The White Corpses

by Gemma Herrero Virto

  *****

  Gus and Natalia stayed beside the window, not knowing where to head. The house was in silence, as if it were uninhabited. All of the lights were still off. Natalia felt a knot in her stomach. The whole thing could not be going worse. They were in the darkness, in an unknown house inhabited by a murderer that could be hiding behind any shadow. A light to her side surprised her. Gus had turned on the torch on his phone and went along focussing it on the corners, to ensure that there was nobody crouched down, ready to jump on them.

  ‘And where do we go now?’ asked Gus.

  ‘Let’s split up,’ replied Natalia, whilst bringing out her own mobile, to take a leaf out of Gus’s book and have her own torch.

  ‘That is the typical stupid thing they say in every horror film just before they all start dropping like flies,’ said Gus. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to stay together?’

  ‘I think something bad has happened to Carlos. We have to find him as soon as possible,’ replied Natalia in an imploring voice.

  ‘Fine. I’ll go upstairs. If anything happens to you, shout.’

  Natalia smiled at him gratefully and, after watching the young man climb the stairs two at a time, she set off herself. She walked slowly down the hallway, attentive to any movement that she could detect with the bright light of her phone. She passed alongside the empty kitchen and illuminated it from the doorway. There was something on the table, beside a bottle of water. She went over to it and illuminated it. It was a box of Luminal. To the side of it was a completely emptied blister pack, and another one that was missing a fair amount of tablets. She felt her stomach shrink. She was not certain what could be considered the lethal dosage of phenobarbital, but that amount of pills could not be far off it.

  She left the kitchen and advanced down the hallway, before arriving at a living room illuminated by the low flames of a fireplace. It did not seem as though there was anybody there. She entered the room and, in spite of the fear she was feeling, she dared to whisper.

  ‘Carlos, are you here?’

  She heard a dull murmur, but was incapable of distinguishing where it was coming from. She situated herself in the middle of the room and called out again, raising her voice a little more:

  ‘Carlos, where are you?’

  Another groan reached her ears. She remained completely still, with all of her senses alert, even holding her breath, hoping that it would repeat. Again, she heard some distant and dull moans, and the sound of Carlos whispering her name. She felt all the hair on her body stand on end. For a second, she feared that Carlos might have died and that that sound was his soul saying goodbye. She buried that stupid thought instantly. She did not believe in all that nonsense about spirits searching for revenge, or about tortured souls. She had spent enough time surrounded by dead people to know that not one of them ever got up to tell her what had happened to them. If she had heard Carlos’s voice, it was because he was there, even if she could not see him.

  ‘Carlos, darling,’ she said in an imploring voice, almost sobbing. ‘I hear you, but I can’t see you. Where are you?’

  *****

  Gus climbed the stairs, trying to make the least amount of noise possible, but it seemed to him that every one of his steps made the wood of the stairs creak; that his trainers squeaked; that his breathing resembled the sound of a steam engine and that the booming of his heart could be heard from any point in Biscay.

  Once he finished his ascent, he stood still for a few seconds, holding the shovel in his right hand as he ran the light of his mobile over the landing. In front of him there were three closed doors. Which should he open first? It seemed like one of those television game shows where you could discover a car or a fantastic journey, only in his case the jackpot could consist in an insane killer who would pounce on him to kill him.

  He went towards the door closest to the stairs, but, when he went to open it, he realised that he did not have a single hand free. What could he manage without? The shovel, which he could use to defend himself, or the light that would allow him to see whether something was attacking him? He puffed out in despair, whilst he went back to repeating to himself that he was not cut out for these things. He had not seen even a single action hero in a film who had had to deal with this dilemma. He went back to sweeping over the walls of the landing with the light of his mobile, until he discovered a light-switch. He pressed it and, as soon as the lights turned on, he put the phone in his pocket. He did not care whether Salazar saw the light. He already knew that they were there, and he could be hiding anywhere, ready to attack him. He preferred to dedicate both hands to holding on tightly to the shovel in case it was necessary.

  He opened the first door, with his heart beating in his throat, but the only thing he found was a small empty bathroom. He closed the door again and turned to the next one. What would he find behind door number two? He went over on tiptoe and lowered the handle, trying not to make any noise. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he feared it would come out through his mouth. There was Salazar, with his back to him, and he seemed highly busy with trying to put his belongings into the small suitcase he had open on the bed.

  *****

  Carlos placed his right hand on his forehead and pulled up on the skin, trying to keep his eyes open. Natalia was nearby. He had heard her: it could not be a hallucination. He had heard her footsteps on the rug and her voice calling to him in a whisper. He had answered, he had called to her asking her for help, but it seemed that she had not heard him. He had to stay awake: he had to make her know that he was there. She would help him, she would save him, like she had saved him so many times already...

  He felt that his head was falling forward and that he was losing consciousness. He brought his hand up to his mouth and bit himself as hard as he could to cause pain and manage to stay awake, but he did not even have the strength to apply any pressure and hurt himself. It was those damn tablets. They were killing him slowly from within, and he could not fight against them. He hat to get them out, to expel the venom from inside him. How had this not occurred to him before? He placed two fingers in his mouth, as deeply as he could, until he was touching his uvula. The retching came instantly, and a hot and viscous vomit soaked all of his clothing. That gave him even more urge to vomit, so he shifted over to one side and continued expelling the liquid through his mouth. It felt to him as though it was never going to stop, as if he were expelling even his own soul, but he did not try to stop. He had to get it all out. Hopefully it was not too late.

  When he finished, he fought to sit up, until he was leaning against the wall. He was still feeling very sleepy, and felt as though he no longer had any strength. He did not think he was capable of getting up, nor hitting anything to make noise, nor calling to her... It was so ironic: salvation was only a few metres away, and he was not going to be capable of reaching it.

  Drowsiness invaded him once more. When he closed his eyes, he felt calmer, more relaxed. He could even breathe more easily. His whole body seemed to be asking him to give up and stop fighting. It was whispering to him that, as soon as he stopped fighting, peace would come to him and the pain would be over. Carlos resisted it and, with his final ounce of strength, he threw his head backwards and struck it against the wall. The pain came to him like a spear in the centre of his brain and allowed him to regain control of his body for a few seconds. He had to manage this. It could be his last opportunity.

  ‘Natalia!’ he shouted as loudly as he could. ‘I’m down here.’

  *****

  Natalia had gone back to being silent again, trying to sense the slightest sound. The first thing she heard was a strange sound that she was not able to identify. It sounded like liquid falling, but she had already looked in the kitchen and there was nobody there that could have turned on a tap. She returned to the hallway, trying to find the origin of the sound, but, upon leaving the room, it sounded further away. He was there, he had to be there, but she did not know where. She went to call him again, but s
omething inside her told her to be still and silent, to calm down and try to think coherently. In that moment, the ghostly whisper that seemed to be coming from nowhere came back to reach her ears:

  ‘Natalia! I’m down here.’

  Down? Down where? She took a couple of steps until she was off the thick rug that decorated the room and began to roll it back. She immediately saw the edges of a trapdoor in the wooden floor. Instead of continuing to roll the rug, she pushed it away any old how to reveal the whole trapdoor. She lifted it and saw a ladder that sank down into the darkness. She picked her phone up again and shone it inside. There was Carlos, leaning back against the wall, with his head fallen forward. Natalia called him several times, but he did not reply or move. Without thinking about it even for a second, she held the phone between her teeth, intending for the light to illuminate the rungs of the ladder, and began to go down as fast as she could.

  *****

  Gus advanced little by little, gripping the shovel so tightly that he noticed that his knuckles were hurting. To tell the truth, he did not know what he was going to do once he situated himself behind Salazar. He could not imagine himself striking anybody from behind with a shovel to the head, no matter how much of a psychopath the other person was. He had never liked using violence: he was disgusted by the mere idea of hurting anybody. He felt that his hands were trembling and that his stomach was hurting so badly that he felt the urge to vomit. And what if he overdid it and killed him? Would he be able to live with that on his conscience?

  All of his thoughts stopped the instant that Salazar seemed to sense his presence. He froze stock still for a second, as if trying to analyse that sensation of danger behind him. Instead of turning around, he threw himself over the bed. Gus looked away towards the place where the doctor was jumping and discovered a small metallic black object. His brain was still processing the fact that that was a weapon, and that there was a high chance of him ending up with a perfect black circle in the centre of his forehead, when Salazar had already taken hold of the gun. In a single jump, the latter got to his knees on top of the bed and raised the weapon to aim it at him.

  Gus did not know what happened in that moment. It was as if his consciousness withdrew to some safe and secluded place, and would remain there, curled up like a frightened little mouse. Another part of his mind, one that he did not know, took control and made him bring the shovel backwards to gain momentum and then move it forwards with all his strength and smash it into Salazar’s face. A rain of blood, mixed with fragments of teeth, came shooting out of his mouth and spattered against the wall, covering it with red dots. At the same time, he heard the sound of a gunshot. He had shot him. That son of a bitch had shot him just in the moment that the shovel struck against his face. Gus closed his eyes, expecting the pain and burning sensation of the bullet as it went through him, but the only thing he heard was a sound of breaking glass. A rain of plaster and fragments of glass coated his skin. Gus puffed out in relief and opened his eyes. The shot had been deflected and had struck the ceiling light. He was still alive.

  He approached Salazar. His face was already beginning to swell up and his nose and mouth were covered in blood. He placed two fingers on Salazar’s neck until he found a pulse. Fortunately, he was still alive, although Gus was certain that he would not find himself very predisposed to thanking him once he woke up. He went over to the wardrobe, took out a couple of ties and, after positioning the doctor on his side so that he would not drown on his own blood, he tied him to the headboard of the bed, tying the knots as tightly as he could. After checking that he would not be able to free himself, Gus picked up the gun and placed it behind him, fitting it into his trouser belt, and left the room. He had to find Carlos and Natalia in case they needed help. Besides, he needed somebody to tell about his exploit.

  *****

  Natalia managed to get to the bottom of the ladder and launched herself towards the corner where Carlos was leaning. She knelt down beside him and shook him, in an attempt to awaken him. He did not come round, not even when she shouted his name and slapped him. He just started to slip, sliding down towards the floor. Natalia helped him to lie down and searched for his pulse. She had a very difficult time finding it, but it was there, weak as a flame on the verge of going out.

  In that moment, she heard a banging sound, that of a gunshot, along with breaking glass. Gus could be in danger and need her help, but she could not leave Carlos in this condition. She felt her eyes fill with tears and that she was losing control.

  ‘Natalia, calm down,’ she ordered herself. ‘You can do it.’

  She picked up the phone, which she had left on the floor beside her and which illuminated the cellar with its bright white light. Whilst she tried to fight the trembling in her hands, she searched for the number of headquarters and dialled.

  ‘This is Natalia Egaña,’ she said as soon as they picked up on the other end. ‘This is an emergency. There’s an injured officer, intoxicated with phenobarbital... Yes, he’s still breathing and his heart is beating, but his vital signs are very weak. There is also a civilian who might be injured, and a murder suspect who could be armed. I need help... Yes, here is the address...’

  *****

  Gus closed the bedroom door behind him and headed towards the stairs. Suddenly, something made him freeze. He had heard a sound behind him. He turned and heard something behind the third door, which he had still not opened. Perhaps Salazar had some accomplice who was hiding there and would come out to attack him as soon as he turned his back. Or it could also be that Carlos was in there, tied up or injured. He could not leave without looking. He threw his hand behind his back and grabbed the gun. The truth was that he did not have the slightest idea how to handle such things. He could not even be sure that it was loaded. The only thing he knew with certainty was that it did not have the safety on, because Salazar had just shot with it. He approached the door of the third bedroom, banged it open, and aimed inside. An enormous furry being, with claws and fangs, pounced at him and knocked him down to the floor. The damn dog. How could he have forgotten? Gus tried to defend himself by putting the gun into the dog’s mouth so that it would not bite him, but the dog was biting at him in a frenzy. At any moment it would catch hold of him and he would not be able to free himself. This beast was going to kill him.

  He pushed against it with all his strength, in desperation. The dog was propelled backwards backwards long enough for Gus to be able to get to his feet and start running. He knew that he was not going to be able to go down all of those stairs with that monster chasing him, so he ran to try and reach the bathroom that he had seen before. He opened the door and slipped inside, but, before he could close the door, he noticed a terrible and excruciating pain that rose up from his calf. The dog had caught one of his legs and was biting down harder and harder. Gus felt so much pain that he thought he was going to faint. That beast was going to eat him alive if he did not defend himself. He felt his muscles tearing, and his blood flowing uncontrollably, staining the dog’s teeth red and making it look even more cruel and lethal. If he did not manage to get it to stop biting, it was going to break his bones. He threw himself to the floor and kicked, with his free leg, at the monster’s snout. The dog let go of him and went back a few steps, although it stood looking at him, with its eyes full of hatred and its head low, ready to attack again. Down its fangs trickled blood, his blood. Without thinking about it a second longer, Gus kicked the door and managed to close it. The dog launched itself against it, striking and scratching it, trying to tear it down. Gus was left in darkness, and he felt around on the door, desperately searching for the bolt. After ensuring that it had been locked, he fell backwards onto the tiled floor to get his breath back. Once he was convinced that he was not going to die of a heart attack, he sat up with difficulty. He took his phone out of his pocket and turned the torch back on. Beside the mirror, he found a light-switch. He pressed it, and got the lights that adorned the mirror to turn on. He hopped towards the toil
et on one leg, sat down, and lifted is trouser leg carefully to examine the wound. It looked deep, and the blood was gushing out. If nobody came soon, he would bleed to death right there. He grabbed a towel and pressed it against the injury, trying to buy time.

  *****

  Natalia was still kneeling beside Carlos. She had tried everything: calling him, shaking him, begging him... Nothing worked. He was in a state of deep unconsciousness, maybe even in a coma. Furthermore, his breathing was becoming increasingly slower and more difficult. If nobody came soon, he would stop breathing right there in her arms.

  She undid several of his shirt buttons to make sure that nothing was pressing on him, and placed him on his back with his head backwards so that his airways were open. Carlos put up no resistance, like a rag-doll with no will of its own, but his state did not change. Natalia caressed his hair, and moved aside a few rebellious locks from his forehead.

  ‘Don’t die,’ she begged him in whispers. ‘Please, don’t die.’