Pandaemonium Part 27

With which she presses herself against him and puts her arms around his back.

It's like stepping into a bath. Deso feels warmth envelop him immediately, but after a few seconds he's afraid he's sapped the lot and transferred the problem, as he can feel Rosemary begin to tremble. Then he feels a wetness against his bare shoulder and understands that she's crying. Instinctively, he puts a hand to the back of her head and strokes her hair as a gesture of comfort. Her shudders continue, near-silently, as she lets out just some of her grief, and Deso is strangely grateful, because the role of consoler serves to dam his own straining reservoir.

He says nothing, knows there's nothing he can can say: just strokes her hair and holds his other arm against the small of her back, keeping her pressed against him. He can feel it when the sobbing subsides, the last of the shudders replaced with quiet sniffs. He just hopes she doesn't break apart now, and not merely for the sake of staying warm. When she pulls her head back from his shoulder, he feels a surprisingly deep moment of loss and regret, but it only lasts for the half a second it takes for her to turn her face upwards and kiss him. say: just strokes her hair and holds his other arm against the small of her back, keeping her pressed against him. He can feel it when the sobbing subsides, the last of the shudders replaced with quiet sniffs. He just hopes she doesn't break apart now, and not merely for the sake of staying warm. When she pulls her head back from his shoulder, he feels a surprisingly deep moment of loss and regret, but it only lasts for the half a second it takes for her to turn her face upwards and kiss him.

There's a horrible silence about the games hall as the time grows since the last failing a.s.sault on the emergency doors. They're all just standing there, waiting again, but waiting this time for they know not what.

'I think I preferred it when they were still screaming outside and trying to batter their way in,' Radar says. 'At least you knew where they were.'

'No,' Adnan corrects him. 'At least you knew where one one of them was.' of them was.'

'Aye, true enough. Cheers for the thought. How's that atheism hanging, by the way?'

'Tell you the truth, I'm s.h.i.+tting it in case I die and it turns out the Muslims were right. I think I could take dying, but I couldn't face an eternity with all my relatives smugly saying they told me so. I'd rather be in h.e.l.l.'

'We are are in h.e.l.l,' says a voice: low, convinced, dreadful, resigned. in h.e.l.l,' says a voice: low, convinced, dreadful, resigned.

It's Gillian, raising her head to speak for the first time since they arrived in the games hall.

'We're going to get through this,' Deborah tells her. She's trying to sound rea.s.suring but one look at Gillian tells her it's an impossible sell. Her eyes are hollow, like something inside her is already dead.

'No,' Gillian says flatly. 'I've worked it out: the bus crash. We didn't survive it. We only think we did.'

'Stop upsetting yourself,' says Miss Ross softly, but it's clear that Gillian's words are having more of an effect on her than hers are on Gillian.

'I know the truth,' Gillian insists. 'I know what I saw. We died but somehow we've not accepted it, we've created this dream world for ourselves, but now the demons are coming for us and the dream is over.'

Deborah wishes Marianne was here, sure that she'd have some better vision of this: turn it into myth and poetry, s.h.i.+ne a light on a simpler path of truth. In the event, Adnan proves an adequate subst.i.tute.

'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks,' he says. 'f.u.c.k all this Sixth Sense Sixth Sense c.r.a.p. My five senses are telling me I'm still alive, and listening to them - and only them - is what's going to keep me that way.' c.r.a.p. My five senses are telling me I'm still alive, and listening to them - and only them - is what's going to keep me that way.'

Heather bids herself a smile. It's laughter in the dark, and it has to be pretty dark before you are needing buoyed up by the defiance of your teenage charges, but it's welcome nonetheless. The effect lasts for about a second, up until the hall is shaken by another scream from outside, one that this time sounds all too human.

'G.o.d almighty,' Heather asks. 'What was that?'

She hurries to the emergency doors and peers through one of the windows, several of the kids at her back.

'Jesus,' declares Radar, more appositely than he could have possibly intended.

About twenty-five yards away, to the north-west, they can see one side of the two-storey barn where Sendak stables his horses. There are three demons in view, one of them standing over a figure cowering on the gra.s.s; the other two busy with a second human upright against the wall. Another scream pierces the night as one of the demons raises an arm and strikes a blow with what Heather deduces must be a hammer. Further strikes follow, then the two demons step away, clearing the view to reveal Marianne nailed to the wall through her hands in crucified pose.

Deborah splutters, unable to cry, unable to speak, barely able to breathe.

'Crucifixion. They really are demons,' says Maria.

'f.u.c.kin' b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,' Adnan declares. 'We've got to do something. '

Heather changes her grip on the shotgun. It feels different now: no longer alien and cold, but an instrument of singular purpose.

'Open the door,' she tells Adnan.

'No!' screams Gillian, getting to her feet. 'That's what they want. They'll get in here. That's why they're doing it. Can't you see?'

Heather looks at the a.s.sembled survivors: safe so far, gathered where Sendak told them they could hold out.

'They're doing this because they can't get through these doors,' adds Jason. 'They're not wild animals: they know what they're doing.'

'And I guess that's just too f.u.c.king bad for Marianne and whoever else is out there?' challenges Adnan.

'If we open those doors, we all all die,' Gillian counters. die,' Gillian counters.

Over at the barn, the demons begin dragging the cowering figure towards the wall, evidently so weak as to require propping up.

'f.u.c.k, it's Cameron.'

One of them holds out Cam's left arm at the shoulder in preparation to be nailed. It flops unnaturally, bending where it shouldn't. It's hanging off, a compound fracture having sent the bone through muscle and skin. A second demon straightens the arm against the wooden wall and drives a nail through the palm. It's too high. Cameron struggles against the grip of the first demon and loses his footing. He slips, his weight consequently suspended from the nailed arm, which rips free somewhere between wrist and elbow. He drops to his knees screaming, leaving the nailed hand and forearm in place.

Adnan moves for the doors and Jason steps in front of him, at which point Deborah kicks Jason full-force in the b.a.l.l.s, yelling: 'Open the f.u.c.king door!'

Adnan and Radar take hold of a net-stand each, hauling them clear of the handles.

'You close these as soon as I'm through,' Heather tells them. 'And don't open them again until I'm on the steps. No sooner. Got it?'

'Got it, miss. Just remember, you pump to reload. And don't forget to turn off the safety.'

Heather checks the weapon again, resting her thumb against the catch now in case she can't see it so well outside.

'On go,' she says. 'Three, two, one, GO!'

Adnan and Radar each push the unlocking bar on their doors, Heather rus.h.i.+ng through between them.

'Now f.u.c.king close it again,' growls Jason, grabbing one of the net-stands. Adnan and Radar grip the handles above the unlocking bars and pull the doors back into place.

Heather runs towards the barn, shouting to get the demons' attention. One of them is already looking her way, having heard the doors opening. The others immediately turn away from Cameron. There is no question but that Gillian and Jason were right. All that remains to be resolved is whether Heather could make the risk worth it.

The first demon begins marching towards her, the other two taking up flanking positions. Smart tactics if she was carrying anything other than a gun. She steadies herself, holds it at waist height and pulls the trigger.

Heather is immediately knocked backwards by the recoil, losing grip on the gun as she falls. The demon flinches in fright and surprise, but is otherwise unscathed. She scrambles to her feet and picks up the weapon again, this time holding the stock against her shoulder and bracing herself for the kick. She pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. The demon resumes its approach. She pulls the trigger again: no resistance; it's just sliding freely back and forth.

Then she remembers: pump to reload. She pumps the slide. The action is stiffer than she antic.i.p.ates, and it takes a second attempt, by which time the demon is yards away, its fellows also closing in. She feels the trigger lock forward, knows the sh.e.l.l is primed. She blasts again. Once more the demon flinches; once more the sound and the flash are the only things to impact.

'Oh Jesus f.u.c.king Christ.'

She pumps it again, by which time the demon is now running towards her. The gun reports once more, but in this instance not even the bang halts the demon's charge. A second later it is upon her, the last thing she sees a gnarled claw sweeping towards her face.

'What the f.u.c.k?' asks Radar.

Adnan just keeps staring through the window, watching as Heather is dragged by her feet towards the barn. Her arms start to thrash. She's coming around, dazed but not unconscious. They're going to nail her up now too.

Jason lifts the second net-stand and prepares to thread it between the handles, content that the ill-advised rescue mission is over.

Adnan puts a hand on one of the metal shafts and prevents its progress.

'Open it again.'

'Are you suicidal?'

'They left the gun. They don't know what it is. I can get it.'

'They left it because it's no threat,' Jason argues, almost yelling. 'Jesus Christ, were you not watching? Guns don't f.u.c.king work work on them. What the f.u.c.k is that all about? How can that be?' on them. What the f.u.c.k is that all about? How can that be?'

'Because they're not of this world,' says Gillian.

Sendak is opening drawers and slapping knives and cleavers down on an island worktop in the centre of the kitchen. The toppled fridge is doing its job, but the door frame is already giving warning that it will eventually come away from the wall. He tucks a knife into his belt and picks up his baseball bat again in one fist.

'Arm yourselves with anything you can carry. If you can't find something that stabs or slashes, just grab something you can hit the f.u.c.kers with, long as it won't slow you down.'

'How about a rolled-up dish-towel?' asks Beansy. 'My mammy always said you could take somebody's eye out with one of them.'

Sendak sighs, trades a look with Kane. Kane can tell they're both grateful for anything that might lift morale.

'Well, there's a Cuisinart too,' Sendak tells him. 'You think you could get one of them to stick its hand in there out of curiosity?'

'Maybe just stick with a meat cleaver,' Beansy replies.

'Yeah. That'd be my call too.'

Sendak moves to the door, beckoning Kane forward with him. Kane lifts a long, metal-handled kitchen knife and does as he is bid.

'Gonna check the coast is clear. Need you standing by to close this thing again if there's any surprises in store.'

'You got it.'

Sendak turns the handle and pulls the door ajar, Kane resting a foot against it, ready to drive it home if required. Sendak sticks his head out and looks left and right down the corridor.

'We're good to go,' he reports, pulling the door all the way open. 'Here's how it's gonna be. You go first, I'll be holding the rear. You take a right out of the door, first left, then it's a straight run to the games hall. You don't stop, you don't look back, no matter what you hear behind you. Your job is to get the folks in there to open the doors at the other end and be ready to close them again once everybody is through.'

'You go first' to run the demon-infested gauntlet doesn't sound like the best offer Kane ever heard, but he wouldn't trade it for what Sendak's dealt himself: closest to any pursuers, able to move at no greater pace than the slowest of the group. Yeah, he'd settle for 'you go first'.

'Any questions?' Sendak asks him.

'Just one,' he replies. 'What is it you're not telling us? There's something you know, isn't there. Or at least suspect.'

Sendak acknowledges the question with a look that gives nothing away.

'The compa.s.s going crazy out on the hike. Everybody's watches stopping. It's all connect-'

Kane is cut off as an arm appears above him, s.n.a.t.c.hes the knife from his hand and drives it into his throat.

He staggers backwards into the kitchen, blood spraying the walls as it jets from the wound. Sendak hurls a blade towards the attacker, suspended from the corridor ceiling, staring upside down at what it has wrought. It dodges, leaping to cling to the wall as the knife embeds itself to the hilt in the roof tiles. It keeps its eyes on Sendak throughout, then sets itself to spring. He kicks the door closed a fraction of a second before the creature slams into the wood, then slides the island unit in front.

Blake is cradling Kane's head as blood continues to gush from his neck. He's got a dish-towel pressed to it but it may as well be a paper hanky.

'I can't stem it,' he says, though he doesn't know to whom; may as well be talking about his own precipitate grief. 'There's just too much.'

'f.u.c.ker was on the ceiling,' Sendak says, dismayed and apologetic. 'I checked left and right. I didn't look up. I didn't look up.'

Through his forming tears, Blake can see that Kane's eyes are losing their thousand-yard stare of shock and confusion. There's weakness in them, but an attempt to focus. He's looking up at Blake. They both know he's dying.

'Don't . . .' Kane says, his speech a faltering hollow whisper. 'Don't dare . . . try and give me . . . last rites.'

Blake shakes with a sob: laughter and grief, released by the pain of glimpsing all that he's going to miss.

He sniffs back his tears, has to hold it together for Kane, the last, the only thing he can still do for him.

'What about Pascal's Wager?' Blake asks, forcing a smile through his tears.

Kane's head shakes, just enough for Blake to feel it in his hands.

'How the bookies . . . get rich. s.h.i.+tey odds . . . not worth . . . the stake.'

With these words, Kane dies and Blake collapses inside, clutching his friend's head in his lap while the blood seeps into his trousers from the cold kitchen floor.

XXV Tullian is looking left and right along the maintenance tunnel, referring back and forth to a square of paper with a rough schematic etched out upon it.

'If you're trying to get your bearings,' Merrick tells him, 'the bad news is that the shortest route to the surface is back the way we came.'

Tullian satisfies himself regarding his orientation and leads off in the opposite direction.

'No, we really, really don't want to head for the surface,' Tullian says. 'I have a grave fear that Elvis may have left the building. We're probably safer down here than above ground. We need to secure ourselves and wait for the military to send in their emergency lockdown team.'

'Well, there's bad news on that front too, Cardinal. No alarms were raised. I tried myself, but the systems had been disabled. Sabotaged, I have to a.s.sume.'

'Sabotaged? By whom?'

'Steinmeyer.'

Tullian sighs regretfully. 'I had my fears,' he says.