The Hollow Places (21 page)

Firdy unlocked
the rear doors and pulled one open. The smell of piss. Sweat. Meat.
Vomit.

“Out,” he
said.

One by one,
his cargo clambered out of the van, Zak first, blinking and rubbing
his face. He had his hood up and was doing his best to appear calm,
but he was clearly terrified. Firdy thought that he was
impressionable, but easy enough to control. He'd let the Cat do
something to one of them and then he'd be no trouble at all, like
his father, who came next, shambolic and dishevelled, hair unkempt
now as he climbed down from the van. His trousers were wet with
piss and he stank accordingly.

“You're a
fucking disgrace,” Firdy wanted to say, but his jeans hadn't
reached this hour unsullied either; he swallowed bile and told him
to keep moving.

Jonathan
stepped out next, in polished shoes and a crisp business suit.
There had been no chasing him from town to town. Firdy had sent him
a message and he had replied to say he would be waiting. In his
office, he would have fit like a knife into a block, but now his
brushed hair and immaculate attire couldn't have been more out of
place.

It didn't
matter. It was what was under the clothes that counted.

The man moved
slowly and apparently without fear, in the manner of a remorseless
serial killer being prepared for his execution.

That's what he
is, Sarah thought. They're serial killers. They're Simons.

Effectively,
Ian Moody was the opposite of Jonathan. Dressed from head to toe in
army gear, he would draw attention to himself everywhere but the
forest. He sat on his bottom and slid out of the van. He was
muscular and squat, but his boots gave him an inch or two on Firdy.
Firdy hoped that the Third would discount any information about his
size in favour of his deep skin tone. He didn't want to get burnt
every year.

Naomi climbed
down last of all. Her eyes flicked between Simon and Firdy and her
anger was clear on her face, as were fresh, red slashes from the
Cat. Blood ran down her neck and into her vest.

Firdy thought
that she would complicate the procedure, but the Third had insisted
that she be part of this. He wondered which part of Naomi the Third
wanted. Maybe her liquid, deep eyes, throwing reflections back at
anyone who stared at her. Maybe she admired her strength of will.
Or maybe she was just the right blood group.

Sarah knew
that if they could have rushed Firdy at once, while the Cat was
still tied up, they would be unstoppable. There were six of them,
seven including Simon, but they were allowing themselves to be
herded. Zak was quivering against his father's body, but even
though he was slight he could fight. If he was like her, as Simon
had said, then his mind was free; perhaps if she could get away
from Simon, the two of them could tackle Firdy.

Firdy had
climbed into the back of the van while, to Sarah's dismay, the
seven of them had waited for him to untie the cat. Naomi took a
single step towards the van door before she stopped and groaned as
if she had been punched in the stomach. Of all the Simons, she was
the one who most wanted to get out of here, but there was no way
that she could fight the Creature.

And so Sarah
knew that it was up to her to stop Firdy, with or without help.

Her urge to
fight diminished when the Cat dropped down from the back of the
van. It was easily the size of an adult Alsation and it hissed,
revealing incisors like knife blades.

Yes, they
could all rush it, but who wanted to be first to, to lose a finger?
An eye?

Firdy jumped
down after it, no less dangerous and without mercy.

Sarah glanced
at her brother, unable to stop feeling sickened that he was
assisting Firdy. The Simon she knew had peeked out in the van, but
since Firdy had returned he was gone again. This Simon was hurting
her hand. This Simon would kill her if he had to. She was going to
do as he said.

Firdy's moves
were bold and purposeful. The sound of him slamming the doors shut
reverberated through them all. He demanded that they walk under the
cover of the nearby trees, where he then ordered everyone to hold
hands. There was an exchange of looks, particularly between Sarah
and Naomi, but nobody took the initiative to fight or to run. They
did as they were told. They held hands.

Firdy took the
lead, because he was the only one of them, aside from the cat, who
knew where they were going and could see perfectly well in the
dark. Simon followed, leading Sarah. She didn't know the name of
the man whose hand she was holding, only that his grip on her was
painfully tight and that he was trembling.

They marched
through the trees, making their own path. They had all done it
before at some time in their lives and so they moved quickly, even
as the darkness thickened. Black leaves shivered all around them
and twigs cracked underfoot and they did not stop. When Zak
stumbled, the group dragged him and then hauled him back to his
feet.

“Where are you
taking us?” Sarah asked. Firdy ignored her and nobody else
volunteered an answer.

The Cat had
taken up the rear in case anyone broke off and ran into the deep
dark.

Nobody
did.

*

Simon saw no benefit in
dwelling on their fate, as some of the others did. There was the
will of the Third and there was putting one foot in front of the
other until it was done. That was all. Or at least, so he had been
telling himself, but it was increasingly difficult to focus. The
thoughts of the group drifted through his mind, curling around him
and clouding his ability to separate himself. The new thoughts that
resulted were strange things and unwelcome.

Although the
trees and clouds had conspired to cut out much of the moonlight, he
was able to see Sarah and the rest of the group clearly. Sarah was
marching with exaggerated steps so she wouldn't trip over vines or
fallen branches. Her eyes were searching for safe places to put her
feet, but it was impossible because they were moving so quickly.
The knife was still in her shoulder and she was as pale as he had
ever seen her. Her breathing was ragged and she looked like she
might pass out. And yet, he felt almost nothing. In fact, he was
glad.

Behind her,
Will plodded on, his wild hair snagged by branches. Simon felt
revulsion rising in him and forced himself to look beyond Will, to
his son, Zak, the waste-of-space gamer, hood down now, crying to
himself, struggling to keep up. Ian Moody was next, fitting in at
last with his combat gear, grim determination on his face, and he
was followed by Jonathan the businessman, looking somewhat like a
lobotomised John Cleese with his perfectly soulless facial
expression. Naomi was last in line, attempting to spy the Cat, but
failing, because it was several metres behind her and to their
left, appearing every now and then through the cover of thicker
foliage.

He saw them
all clearly, although it lasted only for a few seconds. Somehow he
had experienced the scene through Firdy. Then he was stumbling in
the gloom again, but now he knew that the one called Moody had
delivered animals, dogs and cats and a few birds, as well as three
people. Jonathan had begun his service delivering dogs and had
progressed to people later. He had been working for the Third for
less than two years. But nobody had been doing this for as long as
Naomi; she had delivered more people than all of them. She had a
large, extended family and it was looking after her little girl
until she was 'right' again. Each one of them had things to lose,
but she had the most.

Simon shook
his head, but the foreign thoughts crowded him and infiltrated
again.

“It's okay,”
Firdy was thinking now. “It's going to be alright.” Simon didn't
know whether the thought was directed at him or not.

A series of
thoughts followed. He felt them almost as if they were his own.

“I don't know
what to do. What am I meant to do?”

“I did
everything I could, but it wasn't enough.”

“I want this
to be over.”

“Today's a
good day to die. I wish it was warmer though.”

“ …
Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three ...”

“No loose
ends.”

“Those
bastards. Those absolute, fucking bastards.”

When Simon
tried to differentiate one thinker from another, the thoughts
multiplied and attempting to discard one only caused it to attach
itself elsewhere.

“I'm dying,”
another thought came. “I don't want to die. I don't want to
die.”

In an attempt
to prevent his mind being overcome, Simon concentrated on something
tangible, the feel of Firdy's fingers locked around his wrist. The
feel of Firdy's hand was the only part of the man that resembled
Simon's father, a tight unmoving fist around his bony wrist,
hurting him, hauling him through the dark. His father had welcomed
him to his new life in this manner three years ago and now it was
happening again.

Although he
began to feel as though he was back inside his body again, he
discerned his surroundings as though in a dream. He seemed to be
walking freely, trotting through the undergrowth, and yet he could
feel Firdy's gloved fingers against his wrist. He no longer knew
whether he was holding Sarah's arm or whether she was holding him
and he didn't dare experiment with the sensation in case he lost
hold of her and didn't get her back. He wanted to stop and get his
bearings, as did some of the other thinkers, but Firdy gave them no
choice but to go on.

“No choice;
it's what you've been saying all along,” he thought.

And: “Where
are we going?”

And: “You need
me.”

And: “He's
crushing my fucking hand.”

He wanted to
lie down and run and cry and laugh. Once more, he was on the brink
of losing himself.

He attempted
to focus on the sound of waves, which had begun to overpower the
rustling of leaves.

He suspected
that Firdy was leading them straight to the edge of a cliff and
that when they got there there would be no climbing down. He was
finally going to find out what happened when he threw people into
the water.

The ground was
descending, so the group found it increasingly difficult to stay
upright. Firdy had picked up the pace and they were almost jogging
now. Tripping was inevitable, but although they stumbled, nobody
let go of the hand of the person in front.

They entered a
fog, which grew rapidly thicker with each step. It muffled the
sounds all around them. Firdy kept pulling and each one followed
the person in front, their footsteps no longer crunching dirt but
making little kisses and finally splashing. Simon concluded that
they were walking through very shallow water, a small waterfall
perhaps, but he couldn't see the ground at all anymore. He thought
about stopping, but Firdy yanked on his arm to dissuade him.

The ground was
still steep and Simon thought that perhaps they were following a
natural path down to the sea, but he didn't believe that. Something
was making his hairs stand on end.

Thankfully,
they slowed their pace, but they kept moving, on and down,
splashing in the dark. Firdy's grip loosened.

The waves had
become hushed and the whispering of the trees had faded away to
nothing. The sound of their breathing returned to them. Somebody
sneezed and the noise reverberated as though they were in an
enclosed space.

Simon
considered that maybe they had entered a tunnel. He was almost sure
that if he had been able to raise his hands he could have touched
the roof.

The answer to
what was happening bobbed in front of him for a long time, perhaps
floating up from Firdy, before he was able to accept it.

“Keep up,”
Firdy thought and Simon knew that its two-pronged meaning was
directed at him.

“We're here,
aren't we?” Simon thought.

He had
broadcasted to everyone, so the wrong people replied.

“We're
where?”

“Where's
here?”

“We're
stopping? Why are we stopping here? It's nowhere.”

“End of the
road.”

“I can't feel
him. I can't feel me.”

“Let's get
this over with.”

The voices
whirled. Losing his mind amid theirs again, Simon did all he could
to focus on Firdy, reaching for him like a lifeline. He thought of
Firdy's hand curled around his wrist and sought his thoughts in the
blackness.

“You're nearly
there,” Firdy was thinking. Again, the layers of meaning.

Simon was
decoding the message when another consciousness joined them at
their level and scattered all other thoughts like ants.

It said:

I'VE BEEN
WAITING
.

Cold invaded
Simon's skin, flesh and bones. He thought he might actually
freeze.

I'VE BEEN
WAITING FOR THIS.

They were
indoors and the room was thinking:

I'VE BEEN
WAITING FOR THIS FOR SO LONG.

The room was
alive.

She was
alive.

She was the
Third.

*

STOP.

A cascade.

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

The sky and
the ground had long departed from sight. The darkness was complete.
Now there was only the smell of sweat and piss and salt water. The
sound of tears, flowing water, obscenely similar to a garden water
feature, and tremulous breathing.

When Firdy
released Simon's arm, he should have been lost in the darkness,
like the others, but he thought again of the gloved hand, the
crooked nose, the broken teeth and he was able to see, watching
through Firdy. The largest thing in his vision was a ghostlike
figure. He had the eyes of a man washed up on a beach; someone who
had seen too much but had got away, until now. His hair was tangled
and the lower part of his face was covered in stubble, while his
clothes were covered with dirt. Despite his beaten appearance, it
seemed that one should be wary of him. More. He had to be
destroyed, one way or another, otherwise the fear of him would
never go away.