by Simon Clark
Dominion, where are you when we need you now?
Still dazed, Paul crashed through the door at the base of the tower and into the courtyard. The cobbled area lay wreathed in smoke. Flames from burning fragments of car lit the scene with an angry red glow.
Behind him, Caitlin shouted, ‘There’s nothing you can do. It’s smashed.’
She was right. A hole gaped in the criss-cross steelwork of the portcullis. Through the slash in the gate he could see silhouettes moving. A shot ran out as someone fired a rifle. The bullet whined through the air to smack into the stone wall. At that moment the only thing stopping the mob rushing in was one of the car’s axles wedged in the tangle of steel bars at the top of the gate. A burning tyre at one end of the axle poured a stream of molten rubber onto the ground where the mob would have to pass. Any second now the tyre would burn itself out then they’d flood into the courtyard. And now that mass of people displayed their fury. They hurled abuse at the occupants of the castle. There appeared to be no discipline. This was a bunch of enraged men and women who simply craved vengeance. They pushed each other so they could fire at the God Scarers. Bullets snapped through the air. Xaiyad clutched his back as a bullet smashed into his spine. He still kept running, though, to eventually duck through a doorway into the relative safety of the building.
Hard to kill … but not Caitlin. She tried to stay at Paul’s side. In turn he constantly strove to put himself between her and the hail of ammunition.
‘Paul, there’s nothing we can do with the gate,’ she repeated.
‘OK, but we’ve got to secure all the doors at ground level. Once they’re in the building there’s nothing we can do to stop them then.’
‘Those doors won’t hold them for long.’
‘I know.’ He heard the misery in his voice. ‘I know. But for now it’s all we can do.’
The saps pushed at the portcullis. A second later they shook the burning tyre free. It dropped from the axle in a flaccid mass. Greasy, orange flame licked the air as it fell. The mob was thinking on its feet now. The moment the molten rubber hit the ground a thickset man dropped a car door onto it. The rubber still burned but the people had a stepping stone to bring them over the threshold into the Pharos. First across was the mayor. For a moment he stood there with a crazed light in his eye as he pointed upwards.
‘Have you seen it?’ His voice boomed in triumph. ‘The army have sent a helicopter. It’ll have troops on it. But you know something? We’re going to do their work for them. We’ll cut off your heads and make a display of them before the soldiers get here.’
Caitlin screamed at her father. ‘Get away from here. Leave them alone!’
‘Caitlin, girl, you’ve got one chance. Come across here now. If you don’t I won’t be able to protect you.’
‘Go to hell!’
For once Paul had to agree with Caitlin’s father. The saps were rabid. Nothing less could describe it. Monster blood, Caitlin’s blood: all was the same to them now. They’d slaughter everyone in the castle.
39
Assault
The people of Scaur Ness poured into the courtyard. Vehicles pulled up outside that directed searchlights so what happened next was illuminated in brilliant detail. Paul caught as many of his fellow transients as he could and directed them through the doors that led into the body of the castle. He told them to barricade the doors from the inside. He wished Caitlin would join his people in the relative safety of the building but she insisted on staying with him. Everywhere pools of molten plastic still burnt on the cobbles. Acrid smoke stung his throat with every inhalation.
The sap women yelled. They were ecstatic. There was something sexual about their pleasure in retaking the Pharos. Their gunfire was wild – more venting of emotion rather than accuracy. Some bullets found targets. Paul felt a sting on his forearm as a bullet from a revolver wielded by a silver-haired woman cut a red furrow across his flesh.
A crimson-faced youth howled at him, ‘Helicopters! See ’em? You know something, they’re full of our troops. They’re going to butcher you fuckers!’
‘Caitlin.’ A man leered at her as he reloaded his shotgun. ‘You’re going to get some special treatment tonight. You should see what we’ve got planned for you … corpse whore.’
Then Paul saw his world unravel. A group of townspeople had cornered one of the transients – a guy who worked in physiotherapy. They beat him back against the wall with rifle butts. It was against the monster law to defend himself. All he could do was suffer the blows.
‘Leave him,’ Paul shouted. ‘He’s done nothing to harm you!’
The man looked across at Paul. There was such sorrow in his eyes. And at that moment Paul hated himself, and the God Scarers nature – their relentless submission; their acceptance of whatever humanity chose to mete out. Humans can do what they like to us. We can’t even complain.
From behind Paul as he shielded her from the mob Caitlin howled, ‘You bastards! Let him go!’ They simply worked the rifle butts harder. A split opened above the man’s eye. ‘Can’t you see, you’re hurting him? These people have feelings!’ Her voice became a torrent of rage. ‘They’re not the ones who are dead. You are! It’s all you from this fucking ghost town. You’re dead but you’re just too ignorant to realize it.’
One of the women in the mob stepped forward to stop them beating the guy. Paul felt a surge of relief. It was short-lived. She told their victim to open his mouth. He’s a God Scarer. What could he do? He must obey a human. So he opened his mouth. She inserted a stick of dynamite between his lips, then lit the fuse, as if she lit a cigar for a friend. The mob thought this was hilarious. They howled with laughter as they backed away.
The man’s sad eyes met Paul’s. At that desolate, soul-destroying moment the only thing Paul could do was stand there: his heart pounded, his ribs were a cage that crushed his lungs until it hurt him to breathe. The saps’ victim remained against the wall. He’d accepted his fate. The man knew this was the way his life would end.
The people, meanwhile, enjoyed their twisted comedy. A man with a fat stick of dynamite pushed into his mouth! The fuse burns toward the detonator! Sparks cascade down his chest! Head wreathed in smoke. Another five seconds … How the rabble laughed.
Paul longed for Dominion to appear. The monster’s monster. Dominion is the only one who can save him. So where are you, Dominion?
Caitlin slammed her hand into his back. ‘Paul! Do something!’
All he could do was shake his head.
‘You can’t just stand there and let them kill him. He’s the same as you!’
‘It’s our law.’ Paul hated saying the words; his heart was breaking. ‘We must not hurt a human being.’
Paul turned back just in time. One moment the man stood there in front of his baying tormentors. Then the fuse triggered the detonator. The dynamite planted in his mouth erupted in a ball of flame. A split second later the headless body fell to the ground. And the mob roared their approval. They laughed. Slapped one another on the back. Showtime.
‘Paul …’
He turned to see that half-a-dozen men had grabbed hold of Caitlin. Already one of them worked with a pair of shears. Savagely, the guy hacked at her hair.
‘Leave her. That’s my daughter.’ The mayor tried to intervene, but this time his neighbours bundled him away.
‘Paul!’
The others held her as one worked with the shears, already they’d nicked her skin. Blood beaded above her right eyebrow.
‘Leave her,’ Paul told them.
They laughed in his face. ‘How’re you going to stop us?’
The one with the shears showed him a pink glaze of blood on the blades. ‘All you can do is watch, monster. See … I’ll take a nip out of her ear … there!’
Caitlin screamed.
‘There’s nothing you can do about it, can you?’ The man with the shears leered at Paul. ‘We know that only one of your sort can use his fists on us – and he’s dead. We
saw them drag the body into the castle. You’re fucked, monster. And so is your corpse whore.’ He worked the shears again. His attack on her mane of hair was ferocious. When it didn’t cut he simply ripped at it. Caitlin’s screams of pain echoed from the walls.
Once more Paul shot a forlorn glance toward the door where Dominion had been hauled. Was he dead? It seemed impossible that towering man could no longer help him. Now this? The men were right. How could he save Caitlin? First they were going to cut off her beautiful hair. Then what? A wave of nausea scalded him inside.
Do no harm to humanity
That’s our monster law, he told himself. The only one to ever break it was Dominion. That’s because he’s not really one of us. He’s an amalgam of body parts. His brain is a bastardized construct. A dozen brains welded together before being dropped into his skull. Only Dominion can—
‘Paul!’
He heard her agony. Abandoning themselves to frenzy, the men twisted her arm. The man with the shears snipped away. Sometimes he stabbed the points of the blades into the tender flesh of her ears. She wept. Not just with pain but knowing this was the end. The town had finally won. They’d reclaimed her. She was theirs to degrade. Eventually, in the next few hours, their torture of her would claim her life. They’d bury her in the cemetery in the centre of Scaur Ness. Then the girl who dreamt of leaving this moribund town would never ever escape. She’d be imprisoned forever in the tomb they’d built for her.
THIS IS THE MONSTER LAW
DO NO HARM TO HUMANITY
When one man twisted Caitlin’s arm with so much force it dislocated her shoulder her cries blazed their way to Paul’s heart. He clenched his fists. This was more than he could endure.
‘Paul!’
The pressure became too great. Something tore inside of him.
The man with the shears attacked Caitlin’s hair with a new vigour. ‘Keep watching, monster,’ he called. ‘Just see what we do to her next. You won’t believe your eyes.’
The men roared with laughter. Paul saw the mob had gathered to enjoy the spectacle of one of their own suffer. Their eyes were gluttonous. For a short while Caitlin’s agony would make them forget their own dead end lives.
One of the women called out, ‘Cut off the bitch’s nose!’
The man held out his shears to show them to Paul. He snipped the air, savouring his act as showman. Youths shoved Paul in the back.
They jeered. ‘Go on, kiss her nose goodbye.’
‘Corpse whore!’
‘If anyone’s got the dynamite I know just where to stick it.’
They roared with laughter. The shears moved toward Caitlin’s face.
‘Cut!’ One of the woman shouted. The rest took up the chant: ‘Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut!’
Paul snapped. He felt no sense of wrong retard his actions. In a blur, he leapt forward, seized the man’s hand that held the shears then drove them point first through the bulge of his nose into his skull. The fingers that held the shears’ handles snapped under Paul’s powerful grip. The last Paul saw of the man was as he staggered backwards, his fingers wedded to the shears that were embedded in his face.
The mob lunged at Paul in a howling pack. The slaughterman was there; he attempted to push the muzzle of the humane killer against Paul’s head. Paul’s own hand closed over both the weapon and the slaughterman’s hand. He crushed both with such force the cartridge detonated in the gun, turning the man’s hand to shreds. In that tangle of bodies the ones with guns were jostled so much by their neighbours they couldn’t squeeze off a targeted shot. Pistols and rifles blasted away, either uselessly into the air, or so wide of their target the saps were more in danger than the God Scarer they were hell-bent on destroying.
A youth with a long straggle of red hair lunged forward with a knife; his slash scratched Paul’s chest. What Paul did in return was far worse. It felt as if something nuclear powered him. He had no qualms in attacking these people now. What’s more, their bodies seemed as insubstantial as tissue paper. When the youth slashed with the knife he simply grabbed hold of the kid with the red mane and snapped his head from his body as if the spine was no more substantial than a breadstick. The body vented blood from the hole between the shoulders. For a second it tottered there before slumping to the cobbles. Paul looked at the head in his hands. The eyes stared back into his with shock before the brain cells died. Easy to kill …
Now he gripped the head by the hair, then swung it like a mace. With each powerful sweep the mob either retreated from the head that sprayed them with blood from the ripped neck flesh, or it impacted against them knocking them to the ground. A sap ran forward with a shotgun. Before he had time to fire Paul slashed the head so fiercely it split the air with a whistling sound. Skull struck skull. Whether it was the youth’s dead head that broke or the guy’s with the gun Paul didn’t know. But Paul heard the loud snap! of breaking bone. Shotgun guy didn’t even cry out. He flopped down to the ground where he lay still.
The mob moved back now. Partly out of respect for what he could do with the bloody head, partly so those with guns could get a clean shot. Paul looked round for Caitlin. For a moment he was sure he’d find her amongst the corpses on the ground. Then he saw a flurry of movement beyond the portcullis.
‘Caitlin!’
Paul watched as Caitlin’s father dragged his daughter to a waiting car. A moment later she was inside and being driven away from the Pharos.
Birdshot stung his side. Guns bristled at him like the spines of a porcupine. This time he hurled the mangled head at one of the gunmen. It struck the man in the chest, knocking him backward.
‘Paul!’
He glanced back. Saiban stood in a doorway. Even though the wooden spikes in his torso made each movement agony, he beckoned Paul to him. Paul longed to race after the car that carried Caitlin away, yet it was too late and he knew it.
‘Paul. You can’t defeat them by yourself!’
With one last glance at the shattered portcullis Paul ran at the door. Saiban insisted he go first. The man even shielded him from the blows as a burly guy launched an attack with a hammer. Seconds later, Paul leaned panting against the storeroom wall. His skin burned where bullets had struck him.
‘Hard to kill.’ Saiban shot the bolts across the door. ‘Not indestructible. Go let Beech take a look at those wounds.’ Saiban stood back as a volley of gunfire struck the door. The old timbers were hard as iron. Not one bullet punched through. ‘Thank providence that they don’t have military weapons.’
Paul nodded. ‘Rabbit guns, antique pistols … that seems the best they can muster.’
‘If they have dynamite that’s a different matter. Here …’ Saiban took his arm to help him to where the God Scarers took it in turns to patch each other up.
‘Is it true Dominion’s dead?’
Saiban nodded toward a trestle table. The Brigadier sat in a chair beside it. ‘The bomb knocked Dominion off the walkway. He fell forty feet into the courtyard. Xaiyad has pronounced Dominion concussed. That’s all.’
Paul began, ‘I tried to stop them hurting Caitlin.’ As he stared at his bloody hands the flow of words stopped.
‘West told us what you did.’
Paul looked into those mournful eyes of Saiban’s. ‘Then you know I broke our law?’
‘Our monster law died years ago. It was our fault that we inherited the Frankenstein syndrome.’ Saiban smiled. ‘We kept bringing the law back to life. It belonged dead. We should have left it that way.’ He turned to the Brigadier. ‘Is he waking?’
The grotesque figure clad in the white sheet nodded. ‘Slowly.’
Paul found himself in a chair with Beech dabbing his wounds with tissue.
She asked, ‘Where’s Caitlin?’
‘I tried to save her … they were torturing her. So I killed them.’
‘Good.’ Beech spoke with force.
‘Her father drove Caitlin away.’
‘Then she’s safe.’
‘I wish I cou
ld believe you.’
Beech dabbed a graze on his wrist. ‘You’re not only hard to kill, Paul, you’re hard to even dent. These wounds are superficial.’
He gave a grim shake of his head. ‘But how long until they break in here?’
West stood on a table to look through an air vent into the courtyard. ‘They’re not doing anything at the moment. But when I went up into the tower I could see that helicopters have landed on the cliff top.’
The Brigadier spoke. ‘Then that bunch outside are probably waiting for their soldiers.’
‘Grenades, rocket launchers, armour-piercing ammunition.’ Saiban shook his head. ‘As to our fate? Draw your own conclusions.’
Paul stood up. ‘We’ve come too far to simply hand ourselves over.’
‘You surely aren’t proposing we fight our way out?’ Saiban stared at him. ‘Only you and Dominion have the blood lust. As for us?’ He looked round the room. ‘In reality, we’re still more sheep than monster.’
Anger surged through Paul. ‘We can’t wait here. You’re surrendering to apathy before you even surrender to the soldiers. And when you do they’ll slaughter you where you stand.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better.’ Dominion sounded weak. Nevertheless, he swung his legs round to sit upright on the table. ‘Keep the doors locked. Don’t let them in.’
The Brigadier stopped Dominion from standing. ‘You took a hell of a knock. Don’t rush anything.’
‘I’m fine. I take it their troops have arrived to finish us off?’
‘Three helicopters landed on the cliff,’ West said. ‘They’re big enough to be troop carriers.’
Paul regarded the giant figure as he sat there. ‘You might have a bloody big brain, Dominion, but I don’t believe for a minute you’re going to figure out an escape route for us.’
‘I’m starting to remember …’ Dominion experimentally straightened his spine as if checking for damage. ‘There is something I am supposed to do.’
‘What exactly?’
