That's already an hour? I've only been here three or four minutes. That's a big time shift.
Another tug on the rope made her stumble. She hesitated, then heard a faint, plaintive cry. Again, there was no sense of direction, and she looked around, desperately seeking some clue. There were no buildings, but if Frankie could be heard despite the gale she must be nearby. Almost anything seemed possible, including some kind of kind of invisibility cloak.
Underground, Denny thought. If my world looked like this, I would not live on the surface of it.
Then she remembered that George had used the word 'burrow'. She pivoted slowly, shielding her eyes, looking for anything that might be an entrance. A dark smear in a low ridge caught her eye. She picked up the camera and zoomed in on it. There was movement in the entrance, a glimpse of what might have been a pallid face. She took a deep breath.
Sorry Ted, she thought. Only way I can get there is without a safety line.
She had just dropped the end of the rope to the ground when another jerk pulled it right through the black, pulsating sphere. The only material link to her reality was gone. Denny turned the camera round and looked into the dark lens.
Better make it good. Might be my last words. If anybody ever hears them.
“I'm going underground,” she said. “Don't wait for me.”
***
“What do you mean?” Jim asked, stopping the car and turning to face George. “Are you saying the Interlopers have got us going around in circles somehow?”
“They are deceivers,” George replied, looking from Jim to Brie, as if seeking understanding. “Like all the Devil's minions.”
“You mean they created this fog to keep us trapped here?” Brie asked, her voice unsteady. “They can do that?”
Great, thought Jim, she might have a total meltdown if she thinks we can't get away.
“Just shut up, George,” he snapped. “We're safe so long as we're in the vehicle. The worst that can happen is we wait until the fog lifts. Then we'll be able to see the way to the main road.”
“But what if it doesn't lift?” demanded Brie, again on the edge of panic.
Jim reached over and took her hand in his.
“I know you've been through a lot,” he said. “But think of your son, your husband. You'll see them again if you just–”
Brie, who had been looking out through the windshield, gave a scream and pointed. Looking ahead, Jim could make out two figures emerging from the fog. They were carrying guns, which they pointed at the Ford.
“Crap!” exclaimed Jim, and slammed the car into reverse. Then he paused, staring at the two men as they came closer. “No, hang on, it's all right! I know these guys!”
A couple of minutes later, Forster and Davenport had been brought up to speed on the situation, insofar as Jim could explain things.
“I don't get it,” Forster said. “We got in all right, but you can't get out?”
“It's like a force-field, or something,” said Davenport. “A one-way portal.”
Forster rolled his eyes at Jim.
“The main thing,” Forster pointed out, “is that we don't know how many of these Interlopers are still at large, if any. We should go back and check on Gould and the girl, rather than muck around out here.”
Brie began to protest at that, but Jim managed to soothe her by pointing out how well-armed the newcomers were.
“These are my old mates from the army,” he said. “They're good blokes, they won't let anything happen to you.”
“And we've got guns,” Davenport added. “Can be useful things, guns.”
Jim turned the Ford carefully and they set off back the way they had come. It was only after they had driven a few hundred yards that Jim began to wonder if they could get back to Malpas Abbey, any more than they could reach the main gate.
***
Distances were deceptive. It took Denny far less time than she had expected to reach the burrow, despite the vicious battering from the unceasing wind. She paused at the entrance, which was a roughly circular tunnel about five feet high, sloping sharply downward.
“Hello?” she shouted, but heard nothing over the gale. Peering into the dark, she tried to discern movement, but saw nothing other than blackness.
Okay, let's go for it.
She switched on the flashlight, which flickered worryingly and then produced a steady, if weak, beam. Denny began to climb down.
Maybe it was an Interloper, trying to lure me in, she thought. But why go to so much trouble? Why not just jump me as soon as I arrived?
Frustration vied with fear as she reflected, once again, about how little she knew about the enemy she was hoping to defy. Creatures that defied natural laws, that could change their appearance, and that drew on people's thoughts and memories. Monsters. How could she defeat a whole world of monsters?
“One at a time,” she murmured. “If that's what it takes.”
It soon proved impossible to keep upright without using at least one hand for support. Denny shoved the wrench into the waistband of her jeans, reasoning that the flashlight might double as a club.
Also, she thought, they don't seem to like bright light much. Maybe they're real sensitive to it?
She continued down until she the tunnel divided. As she hesitated, shining the flashlight into each aperture, she noticed a gleam of metal. Something was half-buried in the dirt floor. When she bent down to examine it, she realized it was the wooden grip of an antique pistol.
“Flintlock. One of George's, maybe?”
She took a moment to examine the area more closely and saw other items from her world. A couple of bottles, a maimed plastic doll, and a badly damaged paperback book all lay around her. She reached down and picked up the book. The covers were missing but a contents page told her it was a collection of stories entitled The Adventures of Mister Bunnykins.
“Cute,” she said, tossing down the paperback. She noticed then that the mundane debris all seemed to lie at the entrance to the left hand tunnel. She decided to follow it, and discovered more discarded everyday items as she went. As she rounded a corner, she heard a very human-sounding phrase echoing around her.
“Help me!”
This time the sound was clearer, and it was definitely coming from ahead. What's more, the tunnel was leveling off. Ahead of her, the flashlight revealed an opening into a large chamber of some kind.
“Frankie?” she shouted, hoping to hear her name in response. But there was only an inarticulate cry.
Denny entered the cavern, which was about eight feet high and thirty across. Three other tunnels opened into it. There was a figure sprawled against the far wall, legs and arms fastened to the reddish dirt by a network of pale strands. As Denny approached, she could see the fibers were alive, tensing and flexing as the prisoner struggled against their grip. The captive's face and body were almost totally covered by a pale, living web.
“Frankie?”
A moment of intense joy ended when Denny stepped nearer. A few strands of long hair escaped the web-work, while Frankie always cut her hair short. Now Denny could see that the prisoner must be a child, only a shade over four feet tall. A stifled squeal came from the material covering the face.
“Help me, I'm scared!”
It was a little girl's voice, the accent British, the fear in it spurring Denny to frantic action. She shoved her flashlight right up against the white fibers, and they jerked spasmodically in evident discomfort. She dropped the wrench and with her free hand tried to tear the strands away from the head. After a few moments, she had revealed a small, heart-shaped face. The girl gazed up at her, eyes huge with fear.
“Don't be scared, I'm here to help you!” Denny said.
“Are you – are you a real person?” asked the girl.
“Yep,” Denny replied, ripping away more of the pale strands to free the girl's right arm. “And we're going to get you home. Help me get this stuff off if you can.”
The girl was still for a moment
, then began tearing at the living bindings with her small fingers. Soon most of the restraints had been ripped away, though a network of white fibers remained clinging to the girl's body. Beneath the unpleasant web of tissue, she seemed to be wearing badly stained pajamas. The garments were mismatched, the top covered in teddy bears while the pants were pink with green polka dots.
Like they just put her in whatever kids' clothes they could grab when they were in our world, Denny thought.
The webbing gave way and the child fell forward, away from the wall. Denny caught her. Looking down at the thin, fragile body she saw that the pajama top had been ripped open, just like George's shirt. A dark brown nodule, two inches across, clung to the skin between the girl's shoulder blades. Like the one attached to George, it pulsed with alien life.
“Guess that makes both of us human,” she murmured. Then she knelt down and put her hands on the girl's shoulders.
“Okay,” she said. “I'm Denny, what's your name?”
The girl's blank expression made Denny wonder if she had lost her memory, through trauma or perhaps some stranger process. But then the child seemed to remember.
“My name is Lucy.”
***
It had taken Gould a while but he had finally figured out how to work the replay system on the damaged camera. He watched, awe struck, the footage of the transition to the Phantom Dimension during Frankie's abduction. Then he saw Denny appear, shared her reactions to the strange other world, and heard her final message.
Don't wait for me.
Gould felt a sudden pang of guilt. He had allowed someone to venture into the Phantom Dimension with nothing but a can-do attitude. Now he had to decide whether to wait, knowing Denny might never return. He checked the time. It was now just over an hour and a half since Denny had gone through the portal. The longer he left it, the more chance there was of Interlopers coming through and attacking him. He felt a strong desire to cut his losses and run. He sat on the cellar steps, gazing into the shimmering globe.
Am I a coward?
A door slamming in the distance jolted him from his reverie. The sound of voices followed. Gould ran up, back into the house, just in time to encounter Forster and Davenport. The newcomers gave a quick, if slightly garbled, description of the situation outside. Gould updated them on the Denny situation.
“Okay,” said Davenport, hefting his gun. “We go through and get her back. In fact, we save both of 'em, right?”
Forster shook his head.
“Not part of the mission, lad,” he growled. “And you never go into hostile territory without orders, and then only with preliminary recon. We're staying firmly in this reality.”
“Well, give me a bloody weapon and I'll do it!” shouted Gould, angrier with his own indecision than their hesitation.
“Let's not be hasty,” soothed Forster. “Why don't we go and see this mysterious gateway of yours?”
***
It took a second to register, then Denny gasped.
“Lucy? Do you have a brother called Edward?”
The child nodded, but before Denny could ask her anything else, there was a screeching sound from one of the other tunnels.
“The monsters are coming back!” hissed Lucy. “They do bad things!”
“You're telling me,” Denny replied, taking the girl's hand. “Right, we're gonna run up that tunnel. When we get outside where there's room, I'll carry you. Okay?”
Lucy gazed solemnly up at her new-found friend.
“Okay.”
Another screech, louder this time, spurred the two on. Lucy ran stiffly at first, but managed to keep up with Denny's brisk pace. As they reached the fork in the tunnels, Denny glanced back and saw several white figures bounding after them.
“Faster!” she urged breathlessly, pushing Lucy ahead of her.
She turned the flashlight back on the Interlopers, but its feeble radiance seemed to have no effect. The pursuers were gaining. Denny hurled the flashlight in frustration and had the satisfaction of seeing it hit one enemy squarely in the face. The Interloper fell squealing into the dirt, but the others were not deterred. By the time the fugitives reached the opening onto the surface, the nearest creature was just ten feet behind.
Denny took out the wrench, preparing to make a last-ditch stand and give Lucy the chance to escape. She gestured towards the black globe, barely visible in the distance.
“Run to that sphere, that's the way out! Go Lucy! Lucy, you gotta run!”
Instead of obeying Denny, the child was standing still. Lucy was looking up at the sky rather than back at their pursuers. The pursuit had stopped, the Interlopers huddled in the entrance to their burrow. And they, too, were looking up.
Denny raised her eyes and saw a vast, black star blotting out much of the sky. The monstrous entity had descended and was now lowering dark, rope-like tendrils towards the two humans. The single, enormous eye swiveled, seemed to focus on Denny. She felt a chill run through her.
“Don't move!” hissed Lucy. “If you move, they see you.”
Vague memories of dinosaur movies flashed through Denny's mind.
Predators sense motion, she thought. Makes sense.
A black tendril, thick as her thumb, brushed against her shoulder. Denny gave a small scream, but remained motionless. The black star was, she now saw, drifting slowly across the sky, gaining height. The prevailing wind was moving it away from them. Already they were out of reach of the trailing tendrils. The Interlopers saw this too, and began to edge toward the mouth of the tunnel. The movement, albeit slight, seemed to alert the vast, floating entity. The black star stopped drifting, started to descend, its vast eye scanning the ground. But it was moving at a leisurely pace.
“Now or never,” said Denny. “When I say run–”
“We run,” replied Lucy, smiling for the first time. “Like in 'Doctor Who'.”
Chapter 9: Showdown
“How long has it been?” asked Brie.
“Eight hours, forty-seven minutes since she went through,” said Jim, wearily. “Or about ten minutes since you last asked.”
The group had been gathered in the great dining room since the early hours of the morning. They had broken up some old furniture to make a fire. Brie's wound had been dressed again, while George had been given a proper meal and tea, which he gulped down with relish. George had also been found some of Matt's clothes, including a shirt that fitted loosely over the parasite on his back.
Arguments over what to do next had given way to sullen silence, broken by occasional remarks. Between them, the four Romola Foundation men had worked out a rota, with two of them always on watch in the cellar. At the moment, Gould and Forster were on guard at the gateway.
“Is it getting lighter?” Davenport asked. “Hard to tell in this murk.”
“What if we never get out?” Brie moaned. “What if we – just starve?”
“No way can this go on forever!” protested Jim. “Whatever those creatures are doing, they've got to run out of energy eventually. Right?”
Jim looked at Davenport for support. The latter nodded, cleared his throat.
“You obviously know the folk tales, Brie,” he said. “Beings from the other world can influence space, time, perception – but their powers are strictly limited. They can be killed, they can be outwitted, they can only visit our world for brief spells. All the stories say so.”
“But why keep us trapped here at all?” Brie demanded, looking around at the men. “What is it they want?”
George, who was sitting in an armchair nearest the fire, shrugged.
“How can we understand the motives of demons? Tormenting us, that is their delight!”
“You're a ray of sunshine and no mistake,” said Davenport sourly.
“It is clearing!” Brie shrieked, jumping up and running to look out the French windows.
The mist, previously a dark gray wall, was definitely growing paler. As they watched, a bright blur in the sky gradually resolved itself
into the sun's disc. It was soon so bright they could not look at it directly. In less than a minute, all that remained of the unnatural fog was a ground mist then there was nothing but a crisp, pleasant autumn morning.
“We can get away!” exclaimed Brie, jumping up and actually clapping her hands with joy.
“Okay, everyone outside to the vehicles,” said Jim. “I'll go and get Gould and Forster.”
***
Forster had lined up some Molotov cocktails by the foot of the staircase. He had taken gasoline from a spare can in the Mercedes, which they had recovered earlier and parked outside the main entrance. Everything was set for a quick getaway. Now Forster was sitting on the bottom step while Gould leaned against the ancient altar stone.
“Sorry, Gould,” said Forster. “But I reckon she's dead by now.”
As Gould began to protest, Forster raised his hands to placate his colleague.
“I know, time flows differently there. But even if you're right about that George bloke having spent, say, ten years there for two hundred here – that means Denny's been in the PD for, what? Half an hour, thereabouts? With no special equipment. No air support, no bio-hazard suit, no effective weapons, no back up.”
Gould shook his head.
“We don't know how dangerous the PD is in small doses,” he pointed out. “If it's as vast as the earth we know, she could be in no more danger than someone spending half an hour in the Sahara, or Tibet.”
“Or at the South Pole in their undershorts,” Forster riposted. “Be realistic–”
Both men suddenly sprang upright as the gateway darkened and a pale, spindly figure materialized. Forster raised his shotgun, but Gould warned him to hold his fire. A diminutive form fell sprawling to the stone floor with a yelp of dismay.
“Is it one of them?” demanded Forster, circling to one side of the newcomer as Gould moved closer.
Then the sphere of shimmering air became a gray blur, and Denny fell through, almost landing on top of the stranger.
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