‘Why?’
‘I can’t go, not if they might still be alive. We’d be leaving them here with those things.’
Lily worked the blade of her knife through another knot and knew that Amelia was right. But still she continued to work, she spoke as she cut.
‘And how will we know? We can’t go back in there after them. How long do we wait?’
‘We wait, I don’t know how long – as long as we can I suppose.’
Amelia looked back at the door into the ship.
‘Come on, professor, come on,’ she whispered.
Connelly wormed his way through the air vents. They were just too narrow for him to move comfortably. Instead he pushed the box onwards and then wiggled his shoulders to move forwards. It was slow going but he pushed on. Once he reached another of the ventilation grills he paused and stared through into the darkness below. Something pale moved at the edge of his vision and he held his breath for a moment until the shade passed before he pushed and wriggled, pushed and wriggled, and made his way forward.
Eventually he reached another grill through which he saw nothing. He pushed the box further on and worked his way past the grill before slamming his heel into it and knocking it out of place. He pulled the box back towards him and then dropped down bringing it with him. Where were the others? Would they have headed for the boat? No time for any more chances not if the fuses back in the armoury worked like Connelly hoped they would. A movement at the edge of Connelly’s vision caused him to hurl himself to the side. The priest’s staff missed him by inches. Connelly pulled his clasp knife and thumbed the bade out. The priest watched him with blind eyes from the shadows cast by his conical hat.
‘Last dance,’ said Connelly. ‘Time running down – tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.’
The priest jabbed out with his staff and Connelly swayed back. He kicked out with his foot and the hunch-backed priest leapt away with a speed that belied the look of him. Connelly reversed the knife so that it pointed downwards from his fist.
‘Come on, you little shit.’
A grin in response and the staff lanced out, it caught Connelly in the shoulder and knocked him off balance the priest spun it back and cracked the wood across Connelly’s face. He stumbled and the priest closed in. Connelly tried to shake the pain of his cheek from his head. He let the priest close in and then reached out. He grabbed a fistful of robes and pulled the priest onto the blade. It cut deep straight into his chest where his bastard heart should’ve been. Connelly pulled back his head and butted the priest in the eye. The blade came out and then slipped in again through the priest’s neck; Connelly gave it a twist. The priest began to laugh and Connelly shoved him away. He reached into the box and pulled out a stick of dynamite that he had already fed with a fuse. The priest reversed his staff and ran at Connelly. In the moment before the staff stabbed into him, Connelly saw that the end was sharpened like a primitive spear. Impaled upon the staff, Connelly screamed as it punched through him. The priest ran him across the room and with every step the makeshift lance pushed further through the sailor. He grabbed for the priest’s head, knocking off the conical hat and got the bald nut-like head in his grasp. With a scream that was half agony and half battle cry he bounced the priest’s head off the wall and then threw him back. Waves of pain like nothing he had felt before hit Connelly, combining with the alien feeling of having something through his body that didn’t belong there.
Connelly turned and pressed the butt end of the staff against the wall. He pushed himself against it and forced his way down the length. He could feel the rough wood inside him and every inch was agony.
He looked over and saw the priest climbing back to his feet. Connelly dragged his body to the end of the staff. He heard the suck and squelch of blood and torn flesh as he dragged himself along it and he could feel the splinters of wood dragging at his insides. He pulled on, and then reaching around his back, he managed to wiggle the shaft loose from him. The priest was up now. With a scream Connelly hurled the staff away and fumbled the matches from his pocket. The first match snapped but the second sparked and Connelly touched it to the fuse of the dynamite stick.
‘Here, have this.’
Connelly leapt forward and shoved the lit stick down the front of the priest’s robes. He grabbed a hold and swung the smaller man until he had some momentum and then let go casting him down a stairwell. He left the box of dynamite where it lay and stumbled away as he counted off the seconds in his head. Every second he counted seemed to coincide with the drip-drip of blood falling from him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Busby felt the ship shift beneath him. But this was no roll of the sea, it felt like the wheel had been turned and the ship cast in another direction. Looking out over the rail Busby could see that the sky looked different where they were headed – even through the rain he could see the torn space they were headed for. The light itself seemed different there as though the fabric of their world had been ripped open and another made visible.
On the deck, Snell sat with his pistol in his hand. The creatures had them penned in now. Snell fired his last shot through a pale head and then Busby leapt forward slashing and cutting through flesh. Fists hammered into the big sailor, body and head, as he cut at them. Busby threw a vicious left in response and hands grabbed at him. He could feel the strength beginning to fall away from him.
‘Shit,’ he cut at the hands that held him but the grip was tight.
Snell broke open the revolver and placed it between his legs as he emptied the shells out and then reached for the fresh ones in his jacket pocket. Not many left now. Snapping the Webley shut, Snell raised the pistol and fired shot after shot in the beasts that were trying to drag Busby down. A low thump sounded somewhere on the ship. Busby smiled and then felt the bones in his arm give under the pressure of the hands, like chalk beneath a boot heel. He screamed and sliced at them with the knife but there were too many now and more hands grabbed at his knife. A fist slammed into his face like a brick and Busby felt his front teeth go, another caught him across the jaw and he heard the snap. Snell fumbled with the pistol and loaded his last two bullets in. Teeth bit down tearing the flesh in Busby’s neck. The big man screamed again and tried to get one of his arms free but it was no use they had him tight. He felt teeth snap through his ham string but couldn’t even lift his leg to stamp down.
‘Mr Busby!’
Busby felt more teeth biting into his flesh, fingers tearing soft parts away, but he managed to turn. Snell aimed straight at Busby’s head. The big sailor closed his eyes and Snell pulled the trigger. Busby sagged amongst the horde and Snell turned the gun back on himself. He put the barrel in his mouth and squeezed the trigger again.
Connelly slipped and fell to the deck. He saw the puddle beneath him cloud red as his life leaked out into it.
‘Ah, shit.’
He forced himself up and looked around to re-orientate himself. Close now, the boat can’t be far. With a deep groan, he pushed on with stumbling steps. How long has it been? How long left on those fuses? He slid rather than climbed down the ladder and his knees hit with a violent jolt. He saw Lily and Amelia and stumbled towards them.
‘Professor!’
Amelia caught his arm.
‘There isn’t time. Get the boat into the water. Get yourselves in.’
‘But you’re hurt…’
‘No time. I’ve set the dynamite. Not sure how long we have left. Get the boat out into the water.’
The two women manhandled the boat over the side and slid it into the crashing waves. Lily jumped down but Amelia turned back to Connelly.