Bad Dreams (41 page)

‘It wasn’t drugs, it was the animals.’

‘Yes, animals, animals. It’s tragic. Young people sinking that low.’

‘No…’

Someone came into the room.

‘Jackson.’

Brian and the V-C stopped talking. The newcomer was a mutilated Adonis with a Michael Heseltine hairstyle. He was dressed in some sort of quasi-military set-up. Gabrielle dropped her file.

‘Frank Lynch, UCC.’

The V-C extended a hand, and Lynch took it in what must be a bone-crushing grip. Brian thought he saw something that might be a gun under the man’s jacket as he pumped Jackson’s arm.

‘I was told you were coming,’ Jackson said, wrung out. ‘You have all the cooperation I can give.’

‘Great. Let’s go in your office and talk cases. The rest of my team will be here, soon. I’d like as little panic as possible. It’ll be your responsibility to keep your student body under control…’

The men disappeared into Jackson’s office. Brian stood outside like a spare prick as the door was shut in his face.

‘Shit!’

Gabrielle had her file again, and was trying to look phlegmatic.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Brian said, ‘this isn’t England any more. This is El-fucking-Salvador.’

* * *

Jason must be getting that cereal that puts energy into kids for breakfast, lunch, tea and supper. After four hours with the boy, Abigail felt thirty years older.

Fresh from humiliating her at Frisbee-throwing, he had taken her indoors and persuaded her to be a monster. She had chased him up and down stairs and in and out of cupboards and wardrobes, hissing through orange peel Dracula fangs, while he had shot at her with his plastic raygun. No wonder the good guys always came out on top in science fiction films. If Jason was representative of the average space cadet, there were no monsters in the universe who could hope to keep up with him, let alone overtake, disable and devour him.

Abigail felt secure in the knowledge that the universe was kept peaceful by the likes of Jason Connors.

Her immediate problem was slowing the boy down long enough for her to make them dinner. Brian had left her some canned beans and sliced bread – typical man food – in the kitchen, and she hoped to make it palatable by adding some herbs and a pinch of curry powder.

But Jason clung to her waist, firing death rays off in every direction, and she needed to keep a hold on his arm in order to stop him having her eye out, or doing himself some damage.

She swore never to have children. Not that that was likely. She was a brain, and a virgin. They would not serve her in pubs, and automatically offered her half price in cinemas and on buses. Only a pervert would be interested in her.

She had heard that Brian Connors was a pervert, but that was from a girl who had dropped out of his American Cinema course. That must be difficult, not having the intellect to grasp the subtleties of a John Wayne movie. Abigail thought Brian was quite attractive in an elderly sort of way, but he had practically given her sweeties this morning.

It was tough having an IQ of 156, and a body that would not grow up. Perhaps she should dress more glamorously, in vampish slit skirts and scarlet lipstick. She would probably end up looking like the winner of a primary school fancy dress contest.

‘Jason, could you let go? I have to cook.’

The little creature clung on tenaciously.

‘Careful, you’ll spoil my skirt. It’s only thin.’

Jason growled and laughed.

‘Get off, don’t be silly.’

‘Can we play monsters some more?’

‘You have to eat first, Jason. Even monsters have to eat, and space cadets.’

Jason reluctantly released her from his deathgrip, and stood to attention. He gave the Masters of the Universe Sign of Power.

‘Can I help cook?’

Abigail was doubtful. She had a mental image flash of a kitchen after a chainsaw massacre, with gouts of ketchup splashed like an action painting on the walls, and beans squashed against the windowpanes. But she ought to delegate something non-dangerous to him, to keep his hands busy while she got things ready.

‘Do you know how to open tins, Jason?’

He looked unsure, then smiled and nodded vigorously. She handed him a can of beans, and pulled out drawers in search of an opener.

But before she found the right drawer, Jason had the can open. She could not be sure, but she thought he had just traced a circle on the top with his thumbnail, pressing down slightly. Then, he had pulled the top up with his fingers and neatly disposed of the tin circle in the wastebin.

‘That was neat, Jason.’

‘Can I do it again?’

‘Sure. Here’s the other tin.’

Jason smiled, licking the tomato sauce off his thumb. The streamlined telephone began burping.

* * *

Monica wished she had not shouted at Lindy. It was not her fault Monica had not told her to let Brian talk to her.

She tried Brian’s home number, but the girl there – not Debbie, another one, she realized with irritation – said he was invigilating, which she knew to be not true. She tried his department, but they had no ideas. He had said he would be in the Union Building about lunch time. But when was that – twelve? one? two?

Berenice kept an eye on the developing situation. There were rumours of armed men in white decontamination suits around the Chem Building, and one of the switchboard girls had overheard that the guard in the Infirmary had been savaged by some kind of wild animal.

She could not concentrate on the business she was supposed to take care of, and just dumped all her correspondence in the ‘In’ tray for future reference. She was wondering who to phone next when Brian showed up. Luckily, Lindy let him in.

‘Bad news. Your Cazie put a friend of mine in a hospital bed.’

‘I know that.’

‘There’s more. UCC have sent someone down to look into the mess. I’ve met it, and I don’t think it’s friendly.’

‘What?’

‘A gorilla called Lynch. He’s browbeating Jackson as we speak. He’s not your average corporation man either. He carries what looks to be an extremely large gun.’

‘Jackson can’t let a fucking gunslinger loose on campus.’

‘Jackson doesn’t have a whole lot to say about it. Listen, I’m not supposed to talk about this, but I’ve been blabbing about lots of secrets recently. UCC are heavily into the University. Josh Unwin would like us to name a building or two after him. A gymnasium or an art gallery or something friendly like that. I know from the funding papers that have to come through the department. UCC have got a lot of government contracts, and, as you know, the government gives us our charter.’

‘But UCC are a pharmaceuticals company…’

‘The Unscrupulous Chemical Company, we used to call them.’

‘…what could they want with the Humanities Department?’

‘Psychological stuff. Scary stuff. It’s probably Ministry of Defence-funded, in the end. Everything bloody else is.’

Monica was not happy at all. Pictures were forming in her mind that she did not like.

‘Defence, shit. We all know what that means.’

‘Uh huh. I preferred it when it was called the War Office. That was more honest.’

Monica’s intercom buzzed. It had to be important for Lindy and Bern to let the call through.

‘Hello?’

‘Jackson for you,’ came Bern’s distorted voice.

‘Jackson?’

‘The V-C, remember?’

‘Yeah, put him on.’ She looked at Brian. He shrugged.

‘Miss Flint, Monica…’

She was no judge of character over the telephone, but she had to talk to Ernest Jackson four or five times a week. He was usually condescending, patronizing and paternal. Now, he sounded like a man reeling from eighteen rounds of intellectual boxing with Bernard Levin.

‘…we have to talk. Are you free?’

‘Free? Sure. What is it, Ernest?’

Usually he winced when she used his first name. This time he swallowed it, and carried on.

‘You understand we have some problems today?’

‘The police are all over the place. Yes.’

‘It seems… um… that it’s more serious than we thought at first… for the safety of… for all our sakes… we’re going to have to institute some precautions…’

‘What sort of precautions?’

‘…um… er…’

She could imagine him with his hand over the receiver, turning to get instructions from someone in his office. This was new.

‘There’s someone with him,’ she told Brian, ‘pulling the strings.’

‘Lynch.’

‘Maybe.’

Jackson was back. ‘Stringent precautions, I’m afraid. We’re setting up roadblocks at the main entrance. No one will be allowed on or off the campus…’

‘What? You cannot be serious!’

‘…um… er…’

‘You can’t just lock seven thousand people up like that.’

‘I…’

‘Jackson, what
is
going on?’

There was a fumbling on the other end of the line, and a new voice came on.

‘Miss Flint, my name is Frank Lynch. I’m here representing Unwin Chemicals. We’ve been funding the facility that was breached last night.’

‘I know a bit about that.’

‘Good, then I’m sure you’ll understand when I say we have to impose a strict quarantine. Some animals escaped last night. I don’t know how, and I’m not particularly interested. But these weren’t just rabbits. They were experimental subjects…’

Monica’s heart stopped. Then started again.

She did not want to ask the next question, afraid that Lynch would give her a straight answer.

She steadied herself. ‘What have they got?’

‘We can’t say at the moment.’

‘Crap! You’ll have to say something soon. Plague? Herpes? Some kind of biological warfare bug?’

‘Nothing like that. We’re developing vaccines, not viruses. But there is a potential for infection. I’m not a scientist, I don’t know the polysyllables. It’ll be two days, maximum. That’s the incubation period. If it’s all over, then we can go home. Mr Jackson is busy setting up dormitories for those staff and students who are not resident on campus. Let’s not make a drama out of a crisis, Miss Flint!’

‘Okay, okay, okay. But if you want me to sell this to the students, you’ll have to give me some guarantees.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as
no fucking guns
, for a start. I’ll get you volunteers to man any roadblocks or perimeter patrols you need…’

‘That should be acceptable. The only armed personnel we have are out in the woods hunting rabbits. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Put Jackson back on. We have to square a meeting.’

* * *

Cazie enjoyed driving. She took a long detour on her trip from town to the campus, just so she could open up the little MG her father had given her and push its engine to the limits. She had never got the needle up higher than 70 before, and now seemed to be as good a time as any to find out how fast the machine could go.

It should have been difficult, twisting through country lanes at nearly 100 miles per hour, but Cazie knew she could do it. She could feel the roads in front of her, knew what the other cars would do before they did it, and had supreme confidence in her ability to survive anything.

She had cleaned up, of course, before leaving the house. She had had to take a thorough bath to get all the blood off. Examining her face in the mirror, she could not see anything apart from a few faint white lines to mark the cuts she had got. She had torn a blouse up the back trying to put it on, and realized she would have to be careful.

Sometimes, she did not know her own strength.

Dressed in tight jeans and a loose sweater, she had taken a tour of the house. It was a shame about Derm, but that could not be helped. She had left him on the bed upstairs, but arranged him peacefully with a sheet over him. She felt desire just touching him, but suppressed it. Derm had been her friend, her lover. Using him now would be disgusting.

Besides there had been Rote, and the others. She had put them all in the Action Room. The one on the stairs had had to be pulled free, and he was still transfixed by a broken bannister.

When she had finished moving them, the desire was too powerful to fight. Her palate ached, and her stomach squirmed. The bacon in the pan in the kitchen had shrivelled to black curls, leaving the smell of burned meat smoking through the house. Carefully, she had turned off the gas and thrown away the ruined rashers.

It had had to be the woman, of course. Cazie thought the men might be too tough, too stringy. She considered cooking but there did not appear to be a need.

She had got the body up on a table, sliced her pullover open with a nail, and had breakfast.

She knew better than to make a mess now, and had sucked the blood out of the mouthfuls of flesh before tearing them loose with her teeth and swallowing them.

Dimly, as she feasted, she remembered another girl, another Cazie. A girl who had been afraid to do anything, afraid of her Daddy, afraid even of her friends. She was gone now, as if she were a dream to be forgotten upon awakening.

Eating then, driving now, Cazie knew she was the
real
girl.

A rabbit darted out of the hedgerow forty or fifty yards ahead. It was a simple matter of three or four degrees of turn on the wheel, just a flicker of pressure on the accelerator.

She got the animal dead on. She did not stop to see, but she knew she had neatly squashed its middle, leaving the head and the back legs whole.

‘Rabbit ain’t got no tail at all,’ she hummed to herself, ‘tail at all, tail at all. Rabbit ain’t got no tail at all…’

110. That was as fast as the speedometer could register.

‘…just a powder PUFF!’

The trees, road signs, houses, fences, hedges, telegraph poles flew past like bullets. She had dented the bumper and bonnet a couple of times, but did not give a shit.

The wind hit her face, parted and sliced around her head as if she was the prow of a ship. She smelled things she had never been able to make out before. She opened her mouth to catch flies, to eat the air. The atmosphere itself was delicious.

Briefly, she was in the throes of an orgasm. She had become used to them by now. Her hands did not waver on the wheel.

A car turned unexpectedly into the road from a blind corner, but she had
known
it was coming, and that the driver would not have the guts to keep coming. The fucker was in a ditch before he knew it.