Afterwalkers

by Tom Becker

  “But I’m not from Alderston. Why are you telling me all this?”

  “You’re less of an outsider than you think you are. I remember when I came into the church during Greg’s funeral. The look on your face – like you had seen the dead, too.”

  Jamie shivered, remembering the icy, hateful presence of Kitty Hawkins in the pew behind him.

  “I don’t know what Sarge has got you mixed up in,” Roxanne told him, “but you’re all alone in the Lodge on the edge of that graveyard, and winter’s closing in around you. They like it when it’s cold, Jamie. Get out while you still can.”

  A phone buzzed loudly on the desk, making both of them jump. Roxanne’s jaw tightened when she checked the incoming caller. She wiped her eyes.

  “Hello?” she said. A voice crackled angrily down the line back at her.

  “I know,” said Roxanne. “I’m sorry, I just … OK.” She rubbed her face and handed Jamie the phone. “It’s for you, love,” she said.

  There was a note of apology in her voice that made Jamie feel uneasy, and he only took the phone reluctantly. “Hello?”

  A voice like a gust of wind answered, flinging gravel into his eyes. “Jamie, my boy!” said Mr Redgrave. “What brings you to the spider’s lair?”

  “Nothing,” said Jamie. “I just wanted to say hi to Roxanne.”

  “Comforting a distressed mother in her hour of need. Very commendable of you.”

  “If this is about the …” Jamie looked across at Roxanne, but she was looking in the distance, “… stuff you wanted Sarge to get for you, there’s a problem. They’ve taken them out of the watch house and are using them. There’s no way we could get them for you now.”

  “I know that, Jamie. The sooner you realize I know everything you know the easier this will be. I know exactly who you’ve been talking to, where you’ve been: the bookshop, the war memorial, the woods…” Mr Redgrave chuckled. “Your old man thinks he’s so clever, setting himself up at the Oak, making contacts, putting out feelers … if only he knew, it’s his youngest who’s been asking the right questions all along.”

  “What questions?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Jamie. Everyone else might think you’re stupid but I’m not buying it. It’s you – not Sarge, not your brother – that’s beginning to understand what’s truly going on here in Alderston. It’s the only reason I’m giving you and Liam a second chance. Forget about the mortsafes; they were only going to be a trial anyway. I wanted to see if your family was up to the task. What I really want from you is much more important than that.”

  Jamie’s throat had gone dry. “What is it?” he managed.

  “Something lost for centuries. Something very old, and very precious, and very hard to find. Buried treasure, if you like.”

  Even as the answer came to Jamie, his heart sank. “Aldus’s hoard.”

  “Bingo.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Jamie protested. “People have been looking for it for years. Treasure hunters, with metal detectors and everything! How am I supposed to find it?”

  “The same way you’ve found out everything else: keep asking the right questions. I’ve got every confidence in you, Jamie. Has anyone ever said that to you before? I bet they haven’t. I bet Sarge hasn’t.”

  “Hang on,” said Jamie. “Earlier, you said you were giving me and Liam a second chance. Why just us? What about Sarge?”

  “What about him?”

  “Where’s his second chance?”

  “Sarge used up his chances a long, long time ago. There’s nothing more I can do for him.”

  “What do you mean?” Jamie asked urgently. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you? I’ll get the hoard for you, I promise!”

  “I know you will. As for Sarge, that’s beyond my control. He’s dug his own grave.”

  “Please don’t hurt my dad!” pleaded Jamie.

  “I told you, I’m not going to,” Mr Redgrave chided. “You still haven’t put it all together, have you? If you had, you’d have known to leave Mathers exactly where you found him…”

  The line clicked as Mr Redgrave rang off. Jamie stood numbly, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Roxanne refused to look at him, her gaze fixed on the muted television screen. She drained her glass with a large swig and poured herself another measure of vodka.

  Dropping the mobile on to her desk with a clatter, Jamie sprinted out of the office. Liam was shivering in the shadows of the car park, stamping his feet in an attempt to keep warm. He wasn’t alone – Keeley was standing with him, her arms folded across her chest, and an obstinate expression on her face.

  “Don’t ask me what she’s doing here,” Liam started, nodding at Keeley. “I tried to tell her—”

  “Forget about that!” cried Jamie, cutting him off. “We’ve got to save Sarge!”

  “What d’you mean, we’ve got to save Sarge?” said Liam.

  Both he and Keeley were staring at Jamie. What was he supposed to tell them? That he was worried someone was coming back from the dead to attack Sarge? They’d think he’d lost it. And maybe they’d be right.

  “There isn’t time to explain,” said Jamie, grabbing Liam’s arm. “We have to go now!”

  “Where?”

  “To the Lodge! Haven’t you been listening?”

  “I’ll come with you,” Keeley said quickly.

  “You can’t,” Jamie told her. “It’s too dangerous – you’ll have to go back to yours.”

  “Split up?” she scoffed. “Yeah, right! You two will go running off and it’ll be me who gets jumped. Haven’t you seen any horror films?”

  “No one asked you to come,” snapped Jamie. “Find your own way home!”

  “Enough!” Liam rubbed his face wearily. “You’re doing my head in, both of you.” He turned to Jamie. “Keeley’s right – we can’t leave anyone on their own right now. Whatever’s out there, we’ll face it together. Come on.”

  They hurried out of the car park and up the alleyway into the main square, Jamie and Keeley struggling to keep up with Liam’s loping stride. They returned to the Lodge to find it swathed in darkness. Liam tried the front door, rattling the handle.

  “It’s locked,” he reported. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. Sarge probably stopped in at the Oak on his way home.”

  “He said he wanted us back sharp at eight,” insisted Jamie. “He wasn’t stopping anywhere. Let’s try round the back.”

  They crept through swaying trees round the side of the Lodge into the garden. The rear of the house was as dark as the front, the back door locked and all the windows intact.

  “I told you he wasn’t home yet,” said Liam, but there was a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. The problem was clear in the moonlight: there were cross-currents of footprints in the snow, suggesting that someone had been here. As they fanned out around the garden, examining the shadows for the unexpected, the wind picked up and there was a loud bang behind them. Jamie whirled round to see the shed door swinging on its hinges.

  “Thank God for that,” Keeley said with relief. “That made me jump right out of my skin.”

  But as Jamie looked over towards the shed door his creeping unease grew. Sarge had been extra careful to lock it after they had stored Mathers’s body in there – the last thing he wanted was someone accidentally stumbling over a dead body. So why was it open now? Jamie crept over to the shed, the hairs on his neck beginning to rise, and peered into the darkness. The shed was a jumble of objects – folded-up garden chairs, a DIY workbench, the saggy carcass of a deflated football – but there was no sign of the blanket shrouding Mathers’s dead body.

  “Why the worried face?” asked Keeley, looking over Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s just a shed.”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” Liam replied grimly. “There’s something missing that shou—”
/>   “Shh!”

  Jamie held up his hand, and Liam fell into a surprised silence. As the three of them stood frozen in the garden’s icy shadows, Jamie could make out a faint noise coming from the fields beyond the Lodge. Stepping softly through the snow, he pushed through the trees and looked out over the fence.

  A single silhouette was standing tall against the horizon, half-illuminated by a lantern placed on the ground next to him. The man was frantically digging a hole, flinging handfuls of cold earth to one side with his shovel. Beyond the outer fringes of the lamplight, Jamie could just make out a second figure lying prone in the snow.

  “Sarge?” Liam called out warily. “What are you doing?”

  The man didn’t look up. He was totally engrossed in his shovelling.

  “The ground must be frozen solid!” Keeley whispered in amazement. “How strong is your dad?”

  “He’s burying Mathers next to Smiler,” groaned Liam. “He’s lost the plot.”

  The figure straightened up and stopped digging, hurling the shovel to one side. As the man reached down and grabbed the prone body by the feet, Jamie’s breath caught in his throat.

  “What is it?” asked Liam.

  “That’s not Sarge,” Jamie said hoarsely.

  He didn’t even need the lamplight to see it – the digger was too tall, his shoulders far too broad for Sarge’s wiry frame. But the figure lying on the ground had a shaven head, and was wearing fingerless gloves on his hands…

  “Jesus, that’s Sarge on the ground!” gasped Liam. “He looks in a bad way.”

  “He’s not dead, is he?” asked Jamie, in a horrified whisper.

  “If he is, he’s not going to be the only one,” Liam replied grimly. “Stay here.”

  He vaulted the fence, landing easily on the other side, and began striding towards the figure.

  “Oi!” he yelled. “Back off!”

  The figure straightened up, letting go of Sarge’s feet. As the man slowly shuffled around to face Liam, his features passed through the faint aura of the lamp, and suddenly Jamie was aware of the full horror of the situation.

  It was Mathers.

  Mathers was dead. Jamie had seen the scrap dealer’s crushed throat. He had helped carry his lifeless body. It couldn’t be him, and yet it was: the same hulking frame, the same sneer imprinted on his face. His flesh had decayed from pallid grey to a dark, bruised blue. Already a giant of a man, in death Mathers seemed to have only filled outwards, rolls of flesh and flab pushing against the straining seams of his overalls. Jamie saw now that he had dug his hole next to where Sarge had buried Smiler. An eye for an eye…

  If Liam was unnerved by this nightmarish vision he managed to hide it, striding on without breaking step. As he watched his brother, Jamie felt a sharp elbow in his ribs.

  “What are you waiting for?” Keeley hissed. “Go and help him! You’re not going to let him face that thing on his own, are you?”

  “What can I do?” Jamie retorted. “Liam told us to stay here. I’ll only get in the way.” He couldn’t tell her the truth – that he was so scared his legs had turned to jelly, and he was desperate to go to the toilet.

  Rolling her eyes, Keeley scrambled over the fence and dropped down into the snow on the other side.

  “Leave him alone, you big baboon!” she called out, through cupped hands. “Pick on someone your own size!”

  “Get back, Keeley!” Liam shouted. “I’ve got this!”

  She ignored him, jogging across the field until she caught up with Liam. Jamie swore under his breath. There was no way he could stay here now. He swung his legs over the fence, landing with a crunch on the other side, and ran after Keeley and his brother. As he neared Mathers, his heart in his mouth, Jamie could see the crimson swathe where Sarge had been dragged through the snow. Blood was seeping from a wound in his head. Jamie’s dad was out cold.

  Confronted by three enemies, Mathers turned and let out a low growl. He lunged at Liam, but Jamie’s brother skipped easily out of reach. They had the advantage of speed and numbers, but how could they hurt such a giant? As he looked across at his brother, Jamie saw Liam thinking the same thing, his eyes flicking over towards the shovel that Mathers had hurled to one side. At the moment it was still too close to the scrap dealer to reach, but if he moved…

  Jamie bent down and scooped a handful of snow into a ball.

  “Hey, you!” he cried at Mathers. “Leave my dad alone!”

  He drew back his arm and hurled the snowball, landing a direct hit on the giant’s chest. Mathers looked at him curiously, as though distracted by a buzzing fly. Quickly Jamie dropped to his knees and made another snowball, aware that Keeley was staring at him like he had lost his mind.

  “Help me!” he hissed at her.

  His second shot flew even truer than the first, smacking into Mathers’s cheek with a satisfying thud. As Mathers took a lumbering step towards them, Keeley caught on, flinging her own snowy missiles in his direction. Together they peppered him with snowballs, slowly drawing him nearer. Soon Liam was able to dart forward and pick up the shovel. Running up behind Mathers, he swung the heavy tool into his back with murderous intent.

  “Agh!”

  It was Liam who cried out in pain, dropping the shovel and clutching his wrist. Mathers grunted and stopped, turning round as though someone had politely tapped him on the shoulder.

  “What happened?” Jamie called out to Liam.

  “I think I broke my bloody wrist!” he shouted back. “It’s like he’s made out of iron or something!”

  “What do we do now?”

  “What do you think? Run for it, the pair of you!”

  The brothers stared at each other a second too long, allowing Mathers to pounce. He swung a monstrous fist at Liam, who raised his hands to defend himself only to take a glancing blow to his left arm. He cried out, staggering away. Mathers had hurt him without even connecting properly. Liam came back with a vengeance, ducking another bludgeoning glow and connecting with a solid right across the monster’s jaw. Mathers didn’t even flinch, thumping Liam in the gut and hurling him to the ground. Tears of helpless frustration welled in Jamie’s eyes. Unless he did something fast, Mathers was going to kill his brother. But how could you hurt someone who was already dead?

  “Jamie!”

  Blinking with surprise, Jamie looked back towards the Lodge to see Lawrence scrambling over the fence. The bookshop owner cut an unlikely figure as he ran through the snow, pressing his glasses down on his nose, his red scarf streaming out behind him.

  “Help!” cried Jamie. “We can’t stop it!”

  “The lamp!” Lawrence shouted back. “Use the lamp!”

  Jamie looked down at the lantern perched on the edge of the grave near Sarge. He picked it up and hurled it at Mathers, and was rewarded with a loud shattering of glass as the lantern broke against the creature’s back. Mathers let out an angry growl, breaking away from Liam to brush off the glittering shards. A dark patch of liquid spread out across his shoulders, spicing the air with the sweet smell of kerosene.

  As Mathers wheeled around and glared at Jamie, Lawrence stepped in-between them. Fumbling through his pockets, the bookshop owner produced a silver lighter and struck the flint. When the lighter blossomed into fiery life, he threw it straight at Mathers.

  The flames went up immediately, a beacon against the night sky. Mathers let out a bellow of pain, his arms flailing around wildly. Jamie watched with a mixture of horror and dark satisfaction as the creature staggered and writhed, fire wreathing his back and shoulders. With a final, primeval roar, Mathers lurched away across the fields and into the darkness.

  No one said anything for a long time after that. Lawrence was bent double, catching his breath; Keeley was still staring after Mathers’s retreating form, her eyes wide and her face ashen. Jamie ran past them and skidded to a halt where
Liam crouched in the snow, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side. Gingerly Jamie helped his winded brother to his feet, taking some of his weight as they hobbled over to where Sarge was lying prone. Their dad hadn’t moved a muscle throughout the whole ordeal. His eyes were open and he was staring blankly up at the night sky, a reddening halo forming in the snow around his head.

  “Jesus, Jamie,” Liam whispered, a sob of fear in his voice. “What the hell is going on?”

  Jamie and Liam carried Sarge inside the Lodge, Lawrence and Keeley following closely behind them. Sarge’s limbs were stiff, his skin freezing to the touch. It was as though he had been encased in ice. They had done the same with Mathers’s body, Jamie remembered with a shudder, hauling him through the blizzard at Sarge’s insistence. At the time Sarge hadn’t realized – how could he have? – that each step was another pen stroke on his own death warrant.

  He can’t die, Jamie told himself furiously. Not like this.

  They brought Sarge inside the house and laid him down on the sofa, wrapping him in blankets in an attempt to melt the chill from his bones. As the rest of the room looked on, Liam turned on the heater and placed it near his dad’s motionless body. Sarge barely blinked, his blue eyes cold and lifeless.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jamie asked Liam. “Is he in a coma or something?”

  “How should I know?” Liam snapped. “Do I look like a doctor to you?”

  He anxiously gnawed on a fingernail, staring at his dad. Keeley took her phone from out of her bag and began scrolling through her address book.

  “There’s no point phoning for an ambulance, love,” Liam told her. “It can’t get here from Caxton, can it?”

  “No,” said Keeley. “But my mum doesn’t live in Caxton, does she?”

  “Your mum? Keeley, you can’t ask her to come down here!” said Liam. “Did you not see that thing out there?”

  “I saw it running away across the fields with its head on fire, if that’s what you mean,” Keeley said archly. “I think Mum’s safe for the time being.”