Death Day (29 page)

    Ron Bell, driving, slowed the car as he saw something move ahead of him. He nudged Davies, who had been peering out of the side window and pointed to the area where he had seen the movement. All three men felt the tension rising as Bell edged the Panda closer. Its bright headlamps suddenly swung on the source of the disturbance.

    It was a cat.

    Caught in the sudden glare it hissed and fled from the blinding light. The trio of men in Puma One felt the tension drain from them and Bell breathed a sigh of audible relief.

    They drove on.

    

    

    Debbie Lambert had found what she searched for.

    She had discovered the information about fifteen minutes ago and now she reread it, translating quickly, scribbling the words down like a journalist with a scoop. There were two entire pages about Mathias. She looked back through her notes, found that she was running short of paper and realized that she had more upstairs.

    It was as she dashed into the hall that she heard the scratching at the front door.

    

    

    'Puma Three to all cars. Anything to report?'

    Lambert's voice rasped in the closed confines of the other two Pandas. Hayes and Davies responded that, as yet, they had seen nothing.

    'Keep in touch,' ordered Lambert, 'over and out.' He replaced the hand set and wound the window down a little further, gulping in the crisp night air. They had now reached the edge of the industrial area and its countless tall chimneys towered above them as Briggs guided the car slowly along the wide roads, keeping it dead centre.

    'If you see anything,' said Lambert, 'let me know.'

    It was darker than he had imagined, especially in this part of the town, for there were no street lights, just the occasional naked bulb which shone outside a factory entrance. The Inspector made a mental note to have this area checked out in the morning. The things had to be hiding somewhere and out here offered countless possibilities. A thought crossed his mind. There was no evidence to support his own theory that they were, indeed, all holed up in the same place during the day and the thought that they could well be spread out all over town made his heart sink. It would mean searching every empty house, every cellar, every disused shop. He shook his head and sighed deeply.

    

    

    When Debbie first heard the scratching she paused, heart pounding against her ribs, listening. It stopped abruptly but still she stood in the darkness of the hall until, at last, she sprinted upstairs to their bedroom and found some paper. When she reached the hall again, she switched on the light and stood there for a second. The lock and bolt were secure but she tested them just to set her mind at ease. Satisfied, but nonetheless uneasy, she returned to the living room which was comfortingly aglow with the light of three lamps. She sat down at her desk and reread the passage on Mathias, this time transcribing onto a fresh piece of paper. Her eyes stung from the hours of continual reading but she persevered, realizing that she had reached her goal.

    The medallion glinted dully beside her and she looked at it for a second.

    There was a rattling from the back of the house. Debbie heard it but ignored it, or tried to. She continued writing.

    It grew louder.

    A noise now at the front again. That scratching, only more insistent this time.

    It stopped.

    She looked up, glanced across at the telephone and wondered whether or not to call the station. But, when the sounds didn't persist, she shook her head, told herself that it was her imagination and returned to her work. The transcription was beginning to take shape, almost finished in fact. She read it through twice, struggling with its ancient construction. The meaning was in there somewhere, it was just a matter of finding it. The words on the paper stood out starkly, written in her own neat script. She read them to herself:

    
This year of the Almighty, 1596, in ground not Blessed of the Church is buried the one known as Mathias. This man did dare to oppose God: buried without tongue or eyes, removed in the sight of those present by hot pincers: Blasphemer, Servant of the Fallen Angel. Buried with him be the symbol of his evil. The instrument with which he hoped to reverse the very rightful process of death; to defy the Almighty; to bring life to the Dead.

    Debbie shuddered.
My God, that was the tie up.
She looked at the medallion.

    A MORTUIS EXCITARE - TO AWAKE THE DEAD.

    She had more below that first transcription:

    
May he he, buried yet whilst alive, forever in the place chosen. Without the Kingdom of the Almighty for the rest of Eternity.

    So engrossed was she in her find, she didn't even hear the rattling begin once more at the back of the house. Debbie read on:

    
And now, though he wear that symbol of his Blasphemy let it not be removed; but, if so done, be it not returned to its owner for there is a power beyond that of man in its presence. Reunited with the symbol of his evil the one known as Mathias may yet attain The Power.

    Debbie put down the transcript and looked at the medallion. She felt compelled to reach out and touch it but something told her not to. The gleaming metal winked up at her and she shuddered. 'The Power.' She glanced at her notes once more. At last, they knew the secret of the medallion.

    It was then that she heard the rattling.

    Breathing heavily, she got to her feet and crossed to the door which led out into the kitchen, suddenly aware of how cold it had become. She pushed the door and peered into the room, taking a step in, the linoleum cold against her bare feet. The rattling grew louder and she looked towards the locked back door.

    The handle was being turned frenziedly back and forth.

    'Oh God,' murmured Debbie under her breath. She flicked on the kitchen lights, watching as the bank of fluorescents burst into life. The door handle was slammed back and forth with renewed strength and now, a series of dull thuds began to break against it, gradually building to a crescendo which she realized were powerful blows.

    She turned, slammed the door behind her and dashed for the phone in the living room. Her shaking fingers found the required digits and she dialed, the pounding growing in intensity. Her breath came in gasps as she waited for the receiver to be picked up at the other end. She heard three words: 'Medworth Police Station…'

    The line went dead.

    'Hello,' gasped Debbie, flicking desperately at the cradle. Her voice grew in volume. 'Hello!' Almost in tears, she flung the useless receiver down. She murmured Lambert's name, ran to the window and dragged back the curtains.

    With a mournful puff, the street lamps blew out.

    Debbie bit her fist and spun around, the smashing of glass telling her that the window had been shattered. Then, as she spun round to draw the curtains once more, she found herself staring into the grinning face of Ray Mackenzie, those twin blood red blazing orbs fixing her in an unholy stare and she finally summoned her voice for a scream.

    

    

    Puma Three cruised around the industrial estate five or six times. Every so often Lambert and Jenkins would get out to check an open gate or some movement in the shadows, but each time, to their relief, they found nothing. On such occasions, one man would investigate while the other stood nearby, gun at the ready; never were they far from the car. Lambert told Briggs to keep his engine running whenever they stopped and its idling hum was something of a comfort in the stifling silence of the night.

    Finally, satisfied that the area was clear, Lambert told Briggs to head for the outskirts of town with the intention of sweeping the country roads and outlying houses for any sign of activity. After that, they would head back into the built up areas.

    As they drove, Lambert fumbled inside his jacket and pulled the Browning from its holster. He pressed the magazine release button and the slim metal box slid from the butt.

    'Shit,' muttered the Inspector, noting that it was empty. He fumbled in his pockets, already remembering that he'd left the extra clips at home.

    'Turn the bloody thing round,' he said to Briggs, 'we've got to go back to my house. I left the ammo for the pistol there.' He slid the empty weapon back into its holster, cursing himself. Briggs spun the wheel and the Panda completed a perfect U-turn. Within seconds they were heading back into town.

    

    

    Debbie managed to step back from the window just as Mackenzie thrust a hand at her. It crashed through the glass, showering her with shards of crystal, one of which slashed her cheek drawing a tiny tear of blood. She saw others out there with him. A woman no older than herself, another man. She saw that Mackenzie wasn't looking at her but at the medallion. It glinted invitingly on the desk and the living dead thing grunted, stepping back. Debbie saw him launch himself at the bay window, almost rooted to the spot in awe and terror as his large frame smashed through wood and glass and landed on the carpet a foot or so from her. She screamed once more and grabbed the medallion, vaulting over the stunned man and grabbing at the handle of the hall door. Still lying on the floor, Mackenzie grabbed at her ankle and she felt his clammy hand touch her bare foot as she slipped by.

    She didn't even see the kitchen door burst open and two more of the things rush into the living room.

    Mackenzie, on his feet now, was racing up the stairs behind her, and Debbie was whimpering as she reached the landing. She could sense his closeness, and smell the fetid stench which came from his body.

    A hand closed on her shoulder. Screaming, she fell against Mackenzie, the medallion falling from her grasp. She grabbed the wooden bannister rail to prevent herself from sliding down the stairs.

    Mackenzie was not so lucky. The force of Debbie striking him was enough to make him lose balance and with a startled grunt, he fell back, rolling head over heels down the stairs.

    Debbie scrambled to her feet, peering over her shoulder.

    Mackenzie was on his feet again, corning up at her once more but now there were others behind him. She didn't stop to count, guessing that there were perhaps six. All ages, all sizes. All with one intent.

    She grabbed the medallion, bolted for the bathroom and hurled herself inside, slamming the door shut. She slid the flimsy bolt. There were footsteps on the landing and she heard the sound of doors being flung open, then an almighty crash as one of them threw his weight against the bathroom door. She looked around frantically for a weapon. Anything to fight back with but, all she could see was Lambert's safety razor. She grabbed it, screaming as a fist punched through the thin wooden door. Debbie lashed out, slicing open the back of the hand, ripping away a large chunk of skin which stuck to the hooded razor blade. Blood jetted onto her and the hand was hastily withdrawn but the blows kept raining on the door and she knew that they would be in at any second. Big salt tears welled in her eyes and she said Lambert's name over and over again, watching as more of the door was torn away. She could see them all on the landing peering in at her. One of them, a man in his fifties, stuck his face into the gap and, screaming madly, she raked the razor across his lips. Blood burst forth but there was no expression of pain registered in his eyes because he had no eyes. Just those empty, red-rimmed holes. And yet they saw her. Saw the medallion. And they were grinning.

    

    

    Lambert saw two of the things on his front lawn as Briggs swung the car into the street.

    'Oh God,' he shrieked, with pained horror.

    Already he was grabbing for the shotgun. Briggs stepped on the accelerator and the car sped forward. It mounted the pavement about thirty yards from the house, smashed through the hedge of the house next door and skidded to a halt on the grass in front of Lambert's house. Obvious to the danger, with only thoughts of Debbie in his mind, Lambert leapt from the car, swinging the shotgun up as the two things cowered away from the blazing light of the car headlamps. The Inspector fired three times. The first blast hit the leading creature squarely in the chest, blew half its torso away and flung it a good twelve feet across the lawn.

    'You fuckers,' screamed Lambert, now joined by Jenkins who also fired.

    The second thing was caught in the crossfire and both men were almost joyful as they watched its head disintegrate, a dark shower of blood, brain and shattered bone spraying out into the night.

    Lambert saw the broken front window, the front door hanging uselessly from one torn hinge. He dashed into the hall followed by Jenkins. Briggs, shaking with sheer terror, reversed and brought the headlamps of the car to bear on the front of the house, their powerful beams piercing the blackness and pinpointing two more of the creatures in the living room. He reached for his own gun and scrambled out of the car, aiming at the first of them, a man in his twenties.

    There was a roar as he fired, the shot missing and blasting a hole in the wall beneath the window. Gasping, Briggs worked the pump action and fired again, screaming in terror as he saw the things scrambling over the window sill. Coming for him. He fired again and the discharge was on target. It hit the man in the lower abdomen, blasting away his genitals, almost severing his right leg. The second creature, a woman not yet in her forties, flung herself at him and the young constable went down under her weight. He felt sharp nails tearing at his face and his screams filled the night.