‘And what about the barrack room?’ she spat in a hoarse whisper. ‘He knew where that was!’
‘You’re paranoid. We’re all scared, Petra. This has been … fucking awful. Let’s just go.’ He broke away from her grip and jogged ahead to meet Ed and Mary. Dragging the weight of a heavy heart, Petra pulled herself after him, towards the green glow – ahead, three people she hardly knew; behind, the only one she’d counted as a friend, growing cold in the dark.
Chapter 16
‘You little beauty,’ smiled Krishna, his phone held high like an Olympic athlete proudly clasping a flaming torch for the world to see. His screen told him it was almost two a.m., and the moon, almost full, was directly overhead. The lightest wisps of cloud shrouded her light, but Krishna could clearly see a monochrome landscape below him. The flickering lights of the Spanish coast were just a thin, black strip of sea away. He could hear the distant rasp of a moped drift across from the mainland. There was life out there. People. People who could help.
He drew breath, tapped his phone’s screen and brought up the last number dialled. ‘Dane’ appeared across the screen. Before his thumb could tap the green button, a shriek erupted from nearby, a deafening screech from behind and somewhere above him. He ducked in fright, spun round and looked up to see a blaze of white fur across a black shape hurtling towards him from the sky.
He threw his arms up and reeled backwards. The ape glanced off his chest at the same moment that Krishna’s foot scuffed beyond the ridge and into fresh air. His arms windmilled, his jettisoned phone flew high into the air. His wide, panic-filled eyes saw the ape standing in the grey light, watching him fall, lips curled back in a clownish grin, one arm missing. Then there was sky, rushing wind, the gentle moon above. There was a small flurry of birds erupting from shrubs, a deep, loud, crunching thud, and the ripple of chatter from disturbed rock apes. There was the buzz of the distant moped drifting away. Then there was silence.
As Petra caught up with the others, Ed picked up the pace. For a man on a bent prosthetic leg, he was making good ground. ‘This is it, it’s down here!’ He sounded excited and Petra was almost at a jog to keep up with them. ‘It’s just a bit further. I know where we are!’
‘Oh, thank God,’ said Dane.
Petra was looking around, trying to see if any of this looked familiar. It didn’t feel like the way they’d come in. Turning the corner, they reached a large metal blast-trap door. Mary turned to them, beaming. ‘We’re here!’ Petra looked at Dane, who smiled back at her, tearful with relief.
The thick, rusty steel door was secured by a tangle of chains, which Ed released with expert ease. A scraping clatter filled the passage as he shoved the door, which opened about halfway before grinding to a stop. They all pushed through the gap and Petra found herself in a new place.
This wasn’t the Rock. There was enough dim light in here to see that the walls were painted bricks. Mary leaned her shoulder against the metal door, grinding it back into place.
Dane was looking around, up at the high ceiling with two grubby plastic skylights. ‘Where are we?’
‘Relax,’ smiled Mary. ‘It’s over.’ She stood with her back to the corridor wall, beckoning them to follow Ed to the far end. He had pulled a jangling keyring from his pocket and Petra heard the decisive clack of a lock. One of two double doors swung wide open revealing a black void beyond.
‘This way,’ grinned Ed.
Mary led the way through, smiling encouragingly to Dane. ‘Follow me.’
As Petra stepped past Ed he said, ‘I’ll throw the power on,’ and followed her into the darkness.
BAM! The door slammed, engulfing them in black.
‘Dane? Ed? What the fuck? Where are we?’ Petra heard a crack and with a hum of electrical surge the room was suddenly brightly lit. She cried out and staggered back against the door. Her eyes could barely take in the array of horrors, clinically illuminated around her. Rotting limbs were strewn among discarded green surgical gowns and upturned medical equipment. Jars of remains, animal and human, lined the walls on haphazard wooden shelves. Rusting steel cabinets stood crooked alongside shining steel IV stands.
On a gurney behind Ed lay the corpse of a girl in her twenties: red hair, still in summer tourist clothes, a crop-top vest and shorts. Petra retched at the waxy, sunken features. The arm nearest her hung from the gurney like the broken hand of a clock, a Disney Tigger tattoo near the shoulder. The other arm had been severed just below the shoulder and was attached to a different, withered, blackened, decomposing arm. At the wrist, the limb had rotted to such an extent that the bone was visible.
‘Holy fuuuuuck!’ uttered Dane.
‘Excuse the mess,’ smiled Ed. He was relaxed, stepping carefully through the debris while Mary busied herself with pulling on surgical gloves and organising a tray of instruments.
Petra turned to flee, saw the slumped, blind corpse staring up from her feet, and screamed. Ed slid across the doorway, blocking her path, and pushed her back into the room. She yelled past him, ‘HELP! HELP!’ while Ed rolled his eyes.
Dane, paralysed with fear and confusion, gazed at his surroundings uttering baffled questions. ‘Where? What is this place?’
The fractured pieces of the puzzle fell rapidly into place for Petra. A fire inside her roared: adrenaline, fear, fury. ‘I knew it! I fucking knew something was wrong! You’re not helping us! You’re … you’re … what the fuck are you?’ Dane’s dumbfounded face was slack while Petra blasted, ‘You knew all along where you were leading us!’ But Ed just smirked.
Petra didn’t see Mary coming and Dane was too slow to react. A lunge, a swing, and a plastic syringe was plunged into her neck. Petra grabbed at the pain but the needle was hanging limp from her flesh, its load already delivered. She turned, her knees buckled; Mary stood above her, a victorious sneer on her tight lips. Collapsing, swallowed by darkness, the last thing Petra heard was Ed saying, ‘Lovely work, angel,’ and the distant, hollow reply from Mary:
‘Shame the blonde one didn’t go down so easily.’
Chapter 17
With the same catapulting violence of a catatonic drug user being resuscitated with an adrenaline shot to the heart, Dane sprang to life, startled, angry and confused. He launched himself at Mary, who squirmed sideways out of his reach. As she dodged away Ed lunged, as if yanked by a wire, slamming the corpse-laden gurney into the small of Dane’s back. The impact threw him against the wall a second before he felt the spasm of agony.
He spun around, roaring in pain, a clumsy giant compared to nimble Mary. Off balance, pressed to the wall by the trolley, he tried to steady himself as he fell forwards. His outstretched hand pressed on the exposed stomach of the putrid cadaver and with a slimy squelch pushed straight through. A cold, slippy spinal column filled his hand. He jerked it back, smeared with noxious decay.
Mary and Ed shared a laugh, enjoying Dane’s grotesque slapstick. He raised his foot and with the precision and strength of a mountaineer planted it on the edge of the gurney and launched it like a speeding train straight back at Ed, barrelling him to the floor. Dane was back at the door in a flash, but so was Mary, just a couple of paces behind him as he slammed the latch with his palm and bashed the door open. Without a backward glance he wrenched at the handle, slamming it into Mary’s face – but something stopped it.
A piercing scream filled his ears and he looked down to see that the bottom of the swing door had wedged hard against Mary’s open toe sandal, ripping off her big toenail. It was jutting vertically, pooling with blood. He looked past her, saw Petra unconscious on the floor, Ed clambering to his feet … and he ran.
In the empty passage he saw his escape and exploded through the fire door, slamming it shut behind him, muting Mary’s murderous ravings. Neither of his pursuers would be incapacitated for long so he ran straight up the grassy bank, putting distance between him and the bunker below. Panting, his mouth dry, his body soaked with sweat, blood and fetid remains, he looked back down.
The door remained closed. No movement at all.
Panic ebbed into guilt. He could save himself. He was free. But what about Petra? He swore. He had to go back, didn’t he? His stomach cramped at the thought. He couldn’t go back in there. Not without help.
‘KRISHNA!’ he yelled, not really expecting any response.
The dark grey night remained quiet.
‘Where the hell are you?’
Krishna was closer than he thought, cold, lifeless and alone, but the Rock kept its secret.
If I don’t go back for Petra, she’s dead for sure, he thought. But what if she didn’t die? That would be worse. She’d tell of how Dane was there one minute, gone when she awoke. How would that look when the police started asking questions?
‘Police!’
Scanning the hillside in the gloom he worked out that although the easiest route up was to the right, it was in entirely the wrong direction for the main entrance. The tunnel mouth where the police car was parked was a short climb up to the left. A steep ascent, but significantly quicker than running all the way back to Gibraltar town – plus, Ed and Mary could never make that climb.
Running some sections, conquering steep, almost vertical rock with the last drops of his energy, finding footholds and finger-cracks with experienced instinct, he was soon hauling himself up onto the high pathway he and his friends had walked only hours ago. The exhausted figure dragging itself around the bend to the tunnel entrance was a shadow of the athlete he’d looked back then.
But there it was, silhouetted where it had been earlier, the distinctive shape of the police car. He staggered towards it, picking up pace. Behind misted windows, listening to the radio, pouring a steaming drink from a flask, was a police officer. Dane almost tripped and slammed his hands against the car window, making the man jolt with fright and shower himself with hot coffee.
‘Mierda!’ he cried, but when he saw the blood-smeared hands on the window and Dane’s haggard face, his fury turned to alarm.
‘Help!’ shouted Dane at the glass. ‘Come! Rapido!’ he pulled at the door handle, then at the policeman’s sleeve, dragging him from his warm, muggy den.
‘What the hell?’ complained the cop. He was a slight, gaunt man with dark, searching, suspicious eyes. When he shone his torch at Dane he took a step back. ‘Dios mío! You hurt?’
‘Come with me! You must come!’
‘Calm, Eengleesh. Slow.’
‘You’ve got to help us! Down there, a bunker. There’s a … they’ve killed someone!’
He placed his hand on Dane’s shoulder. ‘You’re safe now. I’m Officer Jurado. Tell me, slowly. Tell me what happened.’
‘Two people, they’ve killed Carly. My Carly! And others. Dead! Er … muerto! Come on!’ Dane tried to pull Jurado down the path with him.
‘Espere, espere, hold on. I should call for help, no? How many are there?’
‘Two! I just … for fu – we don’t have time! Quick! Rapido! They still have Petra. We need to go!’
The sluggish cop thought for a second or two and then seemed convinced by Dane’s panic. He quickly reached into the car and pulled out a clip of ammo from the glove box, slapped it into the base of the pistol on his hip and said, ‘Lead the way.’
Petra’s head hurt. A fuzzy, buzzing headache which she could almost hear inside her skull. She lay still, giving herself a few seconds to come round. Eyes closed, she told herself. Play dead.
She felt something pulling at her ankle. Quickly, the memories tumbled through her mind: the trap, the deceit, the macabre death-lab, Ed’s chilling acceptance of the horror, his even more insane girlfriend. And Carly. Poor, poor Carly. Murdered by this fucking psycho-bitch. Her last memory before the blackness had swamped her, Mary’s smiling voice gloating at Carly’s death, swam around her head. She resisted the urge to open her eyes, leap up and wreak bloody revenge. Shhhhhh, Petra, she commanded herself. Play dead.
The tugging was at her hips now and she realised she was being strapped down. Gurney restraints, she calculated. She could hear breathing but her captors weren’t talking. She channelled all her willpower into slowing her own lungs. Pretend to sleep! she yelled in her head. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, she tensed her arms.
Predictably, that’s where the next strap fell, across her arms and chest. She had no idea whether this old escapologists’ trick ever worked, but she’d seen it on a Houdini documentary once. Tense when restrained so your body is bigger. Relax and the restraints will slacken.
At least, that was the theory.
Click!
Her ears pricked. The person strapping her down suddenly fell still. There was someone outside. She heard Mary whisper, ‘Ed,’ but was quickly shushed. In Petra’s mind she placed Mary over to her right, beyond her feet. Ed’s ‘Shush’ came from right above her chest. She felt the strap-tail drop and heard him walk away. She heard muffled voices, also trying not be heard. She guessed she was near the swing doors, and from the snippet she heard it sounded like men’s voices on the other side.
Thank God! The fucking cavalry. Dane, Krishna, the police with any luck. How was this going to play out? If Ed and Mary were squaring up for a fight, and God knows they weren’t squeamish when it came to violence, she did not want to be strapped to a trolley-bed in the middle of their suicidal swansong. She was already a witness. Why wasn’t she already dead?
She heard the swing door give a tiny squeak and the latch hold. One of the men was gently pushing it. Then, a crack, like a blunt axe hitting a tree, a yelping groan, and the door rattled as something slid down it.
She tensed against her straps but quickly resumed her bogus coma. The push latch flicked, she heard the door shove open, pushing against a blockage which eventually shifted. Then she heard Ed, his voice just beyond the open door. ‘Ah … the one that got away.’
‘No loose ends, Mr Pilkington.’ The voice had a thick Spanish accent that fitted none of the gangsters in Petra’s mind. ‘You need to be more careful. I saw some guys slip away an hour ago. Midnight boat to Africa kind of guys. What if Mr Eengleesh here had bumped into them …’
‘We did.’
‘No!’
‘Indeed. It turned into a bit of a gathering. As much of a surprise to us as it was to them. Wasn’t really accounting for all that. There’s a clean-up required. One dead gangster and a girl. She needs to … you know. Disappear.’
‘Mierda. You are not paying me enough.’
‘Ha! How’s that yacht of yours?’
‘Fishing boat. Not that I do much fishing.’
Petra heard the ruffling of cash, and Ed mutter, ‘I’m sure the fish will thank you for another of your midnight deliveries, Jurado.’ She heard a pat on the arm. ‘Come on, you do all right. You relish the credit. “Local cop finds remains of foiled smuggler.” You’ll dine out on this.’
Cop! Petra’s mind raced, her eyelids barely a flicker. This was a policeman? Her mind reeled at the scale of this elaborate trap. Were they ever really lost, or just being shepherded to slaughter?
She heard grimacing, heaving noises, and Jurado say, ‘He’s a heavy one.’
A clatter of equipment being kicked and pushed aside, and with a final grunting heave, gulping breaths of relief. Then footsteps, and Jurado’s voice right above her. ‘Who is this?
‘No one. Forget it.’
Jurado laughed. ‘I think this one be no use to you, amigo.’
‘I do hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,’ Mary said from the other side of the room.
‘Explain, Jurado,’ Ed said. ‘Why no good? Do tell.’
‘No, no, I just mean … y’know, she’s … not ’cause she’s black. I just, y’know …’
There was a pause. Petra could hear that the man named Jurado was nervous.
‘Because she’s a woman?’ asked Mary.
‘Yes! That’s what I was saying. This one is a woman. No use for you.’
‘Bravo, Officer,’ Ed drawled. ‘We’ll make an enl
ightened 21st-century man of you yet. She’s a black woman. Mixed race, actually. Might still need her. She’s healthy, fit.’
‘Not that fit,’ Mary scowled.
‘You know what I mean. Too good to waste. For now, at least.’
Jurado turned away and Petra heard his voice change. ‘Seriously, Mr. Pilkington, this man is … a little bigger than you. No offence. Is this really the one, you think?’
‘I hope so,’ Ed replied. ‘I hope so.’
Chapter 18
Minutes passed. Petra slept, as far as her captors were aware. After the policeman left she didn’t hear much talking from Ed and Mary, just soft feet moving across the floor, the occasional click, snap and ruffle of movement. Eventually, once she’d established that they were both further down the room, off to her right, her curiosity was too much.
Gently, slowly, with the tiniest of flickers, she risked lifting one eyelid a crack. She instantly realised that her body had been strapped with her head at the wall and her feet facing straight down the laboratory towards them. She stifled a gasp at the blurred view she glimpsed. Ed was wearing green surgical scrubs and around his neck hung a paper surgeon’s mask. He was adjusting the position of a gurney beneath a fluorescent light that hung from the flaking, grubby ceiling on rusted chains.
She closed her eye. Stay calm! Was that the gurney the redheaded girl had been on? Where was that poor soul now?
‘I told you not to go inside the Rock at night.’ It was Ed. She heard a struggle and opened an eye again.
Dane! He’d just woken to find himself undressed to his underwear and strapped to a gurney, and was thrashing against the restraints. ‘You fucking psycho! I’m gonna rip your fucking head off!’
Ed simply stood watching him, a safe pace back. He was on the other side of the bed from Petra’s vantage point and she could see him smiling. Mary, her back to Petra, was opposite Ed preparing an injection, sucking fluid into a syringe from an upturned vial.
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