by Stephen Laws
He was looking at what seemed to be an underground cave wall. Fissured clay, funneled and striated stone dripping with moisture. A stalactite hung from above, water dripping from its tip with an echoing plop.
But his attention was riveted on the figure that crouched on a rock outcropping at ground level, like a slightly raised shelf. It seemed to have been waiting for him to recover consciousness.
It was one of the Cherubim.
A naked girl, perhaps three or four years old. The same tightly curled blond hair. The same sparkling, impossibly blue eyes. She smiled as she held what seemed to be some kind of dish beneath the dripping stalactite, gathering the liquid as it dropped.
Gordon shuffled uneasily, looking back at Robin. But Robin was smiling too. He seemed not only unworried by the other figure’s presence, but almost enraptured by it.
The girl stepped down from the shelf with the beautiful grace that Gordon remembered so well. It was as if the normal laws of gravity did not apply to these creatures. They could move through the air as if weightless, so quickly and gracefully that they might almost be floating underwater. Still smiling, so that Gordon could see the sharp white points of her teeth, the girl sidled up to him and held out the dish.
Except that this was not a dish. It was the hub-cap from a BMW.
Gordon looked at it, unsure. It was filled with clear water.
He looked back at the girl, who nodded and held it closer, encouraging him to take it. Hesitantly, he did so, looking back at Robin.
“It’s okay,” said Robin. “It tastes really good.”
Still unsure, but with the little girl watching him intently, Gordon sipped the liquid. Robin was right. It did taste wonderful. And he hadn’t realised just how thirsty he’d been before he started to drink. Greedily now, Gordon drank it all. Robin began to laugh, and the Cherub was laughing too. It was the sound that Gordon remembered from the past; an excited chittering sound. It seemed to echo, whereas Robin’s voice made no echo at all. Where had he heard that sound before?
Gordon watched her in wonder; saw the wide mouth and the pointed teeth, the eyes squinting in pleasure as she took delight in his own enjoyment. Eventually, the Cherub held out her hand and Gordon returned the hub-cap.
A flurry of cool air on his face.
And the Cherub was gone.
“That’s cool,” said Robin. “I wish I could do that.”
“Where…?”
“Where are we? Is that what you were going to say? I don’t know. But it’s…it’s fabulous. I woke up before you. Don’t know how long. But the things I’ve seen. Watch this…” Robin held up a hand and waved it as if he were performing some kind of conjuror’s trick. The light around them retreated with the familiar hushing sound. It swept away like a living thing, revealing the details of the enormous chamber in which they found themselves. Gordon’s heart began to hammer, his senses reeling at the vast space that was being revealed to them. Robin seemed unaffected, but Gordon clutched at the marble floor, suddenly and irrationally afraid that he might be swept from the ground and up into the air; hurtling through space to where the gigantic stalactites descended from above. The light had pooled up there on the “ceiling” from which the stalactites hung; an upside-down, living and iridescent sea.
Gordon struggled to control his equilibrium and looked around.
At first he thought that they were in a cathedral.
Stalactites descending from above and stalagmites rising to meet them on all sides gave the impression of huge Gothic arches, some of them uncompleted, others still in the process of being built. The stalagmites that he could see reminded Gordon uncomfortably of the peaks and crags that had replaced Edmonville. On all sides, the vast walls of some underground cave. Canyon walls of rock, granite and clay. They were sitting on a clear white space that stretched ahead of them like a cathedral floor, narrowing to form an aisle. On either side of the aisle there were pews. Ranks and ranks of them leading down to the altar. Were they pews? If so, they weren’t made from wood, like normal church seats. These were curious stone constructions, the same colour as the clay and the rock. And there were what seemed to be glass cases where each individual seat should be; curiously flattened, oblong cases, glowing with the same iridescence that Gordon could see flowing and rippling on the vast cathedral roof, amidst the stalactites. There must be hundreds of them.
Gordon stood up.
Something curious about the movement made him freeze. He had been expecting his shoes to scuff on the marble floor, making the same kind of echoes he’d expect to hear in a church or a cathedral. But there was no noise. He looked down, raised and lowered one foot. The floor looked like marble, but clearly it was some other kind of material. Solid and clean; but he might as well be putting his foot on a mattress or a feather quilt. He looked at Robin. Smiling, the boy jumped up and ran to take his hand.
“Come on.”
The next moment Gordon was allowing himself to be led across the white floor to where the pews began. He tried to make sense of the altar that lay ahead, at the bottom of the cathedral. But now he could see that he was mistaken. There was no altar. It was just a curious outgrowth of stone and criss-cross framework of stalactites and stalagmites that made it look like an altar. Wasn’t it?
Gordon looked to the side, before they drew level with the back row.
What he saw there made him jerk to a halt with a sharp hissing of breath.
Beneath rough arches of stone and wet rock, there was another chamber; just like the one they were in, if not even larger. The vastness of the space made his mind reel, so that for a moment he had to look down at his feet. There were other pews in the incredibly vast cavern; all of the same design, all containing the same glowing, white flattened boxes. But there were thousands and thousands of them, stretching away to an impossible distance.
“It’s all right,” said Robin, tugging at his hand. “Really. There’s nothing to be afraid of. They’ve already showed me, Gordon. Don’t be scared.”
Gordon looked up, and became aware that there was yet another vast space beneath arches over on his right. He couldn’t bring himself to look, but he knew that the mind-numbingly vast space would be filled with the same pews and the same boxes of glowing light. He remembered something then. Something he’d seen on television about the space probes to Mars, and the vast canyons they’d found there. Canyons so vast that the Grand Canyon could be dropped into one of them and lost for ever. The idea of such sheer enormity had made him feel ill just thinking about it. He felt that way now, sensing the enormous vastness on either side of him as he realised that this gigantic cave-cathedral was only a small part of some enormous whole. He’d had the same feeling about the Chasm when they’d been up top. Was this where they’d been brought? Somewhere beneath the ruins of New Edmonville? But surely that couldn’t be the case. Only the Vorla existed in the Chasm.
Gordon let himself be led to the rear pew. Gingerly, he placed a hand on the ridged black stone for balance. It should have been cold, but it was warm. Nothing here made sense. Gordon closed his eyes, aware of Robin’s impatience to show him something.
At last, he remembered what had happened before he’d blacked out.
They were on their way to deal with the newcomers. He remembered travelling in the back of the dump truck, and then feeling nauseous. He’d tried to ask for help, but suddenly was unable to move. The next thing he remembered was being in the communal room back at the Rendezvous. Had that part been a dream? He remembered being dragged out of the room; remembered seeing Robin being dragged across the floor too. By the Cherubim? Was this another dream? Which part was real, and which part was he imagining? Gordon reeled, feeling his sense of reality slipping away again. He screwed his eyes shut, clutched tight to the “pew”; felt Robin hanging on tight to his other hand. When he opened his eyes again, maybe everything would have sorted itself out.
Robin laughed; a conspiratorial sound, as if someone somewhere had just enacted a practical j
oke that had yet to be discovered. Gordon opened his eyes.
Instinctively, he recoiled.
Robin laughed again.
They were surrounded by the Cherubim.
Silently, and as if materialising out of thin air, they were suddenly on all sides. Two, perhaps three dozen of the same naked children that Gordon had seen that night back at the Rendezvous. Crouching, kneeling, standing; all in a circle around them. Curled blond hair; bright blue eyes. The faces of feral angels. But now there was a difference. There were several black kids here. Strangely, all of them had the same blond hair as the others, when it should have been black or brown. It made for a startling contrast. Eyes a sparkling brown, not blue. But the same feral grace, the same bony ridges just behind the shoulders.
“They won’t hurt you,” said Robin, and Gordon looked down to see him smiling up at him. He was right. They were alert, but there was none of the potential defensive threat that Gordon had seen during that strange night. “Come on, Gordon. Come and see…” Robin pulled him into the centre aisle, so that he could get a better look at the back row of luminous glass cases. Carefully, not wanting to make any sudden moves, Gordon allowed himself to be led. The Cherubim parted around his legs, moving gracefully on either side. Several of them hopped up on to the pew. Gordon could feel himself trembling when he saw that each and every face was fixed on him expectantly. What was he being shown? What should he expect?
“Look,” said Robin, and he let go of his hand as he stepped up to the glass case nearest to them. Except that Gordon could see now that it wasn’t made of glass. Robin wiped his hand across the opaque surface, as easily and simply as if he were cleaning a space on a car windscreen. Was it made of ice? No, there was no coldness, no moisture. Plastic? Cellophane? Robin looked back at him, beckoning.
Gordon carefully stepped forward, flinched when one of the Cherubim brushed past his leg. He felt sharp nails when it hung on to the fabric of his jeans; just like a child clinging to its parent. He looked down. It was a boy, perhaps two years old. But its…his…attention was riveted on the case, not on him. Gordon moved carefully forward again, and looked down into the case where Robin had cleared a space.
There was a baby in there.
Cocooned in a cradle of the same white light that coruscated on the ceiling above them. Newborn, by the look of it, with the remains of the umbilical cord still in its navel. It was a little girl, small, perfectly formed hands up beneath its chin as if praying. Eyes moving beneath closed eyelids. What possible dreams could a newborn child have? Gordon looked up at Robin, who had moved to the next case and was busy wiping the opaque surface so that he could see inside. A boy, but this time just under six months old. Tufts of blond hair beginning to grow, just like the Cherubim. The same white light inside, but with no source that Gordon could see.
And as Gordon was led to each of the cases by Robin, the Cherubim clustered around, looking from the face of each child to Gordon’s face, as if they were expecting some kind of reaction from him. They got a reaction when Gordon looked into one of the cases and saw something that defied logic. Because the child in there was barely formed. Tiny, the size of a dormouse, its head still not fully shaped, its eyes ink-black dots in a translucent pink lump, its limbs barely evident. This child could surely not be alive. But it was; enveloped by the life-giving light and receiving some kind of otherworldly nourishment from it.
When the Cherubim saw Gordon’s expression, they began to laugh.
The same chittering sound that he had heard back at the Rendezvous.
“How many…?” began Gordon.
“Thousands,” said Robin in delight. “Thousands and thousands and thousands.”
“It’s…” Gordon struggled with the word. “A…nursery. But…why? I mean…how?”
One of the Cherubim swung up on to the back pew with lithe grace. A girl, perhaps three years old. What she carried clunked against the pew. It was his guitar. Balancing on the edge, the girl handed it to him.
“They want you to play,” said Robin. “It’s a long time since they heard it, and some of them have never heard it before.”
“Don’t understand…”
“They’ll tell you everything, if you play. They’ve told me already.”
Gordon just looked at him.
“They don’t speak,” he went on. “Some of them never have. Some of them never had the chance to be taught. And the ones that used to be able to speak…well, they just can’t do it here any more.”
“Robin…what…?”
“They don’t have to speak. They can tell you things just by thinking at you.”
Gordon didn’t know what to say or do.
“Play for them,” said Robin quietly.
Gordon opened his mouth to say something else.
But then the girl who had handed him the guitar leaned forward from the top of the pew. She held out a beautifully formed hand with razor-sharp nails. Gordon didn’t flinch as she stroked his cheek. She smiled then; the most beautiful expression that Gordon had ever seen in his life.
And then, with one finger, she gently touched his lips.
Something was happening.
Gordon couldn’t understand it, but he could feel the changes that were taking place inside him. He could feel something coming into him from that one gentle touch; could feel it in his lips, and now in his face, spreading to suffuse his entire body.
He looked at Robin again, wondering.
“Play,” said Robin, smiling.
All the faces around him were smiling in expectation.
Wondering, Gordon hoisted the guitar strap over his shoulder, looked around once more at this incredible place with its incredible inhabitants.
And began to play.
Chapter Fourteen
The Journal of Jay O’Connor:
The Caffneys
“Wake up, for Christ’s sake. Will you wake up?”
Someone was slapping my face. Instinctively, I raised my hands to protect myself, and knew that I was in a different nightmare. I wasn’t strung up on that bloody pole any more. Now someone had me by my shoulders and was shaking me. I tried to move and was still constricted, so I shoved my shoulder out hard at the owner of the voice and I suppose I must have caught him off balance because I heard him curse as he fell away from me. I rolled and felt as if every muscle, every joint, every square inch of me was hurting. My wrists and ankles were still tied, and the skin felt like it was on fire.
My eyes cleared.
Wherever I was, it was dark.
There was a man I’d never seen before me, crouching on all fours where I’d knocked him. Jeans, checked shirt. Straight black hair. He made a move, as if he were going to grab hold of me again. I swung around, feeling my head banging like a drum, bringing my feet up to kick him away.
“Okay,” he said, holding out a hand. Looking nervously behind him, he sat back and ran a hand through his thick black hair. I guess he was about twenty, twenty-two.
I glanced around, and could make no sense of where I’d been brought.
We were in an office of some kind. In the gloom, I could see desks and chairs; some of them overturned, but others standing neat and tidy as if they were waiting for whoever worked here to come back from their lunch break. Strip lights overhead; calendars on the wall. A noticeboard with names and times on them. “John” would be back at 12:45. Jerry and Kate were on holiday until the 25th. I could see filing cabinets against one wall. Windows and window blinds, still somehow miraculously intact after the ’quake. Beneath me, some heavy-duty office carpet. This was all bloody bizarre. The last thing I remembered was being carried through the ruins.
“Don’t make a sound,” said the stranger. He was keeping his voice low and constantly glancing over his shoulder towards a main entrance door. “They might hear.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Simon. What’s your name?”
“Jay O’Connor. Where are my friends? Have you seen them?”
“Are they safe?”
The stranger gave a rueful laugh and moved to one of the windows, keeping low. “As safe as anyone can be here. For the time being.”
“What does that mean? Where the hell am I?”
“You’re in Edmonville Town Hall. And you’re a ‘guest’ of the Caffneys.”
“The who?”
“The Caffneys. They moved in here, just after the ’quake. This is where they live.” Simon carefully parted the struts of a Venetian blind and looked out. “This is where they bring their prisoners when they’re first caught. Until they decide what they’re going to do with them.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Like I said, I’m a ‘guest’. Just like you, and the others. Except I managed to get away…get us away. Now we have to move fast if we’re going to get out of here alive.”
“Wait…wait until I get my head round this…”
“If we only knew what happened to those other two friends of yours.”
“What do you mean? Which other two?” There was something there; a memory from being carried through the ruins. The Big Man, torturing Damon, demanding to know where the other two had gone.
“There’s you and…” Simon looked back, closing his eyes to aid his concentration. “…and the older guy, Alex. His wife. The good-looking blonde…”
“Juliet’s alive?” Something lurched in my chest.
“Juliet, yeah. That’s her. She’s alive, she’s fine. For the time being. Then there’s that kid, Damon whatsisname. And the two women, Annie and Lisa. But the other two are gone.”
“Gordon and Robin?”
“That’s them. The dummy and the kid. If we only knew where they were…”
