The Faceless (36 page)

T
HERE WAS A
low, rumbling roar as Renwick and Stakowski reached the main path and a wind blew up from nowhere. Renwick staggered, clutching Stakowski’s arm; he steadied her.

“The hell’s happening now?”

“Christ knows.”

The front doors flew wide; two figures almost tumbled down the steps. Renwick drew her pistol, ran forward.

“Joan! For Christ’s sake!” Stakowski followed. It looked like his policing days weren’t done just yet, after all.

“Ms Mason?” Renwick asked.

Anna swayed, shaking, one hand pressed clawlike to her chest; Vera sank to her knees and wept.

“Where’s your brother? Where’s Cowell?”

Anna shook her head, mute.

“They wanted Cowell,” said Stakowski. “The place did. He was the last part of whatever was going on.”

“Well, it’s got him,” sobbed Vera, “it’s bloody got him now.”

T
HEY FLED DOWN
the path, through the trees, until it opened out onto a flat concrete platform.

“The hell’s this?” Renwick said, leaning on Stakowski.

“Old railway platform,” gasped Anna. “Remember, there was an old branch line running along Dunwich Lane? Where do you think it led?”

“Jesus.”

They clambered down from the platform and stumbled through the woods. “Police officer!” Stakowski kept shouting as they went. “Police officer! Hold your fire!”

The Land Rovers were waiting for them, along with half a dozen officers pointing rifles.

“DS Stakowski. This is DCI Renwick. Hold your fire, you bloody idiots. Right. Now move. We’re getting the bloody hell out of here, back to Kempforth. You, give us the keys to that vehicle.”

The engine ground into life. Vera huddled in the front seat; Renwick slumped in the back with Anna.

“Christ on a bike.”

Renwick stared out of the side window; Stakowski looked. Clouds of yellowish-brown mist were pouring thickly down the wooded hillside. “What the bloody hell’s that?”

“Something we need to get away from, Mike,” said Renwick. “Drive.”

Stakowski could see shapes moving in the mist. All kinds of shapes. All were, or had been, human; some seemed incomplete. At least one seemed to be in a wheelchair that moved down the hillside. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And Anna, talk to me. Tell me what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Anna’s laugh was faint and shaky, close to madness. “Hell.”

BLACK SUN RISING

‘E’ BLOCK

Beside the hydrotherapy bath are the rusted controls controlling the volume and temperature of water; beside the heavy bathtub, crumpled, stained and rotted, lies one of the heavy canvas sheets that once covered it except for a hole to admit the patient’s head. The tub is now almost overflowing. The water is murky; in it wave green fronds of water-weed that have found a home there. The relentless drip of water echoes through the corridors, the patients’ rooms where fingernail marks still score the peeling paintwork, and through a heavy steel door yawning wide to show padded walls catching the thin thread of light from a tiny window high above.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A
FTERWARDS, THERE WAS
silence in the car, except for Vera’s sobbing. Anna fumbled Sir Charles’ diary back into her backpack; her face burned. Even with Vera to back her up, who’d believe her? Even Renwick and Stakowski had only glimpsed a fragment of what Ash Fell had to offer; Anna doubted she’d ever adequately describe what she’d seen.

Didn’t matter. As long as they didn’t lock her up.
She
knew it was true – as long as she could get home, find Mary, get her clear–

“So what the hell do we do about it?” Renwick asked.

Anna blinked. “What?”

“Even I can tell when the shit’s about to hit the fan. So?”

“I don’t know. There might be something in the journal. The only other thing I can suggest is – perhaps – if Ash Fell can be destroyed.”

“Destroyed?”

The icy sensation above her breast sharpened, like a jab; Anna winced. “Blown up. I don’t know if it would work, but Ash Fell’s the focus.”

“Need the army for that,” said Stakowski. “Or the RAF.”

“Ordering air-strikes is a bit outside my remit,” said Renwick. “I’ll have my work cut out convincing Banstead.”

“I think you’ll manage, boss.”

Stakowski nodded at the rearview mirror. Yellowish vapour boiled out of the woods onto Dunwich Lane; shapes moved within it, advancing. It was spreading across the hillside above, rising towards the top.

Renwick covered her mouth and nose. “Christ, that
smell
.”

“Like a swimming pool,” said Stakowski, “but worse.”

“It’s chlorine gas,” Anna said. The cold spot was still there. The skin felt numb. She thought of frostbite, the flesh turning black, gangrenous. That might be happening now; maybe her great-grandfather’s touch had just condemned her to a different kind of death. She wanted to look; didn’t dare.

“What?”

“It got used a lot on the Western Front.”

“Fucking hell. Mike, is the radio working?”

“Think so.”

“Get onto the station. Tell them to evacuate the town, now.”

“That mist’s going to be all over the town in an hour, if that,” said Stakowski. “Christ, we’ll never get ’em all clear in time.”

“I’m fucked if I’m standing by and watching the whole bloody town wiped out. Fucking get on it, Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Vera stared out of the window, silent. Anna cleaned her face with a wet-wipe. “I need to get to Mary. Martyn–” The pain flickered, distantly, like a fire at the edge of her vision; she refused to look at it directly, focused on Mary instead “–left her with a neighbour.”

“Drop you at the station? Your car’s still there.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s fine.”

“We’ll take Dunwich Road South, head for Manchester.”

“Can I come with you?” Vera asked. She’d stopped crying; her face was composed.

After a moment, Anna laid a hand over hers. “OK.”

THE TESTAMENT OF PRIVATE OWEN SHORE and the rain beats down foul stagnant trench water laps around my groin i grip my rifle tighter with sodden gloves shivering with cold staring across the pulverised landscape of mud ponded with great drowning shellholes full of fouler water still and i stand here i stand alone with the comrades bodies scattered round and the germans starting to advance this was not the cause for which i joined my country called i answered it welshman though i was i was a briton too part of a mightier whole i came to be a man to face that challenge i envy you my lad said father youll make me proud i know only wish i was of military age for i too would go prove my manhood but what manhood is there waiting in a sodden hole in the ground to be killed and the rain beats down

A
NNA LEAPT OUT
of the Land Rover before it had even stopped at Mafeking Street and ran across the car park to the Micra. She scrambled in, slammed the door behind her, got the key in the ignition and turned it. The motor caught and growled.

Martyn folding Eva to him, burying his face in her. What about Mary, you selfish bastard? What about your bloody
child?

Something banged on the passenger window; Vera. Anna unlocked the door, fastened her seatbelt as Vera got in. “Belt up,” she shouted, and hit the accelerator.

Out through the gates; she’d stop for no-one now.
The family, lass. Always the family
. Had to get Mary. Nan, too. But Mary most of all. Sirens wailed. The cold spot burned at her breast, a dagger of ice pushed slowly in. She pushed the accelerator down. It was time to see how fast the Micra could go.

“Y
ES, SIR.
I
’LL
take full responsibility. Please... please just pass the order along. Thank you.”

Renwick put the phone down. Even through the double glazing, she could hear the amplified voices blaring from the police cars as they spread out across town.
There has been a chemical spill. The town is being evacuated. Please leave for your own safety. You will be able to return when the situation is under control. If you do not have a car, the bus companies are providing transport; report to the following pick-up points
.

The yellow clouds swirled around the top of the hill. She’d tried ringing Banstead to warn him, but his phone was dead. The mist was coming down the Dunwich Road, too. Soon it’d swallow up the Polar. Goodbye, Shackleton Street. And then it would hit the Dunwich itself.

“It’s a bloody emergency,” Stakowski was shouting at the next desk. “Get those bastard buses out to those pickup points. Any queries, refer them to my superior, but just get bloody moving
now
.”

Nothing to take from her desk. The photo of her parents wasn’t there anymore. It was back at her flat. No time to go back there. She gripped the windowsill for a second. A wave of giddiness. She shut her eyes, opened them again.

“Done,” said Stakowski. “Buses are on the move.”

“Good. Thanks.”

“You OK?”

“No. This is a fucking shambles, Mike. Just made it up as I went along.”

“What else could you’ve done, lass?”

“We need to evacuate the whole fucking town. We’re not even gonna shift a fraction of them. People are gonna die.”

“That’ll happen whoever’s in charge. There’s not enough time.”

“I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”

“Number one: I’ve just heard you convince four superior officers we need to evacuate. Number two: it were your idea to get onto the bus companies. Each of those’ll save Christ knows how many lives. Number three–”

“What?”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your arse in gear. I’d offer to make a last brew, but I don’t think we’ve got time.”

Renwick smiled back; in that moment she loved him deeply. Maybe she always had. “Probably not.”

“Best go.”

“Aye.” Christ; he’d made a northerner of her at last.

They ran for the stairs.

A
NNA PULLED UP,
gave Vera the house keys. “Get food, anything we can carry. There’s carrier bags in the cupboard under the sink. Use them.”

“Anything else?”

“The photos on the front room mantelpiece. If you’ve time. And, there are presents under the tree.”

Always the family.

“And some books and toys from the little spare room upstairs, Mary’s room.”

“Gotcha.”

Vera ran to the front door. Anna eyed her reflection in the rearview mirror. Wild hair, bloodshot eyes. Dirt and dust on her clothes.

That cold spot was still burning. Quickly. Now. She unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it back from the skin above her breast. There: where her great-grandfather’s fingertip had touched her, the skin was hard and white, like a chicken-pox scar. Still numb, and ice cold when she touched it.

She rebuttoned her blouse with shaking fingers, tidied herself as best she could and then went up Mrs Marshall’s drive.

A few streets away a police siren sounded; an amplified voice blared out:
There has been a chemical spill. The town is being evacuated. Please leave for your own safety. You will be able to return when the situation is under control.

She rang the bell. Mrs Marshall opened the door. “Anna? Oh my god, what happened?”

Anna shook her head. Mrs Marshall bit her lip. The sirens. The blaring voice. “Anna, what’s going on?”

“They’re evacuating the town,” Anna said. “Everyone’s got to get out. Some kind of chemical leak.”

Vera came running out of Anna’s house holding two or three bulging carrier bags. “Ready,” she called.

“Is Mary OK?” asked Anna.

Mrs Marshall’s eyes flicked from Vera to her. “She was until about an hour ago. Then she started wailing for her Dad. Sobbing her heart out, she was. The bloody hell does he think he’s playing at? She thinks the sun shines out of him.”

Anna could only shake her head. She didn’t think she could speak of it yet, not without falling apart. Mrs Marshall put a hand to her mouth.

“Don’t tell Mary–” Anna said at last.

“Aunty Anna?” Mary ran down the hallway. “Where’s Daddy?”

“We’ll see him in a bit.” Anna didn’t dare look at Mrs Marshall’s face.

“Where is he?”

“We’ve got to go now.” Everyone would be trying to leave Kempforth at once. If they were caught in a traffic jam they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Mary, I’ll explain, I promise. But you’ve got to trust me for now, OK?”

“No!” Mary’s fists were clenched. “I want Daddy. I–” Her bottom lip shook; her eyes filled up.

“Mrs M, do you need a lift?”

“No, no. I’ve got my own car, I’ll be fine. You just go. Be safe. Take care.”

Anna bundled Mary into the car. “Put your seatbelt on, princess.”

“What about Daddy?”

“We’ll see him in a bit.” The lie made her sick.

“Who’s that?”

The engine turned over. “This is Vera. Vera, meet Mary.”

“Hi.”

Mary just blinked. Anna looked away.

“Where now?” said Vera.

“Nan,” said Anna.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

M
YFANWY LOOKS OUT
over the misty lawn. Isthat someone under the willow tree? Her eyes are too weak to tell. But she has another Sight. It’s been years since she last used it; she thought it was gone – just one more thing age had taken from her – but now it’s back again. And it takes only the tiniest effort to open that other, unseen eye, and search for Anna.

She closes her eyes, and sees.

THE TESTAMENT OF PRIVATE OWEN SHORE CONTINUED and the rain beats down foul stagnant trench water laps around my groin i grip my rifle tighter with sodden gloves shivering with cold staring across the pulverised landscape of mud ponded with great drowning shellholes full of fouler water still and i stand here i stand alone with the comrades bodies scattered round and the germans starting to advance complete catatonic withdrawal no response to external stimuli occasional increases in respiration perspiration heartrate indicate distress attributable to recollection of war experience but withdrawal so complete external signs virtually undetectable