Blood Water (14 page)

Waites knew it was foolish, but he also knew that if he
didn't bend down and look under the bed he wouldn't
know exactly where the dog was and it might escape.
Nevertheless, he did it as carefully as he could. The bedcovers
only hung down a couple of centimetres below
the mattress, so very little of what was beneath the bed
was obscured. But even with the light on, the space
there was dark – the animal might charge out towards
him with its mouth open. He dropped onto all fours,
ready to jump up again, and lowered his head.

All he could see was darkness. He would need a
torch . . . Just then he heard the sound again, the sniff,
only this time it seemed to come from somewhere
behind him. Surely he would have heard the animal
move. He stood there, frozen. There was another sound,
but not a sniff this time: a low, unfriendly growl just
behind his left foot.

Waites turned, and at that instant teeth buried themselves
in his Achilles tendon, tearing through skin and
flesh. He screamed and reached down towards his foot,
only to trip over the dog, which remained clamped to
him. He fell and grabbed vainly at the bed for support,
landing in an awkward heap on the floor. He gritted his
teeth against the pain in his foot as the dog bit down
harder. Then he lifted his left leg before slamming the
animal hard against the wooden board at the foot of the
bed. He heard something break inside it, but its grip
loosened only momentarily and its growl grew more
menacing. Waites cried out again and took hold of the
animal's jaws in an attempt to prise them open – he was
terrified that his tendon would snap with the incredible
force of the bite – but the dog's jaws wouldn't budge.
He kicked the animal against the underside of the bed
board, hammering its head until it bled. Finally it let
go and limped off, bleeding, out of the room and down
the corridor.

Waites had to get up and follow it before it hid
somewhere else. As soon as he put weight on his left
foot, pain flared all the way up his leg. The tendon was
very badly damaged and he would need to get to hospital
soon before more permanent harm was done. He
looked down at the bird cage and stand, and had an idea:
the stand made a pretty good walking stick. He limped
out of the room just as James came running down the
corridor to meet him.

* * *

Sean stared at the door for a long time after his brother
had gone, trying to imagine what was happening. He
didn't want to be sitting there, he wanted to be strong;
he wanted to be upstairs with Waites and his brother.
They would be angry if he left the room, would insist he
return, but he would feel better if he went to help them.
After all, three would have more chance of finding that
thing than two. But at the same time, the odd pain in his
head left over from the creature's invasion was holding
him back, and that in turn could hold the others back if
he went to help them.

But something else was happening right now. The
metallic taste had gone, yet something just as distasteful
was happening. Images were flicking through his brain
like a barrage of missiles, increasing the pain. Most
meant nothing to him, making him wonder if it was
just his mind reeling from the invasion, but some were
familiar. They were like snippets of film. In one he was
underwater, looking up at a huge face that looked like
Dr Morrow's. The doctor was smiling and saying something
that Sean couldn't make out, then reaching down
towards him with a huge metal instrument. He was like
a giant though – or else Sean was tiny. But the vision
was vivid. Sean's hallucinations the day after the race
had been pretty real, but these were something new;
these were caused by something quite different.

He got up and went over to the window. The rain
hadn't finished with them yet, and the wind was just
starting up. Sean couldn't imagine what conditions on
the roads must be like now, and how far the floods extended.
It would be hell down in the town now, but he
would much rather have been a part of that hell than
the one he was living here. This was a harder one to
explain – a harder one to fix too. He might well not
survive this one. If the sickness that had destroyed Dr
Morrow, Mr Phoenix and Mr Titus was already in him,
working its way around his system, gradually dissolving
his vital organs, then he was already dead. Why not go
upstairs and fight with the others? Why not take that
thing on by himself? If he was already dead, at least he
could go down fighting, rather than wasting away in
this room on his own.

But that was the problem. He didn't know. He didn't
know if he was dying or not, and that confused things.
Just then another image came into his mind, and this
one really made him pay attention.

'What happened?' James asked, nodding at the blood
that had soaked through Waites's sock, shoe and a large
patch of his beige trousers.

'It got me, the little bastard. It's like it's rabid, only
worse. It went off this way. Look, there's a trail of blood.'

They followed the red drops, James giving the teacher
a hand as they went.

'So you hurt it?'

'Well, any normal dog would be lying dead on the
floor right now, but that's no normal dog. I've no idea
how long it can last with that thing in its brain.'

'God, please don't let it be much longer. How's your foot?'

'My ankle's torn to pieces. It's bleeding badly too.
We'll have to stop and bandage it soon, but not until
we've sorted this out.'

James looked down at Waites's damaged foot. He
was trying not to put any weight on it, and there was a
squelching sound coming from his shoe.

They followed the blood trail further down the
corridor, but it was so dark they had to stop and peer
down at the carpet for spots of blood. Eventually James
was kneeling down to make sure the trail continued.

'Hang on,' he said. 'I think they lead towards that
door there.'

They both approached the open doorway leading
into a large room that looked like a canteen, with coffee
tables, sofas and a small kitchen area at one end. They
could see a line of tiny red spots on the linoleum floor,
arcing away round a cluster of tables and chairs.

James stepped gingerly into the room and looked for
a light switch.

'Be careful,' Waites whispered behind him. 'It's not
thinking like a dog any more.'

And as James began pondering the full meaning of these
words, his fingers found the switch and flicked it on.

Sean's next vision was from another perspective entirely.
He was underwater again, except this time the water
was dark and dirty, and he could see particles floating
around in it. There was an immense feeling of pressure:
something powerful was driving him forward against his
will. Then there was light, and clouds and trees passed
quickly overhead. With what felt like an explosion of
sound and air, his face rose above the torrent and it was
like crashing into another, more familiar universe.

He was now moving towards a riverbank, but it was
only a gradual shift, and it seemed a long time before he
was close enough to grab tufts of grass to pull himself
out of the water. At first he was moving too fast and
they slipped from his grasp, but then he was free of the
current, and got hold of the bank and pulled himself out
of the water, using the last of his energy. His body felt
heavy, and there was water in his stomach – foul-tasting
water that really shouldn't have been swallowed. But
he was out of the murderous river now; he had pulled
himself free, perhaps just in time.

He tried to get to his feet, but he still felt so heavy. He
had nothing left with which to move himself. Everything
had been sapped by the cold water, along with something
else; something Sean couldn't quite put his finger on.

The sodden muddy ground shifted beneath his feet
now as he dragged himself painfully forward. Then he
was looking up, and saw a figure on the muddy slope,
blurred by the rain, but definitely another human being.
Sean knew the face, but he wasn't used to seeing it like
this. It was him – the boy was him – and Sean knew
this was no hallucination because he now recognized the
situation. It was a memory. Except it wasn't
his
memory.

And as if triggered by this recognition, it suddenly
evaporated away from him, leaving the familiar walls of the
office.

The spots of blood led past several tables before
disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. Waites and James
waited a while, listening carefully, but all was quiet. James
looked at the teacher as though awaiting his instructions.

'You go first,' Waites said. 'Sorry, but you're in a better
state than me to tackle that thing.'

James nodded gravely at this, then crept slowly
forward, tensed, ready to turn and run at any moment.

'I tell you what,' the teacher said behind him. 'There'd
better not be any more of these creatures around here . . .
or we really are history.' Ahead of him James stopped.

'Er . . .'

'What? What is it?' As Waites drew level with him, he
winced at the pain in his foot. It was badly inflamed now,
and he could feel the blood still oozing out as he moved.

'You know I found out something when I was in that
guy Holland's bedroom? It was a diary . . . I don't know
if everything in it was true – he seemed a bit of a messed-up
character – but . . . he was always spying on Morrow,
reading his notes and trying to interfere in his work.
He mentioned something about finding . . . more . . . of
these things. Maybe he went back to the place where
Morrow came upon the specimen and found others.'

'What?!' Waites shouted, before he could stop
himself. They both looked around and listened for
any reaction to the noise. 'Why the hell didn't you say
something?' he went on more quietly.

'Because the more people there are who know, the
more chance that thing has of finding out. I don't think
it knows yet – or maybe it suspects, I'm not sure . . . But
if it gets in my head it'll know what I know. It'll know
where to find the others.'

'But it was in Holland before. He was the first one it infected.
Why didn't it get the information from him then?'

'Well, maybe it did. Maybe that's why it came back here.
But if that's true, why is it messing about in here. Why
doesn't it just go and find the others? Maybe it was still
learning how to possess other creatures, or it could see the
others but couldn't locate them . . . Does that make sense?'

'God, I don't know,' Waites replied after a pause. 'It's
clearly here for a reason. And if it got into your head, it
might be able to locate its mates. Don't tell me anything
about their location then. Let's just concentrate on this
one; we can worry about the others later. Do you know
how many there are?'

'Quite a few, I think,' James said; Holland had used
the word
thousands
in his journal.

'All right, we'll worry about them later. Come on,
let's find this thing and kill it.'

James moved forward again, his way lit intermittently
by flashes of lightning. He had the strange feeling of being
in a horror film. Wherever the dog was, it was being very
quiet. However, the thing inside it wasn't stupid: it knew
its host wasn't ideal, so it was being more cautious now.
James remembered Titus's death in the laboratory. The
man just fell apart when Sean kicked him, like there was
nothing holding his insides together. He remembered
too the cold, sickening sensation he'd felt at the sight of
that thing wriggling into Sean's mouth. It had been the
worst feeling ever. What would happen to his brother
now? Could he survive after even those few seconds' exposure?
James couldn't bear the idea of Sean having to go
through that agony. He knew that if the time came and
there was no other option, he might have to—

He shook himself out of his morbid thoughts and
tried to concentrate on the task before him. As he followed
the bloody tracks, he readied himself to react to
any attack. Waites managed to move silently behind
him despite the pain he was in.

The drops of blood trailed along the kitchen floor to
a space under the counter where there was a pedal bin
and a couple of boxes of mineral water. Behind these
James saw a glint from what looked like an eye. The dog
didn't stir. James kept his eyes on the space, beckoning
Waites forward and pointing. He saw him nod, then
look around for a weapon.

Waites slowly opened the cupboard in front of him:
plates and a jug were all he could see. He tried the cupboard
below: saucepans, frying pans and baking trays – much
more like it. He chose a heavy iron frying pan for himself
and gave James a sturdy saucepan. For a moment he felt
ridiculous, but then told himself that they were simply
doing whatever they could under the circumstances. They
had no access to guns or . . . knives. Why hadn't he
thought of that? Although maybe blunt force was the
best way to deal with this thing, and swinging a knife
around in such a small space might be dangerous. At least
with a pan the worst they could do was stun each other.

'Right – how are we going to do this?' Waites
whispered, stifling a cry of pain as his foot protested.

'OK . . . I'll charge and scare it out. You hit it.' There
was a pause as they both thought this through.

'Can he understand what we're saying?' Waites asked.

James thought about this. The creature had been inside
several people now: it had talked through them, used their
memories . . . It was now inside a dog, but could it still
understand human speech? There was no way of knowing
for sure, and they didn't have time to test it out.

'I don't think it'll make much difference,' James said.
'I mean, even if it does know what we're going to do,
there's not much—'

The dog chose that moment to dart from its hiding
place across the kitchen floor into the rest area. It
scampered under tables and chairs, all the way to the
windows at the far end.

'Little bastard!' Waites screamed.

Then they heard a thump, and when they turned
to look back under the counter, they saw an arm.
The hand was greeny grey, and the body it was
attached to was surely no longer alive.

'Jesus,' Waites said. 'Who's that?'

'I don't know,' James said after a shocked pause.
'Should I check?'

'You take a look, I'll go after the dog.'

'All right, but don't tackle it without me.'

'I'll just keep an eye on it. Don't be long. Just check if they're
alive or not. We'll deal with them once we've sorted the dog.'

Waites moved painfully off after the dog, frying pan
held firmly in his hand. James crept over to the storage
space and knelt down. The body was that of a young
woman in her twenties, though James didn't recognize
her. Her eyes were half open, her mouth agape, and James
knew she was dead even before he checked for a pulse.
She must have been hiding from Holland when he'd gone
berserk – though it wasn't clear what had killed her.

Poor thing
, James thought. She was attractive, he
could tell, even though she wasn't looking too good right
now. He was about to stand up when he saw her lower
lip move. There was a sound too – air escaping from
her lungs perhaps. Maybe she was still alive after all.
He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a light
shake. Her mouth opened wider, as if to say something,
and that's when the slimy black creature shot out from
between her lips and straight into his mouth before
wriggling its way up into his brain.