The Waters of Life

by Michael H. Kelly

  “As for hospitals, what do you think they're going to be able to do?” continued Bell. “This contagion is a mixture of all manner of diseases that haven't been seen in the United Kingdom since the Middle Ages: leprosy, bubonic plague, smallpox, cholera... Do you seriously think they're going to be equipped? And even if they were, as I keep telling you, this is a psychic contagion, it takes root in the mind and then directly corrupts the flesh. No ordinary disease spreads so quickly and incubates so fast. Do you really think this thing is going to respond to antibiotics? It'll eat them for breakfast! Our only chance is to cut out the infectious agent at the heart of the outbreak: Wulfred's will. After that, the medical services will have to mop up the surviving victims as best they can. But all they'll be able to do is isolate them, none of them will survive.”

  “At the very least, they may set up road blocks or make some attempt to stop people entering or leaving the area,” said Eric. “They could declare some kind of state of emergency. But we need to let people know, we can't just sit here. You might be right about needing to destroy Wulfred if we're to cut out the heart of this cancer, but we have to give some thought to the bigger picture too. Otherwise, we're partly responsible for every person who falls victim to this thing.”

  “I don't care about the people who may fall victim to 'this thing',” said Bell bluntly. “They can all die as far as I'm concerned. Indeed, they will all die, because there's no cure. Maybe it will serve to wake the others up a bit, repent of their sins, and realise the deep spiritual evil they've been harbouring all these years! Let them rot! They deserve it. My only concern is destroying Wulfred and finishing the job my order started a millennium ago.”

  “Fuck you, Bell!” Eric exploded. “you and your twisted order, you're every bit as evil and corrupt as Wulfred.”

  “Fortunately, Mr Turner, your opinion does not count in the eyes of the Almighty,” smiled Bell tightly. “The Brotherhood of the Pariah kneels to only one master. Our duty is to eternity, not the petty lives led by feckless people today.”

  Jenny just sneered at Bell and picked up the vicar's phone, slamming it down again a moment later. “No dial tone,” she said to Eric.

  “Of course there isn't,” said Bell. “The people who become infected are of two types. The majority simply suffer and perish; Wulfred feeds off their misery and anguish. But there are also those who embrace their agonies and thrive upon them, those in whom his psychic presence is strongest. They know what he wants to achieve and they seek to serve him. Some of them will have ensured that the phone lines and transmitters will have been taken down or put out of action, so that there is enough time for the contagion to spread widely before word gets out. You don't understand the nature of the threat you're dealing with yet, do you? My order has been facing this menace for a thousand years, so you'd better believe my plan is our best and only hope, whether you like it or not. The only way to help anyone is to eradicate that malign will that drives the infection. It's only after this is achieved that the ordinary measures of disease control may prove effective. But he's spread it so far and so fast this time, and his will has rendered it so virulent, that you'll have to reconcile yourselves to the fact that anyone exposed to it is going to die and there'll probably be an epidemic that will recur over several years or even decades before it's finally brought under control. That's the hard truth of the matter, so if you want to make a difference you'll need to learn to accept it, because we're the only people situated and capable to deal with Wulfred.”

  “Still with this 'we' stuff,” remarked Jenny contemptuously. “Don't get me wrong, I want this mess sorted out as much as anyone. I just don't trust you as far as I could throw you, mate.” She levelled an accusing finger at Bell.

  “Trust doesn't matter,” said Bell simply. “It's a matter of needs must.”

  Wulfred, wearing the tortured shell of Gaunt's body, strode through the village of Scratchbury. All was still and silent, cloaked in death. His footsoldiers had done their job well, passing through the village some time ago and embracing all with their deadly touch. Death and disease reigned here supreme. The infected had passed on, some driven to deliberately spread the contagion, others desperately seeking help but in doing so spreading it nonetheless.

  A curious cat watched as the Abbot advanced. He had opened Gaunt's jacket and shirt to expose the gangrenous sores on his chest, exulting in the agonies his pestilent artistry had conjured forth within this body. As he passed by, his shadow passed briefly over the cat, leaving it dead and stiffening in his wake, its claws extruded in its final anguish, eyes milky and staring, mouth stretched open in a final screech, its body emaciated and its fur soaked with pus.

  Wulfred sniffed the air, nostrils flaring in the slab-like mess that had once been Gaunt's face. He reached back into his mind, exploring Gaunt's memories. Finally, he grinned and altered his course, following the road north out of the village, where a feast of suffering awaited. He reached out with his mind to steer his festering legion away from this juicy morsel; this beautiful place he had discovered was his and his alone.

  “We need to go now,” Eric insisted yet again.

  “Soon,” said Bell.

  “Fuck you!” snapped Jenny, getting to her feet. “If you're going to sit there while everyone round about gets infected – maybe my Dad included – then you can sit there on your fucking own. Me and Eric can do this thing ourselves.”

  Bell rose smoothly to his feet. “You're forgetting who's got the gun, girl,” he said, waving it dangerously. “You'll both do as I say. I'll not have you jeopardising my plan. Now sit back down.”

  Reluctantly, her eyes flashing murderously, Jenny sank back down. “I think you've lost your nerve since your friend got killed,” she whispered, taunting him. “I don't think you're up to it any more.”

  “Then you sadly underestimate my resolve,” said Bell, levelling the gun directly at her, “just as you're overestimating your own importance. I don't think we need you any more, I think you've become a liability.” His finger began squeezing the trigger.

  “Bell!” shouted Eric, lurching from his seat, but holding back from tackling the man in case he fired. “If you shoot her, so help me, I'll strangle you! There's been enough murder!”

  The tension was broken when something rather more urgent seized all their attention. The living room door opened and the figure of Heather Williams walked haltingly into the room.

  “Heather!” exclaimed Eric, his face paling.

  Bell turned to shoot her, but Eric lunged forward and wrestled with his gun arm, finally wrenching it from his hand and tossing it aside. “No!” he shouted. “You people have already murdered her mother, you're not killing her as well!”

  “You bloody idiot!” screamed Bell at the top of his voice. He clumsily tried to punch Eric, who ducked back out of his way. “You've probably just got us all killed!”

  “No,” whispered Heather weakly, leaning against the doorframe. “No, I'm not here to hurt you. Eric, I need to tell you...”

  “What is it, Heather?” Eric asked compassionately. He could hardly bear to look at her. Her face and exposed skin was livid red and covered in pustules, some kind of virulent pox that inflamed her entire body.

  “I haven't long now,” she said huskily, “but I'm free of him. The voice … the voice that was in my head. It's stopped. I know what that means. I have to tell you what that means. So you can prevent others from becoming like me and my Mum.”

  “I'm listening,” said Eric, his tears flowing freely. “I'm so sorry for what's happened to you. I'm listening to you.”

  “The voice has stopped, it's not in my head any more,” repeated Heather. “I can think for myself again. That means that he needs all his concentration, because he's found a body. He's walking, he has taken form again. So he can't steer us and also control the body he's in. He's free, which is a very bad thing, but it also means he's limited and more vulnerable. But you'll have to be smart...”

  “Dear Lor
d,” moaned Bell. “If this creature is right, Wulfred has managed to leave his tomb. He must have been planning for this day for many years. Nobody on earth is safe until he's put down.”

  “You have to do it, Eric,” panted Heather, the effort of speaking exhausting her. She raised bloodshot, watering eyes to look directly into his. “Not this one here. Don't take him with you. His kind would burn the whole world just to satisfy their own sense of duty. I was able to sense that much at least when the voice was in my head. He's every bit as bad as the one who did this to me.” She stretched out her festering arms in mute demonstration.

  “You diseased harpy!” shrieked Bell. “You lump of sick filth! My Brothers and I have kept this world safe for more than ten centuries!” He lunged past Eric and snatched up the handgun, which had been tossed onto the sofa. He raised it and fired. Eric's eyes and mouth widened in horror and outrage as a hole was punched in the centre of Heather's chest, followed by a fountain of blood. He made as if to run to her, to cradle her dying frame as she slumped to the floor, but Jenny seized him and held him back. “No!” she cried. “No! You can't touch her. She wouldn't want that. She wants you to put this thing to rights, not catch the disease.”

  “Thank you, Eric,” burbled Heather wetly, blood flowing from her mouth. “Thank you for loving my mother, she deserved it. Thank you for caring. Please make things right.”

  “You fucking animal!” screamed Eric, spinning on his heel and punching Bell full in the face. “You despicable piece of subhuman shit!”

  Bell floundered on the floor, his left hand cradling his broken nose. Tears sprang to his eyes and he howled in pain. His expression was furious when he scrambled back to his feet. “You've gone too far now, Turner,” he snarled. “Trying to disrupt my holy mission. I shall do this on my own. You and this girl have proven yourselves to be liabilities. You lack the necessary commitment and objectivity to be soldiers of God, so I'll send you both to your master, the Devil!” He raised the gun and sighted it directly at Eric's head.

  “A plague be upon you,” whispered Heather with her dying breath, her hand closing tightly around Bell's ankle.

  He screeched in disbelief and anguish, the gun dropping from his nerveless fingers as his skin began to discolour and peel, the flesh beneath swelling and ripening into boils and open sores. His fingers and neck blackened and throbbed as dark green pus gathered and distended the skin, seeping through in stinking secretions. His eyes filmed over and his teeth loosened as he fell to the floor, squirming in horror and revulsion at his own body.

  Bell's fingers reached for his fallen gun, desperate to put himself out of his agony. But his decaying fingers snapped and rotted, unable to grip it. Then Jenny kicked it beyond his reach. “No merciful end for you, you evil fucker,” she spat. “You deserve to feel every bit of this.”

  “Let's just get out of here,” said Eric, tired and drained, laying his hand upon Jenny's shoulder. “Let's leave this death behind.”

  They left the house through the living room window, so they wouldn't have to go near the contagious bodies lying on the floor, one dead and one writhing in torment. They crossed the garden to the drive and got into Eric's car.

  “So what now?” asked Jenny, after a couple of minutes had passed with them just sitting in silence. “Are you going to go after Wulfred like that girl asked?”

  “I should,” shrugged Eric. “I owe her and her mother for not saving them from this, not to mention poor Sandra and Ellwood. I wanted to keep them safe. But I have no idea where to even start looking? If he's roaming the countryside in a new body, how the hell are we supposed to find him, or even know what he looks like? What do you think we should do?”

  Jenny chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I'm not used to being any kind of hero,” she said honestly, “and I'd never do shit for that sort of reason. But I think we owe this motherfucker, he's due some revenge. And I think I need to either avenge my Dad if he's dead, or else make it possible for me to find him again if he's not. But like you say, how do we find this Wulfred? Maybe we should just drive off and get ourselves as far away as possible, make ourselves safe, then tell whoever will listen?”

  “You might be right,” said Eric. But he made no attempt to start the engine and they continued to sit there.

  It was late afternoon and Wulfred had reached his destination, a large, sprawling red brick building with many wings. He strode across the car park and approached the large double doors that led into the building.

  He mounted the steps, his stride never slacking, despite the hideous twisting of the bones that bore him. His misshapen hand clutched at the handle and the door swung open. He entered a white, sterile corridor, clean and bright, and turned his massive head to look right and then left through crusted eyes. To his left was a reception desk, with a pretty young woman in a nurse's uniform sitting behind it, studying a magazine, though her clothing meant nothing to Wulfred. He only knew the significance of the place and the young woman's profession by accessing Gaunt's knowledge which was still locked in the brain he now inhabited.

  He shuffled towards the desk and the nurse looked up with a rehearsed smile upon her lips to greet him. This vanished and was replaced by an expression of horror and disgust as she took proper note of his appearance. She recoiled and backed away from him.

  “Sir!” she exclaimed. “Please, you can't come in here! I can see that you are very ill, but we must consider the danger of infection. I regret that we do not have the facilities for you here, this is a children's hospital.” She hurried to open a door which led into a small room which contained only a desk and chair. “Please wait in here, sir, and I will arrange for an ambulance to collect you and take you to a place where you may be treated by a specialist immediately.”

  Wulfred shuffled closer and the nurse edged away, still gingerly holding the door for him. He took perverse pleasure in watching her nostrils twitch and her lip quiver with revulsion when the tang of his odour reached her nose. He made as if to pass into the room, but at the last moment he swung to face her, raising his hands and placing one on each side of her face, cupping her cheeks.

  “My dear, I am fully aware that this is a children's hospital,” he gurgled. “Believe me when I say that I am precisely where I want to be right now.”

  The nurse gave no answer, her mouth stretched wide in a silent scream, eyes bulging as she stared heavenwards in unmitigated horror. Her body shuddered and shivered violently as white, dead patches formed lumps upon her skin, colourless ichor leaking from around their edges. By the time she slumped to the floor, mewling in misery, her pretty face was a distant memory.

  “Wait a minute,” said Jenny. “How do you suppose Heather knew where to look for you? Why would she have come here, to the vicarage?”

  Eric frowned. “I'm not sure,” he said. “Diane certainly knew that I had been spending time with Ellwood, but I'm pretty sure I never mentioned him to Heather... and Ellwood was already dead when we left the catacombs, so she didn't see him with us then.”

  “Exactly,” said Jenny. “But some of the infected people knew you were working together, therefore Wulfred would have known it. And because his will controlled Heather for a while, she must have been able to reach back in her memory and recall the knowledge that they shared then. That's how she guessed where you'd be when she came back to herself and wanted to warn you that he was free!”

  “It sounds pretty far fetched, doesn't it?” said Eric. “But I can't think of any other explanation, I must admit. I guess it's only reasonable to assume that the mental link must have worked both ways, at least to some extent.”

  “Exactly,” said Jenny. “And if those bastard monks were right, it was Wulfred who reached out and has been manipulating my Dad for several months, making him come here to make his film. Which means that he had access to my Dad's thoughts and memories too. If that's true, I know where he'll be right now. Oh fucking hell, I just hope I'm wrong!”

  “Why?” asked Eric urgently. “Where
do you think he is?”

  “I can remember when Dad was talking about coming here,” said Jenny, a haunted expression on her face. “He was getting really excited, he kept going on and on about a children's hospital three or four miles north of the village. I thought it was really weird at the time, but just shrugged it off. But now...”

  “Now you think it was actually Wulfred who was getting excited about it, through your Dad,” said Eric slowly, “because we both know that there's nothing Wulfred likes better than corrupting the innocent and watching them wilt and die...”

  “We've got to get there,” said Jenny in a small voice. “It makes me sick just to think of it. We can't let it happen. We just can't.”

  Eric started the engine.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A FIRE IN THE FLESH

  Eric sped through the country lanes. He had turned north out of the village and had soon spotted signs directing the way to the children's hospital. He put his foot to the floor, desperate to get there in time. He found it very ominous that they had neither sight nor sound of any other living being for the entirety of the journey. Not a single soul walked at the roadside, not a single moving vehicle was to be seen.

  When he pulled his car into the hospital car park, all remained still and quiet. A few scattered vehicles were parked, most of them in the spaces reserved for staff. “Evidently it's not visiting time,” he grunted. “I guess that's probably just as well. Means there'll be fewer people to clear out.”

  “Have you given any thought how we're going to get them to move?” asked Jenny. “They're hardly going to believe us, are they?”

  Eric shrugged. “It's a pity we didn't bring Bell's gun with us. I mean, I'd never have used it, but we could have waved it about and been threatening to get them to leave.” He sighed deeply. “We'll just have to wing it, Jenny, do the best we can. I guess the worst that can happen is that they'll call the police to try to have us removed, but at least that would get the authorities here and aware of what's going on, so maybe even that would be a good thing.”