Colm & the Ghost's Revenge (15 page)

It felt like all the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. The only problem was the jigsaw they formed was a picture of him and his family in terrible danger. Also, figuring out what The Ghost was up to, if he was right about the plan, wasn't quite the same as being in a position to stop him from doing it. One thing was for certain: being stuck in the boot of a car driven by a goon wasn't helping his case.

The car screeched to a halt. The engine was switched off and the rattling ceased. Colm heard a door open, then footsteps. Muffled sounds in the night. A girl's voice protesting. That must be Lauryn. If they hurt her he would … what? What could he do when he was stuck here?

The voices drifted away. No more footsteps. Everything was quiet now. Too quiet. He tried to concentrate on an escape plan, but his mind didn't seem to want to go down that road. He had nothing. But he couldn't just give up, so he began kicking against the metal above him. Again and again and again. It didn't work. It hardly even made a dent.

He was on the verge of giving up when the boot opened. Colm's eyes were well adjusted to the darkness and he easily made out the features of the man standing above him, although he couldn't see any of his surroundings. To his surprise it wasn't one of the men who had taken him. He was slim and pale. He was wrapped up in a winter coat and wore a beanie hat that was pulled down so low it almost covered his eyes.

‘You still alive,' the man said matter-of-factly.

‘I think so. Who are you?' Colm asked.

‘I am Alexander. I seek revenge. I help you. You help me. We move fast.'

C
olm could hardly believe his good fortune. Of course he was still in the boot of the car and was being flung around again as it was being driven at high speed, but Alexander finding him like that had been a huge stroke of luck. They'd only had a couple of minutes to talk as the tall Russian was anxious to get on the move before McGrue and the other two goons returned from wherever they had taken Lauryn and The Brute, but in that short time Alexander had explained that he was a mercenary who had been in Transylvania trying to uncover one of the Lazarus Keys. He'd barely escaped with his life and his colleagues had been killed by one of the undead, but Alexander had managed to make it to Dublin and was here to take revenge on The Ghost. Even better, the Russian knew where The Ghost was hiding out. Colm didn't know what he was going to do when he met The Ghost, but at least he'd be a lot safer with Alexander on his side.

Then, as the adrenaline from escaping wore off and Colm's euphoria ebbed away, he began to wonder about a few things: How had Alexander managed to find him? And why did he want him to stay in the boot? He'd said it was because if Colm was spotted the goons would soon be on his trail and that made some kind of sense, but still, they'd left the goons behind and even if they were chasing them wouldn't they recognise the car registration number? Plus, how had Alexander managed to track down a master criminal so easily? And was it really a good idea for one man and a young boy to be racing towards such a dangerous man with no real plan or idea of what they were going to do?

As he thought about all of this a sliver of doubt seeped into Colm's mind and he wondered if he had just gone from the frying pan into the fire.

The car had come to a stop. The man who was calling himself Alexander got out. For a moment he felt weak and leaned against the car door breathing deeply.

‘Not feeling too good, huh?' said a voice.

‘You,' said the impostor who was The Ghost.

He was seeing his brother again. Another hallucination. The doctors had said they would become more frequent the closer he got to death. There wasn't much time left now.

‘If I was the one who was dying, I wouldn't be spending time driving a car around in circles only to end up in the exact same spot I'd started from.'

The Ghost glanced at the shopping centre and smiled. His brother was right. This was almost exactly the same place McGrue had left the car. He'd have to track down the bounty hunter later, when he was feeling like himself again. The man had done exactly as he'd requested, but The Ghost didn't like witnesses. There were too many people who'd seen him in the last few days. Dying was making his work sloppy. In the past, he'd have killed McGrue on the spot, but he'd already ended a life tonight and his strength was waning. That Russian who had managed to follow Camus all the way from Transylvania had been a tough one. Must have been to go to all that effort. He'd almost got the better of The Ghost. Almost.

‘Lost in a reverie?' the rat-faced man asked.

‘Stop annoying me. You're not real.'

‘Yet you're still talking to me.'

He was right. Why was that? He rarely talked to anyone made of flesh and bone, yet here he was talking to the ghost of his brother. The Ghost talking to a ghost.

There was a moment's silence and then the rat-faced man said, ‘I get it now.'

‘What?'

‘The driving around in circles. It's for the Abbatage. The participant must come willingly to the ritual, otherwise it won't work. You've tricked the boy into thinking you're on his side. So he's chosen to come here with you.'

‘You always were slow on the uptake,' The Ghost sneered.

‘You'd better hurry. Dawn is less than an hour away. From the dullness in your eyes, it looks like you won't be strong enough to wait another day.'

‘Then I'd better get started,' The Ghost said.

Colm was confused. He could hear someone speaking out there. It sounded a little like Alexander, but at the same time it didn't. There was only one voice. Was he talking to himself?

The boot opened and The Ghost reached in, holding his hand out for Colm to take.

‘You come with me?' he asked, expertly faking a Russian accent. ‘You are willing participant?'

Colm wasn't certain it was the right thing to do, but what other choice did he have? This Alexander looked dangerous. His eyes were cold, almost lifeless. It was also the way he held himself, the way he spoke, or was it something else? He was certain he was missing something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be.

‘You bet,' Colm said, feigning cheeriness. He grabbed the man's hand. The fingers were icy to the touch and, just for a moment, an image of death flickered in Colm's mind, as if the man had sent him a signal. With a growing sense of unease, he clambered out of the boot.

He found himself in front of a building that looked very familiar. ‘The shopping centre? The Ghost is in the shopping centre? Why would he be there?' But Colm had the answer to his own question before The Ghost replied. ‘Of course! This is where my dad works. He's holding my parents here. That's it, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' said The Ghost as they walked through the mostly empty car park and around the back of the centre, which was half-illuminated by the full moon.

The shopping centre was huge and relatively new, only three years old. During the day it was packed with shoppers, but at night it looked bleak, like a giant empty shell. Colm could hear an occasional car pass by on the main road almost half a kilometre away, but otherwise it was as if they were in the middle of nowhere.

‘What about the others? Where are they?'

‘We stop Ghost. Rescue parents. Then we find others, OK?'

‘OK,' Colm agreed. ‘But you have a plan, right? I mean it's The Ghost, the most dangerous criminal in the world. We're not going to go in there without a plan.'

‘I have plan,' The Ghost said.

‘What is it?'

The Ghost smiled at Colm. He didn't smile very often and it showed. It sent chills through Colm's soul.

‘No time to explain. Come with me now.'

Colm stopped dead. ‘No. I'm not going up against The Ghost without knowing what our plan is.' Something's definitely wrong, he thought, very wrong. His heart had begun to pound and he felt sick to the pit of his stomach. What was that phrase the man had used before he'd got out of the boot of the car? A willing participant. Colm had thought it sounded strange, but he'd put it down to the fact that Alexander was speaking a language foreign to him.

‘You figure it out?' The Ghost asked, but Colm barely heard him, still lost in thought. Willing participant. He'd heard that phrase before, but where? No, not heard it, read it. The Lazarus Key notes. Abbatage. The ceremony to end all ceremonies. The one that would give the holder of the keys immortality. It needed a willing participant.

Him.

He looked at the man again. ‘Did you say something?'

‘I say nothing.'

Every last cell in his body sent a signal to his brain telling him to get out of there as fast as he could.

‘You know, maybe this isn't such a great idea. You and me against The Ghost? I don't think that's going to work out too well for either of us. We need back up,' Colm said.

‘Back up?' The man was trying his best to stay calm, but Colm could sense the anger bubbling just under the surface.

‘The gardaí. We should ring them.'

‘They won't believe. Then it's too late.'

‘Too late for what?'

The Ghost rubbed his temples. The pain behind his eyes was back and it was worse than ever. His brother was right – his time was coming to an end. He had to hurry. He had to start the ceremony.

‘You can go in if you want, but I think I'm going to …'

‘You're going nowhere,' said The Ghost. The Russian accent was suddenly gone.

Colm turned and ran. He didn't even know where he was going and he didn't care, just as long as he put some distance between himself and this man.

The man.

It was The Ghost, Colm realised, it had to be.

He pumped his arms, trying desperately to move faster. He couldn't hear any footsteps behind him, only his own on the silky, black tarmac. That had to be good. Perhaps the man wasn't following him. He wasn't going to look back and check. He just had to keep running. When he was safe, he could figure out what to do.

But then he felt a sharp pain in his head and everything faded into black.

I
t took a few moments for Lauryn's eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. She wondered what had happened to her. I must have been knocked out, she thought, although she didn't remember getting an injection or a blow to the head. She realised she was lying on a floor. The cool tiles pressed against her cheek. It was actually comfortable there, which she knew meant she was exhausted. It's not as if a tiled floor is the type of bed you'd choose for yourself. She forced herself to sit up. Her head began to swim.

She heard a groan of pain coming from her right-hand side. It was excruciating, but she managed to turn her head and saw The Brute was face down on the ground only a couple of metres away.

‘Hey, Mikey, wake up. We gotta get moving,' she said.

The Brute groaned again. He rubbed the back of his head. A bruise the size of a ping-pong ball had formed just above the top of his neck.

‘I don't feel too good,' he mumbled. ‘Where are we?'

Lauryn stood up.

‘It looks like we're in some sort of store.'

She let her body go limp, trying to relax enough to shake off the aches and pains. The Brute struggled to his feet.

‘What happened to us?' he asked.

‘Dunno. The last thing I remember is those guys dragging us out of the car. Why would they put us in here though?'

‘I have no idea,' The Brute said. He usually didn't.

She looked around. She was right, they were in some kind of store, more specifically, a two euro shop. The shelves were stacked with cheap goods of all kinds: sweets, plastic guns, cleaning products, and what seemed like a million other things.

She moved forward fearlessly, checking out every part of the shop by the light on her watch until she was satisfied that there was no one else in there. She returned to find The Brute by the counter halfway through a packet of extra-cheesy crisps.

‘You're eating? At a time like this?'

‘I'm starving, girl. I haven't had a proper meal in like, twelve hours,' he said, cheese dust spilling down the front of his Eagles t-shirt.

‘I hope you paid for them.'

‘I'm out of cash. I'll leave an IOU.'

He was regretting choosing the crisps though. If Lauryn wanted to kiss him later his breath would probably stink. Now that he thought of it, maybe being trapped in here wasn't such a bad thing. It would give them some alone time.

‘You're a strange kind of guy,' Lauryn said as she began looking for the main light switch. She nipped behind the counter. It seemed to be the most likely place to find it. Back home they always seemed to control everything in shops from behind the counter.

The Brute barely noticed what she was up to; he was still lost in thought. Yeah, y'know, this place is actually kind of romantic, he was thinking as Lauryn found the switch and flicked it on. The fluorescent lights began to buzz and flicker as they came to life. The light was harsh and made everything seem a little too real, killing the romantic mood The Brute had been hoping would continue. Of course, if the lights hadn't done it, the mood would have been broken by the member of the undead who was on the other side of the shop's front door.

When Cedric had reached the count of three, he'd kicked out with everything he'd got. His feet smashed against the roof of their prison and the wood began to creak.

‘That was a good start,' he'd wheezed as some splinters nestled in his ear. ‘You ready to kick again?'

‘More ready than you are,' Kate said.

‘We'll see about that.'

It had taken them ten minutes to break free of the box. They had both been surprised to find that they were in a clothes shop.

‘What's going on here, Ced?'

‘I don't know. And before you point it out, yes, I'm aware that I'm a detective.'

‘A clothes shop?' Kate said. ‘Who keeps someone prisoner in a clothes shop?'

‘Someone who thinks we have terrible taste in clothing and wants us to dress more sharply,' Cedric suggested.

Kate ignored the idiotic remark. She found the switches she was looking for and turned them on.

‘Wow,' she said, as the shop was flooded with light, revealing aisle after aisle of clothing. ‘This is an expensive place. They've got some really good quality stuff here.'

‘I thought you didn't have any interest in clothes,' Cedric said.

‘I've as much interest in clothes as you have in taking a shower,' Kate said, examining a beige cashmere jumper.

Huh? Was she saying he stank? Cedric sneakily smelled his armpits. Phew. It
was
fairly unpleasant.

‘Kate, I've uncovered a clue.'

‘What is it?'

‘Remember the way, when we were trapped in the box, that I said it sounded like there was someone moaning and groaning out there and you said you didn't hear anything? Well, take a look.'

He pointed to the front door.

On the other side of the glass an undead man stood in the hallway, staring in. Cedric looked smug.

‘Yeah, good one, Ced. This is really the right time for your “I told you so” face,' Kate said.

Lauryn finished packing the Peppa Pig schoolbag that had been designed for someone at least ten years younger than she was. She zipped it up and slung it over her right shoulder. It was so small that if she'd tried to put it over both shoulders it would have ripped apart.

‘Well?' Lauryn asked when The Brute returned.

‘There's some kind of digital door lock on the back door. Unless you're a code-cracking genius, then it looks like we could be spending a lot of time in here.'

‘What are you talking about?'

He glanced at the undead outside, pawing at the clear glass. It had been joined by another – this one was wearing a security guard's uniform. Other than that they were very similar. Blank eyes. Slack jaws. Drool dripping down their chins. They stumbled forward banging against the glass as if they were controlled by a three-year-old with a remote. He wondered why the light wasn't affecting them. They were supposed to be bothered by light, weren't they?

‘We can't leave while those lads are outside. As long as we stay in here, we'll be safe,' The Brute said. ‘There's plenty to eat and drink and someone will turn up to rescue us eventually.'

‘And what about your cousin?'

‘Colm? He'll be fine. He's well able to look after himself.'

He didn't like the look Lauryn gave him. It seemed to be a combination of disgust and … no, disgust pretty much covered it.

‘You know I'm joking, right?' he lied.

‘Really? What you said was funny? I guess I just don't get the Irish sense of humour.'

‘Oh yeah, if Colm was here he'd be cracking up at what I said. So what's the plan?'

‘Good. That's more like it. Right, what we're going to do is this – you're going to open the doors and I'm going to launch myself at the two dead dudes out there. They seem kind of dopey, so they won't expect us to attack. I knock them down, then you drag me off them and we look for Colm.'

‘Right, good plan … just a couple of problems with it. Like, what if they just grab you and try to eat you?'

‘It's a chance I'm willing to take.'

‘Fair enough, but let me put it another way – WHAT IF THEY GRAB YOU AND TRY TO EAT YOU?'

‘Fortune favours the brave.'

‘I've never understood that phrase. Anyway, we can't do it. The doors are locked. I'd love to open them, but …'

‘That's OK, I can pick door locks.'

‘Of course you can,' The Brute sighed. ‘Excuse me.'

He brushed past her and ducked beneath the counter.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Just a hunch. You'd be surprised how often people leave spare keys in obvious places … a-ha.' When he re-emerged he was holding a little silver key.

‘Is that …' Lauryn began.

‘The spare key.'

‘Why would anyone leave a spare key in a shop? It doesn't make any sense.'

‘Who cares?' The Brute said.

‘Right, you unlock the door and I'll hit 'em hard.'

‘I can't do it, Lauryn. I can't unlock the door.'

‘If you're not going to do it, give it to me.'

The Brute held the key aloft, just out of reach. ‘Sorry, I can't let you go out there. It's madness.'

‘Every second we spend here yapping is a second wasted. Colm is in danger. And if the guy behind this kidnapping is The Ghost you can bet he has something planned for us too. I'm not someone who can sit around waiting for something to happen to me. I'm going out that door whether you help me or not and I'm not going to waste valuable minutes picking the lock.'

‘You'll have to if I have the key,' he replied.

Lauryn punched him in the stomach. He wasn't expecting it and he doubled over in pain. She plucked the key from his fingers.

‘Good one,' The Brute wheezed. There aren't too many people who are impressed when you punch them in the belly, but he was one of the few.

‘Sorry, I didn't want to do that, but …'

‘I know,' he said, catching his breath. ‘It's all right. I'll help you.'

‘Do you mean it?' Lauryn asked.

He did. He had to help her. He couldn't let her go out there by herself. Anyway, he liked to think of himself as a man of action and it was time to act, even if it meant facing some half-deads or undeads or vamumzompires.

‘Glad you're on board,' Lauryn said, handing him back the key.

The Brute moved to the door and put the key in the lock. His heart thumped in his chest.

‘One thing – I'm going to hit those guys, not you.'

Lauryn began to raise an objection, but The Brute cut her off with a wave of his hand.

‘It's not 'cos I think you can't. Your punch to my stomach was almost perfect. I know you're tough, but it's just that I'm bigger. It makes more sense.'

‘OK,' Lauryn said with a smile. ‘Just give me a second.'

She took the schoolbag off her shoulder, unzipped it and reached in.

‘I hope you paid for that stuff,' The Brute said.

‘I left them an IOU,' Lauryn replied with a half-smile.

The Brute noticed that the hand that held the key was shaking like jelly on a windy day. Just pretend those guys are a couple of rugby centres, he told himself. You've got the ball and you've got to burst through them.

The undead stared in at him. They didn't understand what was happening, their brains only told them one thing – to kill anyone they encountered. Their limbs flailed against the glass.

Ugliest centres I ever saw, The Brute thought.

Lauryn nodded at him. She was ready. It was time.

He turned the key in the lock and wrenched the door open.

The undead stumbled forward into the shop as Lauryn flung something in their direction.

A bright yellow frisbee caught the first one right on the nose. Its head jerked back and it tottered for a moment before slipping on the tiled floor and hitting the ground. Its body began to spasm.

The second frisbee she threw – a pink one – sailed harmlessly over the creature in the security guard's uniform. It flew out into the hallway.

The Brute heard Lauryn swear as he threw himself forward, grabbing the creature around the waist and bringing it down with a perfectly timed tackle. There wasn't time to congratulate himself. He sprang to his feet, leaped over the still prone first creature and out into the hallway. Lauryn sprinted after him, but as she jumped over the two creatures lying on the ground, the first one began to rise, moaning horrifically. Its hand reached out and grabbed her foot, tripping her up. She landed on her shoulder, crying out as the pain shot through her.

The Brute was by her side immediately. He grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her up, but the creature was still clinging on to her foot, so he took hold of her under the arms and started to pull her out of the shop. A brief tug of war developed and as this was going on the security guard drew itself up. It saw its chance.