Last Rites (30 page)

The light came on but it was only through a thick film of slime. Mason wiped as much as he could from the plastic, relieved that the beam of light once again cut through the darkness. He stood up, his heart hammering madly against his ribs.

Coulson put a comforting hand on his shoulder and Mason nodded as if to signal that he was regaining control.

‘Come on,’ Coulson said, stepping away from the fallen debris.

Mason followed him, aware that the ground beneath their feet was now more solid.

He shone his torch down and saw why.

Both of them were standing on damp wood.

That realisation was eclipsed a second later as the wood splintered beneath their weight.

They both fell.

79

Mason slammed into the rock with an impact that tore the breath from him.

He rolled over clutching his right side, convinced that he’d shattered at least one rib.When he breathed, a sharp pain bit into his side and chest and he groaned as he rolled over. He couldn’t see a hand in front of him in the gloom but he realised that he and Coulson had fallen no more than ten or fifteen feet through the floor of the tunnel above.

Coulson.

Where was his companion, he wondered? He’d fallen at the same time and Mason had heard his scream of shock and terror as the tunnel floor had swallowed them. Where he was now, however, Mason had no idea.

‘Coulson,’ he whispered into the darkness.

No reply.

Mason crawled a couple of feet in the darkness and called the man’s name again.

This time it was met by a low groan.

‘Here,’ Coulson breathed.

Mason scrambled in the direction of the voice, dragging himself through the freezing wet mud.

Coulson was propped up against a rock, one hand pressed to his head, his body shivering.

‘Are you all right?’ Mason grunted.

‘I think I’ve broken my ankle,’ Coulson slurred. ‘I can’t move it.’ He sounded like a drunk.

‘You’re going to have to,’ Mason sighed.‘I’m not leaving you here.’

‘Just get out, leave me here. Send help when you get out.’

‘It might not be broken,’ Mason insisted, digging into his pocket and pulling out his lighter. He flicked it on, holding the flame up to illuminate his companion.

Coulson’s left leg was extended before him and Mason could see that his foot was twisted at an impossible angle but it wasn’t the broken ankle that was concerning him. It was the damage to Coulson’s skull.

Mason held the lighter higher, the sickly yellow light illuminating the full extent of the damage.

‘What are you looking at?’ Coulson slurred and, at last, Mason realised why his speech was so distorted.

There was a hole in the back of Coulson’s skull the size of a tennis ball and through it, Mason could see a greyish-red matter bulging from the hole in the other man’s skull. He realised with revulsion that it was brain. Coulson’s eyes rolled briefly upwards in the sockets and he tried to speak once more but, this time, no words, just a stream of blood poured from his mouth. Rivulets of the dark fluid were oozing from his nose too.

‘Oh Christ,’ Mason murmured, unable to keep his reaction in check.

Coulson’s head flopped backwards, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

‘Coulson,’ Mason hissed. ‘Stay awake. I’ll get out. I’ll get help.’

It was already too late.

‘Come on,’ Mason said through gritted teeth. He held up his lighter once again in an attempt to see where they were. It looked as if they’d fallen into a culvert of some kind, two of the sides were smooth, the other two were bare rock. Mason glanced upwards to the wooden slats they’d crashed through then held the lighter away from him once more.

The flame was flickering, blown by a strong breeze. Buffeted so much he feared it might go out.

‘There’s air blowing into here from somewhere,’ he mused. ‘I’m guessing from outside.’ He nodded in the direction of the breeze. ‘We should go that way. We can get out.’

Coulson looked blankly at him.

‘I’ll lift you,’ Mason said. ‘Try and get up.’ Even as he spoke he realised how ridiculous his words sounded. Coulson was hovering very close to unconsciousness and, for all the teacher knew, to death. The possibility of him standing up, let alone walking out of this subterranean labyrinth, was out of the question.

‘I’ll go on,’ Mason insisted. ‘I’ll send help. I promise.’

Coulson said nothing. His eyes were already closed.

Mason waited a moment longer, listening to the low, guttural breathing of his injured companion then he began walking.

The lighter grew hot in his hand the longer he held it and, more than once, he had to flick it off and stand still in the darkness until the metal cooled enough to allow him to use it again.

As he walked, he was becoming more and more convinced that his trek was futile. His mind was filling with one unshakeable conviction. That he would never see the surface again. That he would wander helplessly in the gloom below ground until he simply couldn’t walk any longer. Then exhaustion would overtake him and finally hunger and thirst. He would, he was convinced, die in this monstrous place.

He was still considering that appalling fate when he saw the torch beam shining in his direction.

It was fifteen or twenty yards away, bright and welcoming. A beacon in the gloom.

‘This way,’ a familiar voice boomed, echoing off the culvert walls. ‘Come on.’

Mason shuffled forward.

Richard Holmes stood in the middle of the wide culvert, waving the torch back and forth.

‘I told you I’d catch you up,’ Holmes said, conversationally. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

80

‘How the hell did you find me?’ Mason wanted to know as they struggled on.

‘That’s not important now,’ Holmes told him. ‘All that matters is that we get out. Where’s Coulson?’

‘Back there,’ Mason confessed. ‘He’s dying. He fractured his skull when we fell.’ He allowed the words to trail off.

‘We can get him help.’

Mason nodded.

‘It’s like a maze down here,’ he offered. ‘If you hadn’t found me I’d have been dead. Andrew Latham is back there too. He’s dead.’

Holmes pressed on, shining the light ahead of them along the culvert.

‘I said Latham’s dead,’ Mason repeated.

‘Let’s get you out of here first,’ Holmes insisted. ‘Tell me everything when we’ve reached the surface.’

‘What about Kate?’ Mason demanded.

Holmes didn’t speak.

‘Kate?’ Mason persisted.

‘This leads to a central hub,’ Holmes told him. ‘It’s like a sewage pipe. We can get out once we reach it. Then we can get help.’

‘We found a shoe and a piece of cloth,’ Mason informed the other teacher. ‘And there were lanterns in the tunnel above. As if someone had been down here before us. Like they were trying to leave a trail for us.’

Again Holmes remained silent.

‘Not far now,’ he said, finally, pointing to a curve in the pipe.

‘Is Kate down here?’ Mason asked, more forcefully.

‘We need to get you to a doctor,’ Holmes said. ‘Then we can call the police.’

‘Richard,’ Mason insisted. ‘Where’s Kate? If she’s down here I want to know. I want to know if she’s safe.’

‘She’s fine,’ Holmes told him.

‘You’ve seen her then?’

‘She’ll be waiting,’ Holmes assured him.

‘How can you be so sure?’ Mason challenged, gripping the older man’s arm and dragging him back.

‘Trust me,’ Holmes said, flatly.

The men moved on once more. Mason was aware of light at the far end of the culvert. Welcoming yellow light that banished the darkness the closer they got to its source.

‘Thank God,’ Mason breathed.

The light was brighter now. So bright in fact that Mason was forced to squint when he looked towards it but, as his eyes became accustomed to the fierce white luminescence he grew aware of its source.

There were dozens of torches ahead of him. Each one held by a different person.

He noticed that one was held by Nigel Grant. The headmaster was smiling happily as he played the beam over Mason and Holmes. The others were being held by members of staff, every one of them shining the bright lights at the newcomers.

Kate Wheeler held hers too.

Holmes quickened his pace and walked across to join his colleagues, turning his own torch beam on Mason.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Mason murmured.

‘A gathering, Peter,’ Holmes told him.

‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ Nigel Grant added.

‘It’s like a welcome committee,’ Kate Wheeler offered.

Mason shielded his eyes as he looked towards the teachers gathered in front of him.

‘I don’t understand,’ Mason said, warily.

‘We didn’t think that you would,’ Kate Wheeler told him.

‘It isn’t an easy thing to understand,’ Nigel Grant added.

‘And it doesn’t matter that you can’t fathom the reasons, Peter,’ Richard Holmes added. ‘Some things are better left as mysteries.’

Mason took a step backwards.

‘Tell me what’s happening,’ he called.

‘This is almost over, Peter,’ Kate Wheeler told him. ‘For us and for you. But it has to be this way.’

‘We need you,’ Nigel Grant told him.

‘For what?’ Mason gaped.

‘You’re not like us,’ Holmes offered.‘You’re an outsider. You’re different. You don’t belong here and so you’re more acceptable. More potent.’

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ Mason rasped.

‘Does it really matter?’ Nigel Grant said, a note of condescension in his voice. ‘You’re here now, just as we intended.’

Mason looked even more vague.

‘You came here because we wanted you to,’ Grant continued. ‘To this school, to this town and to this place.’

‘And now to where you stand at this very moment,’ Richard Holmes added.

‘Where’s Simon Usher?’ Mason asked, his voice catching.

Kate Wheeler laughed and the sound echoed within the subterranean chamber. It was a noise as grating as fingernails on a blackboard and it caused the hairs on the back of Mason’s neck to rise. When it was joined by that of a number of others, he felt as if his ears would burst from the sound.

‘What’s going on?’ he roared.

‘I suppose it’s only fair that you know,’ Richard Holmes told him. ‘Before this is all over you’ll know everything.’

‘Tell me now,’ Mason demanded.

Kate Wheeler moved towards him and Mason, in spite of himself, went to meet her.

She was smiling as she reached for him. Mason shook his head, wondering why she was holding a hypodermic needle in one hand.

He felt a cold pinprick in his left arm as she ran it into his muscle then stepped back.

‘What’s going on?’ Mason babbled, his head spinning.

Kate stepped away from him. Still smiling.

He saw the lights of the torches moving closer as the watching teachers advanced upon him. Mason tried to move away but it was as if the darkness inside the tunnel had flooded into his brain. Everything before him blurred then disappeared.

He blacked out.

81

From the smell that clogged his nostrils and the darkness around him, Mason knew that he was still underground when he woke up.

He opened his eyes slowly, aware instantly of the pain in his head and also of something clinging to his wrists and ankles. He tried to move and realised immediately that he was bound. Exactly what he was bound to he wasn’t sure but, as he slowly raised his head he could see that he was firmly secured to a large wooden table, held captive by thick ropes around his ankles and wrists. More rope had been fastened around his chest then beneath the table to ensure there was no possibility of him freeing himself.

As his vision cleared a little more he could see that there were figures standing around him. He recognised three of them.

‘If you untie me now I’ll leave,’ Mason said, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation. ‘I’ll walk away from here. From the school, the job. Everything. I won’t tell anyone what’s happened here.’

No one spoke.

‘This is fucking ridiculous,’ Mason shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the subterranean chamber. He strained madly against the ropes for a moment but then fell back helplessly, aware that they weren’t going to budge, only too certain that he was trapped.

‘Tell me what’s happening,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘Why am I here? Why are you doing this to me?’

‘The obligatory explanation before the final resolution, ’ Richard Holmes smiled. ‘Usually so necessary in great works of fiction.’

‘For God’s sake,’ Mason sighed.

‘God has very little to do with this, Peter,’ Holmes continued. ‘Not your God.’

‘Just stop talking in fucking riddles and tell me what’s going on here,’ Mason pleaded.

‘It’s hard to explain,’ Holmes went on.‘At least in terms that you’d understand or in words that wouldn’t sound preposterous.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘It probably relies on you accepting truths that, previously, you would have dismissed as idiotic. Perhaps even lunatic.’

Mason shook his head and exhaled almost painfully.

‘Are you going to kill me?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Holmes told him. ‘We are, or we were, instrumental in bringing you to this place which will be the site of your death but we will not physically take your life ourselves. Something else will do that.’

Mason tried to swallow but his throat was as dry as chalk.

‘What do you mean?’ he croaked.

‘You will die tonight,’ Holmes told him. ‘But not at our hands. It will be something more powerful than us that ends your time here.’

‘Like what?’

‘It’s difficult to find the words to describe it, to be honest,’ Holmes offered, cheerfully.

Mason closed his eyes tightly for a second.

‘Did you kill Simon Usher too?’ he asked, quietly.

‘He came here,’ Kate Wheeler explained. ‘The same way you did. He came because he wanted to. We didn’t make him. He came looking for the treasure of Abbot Bartholomew and, in a way, he found it.’

‘It’s all a matter of free will,’ Holmes added. ‘There had to be a sacrifice.’