Church didn’t respond.
The storm didn’t seem to be abating. Muscles aching from being hunched over the wheel trying to peer through the driving rain, Church eventually drew off the motorway into the Taunton Deane services. He stretched out the stress knots in his back, then turned on the radio and searched for some report about the crisis at the hospital; he wanted to know how they were going to explain it. But the Radio 4 news only carried a couple of dull political stories, one about a sharp dip on the FTSE and a report about the police investigation into the horrific knife murders in the north-west; even the local stations made no mention of it.
“There’s something wrong here,” he said. “The news must have got out by now.”
“Maybe they’re covering it up,” Ruth suggested.
They went to the restaurant for a drink and an attempt to plan their next step. It was empty, apart from one bored youth on the checkout, and with the storm blasting in the dark night, it felt like they had been marooned on a comfortless island.
While Ruth and Laura went to the toilet, Church brooded over his coffee. Although there were three of them, he felt the responsibility for success or failure was increasingly being heaped on his shoulders. For some reason he had been singled out-by Tom, by the woman in the Watchtower-and he really didn’t know if he were up to what was expected of him. But he accepted, whatever the outcome, that he couldn’t turn his back on the responsibility; he had always firmly believed in facing up to obligation.
Carefully, he drew out the Black Rose and examined it closely; it hadn’t wilted in the slightest. The petals were warm and silky, almost luxurious to the touch, and the scent, if anything, was even more heady. He hadn’t questioned the gift of the flower before, but if he heeded the young Marianne’s advice about forgetting the past and enjoying the present, he knew he should throw it away; no good could possibly come of it. He brought it up to his lips, kissed it absently, traced it across his cheek as he weighed up his choice. Then he slipped it back into his pocket.
Church sipped his coffee, listening to the hiss of cars speeding by outside. Perhaps it was just the weather, but there seemed to be less traffic using the motorway than he would have expected for the time of year. He wondered if the change coming over the country was starting to affect people subconsciously, an unspecified unease that nagged away at them constantly. Lightning flashed, a clap of thunder rumbled loudly; the storm was directly overhead.
But as the peal died away, Church thought he heard something else, mingling with the noise, continuing for just a split second longer. It left the hairs on the back of his neck standing erect. He stood up and walked over to the window; beyond the dismal lights of the car park, the wooded hillsides clustered darkly.
He returned to his table, but couldn’t settle. It bothered him that he was jumping at the slightest sound. When the rumbling thunder made the windows boom once more, he listened carefully, but there was no subsequent sound. Yet he was sure he had heard it before. And it had sounded like the howl of a dog.
“So do you think he’s going to lose it?” Laura said above the whir of the hand-drier.
Ruth leaned against the wash basins, her arms folded. “He’s got his problems, but nothing he can’t handle.”
“You saw him when he came out of the hospital-“
“Hardly surprising after seeing all that suffering. If you had any kind of heart you’d understand-“
“I understand all right. But it wasn’t just those people dying. It was the girl. He’s got her all mixed up in his head with that dead girlfriend of his.” The drier died and suddenly the toilet seemed unnervingly lonely, trapped in the uncomfortable glare of the artificial lights. “This isn’t some nice jaunt to see the sights. It’s life or death and a hundred other cliches. We can’t afford someone tripping us up because they’re too lost in their head.”
“What do you suggest? We dump him?” Ruth led the way out into the main corridor. There were a few travellers, but no one was hanging around; they all seemed eager to get back to their cars, back to their homes.
“Aren’t we Frosty the Snowman? Bothered that I’m attacking your boyfriend?” Ruth flinched at the lash of Laura’s mockery. “I’m saying we keep an eye on him. Rein him in if he gets too freaky.”
“He’ll be fine,” Ruth said coldly. “You just worry about yourself. For a change.”
Lightning lit up the car park like a searchlight. Ruth had gone on several steps before she noticed she was walking alone. Behind her, Laura was peering out into the night. “I saw something,” she said. Ruth could tell it had unnerved her.
Cautiously they approached the electronic doors, which hummed open like magic. Stepping out into the area where the overhang of the roof protected them from the rain, they searched the car park. There seemed more cars than there were travellers in the services, but the night made it impossible to see if there was anyone inside them. Parts of the car park were already flooded and water was bubbling up out of the drains. Rain gusted across the open areas in sheets and overhead a rumble of thunder barely died away before another started. It was a bleakly unfriendly scene.
“Doesn’t seem to be anyone out there,” Ruth ventured.
“It was big, on all fours. Like a shadow, shifting quickly.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t a trick of the lightning?”
Laura stepped out into the full force of the rain. It plastered her blonde hair on to her head within seconds. “There’s something moving. Out among the cars.”
“How can you see? It’s so dark.” Ruth joined her in the rain. The pounding droplets were heavy and icy, forcing their way down the back of her neck, soaking her jeans. “I don’t think we should-“
“You scurry back to be with your boyfriend if you like.”
Ruth felt like punching her. “Oh yes. Real smart to put ourselves at risk when we could be the only ones with a chance to stop the world going to hell.”
“You do what you want. I’m not hiding away.”
An incongruous note in Laura’s voice made Ruth suddenly aware there was more at play than mere bravado. “And what are you planning to do when you discover what’s out there?”
Without answering, Laura set off with Ruth close behind, regretting every step, but unable to let Laura go into the dark alone. She felt a spark of primal fear. Amidst the pounding of the rain, the wild gusting of the wind and the susurration of car wheels on the motorway, any sound of movement in the car park was drowned out; the lights seemed too dim to dispel the deeper shadows.
There were some twenty cars which could provide a hiding place for what ever Laura had seen. A few were scattered at random around the car park, but most were clustered together in the centre. By the time they reached the first one, their clinging clothes were hampering them. As they passed some of the vehicles they glimpsed an occasional pale face staring out, hands gripping steering wheels as if the drivers were afraid to move away from the oasis of light offered by the service station.
“I still don’t see anything,” Ruth said, but almost as soon as her words were lost to the wind and rain they heard a low, rumbling growl, like distant thunder. Ruth clutched at Laura’s arm and they both froze, unable to tell the direction of the noise. “An animal,” Ruth said.
“You’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself.” Laura’s mockery was drained of its usual acid.
“I think we should get back,” Ruth said. Laura hesitated, then nodded, but as they turned, a shape flashed between them and the building. Ruth caught a glimpse of something burning red, like hot coals.
Moving quickly over to one side, they tried for an elliptical route back to the light. Another growl, closer at hand this time, turned into a chilling howl.
“Shit!” Laura hissed.
Ruth thought: It’s hunting.
And then they were running, the splashing of their feet accompanied by the thunder of powerful paws. Whatever it was crashed into a car in front with such force the side crumpled and it spun
into their path. Ruth stifled a scream. They darted sideways between two other cars, no longer knowing in which direction they were running. Along the way, Laura slammed into a wing mirror and careened into the other vehicle. Ruth was already several feet away before she realised Laura had slipped to her knees.
As she turned she caught sight of the black shape, as big as a small pony; it shifted its bulk and started to run. If it hit the nearest car, Laura would be crushed between them. Without thinking, Ruth sprinted back as Laura hauled herself to her feet. At the moment Ruth yanked on Laura’s jacket, there was the sledgehammer sound of buckling metal and a crash as the windscreen exploded. The impact hurled them backwards into a deep puddle.
The beast leapt and slammed on to the bonnet where it poised over them. Their minds locked in fear at the first clear sight of it. It was the dog that had attacked Church in Salisbury. Black Shuck. The horribly intelligent eyes burned crimson as its hot breath steamed in the chill night. The rain was running in rivulets off its black velvet hide, mingling with the sizzling drool that dripped from its fangs. Unable to move, Ruth and Laura watched as its muscles bunched. Slowly, it raised its haunches to attack.
Then, from out of the swirling rain, there was a penetrating screech as an owl swooped down, claws raised at the dog’s eyes. It soared away just as the beast snapped its enormous head round. But it was enough of a distraction; Ruth and Laura were already moving as the dog’s jaws gnashed on empty air.
The services seemed to be at the distant end of a dark tunnel. Their lungs burned from exertion, but they closed the gap quickly as they heard the beast leap from the bonnet and start to pound the tarmac behind them. We’re not going to make it, Ruth thought. The sound of its feet thundered closer. But then, miraculously, the doors were opening and they were slipping and sliding on the floor in the glaring lights.
Any thoughts they had reached sanctuary were dispelled a moment later. The dog was travelling with such speed the doors didn’t have time to open again. They burst inwards, showering glass and twisted metal across the floor as the dog skidded, then righted itself. Two women emerging from the toilets shrieked and darted back inside. Another man chose that unfortunate moment to wander haphazardly out of the shop. The dog turned its head and in one fluid movement of its jaws, took his arm off at the shoulder. It was too quick for him to scream; he blacked out from the shock and collapsed into a growing pool of blood. Ruth and Laura scrambled away again, their eyes burning with tears of fear.
They could hear the rasping breath of the dog echoing along the corridor as they sprinted to the restaurant, a rough, traction engine sound filled with power and menace. As they burst in, Church’s face registered momentary shock at their bedraggled appearance, but then he was moving without asking any questions.
“Into the kitchen,” he hissed, hauling them towards the hot food counter. They scrambled over it, burning themselves on the hot metal. When the dog entered a second later, the youth on the checkout took one look at it and slipped under his till, either in a faint or in fear. In the kitchen, two bored cooks waited patiently for orders. Their sudden flurry of protests were silenced by the roar of the dog.
“My God, what’s that?” one of the women cried, eyes wide.
“Can you lock this door?” Church demanded. It was of a reinforced design to contain a fire.
The woman nodded in confusion, fumbling for a bunch of keys in her pockets. Through the door, the beast’s rasping breath drew closer. There was a clang as it jumped on the hot food counter and then a dull thud as it landed on the other side. As the woman located the key, Church snatched it from her hands and secured the door. They retreated to the other side of the room and ducked down behind a stainless steel unit just as the dog thundered against it.
“What’s out there?” the other woman whimpered.
Church looked to Ruth. “Black Shuck,” she said in a small, cracking voice. She suddenly started to shake from the cold and the shock. Church slid his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “Is it going to be like this all the way?” she said weakly. “Never being able to rest?”
There was another crash against the door and they all jumped.
“What’s going on?” one of the cooks screamed. She crawled away with the other woman, casting angry, frightened glances at Church, Ruth and Laura.
“How can we hold off something like that?” Ruth said. “It’s going to get us sooner or later.”
“The dog isn’t the worst of it,” Church replied fatalistically. “You heard what Tom said. It’s a precursor, a portent.”
“For what?” Laura asked. As if in answer, there came a mighty clattering on the roof far above them, rumbling from one side of the building to the other; like hoofbeats. The dog howled, in warning or welcome.
Ruth saw the vaguest shadow pass across Laura’s features; in the imposing edifice of her confidence it was as if the foundations had shattered. Cautiously, Ruth reached out a comforting hand to Laura’s arm; Laura flinched, didn’t look at her, but nor did she knock it away.
They stayed huddled there for the rest of the night, listening to the sounds beyond the door; the grunts and growls, snufflings and crashings that couldn’t have come from any beast born on earth. On one occasion, after a forty-fiveminute gulf of silence, they thought it had finally departed, but just as Church was about to turn the key in the lock it crashed against the door, almost bursting it inwards. It was a warning that they heeded.
When the faintest glimmer of dawn first brushed the clouds, Church ventured to the slatted glass windows and opened them just enough to look out. The motorway was empty, the storm blown out, although the clouds still roiled above them. And in that surging vapour he had the uneasy feeling he could glimpse dark figures on horseback, riding the clouds, lost among them; seeking refuge from the light, ready to return another night.
He turned to the others. “Let’s go,” he said.
The restaurant was empty, the dog gone, as Church knew it would be. The two cooks ran out, crying with relief, to greet the checkout youth who emerged from beneath the till looking like he’d been sedated; he hadn’t come between the monstrous dog and its prey, so it had left him alone. The reinforced kitchen door was gouged and splintered.
The rest of the services seemed deserted, but Church eventually located some members of staff in the management office. In a room beyond they could see the covered body of the man who lost his arm to the dog. Phone lines had been down throughout the night, so no emergency services could have been called; even mobiles hadn’t worked. Some kind of electrical disturbance caused by the storm, the staff said, but that didn’t explain what had happened to those who had gone off in their cars to fetch help and had not been heard from since. No one seemed quite able to believe that what had taken place had actually happened. They talked of wild dogs, as if there had been a pack, and seemed oblivious to anything uncanny. Church, Ruth and Laura returned to the car park, leaving them trying to impose some order on an event that wouldn’t accept it.
As they approached the car they noticed the interior light was on and one door was slightly ajar. They circled the Nissan cautiously, suddenly on guard, until they noticed the boot was open too, the contents of their bags strewn around the interior. A knife or screwdriver had been crudely forced into the keyhole.
“Bastards!” Laura said. “We’ve really been hit with the bad luck stick.”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Church said as he sifted through their possessions.
“You think they were looking for the stone?” Laura asked, her hand automatically going to the rucksack.
He nodded. “But whatever was here last night wouldn’t have jimmied open the boot.”
They repacked their possessions in silence, filled up with petrol and returned to the motorway, haunted by too many unanswered questions.
After the storm, the day turned bright and clear. At that early hour the motorway was eerily devoid of even the slow caravans of lor
ries lumbering towards Exeter and Torbay. The scenery gradually changed as they crossed the county line, the tranquil green fields of Somerset giving way to Devon’s wilder landscape of hills, rocky outcroppings and impenetrable, dark woods, filled with romance in the glimmering post-dawn light. At Exeter, the lantern, which Ruth held in her lap like a baby, began to tug westwards. The motorway died just south of the city anyway, so they picked up the A30 which ran all the way along the spine of Cornwall to the end of the world. They were only on it for a short while as the lantern suddenly flickered with irritation and guided them on to a tiny B road which spiked into the heart of Dartmoor.
“I don’t like it when we get too far away from civilisation.” Ruth glanced uncomfortably out of the window at the disappearing habitation as they moved toward the looming expanse of Dartmoor on the horizon.
“You should see the map,” Laura said, poring over Church’s AA Book of the Road. “The roads around here look about good enough for pig-droving, and there’re only a handful of villages, all with about three houses in them. Welcome to Nowhere.”
As the fields became scrubby uplands and windswept rocks, Ruth said uneasily, “I wonder what’s out there.” Then, after a moment or two when neither of them answered, “I want tall buildings, cars, pollution-“
“I don’t think that would be any safer,” Church said. “It’s just an illusion.”
Laura suddenly craned her neck to peer through the side window up into the blue sky. “Hey! There’s another one! I thought they slept during the day?”
Ruth followed her gaze. An enormous owl swooped on the air currents, dipped low, then soared again, but it seemed to have no trouble keeping up with them. Ruth squinted, trying to pluck details from the silhouette; she knew instinctively it was her familiar, the same one that had attacked the beast in the car park.
For some reason she didn’t quite understand, Ruth still hadn’t got around to telling them about her meeting with the mysterious girl in the glade. Although she had been disturbed by it, in some way it had seemed intensely private and to talk about it felt instinctively like a betrayal of trust; which was a strange way to think about it. Besides, in the cold light of day it hadn’t seemed frightening at all.
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