Spawn (34 page)

“Lou, don’t touch them,” said Maggie, her voice low.

Randall seemed not to hear, he just kept moving closer. So slowly, so feebly, as if someone had attached lead weights to his limbs.

“Don’t touch them,” Maggie implored.

“What are they?” he croaked.

“The grave of abortions that Pierce dug up, these are the three that were missing. They’ve grown.”

“Oh Jesus,” murmured the policeman.

(GET BACK)

He felt as if he’d been struck with an iron bar. He reeled, almost fell and a thin trickle of blood dribbled from one nostril.

“Lou,” Maggie shouted. “Stay away, they’ll kill you.”

Randall gritted his teeth, raised the knife in his bloodied hand. It seemed as if someone were inflating his head with a high-pressure pump. His eyes bulged in their sockets, a small crimson orb burst from one tear duct and ran down his cheek. Still he advanced on them, the pain in his head growing.

He was less than ten yards away from them.

“Lou.”

His legs gave out and he dropped to his knees but still he crawled onward. The veins in his arms and neck bulged menacingly, the wounds in his hand and shoulder bleeding freely. It was like pushing open a thousand ton door, pressing against it, moving a fraction of an inch at a time. He clenched his teeth until his jaws ached, the knife clanking on the concrete as he dropped to all fours.

He almost screamed aloud as he found himself staring into the sightless eyes of Paul Harvey.

The dead man’s head lay in a pool of congealing blood, inches from the policeman’s face. Thick crimson streamers still dripped from the nostrils and ears. The tongue protruded over white lips. The skull had been smashed in just above the right ear and Randall could still see fragments of brain matter sticking to the hair. The cavity had been emptied, the soft tissue devoured by the monstrosities before him, torn out with their eager hands.

As Randall crawled on, he bumped the head and it rolled over to reveal the severed stump of the neck, the slashed veins and arteries hanging like dripping bloodied tendrils.

The foetuses concentrated their mind power with greater accuracy, focusing it on Randall like some kind of invisible laser beam.

Blood burst from his ears and he went deaf for precious seconds.

“Lou,” Maggie shrieked. “Stop.”

He was just feet away from them now, their rancid stench filling his nostrils, mingling with the coppery smell of his own blood which was flowing from his nose and dripping onto the floor. He groaned more loudly now as his efforts to reach the creatures became greater.

He raised the knife to strike.

Randall almost screamed aloud as he found himself gazing into the eyes of his daughter.

(No)

“Lisa,” he croaked, the knife hovering above her head.

(Don’t kill me)

He swayed, thought he was going to pass out then, slowly, he lowered the knife, eyes fixed on the vision of his daughter.

(Put the knife down)

He dropped it in front of him, staring at her. God, she was beautiful. She lay before him, her body unblemished. He reached out his arms to touch her smooth skin but, as he felt her body, he gagged. The flesh was soft and jellied. As cold as ice. The vision faded instantly and he found himself staring once more at the foetuses.

“No,” he screamed and snatched up the knife, plunging it into the one closest to him.

A huge gout of blood erupted from the wound splattering Randall who was sobbing now as he brought the knife down again, the second blow hacking off the foetus’s right arm. The tiny limb fell to one side twitching spasmodically, blood gushing from the severed arteries. He struck again and again until the knife was slippery with his blood and that of the creature. The other one tried to crawl away but Randall was upon it in a flash, driving the blade down between its shoulder blades, tearing downwards to rip through its kidneys and liver. He held it by the back of the head and drove the knife into the hollow at the nape of its neck, ignoring the blood which spurted up into his face. He hacked off an ear, part of its nose, buried the blade in one of those dark pits of eyes.

The third creature didn’t even move as he gutted it, ripping the small tangle of intestines free with his bare hands.

Finally, he toppled over onto his back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Maggie rushed across to him, wiping some of the blood from his face with her hand-kerchief. There was so much of the sticky red gore on him it was difficult to tell which was from his wounds and which was from the creatures. She helped him to his feet, supporting him out of the room and out into the corridor.

“Got to get back to the car,” he whispered, almost collapsing.

She held him, ignoring the blood which dripped from his hands and arms and stained her own clothes.

They reached the landing and began, cautiously, to descend the stairs.

“Harold?” asked Maggie.

“I killed him,” said Randall.

But, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the policeman saw only the pool of blood there. Of Harold there was no sign.

“Come on, hurry,” the Inspector said, leading her, back through the maze of corridors. “He can’t have got far, we’ve got to get help.”

Harold emerged from the door opposite like a vision from hell. Mouth agape, blood spread darkly around his stomach and crutch, he was on them in a second, hurling Maggie to one side. Randall tried to strike out with the knife but Harold was too fast. The older man, wounded though he was, had the element of surprise in his favour. He swung a lump of wood which looked like a chair leg and the blow caught Randall in the side of the face, felling him like a tree-trunk.

Maggie screamed and ran, looking back in time to see Harold snatch up the knife and set off in pursuit of her.

She barged through a door and found herself in the old canteen. Maggie slammed the door behind her and ran for the window, reaching it just as Harold sent the door crashing inwards. He came after her, the bloodied knife raised above his head. Maggie turned to see him gaining and, gritting her teeth, she broke the window with her hand. Crystal shards sliced open her flesh and she screamed, but she managed to push the window open and scramble out, falling heavily onto the grass below. Harold clambered after her, seeing that she was running for the car parked nearby.

Maggie reached it and tore open the door, locking it quickly behind her as Harold advanced. He struck at the windscreen with the knife and, as Maggie recoiled from the expected explosion of glass she saw that the passenger side door was still unlocked. She flung herself across in an effort to reach the lock but Harold saw her and slid off the bonnet, grabbing for the door which he managed to pull open a fraction. Maggie screamed as she tugged with all her strength on the handle but he was slowly forcing it open an inch at a time.

He snaked one hand inside, the knife driving down, missing her by inches as it buried itself in the seat.

Maggie tugged hard on the handle and smashed his arm between door and frame, almost smiling when she heard his yelp of pain. Harold withdrew his hand and she was able to lock the door. He rushed round to the front of the car again and leapt up onto the bonnet, pounding on the glass with his hands.

Maggie snatched up the two-way radio and flicked it on, babbling into the set, not waiting for an answer.

The first hair-line splinters appeared in the wind-screen as Harold continued his relentless pounding.

“Help me,” Maggie screamed into the two-way. “The old asylum. Inspector Randall is here too. Help.”

There was a garbled answer then the set went dead.

The cracks in the glass were spreading, spider-webbing until the driver’s side resembled nothing more than crushed ice. Maggie turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life. She stuck it in gear but her foot slipped off the clutch and the vehicle stalled.

Almost in tears, she twisted the key again.

Glass sprayed inwards as Harold’s fist crashed through the windscreen, groping around blindly as he searched for her, the jagged edges cutting his wrist, trapping him. Maggie stepped on the accelerator and the car shot forward. She heard Harold’s shouts of alarm for he could see the wall which Maggie couldn’t.

The Chevette hit it doing about twenty-five. The impact sent Harold hurtling into the brickwork with a sickening thud. He staggered, watching helplessly as Maggie reversed. As the car ploughed into Harold, Maggie threw herself clear.

There was a blood-chilling scream of pain followed a second later by a high pitched thump as the car exploded. Pinned between car and wall, Harold could only scream in anguish as the flames licked around him eagerly devouring his flesh. He clapped both hands to his face as he burned, his false eye falling from its socket to reveal the dark mess beneath. His hair went up in wisps of smoke and the flesh peeled from his body like a snake shedding its skin. He let out one final caterwaul of agony then the roaring flames drowned everything out. The heat rolled over Maggie, bringing with it the sickly sweet stench of charred flesh.

She dragged herself upright, the pain in her hand from the cuts keeping her conscious. Mesmerized, she gazed at the burning car and, before her eyes, Harold Pierce seemed to melt away beneath the roaring inferno.

Maggie sucked in huge lungfuls of air, suddenly remembering Randall.

It was as she was heading back towards the asylum that the first of the police cars arrived.

Randall had regained consciousness by the time they lifted him into the ambulance. He even managed a smile before they closed the doors on him. Maggie had kissed him softly on the lips and then watched as the ambulance sped away.

The firemen, called to the scene by Sergeant Willis, put out the blazing Chevette and then cut the remains of Harold Pierce loose. What was left of him was put into another ambulance and taken away, then Maggie led the police up into the room where the dead foetuses were. PC Fowler threw up at the sight of so much carnage and even Willis found it difficult to retain his dinner. But, nevertheless, the room was eventually cleared, each mutilated body and severed head wrapped in a separate blanket and taken away. Maggie asked for the foetuses to be taken to Fairvale for examination.

All that had happened fifteen minutes ago; now she stood alone in the corridor looking into the room, the vile stench still strong in the air. The room, for what it was worth, was to be inspected by forensic men and then hosed down. Willis himself was coming back to take Maggie home as soon as he’d dropped the specimens off at Fairvale.

She had plenty of time.

She went to the door of another room across the corridor and pushed it open.

The surviving foetus lay in the centre of the room.

No one had thought to check any of the other rooms in the building why should they? The power of the foetuses’ thought projection had been stronger than even she had imagined. So powerful in fact that Randall could not have realized that the third foetus he had killed was merely a projection of his own subconscious. She herself had hidden the creature in this other room before the Inspector had even reached the first floor. While he had been struggling with Harold Pierce she had lifted the foetus and carried it across the corridor to its new hiding place.

Maggie crossed to it and knelt beside the body.

It
was
rather beautiful she had decided. A perfectly formed child.
Her
child. She lifted it, surprised at its weight and it looked at her, those twin black eyes glinting malevolently.

She pulled it close to her, kissing its bulbous head, allowing it to nuzzle against her. Its lips moved slowly.

The words echoed loudly, not inside her head this time but booming off the walls, all the more incongruous because of the tiny body they came from. The words filled the small room. Deep bass, thick and full of power.

“Hold me.”

Born and brought up in Hertfordshire, Shaun Hutson now lives and writes in Buckinghamshire where he has lived since 1986. After being expelled from school, he worked at many jobs, including a cinema doorman, a barman, and a shop assistant - all of which he was sacked from - before becoming a professional author in 1983.

He has since written over 30 bestselling novels as well as writing for radio, magazines and television. Shaun has also written exclusively for the Internet, a short story entitled
RED STUFF
and an interactive story,
SAVAGES.

Having made his name as a horror author with bestsellers such as
SPAWN
,
EREBUS
,
RELICS
and
DEATHDAY
(acquiring the nicknames 'The Godfather of Gore' and 'The Shakespeare of Gore' in the process) he has since produced a number of very dark urban thrillers such as
LUCY'S CHILD
,
STOLEN ANGELS
,
WHITE GHOST
and
PURITY
. At one time, Shaun Hutson was published under no fewer than six pseudonyms , writing everything from Westerns to non-fiction.