by David Scott
Another crash came from the darkness; louder this time. Then a sudden scream. Chairs moved abruptly, noisily scraping the floor as people jumped up out of them.
A masked monster was working at full operational speed, moving forward, with force and purpose. Arms out and extended, spinning and twirling in all directions. Its eyes were red and shining, like one might imagine the Devil’s eyes, cutting down the masses, as if Death himself had come with his scythe to claim all. Light reflecting off steel, sending mirror ball reflections dancing all over the wall and ceiling. A beautiful, deathly dance of mechanical precision.
As the screaming and shouting started to die down, and the number of people standing reduced to a handful, Bernie’s brain kicked in and she realised that she must either fight or take flight.
The beaked demon glanced her way. Bernie could see its metal talons protruding from where its fingers should be, a laser coming from its eyes, pistols extending from its knuckles, and some sort of smoke emitting from its mouth.
A beam shot past her, and the nearby velvet curtain immediately ignited. It continued to move towards her. Only the stunned couple standing in front of her were left. This was not a battle she could win. Bernie turned, and ran.
The back-door emergency exit had a push bar to release it. It was alarmed, so it would give away her presence, but she was confident that she could outrun her assailant. She gulped in the shockingly-cold night air, and sprinted towards the cable car.
Bernie ran alongside the lit track, rather than on it, believing that she would not be seen in the darkness but could still use the guiding lights to find her way to the cable car station. Looking around, she could see nothing. But that was no guarantee that she wasn’t being followed, as the visibility was so poor.
Bernie ran for her life as fast as she could. Just around the corner, and the cable car would be waiting.
Bernie figured on jumping in one of the cable cars to make her escape; she would be untouchable on the way down, and would gain a good breather, so that she could flee to safety at the bottom.
Bernie thought about being pursued. The killer might be in the cable car behind, watching her with those horrific red eyes, as both of them trudged on slowly downhill, separated at a constant distance by mechanical means, unable to gain but equally not losing pace; the killer would be waiting for her like a greyhound waiting to be released from its trap, ready to rip her apart like a stuffed hare.
Bernie tried to calm herself, figuring there would be plenty of people in town, even at this time of night, so it was unlikely the killer would pursue her. She should be safe.
She stopped dead in her tracks; all of the station’s lights were out. There was no noise. The cable car was not running.
Frantically, Bernie looked around in all directions. She could not stop herself screaming out when she saw a towering pile of corpses under one of the park lights. Hundreds of dead eyes, staring blindly, observing her fate, waiting for her to join them.
The post for the 10-kilometre downhill walk caught Bernie’s attention, and she moved on towards it. There was still no sign of anyone following her. She might well make this. Perhaps she would run all the way, or maybe hide for a while, once she was certain of her escape. The main problem was that the forest path was not lit, so she would have to rely on the half-hidden moonlight or the phone’s torch to guide her.
Her phone. It was still wedged in Bernie’s back pocket. Switched off, to avoid interference with the café’s microphone and speakers, but she knew it was there and charged, as she had told John to call her if he wasn’t coming. Still running, she pulled her phone out, and switched it on. The usual loading screen showed on the display. It seemed like hours before it completed, and she struggled to run while inputting her password. It then said it needed an update and did she want to do that now or later. Exasperated, and in a panic, she hit the wrong key, having forgotten how to make emergency calls, and not remembering if the number was the same on the mobile or if there was some special speed dial button or function. It locked. She put in her password to release it, and dialled 911. It worked.
Pulcinella’s radar revealed the last living human’s location. It set the trace function, and strode forward at a constant, high speed. Its internal calculation gave the exact time of interception, based on all available data. Two minutes. It was likely to be sooner, given the human’s pace was gradually slowing. As it approached, it picked up a signal from a nearby mobile device, and jammed it.
“Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?” Bernie demanded, in a terrified whisper.
Bernie had just managed to connect to the emergency operator but had been unable to give her location or alert them to the situation. Assuming that she had disconnected the call herself, due to her sweaty fingers betraying her, she stopped running, and focused. The phone seemed ok, except it was now showing that there was no signal. She thought of turning around, just to go back a little to reconnect to the network.
Bernie suddenly heard a noise behind her. She turned and saw two red eyes in the darkness moving steadily forward towards her. It seemed to see her, but she couldn’t understand how. Maybe it had night vision. She sprinted. It gained. Her legs hurt, and weakened. She couldn’t keep going. Looking around, it was rapidly closing in on her.
“Get away! Leave me alone!” She pleaded, not looking back, but sensing the imminent impact.
Suddenly she was on the ground, lying on a damp carpet of rust-coloured leaves, beginning their slow decomposition to fertilise the next generation. She felt her top being ripped off, and braced herself for an assault.
A razor-sharp quill protruded from Pulcinella’s robotic nail. It pierced her skin, and etched its words into Bertie’s pale, naked back. It stencilled a short message:
“Death comes for us all.
Live now while you can.”
Pulcinella
It picked her up by the throat, and stared into her eyes; red lights beaming into dilating, black pupils. She could smell the leather from its mask, as its ice-cold, vice-like grip intensified the pressure on her neck. She kicked and fought back with all of her might but it did not even flinch.
Desperately, Bernie reached into her jeans and pulled out her electronic car key. The manual override steel key flipped out, and she stabbed at her attacker’s side. Nothing happened. There was no penetration, no injury, just a stalemate of steel. Bernie could feel the life draining from her, and she let the key slip from her hand. It landed, unnoticed, into the gaping pocket of Pulcinella’s cloak.
Its mouth opened, and Bertie felt certain this was the end. A toxic last kiss. Instead it spoke, in a mechanic monotone:
“Messages were left before. Make sure this is known. If you do not, I will come back for you. Not immediately; I will not be trapped. But your end is certain if you do not do as I say. You have a chance to survive.”
And with that, Bernie was left semi-naked, and alone in the middle of the dark woods.
Blood flowed from the wounds in her back, mixing with the sudden downpour of rain, and channelled down her spine and buttocks; an unexpected violation which would haunt Bernie forever. But she was alive.
Instinctively, Bertie reached again for her phone. The signal had returned. Her body shivered from shock, and the cold. Her hands were violently shaking but she somehow managed to hit redial. She sat on the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and waited for help.
EIGHT
Dan and Luke drove along the snaking black road as quickly as they could, their emergency siren screaming and lights flashing, as they followed the trail of reflective lights marking the route.
While they had correctly guessed the next slaughter would take place to the West, and were certainly closer, the drive to the crime scene would still take them over three hours; maybe less, if the traffic was light, and Luke hit top speed.
Luke pressed his foot down lower, straining his toes as though the extra pressure might eke out extra gas to m
ake them go faster.
“Luke, you need to slow down a little. There is no point in getting us both killed. It is done. We cannot stop what has happened.” Dan said, genuinely concerned.
“But, Dan, there is a survivor. The first. We have to get to her fast to ensure her testimony is properly controlled. This could be the break we have been waiting for. We might actually get a credible lead.”
“I’ve told the local sheriff that no one should talk about what happened with her until we get there.” Dan said, trying to both calm and reassure Luke, “The local officers have taken her to the hospital for a full medical examination. We also have to investigate the scene, which I understand has been cordoned off to the public. It’s going to be a long night, Luke. We have a lot to do. And it would really help if we could make it there in one piece!”
Dan and Luke arrived at the cable car station ahead of schedule. Fortunately, the local sheriff had seen their car pull up, and walked over to meet them. She held her impressive physique confidently; tall and muscular, she clearly kept in shape by regular heavy lifting of some description. All of her uniform was tight, as though fitted to define her muscles. Dan thought that it would take a brave criminal to mess with this lady.
“Hello gentlemen.” She said, approaching them with an outstretched hand, “I’m Sheriff Dawson. I’ve read a lot about you two but it’s good to meet you in the flesh, although I would, of course, have preferred it to be under better circumstances.”
Sheriff Dawson looked down on them, with her wide-brimmed hat and aviator shades hiding most of her face, and offered out her hand. Dan and Luke took turns to shake it. Dan discretely rubbed his fingers afterwards to help reduce the soreness caused to them by her vice-like grip; whether or not it was Sheriff Dawson’s intention, she certainly made a strong impression.
“I’m Assistant Director Goodchild and this is Special Agent Harrison.” Dan said, unnecessarily introducing them both, as Sheriff Dawson clearly knew who they were due to their unwelcome celebrity, out of habit, “Sorry we’re early. We came here as fast as we could, which ...”
“Oh, that’s ok Director Goodchild.” Sheriff Dawson interjected, “It’s a terrible scene, just horrific, and it isn’t going anywhere. Early or late, it wouldn’t matter to the poor folk involved. So many bodies, you would think it was some kind of war zone. I can take you up there just now though, if you’d like to press on?”
“I was thinking,” Dan began hesitantly, “That we should maybe talk to the survivor first, Sheriff. You know, just in case she can help us to catch this maniac. Perhaps we should see her first, and then come back to investigate the scene?”
Dan knew it was unlikely that Sheriff Dawson would grant him his request, as protocol always put the wellbeing of the victim first, but he wanted to check, as this was foremost in his mind. And procedure can sometimes be overlooked in crimes of this magnitude, which local law enforcement officers simply never see and so, through no fault of their own, don’t know how to handle.
“Oh, I’m sorry Director Goodchild,” Sheriff Dawson said with sincerity, “Bernadette Saunders was rushed straight to the local infirmary. I thought they would have told you that? She was quite a sight, I can tell you. We found her covered in blood and half-naked, silent and shaking. I think she had gone into shock, you know. It’s a good job that she phoned in. We have no idea just how bad Bernie is, yet, but I asked them to let us know just as soon as the doctors have finished checking her over. I am not expecting a call for another hour or so. I suggest we go take a look up the mountain, and you can then head straight on over to the hospital once I receive any news.”
“Ok,” Dan said, “Let’s take a quick look at what we are dealing with here, and we can catch up with Ms Saunders later.”
Dan and Luke followed Sheriff Dawson as she strode on in front of them towards the cable car entrance.
Dan was anxious about what awaited them at the summit. Having seen Pulcinella’s previous crime scenes, he could imagine the sort of horrors which they might see, and which nothing could prepare you for.
Luke appeared to be even more anxious than Dan, and was trying to disguise his nerves by saying little while pushing his cold, trembling hands into his pockets. Dan could tell that Luke found this difficult but it was necessary for them to investigate the scene.
The cable cars had been restarted as soon as the emergency services arrived on-site. As they approached the station, Dan could hear the churning chains constricting the gigantic gears of the machinery to pull its perpetual load up and down the mountain again.
Sheriff Dawson was talking excitedly, non-stop about the local weather, the mountain, and the town, but Dan wasn’t listening. Instead, he thought about what lay ahead. He dreaded seeing yet more mutilations but, this time, at least there was some hope that the survivor might be able to at last provide some detail to help them understand what they were dealing with, and maybe even produce evidence which could lead them to the killer; Dan prayed that Bernie, as Sheriff Dawson called her, would give them the break they desperately needed.
The cars creaked around the rusting loop towards them. Dan half-wondered whether they would even make it up the mountain themselves, given the state of the cable car machinery, but he had no choice in the matter, and could not walk away. They huddled into the first car which approached them; Dan and Luke sat on one-side and Sheriff Dawson sat, spread-legged, opposite them. The weight balanced nicely.
On another occasion the journey up might have been romantic, Dan thought. He felt the warmth of Luke’s thighs pressing against his, as they were squeezed together into the cramped interior of the car. The shadowy landscape far below them was intermittently illuminated by the stars and light of the full moon above; the houses, trees, rocks, and fields below shrank to toy-model size as they ascended apace. Dan noticed that the string of differing coloured cable cars looked almost like a line of swaying, Christmas baubles, decorating the hillside.
“How could anyone have escaped this, Dan?” Luke asked quietly, almost in a whisper, “They were trapped. It is so high up and would take an age to get down on foot, if that is even possible.”
“Oh, it is possible,” Sheriff Dawson answered, “There’s a path. Not too steep either, although it would take you a good three hours to walk it. That’s where we found Bernie. She had done a runner for it, but was caught.”
“What I don’t understand is why the killer let her live? They have never let anyone escape before. Why this time?” Luke asked.
Dan looked towards Sheriff Dawson, leaning forwards towards her, indicating that he also was interested in the answer to this question.
“Well, it seems to me that the assailant wants to get a message out to the world,” Sheriff Dawson began, happily filling the deliberate silence, “And Bernie is his messenger. There was some wording scrawled on her back, although I couldn’t read it, given all the blood. When we put Bernie in the ambulance, she screamed out that we have to tell them. Tell them all. I don’t know what she means by that, exactly, but it suggests to me that our killer, whomever that is, wants some publicity. Probably fancies himself, or herself sorry, as something of a celebrity.”
Dan and Luke gave each other a knowing look, as the cable car juddered over an intermediary junction point. This was not lost on Sheriff Dawson, who raised her eyebrows and waited, but they did not volunteer anything further on the topic, and they all fell silent in thought.
After a short while, Luke glanced around nervously, unaccustomed to heights. In truth, he suffered a little from vertigo but was not going to let Dan know this.
Luke tried to distract himself by looking at Dan. His shoes, legs, arms, body, everything; he took in as much of Dan as possible. Dan seemed overly quiet, with a faraway look on his face. Staring at nothing. This case was clearly starting to affect Dan, Luke thought, and the existence of a survivor was a crucial turning point.
Bernie must be able to tell them something. She was the only person who had seen the k
iller and lived to tell the tale. That alone would help take their investigation further. If nothing more, they would know whether they were dealing with a group, a man, or a woman. They should also be able to get a description of sorts. Luke concentrated on the positives, this was the first step towards catching the killer.
The car started on its final, steep incline to the top, heaving its heavy load onwards. Luke dared to peer out of the window again. They were now in darkness. He could see nothing except twinkling white starlight, and a hazy orange glow from the town below. He could hear the rustling of tree leaves, and the moaning wind stirring the branches; outstretched limbs reaching up, and waving, to the night-time visitors in the sky.
The temperature was starting to drop sharply, and the touch of the steel cage on Luke’s body, only made it worse. He shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort and warmth.
Luke admired the curved welding work but knew that any semblance of protection from this metal support was illusionary. If the car fell now, the cage would immediately crush on impact, and they would all die. Luke shuddered at the thought, and instinctively pressed himself harder against Dan.
Luke had managed to grab both his favourite sky-blue jumper and navy corded jacket but Dan was only wearing a padded shirt. Luke thought how cold Dan must be, and started to worry about him.
“Dan, would you like to borrow my jacket?” Luke asked, smiling at him, “It’s freezing up here, and I’ve got both my jacket and jumper on. I’m actually feeling a bit too warm.”