Colm & the Ghost's Revenge (19 page)

‘What the–' The Brute began.

‘Hey, it's that guy from the house and Kate Whatshername,' Lauryn said as the detecting duo slowly got to their feet. ‘Look out,' she called, as Wickerly lumbered towards Kate.

Kate had seen him. ‘Come to Momma,' she yelled. She grabbed the creature around the waist and lifted him into the air. Wickerly failed to understand what was happening; he just knew something wasn't right. He snapped his jaws at her, but she easily evaded his bite. She just squeezed and squeezed until all the fight began to leave Wickerly. She flung him against the railing and he slithered to the ground in a jelly-like heap.

‘Did that really just happen?' The Brute asked, looking at Kate in awe.

‘Come on, kids. Let's kick some zombie ass,' Cedric shouted, flat-palming a creature in the face.

‘Told you, Mikey – we ain't beaten yet,' Lauryn said as she threw herself at one of the undead.

The Ghost took off his coat and dropped it to the ground. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt revealing tattoos of the Sign of Lazarus – the little diamond with the skull at its centre. There was one on the inside of each arm, just above the wrist. He removed his hat. Colm gasped when he saw the crudely inked tattoo in the middle of the man's forehead. It had jagged edges and wept tiny drops of blood, as if the job had been done only recently, and very hurriedly.

‘If you don't follow my instructions closely, I will use an override switch to automatically unlock all the doors in this building, allowing the undead to roam free and kill at will. Whatever chance your friends and family still have will be extinguished immediately. Do you understand?'

Colm nodded.

‘Pick up the shield,' The Ghost commanded.

Colm did as he was told. The shield trembled in his hands.

The Ghost took two paces backwards. He stood less than three metres away from Colm, directly facing him.

‘Raise the shield until its face is pointing towards me.'

Colm's fingers gripped the edge of the wooden shield and he lifted it into the air. His mind was racing. He knew he had to act now, but he had no idea what to do. What could he do? Hydrochloric acid had half-destroyed the last key, but he couldn't just pry one out of the shield and swallow it. The man would be too fast for him. Anyway, how stupid would that be? He didn't know what damage that would do to him and he wasn't going to be able to help anyone if he was in a withered heap on the ground.

Maybe he could just spit on the keys? If there was acid was in his stomach and his stomach was connected to his mouth then it must be in his saliva too. It sort of made sense, but … if the acid was in his saliva then there'd be no teeth or tongue left in his mouth – they'd have worn away years ago.

‘I am the last of the Sign of Lazarus,' The Ghost whispered.

He stretched his arms out wide, away from his body, until the tattoos were facing the shield. The keys began to sparkle and spin around within the centrepiece. The light increased until nothing seemed to exist in the room other than Colm, the shield and the criminal. The Ghost's face became serene. He closed his eyes. A man ready to receive his destiny.

The life force began to drain from Colm. It was similar to the feeling he'd had the previous year when he'd held one key in his hand. But this was stronger, more powerful. His thoughts began to drift, and strange images filled his head – things he'd seen, people he'd known, places he'd been. Long forgotten nightmares resurfaced. He began to weaken. He tried to shake off the feeling, to get back to reality.

He heard far-distant screams and glanced towards the monitor. The undead were swarming around The Brute and Lauryn. And Cedric and Kate? Was that them? His mother was trying to escape the clutches of one of the hideous creatures. There was too much happening all at once. Too much to think about.

The shield shuddered in his hands. What if he threw it to the ground? Would that do any good? Would it stop the … it was too late. The time for thinking was over. The shield shook violently. The light grew brighter. Harsher.

A key shot forward from the shield like a missile. Almost faster than the eye could take in. One moment it was there, the next it had disappeared. Colm blinked. Where had it gone? It was only when he heard The Ghost cry out that he realised what had happened. He looked at his enemy. There it was – embedded in the man's wrist. At that velocity it should have torn through his arm and out the other side, yet it hadn't. It was stuck in the pale flesh, right in the tattoo of the Sign of Lazarus. The light from the key spread along the arm as the veins just beneath the skin rose to the surface and started to pulse. The Ghost's body began to absorb the diamond, the object becoming part of him.

It was really happening.

Colm tried to twist the shield away from the man, but he wasn't strong enough. It was as if it had taken on a life of its own and was communicating directly with The Ghost. It was part of the ceremony too.

The second key flew through the air and landed on the tattoo on the other arm. There was a short popping sound as it was sucked into the flesh, but this was drowned out when The Ghost cried out again, louder this time. He struggled to keep his arms aloft. His mouth began to foam.

There was only one key left. And Colm hadn't a clue what to do. He tried to let his mind relax, to stop the bad words from clouding his brain, words like weakness, sickness, pain, death. But his energy was still fading away.

The final Lazarus Key began to spin faster and faster within the shield. Colm's key. In seconds it would launch itself forward until it thudded into the third tattoo on The Ghost's forehead. The ceremony would be complete and The Ghost would become immortal.

The shield cracked. Splinters of wood fell to the floor. The room began to shake. The fluorescent light shattered.

Without really understanding what he was doing, Colm let his right hand drop free of the shield, taking all the weight in his left. He placed his hand in front of the key, where he imagined the centrepiece should be, just as it launched itself forward.

He felt an enormous surge of pain as the final Lazarus Key ripped through his hand, leaving a gaping hole in his palm.

It was enough to deflect the key from its target.

It zipped through the air, centimetres higher than it should have been. It scraped along the top of The Ghost's head, leaving a trail of blood, and hit the wall.

The Ghost's eyes snapped open. The shield clattered to the ground.

Colm could hardly believe it. He'd done it. He'd stopped the ceremony.

‘I'll kill you,' The Ghost roared, rushing forward.

Colm tried to turn and run, but the chains pulled him back and he fell to the floor. When he looked up, The Ghost was standing above him, gripped by a terrible fury. Colm had never seen anyone look so angry in his life and terror surged through him.

He had stopped the Abbatage, but he hadn't stopped The Ghost.

He was a dead boy. He knew it.

But as the man reached for him, something began to change. The Ghost noticed it before Colm did. His mouth twisted in pain. He looked at his arms, where the keys had buried themselves.

They began to spark.

The skull within the diamond seemed to grow larger and the white surface was suddenly engulfed in flames. Trails of smoke curled around the man's pale arms.

‘What's happening to me?' he asked.

Colm didn't have an answer.

The smoke began to twist itself into a shape. Something dark and menacing.

This was bad. This was very bad. Colm shut his eyes.

When he heard The Ghost scream he opened them again.

There was a figure in the room. A smoky figure dressed in clothing from another time. Centuries ago.

The figure spoke in a quiet, whispery voice. A language that Colm had never heard before. Its nails were long and pointed. The Ghost's eyes widened as the figure leaped on him and began to feed. He tried to fight back, but he couldn't get a grip on this new creature. It was like fighting fog.

The smoke continued to pour from his arms and twisted itself into other shapes.

As more and more emerged and began to feed on The Ghost, Colm started to understand what was happening. The life force of everyone who had ever held the keys that were embedded in The Ghost's arms was reforming and consuming him. Attila the Hun. Vlad the Impaler. Generations of warriors. The Ghost flailed wildly, lashing out, trying to connect with what wasn't there. He had killed many people, but this was an enemy he couldn't defeat.

Colm began to cough and choke on the acrid smoke as the room became crowded with more and more ancient figures and The Ghost's screams grew louder and louder. They were seeking revenge for the life that had been stolen from them and their bloodthirsty roars and gleeful feeding were too much for Colm to take. As The Ghost began to wither and his movements grew more desperate, Colm shut his eyes again.

He didn't open them until the screaming had stopped.

A thick fog of smoke hung in the air. Colm's eyes stung and watered. He was shaking. He glanced around, expecting one of the figures to attack him, but the room was empty. They had all disappeared. So had The Ghost. All that was left of him were the two keys lying on the ground. They didn't glow any longer. They were dull and lifeless now, as if their time was over.

Was it over, Colm wondered? Why hadn't they taken him? Was it because the keys were in … he heard a scream in the distance and for a moment his heart raced and he expected to be attacked.

‘Mam and Dad,' he said. He'd almost forgotten them.

They were still in danger. He could worry about all that had happened later. He had to save them. But how? He was still a prisoner.

He got to his feet, the chains tugging at his ankles. He didn't feel good. It was as if something was changing within him. Waves of nausea swept over him. He pulled at the manacles, but there was no way to open them now. Not quickly anyway. He tried to wrench the chains from the wall, but that didn't work either. They were bolted on too well. There had to be something he could do. Some way he could turn on those UV lights and destroy the creatures out there. There was nothing useful within reach except the shield.

‘Well, that's going to have to do,' Colm said.

The smoke began to clear and he could see the monitors again. His mother was still alive. His dad too. There was still time.

He held his torn right hand against his side and stretched his left as far as he could, trying to grab the shield. His fingers grazed the edge of it, but just pushed it farther away. His face grew red with the effort, even as the rest of him felt icy cold. At this angle, he realised, it would be easier to get to if he used his right hand. Once again he stretched out and this time his fingers curled around the edge of the wooden shield.

‘Yes,' he shouted as he got a grip.

He dragged it towards him. It scraped the bloodied hole in his hand. The pain was excruciating. Everything turned white and blank and for a moment he was calm. Then he shook himself and returned to a world of blinding pain. The shield was sticky with his blood. He was on the verge of passing out, but something inside him refused to give in.

He stood up and held the shield in both hands.

He looked over to where the green button was. About two and a half metres away. He'd always been useless at any sporting activity, but this was one time he was going to have to excel. He was only going to get one shot at it.

He twisted his body around like a discus thrower and took a practice swing. The wooden implement was heavy. He wasn't sure how far he could …

‘Ah, stop thinking and just do it, you eejit,' he said as he flung the shield forward.

He held his breath as it arced through the air.

It crashed down on the button.

On the monitors he saw a blinding flash as the lights burst into life all over the shopping centre.

And then he collapsed.

C
olm woke up in the back of a stationary ambulance in the shopping centre's car park. There wasn't a part of him that didn't ache. He was lying on a trolley and when he sat up, waves of pain surged through his body. His right hand was wrapped in white bandages. The back doors of the ambulance were open and he peered out into the morning sunshine. He could see his mother and father talking to a paramedic. He forgot about the pain for a moment. They were alive. He'd saved them. His mam and dad.

There were garda cars everywhere and people milling about, most of them looking like they were in a hurry. He saw The Brute and Lauryn. Lauryn's mother. Cedric Murphy. Kate Finkle. He'd saved them too.

He tried to remember what had happened. Had The Ghost really been destroyed? He'd seen it with his own eyes. It had happened, hadn't it? And the keys? He hadn't destroyed them. Someone could still use them. He had to find them. If he had them then no one else could … had to go back to the control room … find them. He tried to stand up, but another wave of pain hit him. He fell back onto the trolley.

Everything was a blur after that.

Fragments.

Concerned voices. Sirens. Hospital corridors and sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

In and out of consciousness.

People visiting him in hospital.

His parents crying.

His grandparents standing helplessly at his bedside clutching bottles of Lucozade.

The Brute carrying a bunch of flowers.

Someone showing him a newspaper with a headline saying The Ghost was dead.

A nurse shooing away reporters.

The light hurting his eyes.

The pain when a nurse opened the blinds.

And finally, a darkened room.

He woke up to find Professor Peter Drake sitting at his bedside, a worried look on his face. When he saw Colm was awake he tried to smile, but it didn't come out right.

‘How are you feeling?' he asked.

‘Great,' Colm lied.

His arms were covered in bandages and there were wires and tubes attached to his chest and nose. His skin had begun to turn a shade of purple.

‘You don't look that good,' the professor said.

‘What's happening to me?' Colm asked.

‘You won't like it.'

Professor Drake was an expert on the history of the Lazarus Keys and the only one who was even close to understanding what Colm had gone through.

‘Tell me anyway.'

‘From what I've been able to uncover, you're undergoing a transformation. Does the light hurt your eyes?'

‘Yes,' Colm replied.

‘Do you feel more tetchy? Do you get angry a little quicker than you used to?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you hungry all the time?'

‘Definitely,' Colm said.

Professor Drake nodded. He took a cigarette case from the inside pocket of his blazer. He fumbled at the little silver box with his broken, bandaged fingers.

‘You can't smoke in here, Professor.'

‘What? Oh right, regulations and all that. My apologies.'

An uncomfortable silence developed.

‘I'm going to become one of them, aren't I? One of the undead,' Colm said.

‘Yes. As best we can determine, yes. But we don't know for sure. That was the first time the Abbatage has been performed in hundreds of years. The first time it's been interrupted too, obviously. We don't know the full consequences. You are the guinea pig in this experiment.'

‘So I could become a creature of the night?' Colm asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Or I could wake up with superpowers?'

The professor smiled properly for the first time. ‘Less likely, but anything's possible. Unfortunately, in one sense only, the person who truly knew how the keys worked is, well, very, very dead.'

‘Did you find anything …'

‘Actually, yes, we found a small notebook written in code. Our best people are attempting to decipher it even as we speak.'

‘That's good, Professor.'

Colm closed his eyes for a moment.

‘Don't tell anyone, but I'm a bit scared.'

‘No one can blame you for that. But don't give up hope yet. We have people working night and day on a cure. And you have some unlikely, but resourceful allies.'

‘Professor, I never give up,' Colm said as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.