity arose.
Once it had been confirmed that the two children were coming with them, Amy allowed Caitlin to resurface. 'What happened to you back there?' Mahalia asked suspiciously as they trudged amongst the trees. 'With that creepy little-girl voice?'
Anxiety coiled inside Caitlin. 'I don't want to talk about
it.'
'Fine,' Mahalia said with a dismissive shrug. 'This should be an interesting journey. On the road with a grumpy old man and a crazy old woman.'
'Have you been on your own for long?' Caitlin asked.
Mahalia clearly wasn't used to small talk. Her suspicious eye suggested she was waiting for Caitlin to ask something of her. 'Since the Fall. Wandered across the south coast after skipping my school ... just trying to stay alive like everybody else.'
Caitlin could hear the intelligence in the girl's well- spoken voice. 'And there's nobody else to look after you? No family?'
The Queen of Sinister Page 6