“What?” Kramer asked. She had Emily pressed tight against her so the girl couldn’t see the carnage and blood that stained the yellowing grass stalks of the field red.
“Behind us.”
“What the...” Kramer’s voice trailed off as a horde of Viking warriors spilled into view. They stormed passed the Range Rover and into the sprite army.
It was no contest. The sprites had struggled their way close to the car and had no time to prepare for the all-out assault that hit them. More blood spilled. A carpet of bodies grew, flattening the grass and replacing it with acres of red flesh. Ben didn’t see one Viking fall to the sprites as the few survivors turned and ran to escape the blades of the Norse warriors.
“Where the hell did they come from?” Geordie asked.
“Back there,” Ben said, with a glance through the rear window. He saw a man running towards them, arms wind-milling as he struggled to stay on his feet. It took Ben a good few seconds to recognise him. McGrath. “Unlock the car,” he said.
“Why?” Geordie looked at Ben in the rearview mirror.
“Just do it.”
As the locks released, Ben shoved the door open. McGrath ran into it, his breath rushing out as the frame struck his chest. Ben grabbed him and hauled McGrath into the cramped rear of the Range Rover. The door closed again as the Vikings began to encircle the car.
“What are you doing here?” Ben had one eye on the warriors and one eye on McGrath.
With his chest still heaving McGrath focussed on Ben and said, “I could ask you the same question?”
“We were guided here,” Ben said. “You?”
“Similar.” McGrath wiped sweat from his forehead. “Old Davey got into my head, along with all those guys. They made me come here.”
“Look,” Geordie said from the driver’s seat. “I don’t pretend to know what the fuck is going on here but shouldn’t we be heading down to Chequers to save the Prime Minister?”
“Chequers?” McGrath asked.
“The big house over there,” Ben said. “We think there’s a Celtic goddess trying to kill your P.M.”
“Well that beats giant wolves and twin girls trying to kill me,” McGrath said.
“Wolves?” Ben asked.
“Twins?” Emily said as she pulled her face from Kramer’s shoulder.
“Back there.” McGrath pointed just as the first of the wolves appeared.
“We’ve seen them before,” Ben said.
“You said twins.” Emily pushed forward. “Twin girls?”
“Aye,” McGrath nodded. “Two girls, identical twins, about your age I’d say.”
“It’s them.” Emily retreated into Kramer’s arms. “Elizabeth and Victoria from my school.”
That got Ben confused. “Why would two girls from your school be with those wolves? That’s impossible.”
“No,” Emily said. “I know it’s them.”
Six Vikings peeled off from the main group and formed a line between the Range Rover and the wolves. They were joined by the surviving angels. Beyond them, the wolves slowed and halted. As Ben watched, he saw movement and the slim figures of two girls appeared in the field. “Emily?” he said, his voice soft.
“Yes?” she peeked up at him from where Kramer held her.
“Is that them?”
Emily looked. She nodded. “Yes, that’s them. The girls from my class. I knew there was something wrong with them.”
Ben saw Kramer shrug. Neither of them had any idea how two ten-year-old girls from a small school in Oxfordshire could be controlling the wolves.
“Can we go?” Geordie asked, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
“Go,” Congrave said.
The acceleration threw Ben back. The car flew as it leapt down the slope of the field. Viking warriors followed them, seeming to flow like water in their wake. Geordie saw the gap in the hedge and slid the vehicle through it. They bounced onto the hard surface of asphalt and the tyres gripped with a burning rubber squeal. The Range Rover fishtailed until Geordie got it under control. He put the pedal to the metal, and they tore towards Chequers.
***
Moira didn’t think much of the Prime Minister up close. The woman looked tall only because of the heels she wore. Other than that, she was just a nondescript, middle-aged woman of indeterminate age. She also had a weak handshake and, Moira thought, a poor taste in perfume. Moira sat and listened to the usual platitudes of how awful it must be to lose someone you love. As the P.M. continued to talk about serving one’s country and the ultimate sacrifice, Moira sensed the changes in the world outside the four walls of the room.
New arrivals. Long dead enemies who had fought her centuries ago.
Him. The idea that Moira may have chosen a sacrifice who would be stronger than her made Moira shudder. He was still out there and coming closer. She needed to meet him on her terms, on her ground. Which meant deciding what to do with this pitiful excuse of a woman in front of her. Moira closed her eyes.
“Moira?” The Prime Minister put her hand on Moira’s knee as she leant forward in concern. “I know this is a difficult time for you. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can stop talking.” Moira opened her eyes, and the P.M. sat back in shock at the light that blazed out of them. “And start listening.”
“I don’t think...”
“Quiet!” Moira’s hand flashed out, and she slapped the P.M.
Silence came to the room. The Prime Minister held her cheek and stared at Moira in horror. But she did as instructed and remained silent. Moira thought that a sensible decision given all that was happening around them.
Moira’s guardians appeared first; the seven-foot-tall men with legs that ended in cloven hooves. The P.M.’s eyes snapped left and right. The five guardians filled the room as they appeared. Four took up positions in each corner of the room. The fifth came to stand alongside Moira as she rose and walked to a window. She stared out of it, breathing deeply.
Thunder cracked, and porcelain in Georgian cabinets rattled as the building shook. Moira opened this world up, exposing it to the hunger and thirst. She smiled and turned to the Prime Minister. “I have need of you,” she said.
“My government will not negotiate with anyone, whether human or supernatural,” the P.M. said. “That is our stated strategy, and we will not waver from it.”
“Oh, please,” Moira said. She lifted a hand and the P.M. screamed as a bolt of pain speared through her kidneys. “There is more where that came from.”
Moira stopped. People were shouting on the other side of the door. The handle rattled. With her attention distracted, Moira didn’t see the Prime Minister come to her feet. She didn’t try to flee, just flung her body onto an antique Georgian divan. The P.M. hit the backrest hard and the sofa tilted on its rear legs far enough to overbalance and crash to the floor, the Prime Minister out of sight on the far side.
***
Thomas heard the scream and reached for the door handle. Locked.
“I didn’t lock it,” he said.
“Move.” Hannah shoved the bodyguard to one side and aimed her gun at the lock.
“No,” Jacobs said from behind her, “they’re original...”
Blam. Blam.
Metal and wood splintered as the rounds shattered them. Hannah kicked the door open, and Reuben ducked through. He opened fire, and as Hannah entered the room, she saw Reuben’s targets were huge beasts of men who launched themselves at him with razor-tipped claws. A woman stood in the centre of the room. Her. The mystery woman. Hannah snagged her aim from the nearest beast to the woman, but her shots went wide. The woman threw a hand out, and a window exploded, glass and frame vanishing into the garden. She ran to the opening and jumped through as the first beast came at Hannah.
A body that stank of death engulfed her, driving Hannah to the floor. Hard floorboards crushed against her spine as the weight of the creature descended. A pair of clawed hands tore at her clothing. She angled her
gun and put four rounds into the thing’s chest and shoved it away from her. The beast lay on its back, smoke billowing up from its open mouth. Hannah put another round through its face for good luck.
More gunfire. Hannah saw Reuben dive left as his target came on, wounded but still moving. Hannah had a clear shot and put a single round through the side of its head. The beast went down hard. Hannah saw three more stalking them. She tried to remember how many times she’d fired.
A hand came into view around an overturned piece of furniture. Hannah aimed at it until she realised who it belonged to. Reuben must have thought the same as he shouted,
“Get her out of here.”
Hannah grabbed the P.M.’s wrist and hauled her up. The beasts came for them. Hannah saw Reuben fire and retreat as she dragged the Prime Minister through the door. Thomas stood in the corridor, his face pale. Hannah shoulder-barged him out of the way and ran passed an open-mouthed Jacobs. Next, she saw Sir Richard Stanton and the other guests. They formed a line, as if they thought Hannah was the bad-guy and they were doing something brave in standing up to her.
“What’s going on?” Stanton held out a hand like a traffic cop to stop her.
“Out of the way!” Hannah shouted, looking back as she heard Reuben shooting.
He came out of the room at a dead sprint, aiming behind him. Hannah didn’t see anything else as the Northern industrialist body-checked her. Somehow, Hannah found herself on the floor. Her gun pulled from her hand.
“Fucking terrorist,” the industrialist shouted and hit her.
Stars bloomed in the darkness. Hannah heard screaming and gunfire. She blinked tears from her eyes and tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced her back to the floor. A face appeared above her. The Prime Minister.
“Can you get up?” The P.M.’s voice seemed to come from a thousand miles away.
Hannah tried again, and this time she managed to get to her feet. Someone shoved a gun into her hand.
“Sorry,” the industrialist said. “I thought you were a terrorist.”
Hannah spat a mouthful of blood to the floor. Everything shimmered. The P.M., the industrialist, Stanton, Reuben and Jacobs.
“Move,” Reuben said.
Hannah nodded and once again grabbed the Prime Minister. They pushed passed Stanton and his wife who stared at them in shock. Hannah couldn’t speak, her mouth filling with blood again, but they didn’t seem to understand the danger. Hannah rounded a corner and saw the main doors. She just about reached them, her head spinning. Outside, the fresh air revived her a little and she stood in the quadrangle and wondered what the hell to do next.
A figure appeared in the doorway, stalking towards them on cloven hooves. Hannah aimed and fired until her gun emptied. She saw its wounds bleeding smoke, but the creature came on, flexing its clawed hands. Hannah and the P.M. retreated, matching the thing pace for pace. Reload. Hannah nodded, as if in agreement to the command. She had spare clips for the automatic tucked away in her jacket. Hannah ejected the empty magazine and got the new one in somehow as her vision blurred again. Next thing she knew Hannah was on all fours, puking blood onto the gravel. The beast laughed, a sound that drove ice into Hannah’s heart. A hand pulled at her, the Prime Minister urging Hannah up to her feet once again.
A roar filled the world as a dark shape flashed across Hannah’s vision. The beast exploded across the bonnet of a Range Rover, head and limbs torn apart. Roadkill. Hannah smiled in satisfaction. The car slid to a halt on the gravel and doors popped open. Familiar figures appeared, running towards her. Hannah almost collapsed into Kramer’s arms as she reached her. “The woman,” Hannah said. “She escaped. She’s in the grounds somewhere.”
“Her name’s Moira,” the Prime Minister said.
“Is that what she said?” Kramer gave the P.M. a cold smile. “Her real name is Morrigan, and she’s a Celtic war goddess.”
The P.M. didn’t reply, her attention taken by the sudden rush of Viking warriors who swept in along the driveway.
“Don’t worry,” Kramer said. “They’re with us.”
“What?” The Prime Minister shook her head in disbelief.
The warriors formed an outward facing circle around the group. McGrath and Geordie joined them with Ben hobbling up behind. Kramer filled the new arrivals in. “We go after Morrigan,” she said.
“Oh, good,” Geordie sighed.
Kramer made sure Hannah could stand. “Which area of the gardens was she heading for?”
“Around that side,” the P.M. said. “Be careful.”
“What? Her?” Geordie pointed at Kramer. “Jesus, she’s never heard the word careful in her life.”
The Prime Minister didn’t know how to respond to that. She just stared at Geordie as if he was a new kind of life form.
“Geordie,” Kramer said. “You and I will search the grounds. Hannah, you stay here, I don’t think you’re fit enough to come with us. Same with you, Scarrett, you’re hobbling around and won’t be able to move fast enough.”
“What if I take the Range Rover?” Ben asked. “I can cover more ground that way.”
Kramer thought about it. Congrave remained in the vehicle, keeping low so that he didn’t get spotted. Ben’s suggestion made sense if the goddess could move around at will.
“Okay,” she said to Ben. “Let’s do it.”
***
Reuben waited for Hannah and the Prime Minister to disappear around a turn in the corridor before he spoke again. “You all need to go as well. You’re all in danger.”
One of the women clutched her husband’s arm, the same man who had hit Hannah.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“And I’m not moving an inch for any goddamn terrorist,” the man said in a broad Yorkshire accent.
Stanton stepped forward and asked, “What kind of danger?”
He found out when three figures came into view. They moved with speed. Leaping onto Thomas. They tore him apart in the blink of an eye. The stench of Thomas’ guts made Jacobs puke as he stumbled backwards to stand next to Reuben.
“What are they?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“Honest truth?” Reuben said. “No idea.”
The creatures took a step forwards. Reuben could see them sniffing the air as if searching for one scent in particular. He knew which one. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the two men and two women still hadn’t moved. “Go!” he shouted.
Time ran out for them. One beast launched itself at them, catching Reuben off-guard with his attention still on the people behind him. He heard Jacobs’ strangled cry of fear before a clawed hand swept Reuben to one side. He bounced off the wall and fell to his knees as the creature tore through Jacobs like he wasn’t there before moving towards the others.
Stanton reacted quickest. Jumping back and pushing his wife to one side, he left a gap for the demon to go for as if he knew the creature’s target was the P.M. and not him. The Northern industrialist did the opposite. He stepped into the beast’s path and tried to stop it. For a moment Reuben thought he’d succeeded. The two figures grappled hard, like pro-wrestlers in the middle of the ring. Reuben couldn’t shoot without hitting the wrong target and in the next second claws drove into the bulging waist of the Yorkshireman and ripped out a handful of intestines. For a moment the industrialist stared down in horror, any thought of fighting forgotten as his wife began screaming. He dropped to his knees, desperate hands cupping his slippery pink innards as they spilled out of the wound. That gave the demon a chance to rip open the man’s throat and finish him once and for all. His wife stopped screaming as she fainted, falling headlong into her husband’s blood.
Reuben aimed and fired. Two rounds hitting the creature in the back. The beast moved, chasing on after the missing Prime Minister. That’s when Reuben remembered the other demons. One came for him with a roar that shook the building. Reuben dived under its grasping hands and rolled over to Stanton. The government minister didn’t look impressed with Reube
n as the beast turned on them. Reuben ignored him. He aimed at the centre of the creature’s body but as he fired Stanton caught Reuben’s arm and the shots went wild.
“Sorry,” Stanton said, but didn’t look it as he grabbed his wife and pulled her into the nearest room. The door slammed shut behind them.
Did he do that deliberately? Reuben’s thoughts seemed to freeze. The beast took one, long step and landed on him. Pain flashed like lightning through Reuben’s back as he hit the floor. A hoof came down hard on his thigh, and the world turned white as Reuben’s femur snapped. He screamed, firing wildly up at the silhouette that filled his vision. The beast grabbed Reuben’s gun hand and twisted it. Reuben sank into darkness for a moment as bones shattered and joints dislocated. When light returned, he found the beast hunched over him, its yellow eyes full of hate.
His left leg and right arm crippled, Reuben could only hit out with his left hand. He had no strength, and the blow bounced off the creature’s face. The thing smiled, as if entertained by the useless human.
“Fuck you,” Reuben whispered.
It grunted and struck. Reuben’s ribs imploded as a monstrous fist drove into his chest cavity. Claws severed arteries and veins and sliced apart tissue before ripping Reuben’s heart from his body and flinging it aside. The beast rose, looked at the door through which Stanton had run, before it moved away in search of the Prime Minister.
***
The corridor fell silent. Blood sank into the carpet, and the only movement came from motes of dust floating in the air. Until a door edged open and Sir Richard Stanton peered out. He saw Reuben’s body and nodded.
Behind him, his wife said, “Don’t go out. It will kill you.”
“It’s gone,” he said.
“It might come back.”
We can only hope, Stanton thought. He stepped out, studying the bodies of Reuben and the industrialist. He’d seen worse working in his uncle’s abattoir when he was a teenager. Blood and offal meant nothing to him. Jacobs had died as well, and Stanton guessed that if he took a look in the room the P.M. had been meeting Moira, then he’d find her dead as well. These creatures were killing machines. Intelligent killing machines. There was nothing else like them in the world.
The Anomaly (Scarrett & Kramer Book 2) Page 31
