Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart (18 page)

Veronica gave thanks for the plate glass that separated them. The creature, only a few feet away, was one of the most terrifying beasts she had ever seen, and as it bobbed its head, tracking her every movement, she felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck.

It opened its jaws and she saw a splash of goat’s blood make its way down its wriggling tongue and drip from the corner of its beak. She shuddered as she imagined what that beak could do to a human being if it were ever given the chance.

Thankfully, the beast appeared to give up on her then, turning to join its kin on the other side of the enclosure. Then, almost without warning, the bird twisted and lashed out, striking the glass pane violently with its beak. The panel shook in its frame but held.

Veronica started, but was reassured by Newbury’s grip on her arm. “Brutish creatures, aren’t they?” he said. She could tell from the timbre of his voice that he, too, was startled by the bird’s sudden attempt to break free.

“It’s more than that,” she said, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. “It’s the look in their eyes, too. They seem to understand what’s going on. It’s almost as if they’re taunting us.”

“They certainly seem to have a keen intelligence,” said Newbury. “I imagine it makes them formidable predators. They probably hunt in packs.”

“I shouldn’t like to find out,” said Veronica, flatly. “I’d rather they’d left them in the Congo, where they belong.”

“Hmmm,” said Newbury. She didn’t know whether that meant mild disagreement, or simply that he was distracted by what was occurring beside the search lamp.

The crowds had thinned to almost nothing now that there was little to see, which afforded her a good view of proceedings. Angelchrist and Bainbridge stood shoulder to shoulder, looking on while the replacement operator—a swarthy-looking chap, dressed in similar overalls to his predecessor—fiddled and toyed with the controls of the lamp, feigning frustration as he tried to get them to work.

It was almost as if Angelchrist had choreographed it: Within moments the man had thrown up his hands in despair, signalling to others elsewhere in the crowd, who swarmed in a few seconds later to form a small circle around the exhibit. There must have been ten of them, at least, each dressed in matching overalls. They exchanged a few words, then began drawing tools out of leather pouches attached to their belts. A moment later they were busily at work loosening bolts to strip the lamp from its housing.

Newbury took a step forward. “What is he waiting for?” he hissed in frustration. “They’ll be away with it in a moment if he doesn’t hurry.”

Veronica searched the crowd for any signs of the Service men. Where were they?

The birds had begun to rap insistently on the glass barrier beside her again. She turned to glower at them. Her head snapped back round, however, at the report of a pistol being fired from somewhere close by.

She caught a glimpse of one of the German agents folding in half and collapsing to the floor, then she was being jostled as confused people pushed past her as they fled the scene.

More pistols fired. Suddenly, everyone was screaming. Throughout the exhibition hall, the crowds erupted into a boiling mass of torsos and limbs as people fled, pushing and shoving, sweeping up their children, shouldering each other out of the way as they rushed for the exit.

Newbury grabbed Veronica’s hand and dragged her towards where Bainbridge and Angelchrist were taking cover close to the fossilised giant. The battle between the Service men and the German agents had swiftly descended into a firefight, and she watched in horror as a young man no more than three feet from where she was standing took a bullet in the face, blood erupting from the back of his skull in a fine, billowing mist. His body jerked in shock and slumped to the ground, sending his weapon skittering across the tiles.

She heard the crack of broken glass from over her shoulder, and looked back to see the panel on the side of the giant bird enclosure splinter around an impact crater caused by a stray shot. The birds squawked and stamped their feet, raising their beaks to the sky and hissing.

“Get down!” cried Newbury, pushing her to the floor as the firefight intensified around them. She saw another of the German agents slump to the ground beside the search lamp. Around him his cohorts were attempting to retreat, returning fire with wild abandon as they fought for their lives. Bullets pinged off the nearby exhibits, ricocheting into the screaming crowd.

Veronica heard the rapping of the birds again, striking the glass with their beaks. She was about to dismiss it as an unnecessary distraction when she heard the glass begin to fracture beneath their ministrations. She twisted around, glancing back in time to see the entire panel shatter in a shower of glittering fragments. The impact of the bullet had clearly weakened the integrity of the panel, and the birds had taken advantage of this opportunity, exploiting the damaged pane. She watched, dumbstruck, as the first of the beasts burst through the makeshift opening, thundering out into the hall and scattering broken glass. It raised its head to the sky and bellowed in triumph before lurching towards the nearest group of fleeing civilians and snapping at them with its powerful jaws.

They scattered, screaming, as they saw it coming, but the creature moved with surprising speed and grace for its size. Its razor-sharp beak closed on the head of a middle-aged man, ripping it clean off in one sudden motion and tossing the body aside with the momentum. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, coating everything in the vicinity, and the bird, emitting a deep gurgling from its throat, thrust its crown back and swallowed the man’s head with a single gulp. Unsatiated, it darted forward, searching for another victim.

Veronica realised that, to the creature, the screaming crowds of people must have looked like a scattering herd of cattle or gazelles. Prey.

“We must stop them!” she shouted to Newbury, who was prone on the floor beside her, his hat long since lost and trampled, his hair mussed, his suit crumpled and out of sorts.

He gave her a pleading look, as if to say Must we?, but then, with a single nod of agreement, he climbed to his feet, helping her up beside him. The shooting was now confined to the area immediately around them. With a quick glance to ensure that Bainbridge and Angelchrist had not been harmed, Veronica turned, steeled herself, and then rushed directly into the path of the second bird, which was just emerging from the break in the barrier.

She waved her arms frantically to catch the beast’s attention. It hissed menacingly and pushed itself out through the ragged hole in the glass, shedding vibrantly coloured feathers as they scraped upon the jagged edges.

Veronica, still waving, inched backwards, leading the bird slowly away from the stream of people on the other side of the enclosure.

The beast tracked her movements, its beady eyes intent, narrowed. It opened its immense jaws and screeched at her, a piercing, guttural croak that left her ears ringing and her heart hammering in her breast.

She felt the wash of its warm breath and balked at the ripe stink of rancid meat, gagging back the bile she felt rising in the back of her throat. This close, she could see the creature’s downy feathers were spattered with faeces and spilt blood; viscera, she presumed, from the butchered goat. She swallowed, trying to anticipate its next move.

The bird seemed larger and more terrifying now that there was no glass partition between them, and she fought to suppress the feeling of creeping dread that threatened to overwhelm her. She had no weapon, no way of defending herself if the beast decided to launch an attack. Which, judging by the gleam in its eye and its threatening posture, was a distinct possibility.

Veronica stepped to the left and the bird mirrored her movement, its head dipping. Its splayed talons scratched nervously at the ground and its wings beat furiously. It issued a low, sinister hissing sound. She shifted right and it followed her precisely, as if entranced, never taking its eyes from her. She stepped back and it stepped forward, keeping time, still taut and poised for a sudden strike. As soon as she turned to run it would be upon her, its deadly beak snapping at her, threatening to rip her apart.

She’d lost track of Newbury and she dared not turn around to look for him. Any sudden movement, any attempt to take her eyes off the monster would provide it with the opportunity to attack. She could show no hesitation.

To her left, the crowds were thinning as the civilians bolted for the exit, pursued by the other, squawking bird. She’d managed to distract one, at least, preventing it from feasting on the mass of innocent people, but she had no idea what to do next. She cursed herself for not thinking through her actions. Distracting the creature was one thing; getting herself clear was quite another.

Veronica took another step back, watching the bird creep forward in time with her movements.

“Maurice?” she called, her voice wavering. She didn’t take her eyes off the creature in front of her as she spoke.

“Over here!” he called. “Lure it over here!”

She didn’t look round, but followed his voice, slowly walking backwards towards where she thought he was. “What are you going to do?” she called, twitching as the bird tentatively snapped its jaws, cleaving the air only inches from her face. As she quickened her pace, still walking backwards, she could tell it was growing nervous, weighing the right time to strike.

The percussive bang of a pistol firing just over her shoulder caused her to start, stumbling backwards. Her feet lost their traction on the tiles and she fell. She thrust out her hands to break her fall, and twisted as she dropped, but still struck the ground hard, catching her chin on her forearm. She called out in shock and pain and rolled, groaning, only to see the beast still looming over her. It was bleeding from a bullet wound in its face, shaking its head in frustration.

She risked a glance round to see Newbury standing a few feet away, his legs planted firm, his arms outstretched and clutching a pistol. He squeezed the trigger again, and then again, emptying the chamber. The bird bucked and screamed as the bullets ripped into its torso, but still it did not stop.

“Veronica! Get out of the way!” he bellowed, but it was too late. She had nowhere to go, no time left in which to run. The massive bird screeched and thrust its beak at her, and she was forced to roll urgently to the left to avoid being impaled.

The beak smashed into the tiles with a force that she felt reverberating in her bones, and the bird reared up, hissing, readying itself for another strike.

Veronica screamed, this time rolling to the right as the beak descended once again, crashing down only inches from her cheek, so that the back of her head bounced painfully against the tiles. She screamed again. Her head was swimming.

Almost as if in slow motion, she saw the monster pull back then whip its neck forward again, its jaws yawning open in readiness.

This is it
, she thought as she cried out in terror, her throat raw from screaming.
This is how I die
.

The jaws descended … and then the creature emitted a strangled cry and reared back, swinging its head from side to side in confusion. For a moment Veronica had no idea what was happening. It was as if she were being assaulted by a random sequence of images, none of them quite making any sense: the writhing beast, a flashing light, the shadow of her own hand over her face. She could hear nothing but the roar of blood in her ears, drowning out everything else. She breathed and exhaled; blinked.

And then reality rushed in again, and everything snapped into focus.
The lamp!

She pulled herself up onto her hands and knees. The bird was still thrashing back and forth, stumbling as it tried to get away from the light. She glanced at Newbury, who was clinging to the search lamp amongst a heap of dead German agents, swinging it around so that the brilliant beam flickered in the beast’s eyes, dazzling it.

“Quickly!” bellowed Newbury.

“Quickly
what
?” she cried.

“Kill it!” he returned, exasperated.

Veronica stared at the creature for a moment. With what? She glanced around her in desperation. Nearby, the corpse of a dead Service man lay crumpled, face down. Blood streamed from a wound in his head, pooling on the tiles around him. His hands were splayed to either side of him, and in his right he still clutched the pistol he’d been firing before he took a bullet of his own.

She ran to his side, dropping to her knees and fumbling for the gun. The dead man’s fingers were still warm, and his grip on the weapon’s handle was still firm. She tried yanking the gun free, but his hold remained steadfast.

“Hurry!” called Newbury.

She looked round. The bird was staggering in her direction, bobbing and ducking its head. It had realised that it took some time to swivel the lamp around in its housing, and was moving quickly, attempting to stay out of the path of the dazzling beam.

Veronica grunted as she tried desperately to prise the weapon free. She heard the thud of the bird’s footsteps from behind her, felt its presence over her shoulder, the intake of air as it drew breath to screech. The gun came free in her hands and she twisted. Just as the beast opened its chasm-like jaws, she raised the pistol and fired directly into its mouth.

The bird emitted an agonised wail and took a step back, and Veronica climbed hesitantly to her feet. The creature’s mouth was still hanging open, the jaws working slightly, as if unable to close.

She raised her arms and squeezed the trigger again, and then again, loosing shots into the bird’s mouth, blowing holes in the back of its throat, the top of its skull. The creature took one final step backwards, and then, with a deep exhalation, crumpled unceremoniously to the floor.

Veronica allowed the pistol to slide out of her grip, clattering noisily upon the tiles.

She heard Newbury’s footsteps as he abandoned the lamp and came rushing to her side. “Are you hurt?” he asked, urgent, breathless.

“I’m fine,” she said. She glanced around, looking for the others. The entire scene was one of carnage. Bodies were strewn across the ground, scattered around the nearby exhibits. Most of them were dressed in overalls or black suits; agents. At least those men had known what they were getting into. The same could not be said of the civilians who had perished in the botched operation. She cursed Angelchrist for the irresponsible way he had handled the matter. Questions would undoubtedly be asked.