Grave Girl

by Amy Cross

"Maybe," Vanessa sniffed, "but in my experience, most of the time this kind of thing happens because the mother just can't be bothered. It's a sad reflection of modern morality."

  "You don't know that," Sandra said quietly, refusing to believe that a mother could be so heartless about her child.

  "He's just lucky that the cleaner came to work at the church," Vanessa replied, keeping her voice down. "Otherwise, he could have been out there for hours. The way the weather's been lately, he could have frozen to death. Then there are the rats. My God, have you seen the size of the rats you get around Leeds these days? Some of them are the size of small dogs! I dread to think what might have happened to this kid if he hadn't been found quickly."

  "Well, he was found," Sandra said with a smile. "Let's just be thankful for small mercies. You can't focus on all the things that could have gone wrong."

  "It's no way to start a life," Vanessa said with a sigh, "but at least things can only get better from here. New-borns are the easiest to place. You know what people are like. They want a fresh canvas, so they look for a kid who's basically as close to birth as possible. They'll be positively fighting over this little darling. I'll get started with the paperwork this morning, and if we're lucky, this little guy'll have a new family by Christmas."

  "His name's Henry," Sandra said quietly.

  "How'd you reckon that?"

  "It's written here, on the fabric," she continued, lifting part of the white shawl to reveal the spot where the name Henry had been written in thick black marker pen. "His mother must have put it there before she left him. If she didn't care about him, would she bothered to do that?"

  "Maybe it was already on the shawl," Vanessa pointed out. "Maybe she stole the shawl!"

  "She cared!" Sandra insisted. "You can't deny it! Whatever else this kid's mother did, she wasn't the Devil incarnate!"

  "Well, I'm not sure about that," Vanessa replied sniffily, "but the thing is, when a family adopt an abandoned baby, they often want to choose the name for themselves. It's part of the whole 'blank slate' thing. Most times, they just want to scrub out any connection to the birth mother and put their own stamp on the kid."

  "Henry's a nice name," Sandra said. "He should keep it."

  "It's a perfectly fine name," Vanessa said with a sigh, "but babies do better when they're offered without a name. Allows the new family to feel like he's really theirs, if you see what I mean. They won't want any traces of the kid's old life. If they ask, I'll tell 'em his name, but otherwise, his chances of being adopted are much better if he's a blank slate."

  "But it's the only thing his mother gave him," Sandra replied. "His name, and his shawl."

  "Well, we'll have to get rid of the shawl too," Vanessa said sternly. "I'll get a fresh one from the cupboard. This baby's mother lost all rights to any connection when she dumped him on the steps of a church and ran off into the night. Our job is to focus on the baby's needs." She paused for a moment, waiting for Sandra to reply. "I know you're kinda new to this line of work, but you can't afford to start daydreaming about the mother in a case like this. She's gone. They never come back. Focus on the kid."

  "What if she does come back?"

  "She won't. When was the last time you heard of a case where a mother came back after abandoning her kid? I've been here for ten years, and I've only ever known two mothers who changed their minds after dumping their children. In most cases, they disappear forever." She paused for a moment. "Besides, she abandoned the kid. You think she's got a hope in hell of getting him back? With any luck, she'll never come looking, and if she does, she won't get very far."

  Sandra smiled sadly. She knew Vanessa was right, but that didn't mean she had to like the situation. Henry seemed so helpless and so alone, and it felt wrong to take away the weak connection he still enjoyed to the woman who'd given birth to him. When he was found, he still had his umbilical cord attached, although it had since been removed by a doctor. Henry's mother, whoever she was, had clearly been in a hurry to get rid of him.

  "Come on," Vanessa said with a smile. "This is good news. We have trouble placing older kids, but this one's gonna be off the shelf in no time. He never even has to know about all this. His new parents might not even tell him where he came from. Sometimes I think that's best. Why bring in the extra drama when you can just let life unfold peacefully instead? How would you feel if you found out that your birth mother dumped you on some steps and left you to die?"

  "I know," Sandra said, as the baby wriggled a little in his shawl. "I just can't help wondering what kind of person could abandon such a cute little thing. She might be suffering too, you know."

  "I'll tell you what kind of person," Vanessa replied. "A waste of space. I don't care about any extenuating circumstances. You dump a kid, you're trash. No excuses. She might have given birth to the poor little guy, but she's not his mother. Not really. She lost that privilege when she placed her own happiness ahead of the safety of her child."

  "Maybe she was just scared."

  "Bullshit. She was a bitch. For all she knew, this baby could have died on there on those steps. I guarantee you, after she ran away, she didn't even look back."

  "He was wrapped up pretty well," Sandra replied, "and maybe it wasn't a coincidence that the cleaner turned up. Maybe the mother knew he'd be along, and she times everything so Henry would be found?"

  "You're giving her far too much credit," Vanessa said firmly. "If you want to work here, you need to harden your heart. There's no room for tears when it comes to the mothers. Wherever that bitch is right now, I hope she knows she's going straight to hell."

  Chapter One

  Today

  "How long do we have to wait?" Sam asks, staring up at the roof of the rocky underground cavern. "It's been quiet for a while now."

  "Patience," Faraday replies. "When he's dealt with them, he'll come and get us. Until then, we just have to wait down here and hope for the best. Sparky knows what he's doing, but he needs us to keep out of his way -"

  "But if -"

  "He'll come and get us when it's safe!" Faraday says firmly. "The fact that he hasn't come for us means that he's not finished yet. I'm sure he's got everything under control, but we risk causing more problems if we start going up there. He's got enough to deal with, and the last thing he needs is to have to make sure we're safe as well. I assure you, Martello's a great warrior. He'll be fine."

  "Or he's dead," Anna says. Sitting over by the wall, with her knees drawn up almost to her chin, she's spent the past few minutes picking maggots out of her arm and setting them free to wriggle helplessly on the ground. Holding one up and examining it for a moment, she frowns. "Gross." She glances over at Sam and Faraday. "What? It's true. You keep saying Sparky'll sort it all out, but what if you're wrong? Maybe the reason it's so quiet up there is... Well, there were a lot of those creatures, and there was only one of him."

  "Nonsense," Faraday replies snappily.

  "But -"

  "Nonsense!" Faraday says again, this time raising his voice. "You don't know what Martello can do. I appreciate that you've been dropped in the middle of all this, but you're far from an expert. I've seen him in action. He's dealt with much greater forces in the past. He's fought in some of the greatest battles that have ever taken place, and he's never even endured so much as a cut or a scratch."

  "Anna's right," Sam says. "Or at least, she might be. He's not invulnerable, is he? I mean, he's not made of flesh and blood, and I know he's supposed to be pretty tough, but there were so many of them. Even if he managed to fight them for a while, he'd have got tired eventually."

  "He's too smart to be brought down by a group of Volks," Faraday says. "He's too strong."

  "But maybe they surprised him," Sam continues, "or maybe they had back-up." Looking up at the ceiling, she tries to imagine the scene in the cemetery. "How much longer are we going to sit down here? What if he doesn't come for us in the next couple of hours? What if we get to tomorrow and there's still nothing? Are we g
onna wait a week?"

  "We don't have a week," Faraday replies, walking over to the edge of the precipice and staring down into the dark pit. "We have twelve, fifteen hours at most before this beast wakes up, and if that happens, it doesn't matter what Sparky has or hasn't done. There are some genies, Ms. Marker, that simply can't be put back into their bottle."

  "So why are we just sitting around?" Sam asks. "Why don't we get on with making sure the Devil doesn't wake up?" She pauses for a moment, shocked to find such crazy words coming from her mouth. "I mean, there's got to be a way, right?" she continues. "You're the expert. Don't you know what to do? Isn't there something written in one of your books, or some kind of legend?"

  "I'm working on a plan," Faraday replies.

  "How's it going so far?"

  "I'm still working on it."

  "You haven't got anything, have you?" She waits for an answer. "You don't know what to do."

  Faraday opens his mouth to respond, but instead he pauses for a moment. "When the cemetery was built," he says eventually, "it was never expected that the Devil would remain in his grave forever. It was simply felt that this was the best way to keep him down there for the longest possible period of time. Everyone understood that he'd rise again one day, but no-one thought it would happen so soon. It was assumed that there'd be hundreds, maybe thousands of years to go before..." He continues to stare down into the pit for a moment. "This is the end of the world," he says finally. "If he rises, he'll rip everything apart. His mind alone is strong enough to burn the planet to a crisp. There'll be no arguing with him, no chance to fight. It'll all be over. To him, humanity is just a collection of ants, scurrying around on the surface of his grave."

  "How did they get him down there in the first place?" Sam asks.

  "The records have been lost."

  "Great. How convenient."

  "Sarcasm won't help," Faraday replies darkly. "We need to maintain clear heads, which means we have to focus on the task at hand. Pure logic is the only tool at our disposal. We just have to work through the various permutations and determine the best path."

  "You make it sound like an algebra problem," Sam says.

  "All I know," Faraday continues, "is that keeping him down there is going to be infinitely easier than letting him wake up and then trying to send him back. The latter would be a hopeless task, but the former... We might just have a chance."

  "So we have to make sure he doesn't wake up," Sam says firmly. "We have to find some way to make him stay the hell down there."

  "That's the idea," Faraday replies.

  "But it's impossible, isn't it?" Anna suggests, still picking maggots from her arm. "Don't bullshit us. It's clear from the way you're talking. He's already waking up, so we're all dead." She pauses for a moment. "Well, I'm already dead, but you know what I mean." Suddenly, a smile spreads across her face. "Hey, you know what? Being dead isn't so bad! I mean, apart from the maggots and stuff. Even if the Devil does get up and start smashing everything, you'll both just end up like me. Is that really the worst thing in the world?"

  "Anna -" Sam starts to say.

  "No, seriously," Anna continues. "I just realized! Why does it matter to me what happens? I'm already dead, so what's the Devil gonna do? Kill me again? And it's not so shabby." She turns to Sam. "Seriously, there's no reason to be scared. You'll get used to it soon enough. There are maggots, and sometimes a few bits fall off, but once you get over the initial shock and wrap your head around it, you can kind of deal with it. Just go with the flow!"

  "The flow of being dead?" Sam asks skeptically.

  Anna shrugs.

  "The only reason you're still here is because the cemetery is consecrated ground," Faraday replies darkly. "Do you think that will remain the case once the Devil rises? This whole place is going to be the first part of the planet to be sucked dry of its purity, and when that happens, you'll turn to dust."

  "Oh," Anna says, looking a little startled.

  Deep below, at the bottom of the pit, something stirs, as if some kind of huge beast is slowly starting to move, and the walls of the entire chamber shake for a moment before silence descends once again. There's no mistaking the power and size of whatever's down there, preparing to rise again.

  "Bad dream?" Sam asks.

  "What does the Devil dream about?" Faraday replies.

  "Maybe he's just misunderstood?" Sam suggests. "I mean, maybe he's not so bad? He might just..." Her voice trails off as she realizes that this is one theory that's not going to fly.

  "I often dream about being naked in public," Anna says suddenly. "Maybe that's what he dreams about too. Or cheer-leading. I dream about that sometimes."

  "He's been asleep for thousands of years," Faraday says darkly. "He won't wake up immediately, but the process has definitely started. We don't have long left." Looking up at the ceiling, he pauses for a moment. "Even if Martello has dealt with the Volks, there'll be more creatures to come. I don't..." He pauses, and it's clear that he has no idea what to do next. No ideas, no plan. Nothing. "This is all happening too soon," he says eventually. "I needed more time to plan. I needed to go through the books. The answer was in there somewhere, but everything moved too fast and now there's no time."

  Hearing another rumble from deep within the pit, Sam looks down into the darkness and recognizes that she can't rely on Faraday to come up with a solution. If the Devil finally wakes up, the cemetery will be the first part of the world to be destroyed, but soon everything else will follow. Every place is going to be destroyed, and every person is going to die, even those who were supposed to be safe. Taking a deep breath, Sam can't help but realize that the repercussions of the Devil's return are going to be felt by every living creature on the planet.

  "Henry," she whispers softly.

  Chapter Two

  "What a wasteland," Gabriel Fenroc says, standing at the cemetery gate and staring through the iron bars. "What a terrible tragedy. So much death and destruction. So much anger, so much pain. A perfect example of why this world needs to be ripped apart and replaced by something better. Something new."

  The entire cemetery has been trashed. Gravestones have been ripped from the ground and smashed, while even some of the trees have been uprooted. The cottage has withstood some of the damage, although one end has collapsed and the other end, although still standing, looks conspicuously fragile. The blackened, burned bodies of Volks are spread all over the singed grass, and a curious, deathly kind of hush has descended upon the whole place. It looks like the end of the world, or at least a warm-up.

  "This is going to be tricky," Fenroc continues, pushing the gate open. Reaching his hand across the threshold, he watches has the skin on his fingers begins to sizzle and burn. After a few seconds, unable to withstand the pain any longer, he steps back and admires his damaged flesh. The skin is already beginning to heal, but he's certain that there's no way he could withstand such pain while walking all the way over to the cottage. He pauses, before reaching into his pocket and taking out a small vial of water.

  Nearby, a mouse sits on top of the wall, watching the scene.

  "It was such a beautiful place once," he says, thinking back to the old days, when he was the gardener. He used to sleep during the day and do all his work at night, when no-once could see or interrupt him. Working by the light of the moon, he was still able to make the place look good. Not like his successors, who mostly focused on other aspects of the job and ignored the need to make the place beautiful.

  "You're not welcome here," calls out a voice.

  Looking past the gate, Fenroc sees a familiar figure hunched against the wall over by one of the wrecked graves.

  "Martello," he says with a smile. It's been many years since he heard his former comrade's voice, although he's spotted him once or twice through the cemetery gates. "Or do you prefer to be called Sparky these days? I understand Ms. Marker has given you a new moniker. How are you doing, old friend? I must say, it seems you've let the place go a li
ttle, and you're looking a little peaky. Such a change from your usual self."

  Slowly, Sparky tries to get to his feet, but his stone form quickly collapses once again. The battle with the Volks might be over, but he has suffered a terrible toll, and there are fractures running all through his body. He tries yet again to stand, but finally he has to give up. The damage is etched across his face, which has been partially chipped away on one side thanks to the Volks' attack. Whereas he previously looked noble and proud, he now resembles an old, damaged statue.

  "You should rest," Fenroc continues. "You're getting on. You deserve a nap. Why not just sit back and let everyone else take the strain?" Glancing over at a dead, smoking Volk on the grass, he pauses for a moment. "I knew they'd be no match for you, but I have to be honest, I didn't realize they'd take quite so much of your strength. What's wrong, old chap? Are you losing your touch? There were days when I thought you could take on army after army, without even breaking a sweat. You were feared across so many worlds, and now look at you. Do you have any idea how many people would delight in knowing that you've fallen so far?"

  "Is this really what you want?" Sparky asks, sounding hoarse and breathless. Stone dust pours from his body every time he speaks, and his limbs have begun to make a stiff grinding sound. "Do you think the Devil himself will barter with you once he's awake? Is that your plan? Are you going to saunter up to him, lay your cards on the table, and propose some kind of alliance?"

  "Perhaps."

  "You have nothing to offer him. He'll swat you away."

  "You don't know what I have to offer," Fenroc says with a smile.

  "I know you've got an over-inflated sense of your own importance. I know you think you deserve power and glory. It was these weaknesses that drove you from the cemetery in the first place."

  Fenroc pauses. "Well, that's just your opinion," he says after a moment. "I know you must have a very lowly opinion of me, but I'm sure you understand that I haven't played all my cards just yet. Do you really think I'd wander into a meeting with the darkest creature in all of creation, and just ask for a favor? Come on, you know I'm not that stupid. I'm not naive."