The Waters of Life

by Michael H. Kelly

  Gaunt quickly left Treadwell and the other infected behind and was lost to their view. But he was unnerved by calls and thrashing sounds in the woods on both sides of him. There was no one in sight yet, but he didn't want to be spotted again. It sounded as though more plague carriers were closing in from all around him. He had to find a safe place to hide until they gave up and left.

  He hurried on, his eyes casting nervously left and right. He would reach the lake soon and then he would be in serious danger of being cut off and surrounded. He had his gun, but any shots would only attract the others straight to his location. He was just beginning to panic when he saw a squat, ancient edifice half hidden by the foliage, a little way off to his left. Of course! He could hide in the vault. That was the last place these things would think of looking for him. The lighting rigs were still set up inside, so there would be plenty of sturdy poles that he could use to secure the door. They'd assume it was locked and simply pass on by, if only he could get in there without being seen.

  One frantic burst of speed between the trees, craning his neck as he searched desperately in all directions for any signs of observers, then he was standing with his back pressed against the chill, damp stone of the tomb. He was awash with sweat and breathing heavily. He took a brief moment to try to calm himself, then double checked once again that none of his pursuers were in sight. Then he slipped round the corner and through the door.

  The sunlight streamed in around him, brightly illuminating the dank steps, but leaving areas of deep shadow down below. All was silent, still and icily cold. Gaunt cautiously descended a couple of steps, then flicked a switch on one of the powerful lights so that he could see clearly down below. Nothing happened. Shit! The generator was switched off, and there was no way he could start it without its noise attracting the infected. There was nothing for it, he would have to close the door behind him and remain in the dark. He could at least see well enough to be sure that there were none of the diseased down here with him, but it still wasn't an appealing prospect. He had little choice, though, so he shut the door and then used the sturdy metal frame of one of the lights to securely jam it closed. Nothing would be able to get in here with him, he was safe until he removed the obstruction.

  He decided to wait three or four hours. The pursuit would be long gone by then, they'd assume that he'd managed to make his escape. He looked around, wanting to make himself as comfortable as possible for the duration. But a thorough squint through the gloom rewarded him only with a harsh knock on the shin from another of the lighting struts. There were no seats down here except for the steps, which were too damp and rough, or the alcoves, which contained the dust and bones of old corpses, or the floor, which was dirty and across which the stream of water flowed; there was no way he was going to get any closer to that than he had to!

  That left the sarcophagus itself. Gaunt groped his way down through the gloom and hoisted himself up, sitting on the edge of the great stone lid. It was a little cold, but not too uncomfortable and certainly the least worst resting place currently available to him.

  He heard the vault door rattling for a moment, then the noise ceased and was not repeated, though he waited with bated breath for several anxious minutes. It would appear that his plan had worked. The diseased had tried the door, found it to be immovable, and passed on their way, assuming that it was locked and he couldn't have got inside. He heaved a great sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was wait long enough for the hunt to die down altogether. He swung his legs up and lay down on the sarcophagus, using his jacket as a pillow. A nap would refresh him for when he made his escape later.

  Standing silently outside the vault, Heather grinned broadly, spilling black bile down her front from her lipless, ulcerated mouth. All was as it should be, the plan had worked and the apotheosis was near.

  Contrary to Gaunt's supposition, she knew full well that he was inside. That had been the plan all along. The infected hadn't been trying to catch him, they had been deliberately driving him to this place, where he would inevitably decide to hide. Exactly as the Abbot had desired it. The old one had reached out to Gaunt with his mind, drawing him here to shoot his movie, and now he had him within his very tomb.

  What happened next was no longer Heather's concern. Wulfred's hold over her will was withdrawing now, as he prepared to put the next phase of his plague into operation. She was being left to her own devices, and she had unfinished business.

  She turned away from the vault and walked back in the direction she had come.

  Eric, Jenny and Bell had moved swiftly, if precariously, across the ruined roof and tops of walls of the monastery. Eric would have preferred a slower pace as he came dangerously close to losing his balance and falling more than once, but he understood the need for urgency. Bell led the way unerringly to a point where the grounds were at a higher elevation and they were able to scramble down the outer wall without risking too large a fall.

  There had been no sign of diseased stragglers in this part of the grounds and given their head start, it had been child's play to reach the outer perimeter wall, climb over it, and jog back to Eric's car. They had then driven back to the outskirts of the village and taken refuge in the only home they suspected would be safe: the vicarage.

  Eric slumped in a heap onto the sofa and Jenny sat down cautiously in an armchair opposite him, feeling clearly quite out of sorts and wondering what the hell she was doing here. Eric couldn't help remembering how he had sat in this room just a couple of days previously, talking calmly with poor Ellwood, when the nightmare had seemed so much less immediate, a curious problem rather than a mortal peril. But now Ellwood was dead, and so was Diane. Eric couldn't honestly pretend that he had loved her; he hadn't known her well enough. But he had certainly liked and admired her and wanted to know her better. She had deserved so much better than that horrible end. Part of him would always be thankful for the bullet that had put her out of her misery, while another part hated Milder for it. What kind of people was he associating with? Gangsters and callous monks who thought nothing of executing the sick! Honestly, Bell and Milder sickened him every bit as much as Gaunt. But now Milder was dead too, and Gaunt had in all likelihood been caught and killed, after shooting Sandra. So much death! It was simply all too much for Eric to take in. He was incapable of processing it emotionally; not yet. So he just sat there and stared into space, looking across at Jenny with a blank gaze, as she glared back at him.

  A few minutes later, Bell entered the room carrying a tray of tea and sandwiches. He placed this on the low coffee table in the lounge, between Eric and Jenny. “Shall I be mother?” he quipped, with a tight smile.

  “So this is what we're doing, is it?” asked Jenny in barely controlled tones. “Tea and dainty sandwiches in the dead vicar's lounge? Not exactly how I envisioned spending the Apocalypse.”

  “We need refreshments!” insisted Bell. “We have to keep our strength up. After we've allowed enough time for the hue and cry to die down, we have to go back to the tomb and burn Wulfred's body, in accordance with the plan.”

  “And run straight back into the arms of those diseased horrors?” said Jenny. “I'm not dying like that!”

  “They will disperse,” said Bell. “Those directly influenced by Wulfred will want to spread out quickly, infecting new areas. And those left to their own devices will find holes to crawl into and die, or shamble into town, seeking help, but succeeding only in spreading the contagion. They have no reason to suspect we would attempt to return to the monastery grounds, having escaped. So eat and drink, you'll need the energy.”

  “Waiting in the fucking tunnels and now waiting in the fucking vicarage!” said Jenny, grabbing a sandwich. “They found us there, what makes you think they won't find us here?”

  “The children were their eyes and ears,” said Bell. “They took us by surprise. We had no idea they would awaken so quickly and so completely. But there are no children here. We're safe, and we need to recover our strength. We wait til
l the moment is right, we'll only get one chance at this.”

  “Are you still planning to use fuel from the film crew's vehicles?” asked Eric.

  “If we have to,” said Bell, “but I'd rather stick to the woods and stay clear of the open areas. The first dispersal of the infected will have passed through the village by now, passing their diseases on to everyone else who didn't either flee or barricade themselves indoors. In another hour or two, the village will be empty of the most virulent ones. Now that we've left the monastery, we're in a position to supply ourselves before going back. If we wait a while, we should be able to safely take some drums of kerosene from the filling station forecourt. We should be able to carry two each through the woods. That's a hundred and twenty litres of kerosene, which should make a devastating bonfire of Wulfred's sarcophagus.”

  “It's doable, I suppose,” said Eric.

  Gaunt snorted in his sleep, then suddenly opened his eyes wide, jerking awake with a start. Golden light was flooding the interior of the vault, embracing him with its sense of warmth and well-being. He panicked, wondering if the door had been wrenched open by his pursuers, letting the sunlight stream in. But when he looked to the top of the steps, it remained firmly secured by the metal lighting stand he had jammed there. The light seemed to have no source, but suffused the whole of the interior. The stream of water sparkled brightly in its radiance. Gaunt watched the ripples playing upon its surface, mesmerised, wondering how he could ever have been fooled into imagining this pure water to be evil.

  As he watched, entranced, the light seemed to gather itself together, forming a ball of brighter gold, which then elongated into a human shape, standing upon the stairs. Soon Gaunt found himself looking at a smiling old man in a hooded robe. The hood was flung back to reveal his kindly face, creased with laughter lines. He was bald, but with thick hair on the sides and back of his head, growing into a bushy, Santa Claus beard in front. His eyes twinkled with merriment as he looked at Gaunt.

  “Welcome to my tomb, Terry Gaunt,” he said in warm tones. “I hope you have rested well. I always gave hospitality to those who needed it, though the evil men who imprisoned my spirit here condemned me for it. I am Abbot Wulfred and it is I who have reached out to you and drawn you here, destining you for great things.”

  Gaunt slid slowly off the sarcophagus and onto his feet, his eyes wide. He fumbled for his gun.

  “Please do not be alarmed, Terry Gaunt. You may shoot me if you wish, for it will do no harm. I am a spirit. But I have no wish to harm you either. In fact, I wish to help you.”

  “They said you were evil. They said you were behind all this disease,” said Gaunt warily.

  “The monks?” asked Wulfred. “And do you believe them? You came here to find a healing well, one which has healed many people over the centuries. And it is not I who has threatened you. Weren't they the ones who pointed weapons at you and threatened you? I was a healer when I walked the earth, but they resented how the common folk looked up to me. They felt that my good works depleted the monastery's riches. So they began spreading disease. Then they blamed it on me and murdered me, sealing my remains in this tomb. But still the power of God worked through me and caused a healing spring to rise up out of the earth. But what did those monks do with the first poor soul who was healed? They burned him alive. And they have spent all the centuries since trying to suppress this healing power, tracking down and murdering the people healed. And now that you have come here, they show up again and suddenly this illness appears and starts to spread, just as they spread disease when they murdered me. So tell me, Terry Gaunt, who are you going to trust?”

  “I trust no one,” said Gaunt, “but I'm no friend of the monks.”

  Wulfred's spirit nodded. “Then will you help me to put matters right? If I am freed to act, I can spread my healing throughout the land and completely erase this disease they have caused. I won't ask you to take any risk yourself. I am simply asking for the assistance of your strong arms, for as a spirit I have no physical strength.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Gaunt, narrowing his eyes.

  “In order for my spirit to be free to leave this place and to act with my full healing power, I need to be released from the imprisonment the monks placed me in,” explained Wulfred. “Although my body has long since been reduced to nothing, I remain symbolically trapped until the stone sarcophagus has been opened. Would you please lever the lid off for me?” When Gaunt still looked uncertain, the spirit smiled and said, “This deed would not be without its reward, of course. I will allow some of my power to flow into you and fill you. Then you will be immune to all disease and will have nothing to fear during this crisis the monks have engineered.”

  “In that case, pal, you've got yourself a deal,” said Gaunt, tucking the pistol back in his belt. He fetched another metal strut from the lighting array and walked over to the sarcophagus, wriggling the strut back and forth until he had managed to work it under the lip of the lid. He heaved with all his might, his great muscles straining, until with a grating moan, the heavy lid slid a few inches. “It's moving,” he panted.

  “Excellent work, Terry Gaunt. One last push now and the lid should slide off and I shall be free to leave this place and put a stop to the monks' plans. But before I do, I shall bestow your reward upon you. For you and I are become as brothers. How else could I have reached out to you if there was not an affinity between our souls? You need fear no disease, Terry Gaunt, I shall see to that.”

  Gaunt dropped the metal strut he had been using as a crowbar, placed his hands upon the edge of the lid and shoved with all his might. For several moments, the heavy stone resisted his strength, but as his face began to purple and spittle flecked his lips, it at last slid forward with a long, grating noise, then fall to the floor on the far side of the tomb with a deafening boom.

  The sarcophagus now stood open, an almost tangible darkness swirling within, mephitic vapours rising slowly from its depths. There was an irksome smell, like a wet dog or a coat that has been left hanging damp for too long.

  “Take a look within, Terry Gaunt,” urged Wulfred. “What do you see?”

  Gaunt didn't want to look, but a powerful will had seized control of his limbs and forced him to bend forward, looking fearfully down into the sodden depths of the stone coffin. Water swirled below, bubbling up through the base and swirling around a man-sized shape that lay in its midst. The shape rose upwards, rising from the water, two staring eyes flicking open in the mass that had once been a head. A dreadful stench filled the vault as the thing that had been Abbot Wulfred stood upright, looking down upon its paralysed liberator. Behind Gaunt, Wulfred's spirit began to laugh.

  As the water cascaded down off the rising shape, Gaunt's eyes bulged in helpless terror. The flesh and body tissue of the thing had long since been reduced to a slimy, dark green foam that writhed and squirmed upon the blackened, noduled bones like a living layer.

  “I gave you my promise, Terry Gaunt, and I shall keep it,” gloated the spirit. “You are indeed a kindred soul, one who rejoices in the suffering of others. Through me you will learn to enjoy your own delicious suffering also. I spoke truly when I said you need not fear disease. This is because you will yourself become disease. I require a new body in which to walk this earth, and you will provide me with yours. We two will become one flesh, and that flesh will be plague incarnate!”

  Gaunt opened his mouth and gave a strangled scream as the stinking froth and muck slithered off Wulfred's ancient bones and began to smother his own flesh. It wrapped him around, sliding and oozing into his every orifice: down his throat; into his nostrils and ears, squirming past his eyeballs into his sockets, penetrating his anus. It covered him and it filled him and he felt his body twisting and erupting in agonising sores as it established its presence within him.

  At the same time, the golden glow from Wulfred's spirit took on a sickly, leprous hue and it flowed into him, its insubstantial form superimposing itself upon his bod
y and entering into him, suffusing his blood and bones with its being, dominating his mind, taking him over.

  At last, only one figure stood there, a hunched, swollen, plague-ridden monstrosity that wore the body of Terry Gaunt, barely recognisable through its facial lesions. A mad light burned in its eyes. Wulfred stretched forth his withered, whitened hand and hoarsely whispered, “I live again! Now all flesh shall know the sweet caress of corruption!”

  The long-dead Abbot climbed the steps, removed the barrier, and opened the door, striding forth into the light of day. A foetid miasma of necrotic vapours billowed in his wake, bringing death and disease to all it touched. Plants withered and died where his shadow fell.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE DEFILER OF INNOCENCE

  Eric was becoming impatient. As the feelings of shock and loss gradually lessened their paralysing hold on his rational mind, he was becoming more insistent that they needed to do something to protect the nearby towns from the horror that was now spreading across the countryside.

  “For fuck's sake, man, we need to notify the police and hospitals!” he raged at Bell. “Every minute we delay here, more and more people will be becoming infected. This thing could spread across the whole country unless the authorities act to nip it in the bud now.”

  “And do what?” scoffed Bell. “What do you think the police would do? Send a car to investigate at most. Then they'd inevitably become infected too, driving back to their nice little police station and infect everyone there. They're not going to credit some wild story about a super mutant disease breaking out in a remote country village without checking the facts first.”

  “Then we'll tell them another story!” shouted Eric. “We can tell them it's … terrorists, or something! Using a biological weapon. We don't have to mention centuries old Abbots. It might as well be terrorists, because I'm fucking terrified!”