Chapter Twenty-Four

The Journal of Jay O’Connor:

Fire with Fire

I took the street corner at sixty and struggled to control the car as it slewed up on to its front and rear left-hand wheels. I’d seen the stunt performed by experts on television a lifetime ago, couldn’t believe that it was happening to me now…and yelled out loud in panic as I wrestled with the wheel. The car wobbled and swerved up on to the pavement, clipping the corner of a building and shearing away the trim in a welter of buzz-saw sparks. I wrenched at the wheel again to prevent the car from being flipped on to its back by the impact, and it slammed back down on to its suspension, cracking the rear window. And now the wheel was spinning madly in my hands as the car swerved all over the road, the headlights flashing over ruined and looted buildings.

I couldn’t lose control now.

Not with the Vorla somewhere behind, hurtling through the night after me. I could feel it rushing after the car, could feel my skin crawling, and knew how badly it wanted to get me.

Jesus…

A rubbish bin bounced on to the hood, disgorging crap all over the windscreen. I hit the wipers and cleared enough space through rotting vegetables and fruit to see that if I continued on down this street it’d be taking me straight to the edge of the Chasm. Pulling hard over to the right, I took the car around the corner of another burned-out building and finally got the vehicle on the straight. That’s when I saw the Vorla in my rear-view mirror, exploding around the last street corner in its hunt for me. The tyres screeched. Hearing the sound, the Vorla gushed across the street in my direction. I slammed my foot down hard on the accelerator and took another corner at speed. I didn’t know where the hell I was now. Could I swerve the car round, aim the headlights at the damned thing? But what then? It would vanish into the darkness, maybe surround me. The headlights might keep it at bay for a while, but in the meantime I had no doubt that the Caffney tribe would catch up with me while I was stranded there. I had to keep on and try to outdistance it, abandon the car and attempt to make it on foot.

But it can smell you, Jay. It can smell the scent of your fear. It’ll just keep on following that scent.

“Fuck it!”

I screeched past the burned-out front of a grocery store—and then cried out loud again when I saw what was in the street before me.

I slammed on the brakes.

There were two…no, three people in the middle of the street, frozen in the headlights. I’d braked instinctively, but it was a bad mistake. These had to be members of the Caffney tribe, left behind in the ruins. I should have ploughed right through them. Too late, I wrenched the wheel hard over and the car swerved and slid, hitting the pavement hard. My hands flew from the wheel to protect my face as the car exploded through the plate-glass windows of a fashion store, bouncing and jerking to a halt with glass exploding on the roof and past the windows. The impact knocked the breath out of me.

One of the headlights had shattered, but the other still glared into the store. And I could see that the Caffneys had caught me again. There were dozens of them in the store, surrounding the car, all reflected in the headlight.

And there was a severed human arm on the hood.

No, not a real human arm. It was the arm of a shop dummy, a department-store mannequin. At last I realised that there were mannequins all around me, some of them smashed to pieces by the car as it came through the window.

Was the arm on the hood somehow smoking?

No, the smoke wasn’t coming from the arm. It was coming from under the hood of the car. Something had ruptured there, and now smoke was rising in front of the cracked windscreen and I could smell petrol.

There was a blur of movement in the wing mirror and the car door was suddenly yanked open. At first I thought it was Henry Caffney, and I pulled back to kick the bastard in the face. But now I could see that I was wrong. These were other survivors: two men and a young woman, in rags and with a look of terror on their faces that I knew only too well. They were starved. Since the Caffneys had been killing everyone they’d come across under the age of sixteen or so, I guessed that these poor bastards had somehow been able to hide from them in the ruins ever since the ’quake. The other, younger man and the woman were clambering around to the other side of the car.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” snapped the older man, jabbing at me with a rusted iron railing. “One of those murdering bastards!”

“You’ve got…” I could hardly speak. “You’ve got…to get off the street!” My neck was whiplashed. “It’s coming after me…”

“We’ve been hiding here for a year,” said the old man angrily, jabbing with the railing again. Up close, I could see that he wasn’t old at all. The dirt and the scarring just made him look that way. “Hiding in these ruins for a whole bloody year, while you and your kind have hunted the others down like animals. Now we’ve got one of you, haven’t we? Let’s see how you like it, you bastard!”

“I’m not one of them.” I slapped out at the iron railing. “And you’ve got to get off the street. Now!”

The woman had reached the passenger door. She looked like she might believe me. “You must have something to eat. It doesn’t matter what. Anything. We’ve been hiding all this time. Please, you’ve got to…”

There was a sound from the street. A rumbling murmur. The Vorla was coming.

“Get out of the street!” I yelled. The woman recoiled from me in shock. “Hide!”

“We’re sick of hiding!” yelled the younger man, suddenly yanking the passenger door open and clawing at me. I grabbed the shotgun lying on the passenger seat, raising it awkwardly in a one-handed grip.

“Back off!”

And then the older man lunged into the car, jabbing with the railing as the younger man tried to yank the shotgun out of my hands.

“We only want food!” screamed the woman.

I kicked out at the older man, tried to jam my elbow back into his blackened face as the younger man finally seized the shotgun barrel. Somewhere beyond, the young woman was screaming.

“You idiots!” I yelled.

I didn’t pull the trigger deliberately, but suddenly there was a deafening roar and the windscreen blew out. The girl’s screaming became hysterical, and the younger man recoiled in shock. I had to move now. Snatching the shotgun back, I jabbed the stock hard into the older man’s face. He grunted and slithered away from the door as I scrambled quickly out of the car, kicking him out of the way. Banging the gun barrel down across the car roof, I pointed it directly at the younger man on the other side. He staggered away from the car, eyes wild and holding his hands up in surrender. The woman sobbed uncontrollably, both hands clasped to her face and hopping from shredded foot to shredded foot on the broken glass that shuttered the destroyed storefront. I stood aside as the older man pulled himself up against the side of the car. Clutching his bloodied face, he lurched hand over hand around the vehicle to join the others. Now the smell of petrol was making me gag. They began heading back into the street.

“Not that way!” I hissed. Christ, I was hurting badly all over. I looked around at the jumble of fashion dummies lying scattered over the store carpet. It looked like a bloodless slaughter had taken place. “There must be another way out of here,” I began. “Follow me…” But when I turned back they had fled back into the street, out of sight.

I started after them.

And then I heard the familiar, sickening sound.

Like the sound of a crowd mumbling; or the underground rumbling of some poisonous river. The sound that was like a million whispering voices.

Moments later, the two men and their woman companion began to scream in terror and agony. The sound made me feel ill, and I thought I might vomit. Swallowing hard, I backed carefully away from the car, trying to avoid standing on glass and giving away my presence. The sounds continued, rising in agony. But the street outside was still empty. Whatever was happening was taking place just out of sight, and I was grateful for that. I’d tried to warn the poor bastards.

Something ignited under the hood of the car with a soft whump. The hood jarred open an inch and smoke began to gush into the department store. Blue fire was surging and roaring in the engine. I saw drops of liquid blue dropping to the floor beneath the car, igniting a spreading lake of burning petrol.

Frantically, I looked around for a way out, and could find none.

Should I run back out on to the street and take my chances?

I heard the thousand-thousand whispering, hungry voices out there as the Vorla fed eagerly, taking its insane pleasure from the torment it was inflicting on its latest victims. The voices were still racked in agony, but somehow muted and further away—as if they had been lifted, and absorbed.

Christ, no! Not back out there!

Or should I stay here in the store, take shelter, and hope that I wouldn’t be burned alive?

Flames began to leap around the car as I sprinted across the store, leaping over the jumbled dummies. I could feel the pounding of my heart in my chest and my throat when I saw the Exit door sign on the other side of the store. Still clutching the shotgun, I ran to it.

Please God, after everything that’s happened. Let that door be open. Let it be OPEN!

Part of me refused to believe it when the door did swing open.

Flames from behind illuminated the small alleyway outside, my shadow leaping gigantically ahead of me. There was only the sound of surging flame behind me now, the noises of feeding and torment drowned out. I swung the door shut.

And in the same instant the car exploded with a shuddering roar. Off to my left, a store window cascaded into the darkness around me, raining fire and a shower of broken glass.

Something beyond the store began to scream.

Something that was not human.

The Vorla, reacting to the sudden fire—just as it had reacted that night in the community centre.

I ran down the alley as smoke began to drift behind me. There were double gates ahead in the gloom, but I wouldn’t have to climb them. The bolts were easily withdrawn, and the next moment I was out on a side street and running as fast as I could.

The sounds of screaming faded behind me.

The whispering, obscene voices were gone.

With any luck, the fire had chased the Vorla away.

But the danger was far from over.

I had to find somewhere to rest, somewhere to orientate myself. Somewhere I could work out in my mind the implications of everything that had happened since the nightmare of Day One, and just what the hell I was going to do to help the others back there at the petrol plant.

I’d no idea how far I’d run, knew that I could only go so far in any one direction before I reached the brink of the Chasm again. When I saw the unbroken frontage of an electrical shop, and could also see that the door was open, I knew that I could run no further. The poor bastards back there had probably ended up saving my life and buying me some time. Not to mention the burning car. I staggered through the doorway, pausing only to look back to make sure that the horde of voices and the darkness were not sweeping up the street after me. There was no relief in the desolate quiet of the empty street. It could come anytime, anywhere. Without warning.

Deep inside the shop, surrounded by shelves of silent televisions, video recorders and music centres, I slumped to the floor and dropped the shotgun by my side. I sat for a long time, just getting my ragged breathing back to normal again, feeling the blood pounding in my head and my ears. Letting it all settle down.

But the deep, icy knot of anxiety would not go away.

And then I saw the dictation machines on the shelf beside me. Leaning over, I picked one up.

There were batteries inside, and a tape. When I looked more carefully, I could see other packets of batteries; other boxes of blank tapes.

Why not?

“Jay O’Connor,” I said in a cracked voice. I looked at the dictation machine in my hand for a long time, weighing up. “This Is Your Life.”

I pressed the Record button.

And began to speak.

 

And that was two days ago.

Now, here I am, on the fourth floor of this semi-demolished building, looking down on the fallen masonry and shattered brickwork that leads up to the Caffneys’ rough-hewn home-made bridge across to the petrol plant. Down there in the ruins, there are about a hundred—maybe a hundred and fifty—ragged kids. They’re all crouching in the ruins, hiding behind fallen walls, tangled debris or burned-out cars. And I’ve been watching the Caffney brothers as they drag more of the kids out of hiding. When the Vorla exploded out of the Chasm and I managed to escape in the car, the kids must have scattered in terror all over the place. And clearly the Vorla left them alone and concentrated on me. But the kids can’t have run far, because it looks as if the Caffneys have managed to find most of them again. I thought that maybe what I’d yelled at them, just before I took the plunge into the Chasm, might have had some effect. Maybe made them think. But it looks as if their terror of the Vorla, and the Caffneys, is greater than anything I might have had to say.

Some of the kids are getting merciless beatings as Henry, Patrick and the others drag them back and position them. I think one of them, a boy, is dead. He’s lying where Don-Paul threw him and he hasn’t moved since then. No sign of the other son, Simon, so God only knows what he’s up to. The death of Daddie-Paul must have shocked the whole mad family so much that it gave us an edge, allowing me to get away in the car, the others to escape across the bridge to the petrol plant. But now it looks as if they’ve got over that. If they were savages beforehand, then they’re worse than that now. Just watching them from up here has been enough to convince me. They’re perfect servants for the Vorla. Evil, brutal and utterly psychotic. No sign of Luanne’s body down there, so I guess they must have moved her. Come to think of it, no sign of the other sister either.

The fire is still burning, on the other side of the bridge.

About fifteen minutes ago I caught sight of Alex.

He was running back through the maze of pipes, keeping low, carrying something. No more than a silhouette, but I could tell that it was him from up here. So at least he made it. And there are others crouched down there, taking cover behind pipework and debris, but I can’t see who they are. I don’t want any of them to be dead, but please God let Juliet be alive.

Now I think I know what the Caffneys are up to.

The fire that Alex and the others have managed to light must be keeping the Vorla at bay—just like our first nights in the park, by the bonfire. But that wouldn’t stop the Caffney tribe, so there must be a reason why they haven’t just rushed over there already and tried to take everyone. One of the Rendezvous club must have got their hands on a gun. From the way Henry and his brothers are marshalling the kids in the ruins, I guess they’re preparing them to make a mad dash at the bridge, try to overcome them by sheer numbers. If that’s what they’ve planned, it can’t be long now.

It’s getting darker and…Christ!

The Vorla is out there, in the petrol plant itself.

I just saw something in the shadows of one of the canister drums. At first I thought it was the shadow of someone running. But when I looked closer, when I look closer now…yes, it’s the Vorla. I recognise the rippling waves, the sickening black flood as it surges and flows in the darkness. It’s come up on the other side of the crag that they’re stranded on, keeping to the dark places and the shadows. They’re completely surrounded by the Black Stuff. If that fire goes out, then they’ve had it…

The fire.

If the fire goes out…?

That’s it.

By God, that’s it!

The lorry that ploughed into the front of this building was carrying oil drums of some kind. They’re all over the road. I used some of them as cover to get into this place. Chances are there’s still petrol in the lorry’s tank. Maybe the contents of those drums are flammable. The whole tribe is concentrating on the petrol plant; no one’s taking any notice of anything that’s going on behind. And now I remember something that Trevor Blake said about the Vorla, about the “whole” knowing what even the smallest part knows. Back there in the department store, when the Vorla was chasing me and the car crashed—I bet the reason that it stopped hunting for me was that it thinks I’m dead. While it was killing the three poor bastards who stopped me, the petrol tank in the car blew up, filling the place with the thing the Vorla hates most—fire! When it retreated from that place, retreated from the flames and the light, I bet the Vorla thought I was still in the car and that I died in the flames. That’s why I’ve been safe these past two days. It doesn’t think I’m here, and isn’t expecting any kind of defence or attack so far as I’m concerned.

If I can start a fire down below, behind the Caffney tribe, it’s going to cause confusion that Alex and the others might be able to take advantage of, and the Vorla isn’t going to like that one bit either. So all I have to do is get down there, siphon off some petrol, open some of the drums without any of the tribe hearing or seeing me and…

What the hell is that?

Someone’s shouting down there.

Sounds like Henry Caffney.

Yeah, it’s him all right.

He’s yelling across to the petrol plant. Trying to put the fear of the Vorla into them. Maybe using one of Daddie-Paul’s New Religion speeches.

Well, make it a good speech, Henry. Keep everyone’s attention fixed on the petrol plant, because I’m on my way downstairs.

And I might have my own revivalist speech, to put the fear of God into you.

On the other hand, I might be pissing into the wind. One thing’s for sure—I haven’t gone through all of this, haven’t found my way back here, just for nothing.

Juliet may be out there. And she’s my life now.

Now I’m angry.

Been that way lots of times.

But never like this before.

I’m cold, and controlled.

And I’m coming…