The Gathering, page 22
“A swim?”
“What? You think vampyrs can’t swim either? I can swim like a fish.”
Mercy yanked her dress over her head, revealing small, pert breasts and slightly too-small panties. She wasn’t shy or coy about her body like Barbara. She ran down the bank and splashed into the shallows of the river. After a moment, Barbara pulled off her T-shirt and shorts, revealing her tired old bra and knickers beneath, and followed her. The water was chilly in the shade of the trees, so she floated just outside, in the warmer water.
That was how they would always swim afterward. Mercy in the shadows and Barbara in the sunlight, floating on their backs, fingers almost touching.
“So, what do they tell you about us?” Mercy asked.
“I’m not sure I want to say.”
“Go on.”
“That you’re demons, damned. And we can ward you off with a cross, or garlic.”
Mercy snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Oh, and you can only come into a house if you’re invited.”
Mercy seemed to consider. “Never tested it, but it sounds like crap.”
Barbara giggled. “Is all of it wrong?”
“Mostly. Anything else?”
“Goddam, evil, blood-sucking spawns of Satan.”
“My dad,” Barbara said, “he says a lot of bad stuff. He hates vampyrs. He thinks you’re an abomination.”
“There’s a lot of vampyrs hate humans too. I’d be in trouble if my folks found out I was here.”
“What would they do?”
“Oh, probably stop me from coming again. Put me to work skinning the pigs for a while. What about your dad?”
The reply came to her, so sudden and involuntary, Barbara didn’t even think before articulating it:
“He’d kill you.”
* * *
—
Summer couldn’t last. Perhaps that added to the intensity of their relationship. A feeling that, right from the start, it was finite. Their moments were secret, snatched and special. Stolen in dappled shade. Lying together in the rough grass. Talking, giggling, kissing.
But secrets are hard to keep in a small town. One day, Barbara arrived home, hair still damp from the river, clothes dishevelled, and she knew.
Someone had seen them.
Her dad stood outside the front door in just his trousers and vest, taut as trip wire, face a mask of barely contained rage. His battered old truck was parked just outside. Barbara’s heart had started to pound, but she tried to act casually.
“Hi, Dad. Shall I get your dinner on?”
“Where you been, Babs?”
“Down by the river.”
“Doing what?”
“Swimming, reading. You know.”
“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Okay.”
“You there on your own?”
She hesitated. Admit to meeting Mercy but deny she was Colony? Or deny meeting anyone at all? But then, her dad wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think he already knew the answer.
“No,” she said eventually. “I bumped into another girl down there. We just hung out for a bit.”
Her dad nodded and took a step forward. “That so? What’s she called, this other girl.”
“Mercy.”
“Where’s she from?”
“I don’t know. I think she said her family were travelers…I didn’t say before because, well, she’s black.”
She paused, tasting the panic in her throat, hoping it would be enough to convince him. Who had seen them? How much had they seen? What could they possibly know?
He took another step toward her.
“Well, I’m disappointed, Babs. You know how I feel about blacks.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“But you know what I hate worse? Liars!”
His hand shot out and slammed into the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. She landed on her knees on the dusty, parched grass.
He stood over her. She could smell alcohol and sweat.
“And you know what I hate more than liars?”
He booted her hard in the side. Her kidneys erupted into fire and Barbara retched, feeling like she might throw up.
“Fucking vampyrs.”
“She’s not a—”
Another boot to the spine. She howled and curled into a ball.
“You were seen, Babs. Frank’s daughter saw you. Frank knows all those vampyr scum, and she’s one of them.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” Each word punctuated by another kick. Barbara screamed and tried to cover her head.
“You stupid little bitch. She ain’t your friend. She’s preying on you. Corrupting you. Did she touch you, Babs? Bite you?”
“No.”
“Get up.” He hauled her to her feet. “Take your clothes off.”
“NO!”
He slapped her hard around the face again. Blood exploded from her lip.
“Do it!”
Slowly, she shed her shirt and shorts.
“Everything.”
She slipped off her damp bathing costume. She wrapped her arms over her breasts and crossed her legs to hide her lady parts, shame overtaking the pain. Her dad walked around her in a slow circle, staring at her body, lifting her hair to check her neck. She shuddered at his touch. Eventually, he spat on the floor.
“Get dressed. And then get in the truck.”
She couldn’t refuse. She hastily pulled her clothes back on and then climbed into the truck. Her dad climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“We’re going for a drive.”
The truck bumped and juddered down the track. Every jolt sent paroxysms of pain through Barbara’s battered body. For a moment, she thought her dad was driving her into town, but then he turned off down another, even narrower, track that cut and weaved through the heavy forest. Finally, when it seemed like the track had petered out entirely and they were just bumping along scrubland between the trees, the forest opened out into a clearing. A large wooden cabin stood in the center. The lodge.
Her dad stopped his truck outside. Then he jumped out, walked around and yanked open her door.
“Get out.”
She half climbed, half tumbled out, clutching her sore ribs. Her dad grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the lodge. He took a heavy key out of his pocket.
“Dad, please?”
“Shut your mouth.”
He fumbled the key into the lock.
“This is our town. A good, Christian town. The Colony, they’re feral, creatures of Satan. They got no place on this earth.”
“I get it. Can we just go home?”
He grabbed her face, squeezing. “You need to understand.” Then he pushed open the door and shoved her into the darkened room. “This is the only place vampyrs ‘hang’ around here.”
He flicked on a light. Barbara turned.
The room was sparsely furnished with battered couches and chairs, careworn rugs thrown over the floor. A makeshift bar had been set up in one corner and a scarred table was scattered with cards. A place for men to meet, drink, gamble…and admire their trophies.
They were mounted on every wall. Heads. At least a dozen. Men, women, children. They gazed down with dead, glassy eyes. Fair-haired, dark, auburn. Faces frozen in anguish. Teeth protruding in paralyzed snarls.
“No,” Barbara muttered. “No!”
“It’s where they belong, Babs. They’re animals—and we hunt them like animals.” Her dad smiled a thin, cruel smile. “But don’t worry. They won’t bite.”
He slammed the door shut. Barbara heard the key turn on the other side. Horror rose in her throat. She threw herself at the rough wood.
“Let me out! Don’t leave me here!”
Her dad’s laughter sounded through the door. “You love ’em so much, you get to spend the whole night with ’em, Babs. And tomorrow, I’m going to pay your little friend a visit.”
She heard his footsteps crunch away and the splutter of the old truck engine disappearing into the distance. She screamed. She kicked and hammered at the door. But it was no good. The wood was sturdy and strong, and there was no one to hear her cries.
Barbara turned and looked back around the lodge. Windows that were too small and too high to reach. No other door. She was trapped.
Just her and the trophies.
The multitude of vacant eyes stared back.
And that was when she noticed it.
On the far wall, amid the snarling decapitated heads, was an empty wooden mount.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to pay your little friend a visit.”
Mercy.
40
Barbara’s eyes shot open. She wasn’t sure what had woken her. The room was dark and silent. Just the sound of her own breathing. And yet, something felt off.
She reached for her phone and glanced at the time: 3:30 a.m. The Grill had been shut when she got back from the church. After a quick wash, she’d collapsed into the embrace of the sagging mattress and fallen straight asleep.
Now, she felt wide awake. She stretched out her fingers and felt for the bedside lamp. She clicked it on. Nothing happened. Damn. A blown bulb maybe? Then she realized what was wrong. The room was too dark.
Normally, the glow of the Christmas lights provided illumination through the thin curtains. But tonight, there was nothing. It must be a power cut. Unsurprising. In the town she grew up in power cuts were a regular occurrence, especially in winter, the grid as unreliable and cranky as the people who lived there. The power would probably come back on at some point and…something thudded downstairs. The sound of a heavy item falling. Shit. Barbara sat up.
Carly and her family lived a couple of houses further down the street. Other than that, it was just her and anyone else who might be staying here. Barbara debated with herself. She had Carly’s number, but then, what was Carly going to do if there was an intruder in the place? Call the police. And Barbara was the police.
She yanked a jumper on over her pajamas, slipped her feet into her snow boots and reluctantly picked up her gun and holster from the bedside table. Her bag was on the floor at the end of the bed, alongside Rita’s box of photos. Rita had agreed to let Barbara take them to look over again. Barbara rummaged inside the bag and pulled out a flashlight. She flicked it on, the beam blinding her as it hit the mirror opposite.
“Crap.”
She blinked to clear the red stars in her eyes and pointed the flashlight around the room. All looked as she expected. But from downstairs she heard more thuds. Someone was moving about.
Barbara walked over to the door, unlocked it and stepped outside. The corridor felt even cooler than her room. She shivered a little as she padded along to the top of the stairs and shone her flashlight down the narrow staircase. Carefully, she descended. Treads that didn’t seem to make a sound in daylight groaned under her weight. Finally, she reached the bottom. She took a breath and pushed open the door to the bar.
One hand on her gun, she swept the room with her flashlight, left and right. The booths and tables looked empty; chairs stacked on top, but it was hard to see beneath. Keeping her eyes on the room, she reached for the lights to her left, flicking the switches just in case. Still out. Damn. She turned toward the bar. Nope, no one hiding there ready to jump out. That only left the kitchen. Barbara swapped the flashlight into her left hand and pulled out her gun. Moving forward, she pushed open the door to the back of the restaurant with her shoulder.
She swung the flashlight around, hoping to catch an intruder by surprise. The kitchen wasn’t that big. Chrome ovens and grills lined either side. Utensils hung from hooks. A pan lay on the floor. Knocked there? She walked forward, gun held at her side. It was cold in here. Really cold.
And now she could see why.
The freezer door hung open.
It must have its own generator.
Her heart thudded in her throat. She shone the flashlight into the freezer, telling herself that the shaking in her hands was only the sub-zero temperatures. She could see Marcus’s body lying on the steel table. Of course. What had she expected? But she couldn’t deny the momentary shudder of relief.
It was short-lived. Someone had been in here. The freezer had been disturbed. Hunks of meat lay on the floor and freezer bags full of…what the hell? Barbara walked inside, keeping the flashlight trained in front of her. She bent down to examine the bags more closely. Hearts, she thought. But they didn’t look like animal hearts to her. They looked like…
Clunk.
She whirled round, flashlight jittering in her hand.
The freezer door had swung closed behind her.
“Shit!”
She jogged back to the door. Rattled the handle. Tugged at it. The damn thing wouldn’t give. She tried to quell the panic. Most walk-in freezers had an emergency release fitted so they could be opened from the inside. It was a health-and-safety regulation. But then this was a place that stored dead bodies in its kitchen freezer. Health and safety weren’t exactly top priorities here. Barbara ran her flashlight over the thick metal but couldn’t see any kind of release mechanism. Just scratched and dented steel. And suddenly she remembered Nicholls’s words.
“The townsfolk wanted to keep the body somewhere more secure.”
More secure. Fuck and dammit. This wasn’t just a place to store meat, it was a place to make sure the meat didn’t get up and walk out. Okay, think. Maybe there was an alarm? She scanned the walls with her flashlight beam, fingers tingling with cold, but she couldn’t see one.
What time was it? Maybe 4 a.m. by now. It would be at least another four or five hours before anyone came to look in here or heard her calling out. She was only wearing pajamas, a sweater and boots. Would she make it that long? She had no idea. Certainly, without gloves to insulate her fingers, she was in danger of frostbite. Hypothermia could creep in gradually. Shit.
She started to pace, clapping her hands together. Try and keep warm. Try and keep calm. Did someone really intend for her to freeze to death in here? Maybe the door had swung shut on its own, although that was unlikely, as it was heavy and stiff. Maybe whoever shut it hadn’t realized she was in here. Or that she couldn’t get out. Maybe it was a prank and they were still out there, congratulating themselves on scaring the crap out of her.
Barbara turned back to the door, raised a fist and thumped on the freezing metal.
“HEY!! Is anyone out there? You’ve had your fun. Now, can you open the door?”
She waited. Nothing. She hammered on the door again.
“HELP! Please. I’m going to freeze in here. Just let me out!”
She pointed the flashlight around the small room, skimming over Marcus’s body and trying to control the irrational feeling of jumpiness every time she did. He remained stiff and silent, cocooned in the black body bag.
She paused. The body bag. Designed to keep the body preserved. Could it also help her preserve much-needed warmth? The idea was hardly appealing. The last thing she wanted to do was wrap herself up like a corpse. But if she didn’t, she might join Marcus in becoming a corpse.
Barbara walked toward his body. With numb fingers she fumbled with the zipper. It was stuck, frozen in the cold. She tugged and tugged, ripping one of her nails. Finally, she felt the zipper give. She yanked it down. Marcus’s white, frozen face looked back at her, sunken eyeballs gray beneath his half-open lids.
Hadn’t his eyes been fully closed before? Perhaps she was misremembering. Often, the eyes of the dead didn’t stay closed. Morticians used special contact lenses with small spikes to keep them that way. She was probably just being stupid. Crazy. And yet, Barbara felt an overwhelming urge to be away from Marcus’s body, and out of this freezing cell. She glanced back toward the door. Maybe she should try calling for help one more time. She backed away then turned and thumped on the door as hard as she could.
“HEY!!! HELP! LET ME OUT!”
Still nothing. She leaned against the metal. This was hopeless. Futile. There was no one—
A clunk from outside. The door suddenly swung open, dumping her in an undignified heap on to the floor.
“Ow. Shit.”
Barbara had never been more relieved to land flat on her face. She lay there for a moment, shivering, disorientated. A pair of dainty feet drew into view, toenails painted black. She squinted up. Long, bare legs. A baggy sweatshirt. Tousled red hair.
“Mayflower?”
“Detective Atkins?” Mayflower stared down in concern.
Barbara struggled into a sitting position. “W-what are you doing here? Did you lock me in?”
“No, ma’am.” The girl’s eyes widened in horror. “I thought I heard a noise—and then I came down and heard you calling.”
Barbara frowned, brain struggling to catch up. “Came down. From where? What are you doing here?”
Mayflower looked awkward. From the bar, the sound of a chair clattering to the floor. Someone else was here.
“It’s—” Mayflower started to say, but Barbara was already on her feet and pushing past her.
“Stop!” she shouted, bursting out of the kitchen door, hand reaching for her gun.
A tall figure sprinted toward the exit.
“I said stop, or I’ll shoot.” And to prove her point, she fired a shot into the ceiling.
A light exploded, showering down glass. The figure ducked and stumbled into a table, crashing over it and landing on the floor.
Barbara walked over, gun still raised. “Stay where you are.”
The figure slowly turned over, holding his hands up.
Barbara pointed the flashlight at his face.
“I can explain,” Dan Garrett said.
