Pandaemonium Part 23

'What about the blood?' Sendak asks. 'Are you hurt?'

Gillian begins shaking her head, more than merely by way of answering the question. It is increasingly trance-like, catatonic, saying no to absolutely everything that is currently a.s.sailing her.

Sendak examines her, running a hand over her scalp and down her face, smearing the blood on her forehead.

'I can't find any injuries. Whose blood is this?' he asks.

Still she shakes her head.

He takes hold of her face, his powerful fingers firmly cupping her chin, forcing her to look at him.

'Gillian, I need to know: whose blood is this?'

She can't shake her head any more, but Heather can still see the word 'no' repeating on a loop in Gillian's eyes. She knows but she will not, cannot say.

'Father Blake and Mr Kane have-' Heather begins, but is halted by a shuddering crash and a shower of gla.s.s as one of the huge windows is shattered only feet away.

Lying on the floor, sticky and glistening amid the thousands of tiny blinking fragments, is Dazza's head.

Heather stares at it, the enormity of its consequences too great for what she is seeing to quite add up. She looks instead to Gillian, who she now understands to be a few chapters ahead. Gillian is balled up, trembling and jerking.

'I take it that answers my question, at least,' mutters Sendak, getting to his feet, but the loop playing in Gillian's eyes hasn't altered. She shakes her head again, more slowly and p.r.o.nounced than before, and manages a single whispered issue, the only word she can say, and in answer to Sendak, the only word that can make this worse.

It fair gets the blood pumping, Radar would have to admit, the old Fratellis. Didn't want to play it, to be honest. Got a bit fed up with it a wee while back, and feared everybody felt the same way - familiarity breeds contempt and all that - and he reckoned it would be a wrong move. However, he thought he'd be getting inundated with requests all night, and instead they've generally been content to leave the music to him, so it seemed churlish not to stick on the only song anybody asked for. He had a replacement cued up in case it was going down like a brick budgie, but it's entirely the opposite. The whole place is bouncing now, and he fancies piling in. The last twenty times he's heard that song it must have pa.s.sed him by, but something about it tonight just reconnects him to Big Jan's last-minute winner against the Huns to reignite three-in-a-row, and suddenly he's down from the decks and birling on the dance floor.

He can barely make out who he's dancing with, but the vibe's so good, n.o.body seems to care: they're all just going for it. The dry-ice machine has held up better than the disco lights, though he suspects that the former may have played a part in fusing the latter. There's still the UV and the spinning laser-ball, with the welcome overall effect that all you can see is this pulsing throng of dancers unless you're up close enough to make out any individual's face.

Radar spots a couple of figures in silhouette, identifiable as Deso and Fizzy via their naked torsos. He bops his way over, pa.s.sing Adnan and Cam, still forming a tidy wee foursome with Marianne and the new Goth version of Deborah, who is kind of an emo in reverse as she seems to have learned how to smile since undergoing her makeover. He feels a wee pang of what-might-have-been over the fact that his pals appear to have scored while he was alone at the controls, but he wouldn't trade it for the time he's had; and besides, the night's still young.

He reaches them just in time for another round of the chorus. Looks like he's seeing double, though: there appears to be another skin-headed figure in silhouette behind Fizzy, steam rising from the bloke despite being well inside the door.

Then Fizzy moves his head aside just enough for Radar to see that his doppelganger has horns, and a face like he's been dooking for chips. Fizzy clocks Radar's look of alarm. He turns around but doesn't seem remotely perturbed by what confronts him.

'Nae luck, Beansy,' Fizzy says. 'You shot your load last night. You're never getting us twice with the same-'

A taloned hand silences Fizzy by clutching his neck, then lifts him bodily off the floor before repeatedly driving a knife deep into his stomach.

Radar watches this like it's happening behind gla.s.s. The music seems to fade out, the image to retreat. There's folk still dancing just behind where Fizzy is being gutted, oblivious through facing away, unsighted by the dry ice or, in the case of Jason and Samantha, steadfastly ignoring whatever immature high jinks their cla.s.smates are up to. Then there's this eruption of blood from Fizzy's mouth that arcs across the room, spraying clothes, hair and faces. At first they a.s.sume it's Deso and Fizzy firing more water about the place. A number of irritated faces turn around, intending to tell whoever it was to f.u.c.k off.

They're not telling this to f.u.c.k off.

Radar's gla.s.s wall shatters as the air fills with screams. The music floods back into his ears and the hall floods with panic as everyone tries to flee. Not all of them make it.

A precipitate keening of terrified voices rises above the music, playing an overture to stampede. Heather looks up from where she is all but cradling Gillian and sees kids pouring out of the dining room, buffeting Sendak as he hastens to investigate.

Guthrie stands at the side of the entrance, urging the evacuees through and preparing to pull the doors closed against whatever is loose in there. It's just a melange of shapes, flickering in steam and laser-light. He won't admit to himself what he thinks he saw: it was merely something that he a.s.sumes his own troubled mind has projected. But what he can see for sure is that there are bodies on the floor and there is blood on every face that pa.s.ses him. Blood and horror. He's seen these faces before: this panic, this revulsion, this mortal fear, and once again, he has got there too late. Whatever else has to be confronted, he first needs to get the kids out safely.

He sees Mich.e.l.le stumble, Carol-Ann having caught her heel. They both go down. Two more kids trip over them, the rest managing to swerve around the growing tangle. Guthrie rushes to a.s.sist, and as he does so he sees, undeniably, what they are fleeing from.

'Holy Mary, Mother of G.o.d,' he whispers, then launches himself into its path before it can reach its next prey.

Sendak hauls the girls to their feet and all but throws them through the doorway into the corridor. He slams one of the double doors closed, grabbing hold of the other as Guthrie emerges from the steam and the flickering semi-darkness. He's blood-soaked and stumbling, but upright, the creature nowhere to be seen.

'Dan! Come on!' Sendak yells.

Guthrie stretches out a hand. Sendak does too, but he's keeping hold of the door with his other, aware he cannot let go under any circ.u.mstances. It has to close, even if they both die closing it, but for now, he's got a second's grace. Guthrie staggers closer a step, then his legs give out and he drops to his knees, but he falls forward just enough for Sendak to reach his hand. As he takes hold of it, the demon hurls itself over Guthrie's head and crashes into Sendak, knocking him backwards on to the floor of the corridor.

Oh f.u.c.k.

The creature scrambles to its feet less than a yard away, just inside the dining room. To his left and right he can see terrified kids who literally don't know which way to turn. It's quicker than him. He can't even sacrifice himself by charging the thing because it will be through the gap before he's even upright. Then the second door suddenly swings closed as Guthrie throws himself against it in what will be his final conscious act.

There's a clunk as the doors latch together. Sendak leaps to his feet and seizes both handles, using all his muscle to keep them in place. A blood-streaked blade juts through the tiny gap where the doors meet, stopping just short of his face, followed by a resounding thump as the creature tests their integrity.

Sendak shouts to the nearest kid, one of the girls who fell. Mich.e.l.le, he thinks her name is.

'I can't let go of these handles. I need you to take the keys from my pocket and lock this door.'

The girl looks at him as though he's the monster. She just wants to run.

The blade is wiggling, the creature trying to work it free, Sendak keeping the doors pulled tight to prevent precisely that.

'Now, G.o.dd.a.m.n it. Now Now.'

The girl shudders in response to his shout, but obeys nonetheless. Figures. When people are scared like that, they'll follow orders simply because it's the only thing that makes sense, a way of telling themselves that there is still some kind of process in control.

She extracts the ring of keys and starts fumbling though them. They all look alike.

'Blue tag on the end. Says DR.'

There's another thump, the reverberation enough to drive the doors slightly apart and free the blade. It comes through again a fraction of a second later, lower down, close to where Mich.e.l.le is trying to fit the key into the lock. It cuts her wrist: nothing serious, but enough to draw blood and cause her to drop the keys.

'I need this door locked,' Sendak shouts. 'Someone help her.'

'It's okay,' Mich.e.l.le says, tremulous. 'I'll manage.'

She reaches down to the floor and discovers that the keys are lying in a puddle of blood seeping under the doors.

'Oh G.o.d.' She starts to weep but doesn't flinch from lifting the keys.

'Mr Guthrie,' she says, picking out the right key a second time and twisting it in the lock. 'He saved me.'

'He saved everybody,' Sendak corrects. 'And now you have too.'

He steps away from the door and looks at the milling shambles in reception. Mrs McKenzie, Heather and himself are the only adults present.

'We need to get to the games hall,' he announces, but they're barely listening. They all stand and look at each other, not responding. Some of them are very close to losing it. n.o.body wants to go first.

'It was a demon,' one of them says, almost hysterical. 'A f.u.c.king demon.'

'Come on, people,' Sendak urges. 'Let's keep it together.'

He makes his way towards Heather, still squatting protectively beside the trembling and catatonic Gillian. She represents precisely how 'together' everyone else is likely to be very soon. They need someone to take the lead.

'What the h.e.l.l is in there?' Heather asks frantically. 'She said the Devil killed Liam. The kids are shouting about demons . . .'

Sendak holds up a clenched fist: signal for Stop.

'The games hall has no big windows, and just two exits to control. We secure it first and deal with the weird s.h.i.t that don't make sense later.'

Heather nods. Got it. She gets to her feet and puts on her practised teacher voice. 'Games hall. Everybody. Now,' she commands. 'Two abreast, but don't run.'

'Mrs McKenzie, you help Gillian get there,' Sendak orders. He turns again to Heather. 'You, come with me: double-time.'

XXI Deso's running, flat out and blind, into the darkness and the trees, and it's only as he feels the cold of the air shorten his breath that he realises he has no idea where he's running to. He's just been following the figures in front, couldn't even say for sure who they are. There's people running behind him too, doing the same. He doesn't know who they are either because he hasn't dared look back, hasn't risked slowing down. None of them knows where they're going: they only know where they don't want to be. As a cloud blows in front of the moon and dims what little light they can see by, Deso is aware that while they may have escaped the building, they have given no thought to what they might be running towards.

'Hang on,' he urges the two in front. 'Slow down.'

They either don't hear him or simply aren't minded to take stock quite yet. A scuttling sound from not far beyond their periphery abruptly changes their minds. They pull up, turning around. It's Rosemary and Bernadette. Deso looks back now too. He sees Cameron and Marianne. Beyond them, way beyond them, he sees the outbound facility, flickering lights and music still spilling from the side door they escaped through. It looks as though nothing happened. He doesn't know what he was expecting to see - flames and pentagrams and s.h.i.t, maybe - but it's almost possible to imagine the party still going on, people inside laughing about some elaborate trick.

Except he can still taste Fizzy's blood from when it sprayed his face, can still see the knife going into Fizzy's naked flesh. It was dark, the lights were flashing, but he knows he saw Fizzy die just as surely as he saw Dunnsy die.

They all just stare at each other for a few moments. n.o.body wants to say anything: it's as though they all know what they witnessed, but it will only become real if someone verifies they saw the same thing.

'We need to find some cover, some shelter,' Deso says. 'We're wide open out here, and I'm f.u.c.kin' freezin'. We should head back towards the buildings.'

'Back?' Bernadette asks. 'That's where that thing thing is. Or did you miss Philip getting carved up by a b.l.o.o.d.y is. Or did you miss Philip getting carved up by a b.l.o.o.d.y demon demon?'

Deso wipes some of Fizzy's blood from his face and holds his palm up to Bernadette.

'I didn't miss that, no,' he says, trying his best to swallow his anger.

There is another scuttle in the blackness, the sound of a threatening low growl.

'Deso's right,' agrees Marianne. 'We can't stay out in the open. We need to get back inside for protection.'

'I've got my protection right here,' says Bernadette. She reaches inside the collar of her blouse and pulls out a crucifix, suspended on a silver chain around her neck.

'Oh for f.u.c.k's sake,' Deso says. 'What's that meant to do? It's monsters we're up against here, not f.u.c.kin' Protestants.'

'I know what I saw,' Bernadette insists. 'We all know what we saw. Father Blake was wrong: there are are demons. I don't know what brought them down upon this place, but I do know that faith is the only thing that can save us.' demons. I don't know what brought them down upon this place, but I do know that faith is the only thing that can save us.'

'Have you any holy water on you as well? I'm sure they're s.h.i.t-scared of that too.'

Deso starts to walk towards the facility. Marianne and Cam are turning back that way also. Rosemary is left next to Bernadette, looking unsure which option to take.

'Come on,' Marianne urges the pair of them. 'You'll be sitting ducks out here.'

'I'd rather place my trust in the power of G.o.d than in the integrity of those buildings,' Bernadette insists.

Deso turns around. 'Walls can be breached, it's true,' he concedes. 'But nothing nothing fails like prayer.' fails like prayer.'

Rosemary shakes her head. 'I can't believe you're reckless enough to be . . . blaspheming after what we've just seen.'

'And after what we've just seen, I can't believe you'd want to be standing out here, just waiting to be-'

Deso hears a scrambling sound and senses movement in the air, just too late to react as something pounces from the darkness, knocking him to the ground with a startling snarl of aggression.

He feels a pain in his back: sharp but shallow; a pre-pain, in fact, only the hint of how much it's going to hurt in a few seconds from now. He's been slashed by its claws, a glancing blow when it battered into him. He's. .h.i.t the deck with a bone-jarring wallop, the frozen ground biting into his bare skin. He rolls on to his side, but the demon is too quick. It pounces again, landing on his chest, and swipes a talon towards his neck. Deso throws up an arm. It gets batted away by the impact, but it saps the momentum enough to prevent the intended effect, that of ripping his f.u.c.king throat out. The demon reaches off to Deso's left and locates a stone, about the size of a grapefruit. It raises it as high as its scaly arm will reach, and is about to bring it down when it suddenly hears something and glances to Deso's right.

Bernadette has stepped forward, thrusting her crucifix towards the demon with her outstretched hand, chanting: 'Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra . . .'

The demon seems almost hypnotised by her voice, its gaze fixed upon the out-thrust statuette. Its eyes flash, a low growl beginning to grow in its throat. It sounds angry, but to Deso's ears, it could also be fear.

Over Bernadette's shoulder, Deso can now see a second demon converging on the group. It is also seemingly hypnotised by the crucifix, also very agitated by the sight, to the extent that it stalks past the frozen figures of Cameron, Marianne and Rosemary, to take up position on the other side of Bernadette, equidistant from where its partner is straddling Deso.

'Panem nostrum quotidianum da n.o.bis hodie,' Bernadette continues, her voice tremulous but clear. 'Et dimitte n.o.bis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen Amen.'

Upon this final word, both demons - plus two more Deso was unaware of - suddenly attack Bernadette with a yowling, hissing, rending ferocity. They tear her apart in a blind rage of claws and teeth and knives and stones. There's something worse than primal brutality here: there's fury, there's bloodl.u.s.t, there's hatred.

Suddenly rendered invisible to the brood, Cam and Marianne take their cue and flee. Deso gets to his feet and grabs Rosemary, spinning her away from the awful sight and dragging her along with him.

'Just keep running,' he tells her. 'Don't look back. Don't look back.'

'I hate to admit it,' says Kane as they approach the dormitory blocks, 'but I'm starting to think Guthrie was right about not cutting them quite so much slack. We opted to turn a blind eye to the booze, allow them to let off some steam, but these kids are all suffering various degrees of post-traumatic stress disorder. They've got some seriously horrible emotional effluent backed up. It shouldn't surprise us if one of them flips out and starts talking about the Devil - despite your best efforts.'

'Yeah,' agrees Blake. 'One of those occasions when your intention backfires because instead of defusing an idea, you realise you've inadvertently introduced it to the mix. If I'd been talking about ghosts up on that hill today, then that's probably what we'd be hearing about from overwrought and tipsy teens.'

'Speaking of which . . .'

Kane tilts his head to indicate the double doors, from beyond which they can hear the sound of female whimpering.

'Let's go and find out who threatened to scratch whose eyes out, shall we?' Blake says.

'Probably over a guy, too, who's oblivious of the pair of them.'

Kane pushes the left-hand door but it jams only a few degrees in, something blocking it. He gives the right one a try, same result. He pushes again, more forcefully, senses some give and slides it open a few inches. He can see a pair of legs on the ground.