* * * *
Walking back down the front with the heavy boxes, we met a patrol coming from the other direction. When they saw us they spread out and their rifles came up. They looked terrified - as terrified as we must have looked.
‘Take it easy,’ Jerry snapped.
‘Don’t come too close. Just move on.’
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘There’s a dead man in Mendoza’s. We don’t know if he’s one of...them...but you’d better send someone to get the body.’
He didn’t look as if he understood.
‘To burn it,’ I said.
‘Oh. Yeah. You just move on.’
We moved on. The patrol turned, watching us. Then they went on in the other direction. When we had come to the jail, I looked back. The patrol had moved on down the street, past Mendoza’s and, as I looked, they turned to the right, inland...towards the compound. I hoped they wouldn’t forget to send a van for Mendoza’s body. I looked out at the harbour. There was some wood floating about, timber and planks, and an oily slick spreading slowly through the water. The swordfish still hung, neglected forever now, on the scales. The grey gunboats passed to and fro across the mouth of the harbour. How long? I wondered. How long would it be?
* * * *
XIX
Mary was looking out the window as we approached.
Framed in the window, her face seemed to be disintegrating, dissolving with fear. Her cheeks were pinched in and her eyes were huge and staring. Jerry waved but she didn’t acknowledge the gesture. She turned, looking back into the room. Her profile spread like a pale wash against the glass. Then we had passed the window and I heard the bolt rasp free. Mary opened the door and stepped out. Jerry’s shoulders twitched as, instinctively, he tried to comfort her in his arms, but found the laden box between them. Mary was crying.
‘Hey, now...it’s okay,’ the sheriff said.
‘It’s not okay; nothing is okay.’
‘We’ll be all right. Just a question of—’
‘Doctor Winston is here,’ she said.
‘Hey, that’s great,’ Jerry said. He went through the door. Winston was standing in the corner, smoking a cigar, hands clasped behind his back. He looked as if he were thoughtfully considering a diagnosis.
‘Glad you made it,’ Jerry said. He put the box on the desk. ‘That you thought to come here.’
‘Mary doesn’t seem to think it such a good idea,’ Winston said. He was calm enough, but he’d been chewing on the cigar; the wrapper had started to uncurl.
Jerry looked at the girl, blinking.
‘Doctor Winston has been...wounded,’ she said.
Jerry started, all his big body going taut.
‘He hasn’t touched me,’ Mary added, quickly. ‘He came to the door. I let him in. I was glad to see him ... I didn’t know he had been hurt.. .’
‘How’d it happen, Doc?’
‘Why, it was one of these lunatics that seem to be about. That’s why I came down here ... to see if you had any idea what is going on here? Something to do with the research in the compound, is it? I tried to phone there but couldn’t get past the switchboard and, by the way, I’ve heard nothing from my nurse...’
‘How long, Doc?’
‘What? Well, I phoned there at—’
‘How long is it since you were attacked?’
‘Well, what does ... or does it?’ Comprehension came into the doctor’s face. He took the cigar from his teeth. ‘It does matter, eh? Apparently you know more about this than I. What is it, some sort of germ warfare?’
‘Doc...how long?’
Winston winced at Jerry’s tone. They were friends; he didn’t understand it. He had paled slightly under his normal flush and Jerry’s jaws were tight with great bands of muscle.
Winston said, ‘Better part of an hour,’ and he was watching the sheriff carefully, gauging his reaction. Winston was a big, heavy man; he looked to have a slow metabolism. I relaxed somewhat but, in relaxing, went icy cold. ‘What is it, Jerry? What sort of thing is it? Am I liable to contaminate you by being here?’
Jerry didn’t know what to say.
I said, ‘Let’s have a drink.’
I think I’d managed to keep my voice normal. Jerry shot me a grateful glance. I opened a bottle of Mendoza’s rum and Jerry fetched glasses. We weren’t going to share the bottle with Winston. He was standing behind the desk and we stood opposite. Winston took a large swallow and licked his lips.
‘Excellent,’ he said. Then: ‘Well? Is it terminal?’
‘Not terminal,’ I said.
I had taken this upon myself and Jerry was glad enough to waive his authority. I sipped some rum. Winston watched me. I wasn’t sure if I should deceive him or not. Every man has his own way of facing death and a right to face it that way and if this had been a natural disease, no matter how lethal or painful, I would have told him the truth. But it was not natural. This was a thing that created its own values and judgements.
I said, ‘They have an antidote, at the compound.’
Jerry gave me a sharp look and I could tell he was thinking the same as me. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked down at his boots.
‘That’s why your nurse was taken to the compound,’ I went on. ‘We’ll have to take you there, or bring the antidote here. That’s all.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Winston said. ‘The way you were all acting, I thought I was a goner. But what is it, anyway? The way these lunatics are running around...some new strain of rabies?’
‘I believe it’s something of that nature.’
‘They shouldn’t have been fooling around with that.’
‘They know that...now.’
I refilled our glasses. I didn’t flinch as I leaned across the desk to pour into the doctor’s glass. Mary’s glass was still full; she said, ‘Is it wise to be drinking? I mean...hadn’t we better keep our wits about us?’
‘I think it’s better if we have a few drinks,’ Jerry said.
Mary knew what we were going to do, then. She said, ‘Oh, yes. I’ll have a drink as well.’ Then she realised that she already had a fall glass in her hand. She sipped. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she was no longer sobbing. We drank slowly and steadily. Doctor Winston seemed to be actually relishing the rum. Jerry and I needed it. We watched the doctor carefully, wondering what the first signs would be; whether it would be a sudden rage or a gradual transition? Unblinking, he gazed back over the rim of his glass. I started to pour some more rum.
‘Hadn’t we better see about this antidote, then?’ Winston said. ‘I suppose it should be administered as soon as possible. I’ll prescribe a good healthy dosage of rum for all of us afterwards.’
He spoke slowly, as if deliberating each word. I wondered if he were getting drunk or if the process was starting to affect his ability to form the words. But he looked at us with clear, alert eyes. He looked almost amused. I had a terrible idea that we hadn’t deceived him, after all; that he was playing the game with us, protecting our feelings as we tried to protect him from the truth.
Jerry snorted and slammed his glass down on the desk.
‘I’ll take the doc up to the compound now,’ he said. ‘You stay here with Mary. We won’t be long.’
I said, ‘I’ll go with him, if you like.’
Jerry stared at me. He appreciated my offer and he knew the doctor a lot better than I did. I think he was tempted to let me do it. But maybe he didn’t trust my nerve; he had seen me cringe from dead Mendoza, never even attempting to use the rifle.
‘No, it’s better if I go,’ he said.
Winston was looking back and forth between us.
‘I don’t suppose I could go on my own?’ he said.
Again I saw that look in his eyes. Jerry saw it, too.
‘Come on, doc,’ he said.
* * * *
Mary was sitting with her face in her hands. She looked up at me once or twice, then lowered her face again immediately. We were not drinking now. I was t
aut as a tuning fork, waiting to vibrate to the sound of the gun...but no shot sounded.
Then Jerry came back in, his face a mask of anguish.
‘Goddamn me!’ he cried.
He slammed the door; across the room, the bars rattled.
I looked at Jerry, puzzled. I have never seen such torment on a face. He walked to the bars and gripped them, a prisoner outside the cell...inside a black despair.
‘He knew,’ Jerry said. ‘He walked on ahead of me...never looked back once. I guess he knew. I followed him. But I walked slower and slower...and he just kept on at the same pace, so I was dropping behind...and when he turned off towards the compound, I stopped ... and came back. I let him go. I couldn’t do it! Goddamn me to hell!’ he screamed, cursing himself...for not killing his friend.
For a long while, no one spoke...
* * * *
XX
After a while Mary made a meal which none of us even pretended to eat. No shots had sounded for a long time. I looked out the window every few minutes but there was nothing to see. It was like a ghost town. A newspaper tumbled down the waterfront, starting to shred. A sea breeze had come up; it whined through the empty streets. From a wharf further down the front a door or shutter banged with a determined rhythm. The swordfish still hung from the scales, dry now; it looked like papier mâché. I felt sorry for the swordfish. It helped a bit to spread my sympathies. The others were looking out too, from time to time. We never looked out together, just took it in haphazard turns.
Jerry said, ‘There’s nobody...nobody at all. Maybe it’s tapering off. No patrols, either...funny...’
He came back from the window.
A little later, Mary looked out.
She saw the shore patrolman first. . .
* * * *
He was alone and looked relaxed.
He was standing down by the dock, looking out towards the patrol gunboats, not even watching his back. I breathed a sigh of relief. It must be over ... at least this particular patrolman believed it to be over, for he showed no signs of alertness or fear. He seemed interested in the boats, as if he were waiting for them to do something, perhaps for the blockade to disperse. Jerry opened the door and stepped out. He called to the man. The man didn’t seem to hear. Jerry called again, louder. The patrolman heard then. He seemed to shake himself around inside his crisp white uniform, like a dog shaking off water. Then he turned to face us.
Jerry’s breath went out in a rush.
I couldn’t breathe at all.
The ghoul in the white uniform made no move towards us; he stood, relaxed, watching us as he had watched the boats, with those blank, white eyes.
We went back in and barred the door.
We didn’t look out for a while.
When we did, later, he was gone...
* * * *
XXI
After that, we avoided the window. We did not look out, not wanting to see what was in the streets, and we did not look at it, not wanting to see what might ... be looking in. From time to time we heard...things...shuffling past the building; once something banged against the wall. But there was no real effort to get in. We sat at the desk in the centre of the room and looked at our hands. We drank a little rum. At one point, Mary raised the question that had been troubling me -and perhaps Jerry, as well.
‘What shall we do if someone...normal...wants to join us?’
She didn’t wait for a reply; said, ‘I mean, when Doctor Winston knocked on the door, I let him in as a matter of course...and then I found out ... I mean, how will we know?’ She spoke the last words in a strained voice that rose towards hysteria. I had no answer. She said, ‘We can’t refuse to let someone in, if there’s a chance they might be all right...’ She gestured with both hands, vehemently, as if we were arguing with her...!We can’t leave them out there...’
Jerry said, ‘I guess what we’d do - will do, it happens - is lock ‘em up in the cell. Keep ‘em at gunpoint and explain that we’re sorry but can’t take any chances and get ‘em in the cell. If they’re still all right after...oh, say five hours, to be on the safe side...then we can let them out.’
Mary nodded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘There is a flaw, Jerry,’ I said, shaking my head. When they both looked at me, I said, ‘It’s a good plan if only one person comes, but suppose two or three show up here? If they come separately - locking them up...would be like locking a man up with a time bomb, which might or might not explode ... or a tiger, which might or might not be hungry. It would be torture.’
‘Hell,’ he said.
‘Elston told me they had tested the ferocity of the subjects by locking them up together,’ I added. ‘It was not a pretty sight, although, no doubt, of great scientific interest,’ I said, bitterly.
‘Well ... if one of us kept a constant watch...the moment one of them showed any signs of going berserk, we could kill him before the other was attacked...’
‘Could we?’ I asked.
Jerry dropped his head. He had not been able to kill Doctor Winston and I had not even aimed my rifle at Mendoza and Mary...yet, who knows what one can do? ‘We might manage that,’ I said.
‘What else can we do?’
‘There’s one thing.’ I hesitated, wishing that Mary had been sleeping; not wanting to disturb her even more. But she was listening carefully; she had an interest in the matter, after all. I said, ‘We might need the cell for ourselves.’
‘How do you mean?’ Jerry asked.
‘They’re inhumanly strong. They could break in here, if they wanted to...no, not wanted to, they’re too mindless for that...but if the urge takes them. I thought...well, if they do try to break in, we can lock ourselves in the cell.’
Jerry grimaced. He said, ‘I don’t like that idea at all...locked in there, cowering back from the bars...with things maybe reaching in, trying to get at us...’ His great torso rippled; he shuddered like an earth tremor. ‘I’d rather be mobile...run...shoot if we have to...Yeah, I can shoot them...and hell, we don’t know how long we have to stay here.’
I hadn’t relished the thought myself; it was an option I thought I should mention. I said, ‘It may be a moot point. Maybe no one, normal or otherwise, will come. Let’s wait and see.’
And maybe it was a moot point.
But I was to be reminded, in a terrible way, of our agonising dilemma...the problem was not unique to us...
We spoke no more, with nothing to say. Time moved ponderously. And very slowly the light changed at the window.
The long night had begun...
* * * *
XXII
We sat in the lighted cube of our sanctuary and things moved in the darkness without. The sounds they made were soft, as if they caressed the walls lovingly, longingly, yearning to enter. They sensed we were within; they gently stroked the walls around us. We knew we should turn the light out...that it was drawing them to the jail like a beacon...but knowing is one thing; we could not cherish darkness -by dawn we would have been inhuman.
* * * *
Like a prisoner marking his passing sentence, Jerry drove his fist into his palm, not hard but as regular as a metronome; he winced with each soft blow, as if stung. Beside him, Mary sat with her face buried in her hands. From time to time she would shudder and look up, tearing her face from its shelter by main force...from the hooks of her hands came her tormented countenance, haggard, white, ghastly, the flesh drawn from her fingers. I looked past them, at the bars and, beyond, the shadow of the bars on the wall of the cell. My backbone was like a bar, riveting me to my chair...multiple bars, split by currents of fear and spreading like splintered bamboo through my torso - casting shadows on my soul. I was breathing heavily. We all were. And then something else was breathing heavily, at the door. Jerry looked up. His gun was on the table, but he did not touch it. The breath from without seemed to billow into the door; the door was solid, yet I felt as if it were fluttering like a sail, about to float open. A hand stroked the
contours of the door, seeking, testing. Then it moved away; moving on, it drew with it shreds of my sanity...
* * * *
Suddenly, I was back in Mendoza’s.
My mind out of time, I had just broken the glass case and the sound shattered in my ears. Mary’s face was writhing; Jerry was vibrating; my mind snapped back and I knew I had heard glass break behind me. There was glass in the window. I remembered seeing Mary at the window, through the pane...drawn against my will, I turned...
Sally the salad girl was reaching in...
Dark Terrors 5 - The Gollancz Book of Horror - [Anthology] Page 75
