by Peter Liney
Slowly we advanced down the hallway, our footsteps deadened by a thick layer of dust, Gigi again calling out, “David! . . . Isla—?” but still there was no reply.
We looked in the first bedroom but there was nothing apart from an old mattress, some dirty clothes on the floor and a knapsack with a broken strap. The next one was a similar story: a few stacked boxes and for some reason, the mattress sprawled out across the room at a forty-five-degree angle.
“Been gone some time, by the looks of it,” I muttered, stating the all-too-damn obvious.
Next we tried the kitchen, Gigi giving this little cry at the disturbing number of giant roaches there were around, flashlight and shadow doubling their size as they scurried across the floor. They must’ve found something to eat to stay there, which maybe indicated Gigi’s former companions had left in a hurry.
Impatient to explore elsewhere, Gigi took the flashlight and went through to the main room with me reluctantly following on behind. As far as I could see, we’d got the picture—they were long gone—and I didn’t really see the point of staying. And anyways, there was something about that place I didn’t like, but she obviously needed to check it out to her satisfaction.
She reached the doorway, went to enter the room, then suddenly stopped, giving out this low moan and backing out so quickly, she collided with me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
She slapped the flashlight back in my hand so I could see what she’d seen, then turned away, panting like a nervous dog.
There was a big old imitation leather sofa and several easy chairs, and sitting in them, almost as if it’d been some kind of social gathering, were the long-dead corpses of six people. They weren’t much more than skeletons, with little bits of withered, nibbled flesh clinging on here and there to the bones. I don’t know—rats maybe, or even those big fat roaches? But that wasn’t the worst part of it, nor even the remnants of the foul odor that lingered; it was the fact that all of them had had their heads torn from their bodies.
I shone the dull light of the flashlight around the room, knowing they had to be somewhere, and sure enough, piled in the corner, like a mound of rotted cabbages, were the skulls of all six victims.
“Jesus.”
“It’s her,” Gigi moaned.
I didn’t reply, just turned her gently toward the front door. She was right, of course she was: it was the Bitch and her trademark way of killing.
I don’t know what made me do it exactly—instinct maybe? The knowledge that that woman had been there?—but when I reached the front door, I flicked the flashlight’s beam around it . . .
Shit! It was really small but I still should’ve spotted it when we came in. There in the corner, low down so it’d catch everyone who entered, someone had planted a security beam.
I paused for a second or two, wondering whether to risk going outside or not. The control-box had as much dust on it as everything else, so maybe it was no longer functioning? No one had reacted so far, and we must’ve been there a good five minutes . . . however, at that precise moment, I heard something large and powerful rapidly approaching up the street.
“Is there a back way?” I asked Gigi as the vehicle—or what now sounded like several—came screeching to a halt outside.
She just stood there, frantically thinking, but it was way too late: heavy—terrifyingly heavy—footsteps were running across the sidewalk and noisily descending the steps to the front door. The Bitch’s Bodyguard!
Gigi snapped out of her paralysis, giving me a tug, running through to the kitchen with me following close behind. As I shut the door she started scrambling at the floor, lifting up the old plastic covering—I didn’t have a clue what she was up to. It was a basement, for chrissake. What was she going to do: tunnel her way out?
“What’re you doing?” I asked, but at that precise moment the front door didn’t so much fall open as explode, sending shards of wood somersaulting down the hallway.
“Shit!” I whispered, but Gigi had hold of something on the exposed floor and with a strong jerk, up came this trapdoor.
She pushed me inside, into a space no more than three feet deep, and immediately followed, closing the door just in time and leaving the plastic covering to flip back into place. Above us, sounding like thunder in the darkness, came the crashing of heavy feet running from room to room, more and more of them, shouting and cursing as they realized we weren’t there. Something was thrown and smashed against the kitchen wall above us and I could hear the sound of broken glass raining down.
Gigi was trying to push me forward, but in the darkness I couldn’t understand where she wanted me to go and I didn’t dare turn on the flashlight in case someone came into the kitchen and caught a glimmer of its light shining through a crack. Above us it sounded like they were starting a more methodical search, those unnaturally heavy footsteps stomping from room to room, spending more time in each one. I tell ya, that sound, the slurping mechanical stride of those destructive prosthetics—and so many of them!—was enough to frighten the hell out of anyone, whether you’d already encountered the Bitch or not.
I managed to edge a few feet forward, fumbling left and right, eventually locating the top of a ladder that apparently led down to a lower level. Gigi went to nudge me again, directing me to climb down, but accidentally knocked the flashlight from my grasp—a second or so later there was a splash: there was water down there.
“Go on!” she whispered.
I tried to make my way down as quickly as I could, but the lower I got, the more damp and slippery it became and, shit to admit, I lost my footing and plunged down into the water. It was only the fact that they were making so much noise up there that saved me from being overheard.
I splashed around, unable to right myself in the confusion of darkness and waist-deep water, ’til finally I felt Gigi’s hands grab hold of me and I managed to stand up.
“Come on,” she said, tugging me away by the shoulder of my coat, obviously knowing which way to go. Overhead it sounded as if they were starting to take out their frustration on the building itself, smashing the whole damn place apart, the sheer ferocity and force of the impacts like shells slamming into it. Then I heard something else that set my stomach on a bigger free-fall than me falling off that ladder: someone was going around stamping on the floor, moving down the hallway then into the kitchen, obviously searching for anywhere that sounded hollow, and within moments there was the distinct sound of cracking timber.
“Jesus!” I muttered, trying to move quicker but ending up almost knocking Gigi over.
I thought they were about to break through; that a good hard kick from one of those bionic legs would show them where we’d gone, but suddenly all noise ceased, as if something had happened that took precedence over everything else. Gigi and I both paused, wondering what the hell it was; even down there you could sense the tension, as if fear was dripping down through the cracks in the floor. Then a single pair of footsteps, far heavier than anyone else’s, began a slow, meaningful march down the hallway.
“Oh no!” Gigi gasped.
It was her and we both knew it, and soon, echoing down from above, came a voice that not only put the fear of God into us, but of the Devil, too.
“They didn’t have enough time, you idiots!” she yelled.
She spoke with such anger, such pure fury, it occurred to me she must’ve known who it’d been, that maybe that security beam’d been equipped with a visual? There was a muttered conversation, someone telling her something, sounding like they were trying to excuse themselves or get in her good books, then a brief moment of silence followed by an almighty explosion and the kitchen floor showered down into the water behind us.
Gigi yanked me along what I now realized was a short tunnel. Behind us there was more shouting, then the sound of someone descending the ladder, the clank of something hard against metal—and finally, a loud splash, as if something really heavy had fallen in.
“Go!” I hissed at
Gigi, a slight disturbance in the air, a faint glow of light, alerting me to the fact that we were emerging outside, and to the rather obvious realization that we were in the river.
Behind us it sounded like synchronized depth charges were going off as someone began to run us down, and I made the mistake of looking back. In the palest of murky lights there was this powerful dark figure exploding through the water, those eyes that’d haunted my dreams for the last year or more glaring after me.
“Go on!” I shouted at Gigi, giving her a push, telling her to make her own speed, and soon she was moving away from me.
I tried to increase my speed, but every stride Nora Jagger took was more like a leap and within seconds she was only feet behind me. One more and that would be it; those murderous super-limbs would wrap around me and put an end to my life—but as I came into sight of the entrance to the tunnel and the opposite bank of the river, the noise behind me suddenly ceased—as if she’d stopped dead for some reason.
I just kept going, praying she’d lost her footing or something, that I’d been given an extra few seconds’ grace, but when I finally did glance back, she was just standing there, glaring after us, her face a picture of absolute furious frustration.
“Fuck you, Clancy—! Fuck you!” she screamed. “I’ll make you pay for this. I’ll hunt you down. D’you hear me? I’ll hunt you down and rip you to pieces!”
At that moment I felt the ground beginning to dip away beneath my feet, the water getting deeper, and knew that, like it or not, I was going to have to swim. I half-dived, half-fell forward, striking out against the incoming tide, still petrified that at any moment I would feel her hand clamp on my shoulder . . . Why the hell had she stopped? Was it the water? Would it harm her prosthetics in some way? It didn’t seem very likely, but what the hell did?
Way up above me I heard a window being opened; someone thrust out a small spotlight and shone it down onto the river, but they were in a slight alcove and the projecting wall meant they could only cover part of it. Gigi, who was a surprisingly strong swimmer, had slowed so she could lead me through a handful of boats moored nearby, using them as cover as we continued our dogged progress against the tide.
I thought we’d be safe enough there, with the spotlight unable to reach us, but d’you know what? That woman was nothing if not resourceful. Suddenly the wall just along from the window, the one actually facing the river, exploded outward, bricks tumbling down into the water: she’d actually punched or kicked a hole in it, releasing some of her aggression with a brutal display of strength. She kicked a few more bricks down into the water, pushed her way through the wall and shone the spotlight up and down the river.
Jesus, she was something to behold. Maybe it was the beating she gave me that time, the fact that I knew I’d been lucky to escape with my life, but I couldn’t think of her as human, let alone a woman, just some awful result of an uncountable number of sinister collisions that had been allowed to grow unchecked ’cuz no one had known how to stop it.
I hugged the side of the boat where I’d sought refuge, confident she couldn’t pick me out of the darkness and grateful for it—but suddenly she turned and appeared to look directly at me, like she’d known I was there all the time. I swear her eyes met mine, that she marked me out like an animal for slaughter.
Gigi ducked underwater, heading off in the direction of the shadow of the riverbank, and I did my best to follow. Like I told you before, I’m not the world’s best swimmer, especially not underwater. I kept having to surface, each time finding myself not where I thought I’d be, having to duck under again, yet eventually managing to slip into the shadows and out of the Bitch’s sight.
I slowly worked my way along the slimy bank until we reached an old iron ladder, following the silhouette of Gigi up, until the moment we touched solid ground and both of us started to run.
I never imagined I’d be so pleased to see that battered old limo. I started her up and drove carefully away, not wanting to attract any undesired attention, knowing there was probably a Dragonfly hanging around somewhere. For several minutes we traveled in silence, both of us still in shock.
“Why the hell did she stop?” I eventually blurted out, as much to me as to Gigi. “It wasn’t the water—”
Gigi gave a long sigh, as if any kind of thought was way beyond her at that moment.
“She could’ve had us!” I continued, water dripping down my face from my wet hair and filtering into my beard. “I just don’t get it.”
“Me neither,” Gigi muttered.
“And what about that tunnel?” I asked. “How come that was there?”
“Service tunnel. In the old days, when they were fancy houses, people used to deliver that way. Isla found it by accident—they didn’t tell me at first. It was a kinda ultimate emergency exit, when all else failed.”
“Didn’t do them a lot of good.”
“No,” she sighed.
I reached across and went to squeeze her hand, but knowing she’d push me away, changed it to a clumsy pat on the shoulder. Even that she didn’t look that happy about. I wanted to say something, to reassure her it was going to be all right, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
If there’s one thing in life I’m not good at, it’s telling lies.
CHAPTER SIX
As much as a disappointment as it was, I knew my decision had been made for me, that there was no way I could keep my appointment with Doctor Simon—we had to get out of the City as fast as was humanly possible. It was the same for Gigi: whatever she’d wanted to get off her chest, whatever she’d come to say to those people, it was too late, and everything she’d seen since we’d returned to the City had convinced her that, whether she wanted to be there or not, she was better off going back to the farm with me.
It was a real blow, believe me. I’d been so hopeful I could get Lena’s sight fixed again. Still, I gotta admit, it’d troubled me that I hadn’t told her that was what I was planning. I’d wanted it to be a surprise, but the truth was, I didn’t always get it right with Lena—I tried to protect her too much and it caused more than the occasional argument. I’d come to realize it wasn’t right to make assumptions on someone else’s behalf, no matter how close they might be to you. Not to mention the fact that to put any faith in the Doc would’ve been a bit like leaving the cat to babysit the canary. Maybe he was just a victim of circumstance, but I never got the impression he kicked too hard against it. As long as he could buy a new limo every year and build yet another wardrobe for all his latest hand-tailored suits and silk ties, he always seemed more than happy to cross the street whenever he caught sight of ethics or integrity approaching. Even if I had managed to get him back to the farm, even if it had been possible for him to operate on Lena, I could never have let him go afterward, not without us having to move on in case he returned with others.
I didn’t take the main road back to the hills, instead dodging in and out of side streets, keeping my driving steady and mannered rather than risk setting alarm bells off somewhere. I’d meant to ask the Doc why the limo wouldn’t hook up to the power strip, but with all the other stuff we’d ended up talking about, I’d forgotten. In any case, we had a quarter of a tank of gas and far more pressing things to worry about, like getting as far away from that Theater of Hell as we could.
The most disturbing thing by far was those damn holographic statues. It’d been bad enough when we’d entered the City in daylight, but now, at night—and after having had the Bitch literally breathing down our necks—it was a real test of the tightness of the bowels, believe me.
“Speed up, will ya?” Gigi complained, turning away from a statue we were passing.
“It’s just a hologram,” I told her, though I couldn’t resist checking the mirrors just to check it wasn’t chasing after us.
“Feels like she’s watching.”
I never said anything, but I knew what she meant, though I reckon it was just coincidence that as we rounded the next bend we came
face to face with a Dragonfly hovering at the far end of the street, shining a spotlight down on everything that passed beneath it.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“I knew it!” Gigi wailed.
“It’s okay,” I reassured her, “just as long as they’re not scanning.”
As we joined on the back of a growing line it just hung there, as still as the moon: a hi-tech roadblock. I advanced slowly forward, knowing that no matter what I’d said to Gigi, they had to be scanning—no way would they just sit there shining a light down. For chrissake, we didn’t stand a chance, what with the state of the limo, its identification software removed, the fact that it was still registered with Doctor Simon while being driven by this anonymous old guy and a young girl.
I should’ve seen it before, but it was only then it hit me why they were there. This was no random roadblock; they hadn’t positioned themselves by chance: they were guarding the entrance to the Catacombs.
“The Catacombs” was the nickname of the more properly titled Downtown Traffic Relief system, or the DTR. It’d been built supposedly to alleviate the City’s chronic congestion, but it turned out so confusing in there, it’d only made things worse. People frequently got lost and couldn’t find their way out. Crawling around and around, eventually having to stop to call for help, emergency vehicles having to be sent in to guide them out—you can guess how much that did to alleviate congestion. It was a rabbit warren—or it used to be—and if I could only get us in there, it was probably the next best thing to going free.
I waited ’til the last moment, ’til we were next to be scanned, then floored the gas pedal. The limo kicked forward, still with plenty of grunt, and the Dragonfly immediately reacted, swiveling around, though not with any great sense of urgency. I guessed ’cuz they thought they had the situation under control, ’cuz they assumed we had a security cutout and they could stop us whenever they wanted. But Jimmy’d removed it, not for situations like that, need I add, but just ’cuz he wanted it for something else.
