'I can look after myself well enough.'
'You shouldn't have to try to survive on your own. Everyone needs somebody.'
For some reason this comment annoyed the girl. 'I've got Carlton and he's got me, and we've done all right so far. We don't need you. We're going along for the ride, for something to do. But we can walk away at any minute. Don't forget that.'
She marched ahead so she wouldn't have to talk to Caitlin any more.
They picked their way across patches of heath and through dense woodland for five miles, attempting to stay out of view as much as possible. The countryside had grown wild more quickly than they could have believed possible and at times the going was hard, but by early afternoon the last remaining clouds were finally blown away and the brilliant spring sunshine took some of the edge off their journey.
'But you've got to have some idea where you're going!' Mahalia said in disbelief after quizzing Caitlin about their destination.
The question troubled Caitlin. There was an existentialist peace in simply walking; to consider any more meant facing up to what lay behind her. 'I'm just following the professor.' She winced at how pathetic that sounded.
Mahalia turned her attention to the professor, who was attempting to keep several yards between himself and the others. 'You know where you're going. I've seen you looking at the sun to keep a check on your direction.'
'Aren't you a clever girl.'
'If you don't tell me, I'm just going to keep asking until you're sick of me.'
'I'm sick of you already.'
'Where are we going?'
Crowther made an angry sound in the depths of his throat. After a few seconds of reflection, he said, 'We're going to find a cure for the plague.'
Caitlin looked down at her feet, her face strained. Mahalia considered Crowther's response thoughtfully. 'So you know somewhere that's got a vaccine?'
'Not quite.'
'Then where are you going?'
'There's no point explaining it to you, you wouldn't
understand,' Crowther said as patronisingly as he could manage.
Mahalia grew flinty. 'Try me.'
Crowther rounded on her as his irritation peaked. 'All right, little girl. There's no cure for the plague in this world - no hope at all. So we're going to cross the dimensional barriers to another world, and hopefully we'll find the answers we seek there.'
Mahalia's thoughts played out clearly on her face: at first she was sure he was mocking her, secondly that he was as insane as the girl clearly thought Caitlin was. But then a strange thing happened that gave Crowther pause: Carlton tugged on Mahalia's arm to get her attention and nodded assent. The girl instantly acquiesced.
'OK,' she said. 'Tell me about this other world and how we get there.'
Now it was Caitlin's turn to exclaim in disbelief. 'Another world?'
'Not some other world. The Otherworld,' Crowther said as he clambered on to an overgrown stile. 'It's been a part of legend here for millennia ... the land where the ancient Celts believed their gods lived. And it actually exists, not in myth but in reality, and those self-same legends were our ancestors' way of preserving that knowledge for posterity - part information, part warning. There are people who have been there, and I have spoken to one of them.'
'Whatever.' Mahalia winked at Carlton in a manner that annoyed Crowther intensely.
'I'm actually warming to the prospect of taking you across to that place,' Crowther said. 'It's the source of every nightmarish thing that has found its way here since the Fall, and believe me, there's a lot worse waiting over there. I think you'll have a wonderful time meeting them all'
'Well, we're going to come whether you like it or not,' Mahalia said blithely. 'What do you think, matey?'
Carlton nodded his head eagerly.
'I thought I understood the depths of the stupidity of youth until I met you,' Crowther said. 'Really ... thank you for the enlightening experience.'
'We're leaving this world behind?' A light began to dawn in Caitlin's face. 'We can really do that?'
The notion pleased Mahalia, too. 'But how are we going to do it?'
'Just wait and see,' Crowther said brusquely.
He ignored any further questions for the next five miles and then brought them to a halt with a raised hand. Through the trees they could see a pretty village of redbrick Georgian cottages, dominated by a grand building.
'Is this where you've been leading us?' Caitlin asked.
'The National Motor Museum,' Crowther said. 'We're going to get a car.'
As he led them forward, Mahalia noticed that Carlton was hanging back.
'What is it?' Caitlin asked.
'He's scared.' Mahalia dropped to her knees in front of the silent boy. His expression was troubled, his eyes scanning the trees that clustered tightly around the village. 'What's wrong, Carlton?' Her genuine concern was a stark contrast to her normal demeanour.
'What's the point in asking him questions if he can't answer?' Crowther said with irritation.
'Carlton's right. Can't you feel it?' Caitlin had tilted her head to one side, not just listening but sensing the atmosphere. There was an edge of tension, slowly rising.
'The birds have stopped singing,' Mahalia observed.
Crowther grew tense. 'I fear they've caught up with us again. Come on.'
'Who's after you?' the girl asked.
'Something not of this world,' Crowther said. 'Another reason to get out of here as quickly as possible.'
The museum lay just beyond the Great Gatehouse of a
fourteenth-century Cistercian abbey, the boundary fence overgrown with creepers and the once carefully kept grounds quickly returning to the wild. They located the entrance and scaled the security gates, with much blowing and cursing on the part of Crowther.
'Why did you come all this way just to get a car?' Caitlin asked.
'Because time is of the essence and we have a long way to go,' Crowther replied. 'And to be honest, anything that lessens the time I have to spend with you - and now those two - is a good thing.'
'You don't think they'll all have been looted?'
'Only if there's a classic-car collector in the area. Nobody else would be interested in these museum pieces. I'm taking the gamble that most people won't have realised that there must be some kind of fuel depot on the site. We can fill up and be away, and whatever's behind can choke on our exhaust fumes.'
The explosion made them all jump. A nearby branch splintered and fell.
'Somebody's shooting at us,' Crowther exclaimed incredulously, a second before Caitlin knocked him to the ground.
'Clear off, you bastards! I'll kill you all!' A wild-eyed man with grey hair rising up like a sunburst around a bald pate stormed towards them from the direction of the museum. He wore a threadbare overcoat and mud-splattered brown trousers, and he was brandishing a musket so worn and rusty it looked as if it would fall apart if it were fired again. 'This is my place!' he yelled. 'You can't come in here!'
Another burst of grapeshot rattled over their heads. The gun was so inaccurate that they were more likely to die from accidental fall-out than any specific shot. 'Into the trees!' Caitlin shouted, looking around for the others. Carlton was there, but Mahalia was missing.
Their attacker set about the laborious task of reloading the musket - shot, gunpowder, tamping it down. Caitlin seized the opportunity to haul Carlton towards cover while Crowther scurried on his hands and knees behind them.
Once they were hidden, Caitlin frantically searched for Mahalia. Had she run for the boundary fence?
The answer came a second later. Mahalia appeared like a shadow rising from the ground behind their assailant. She was so silent that he was oblivious to her presence until she knocked the musket from his hands and entwined her arms around him, a knife at his throat.
The three of them rushed over just as the man stopped struggling in response to whatever Mahalia had whispered in his ear. Blood trickled down his neck from the knife point.
'What are you doing?' Crowther raged. 'You could have killed us!'
'This is my place,' the man said pathetically. 'You can't come in.'
'Do you want me to kill him?' Mahalia's cold voice chilled Caitlin.
'Kill him?' Crowther said incredulously. 'Are you insane as well? We don't go around killing people!'
'You leave him free, you might regret it,' Mahalia continued.
'Oh, shut up.' Crowther pulled her knife hand roughly away from the man's throat. The prisoner sagged and then began to sob.
'Mad as a bloody hatter,' Crowther said. 'He's probably been living up here since the Fall, shooting anyone who came near like some hillbilly. Whatever happened to resilience? The first sign of hardship and everyone starts going insane.' He flashed a glance at Caitlin.
Behind them, Carlton was growing agitated again. As Caitlin turned to comfort him, he pointed fearfully towards the gate.
Five shapes had emerged from the tree line beyond the boundary fence. The moment Caitlin laid eyes on them she felt as if her life was draining away. It was the Whisperers, she knew that without a doubt. They had faces that would haunt Caitlin's worst nightmares, a forensic study of a human head once the skin had been removed, though the musculature was white as snow, dry and parchment-like, the teeth needle-long and sharp, like those on luminescent fish caught in the furthest depths. Their eyes exuded a smoky magenta light that drifted around them in clouds as if they burned inside. They were tall and gaunt with limbs so thin they looked as if they barely had the strength to lift themselves, their bodies almost lost in their odd combination of armour - winged, spiked helmets and breastplates, all of it rusted a muddy brown - and fluttering black rags. On their backs or hanging from their belts were a variety of rusted metallic weapons - swords, spears, axes and some things that just looked like long spikes. Their mounts were a disturbing mixture of lizard and horse, their scaly skin a desiccated grey. The hazy purple light wreathed all around them.
Mahalia, Crowther, Caitlin and Carlton were all rooted before the terrible sight.
Beneath the rustle of the wind in the newly formed leaves, a whispering rose up that carried with it notions of terrible, depressing things even though no words were clear.
The Whisperers dismounted and drifted like ghosts to the boundary fence, where they stood motionless.
Why aren't they trying to get in?' Caitlin asked. 'They can't come in here,' the hermit moaned. 'Nothing can. Sacred land ... old, sacred, monastic land.'
Crowther dropped down and placed the palm of his right hand on the soil.
'What's he talking about?' Mahalia said.
'The Blue Fire,' Crowther said to himself. 'I wish I could feel it.'
'You're bleeding.' Caitlin noticed the thin trickle running from Crowther's nose just as the iron filings taste dribbled into the edge of her own mouth. She dabbed at it, checked the stain on her fingers. 'What are they doing to us?'
'Come on,' Mahalia said insistently. 'You're standing around as if you're in a dream.' She picked up a rock from nearby and smashed it against the back of their prisoner's head. He pitched forward, unconscious. 'So he doesn't get in the way.'
Caitlin was too distracted to be horrified by the girl's action. Images scurried through her head that were not her own thoughts, a flickering of consciousness as contact was made - the face of one of the Whisperers loomed before her, and though its mouth formed no human syllables, the words made perfect sense: Give up now. There is no hope ... no point running. Everyone must die. No point in anything. You could take your own life. Illness will claim you ... The message hid a secret virus that infected her mind like poison in the blood: despair. The emotion was almost painful.
Suddenly Caitlin was back in the Ice-Field and Briony was shaking her roughly. 'Brigid says they're in your head. You have to get out of here.'
Caitlin came out of her trance to realise that she was walking slowly towards the boundary fence alongside Mahalia, Carlton and Crowther. She moved quickly, punching Crowther so hard in the face that his lips pulped against his teeth and blood splattered into his mouth.
The pain disrupted the mental image. 'You stupid cow!' Crowther roared.
But it was enough. Caitlin grabbed Carlton while Crowther picked up Mahalia and then they were hurrying towards the museum buildings.
They realised they'd exceeded the range of the Whisperers' sickening influence when Mahalia suddenly yelled, 'Put me down, you creep!' and lashed out wildly. Crowther dropped her hard on the floor with what Caitlin thought was a little too much relish.
Caitlin took one last look at the drifting purple haze where the withering atmosphere of despair hung along the boundary fence and then forced them to pick up the pace.
'What are those things,' Caitlin asked, 'and why are they hunting us?'
'Sport or food are the obvious answers,' Crowther muttered, but his expression suggested that the questions troubled him immensely.
It took them a while to gain access to the vast display halls; the previous occupant had effectively blocked every entrance. They eventually managed to smash open a side door, and once inside it felt odd to be walking alone amongst the gleaming archaic vehicles that now provided a haunting reminder of the world they had left behind. One vast echoing hall led on to another, all filled with the smell of oil and rubber and leather upholstery. Every car they had ever seen or heard of stood side by side, their pristine paintwork shimmering in the half-light.
'In centuries to come, when this place is overgrown and forgotten, this will be like Tutankhamun's tomb to a future generation of archaeologists,' Crowther said in hushed tones. 'Of course, that's if the human race is still around.'
Crowther bypassed the oldest vehicles, which looked as if they would barely have outrun a horse, and instead stopped at a display of seventies sports cars. He finally selected one, a 1974 Ferrari Dino 246 GT.
Mahalia laughed. 'I bet you always wanted one of those.'
'And never had the money,' Crowther said. 'One advantage of the Fall... everything's there for the taking.'
'If you're strong enough,' Caitlin added pointedly.
Crowther examined the display sign. 'Actually, I chose it because it's really just a two-seater and we can shove the children in the tiny space behind the seats where I won't have to be bothered by them for the whole journey. Should be fairly uncomfortable.' He proceeded to read aloud: '2418 cc V-6 engine, twelve overhead valves, 195 b.h.p. at 7,600 r.p.m. and a max speed of 150 m.p.h. That should do the job. Now we just need to fill it up.' He opened the door, then paused uncomfortably. 'I don't suppose any of you know how to hot-wire a car.'
Mahalia pushed by him roughly and dipped under the steering column. A few seconds later the throaty roar of the engine echoed around the display hall.
'Oh, why am I not surprised.' Crowther slipped behind the wheel with obvious relish. 'Looks like there's enough in the tank to get us out to wherever the fuel depot is.'
'"Thanks" would have been nice,' Mahalia said sourly.
The fuel depot lay behind the display halls. High winds had camouflaged it with plastic sheeting, broken branches, leaves and other vegetation. Crowther uncovered several cans filled with petrol and smiled as he filled up the Ferrari's tank. 'Isn't it funny,' he mused to himself, 'I'd forgotten what it smelled like.'
Carlton stood off to one side, eyeing the treetops uncertainly, his head cocked to one side. 'I think Carlton knows a lot more than he shows,' Caitlin said. 'It's as if he can sense them.'
'I don't care if they're about to tap me on the shoulder,'
Crowther said as he screwed the cap back on, 'they don't stand a chance of keeping up with this machine.'
Once they were all in, Crowther revved the engine and drove around to the exit gates. The purple mist that signified the Whisperers' presence drifted through the trees, but Crowther didn't wait to look at
them.
The car hit the gates at speed. The impact jolted their teeth, but the gates burst off their hinges and then they were away down the winding service road.
'We did it!' Caitlin said in disbelief.
Carlton reached over the back of the seat to give the professor a hug. 'Get off me!' Crowther roared.
'You can thank me when you're ready,' Mahalia said, positioning herself so that Crowther would see her every time he looked in the rear-view mirror.
The professor grunted. 'You're not completely useless.'
He pulled the car out on to the main road and hit the accelerator so hard they were all thrown back into their seats. 'I wish we had some music,' he said.
Euphoria gripped them as they made their getaway. Only Carlton peered back to watch the purple mist drifting slowly in their wake.
Mary had battled with a feeling of unease ever since Caitlin had left. Part of it was worry for her friend's safety. The first time they had met, three years earlier, they had disliked each other: Mary, the herbalist and alternative practitioner, and Caitlin, the rational GP, could see little common ground. But over the weeks and months as they came into contact more and more, they saw past the superficialities. Mary had learned to admire so much about Caitlin. The young doctor's strength of character and ability to sacrifice her own needs for the good of others were in stark contrast to how Mary saw herself. If her past mistakes had not been so great, Mary might have found a partner she could love, and they might have had a daughter. She would have been proud if the child had turned out like Caitlin.
But Mary's uneasiness also came from the certain knowledge that not all the trouble had moved on with Caitlin and Crowther. There was something in the air; she could feel it.
As the glass of whiskey caught the light from the fire, she felt a twinge of guilt that she'd only had breakfast half an hour ago. But then, life was more painful than anyone ever imagined, and what was wrong with something that took the edge off the cutting blade? At least she wouldn't be able to indulge it to the point where she ended up hanging around the village hall doing jigs for anyone that passed. No nipping down to the off-licence to replenish her supplies. The powers that be had seen fit to enforce a period of sobriety.
The Queen of Sinister Page 7