The Gamekeeper

by J Porteous

  Someone shouted. I found myself slumped against the wall; Jessica lay against me and Prism lay against her. The shout came again. I could not hear what they were saying, but I could hazard a guess.

  I leapt to my feet, Jessica’s eyes rolling open at the sudden movement. ‘Get up!’ I yelled, shaking the pair of them. ‘Get up! It’s time!’

  The sounds of other voices now echoed down the corridor, strained with concern. A man ran past, shouting into every room to get up and get ready to move. Those who had found sleep now awoke startled, the number of voices increasing rapidly.

  I looked towards the empty window pane to see only darkness. The cult had moved fast, wanting to make sure they caught us sooner rather than later it seemed. I had no idea what time it was, but it was certainly far from the morning.

  Prism pulled herself to her feet and threw the rucksack over her shoulder. She adjusted the straps, bringing them tight around her arms. ‘They’re here quicker than I thought.’

  ‘I was thinking the same,’ I replied. ‘You know what to do, right?’

  She placed a hand on Jessica’s shoulder and nodded. ‘We’ll see you on the other side of this.’

  I stepped towards the pair of them and wrapped my arms around them both. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to take in every part of this moment. I would never have said it aloud, and especially not with Jessica there, but this could be my very last moment with them. I took a second before I spoke in an attempt to stop my voice from breaking. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Prism put her arm around Jessica and looked down at her. ‘Come on. We’ve got the bag, let’s get going. And keep hold of my hand, I don’t want you getting lost in the bustle.’

  Jessica nodded, placing her hand in Prism’s. She looked up at me with a forced smile. ‘See you soon.’

  I stroked her hair, relishing the moment. I tried to drive away the thought that this could be the last time I would see her. ‘Stay with Prism. Stay safe.’

  With that I watched them walk out of the door, joining the increasing volume of bodies who wandered through the corridors and towards the entrance of the cellar. Flashes of light dashed past as those with lanterns or other forms of light guided the survivors through the dark corridors.

  I mixed with the crowd as I made my way towards Thwaite’s room. She stood there in the dark, the other volunteers who weren’t busy shepherding the souls below us awaiting her word. A good portion of them peered at something out of the window.

  I pushed my way through to try and get a view of what they looked at. On the edge of the treeline a swarm of torches were held aloft; the glow pushing back the night and revealing a crowd of bodies, faces twisted with the snarls of feral dogs. In the deep shadows thrown by the torches, it was hard to pick out one person from another; they all looked the same when bathed in the orange light.

  My stomach dropped at the sight. I had known this had been coming, but now I could not help but think we were ill-prepared for it. Give a man all the time in the world to plan for his impending death and all but the most stoic will flounder in the face of it.

  Thwaite cleared her throat to silence the muttering voices around me. We all turned to face her. ‘This is the moment we’ve been preparing for,’ she said. ‘You all know your role and what you’re doing.’ She took a number of steps towards the window and looked out defiantly. ‘When Sasha goes to light the oil, we open the cellar and lure them down, making them think they’ve got us trapped.’ She turned back to us. ‘Get to your positions. We need to get to work.’

  At her words, a shadow from our own side dashed across the gardens, stumbling occasionally on the overgrown foliage. Sasha. She scrambled forward, seemingly unseen by the horde gathered at the treeline. She disappeared beyond the initial garden, beyond the large and unkempt hedges which bordered it.

  Our own light burned back against the cult. Flames tore lines through the gardens, driving towards the attackers like a striking snake. A few of the gathered cult wavered momentarily, sharing glances amongst each other. That momentary lapse in faith kindled my hope.

  The overgrown hedgerows and long grass caught blaze quickly, the flames belching out thick smoke to darken the night further. The stone statues looked down at the fire which reached up their pedestals to lick their feet without worry.

  Beyond the haze, the cult scurried around on the edge of the woods. It was hard to judge their mindset, but I doubted that they had ever been up against anyone as prepared as we were. Hope may have had tall walls, but we had fields of flame.

  Thwaite stamped her feet against the cold stone, the sound reverberating around the room. ‘Stop gawping. Let’s get moving.’

  The group of us bundled out into the corridor and made our way down the stairs and towards the cellar. The air in the corridor which led to the cellar was thick with fear, the crowded bodies waiting anxiously to make their escape.

  I pushed my way through with the rest of the guides, our lanterns illuminating pale and fearful faces around us. Old women grasped hold of their belongings, gaunt men looked around with rheumy eyes, and children clutched hold of their parents who whispered words of reassurance to them. The knowledge that their lives depended on myself and the other guides doing our jobs crushed me with a sudden weight.

  The first of the guides descended the stairs into the cellar, chasing away the cold gloom with their lantern. I loitered at the top of the stairs along with some of the other guides, waiting for the person in front of our position to head on down so that we could follow.

  I paced impatiently, aware that the fire would not keep the cult back long, if at all. The grim-faced crowd behind me were jittery, animals ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, their fearful expressions caught in the light of my lantern.

  The last of the guides went ahead of me, and I trailed down the steps after them, leaving the murmurs of the survivors behind. The air was cold and damp, a shiver running down my body as I reached the last step. My nerves sliced through me. This was the moment things went either way. I prayed to any entity that was listening that I was not going to end up burning in this cellar myself.

  The call came through the tunnels, a ghostly chorus of echoes. The word grew in volume, the tight echoes amplifying it further until it reached me. I looked back up the staircase at the tired and frightened faces which looked down at me and called out the word they pinned their hopes on.

  ‘Ready.’

  The exodus began. I pressed my back against the cold stone wall, holding my lantern above my head to light the route. I glanced down the tunnel, seeing the other lanterns held aloft like lighthouse keepers guiding passing ships to safety.

  More bodies came down the staircase. They pushed harder now, forcing me to stand my ground against their tide. Shadowed faces passed by, creased with worry and fear. Voices muttered and whispered. Thwaite had told us to keep quiet the fact that our plan might not work, but it looked like the majority of people already knew that.

  A collective gasp came from up the stairs, a blast of orange painting their faces vividly for a moment. More petrol. They were getting closer, there was little doubt of that, but it seemed that Sasha was still alive somewhere out in the dark. Keep going, Sasha.

  The crowd were agitated now, some braying like frightened horses. All it would take was another fright and we’d have a stampede on our hands; and if that happened, then I doubted that as many as we hoped would make it out alive.

  I held an arm out, forcing the crowd to push around me. ‘Steady!’ I called out. ‘Keep moving, keep the flow.’ The other lanterns in the tunnel were now jostling wildly in the flow of bodies.

  Another blast of orange lit up the crowd above me, a few screams coming with it. Those already coming down the steps glanced back, stumbling in panic. I knew I needed to move.

  I let myself drift further down the tunnel until I reached one of the doorways which led to one of the vaulted side-rooms. People flowed past me without crushing me against the stone wall, and my l
ungs took the chance to gulp down as much of the cold air as they could.

  I pushed the occasional person back into the crowd, stopping them from being knocked aside and losing themselves in the darkness. If any of them wandered into the darkened corners of the cellars without a light, then there would be little chance of them getting out before the cult arrived.

  Among the cries of struggle and calls of names was another sound. I don’t know how long it had been there, but its rise in volume meant that it now vied with the passing crowd for attention. It was a rhythmic sound, deep in tone, a chant coming from the cult as they advanced towards the mansion.

  I had no idea what they were saying, but the sheer force of it made me weak at the knees. I struggled momentarily to keep my composure, wanting to dash down that tunnel with the rest of the survivors, but doing that would almost certainly doom those left in the blackened cellars.

  I couldn’t blame myself; survival of the self is the most basic instinct hard-wired into the human psyche. I couldn’t help but think of flinging myself into the crowd in an attempt to find the exit.

  The last of the survivors arrived at the bottom of the stairs, glancing backwards and pushing those in front of them to go forward. They cried out in panic, as if expecting Hell itself to be hot on their heels. They might not have been too wrong.

  The last few of the crowd crushed past me, their panicked cries reaching deafening volumes. Some of the other lanterns which had previously illuminated the way had disappeared, their owners abandoning their posts ahead of schedule. Now dark reigned in the cellars once more.

  I couldn’t leave, not yet, not when so many people were running the risk of getting lost and stuck down here. We’d be killing them along with the cult, and that was a thought I did not think I could carry.

  There was no point in joining the rear of the crowd yet. I needed to wait and see who got lost, to make sure I could gather as many as possible once the flow of bodies had diminished. Instead, I turned my head back towards the staircase, and to the orange glow which threw deep shadows across the corridor.

  I found myself walking towards it, leaving the chaotic screams behind and becoming enveloped in the almost trance-inducing chant of the Children of Ash which seemed thick in the air. The mansion was eerily quiet inside, barring the chant of the cult, the rooms and corridors which had held so many desperate people now devoid of life.

  Through the wide windows, the light of the fires painted everything in a dread orange, my shadow flickering along the stones. The chants of the cult echoed from the old walls, seeming as if the walls themselves were singing their death chant.

  Felix was nowhere to be seen. I could only hope that he was hiding well enough that I couldn’t find him. I trusted his word to do this job, I had to believe he would keep it.

  The final line of petrol ignited, a roar of flame throwing itself towards the pitch black skies. The heat licked at me even at the window I gazed from. I squinted at the sudden brightness. A shadow darted between the bushes our side of the flames. Sasha.

  I wanted to call out, to call her back, but my voice would have been drowned out amid the cacophony of noises. Beyond the newest wall of fire, the cult advanced. Somewhere beneath the chants and the roaring flames were the sounds of the injured and dying. Some of those traps are working at least.

  Sasha reappeared, this time stood in the middle of the path which the majority of the cult advanced towards. It was hard to tell what she held initially, but the light which glinted from the blade let me know. She shouted something, screaming at the top of her voice at the people on the other side of the fires.

  She launched herself towards them, diving through the flames and into the waiting crowd. Some looked taken aback by such a frenzied assault, but it did not take long for the others to pile in towards her. Cultists surrounded her as she swung and fought wildly.

  Her blade flashed orange as it tore through the air, slicing through anything it connected with. A number of cultists staggered back, clutching at torn flesh. More cultists charged towards her, grappling her and wrenching the knife loose from her grip.

  She thrashed and screamed fury at the top of her lungs, audible even over their chants. Two of them gripped her, and, in their struggle, all three of them fell back into the flames which engulfed the gardens. Sasha was gone.

  They were close now. Fear tore through my stomach, culminating in a lump which threatened to block my throat. I turned and rushed back towards the stairs to the cellar, holding my lantern out in front of me to illuminate the way.

  The sounds of panic from the survivors now echoed from the bare stone walls. The other lantern bearers had left, and panicked cries came from those left in the dark. I called out as I strode forward, trying to bring some power to my fear-choked throat.

  ‘Rally to me! To me, to the light!’

  Several shouts came back in response, although the echoes and deadened sounds of the cellar confused me as to what their locations were. I ducked into the side rooms, letting my light chase back the darkness.

  The first few were bare, but the cries became louder. Terror. Confusion. It was the sound of those frantically fighting against the idea of dying lost and alone in the dark.

  I swung my lantern into yet another room. A man staggered backwards, holding his hands up against the light. He stumbled on the uneven floor and fell.

  ‘Get up,’ I said, conjuring all of my composure. ‘Get up. We need to go now.’ I stepped towards him and grabbed his arm, helping as he scrambled to his feet. Tears stained his cheeks. I couldn’t blame him.

  We wandered the main path of the cellar. Even amongst all of the other noises, I could hear the man’s shocked sobs loud and clear. I tried to block them out, but the fearful sound still managed to get under my skin.

  Another few rooms were bare, then we found another with a young girl. Her eyes were wild with fright, a sight I was getting used to seeing now. I held a hand out toward her. ‘Come on, we need to go now.’

  After a hesitant moment, I saw that she was in no mind to decide what to do. Fight or flight had reared its head, and she sat in the frozen middle-ground. There’s no time for this. I snatched the girl’s hand and yanked her after me. There would be time for her to come to her senses later. Right now she, and the rest of us, needed to move.

  I pushed past the sobbing man and into the corridor. Something caught my eye, back from the way we came. An eerie red light appeared at the turn in the cellar corridor, the chanting of the cultists now louder than the terror of the small group I led.

  My heart froze. I knew the cultists were close, but now here they were, about to bound on top of us and tear us apart. The man’s sobs turned into a desperate yell, and the girl clutched my hand even harder than she already did.

  I shoved the man with my free hand, hoping to break him out of his despair. ‘Run!’ I yelled. ‘Or die here, now.’

  The shove had the desired effect, something kick-starting the man’s survival instinct. His scream was broken, and in that moment he managed to realise the trouble he was about to be in.

  I shoved him again. ‘I said run!’

  I dragged the girl alongside me as I held the lantern ahead of us. My mind whirled at the thought of death on our heels, my memory of the route towards the exit fragile. You’ve done this before, I told myself, You know this.

  The next corner gave me hope. The night air was fresher here, a slight breeze coming down the stretch of corridor. At the end of the corridor were other lanterns, the bright lights guiding us out of dark purgatory.

  We sprinted the last stretch. ‘Wait for us,’ I shouted. ‘Wait!’

  Two shadows guarded the iron gate at the end, pulling the rusted steel open as we approached. I pushed the man through first, dragging the girl beside me. I pushed the girl next, out towards the open night, then stepped through myself. ‘Go, and don’t look back.’ I took a breath and looked back through the gateway, taking a moment to organise my head.

  The ir
on gate slammed shut, the sound momentarily drowning out the chanting which marched ever closer. ‘Gamekeeper, you made it?’

  One of the shadows was Thwaite. She offered a quick nod then went back to her task of wrapping a thick chain around the door and pulling it tight. Two lengths of it trailed back towards me.

  ‘They’re coming,’ I panted. ‘They’re right behind us.’

  No sooner as I had finished the sentence, the first of the torches rounded the corner, followed by many more. The chorus of bright lights came down the corridor, devilish faces illuminated in the glow.

  Thwaite grabbed a length of chain. ‘Here,’ she said, passing it to me. She picked up the other length and pulled it taut. ‘We need to buy Felix some time.’

  The cultists advanced almost to the end of the corridor then halted. The chant died away too, a haunting silence hanging in the air. My knuckles whitened around the chain, fingers clasped around the cold metal.

  The cultists shuffled to make room for someone walking through their ranks. The torches they grasped cast hellish shadows across the grotesque burnt faces which leered out at us on the other side of the iron gate. I gripped the chain just a little tighter.

  A masked figure emerged from the throng, one I recognised all too well. A roughly-hewn beak struck out from the front of the mask, two eye-holes torn into it. He walked towards the iron gate with an almost serene sense of purpose, as if certain that each step would take him to whatever he wanted.

  Thwaite pulled her end of the chain and whispered through gritted teeth. ‘Felix better not fuck this up.’

  ‘He won’t,’ I replied.

  ‘Then why the fuck are we coming face-to-face with these assholes? I want to be looking at their burning corpses.’ The fire in her voice was enough to burn me alone.

  ‘He’ll come through, don’t you worry.’

  The Father stepped towards us, the beak of his mask now pushing through the bars of the gate. He paused, his breath rasping within the mask. ‘I can smell your sin,’ he said. ‘You reek of it, almost as much as you reek of fear.’ He reached a scarred hand to his mask and peeled it from his head.