Others (43 page)

It was filled with smoke coming through the door to the staircase next to the lift which was wide open, no doubt left that way after Louise had shepherded the ‘others’ through, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for the fire to follow the smoke. I quickly looked into the office on my left, not expecting to find anyone there, but taking no chances. It was empty and I assumed the orderly, who had almost discovered us earlier, had returned to the activities below before Louise’s arrival. A noise behind me made me whirl round.

Constance was coming towards me through the smoke, the rubber tips of her elbow crutches clumping against the floor, her anxious face smeared with smoke-grime, tear-streaks creating white rivers down her cheeks.

‘Go back!’ I told her roughly. ‘I can manage on my own.’

She came on and was in my arms before I could raise another protest.

‘I’m… I’m so sorry,’ I heard her say.

‘You don’t have to be, Constance,’ I said close to her ear. ‘None of this is your fault. You couldn’t know the full story.’

‘I should have done something about it. I’ve had suspicions for a long time. I shouldn’t have cooperated in the way Hildegarde did. When I talked to Leonard about it, he said that nobody could do as well for them as he. Outside this home they would all be treated as freaks. He told me that only he knew how to keep them alive. His researches had taught him how. He knew the treatment, the best drugs to use - Leonard
believed
he was the only physician who could help them properly and I wanted to believe him. I
made
myself believe him.’

‘Maybe he was right in a sense. How many like them are out on the streets, how many do we see outside? I find it hard to believe they all die at birth, so where are those who survive? In places similar to this? In the test laboratories somewhere? Or are they quietly terminated when nothing more can be done for them? I despised Wisbeech, but in the beginning, and in a weird way, he was trying to do something for them as well as his own brother. I guess the ideal just got corrupted along the way.’

I could feel the heat coming through the soles of my shoes as we stood there and smoke was seeping from the cracks between floorboards.

‘Jesus!’ I exclaimed. ‘We don’t have much time, Constance. Let’s find Michael and get out of here!’

I started to move away, but she clung to me.

‘Nick. Downstairs… what was…’

She was finding it hard to say the words, so I made it easier for her.

‘You were tranked. You didn’t know what was going on. Your caring guardian had spiked something you drank with Rohypnol and God knows what else. He’s… he
was
… a skilful doctor and he knew the correct dosages to give you. Hell, he knew all about drugs and their effects.’

I squeezed my eye shut but the thoughts only became sharper, the pictures more focused. Oh Lord, what had Constance been forced to do when she was under…?

‘I love you, Nick.’

I hugged her close. She had said something I’d waited all my life to hear, just someone saying they loved me; but only in the wildest of my dreams did I imagine it would come from someone as wonderful as Constance. You might think I was compromising, taking the love of a crippled girl because I couldn’t do better. You might think that, but you’d be wrong. Constance was no compromise, despite her disability: she was a prize, a wonderful, unexpected prize.

I was shaking my head in wonder as I began to say, ‘You’ve no idea -‘

A soft hand on my lips stopped me. ‘I do,’ she said simply. ‘I felt it the very moment you arrived in my life. I know how you feel, Nick, because it’s the same for me. I hope I haven’t let you down…’

Something crashed on the level beneath us. Something in the laboratory. The floor seemed to tremble for a second or two.

‘Let’s hurry,’ Constance said and sprang away from me, turning around with the aid of her crutches and making for the entrance to the dormitory.

I should have held on to her for a moment longer, should have squeezed her tightly, should have crushed her to my chest. Right then, I should have kissed her. But there was no chance - she was gone.

I hurried after her.

Light from the open doorway helped us find Michael as we made our way along the cot beds. The heat was stifling in the dormitory and the smoke was like a drifting haze before us and I offered my handkerchief to Constance so that she could use it as a mask. She declined, telling me she could not hold it and use the crutches at the same time, so I reluctantly stuffed it back into my trouser pocket: I’d use it myself only when absolutely necessary - which wouldn’t be long by the look of things, for as we had passed the stairway in the area outside the dormitory, I had noticed the red glow on the far wall, reflections of the fire raging on the lower floor.

Michael was squirming helplessly on his cot and I could hear that peculiar keening sound coming from him as he rocked his tiny head from side to side. I still found it hard to look at him, despite everything else I’d seen that night, but I reminded myself that this was a human being - a
young
human being - with a soul like everybody else. And if there was no such thing as a soul, well, he had a goodness inside him that had won him the affection of his fellow-inmates, and he had used his special telepathic gift to help them all. He had also insisted that Louise help the others before attending to him.

He stopped moving as I leaned over him, only that lipless mouth continuing to pulsate. His pink, blind eyes seemed to seek me out.

‘Everything’s fine, Michael,’ I said as soothingly as I could. ‘Constance is with me and we’re going to get you out of here.’

‘He knows,’ Constance said.

‘Uh?’

‘Michael is aware I’m here. He always knows.’

Will he hear me if I speak to him?’

‘He’ll hear you if you only think.’

When I reached down and touched his silky skin, an odd sensation swept through me, travelling up my arm and settling in my chest. It was a feeling of prodigious warmth -warmth that had nothing to do with the raging fire threatening us, for it was of the emotional kind. It might sound trite, but it was a feeling of immense love and I almost staggered back with the impact. Michael was showing me his gratitude; his gratitude and his
trust.
It was as if he had physically embraced me.

I began to understand his power then, this sensory gift that had enabled Michael
and
the others to reach out collectively with their minds to find me, Louise Broomfield the bridge between us, her own psychic skills the necessary link, for I had no such powers. What Michael could not foretell, though, was that the minds of the creatures kept in the underground cells, these other ‘others’, had also linked with his mind and it was their malign nature that had changed it into a nightmare for me. They had usurped the message so that it had become an abomination.

Almost tenderly, I wrapped the bedsheet around him and lifted him from the cot. All sense of revulsion immediately left me and I held him to my chest as you might hold an infant.

Constance tucked in the edges of the bedsheet around him before softly placing two fingers against his undefined cheek. Smoke was pouring between the floorboards as we headed back towards the door. Constance saw it first and gave out a small, shrill cry. I groaned when I looked.

In the wide, open entrance to the dormitory there now lurked the thing that had murdered and mutilated Henry, the monster that Wisbeech had wanted to film copulating with Constance. The creature I thought had died in the fire below.

It swayed in the doorway, naked once more, the fire behind silhouetting its figure so that it really did resemble a demon from Hell. I could not see the shadowed face, the damaged eye, those terrible needle-sharp teeth.

But I knew it was watching me. I could feel its hatred.

It was then that flames began to leap upwards from the dormitory’s crackling floor.

47

We could hear its snuffling as it suddenly loped towards us, waving those wicked-looking claws before it as it came, as though trying to smote the smoke-filled air away.

‘Nick!’

Constance’s scream was directed at me, as if she, too, understood the creature’s intention, that I was the one it was coming for.

The robe it had been forced to wear had probably been burned away by the fire in the studio-room and I briefly -
very
briefly, for the distance between us was rapidly diminishing - wondered how the hell it had escaped the conflagration. It seemed impossible that it could have got to the burning door and opened it while others inside were burnt alive. I remembered that this thing was lacking in fear so maybe it had just run right through the fire; or maybe it had found its way back to the dungeon, using the same route we’d taken earlier to reach the studio, past the cells, then up the staircase, all the way to this level, because the other floors and hallways were burning. Maybe its mind had tuned into Michael’s - these creatures had done so before - and so it knew where to find me.

As it came towards me I saw that its black, wiry body-hair had been completely burned away, its skin horribly blistered and scorched, its flesh seared to a deeper red than before; its big hands were raw, its clawed fingers glistening with seepages, catching the light from individual fires around the room. Its long penis hung down between its legs, still peculiarly menacing even in its flaccid state. I wanted to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction
(my
brain wasn’t missing any special neurons), but there was nowhere
to
run. The dormitory ended in a blank, windowless wall. I knew I had to stand and fight for the sake of Constance and Michael alone; I also knew that, as before, I didn’t stand a chance against it.

‘Take him!’
I yelled at Constance, thrusting my burden towards her.

She immediately dropped her crutches, and took Michael from me. I didn’t even bother to see if she could bear his weight: I twisted round and picked up a narrow cot by its metal frame, tilting it so that the mattress slid off; then, holding it like a battering ram, the springy wire base against my chest and shoulder, one hand at the end, the other holding the lower side of the frame, I charged towards the rushing
beast,
yelling a hoarse war cry as I did so.

We met midway and, using all the considerable power of my arms and shoulders, I smashed the metal headrail straight into the creature’s face. It hadn’t even had the sense to try and avoid the makeshift ram and it staggered back, too stupid to be surprised. It gave a kind of animal grunt and I followed up with another hard blow, aiming for the chest-centred head again. The
beast
lost balance and I ran at it again, this time knocking it down, opening up a wound in its skull. It crouched over its knees on the floor, head turned so that its yellow eyes could watch me, those deadly needle teeth gnashing at the air.

As I raised the cot-frame yet again, hoping to knock the creature senseless, its hand shot out and caught the end rail. It tried to pull the cot from my grasp, but I hung on and went with the momentum, adding my own force to push the
beast
backwards. It toppled and I pushed even harder, trying to keep it pinned to the smouldering floor.

‘Constance!’
I yelled.
‘Get out, quickly! I can’t hold it for long!’

She hesitated and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was afraid to get past the thing struggling on the floor, or because she didn’t want to leave me.

‘Constance!’
I shouted her name as a command and this time she obeyed.

With Michael in her arms, she cautiously edged round the floundering figure, her wasted legs moving awkwardly, while I fought the
beast,
constantly shoving the end of the cot into its face, knocking it back each time it tried to rise. The demon-thing grabbed the end rail again and pulled, bringing me with it. I let go and swiftly reached for another cot nearby, dragging it towards me, its metal legs scraping against the floorboards. With strength I hadn’t known I had left, I lifted the cot and threw it on top of the
beast.
Immediately, I grabbed another, sliding it over the floor, lifting and hurling it on top of the
beast,
who was frantically grappling with the two already bearing down on it, kicking out with its legs so that they became caught up in the metal frames. It yowled in frustration as it tried to get clear, but I kept them coming, burying it beneath more and more cots and beds, using mattresses and chairs too, anything I could find to build a tangled pile over the feral creature. As I hauled yet another bed towards the growing stack, the mattress fell to the floor, its cheap plastic cover instantly melting as it brushed one of the many fires springing up through the floorboards, the material inside - a foam block, I think -flaring up, rapidly becoming a blaze. I dropped the bed-frame and picked up the burning mattress by its corner, tossing it on to the heap. Fiery pieces of melting plastic dripped on to other mattresses in the heaving pile and these, too, caught alight.

I didn’t hang around: I circled what was fast-becoming a funeral pyre, stooping to pick up one of Constance’s discarded elbow crutches, which I’d almost tripped over, and hobbled towards the double doors, ignoring the screeches of the trapped
beast,
who had had a taste of fire and its consequences earlier so understood the trouble it was in even if there was no fear involved. I avoided the spreading fires that were quickly joining forces to become one massive conflagration, the heat intense, the atmosphere poisoned with black, boiling smoke. I found Constance on her knees in the doorway, the burden of Michael too much for her; she was dragging him along the floor, her thin arms trembling with the effort. She looked at me in weepy surprise when I hauled her to her feet and handed her the metal crutch. I scooped Michael up and held him against my shoulder with one arm; the other arm I used to take Constance’s elbow and lead her through the doorway.

We stopped, aghast. Constance almost collapsed against me.

Fire had spread from the open door to the stairway across the whole area between us and the door to the main building, creating a raging wall of flame that completely cut off our escape. We realized that the whole top floor would soon be an inferno.

I searched around desperately, looking for a way out, aware that we had but a few minutes left before we were either choked to death by the smoke and lack of oxygen, or were burnt alive. The lift was close by to our left, its metal doors closed, flames belching out from the stairway door next to it. That was no good though - even if it were still operating it would only take us down to a worse hellfire below.

Constance brushed her cheek against my upper arm and I thought I heard her say my name. When I glanced down at her she looked so helpless, so defeated. I cursed my own uselessness, angry at myself for failing her, and I swore at the cruel irony of it all, that having finally found someone to love, someone who could truly love me in return
and
on equal terms, that joy, that fulfilment, was now to be snatched away, and in the grimmest way possible. The anger swelled inside me and I turned back to the dormitory behind us, still hoping to find a way out.

I had felt deep despair in my miserable little life on more than one occasion (several hundred occasions, I figured), but when I saw the
beast
emerging from the burning heap I’d tried to bury him under, I think I felt the deepest, blackest despair of all. It was as if God, Himself, were playing some wicked joke on me, setting me up for one fall after another.
Cannons to the left, cannons to the right…
Those stupid fucking lines ran through my head as if my own mind had decided to join in the mocking game.

The
beast
thing, a man-demon from another culture, hurled a cot from its path and staggered towards me.

‘Nick, we must get to the top?
Constance was tugging at me again and shouting over the roar and crackle of the fire.

‘We can’t!’
I yelled back.
‘The stairway’s an inferno, we’d never make if

‘The lift! We can use the lift! The attic is used as a storeroom and they take heavy stuff up in the lift all the time!’

There was the light of hope in her eyes and it was a pity it wasn’t infectious. I knew we didn’t have time, even if the lift was still working. The
beast
would be on us before those metal doors even had a chance to open. And if the
beast
didn’t take us, then the all-consuming fire would. It was hopeless, but how could I tell her that?

Once again, I passed Michael over to her.
‘Get to the lift. Press the button and if it comes, don’t wait for me.’

‘No!’

‘There’s no choice. Just do as I say.’

I pushed her roughly towards the metal doors, but she steadied herself, looking at me beseechingly.

‘Do it!’
I screamed.
‘Think of Michael?

I didn’t wait to see if she would do as I told her - there was no time. I turned back to the dormitory to face the approaching monster.
Shit,
I told myself.
Shit, shit, shit.

And then, aloud, my own defiant war cry:
‘Fuckiiiit!’
At least I’d give Constance and Michael a chance.

I expected to die right then and there, but curiously, I no longer cared. Life itself was taking the piss and I’d had enough. I rushed to meet the foe.

But the whole building rocked when something exploded in the laboratory below - a gas pipe, chemicals, who knows? Maybe, just maybe, it was the hand of God, the combustible hand of God - and the floor between the creature and myself split open, a jet of fire blasting through. I was thrown backwards out of the room, a shower of debris and burning wood landing on and around me. I curled up into a tight ball, covering my face with my arms, deafened by the roar, my head reeling. When shrapnel no longer rained down on me, I risked looking back into the dormitory, but all I could see were great billows of smoke pouring out, the wooden frame of the doorway itself on fire. One side of the double doors lay burning a couple of feet away from me; where the other side had gone I had no idea.

I felt fierce heat at my back and realized I had landed dangerously close to the fire that had spread from the stairway. I rolled away, coming to one knee, but not quite ready to rise to my feet: my head was so dizzy I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my balance.

Constance was huddled by the lift doors, Michael, like an infant in swaddling, held in her arms. Her eyes seemed even larger against the black grime that covered her face and her lips, those dear, lovely lips, were moving as though she were trying to tell me something. I crawled over to her, the heat almost overwhelming me, the eerie silence all around making everything seem unreal. I wondered why they were huddled there, why Constance’s mouth was opening and closing, and why she was pointing at my head. And when I reached them, I wondered why she was attacking me, slapping my head with the flat of her hand. Sounds began to return, as though her slaps were beating my ears into obedience; I heard her excited voice, but it was still a long way off and I couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell me. But when the numbness finally went and the pain set in, I realized my hair was on fire. I yelped, striking at my own head, but Constance was smarter: she unravelled some of the sheet covering Michael and pulled it tight over my head, pressing it down and smothering any flames that had survived our beating hands. Not just my scalp, but my face and hands felt singed, eyebrows just stubble, and there were brown patches on my shirt and trousers where flying embers had landed to be instantly dislodged by my own movement Still confused, but my hearing swiftly returning to normal, I covered both Constance and Michael with my own body, shielding them from the overpowering heat that was now coming from all directions. I struggled to draw in breath, not quite sure why we were all huddled against this warm metal wall, when something clanked behind it and it split in two, opening up in the middle so that all three of us toppled through.

We lay there gasping on the floor, the air inside only slightly easier to breathe, smoke soon billowing in after us. My full senses came back in a rush and I hauled myself to my feet, a shaking hand reaching for the lift buttons. I was almost tempted to press the G button in the hope that the ground level fire had almost burned itself out, giving us a chance to get out of the building through the hallway: common sense prevailed though and my trembling finger stabbed at the top button.

It took at least two seconds, which felt like a lifetime, for anything to happen; then the door slowly, oh so slowly, began to come together.

Smoke continued to billow through the narrowing gap as I helped Constance, who still clutched Michael to her breast, to her feet. We pressed together against the back wall of the lift to escape the worst of the heat outside and Michael’s little limbless body convulsed as though he were having trouble breathing, a wheezing sound coming from the aperture that was his mouth. Constance and I glanced anxiously at each other, wondering if he could take much more. I looked back at the lift doors, willing them to close faster, the smoke beyond them glowing orange. I stiffened when I thought I saw something move amidst those swirling, coloured clouds. It was gone in an instant, but still I watched the ever-narrowing breach with a puzzled - and concerned - eye.

There were perhaps three inches of the gap left when the dark form smashed against the door, clawed fingers reaching round each side to pull them apart again. Constance screamed and I think I yelled - okay, maybe I screamed too - as an arm, burnt raw, the skin of it puckered and blistered, reached through, the clawed hand, with its open, weeping sores scrabbling at the smoky air between us. The gap had widened again and I saw a yellow eye -
a demon’s eye
-seeking me out. I pushed Constance aside, into a corner, and prayed - prayed yet again - that the lift doors were not the kind that sprung back when they met an obstacle. Fortunately, these were not of the sophisticated variety, and they continued in trying to close, the arm and the fingers of the other arm trying to push through, long fingernails, blackened by fire, almost scratching my face.