The Skin Game - 03 Read online

  But I already knew that the next time I closed my eyes I'd be back there, trussed up in the nightmare.

  Best not to sleep at all.

  *****

  I was halfway down the next Camel when I heard footsteps in the hall beyond and the clink of glass on glass.

  "Who's there?" I called out, feeling quite pleased that I kept any trace of a tremor from my voice.

  That was because I knew already who it was...Brylcreem and after-shave are a potent mix, and I'd already had a whiff of the same cocktail earlier in the day.

  I sat up in the chair and tried to look attentive just as Lord Collins came through the doorway. He carried a whisky bottle and two glasses, and by the slightly glazed look to his eyes I guessed he'd made a start already.

  "Anything happening?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "It's been as quiet as a church mouse with slippers on," I replied. "But it's early yet."

  "I should go and leave you to it," he said, but showed no signs of moving.

  My eyes strayed to the whisky bottle, and he saw me looking.

  "We got off on the wrong foot this afternoon," he said. "Will you have a dram with me?"

  I smiled. "I'm working."

  "I won't tell anybody if you don't," he said, smiling back. He waved the bottle. "It's a 25-year-old MacAllan?"

  I motioned him forward.

  "I can't refuse a Lord with a bottle," I replied.

  "I can't refuse anybody with a bottle," he said, and again I saw the sad old man I'd met earlier.

  He sat in the large chair beside me and poured two fingers of malt into my glass.

  "Now if this was brandy, I'd call you Sternwood," I said. I didn't know if he'd get the reference, but he had known the names of the dicks earlier. And he was the right age to understand the cultural viewpoint.

  I knew he'd got it when he smiled.

  "I wouldn't let you anywhere near my daughters," he said, laughing. "But don't worry. I'm not about to saddle you with a case like that."

  "I don't know," I said. "Glamour, bad guys, guns and loose women...I think I could handle it for a while."

  "That's because with you it's private dicks. With me it was gangsters...Capone, Little Ceasar, Cagney...all the way up to Don Corleone. I was making other kids on the playground offers they couldn't refuse before I even knew what it meant." He paused and took a large sip of whisky. "And if it's glamour and loose women you're after, I can tell you from experience, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

  "A man in your position must see a lot of the high life, though?" I said.

  "High life, low life...it's all just life. All just something else to get through before bedtime."

  "You're too rich to be so cynical."

  "Too rich, too old...just too much of everything."

  We both sat and stared into the whisky for a bit. As usual, it revealed none of the answers to life's mysteries...it just made them a bit less worrisome.

  Collins spoke first.

  "You don't get to be in my position without stepping on a few toes over the years. And it was after we talked this afternoon that I remembered...I made an enemy recently."

  He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it over to me. I checked it over before opening it. There was no stamp or postmark, and it was simply addressed to Collins.

  From the look of it, it had been written with a cheap ballpoint, and by someone whose touch was none too light. Inside was a single sheet of paper and a bald statement written with the same heavy-handed pen.

  "The belt is mine."

  It was signed, The Dubh Sithe.

  *****

  I turned the sheet of paper over in my hands, but there was nothing on the other side.

  "That's all?"

  He nodded, taking another deep draft of whisky. He'd already put away enough to floor me, but it didn't seem to be having much effect on him.

  "The Dubh Sithe...that's Gaelic, isn't it?" I said.

  "Yes. Loosely translated, it means the Black Elf."

  "The Black Elf...what kind of a name is that?"

  He thought for a while before answering, as if pondering how much to tell me.

  "Do you really want to know?" he said in a whisper.

  "It's what you're paying me for...isn't it?" I replied. "Your whisky is nice, but your money is nicer."

  He quickly drained his glass and stood.

  "It's a magician's name," he said. "Someone my father came into contact with after the war."

  "And what is this belt he talks about?"

  "It would be best if I let my father tell you that part of the story."

  He went to a display case and took out a sheaf of papers. He picked out several and brought them over to me.

  "He was in the SAS during the war," he said. "And he left this memoir...these are the pertinent passages."

  He handed me the papers and filled my glass as

  I started to read.

  *****

  January 25th 1945. I took the call myself. Only five hours ago. It feels like a lifetime.

  Code Black the words said, then a map reference. That was all the information I was given...that was all I was ever given.

  Usually it proved to be enough.

  We were on the road and rolling within five minutes. Moving together as one well-oiled machine, we had weapons stowed, kit loaded and camouflage makeup applied even while I studied a map of St Auvenne. It sat on my lap alongside the latest aerial photographs. They showed the beasts drifting like shadows through the streets.

  "Christ! There are hundreds of them!" someone said at my shoulder.

  "Better get the flame-throwers warmed up, Tom," I said without turning. "It looks like it's going to be hot work. Call teams 2 and 3 into service before we roll. They can come along behind us...I've a feeling this isn't going to be a quick in-and-out job."

  Five minutes later the Lancaster rose into the air, taking us over the dark water of the English Channel. I had made the journey many times...on darker and colder nights. But I had a chill in my heart that would not go away, and the sight of the shadows flowing through the small town filled my heart with dread.

  The flight itself proved uneventful, and barely an hour after take-off, I led my men to the outskirts of St Auvenne.

  There were twenty-four of us, clad in black from head to toe, even our heads covered by dark balaclavas.

  "Tom. Take the town center. Two squads, 6 men each, wide sweep. I want the place cleared by oh-four-hundred. John. Stay with the fly-boys; standard back-up on my command."

  "What about you, sir?"

  "There's a hot spot up near the church. Childs, you and your men are with me."

  I didn't have to say anything more...the men were well-drilled, and everybody knew their job. They moved off at three-second intervals...shadows chasing shadows.

  I had given myself the most infested area, around the church and cemetery. I put Childs on point, some twenty yards to the right, then led the men forward as we reached the graveyard.

  A fine mist hung over the gray stones and clung to our clothes like candy floss. We moved through, keeping off the gravel paths to minimize noise. We reached almost halfway to the church when our radio crackled.

  "Beta squad reporting in. No activity in sector three. Moving on."

  The radio crackled again, but this time the voice didn't sound so calm. It was Tom Smith, strained but keeping discipline.

  "Gamma squad reporting in. We have activity all around us. Estimate one hundred victims. Engagement imminent. Request backup immediately."

  The sudden, all too familiar, rattle of automatic fire rang out, both on our radio and in the night air across the cemetery.

  "Beta squad. Proceed to sector four. We'll join you as soon as we're finished here," I said.

  "Ten four."

  We headed onwards towards the church.

  The crump of a grenade exploding and the rapid fire of machine pistols tore the quiet. As if on cue, the church doors open
ed, and a horde of beasts poured out.

  At first I thought that the fog played tricks with my perspective...then I realized. These particular victims all had one thing in common. They were all children.

  It looked like nothing more sinister than a group of kids at the end of a school day...until you looked closer. More than half of them were naked, and the rest wore little more than nightclothes.

  They streamed out of the church in a flood.

  The last out of the church wasn't a child. He wore a dog collar, but this was no longer a man of the cloth. Fresh blood dripped from slavering jaws as he shouted over the graveyard.

  "Subissez les enfants pour venir vous...pour le leur est le Royaume de Ciel."

  He laughed...a cold, hard laugh with no joy in it.

  I looked at the children and hesitated...only for a second, but long enough for the situation to get completely out of hand.

  "Fire!" I shouted.

  They were way ahead of me. The air filled with gunfire and screams. The specially prepared silver pellets tore smoking holes in the small bodies. But there were too many attackers, and the press of bodies soon meant we were down to hand-to-hand fighting.

  A three-foot bundle of claws, fangs and blood leapt for my throat. I had to drop my pistol, and only the thickness of material of my balaclava stopped me from getting sorely bitten. I managed to get my hands up, catching the creature under the chin. My training took over.

  The child's neck broke.

  It fell...dead before it hit the ground.

  Nausea rose in my throat, but I kept it at bay as a tiny child, little more than a baby, crawled up my body, fast as a squirrel going up a tree. I lashed out, hard, and felt the nausea rise further as the child's skull caved in, leaving only hot brain tissue in my hand.

  I dropped the body and tried to breathe deep.

  I got no respite. The call came that I'd been dreading...

  Man down!

  I risked a glance; the others had hit trouble. One lay on the ground, and another stood over him, gun raised. The trooper tried to keep the pack at bay. But three screaming beasts ran straight at him. He wasn't going to be holding them off for long.

  I heard more rapid gunfire in the distance, but didn't have time to pay attention. I pushed through the crowd. I only got halfway when the thing in the dog collar blocked my way. I dropped inside its reach and smashed the heel of my hand into its nose. Bones crushed under my palm. I twisted, and caught it in a neck lock.

  It took only one twist.

  The thing fell dead at my feet.

  I stepped over the body and ran, but it proved too late...nothing was left but heaving mounds where the turned children piled in a frenzy of bloodlust and bloodletting.

  I took the only option left to me.

  I fled, making for the sound of gunfire, the sound that told me I might still have a chance of survival.

  *****

  I turned to Collins.

  "What is this shit? It reads like a bad horror movie. In fact, it's worse than that...there's no nudity in it."

  Collins smiled grimly.

  "It's pertinent as to why you're here," he said. "Don't stop. There's more yet. A lot more.

  *****

  I ran through the empty streets. My breath came heavy in my chest, the cold night air tearing at my lungs. I cast a quick glance backwards. It only told me what I already knew. The children of hell chased at my heels.

  I upped my pace, but although I was fit, although I was SAS trained, still they managed to keep pace barely ten strides behind me.

  The sound of gunfire echoed in my ears, close now. A red glow lit the sky just ahead of me. I put on a spurt and burst into the crossroads at the heart of the town mere seconds ahead of my pursuers.

  I found a scene from my worst nightmare.

  The men of Gamma squad were grouped in a tight circle in the central island. They had thrown up a crude barricade behind three cars and a collection of benches, but they barely held their own against the horde of the contaminated that ranked against them.

  The pack was crammed four deep around the defenders...and more poured in from the feeder roads, drawn by the taint of hot blood. Thick black smoke rose from the burning bodies of those already felled, but the beasts kept pressing, even as they walked over their burning dead.

  I saw Tom Smith strap on a flame-thrower.

  "Incoming!" I shouted.

  Tom looked around, and gave me a nod as our eyes met.

  He stood back.

  The skin on my face tightened as he torched me a path through the pack. They fell away, burning. The smell of roasting meat filled the air and I covered my mouth with my hand. Behind the fleeing, burning beasts a clear alleyway opened through to the barricade.

  I didn't need a second invitation. I drove forward into the gap...almost too late.

  Turned children clawed at my heels as I threw myself over the barricade. I fell, headfirst, between two soldiers, so I didn't see what happened. But I heard the whoosh as the flame-thrower kicked in...and I smelled again the sweet odor of roasting flesh. I knew immediately it was a smell that would never leave me.

  "Glad you could join us, sir," Tom Smith said as I got to my feet and brushed ash from my clothes. The sergeant's grin slipped when he looked at my face.

  "We're in trouble, big man," I said. "So spare the chat for later. Give me a weapon. And tell me back-up is on its way."

  "ETA ten minutes."

  I looked out over the scene in front of me. The horde of blood-crazed creatures lined up against us screamed in frenzy and surged forward once more.

  "Tell them to hurry," I said grimly.

  *****

  "Beasts? Packs? What are we talking about here? Some kind of new disease?" I asked Collins.

  He poured me another whisky.

  "No. Some kind of old one."

  He went back to his whisky and showed no sign of elaborating. I went back to my reading.

  *****

  I had no more time for talk. They came at us in wave after wave. And in wave after wave we sent them to a cleansing death.

  Our ammo blew gaping, smoking holes in everything it hit, and the flame-thrower sent many of the attackers wailing into each other...blazing torches that wreaked yet more damage. Smoke stung my eyes, but I kept firing, pumping ammo into old ladies in hairnets and nightgowns, children in pajamas, police officers and uniformed youths.

  And still they came on.

  The barricade held, but the press of attackers did not diminish. And the silver ammo would not last forever.

  Suddenly the attack faltered. They lost all interest in us and turned north. En masse, they streamed out of the junction, leaving us staring out over the carnage left behind.

  "What happened?" Tom asked, but I didn't have an answer.

  The radio crackled.

  "Team 2 incoming. ETA one minute."

  "Targets heading north," I replied. "Estimated number around three hundred."

  I heard the gasp on the other end of the line and allowed myself a grim smile. John Wilkes liked to appear unconcerned by anything the packs had ever thrown at us...but this surprised him.

  "Are you carrying the F12s?" I asked.

  "Yes...a couple of dozen," Wilkes replied.

  "Tell them to locate the targets and deploy them all."

  Again I heard the sharp intake of breath. I'd surprised Wilkes twice in the same conversation...that must be a record.

  "That's an order, John. I know it's against regs but the situation is in danger of getting out of hand. Just find the bastards...hit them with everything you've got."

  "Yes, sir," came the crisp answer.

  The radio went silent again.

  For the first time since I'd led the men into the graveyard I was able to stop and take stock.

  I'd lost nine men. I knew from experience that shock would hit me later...when I was alone and knew I wouldn't be disturbed. But for now I had work to do.

  "Tom. Take Brown
and Walters and start a clear up here. I want this whole area torched; scorched earth policy."

  The big man threw me a crisp salute and strode off. I heard him barking orders, and immediately moved on mentally to the next task...I knew I could trust Tom to get the job done.

  "The rest of you come with me. Those bastards headed north...we'd better see what was so important that it kept them away from biting us."

  I led the rest out, being careful to keep out of reach of the prone bodies. We knew from bitter experience that not everything that looked dead stayed that way.

  We took the north exit from the junction...walking down the center of the road, guns loaded and held ready, alert for any sound, any movement.

  It seemed we were alone.

  We traveled a hundred yards before the radio crackled once more.

  "Bloody hell!" the voice said, and I managed a grim smile.

  "That's what I like about your reports, John. Concise and to the point."

  "Sorry, sir. But you'll never believe this. We followed the targets, and were about to deploy the F12s when they all keeled over, like they had been pole-axed."

  I almost let out a whoop of triumph.

  "But I will believe it. I've seen it before, during the Tripoli outbreak. Somebody just took out the source. We got lucky."

  "There's a pretty good fire under way further north," Wilkes said. "It looks like that might be where they were headed."

  "Then we'll rendezvous there."

  "Shall I deploy the F12s anyway, sir?"

  "Hell, yes. Burn them to ashes...and start on the rest of the town."

  An hour later I stood in the smoldering ashes of a burnt out Manor House, contemplating how close we had come to disaster.

  "Survivors?" I asked.

  Wilkes shook his head.

  "But we have this."

  *****

  The manuscript stopped abruptly. I looked up, but Collins wasn't about to hand me any more pieces of paper to read.

  "And?" I asked. "What did they find?"

  Collins stood and took something from the display case. He carried it over to me, almost as if he was delivering a sacred relic.