“Everybody ready?” Michael asked. Absolute silence.
“Just do it,” Kieran reluctantly said.
“Single file. Hold onto the back of the person in front, okay?”
Michael didn’t wait for anyone to reply. As soon as Harte grabbed his shoulder he began to move along the passageway he’d uncovered, his boots crunching and slipping through the rapidly deepening mess. He frequently lost his footing when he trod on submerged bones and he did his best to sweep them away to either side. He crunched through rib cages and pushed skulls away like footballs.
“Shit,” Howard cursed when he tripped and almost dragged half the group over. His frighted voice was amplified by the narrowness of the corridor they now followed. “This is madness. We should turn back.”
“You can if you like,” Michael said, finding it increasingly hard to concentrate, almost having to wade through the decay now, “but I’m getting out of here.”
Lorna gagged at the ice-cold mire which was now close to reaching her waist. The stench was all-consuming. It felt like it was coating the insides of her nostrils and throat.
“We don’t even know if this is the way Jackson came,” Howard said, continuing to complain. “There might have been another way. We might have missed a turning or something…”
“He’s right,” Harte reluctantly admitted, almost losing his balance again. “Maybe we should think about going back? Those bodies will cause a distraction up there and we can—”
“As long as I can keep moving forward,” Michael said through gritted teeth, “then there’s still a chance we’re going the right way.”
Still feeling his way ahead with outstretched hands, Michael suddenly stopped. The rest of the group bunched up behind him.
“What is it?” Lorna nervously asked. He didn’t answer. His legs felt weak. Was it a dead end?
“Michael? What is it? What’s the problem?”
“Wait a second,” he said. In front of him he could feel another huge mound of decay. He turned around and passed his torch to Harte. “Do me a favor, try and give me some light.”
Harte and the others who still carried torches obliged, but by the time they’d all got their lights aimed toward him, Michael had disappeared. He ducked down, his chin almost scraping the surface of the mire, and stretched out his arms. Moments later he stood up again, dripping with decay.
“Did you slip?” Lorna asked. She held out her hand to him. “Come on, let’s go back…”
Michael was grinning. “I think this is it. I think I can feel a way through. Has anybody got anything I can dig with?”
He realized as soon as he’d said it that that was a stupid question as none of them had anything with them other than torches and Howard’s screwdriver. He sunk both hands into the decay and pulled out a limb. At first he thought it was an arm, but he realized it was a leg and he stripped away what little muscles and nerves remained, then snapped off what was left of a flapping foot. Using the ankle end of the leg as a prod, he tried to feel and push his way through. He tried to dig frantically and, after a few seconds of concerted effort, he discarded the leg and shoved his arm into the gap he’d made in the offensive gloop. Working blind, he grabbed at whatever he could get hold of now and tried to drag it all back toward him. Sucking, squelching noises filled the narrow space as more and more of the mess came away in large congealed chunks. He pushed his weight forward against the blockage, and more of the decay toppled away. And then he felt cold, relatively fresh air on his face.
“I don’t think there’s a door,” he said, “just a hole. Everyone ready?”
No one answered but he didn’t care. He took a deep breath, dropped his shoulder, and charged forward, throwing himself at the clog of remains which was blocking their way out. It gave way with surprisingly little effort and then, suddenly, he was outside. A huge mass of death came spilling out after him, as if he’d burst an enormous spot on the side of the castle. The rest of the group staggered out, glistening with decay in the faint light of the moon. They stood together, soaked and stinking but not giving a damn, just relieved to be outside the castle walls again.
45
How the hell had he missed that?
Will Bayliss looked across the castle courtyard. It was pitch black—still the middle of the night—but he was sure he’d seen something moving over by the prefabricated buildings. Jas, Mel, Paul Field, and Ainsworth were in one of the caravans, trying to keep warm and arguing about what they were going to do next. Jas, who seemed to rapidly be losing touch with the rest of them, was trying to lay down the law and tell them exactly how things were going to be—how they were going to leave the castle before morning and track Kieran and the rest of those fuckers down. Bayliss had had enough. Who the hell did Jas think he was? About twenty minutes ago he’d used the excuse of going for a piss to get out of the caravan for a while. He’d have stayed out longer if it hadn’t been so bloody cold.
He was about to go back inside, but the glimpse of movement over the way had stopped him in his tracks. That was them, it had to be. The dumb bastards hadn’t seen him either. He slipped back into the caravan.
“Where’ve you been?” Mel asked. Bayliss ignored her.
“Found them, Jas,” he said, grinning. “They’re in the gift shop.”
* * *
The five of them crept slowly around the perimeter wall, two coming from one side, three from the other.
“Stupid fuckers,” Jas said. “What were they thinking? Why go to all that effort, then just hide in the bloody gift shop? Fucking morons.”
Ainsworth crept along behind him. He desperately wanted to see her again. There were just a handful of people left alive now, and all he wanted was to see just one of them. He wanted to tell Lorna how sorry he was and how he’d understood why she’d done what she had.
Jas stopped just short of the gift shop door, and gestured for Bayliss, Field, and Melanie to stop on the other side. He had one of the rifles with him, and by God, this time he thought he might actually use it. He rushed forward, pumped full of adrenaline, and kicked the door open.
Then he stopped.
Corpses began lurching toward him, and he backed away in horror as they spilled out of the open door and flooded into the courtyard. Even in the pitifully low light the full extent of their danger was immediately apparent. These creatures were stronger than all the others he’d seen on the other side of the castle wall, less decayed and more controlled. Had they been hiding? Waiting for him?
“The dead!” he screamed. “The dead are inside!”
Ainsworth tried to drag him away. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jas remained rooted to the spot, the corpses drawing ever closer. Ainsworth looked up and saw the other three running for cover. Were they heading back to the caravans? No, it looked like they had other plans. They were heading for the van which had been parked across the gate to block the entrance. And now someone was opening the gate …
“Wait!” he yelled, but they ignored him. He started to run, but then looked back at Jas, who had hardly moved. The nearest of the dead had lifted their arms and were almost upon him now, ready to attack. He looked back again when he heard an engine starting. The van moved with sudden speed, skidding around in a tight circle, then driving straight out through the open gate and into the decay outside. It was impossible to see what was happening from here, but Ainsworth knew the dead would no doubt be pouring in through the gate too. After standing strong for so long, the castle was about to be overthrown.
He grabbed Jas by the arm and pulled him away. Jas was terrified. Ainsworth couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone look so scared. “Come on, Jas. We have to get out of here.”