"When have you known them not to be over-the-top?" Veitch noted.
"He's right," Ruth said. "There was something about this that reeked of desperation, not revenge. You'd think they'd have gone for the nuclear option."
Tom pressed his glasses back against the bridge of his nose. "I think their true motivations will become apparent very quickly."
"So in the meantime let's make the most of this lull and enjoy ourselves," Laura said sharply. "You lot, you're like, Let's look for some big, heavy stuff to depress us. You know, fun is an option."
Church smiled, gave her leg a squeeze under the table. He was surprised to see the palpable relief on her face.
Before they could say any more a man sauntered over, holding a half-drunk pint. He was in his late twenties, with a soft, rounded face and a conventional, side-parted haircut. Unlike many of the others in the bar, he seemed relaxed and easy-going. "Hello," he said, "I'm the official welcome wagon. Max Michaels. My parents had a thing about alliteration," he added half-apologetically. "You probably think it's all a bit strange in here. Which it is, make no mistake. Mind if I sit down?" Once they'd agreed he pulled up a chair; there was an old-fashioned politeness about him.
"Look, can I be blunt?" he said. "You all look like intelligent people. You obviously know there are some very strange things going on all over." He warmed when he saw the recognition in their faces, then asked them further questions until he was sure they understood the change that had come over the world. "That's a relief. There's nothing worse than having to tell some unbelieving idiot the world has become a fairybook. So I can talk plainly, that's good. Now I haven't quite figured out what's happening, but the way I see it, for some reason reality has skewed away from science to the supernatural. The way appliances, cars, everything, fails suddenly for no apparent reason. The sudden rise in coincidences, premonitions, prophetic dreams. Do you get where I'm coming from?"
Church nodded. "We've experienced all that. And more."
"Good, good. If that was the end of it, it would have been bearable." A shadow crossed Max's face. "A few weeks ago a local farmer came in here raving about this strange sighting he'd had in one of his fields. It was a great laugh for everybody. We all thought he'd been inhaling too many organophosphates. Then some of the other farmers claimed they'd seen something. So then we decided we'd got our very own Beast of Bodmin. You know, some escaped panther living in the wild. Only it didn't really fit with the descriptions…" He chewed on a knuckle briefly, his thoughts wandering. "And then things just went crazy. People went crazy. You can't just adapt overnight to having the whole world turned upside down. There were… a lot of casualties. Psychologically speaking. Depression, wouldn't leave their houses-"
"We saw that on our way here," Veitch said.
"No, that's because it's dark. You don't move round much after dark, not if you can help it. A few of us meet up here mob-handed, to plan. I suppose, really, just to keep some kind of normality ticking over. We see each other home." He took a deep draught of his beer, then grew animated. "The problem's been the isolation. When all the phone systems went off-line and the postal system was suspended, and all the media, we were just left to stew in our own juices. It would have helped if we could have found out if other people were suffering too. Misery isn't so bad if you know it's been spread around." He laughed humourlessly.
"Believe me, it's been spread around," Ruth said. There was something about Max that she was warming to; a geniality, perhaps, or a lack of cynicism.
"Yeah, so I gather. I'm a reporter by trade, a stringer for the nationals. 'Course, when the phone lines went down, that put paid to that career. Thank God for the food-sharing system we've got going. Anyway, journalism, you know, it's in your blood. I wanted to know what was happening, and I wanted to let everybody else know. So we set up a jungle drums news service, passing information to the next village along, and they would pass it along to the next, and so on." He shrugged in embarrassment. "It was the best we could do. We had to know."
"I admire your ingenuity," Ruth said. "Getting it set up so quickly. Most people wouldn't have bothered."
"Information is power. I've had that drummed into me ever since I started on a local rag." He seemed warmed by the praise. "We've managed to stretch from Appleby to Durham so far. And you wouldn't believe how much trouble we had setting that up. Some bloody civil servant or council twat stumbled across it at some point and tried to stop it. Can you believe it? He was ranting on about D Notices and not causing a panic. Then he set out to the next village in his car at twilight and we never heard from him again." There was a long pause while he sipped his beer. "You've got to adapt, haven't you? Nothing makes sense, but if you don't get your head round it you're just…" He searched for the right words. "Driving in a car to the next village, thinking it's a normal trip."
"You've done a good job here," Ruth said. He seemed to need the comfort; when he relaxed the strain was evident on his face.
"So tell me what you know," he said, suddenly excited. "Anything will help. Any little thing."
"Any little thing," Church repeated with an amused expression.
They didn't see anything wrong with filling Max in on many of the things they'd experienced since they'd got together. A hour and a half had passed before they'd finished and Max looked shellshocked. "That's amazing. Stupendous." He eyed them suspiciously for a moment, but it was obvious from their expressions that they weren't spinning him a yarn. "So you're some kind of heroes. Basic, day-to-day people standing up against unimaginable odds. This is just what people have been waiting to hear!"
"You've got it all wrong," Church said with a dismissive laugh. "From our perspective it looks very different."
"You're right there," Laura added grumpily.
"No, don't you see! This is something I can do! Tell the world about what you're doing-or at least the world as far as I can reach. Give people hope. You know, war reporting. Because that's what it is."
Veitch shook his head with irritation. "We don't need that. A bloody spotlight shining on us all the time! No way. Anyway, we wouldn't even recognise ourselves once you've finished. I know what bleedin' reporters are like."
"You owe this to the people. It's part of your job-"
"We don't owe anybody anything." There was an unpleasant harshness to Witch's voice.
"We were thinking about camping in the village somewhere," Ruth said to change the subject.
"You can't do that."
"No, you're probably right there. How about getting some rooms here?"
Max glanced over at the barman. "I'll have to ask Geordie. I don't know… In the current climate I'm not sure how keen he'll be to have strangers in the place." He sighed. "But we can't send you out into the night either, so he'll have to."
Tom leaned across the table to catch his attention. "You haven't told us what's going on here."
"Yes, of course." He scrubbed the hair at the nape of his neck, suddenly uneasy. "Well, it's not like we really know. We've all glimpsed things out there in the fields, but what they truly are-"
"What do they look like?" Ruth asked.
"We've only seen flashes, but we pieced things together from different accounts. When they move they're like sheets blowing in the wind. They seem to change and twist all the time, so they look, you know, not really solid, like they're not quite there. But they are." He took another swig of beer to moisten his drying mouth. "They've got teeth. One of the farmers saw them go through a sheep like it was a threshing machine. Turned the poor beast into chunks. That was the start of it."
"But not the end," Church said.
Max shook his head. "While they were out in the fields they were terrifying, but we could deal with it. They weren't here, you know? We were safe in our castles."
"But once they'd found their footing they began to come into the village." Tom nodded at the familiar pattern. "More prey, and easier to catch."
"They came into town one night like a storm blowing
in, sweeping up the High Street, swirling around all the houses. Everyone knew what was out there in the fields, so they didn't really venture out that much at night. Anyway, they found their victim. Mrs. Ransom. She lived on her own in the big house at the top of the High Street. Quite well-to-do, but everyone got on with her, I suppose. There was a lot of blood, and…" His words dried up. As he stared blankly into the dregs of his pint, the awful strain was apparent on his face. "After that the place just shut down. It was hard to go anywhere during the day. A farm hand, Eric Rogers, went missing in the fields. They found him. Part of him. Some people thought they'd try to drive away to the city… some did, but most were afraid even to go anywhere in their cars. We were virtually prisoners in our houses. Every night we barricaded ourselves in, and every morning we'd run out to meet here."
"It's a wonder you managed to carry on living your lives," Veitch said.
"We didn't, at first. But we began to get an idea of their patterns. They'd be in the village every night after dark, but we didn't actually see them in the environs during the day. Just on the outskirts, in the fields and the roads. Then we realised something. After Mrs. Ransom, they hadn't taken anybody else from their house, even though a lot of the barricades were pretty flimsy things. But one night Jimmy Oldfield, who was this old lush from Recton Close, he got a bit funny in the head from all the pressure. He'd been in here drinking all day, telling everybody he'd had enough, that he was going to make a stand. Everybody thought it was just the booze talking." A guilty expression crossed his face.
"Anyway, that night they seemed to know Jimmy had the least defences because they hovered all around his door for ages, but they couldn't get in, didn't even try, really. That's what the people holed up across the road said. But Jimmy…" Max shook his head slowly. "I reckon he'd pickled his brain with all the whisky he'd drunk. He came to the door with his shotgun. All those awful things were gathered on his front garden, poised, like. Ready to attack. Jimmy opened the door just a crack to shove the shotgun out and that was it. They were in. There wasn't anything left of him the next day." He sighed, finished his beer. "So the upshot is, they only come into the village at night, and however dangerous they are, they can't get into your place if the door's shut tight."
Veitch shrugged. "It's a bit of a bastard not to be able to go out at night, but it shouldn't be too much trouble to keep everyone safe."
"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Max waved his glass for the barman to pour him another pint. "Anyway, after somebody got killed they never bothered us for a while so we could pretty much go about our lives as normal. We used the time to tell everybody in the village what we knew and to make sure all the old folk had good defences. They all got the rule: nobody opens their door after sunset."
They could all see what was coming. "But somebody else died," Church said.
"Not just one, three people. It doesn't make any sense! The things can't get inside if the house is shut up. And everybody knows they have to keep their doors locked at all times. So tell me how people are dying?" He took his drink from the barman and drained half of it too quickly.
"People do silly, dangerous things even when they know they shouldn't," Ruth suggested.
Max shook his head. "One of them, Dave Garson, I was only speaking to him the afternoon he died. He was terrified. There was no way he was going to open his door. But he was gone the next day. His wife and kids were hysterical. They said the things came bursting in after they'd gone to bed and Dave was finishing off his beer in the kitchen-"
"Maybe you're wrong about them getting into locked houses," Church began.
Max shook his head furiously. "That's not it. We're as sure as sure about that. We've been watching them. They can't get in." He turned around to call over an aristocratic-looking man who was drinking a short at the bar. He was tall and thin, probably in his late sixties, with white hair and a handlebar moustache. He reminded Church of an ex-army type.
"This is Sir Richard," Max said as he made the introductions. "He lives in the Manor House on the green. We decided to form an action group to gather information on these things."
"Surveillance is one thing I am very good at," Sir Richard stressed. "We set up a good team around the village, keeping watch all night long. We tracked the movements of these things. Took a few pot-shots at them to see if we could do them any damage. No luck, unfortunately. Like shooting fog."
"And they definitely can't get into shut-up houses, right, Sir Richard?" Max said.
"Absolutely. They'll gather at the door, but never go inside. The most damnable thing. We honestly have no idea what to do next."
Having made his point, he retreated to the bar. Max leaned forward and whispered, "Ex-Tory MP for his sins, but he's a pillar of the community, great at organising things and getting people involved. In fact, I'm surprised how much this nightmare has brought everyone together. I used to think this was a right stuffy place, but since all this started I've seen a different side of all sorts of people. It seems to have brought out the best in everyone. Ironic, isn't it?"
For the rest of the evening they mulled over this point. They had all seen the good that had come out of hardship and suffering, but however much they argued, they couldn't agree if what they had lost was a fair price for what they had gained.
Geordie the barman had some spare rooms he used to let out to foreign tourists touring the area, but he agreed to give them up reluctantly. He was a little warmer when they promised to pay handsomely if he could arrange some food. He disappeared into the kitchen and forty-five minutes later came back with some cold ham, mashed potatoes and peas. Laura moaned about the meat "infecting" her vegetables, but after their hard day's walking the others polished off their dinner and washed it down with more beer.
Max left them alone while they ate, returning to the other drinkers to pass on what he had learned. Church watched their expressions move through disbelief to a dumbfounded acceptance and then something approaching awe. It made him feel uncomfortable.
At 11 p.m., all the drinkers gathered together at the door. Church could see the apprehension jumping from one to the other like electric sparks, lighting their faces for just a fleeting moment. Max maintained his cheeriness somehow and threw a bright wave before wrenching open the door and peering out into the oppressive darkness of the street. They all hovered for a moment, and then some kind of circuit was thrown in their minds and they surged out. Church could almost hear the unified exhalation of fear. Then, with a rustle and a bang, they were gone and the door was shut.
"Will they be all right?" Ruth asked.
Geordie leaned his heavy frame across the bar. "With a prayer. They've done it enough times, got it down to a fine art. They don't take any risks."
"It would be easier to stay at home." Church was surprised how concerned Ruth appeared.
"That'd be a bit like giving up, now wouldn't it?"
"I suppose so."
After he'd finished wiping up, Geordie led them through the back and up a twisting staircase to a roomy first floor. Several bedrooms lay off a dog-leg corridor. They were all Spartan-a double bed, chair, dresser, wash basin-but they were clean and the beds were all made up with crisp linen.
"What time's breakfast?" Veitch asked.
"You're paying, you decide," Geordie said grumpily. "Gi' me a knock when you're ready."
Church and Laura took the first room. Veitch angled to share with Ruth, but she opted for Shavi.
"Looks like it's you and me, son," Tom said wryly.
"Whoop de doo." Veitch kicked the door shut. "He's definitely a queen, right?"
Laura made love to Church voraciously, pinning him to the mattress and riding him so roughly the clatter of the bedframe against the wall left no one in the building in any doubt what was happening. After ten minutes, Veitch hammered on the wall and shouted something indecipherable but obviously angry and obscene.
"Just 'cause you aren't getting any!" Laura yelled back. "One-hand boy!"
Her pa
ssion brought Church to an early climax, but she didn't seem to want anything in return. She collapsed next to him, flushed and laughing at her exertion. "Just call me Rodeo Girl."
Their breathing subsided slowly as they stared at the ceiling until all they could hear were the creaks of the old house settling in the night. During the sex, Church's doubts had drifted to the back of his head, but there in the silence they returned in force. More than anything he didn't want to hurt Laura. He knew her better than all the others, her well of insecurity, her secret fears and lack of confidence, the kind of things she would be horrified if he said he recognised in her. Yet he seemed incapable of getting any handle on his emotions as far as she was concerned.
She seemed to sense what he was thinking, for she smiled and put a hand firmly across his mouth. "Less is more. Don't ruin things with intellect."
He took her hand away gently. "I just want to be honest with you. You know… no false pretences. I-"
She clamped the hand down even more firmly. "Churchill, this is me you're talking to. Do you think I'm going to be led up the garden path like some dreamy-eyed girlie? I'm a mature adult. Without wishing to define mature. I'm able to make choices. I know what I'm getting into. I know the inside of your head looks like something out of Saving Private Ryan. Back in Edinburgh I let the pathetic… yes, even desperate… side get out of control. But if it happens again, I'm going to put my own eyes out."
She took her hand away. He went to speak and she clamped it down again, laughing in enjoyment at the small power.
"So the bottom line is, don't worry. No strings. If things work out, that's fine. If not, well, at least we tried. So let's just enjoy the moment."
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