by Matt Hilton
Still unsure what was going down, I hid against the crags. It was while I crouched there, intent on the scene below that I heard the faint scrabble of movement to my left. I searched the shadows but could see nothing. The rocks and the night conspired against me. My ears were my best assets, because I again heard the scuff of a foot against gravel.
The gun. Maybe I should draw the SIG. The thought trickled through my mind, but I was sluggish to respond. What had Broom said? Trust my instincts? Only problem being, my instincts told me that whoever was creeping around was probably a member of the law enforcement community and it wouldn’t be the done thing for me to greet them with a gun in my hand.
“Draw the gun.”
Cash had kept his own company so long that his sudden intrusion in my thoughts startled me.
“What’s wrong?” I hissed at him.
“Draw the gun.”
A scratching on the rocks above me. I looked up. A bird, I told myself, or maybe an animal. Some creature of the night disturbed by my presence. Couldn’t possibly be -
“Draw the fucking gun, Carter!”
There’s a pretty good chance that my reaction was due to my heightened alertness, but Cash’s warning did help. In fact, his urgency was like a motivating kick in the backside. I dropped onto my left elbow, facing the crag I’d so recently leaned against, even as I snatched at the grip of the SIG. On my side like this, I saw an amorphous shape detach itself from the rocks, then drop towards me. I caught a glint of green phosphorous. A hint of bestial eyes too large and round to be human. There were spikes and claws. But everything else was black against a nighttime sky. And all happening in weird slow motion as my mind worked faster than I could process the imagery.
My hand came up as the thing plummeted down on me. I squeezed, squeezed, squeezed. Muzzle flash. Bullets streaking into the sky. A grunt. My yell of fear tearing the ether. Then the form thumped onto the turf behind me. I rolled over to follow it, firing blindly. My eyes blinking with each shot, the flash impregnating my vision with motes of colour. Whatever it was that had tried to ambush me appeared fearful of my bullets. Or maybe, like many a wild thing, it was the thunder and lightning the gun emitted that the thing feared. Regardless of its motives, it threw itself aside, even as it swung round to face me. Half-blinded by muzzle flash I tried to follow it. For one long moment the thing was directly before me, then it dropped down as though to all fours, crouching ape-like. The bullet I fired into it found only this sudden space above its head. My mind continued to race. My reactions were out of synch with my speeding thoughts.
I did manage to bring down the gun and fire directly into the central mass. Just as the thing leapt at me. It was mere feet away from me, like shooting the proverbial barn door. Physics would dictate that the force of the bullet leaving the barrel of the gun should equal that of the bullet striking the target. If that were true, I should have been lifted and spun by the recoil of the gun. As it was, my hand barely bucked, whilst the shape was flung backwards and away from me like being snatched away on a huge bungee cord.
I tried to watch its tumbling fall. Even considered firing a few more rounds after it. That was a pointless exercise. The curve of the slope hid it from view within seconds, and all I could make out from its fall was the rattle and clatter of loose stones it dislodged.
In the next few seconds all I did was stand there.
Too many unfathomable stimuli had bombarded my brain during the space of the last dozen heartbeats. My vision remained impaired. My ears whistled to the echo of gunshot. I was still lying on the ground for God’s sake.
“Carter,” Cash shouted from my core. “You’d better get your arse in gear, boy.”
I gave a languid blink. Time moved as if through molasses.
“The cops will be coming. I suggest you get the fuck outa here.”
“What the hell was that?” My voice was a dry rasp that caught at my throat.
“Five years in prison for you if you don’t get the hell outa here!”
There was supreme logic in Cash’s frantic words. Unfortunately they weren’t seeping into my over-wrought senses. I craned my neck for a better view of whatever had just attacked me. I still couldn’t make it out, though, from way below me, I thought I could detect a low moan. The thing was hurt but still alive.
“Leave him to the coppers, Carter,” Cash shouted.
Police, coming out of the immediate shock of hearing the volley of gunfire, were now looking my way. Without the eyes of a fish eagle I doubted they could make me out against the crags, but they must have noted my location from the muzzle flashes. Already fingers were jabbing out my position and a number of uniform officers headed my way. They couldn’t possibly know what had just transpired - probably thought that it was one of their own that had fired the barrage - and were even now trying to make sense of the gunfire. Radio chatter would be at full tilt as orders and demands ricocheted between them. Confusion reigned. My chance to escape would be short. Pretty soon someone would take charge and a concerted effort would be made to surround and trap me. I should get going, as Cash admonished. Only I just couldn’t pull away. Not yet.
Two things halted my feet. Whatever had attacked me was still alive. Could I allow the police to stumble upon this savage thing without warning of what it was they faced? What if someone was injured before the thing was contained? I felt it my duty to warn them. At the same time, I knew to shout to them would seal my fate. I’d be rounded up, cuffed and loaded into a cage before I could profess my innocence. This was all a consideration, but more than that was my concern for Janet. I simply could not leave without first checking she was unharmed. It was no auditory hallucination that I’d heard. Her intense fear had reached out to me. Call it psychically if you wish. I only know that she had called for me and I had heard. I had come at her bidding: thus it remained my duty to stay until I was sure that she was safe.
“Forget all the samurai Giri bullshit,” Cash spat. “You don’t owe Janet anything. Right now your duty is to yourself.”
It didn’t occur to me that Cash had been party to my inner thoughts. Only that his words scraped at my already taut nerves. “Shut it, Cash. I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s alright.”
“She’s surrounded by coppers with big guns. What do you think you’re gonna be able to do that they can’t?”
“I’m not talking about protecting her,” I said. “I just need to know that she hasn’t been hurt.”
“Jesus Christ!”
Cash held his own counsel. Not for long. When he spoke again there was a different edge to his voice. Almost as if he’d resigned himself to being relegated in my affections.
“All you have to do is reach out for her. See her, Carter. See her like you did the last time.”
Frowning, I turned from the advancing police to scan the area of the camp. See her? Like I did the last time? All well and good, but I had no idea how I’d done it the last time.
“Christ on a bike! We haven’t got time for this.” Cash made a noise like he was clearing his throat. “Relax, Carter. Don’t stare. Zone out. Let her come to you.”
I did as I was told. Not easy when armed men were advancing on me. Somehow I calmed myself, controlled my breath, allowed my vision to haze out. The result was dramatic. Not only did I see Janet’s auric colours, the entire camp was ablaze with a shifting pallet of reds and blues and other less-identifiable hues.
“Too many,” I whispered. “Way too many.”
“Forget the others. See only Janet. You’ve seen her before. You can single her out from the rest.”
“I don’t know how,” I moaned.
“SEE HER.”
Ghost-lights flickered off throughout the camp. It took me a moment to realise that my sweeping eyes were seeing and discarding the life forces of other people. Snuffing them from my view as I recognised them as strangers. Two auric fields flickered in defiance before I realised that these were the lights of the lady sergeant and her companion w
ho I had now twice come across on the island. At this realisation I was able to block them too. Finally my eyes turned on an elongated shape that I immediately decided was a caravan. Within the caravan a beacon burned with furnace hot intensity. How I could see through solid walls remains a mystery, but it was almost as though my strange ability had given me X-ray vision. Weirdness on top of weirdness, but it didn’t matter. All that concerned me was that the furnace of fire was Janet’s life force. She was alive. Enraged, distraught, but alive all the same. Something else I instinctively fathomed; other than minor hurts she had no major life threatening injuries. All this I understood in a manner that is impossible to explain. I simply looked and knew it was so.
“Happy?” Cash asked. “Can we go now?”
“Happy that Janet’s okay,” I said. “But I should warn the police about the thing that attacked me.”
“Fuck ’em. Let them find out for themselves. It’ll stop them from following us.”
Us. Not a term that rested easy with me. Made the two of us sound like a couple, or a team. Still, I had asked for his help. Maybe that did make us a co-operative, after all. I had to admit, my brother’s intervention had been more than merely assistance. His coaching of me had given me the wherewithal to find Janet amid the chaos. Plus, you could say that his earlier warning had saved my life. I didn’t doubt that if I hadn’t been prompted to pull the gun, I would now be a steaming heap of torn flesh scattered across the crags just like poor little Jimmy.
Cash did have a point. If the police were tied up with the discovery of whatever it was that I’d shot, then they would be diverted from searching for me. I could get away.
I told myself that the thing would be incapable of harming so many armed men. I had shot it. The bullet had struck it square in the chest. I’d blasted the fucking thing right off the cliff face. If it weren’t already dead, it soon would be.
After briefly witnessing what had attacked me, it was no longer such a leap of the imagination to believe in haugbonde’s - or whatever the curse had made flesh. Legend or not, something I did now know: the thing had been a creature of skin and bone. When I shot it, it hurt the way any mortal creature would. Cops armed with automatic weapons would put it down permanently.
I turned away, shoving the SIG into my waistband. I made it into the shadows of the crag just as the helicopter roared overhead. Pressed up against the boulders, I watched as the helicopter swung through one hundred and eighty degrees. Searchlights stabbed out in the gloom. Thankfully they weren’t primed on me. They were probing the land at the bottom of the hill. Where the thing had fallen.
Good, I thought. They’ve seen it.
But then I heard the screaming start, and the thought caught in my head like an angry wasp batting at a windowpane. I faltered, considered going back. I wanted to help. But, like Cash had already pointed out; what did I think I was going to be able to do that they couldn’t? Instead I sprinted away from the crag, back out onto the moor. Not as nimble as when I’d ran here, but still putting plenty of distance between me and the horror transpiring at the base of the crag.
THIRTYTHREE
Near Trowhaem
The idea that her late mother was punishing her for her small nicotine betrayal struck Shelly as ludicrous now. No doubt about it, she was being punished for the transgressions accrued through a multitude of former lifetimes. It was apparent to her: she must have killed a dozen black cats, smashed a score of mirrors, judging by the way her current life was going. Yes that had to be it. Surely a couple of filter tips this side of a deathbed promise wouldn’t bring this shit storm down on her?
It was less than twenty hours since the nightmare had began, but already she’d had to contend with a series of incidents that would test Dirty Harry. The list was finite, but it didn’t feel that way; a murdered boy; his missing sister; a second corpse found freshly skinned but in an ancient grave; the attack on and failed abduction of Professor Janet Hale; the mortal wounding of Terrence Ross. And, now, a running chase through darkness hunting - God-knows-what? - surrounded by the frantic shouting of her colleagues.
If she’d to add the condescending manner in which Inspector Marsh treated her, not to mention her misgivings over the stranger with the odd light in his eyes - Yes, him again, Carter Bailey - then she could admit she was having a bad day. Maybe the second worst of her life next to her presence at her mother’s painful passing. If she’d to attempt to balance the bad with the good, it would be uneven odds. In fact the only good that had come her way was in the shape of Bob Harris. But even Bob wasn’t at his best right now. He was doing as much running and shouting as everyone else.
He was off to her right. Not too far. His large form was little more than a silhouette behind his bouncing torch, but his closeness was about the most reassuring thing she could think of right now. There were armed tactical support officers, navy personnel, dog handlers, but none she felt she could rely on to get to her quickly enough should it be her lucky day to come across the elusive murder suspect.
As a police officer she wanted to find the murderer, as someone with more than a little common sense she’d rather it was one of the officers carrying a gun that got to him first. She doubted her extendable truncheon or CS spray would be enough to stop this monster that’d already torn the throat out of one man, severely wounded several others. Janet Hale had to have been suffering shock. She described her abductor as a Skeklar. Not well known beyond the islands, the Skeklar was the Shetland variation of the monstrous trolls of legend. Most notorious of the Skeklar was a beast said to have twelve heads and twelve tails, upon which it bore the corpses of stolen children. Not the prettiest image to conjure in one’s mind whilst charging through the night. Maybe Janet had been half-delirious from fright, and her words were simple metaphor for the terror she’d experienced. Still, Shelly didn’t want to be the one to prove her right.
Through her earpiece Shelly heard a running commentary of the hunt. Nothing too helpful. Too many people calling in conflicting reports.
Two men down. No, a third. The suspect was to the west of the camp. Now the dogs had picked up a scent to the north. The suspect was armed with knives. Possibly a handgun. Suspect sighted running north. Negative, it was another officer. Shots fired. Shots fired.
“Who is shooting?” Shelly demanded.
“False alarm! False alarm! Stop firing!” Simply a disembodied voice in her ear.
“All units…STAND DOWN! Stand down!” Inspector Marsh. Angry as all hell, but Shelly couldn’t blame him. “Permission to shoot revoked until further notice.”
More shots.
“I SAID STAND DOWN!”
“Sir! Suspect is running back towards Trowhaem.” A male voice. That was all, no call sign, no present location.
“Jesus…” Shelly groaned. The debriefing from this debacle was going to be historic. She could imagine Marsh’s face now. Livid. Voice high-pitched. Not a single person spared his wrath. I’ll probably get my pedigree, too, she thought.
The male officer again. “I’m in pursuit. On foot towards Trowhaem.”
“Details!” Marsh shouted. “Description of the suspect, officer?”
Shelly was already veering towards Trowhaem. The crags were to her right. A group of officers were administering aid to fallen comrades. Maybe she should go to them, confirm what exactly had happened. How many were injured. Get a handle on the situation. Report back to her supervisor. Plan what should happen next. However, even though afraid of the consequences, she was as much caught up in the hunt as everyone else. She charged down the hillside, equipment belt jogging uncomfortably at her waist.
“Sixteen twelve, to last caller,” Shelly shouted into her radio terminal.
“Go ahead, Sarge.” Voice coming in rising and falling waves. Breathing harsh.
“Is that you, John?” Shelly asked. The voice was familiar to her, but she was unsure if it was PC 443 Entwhistle or not.
“Confirmed, Sarge. Four-four-three.”
&nb
sp; “Location?”
“I’m headed back towards the excavation site. Path down by the sea.”
“Confirm you are wearing protection.” Any other time, such a question might elicit a double-entendre answer. Not this night, under these circumstances.
Entwhistle’s answer was perfunctory. “Vested up.”
“Roger that. Are you in company?”
“Negative, Sarge.”
Shelly winced. “Do not engage the suspect, Four-four-three. Wait for back up. Understood?”
A pause. Then, “I can have him, Sarge. Just ahead of me.”
“Negative, John. Negative. Just keep him in sight. Wait for armed assistance.”
“He’s turning round, Sarge. Coming at me…” The sudden intrusion of silence was shocking. Everyone involved in the chase obviously listening in, reacting to Entwhistle’s words. Fearing the worst, Shelly pushed forward, a surge of urgency powering her charge over the moor. Then the thing she dreaded, the vibrating of her terminal. She knew without looking that the screen would be pulsing red. Entwhistle had pushed his emergency button. Everyone with a terminal would receive the frantic call for assistance. It was a function of the airwave technology. When in danger an officer could depress a button, their call sign would be displayed to all other open terminals, also their microphone was opened and over-rode all others. The scream in Shelly’s ear was horrendous.
It was enough to cause her to skid and fall on her backside. Like a physical punch to the chest. She flailed, trying to get her feet under her. Fell again.
“Officer in need of assistance,” she yelled. Not for her own precarious situation. That was the least of her troubles. Entwhistle’s scream was now a blubber of pain.
A hand grasped Shelly’s shoulder. A handful of her jacket was used to yank her back to her feet. Bob Harris helped her the first few steps until she caught up with her stride. “Thanks, Bob,” she took the time to say.
Bob gave her a taciturn nod, eyes scanning the excavation site for signs of movement. Shelly huffed along at his side. Bob could easily outpace her, but he was tempering his stride to match hers. Shelly was thankful again, but left it unsaid.
