Chapter Eighteen

The Journal of Jay O’Connor:

A Thousand-Thousand Deaths

It was the gun in my face that did it.

That and the fact that everything seemed so hopeless. When I knew what they were going to do with the woman, what the Caffneys had in mind for Juliet and the others, the anger just exploded inside me. Maybe if I could cause enough confusion it would give the others some kind of chance to act. But I’d blown it. Patrick, or maybe one of the others, brought me down, and the next few moments were blurred. I heard the kids chanting, wood groaning and splintering—and I knew that the poor mad woman had been thrown into the Chasm. Then hands were under my armpits and I was being dragged. Was this the end? They were going to chuck me over the side after her. But no. Suddenly I could see rough wooden boards beneath my feet. Somewhere I could hear Juliet shouting my name. There was real terror in her voice, and it was this that helped me to pull myself together. When my vision focused again, I could see where I’d been dragged.

I was out on the wooden platform, over the Chasm.

There were kids all around me. Wild, painted faces.

“See this?” said a man’s voice below me.

Don-Paul was kneeling at my feet, leering up at me. He was holding the frayed end of the rope up to my face. “It took the rubber grip and the brace and everything this time. Just snapped the rope altogether.” He looked wild with joy, eyes glittering. Feverishly, he began to wind the rope around my lower legs.

“Never know, Jay. You might get lucky. Without the support and the brace, the drop might just pull your legs off. Then it’ll be all over really quickly.”

“Jay!” screamed Juliet from the cliff-edge.

Henry had her by the hair. Grinning, he made her kneel and looked straight out at me. He began thrusting his pelvis at her face, watching for my reaction.

I don’t know how or why it happened. But that’s when everything came together in my head. Everything that had been bugging me about Daddie-Paul Caffney and the constant struggle that he was having with the Vorla. It had become worse on our journey here, Daddie-Paul and the Vorla coming and going inside his body. It was so bloody obvious, but perhaps the fear and the horror had been clouding my mind. I saw the community centre that had exploded into flame that night, remembered the screaming and knew that it had been the screaming of the Vorla, not the people inside. I saw the Black Stuff exploding out of the dead every time fire came near; saw the black sea of it rippling back from the light cast by our bonfire. The Vorla was Darkness, and it hated the Light. But more than that, much more than that—it hated fire. Before I knew what I was going to say, it was somehow out of my mouth.

“The Vorla is afraid, Daddie-Paul.”

“You’re going to die a thousand-thousand agonising deaths down there,” said the old man.

“The Vorla is terrified.” I raised my voice, turning to look at the kids who were crowding at the edge. “Terrified of what we know. Terrified of us.”

“Shall I do it now?” asked Don-Paul. He was holding my legs while the kids started back across the platform to the edge. I could feel him trembling with excitement.

“Listen to me, kids!” I shouted. “See that petrol plant back there? Ask yourself why Daddie-Paul didn’t stay to watch the burning. It’s because the Vorla inside him is terrified of the place. It doesn’t want him to be here, doesn’t want you to be here! Don’t listen to what you’ve been told.”

Someone was fumbling at my back, perhaps tightening the rope that bound my hands there.

“The Vorla is all-powerful!” shouted Old Man Caffney. “Pain, death…”

“The Vorla isn’t all-powerful!” I yelled. “It can be destroyed! Caffney brings you all here because he knows that the Vorla is afraid of this place! It’s in him, fighting for control. But he doesn’t want it to take control. He wants to stay in charge. That’s why he brings it—and you—here. Because he wants to terrify it. Show it who’s boss. You can feel it now, can’t you, old man? You can feel it squirming inside. You can feel its fear. It hates the light, and it hates fire! You kids—don’t listen to what these mad bastards say. Fire destroys the Vorla. And who knows how safe those canisters over there are? Haven’t you all noticed that Daddie-Paul is never around when there’s fire? It’s because the Vorla inside him can’t stand it. Isn’t that right? Well, isn’t it?”

“Pain, death, misery!” yelled the old man. At his urging, the two girls pushed the wheelchair right up to the edge so that he could have a clear view of me.

“Pain,” began the crowd. “Death!”

“It doesn’t have to be this way. The Vorla hates us because we rejected it. Hates us and fears us. You can reject it too…”

My hands were loose.

Someone was stuffing something into the back of my belt.

“You talk too fucking much,” said Don-Paul, rising. He planted a hand squarely on my chest.

“FEED HIM TO US!” screamed the thousand voices of the Vorla from Daddie-Paul’s mouth.

And then Alex lunged forward and hit the wheelchair hard. Grabbing one armrest with both hands, he heaved it over. The girls shrieked and fell back as Daddie-Paul clawed for balance. Alex sprawled over the wheelchair, Daddie-Paul fell out of it, arms clawing and pin-wheeling…and over the edge of the cliff.

Suddenly, everyone was screaming.

I caught Don-Paul’s wrist, saw the look of paralysed horror on his face as he realised what had happened to his father. One of the girls cried “Daddieee-Paul!” as the twisting figure dropped screaming from sight.

And when I sidestepped to look at who was behind me, the face of the child I saw there paralysed me. He had cut me free, had shoved something into my belt. And even though his face was painted with the same wild streaks as those of the other kids in this tribe, there was no mistaking him.

It was the Crying Kid.

The kid I’d found in the school ruins. The kid that Damon and Wayne had chased away by throwing rocks at him. The face that had somehow haunted me ever since this nightmare started.

He stared up at me with this stark look of hope.

I fumbled for what he’d thrust into my belt.

The shotgun discharged like a roar of thunder, and the kids were running every which way.

Then Don-Paul snapped free of my grasp—and shoved me hard.

I think I heard Juliet scream my name again, but I couldn’t be sure.

Maybe it was me screaming.

Because the next instant I fell from the platform, dropping like a stone.

I saw the platform flying away from me, felt wind rushing all around me. I saw the rope coiling and twisting madly as I fell, saw the Crying Kid standing there frozen in horror; getting smaller…smaller…smaller…

I knew that there were a thousand-thousand deaths waiting for me.

Then the Darkness took me.