Breeding Ground (11 page)

So I stood there and dithered until Jane’s small voice broke into my hesitation.

“What about that car there? It’s like a pickup truck.”

Turning round, I found myself facing her ponytail as

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she looked the other way, pointing across the road. I scanned the street.

“Where?”

“There.” Her finger stretched. She wasn’t pointing at the pavement, but behind it, at the small tucked-away piece of tarmac that served as the car park for The Plough, and I could see what had drawn her attention. Sticking out from the red brick rear wall of the deserted car park was a large shiny black tail end of a beast of a car.

“That looks perfect.” Grinning at the girl, I patted her firmly on the shoulder. “Well done, Jane.” She smiled back at me and it was good to see. “Let’s go and take a look.”

Re-crossing the deserted road, the girls waited on the other side of the low wall while I scouted round the side of the building. There were no signs of any widows and only two cars; the old battered Ford Escort with the tatty paintwork parked in front of the back door, which must have belonged to the landlord, and then the glistening silver and black bodywork of the imposing Mitsubishi Animal that cast its shadow far over the tarmac ground. The wheels were huge, raising it far up from the ground and the height of it appealed to me. Anything that would improve my viewing range seemed like a good idea to me. The rear pickup area was covered over with a hard black roof that looked easy enough to remove, but tough enough to protect the contents from whatever we had to face. At least I hoped it would be tough enough. If it wasn’t, then neither would anything else.

Peering through the tinted glass I could make out two large seats in the back and two in the front, and it seemed to have all the mod cons. The petrol gauge

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dimly pointed close to the full mark. As far as luck went, we couldn’t really have asked for more, apart from maybe having the keys sitting neatly in the ignition, and that they certainly weren’t. The number plate gleamed up at me. H5 SNK. Personalised. But meaningless now.

I trotted back to the others, and Katie pushed a few loose curls behind one ear, impatient as she spoke. “Well?”

“Yeah, it looks perfect. No keys, though. And I don’t have the first idea how to start a car without them.”

The sun glared at us from above, and Katie was still squinting, even with her hand shielding her eyes.

“Maybe whoever owns it is still inside.”

I weighed the likely outcomes of that scenario and wasn’t pleased with any of them. Getting my hand into the pocket of a cocooned man was not tops on my list of preferred actions and I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Maybe, but maybe not. The bloke that runs this place is really tight on drunk driving. He’s known for taking keys from his customers when he thinks they’ve had too many. He’s been like that ever since one of them drove into a couple walking down London Road. Killed the man outright and left the woman in a wheelchair.”

I looked back at the building behind us. “It could be he’s just hung the keys behind the bar and sent the owner home on foot or in a cab.”

Katie sighed and shrugged. “I suppose there’s only one way we’re going to find out.”

“Correction. There’s only one way I’m going to find out. You two can wait out here.” Katie hadn’t been

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forthcoming with her and Jane’s experiences of the widows, but I doubted they’d seen anything like I had in the cafe. And I didn’t want them to. Especially not Jane. She may not have brought out the paternal streak in Nigel Phelps, but I had a bank of building father feelings for my own never to be born child, and they were finding an exit in her.

“Oh right. Like we’re going to stay out here on our own. I don’t think so. And anyway, we have the knife.”

“I was hoping to take that with me.”

She smiled sweetly. “If you think I’m letting go of this, then you’ve got another thing coming. Now come on. I’ll try the front bar door.”

Jane rolled her eyes at me as if this stubbornness was something that she was used to, and we both watched as Katie strolled away. That chin-up determination reminded me of Chloe, and that wasn’t helping me fight the attraction. She disappeared for a second round the corner and then returned, shaking her head. “Locked.”

I figured we could break in if we had to, but I wasn’t keen on making too much noise anymore. Not now that I knew there were probably inhabitants. I nodded towards the wooden archway of the side bar. “You try that one. I’ll try the back door.”

Leaving them there, I trotted back into the shadowy rear of the building, past the huge car that was our target, and came to a stop in the small gap between the battered Escort and the dusty, neglected chipped black wood of the door. Twisting the handle, expecting to feel the resistance of the lock, I held my breath in surprise as it pushed open with ease, silently slicing through the dark air inside.

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The footfalls behind me seemed far too loud, and without turning I whispered to them, “It’s open.”

I’d taken my jumper off on the walk from the bowls club and now I untied it from my waist and quietly pulled it on. The heat was still sticky, but I wanted as much protection as possible and the thought of going in there with bare arms made my stomach turn. I stepped over the thin wooden lintel into the gloomy hallway, the girls following me. To our right there was an open door leading into the industrial metal gleam of the pub kitchen, a faint smell of stale oil drifting from it, and to our left was the door leading to the downstairs bar. Ahead were the stairs leading up to the living quarters, two dog leads hanging over the side. I didn’t wonder where the dogs might be. There was no need to. The answer was obvious, staring at us from everywhere we looked.

“Oh shit.” Katie breathed behind me. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

It looked like winter had settled in there, every surface covered with pale, shiny strands, like cobwebs covered in frost, but not quite, too thick, their heavy substance stretching from stairs to walls to tables, with no sense of rhyme or reason and none of the intricate beauty and structure of a spider’s web. The translucent colour, so like those awful legs, shone in blues and pinks in the reflected light, and they left trails of some kind of slime wherever they had been, darker and more glutinous than the strands themselves. I wondered what would happen if you touched it, but I wasn’t keen to find out. When Katie’s soft hand gently brushed my shoulder I almost screamed.

“You know what you said about you coming in here on your own?”

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I nodded.

“Well, you know, on second thought I think that sounds fine by me.” Her whisper was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. “I’ll even give you the knife.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Reaching back, I took the offered weapon, the handle slightly damp from where it had been gripped so tightly in her hand. “Stay here in the doorway. If you hear anything moving upstairs, then call me. Not too loud, though.” The last thing I wanted was us drawing attention to ourselves.

“Okay.” Her breath tickled the back of my neck.

“If you see anything on the other hand, then scream.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I don’t think a scream will be much of a problem.” A finger poked into my ribs. “Now stop stalling.”

Unconsciously sucking in a deep breath, I took a small step to my left, ducking low to avoid my head touching one of those slimy ropes, and slowly moved as quietly as possible through the doorway into the bar. The murmur of my trainers on the lino below seemed like a shriek in the silence as I looked carefully round.

The dark green curtains were pulled across the windows all along the far wall creating an empty, false dusk, only occasional shafts of light from the gaps hitting dusty tables, some still littered with dirty ashtrays, and one with a glass, an inch of beer stale in its base. Multicoloured lights from the machines flashed at me, teasing and tempting any potential customer to part with his money in an attempt to win the elusive jackpot. It was going to be waiting a long time.

For a moment I had a glimpse of that machine

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blazing away for decades until its parts slowly gave out, grinding down to stop, waiting so patiently in vain for someone to play with it. I shivered, and moved on. This was no time for chilling imaginings; there was enough in the here and now, right above my head, to keep my imagination and fear fully engaged. Looking around at the abandoned pub, I figured that although the landlord may have locked the doors, he certainly didn’t have his mind on the job last night. The drip trays were dirty beneath the pumps, and dishes of drying sliced lemon still sat on the sides. I felt as if I’d stepped onto a ghost ship.

Thankfully, there were less of the shimmering strands in the bar, although sludge covered most of the bottles against the mirrored back walls next to the till. Making sure I didn’t touch it, I crouched down to duck beneath one thick thread that had spread like a creeper of ivy in through the door. I heard my knee click and cursed as I pushed myself up from the squat, my thighs aching slightly. Something told me that if I was going to survive for long, I was going to have to get fitter. And quickly. It didn’t help that the tension had my muscles wound so tight that they felt they were going to snap. The knife safely in my grasp, I could have tried cutting through the strands, but something stopped me; I was shit-scared of what would happen if I did. What the hell did I know about these new nightmarish creatures? What if there was some kind of sensory link between this sticky web-like substance and its creator, who was probably only a few feet above my head somewhere? I didn’t have any intention of finding out; unless I had no choice that was something I was going to avoid.

Letting my breath out slowly, I moved onwards.

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The pub had originally been divided into two completely separate rooms, and although several years before it had been opened up to become one large one, the serving area still had a dividing wall with an archway running between them. It was on the other side of this arch that the key hooks were, nailed into the wall. Only a few feet away, it seemed to be taking me forever to reach it, my heart thumping and my mouth dry. If one of the widows chose now to come downstairs, then there was no way I would make it back to the door. I’d be cut off from the others, trapped. And I wouldn’t blame them for not sticking around to help.

The thought spurred me on and I took three long strides to reach the arch. Peering round, I was relieved to see this part of the pub lounge as empty as the rest, no creature ready to pounce on me, nor any cocooned half-alive helpless people; just a sea of chairs and tables dozing in the stale air behind bar stools that wouldn’t be filled this lunchtime, or any time in the foreseeable future.

Keeping my body in the archway, I twisted to see the hooks and my heart leapt, a small hiss of air escaping me. There was one set of car keys hanging alone, the metal key ring declaring it an Animal. That was our baby. Less cautious now, eager to get away, I grabbed them, ignoring the metal jangling they made as they tried to cling to the hook rather than my sweaty fingers, wrenching them free from the wall as I turned back. Ducking under the creeping strand, my joints feeling more flexible this time, something caught the corner of my eye.

“Fuck it.” I muttered under my breath, and thrusting the Mitsubishi keys into my pocket, pulled forty Benson and Hedges from the narrow stacked shelf

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above the till. After a moments hesitation I grabbed another pack, and also the dated eighties-style Harley Davidson Zippo lighter resting on top of an open packet of Sovereign. That strange rebellious exhilaration that only smokers know overtook me, and for a brief moment I almost smiled, as if by voluntarily screwing with my health, I was somehow screwing with the order of this new and unpleasant world, giving the widows the universally acknowledged victory salute with attitude. And anyway, this was no time to be an ex-smoker.

Reaching the doorway, relieved to be getting out, I grinned at Katie as she came into view. Before I could speak, she raised an arm, and I froze where I was. Her eyes were staring up the stairs at something I couldn’t see.

“Katie?” My voice was low, but the urgency in it was obvious. “What is it?”

“Move very slowly and come behind me.” She still kept her eyes locked on their frustratingly-out-of-my-view target. “Keep your head down and don’t speak.”

Biting back my questions, I did as I was told, and taking as tiny and as smooth steps as I could, stared at the stained and grimy floor beneath me, and slid out into the corridor behind Katie’s arm. From somewhere above me came a wet, angry hissing sound, and I fought the urge to run as the open back door got closer, glimpsing Jane waiting outside in the sunshine, her fearful expression no doubt a reflection of mine.

“Go and open the car and get Jane in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Unable to resist, and needing to know just what the fuck was going on, I threw a quick glance over my shoulder while the top of the stairs were still in sight. I

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couldn’t help but shudder. Half a widow was curved round the top banister, its bank of pinprick red eyes glowing angrily as it hissed, long spindly legs pawing at the dull carpet, whatever substance that flowed through its veins almost visible through their revolting milky surface. Its mouth, its two mouths, if they could be called that, clacked wetly as the two sets of mandibles mashed into each other.

Jesus, it seemed so full of hate, so ready to attack, except that something was stopping it, and that something was Katie. How the fuck was she doing that?

“I said go!” her voice growled at me, and I didn’t need asking twice, no matter how fucking strange all this was. Dumping the cigarettes on the enormous black bonnet, I groped in my pocket for the key, pressing the unlock button before I’d even wrenched them free.