The windscreen wipers of the Audi swept slowly back and forth across the glass, brushing away the rain which had been falling steadily for the past three hours.
“I need a new set of blades,” muttered Mick Calvin, jabbing a finger at the area on the windscreen which was still rainsoaked.
“You always need something, Mick,” said his wife, Diane, firmly belted into the passenger seat beside him. “I think it’s about time we had a new car.”
Calvin snorted.
“Well, my darling,” he said, sarcastically. “As soon as we get home you write me a cheque for six thousand and I’ll nip out and get us one.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, irritably. “You’ve been saying the same yourself for months.”
“I just wish your bloody mother didn’t live so far away,” he added.
Diane studied his profile for a second.
“I suppose it’s her fault that the car’s falling to bits?” she said, acidly.
“Did I say that? I just said that it’s a long drive to where she lives.”
Diane smiled impishly.
“She could always come and live with us, that would save the journey.”
She laughed aloud at the expression which crossed her husband’s face.
“I could get to like long journeys,” he said, smiling.
“She wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“That’s what they said about Hitler.”
Diane punched him playfully on the arm.
“Dad, can we stop?”
The voice came from the back seat where Richie, their eldest son at eleven, was dressed in a pair of freshly pressed jeans and a Spiderman sweatshirt. He was on his knees, pulling at his crutch agitatedly. Beside him sat his brother, Wayne, two years younger, his face round and red as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time.
“Dad.”
“What?” said Calvin.
“Can’t we stop? Wayne and me both want to go for a wee,” he protested.
“Can’t you hold it? We’re nearly home now,” said Calvin. “And it’s Wayne and I,” he added as an afterthought.
The oldest lad was bouncing up and down now.
“Dad,” he persisted, clutching his groin with both hands, as if letting go would release a flood tide.
“Oh, pull over, Mick,” Diane said. “They can nip behind a hedge.”
“It’s wet out there you know,” said Calvin, as if trying to deter his two sons.
Diane looked at Wayne who was going ever redder in a monumental effort of self-control which he was obviously going to lose at any minute.
“It’s going to be wet in here if you don’t pull over,” she said.
Calvin nodded and glanced ahead for a suitable place to stop. There were fields all around them but few seemed to be blessed with bushes. He saw the massive edifice of Fairvale hospital towering above a row of trees and remembered that there was a lay-by just beyond. The fields that backed onto the hospital itself would offer plenty of cover for the two kids. He could see the electricity pylons towering over the field, their cables swaying in the breeze. Checking his rear-view mirror, he swung the Audi across the road and into the lay-by. Immediately, the two kids were fumbling for the door locks in their efforts to get out and Calvin couldn’t resist a smile as he watched them both scramble out of the car.
“Go behind those bushes over there,” he said, pointing towards some bare gorse bushes which masked a sizeable hollow in the field. The hollow ran from the base of one of the towering pylons.
He and Diane watched as the kids clambered over the low fence which separated the lay-by from the field, then both of the boys were racing towards the bushes. They disappeared behind the bushes and Calvin grinned broadly.
“Do you want to go as well?” he asked Diane. “There’s plenty more bushes in the field.” He laughed.
“No,” she whispered, leaning closer. “But I’ll tell you what I do want.” She pulled him to her and their mouths met eagerly. She spoke something into his ear, kissing the lobe as she did so, one hand straying to his thigh.
“Now that will have to wait until we get home,” he said.
They both laughed.
The screams which they heard made them both sit bolt upright, but it was a matter of seconds before Calvin was unhooking his seat belt, pushing open the car door. He slipped as he leapt out onto the wet tarmac but regained his balance and hurried towards the fence. Diane was close behind him, her high heels sinking into the mud as she reached the low wooden fence. She struggled over it, seeing that her husband was already racing towards the bushes where the screams were coming from.
He was panting madly, the high pitched screams of his sons ringing in his ears as he ran. The rain plastered hair to his face but he ignored it and ran on, his only concern to reach his children. As he drew closer, he saw Richie staggering from behind the bushes, his face colourless, his mouth open. Behind him came Wayne, his jeans wet around the crutch, his flies still open. By now, Diane could see them. She called their names but no sound seemed to come, she was mouthing the words but only silence escaped her.
Calvin reached his eldest son and held him by the shoulders, gazing into his eyes that were bulging wide and red-rimmed. He was motioning behind him, his breath coming out in deep, racking sobs. Wayne merely stood where he was, apparently oblivious to the rain. Calvin hurried across and lifted the boy into his arms. He seemed limp, like a puppet with its wires cut and, but for the fact that his eyes were open and blinking, he had the appearance of a waxwork model.
“What’s wrong?”
It was Diane’s voice, trembling and full of fear.
“Wayne, Richie, what is it?” she repeated.
Calvin himself held the eldest boy close to his chest while Diane took over the responsibility for Wayne.
“There,” gasped Richie, once more motioning behind him.
“Take them both back to the car,” said Calvin but Diane hesitated, watching as he walked behind the bushes and along the depression in the field, stopping at one point. He turned to face Diane, her hair now hanging in dripping coils.
“Take them back,” said Calvin, waving Diane away.
“What is it, Mick?” she demanded.
“Take them back to the car,” he shouted and the vehemence in his voice startled her. She turned and led the two children back across the field towards the shelter of the Audi.
Calvin watched them, waiting until he saw them reach the vehicle before returning his attention to what he had found. He bent, squatting on his haunches, peering at the rain-sodden earth. The grass had been dug over in an area he guessed measuring about twelve feet by six. The mud was sticky and oozing, like reeking gravy and, through this thin film of muck, he could see a face. It was the face of a baby although the definition was questionable. The head, uncovered by the torrential rain, was bulbous with two large growths over the holes where the eyes should have been. In the black pits of sockets worms writhed, one of them disappearing into the open mouth of the putrescing body and it was all Calvin could do to stop himself from vomiting. One rotted, mottled arm protruded from the earth nearby, the fingers stubby, two of them missing. Close to that an entire tiny corpse had been uncovered by the elements. What remained of it had been gnawed in places, maybe by rats or a badger. The stomach had been torn open to reveal a seething mess of mouldering viscera. The stench rising from the grave was overpowering and Calvin took a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose, his head swimming. He counted at least half a dozen pieces of human debris and one complete corpse. What lay deeper he could only guess at. He stood up, swaying slightly, the realization that he was indeed standing beside some kind of grave, sweeping over him as surely as the choking stench which wafted from it on invisible clouds. He stood there for long seconds, his eyes fixed on the worm-eaten, ravaged body of one of the foetuses then, as he saw one of the slimy creatures wriggle from a hole in the corpse’s stomach like some kind of animated umbilical cord, he finally lost control and vomited violently.
Diane, watching from the back seat of the car, where she was doing her best to comfort the two boys, saw her husband tottering drunkenly back across the field. He finally reached the wooden fence and swung himself over it, supporting himself against the Audi before pulling the driver’s side door open. He flopped heavily into the seat and sat motionless, gazing ahead. Diane could hear his laboured breathing.
“We’ve got to report this,” he said, falteringly, reaching for the ignition key and turning it.
“What did you find, Mick?” she demanded. “For God’s sake tell me.”
He lowered his head momentarily.
“There’s . . . something buried.” He coughed and, for a moment, thought he was going to be sick again. He gritted his teeth and the feeling diminished somewhat. “Something . . . embryos. There’s a grave in that field.” He sucked in a deep breath. “We’ve got to report it, now.”
He started the car, swung it round and headed back towards Fairvale’s main entrance.
Within an hour he had made a full report to a senior doctor and, thirty minutes later, Mick Calvin led that same doctor and three porters, Harold Pierce amongst them, to the spot where he’d found the grave. And there, under the watchful eyes of both men, five aborted foetuses were uncovered. The bodies were put into a sack and carried back to the hospital where they were disposed of in the usual way. Cast into the mouth of the furnace as they should have been weeks before.
Harold watched as the tiny bodies were born away for disposal his body shaking.
The voices inside his head had begun to chatter once more.