The Night of the Mosquito (10 page)

Chapter 22

St Michael’s Church. 10:55 a.m.

Wolfe lay on his back staring at the slots in the ceiling through which the bell ropes travelled. The room above had been part dismantled – open joists and unboarded, apart from a few new-looking boards around the head of the stairs and leading across to the pulley wheels. The work had long since been abandoned.

Unconcerned about capture, he’d taken his time with the victims. Satiated and woozy, he wondered why no one searched for him. An hour had passed since the last bells had rung and pigeons had slowly returned to roost. The birds, lined up on a rotten beam, shuffled nervously, their eyes shifting from Wolfe to the motionless woman beside him and then on to the broken-necked cadaver, which twisted, suspended from a creaking rope.

Wolfe traced a downy white feather falling on a lazy spiralled course, picked out individual flecks of dust floating in the bars of light let through the cracks in walls and louvres. Content, he closed his eyes. His mind drifting like the feather, he felt a part of himself shift. He slipped into another world.

Footsteps and drunken laughter echoed down a narrow passageway in the dark. A woman, dressed in a filthy white bonnet and drab skirts that dragged the ground, led a man deeper into darkness. Both stumbled over cobbles slicked with rain. Away from the main thoroughfare, save for the moon dusting silhouettes, there was no light.

‘This’ll do,’ the woman said, stopping so abruptly, her companion staggered into her. She giggled as he leaned into her, pawing at her clothes. She drew him further into shadow, back against a door. It rattled. Fumbling, his fingers succeeded in freeing one of her breasts. ‘Yes,’ he announced triumphantly, before lowering his mouth over the dark flesh of her nipple. ‘Mmm,’ he mumbled, nibbling and sucking greedily. She writhed against the door, expert fingers finding his cock while she hoisted her dress with the other. Parting her legs, she stroked and pulled, milking him. ‘Come on, I ain’t got all night.’

‘On the floor, girl,’ he said.

‘But it’s all fucking wet.’

‘The wetter the better.’

She shrieked, the door clattering in its frame as he wrestled her. ‘Awright, awright,’ she whispered. ‘Before you wake everyone banging against the door.’ She took the shawl from around her shoulders and laid it down. They sank onto it.

‘Don’t you shoot your load inside me.’

‘Fuck off,’ he snarled through gritted teeth, ‘can’t stop now.’

With the frenzied thrusting of his hips and open-mouthed panting, she knew he wouldn’t stop. Timed to perfection, she jerked up and rolled away, breaking contact as he ejaculated. ‘Bitch,’ he growled, his fist coaxing the last drops of semen from a rapidly subsiding cock.

‘Come on, up,’ she said, getting to her knees. ‘You’re on me shawl.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘And where’s me tuppence?’

‘For that?’ His fingers balled. Lurching at her from a half-crouch, his fist exploded from the darkness, smashing her jaw. ‘You can ‘ave five.’

The man staggered to his feet, adjusted his clothing and lumbered down the alleyway towards the gas-lit street.

No sooner had the drunkard disappeared into the night than a tall man, dressed in dark clothes and carrying a polished black leather bag, stepped from the shadows.

The woman groaned, rolled off her back and struggled onto all fours before pausing to collect her scattered wits. She stood up, one hand against a wall to steady her, and became aware of another customer. Her exposed breast popped back under her clothing, she said, ‘I’ve shut up shop for the night.’

‘You appear to be hurt.’

She focused on him, saw his bag. ‘I’m awright, doctor, ‘ad worse.’

‘Let me see,’ he said, grasping her chin as she turned away.

‘Honest, I’m awright.’

His hand slid around the back of her neck, holding her firm.

He stared into her eyes, his desire unmistakable.

‘Oh, awright,’ she said. ‘Cost you sixpence.’

‘Will you do something extra for me?’ He held up a shilling in the space between them.

She snatched it from his fingers. ‘For that, you can ‘ave me upside down in a wheelbarrow.’

The bargain struck, he tightened his grip and pulled her in for a kiss. His mouth enveloped hers. A finger and thumb closing her nostrils, the woman’s eyes bulged. He bit down hard. Blood burst through her mangled lips. He sucked.

Minutes later, the woman lay dead, sliced ear to ear, cunt to collarbone. He took a moment to survey his handiwork, grunted satisfaction and then scurried away through the alley. He carried a trophy, wrapped in a fine silk handkerchief. Mouth watering, he felt his cock stand up at the thought of devouring her heart in the privacy of home.

Wolfe awoke, disoriented, and blinked his eyes. Next to him, the woman, and above, her silent witness. Running his finger from her collarbone, he traced the line of the cut he’d just seen in his dream. ‘Nothing to slice you with,’ he said. ‘Shame, I fancied a takeaway.’

He stood and stretched.

Where to now?

Outside, the contrast in light stung his eyes. The sky, colours morphing from greens to pinks and back again. Not right. Still no one searched for him. It occurred to him there was more fun to be had while he remained free. On the other side of the untended graveyard, a dense copse of trees beckoned. The hand of an internal compass swept around in his head, confirming the way. It was impossible to tell how long he’d slept or what time of day it was. He weaved among the uneven tombstones and stepped over the wall. Avoiding the road, Wolfe reached the treeline. He entered the woods and stumbled down the gradient, dropping through undergrowth until he arrived at a steep embankment.

A railway cutting. No sign of life. He paused, looked both ways, and then, turning right, followed the tracks.

Chapter 23

Priestley police station. 11:05 a.m.

Adams, the longest serving officer and most familiar face, was chosen to guard the entrance to the station, while Trent, the youngest, was assigned to provide him with backup.

Everyone else adjourned to the briefing room.

‘All these are working, but I can’t send or receive on any wavelength,’ Emerson sighed, replacing the last of the radios on the desktop. ‘Can’t even reach Adams down the corridor.’

‘With daytime aurorae as powerful as those out there, it’s hardly surprising,’ the professor said, observing the sky through one of the windows. ‘When they dissipate, electromagnetic interference will have dropped to a level where some communications will be restored.’

Williams raised his eyebrows hopefully. ‘And I don’t suppose you can say how long that will be?’

‘I can’t,’ he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘This is, as I said earlier, unprecedented. Quebec was down power-wise for around nine or ten hours, radio disrupted for perhaps only a few . . .’

‘So, in other words,’ Emerson said, ‘you think it’ll be a few hours at least? If it goes on longer than that, and we can’t coordinate our efforts with the other forces, we could have problems by tonight.’

‘You’ve already got people fighting because they can’t buy food on plastic—’

‘So what do you suggest, Jordan? Put them in jail?’

‘What?’ he said, momentarily lost for words. ‘Because I’m a prison officer? Fucking stupid thing to say—’

‘My point exactly,’ the inspector growled, eyeballing him.

‘Let’s keep it calm,’ the professor said. ‘This kind of behaviour won’t get us anywhere. We need to lead from the front, by example. Let’s all think this through.’ He perched on a corner of a vacant desk. ‘You recall I told you that you’d be surprised if you knew what we academics used to talk about? Doomsday featured on the list. We’d often explore ‘what if’ scenarios, and in this case, after covering all logical steps, we realised there was one eventuality we’d really struggle with. What if communications were down, what then? The inevitable conclusion, you don’t want to know.’ Looking about the room, his eyes settled on the inspector. ‘Do we have any portable loudhailers?’

Emerson’s brow furrowed. ‘I know we have at least one; could even be two here. Are you suggesting we take to the streets, making announcements?’

‘Word of mouth is a great way to spread news and messages in the absence of anything else.’

Emerson nodded. ‘Lara, see if you can locate them, will you?’

‘Where do I start?’ She shrugged, her hands palm-up in a silent appeal for guidance.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Williams said. ‘Help you carry them. I think they’re in the spare office.’

She smiled as he held the door for her.

The old man continued. ‘We haven’t got the resources to impose strict regimes, but if we can get across that, orderly conduct and cooperation will get us back up and running sooner, and we might get somewhere.’

Emerson looked at his watch. ‘You don’t reckon those two have stopped off for a bit of nooky, do you?’

‘I heard that,’ Croft said, indignant, as she re-entered the room.

Williams walked in behind her, carrying a loudhailer in each hand, and protested. ‘We’ve only been gone a minute, sir.’

‘Never mind the bullshit, give me one of those.’ Emerson took one and switched it on. ‘Well, would you look at that? It works. Come on, let’s get out there. We’ll start with the people already here.’

‘Everybody out. I’m going to make some important announcements.’ Emerson shooed the people out of Reception. ‘Come on. Out. I’m going to talk to you outside.’

The people were reluctant to leave, and a series of voices asked half-hearted questions. ‘What’s going on now?’

‘When’s the power coming back?’

Emerson held his hand held up and mimed a shoving gesture. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said, waving the megaphone at them. ‘I don’t want to deafen us all by using this thing indoors.’

They retreated, lining up along the access ramp’s safety handrails all the way back to the pavement.

Emerson checked over his shoulder; the professor was right behind him, Croft and the rest of the station staff stood under the canopy. Scanning the street, he noted there were more people making their way to the station, faces pale, etched with anxiety. Rosy pinks streaked the nebulous pale green sky. Emerson raised the cone of the speaker to his mouth and began to speak. ‘Can I have your attention, please?’

His voice robotic, funnelled through the amplification system, echoed from nearby buildings and carried on the breeze. Passers-by over a hundred yards away turned to look in his direction, many deviating from their chosen courses, headed towards the sound, curiosity bringing them closer to hear better. ‘That’s right, gather round; move in. We will be making a series of announcements designed to keep you up-to-date with what we know at the moment, and to appeal for cooperation.’ He paused, estimating there were perhaps upwards of two hundred people now congregated in his immediate vicinity.

‘Before we go any further, let me introduce myself. I’m Inspector Tom Emerson. Most of you already know Professor Young. He’s been working with us to formulate some plans, and I’m going to hand you over to him to explain what some of you already know. He’ll do a far better job of it than I will.’

The professor stepped forward and took the megaphone.

After five minutes spent outlining the situation and answering questions, he handed the speaker back to Emerson.

‘We need volunteers,’ the inspector said. ‘Those of you who are fit and able, start knocking on doors. Let’s develop some community spirit. Look out for the vulnerable, the elderly as well as the very young. Appoint people capable of commanding respect.’ Growing in confidence, he built on the foundations laid by the professor. ‘Every street should have a leader. Once we’ve established who they will be, we’ll reconvene here at noon.’

He broke off, amazed at the sea of different faces listening intently. At the crowd swarming in from all directions, a critical mass self-perpetuating, voices hushed, perhaps sensing they had become as one. A huge organism united in the face of a coming adversity.

‘We’re hoping we won’t need to go this far, but we need to get organised, now.’ The megaphone sweeping left and right, his voice growing louder, he said, ‘We’re going to talk to shopkeepers. Ask them to issue IOUs to people who can’t pay for goods; it’s better than having thieves helping themselves, and they will be reimbursed, we’ll make sure of it. And let’s start rationing, while we still have something to ration. If this stretches on for a couple of days, we’ll be glad we took early action.’ People exchanged looks. Heads bobbed, agreements were murmured, drowning out arguments against, creating a hubbub.

‘Fuel,’ he shouted, remembering more of what the professor had told him. ‘If this drags on, we’re going to need as much as we can lay our hands on. We need to conserve what we have. No travelling unless absolutely necessary. We’re safer among people we know, if the worst comes to the worst. We’re hoping we won’t need to go that far, but we have to plan. We need to be ready. Now, I know I haven’t covered everything, but it’s a start.’

Professor Young laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Well done; you handled that well.’

Emerson smiled. For the first time since his promotion, he felt worthy.