Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path (29 page)

The driver of the Jeep slammed on the brake and the tyres skidded to a halt.

‘Drop it!’ he hollered, leaping from his seat and reaching cautiously for his baton.

Angelo stared at them in bewilderment as they prowled closer, their white belts and gaiters shining in the lights.

‘Frank's dead,’ he called dismally.

The knife!’ the driver repeated angrily. ‘I said drop it!’

Angelo stared at the blade in his hand and realised what they were thinking. Hastily he threw it down.

‘You got it all wrong!’ he cried.

‘Reach!’ the other MP shouted, sliding the white truncheon from his belt.

‘Lieutenant Signorelli?’ the driver barked.

The airman nodded, puzzled as to how they knew his name.

The old dame was right,’ the MP whispered across to his partner, ‘the guy's bats—look what he's got in his other hand.’

‘Better be careful,’ the other hissed back, ‘ain't no telling what crazies'll do.’

‘Listen to me,’ Angelo cried as they drew near.

‘Quiet!’ the driver yelled. ‘You're gonna fry for this, flyboy.’

At that moment, another bomb landed and its shivering violence jolted through the high street. To Angelo's dismay, the explosion seemed to have come from the vicinity of Barker's Row and consumed with fear for Jean, he panicked.

Lunging forward, Angelo pushed the nearest MP sideways and the man went flying into his partner.

Bounding over them, the airman pelted into the fog. He needed time to think. If he could only get back to Jean, if he could just be sure she was safe.

Behind him he could hear the MPs’ frantic, furious voices ordering him to freeze. His mind a turmoil, Angelo raced deeper into the enveloping vapour. They'd never catch him, in a moment he would be invisible in the mist.

Darting past Frank's body, the driver pulled out a gun and bawled, ‘Hold it, Signorelli!’

Tearing down the street, haring towards the desperate commotion, came the figure of a boy, upon whose shoulder sat an anxious teddy bear.

‘We're too late!’ Ted shrieked at Neil, ‘it's just as it was! Goddammit!’

Leaping from the boy's shoulder the bear sped forward, cupping his paws to his mouth as he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘STOP, SIGNORELLI! STOP!’

For an instant, the concealing fog was drawn aside and Neil saw the running figure of Angelo shudder, as a burst of white light flared behind him.

With the gun shot still resounding through the mist, Angelo glanced down and saw a blossoming circle of red soaking through his shirt.

The pistol blazed three more times and Angelo screeched as the bullets blasted and ripped clean through his flesh.

Gasping, the airman toppled to the ground, clasping his hands to his perforated chest.

‘Jeezus!’ he choked, convulsing with shock. ‘Oh Lord, no—I ain't ready. Hell, I weren't ready...’

His frantic movements began to slow and Angelo rolled on to his front.

‘Jean,’ he groaned, as a blackness closed over his eyes.

The lieutenant's fingers juddered and clenched, tightening about the soft, fleecy toy in his hand.

Before the darkness took him, Angelo Signorelli gazed into the furry face of the bear that would house his soul for the next fifty years—and then it was over.

‘NO-O-O!’ Ted caterwauled, speeding over to the bullet-riddled, motionless body. Stroking Angelo's hair, the bear glared upwards, then shook his fists.

This can't be!’ he raged. ‘Not after all these years of waiting! It ain't fair! You hear me? It ain't fair!’

Stepping awkwardly up behind the disconsolate bear, Neil crouched beside him and stared over to where the figures of the military policemen were advancing.

‘We've got to go!’ the boy urged.

“Who's that?’ the driver of the Jeep demanded, keeping the pistol trained on the dim shapes ahead. ‘Stand up and keep your hands where I can see ‘em!’

The boy rose and gave Ted a nudge with his foot but the mourning bear ignored him.

Neil rubbed his eyes, for the billowing haze had blurred the two figures, distorting and shrivelling them.

Through the swirling murk the MPs came, staring dispassionately down at Angelo's body and not in the least surprised or disturbed to see a teddy bear standing guard over him.

Tilting back his white hat, the driver returned the gun to the holster and Neil shook his head incredulously.

‘Edward,’ said a sad female voice, ‘you have our sincerest condolences.’

Ted raised his glass eyes.

Looking more absurd than ever, dressed in the uniforms of the military policemen—were Miss Ursula Webster and her sister Veronica,.

‘I truly am sorry, Edward,’ Miss Ursula said, ‘I wish it had been possible for you to save both yourself and your friend.’

The bear scowled at her. ‘You knew all along di'n'tcha?’ he demanded angrily. ‘You never had the slightest intention of letting me do it—this is what you wanted!’

Miss Ursula looked on him pityingly, a single diamantine earring glittering on one of her ears. ‘It is never a question of what we desire,’ she said sensitively, ‘the path we all follow is already woven for us.’

'That's a crock and you know it!’ he ranted back. ‘You're the ones who do the weaving! What difference would it have made for these two guys to live? You promised me! You said there was a way!’

With her raven hair piled underneath her tin hat, the chalky face of Miss Veronica peered down at the airman and cooed forlornly.

‘Oh, Ursula,’ she tutted, ‘see how young and dashing Edward was. What a pity Celandine isn't here to see him. How she used to admire the pretty gentleman who came to call on us, all that time ago in Askar.’

'The toy,’ her sister instructed.

Stooping awkwardly with her game leg, Miss Veronica prised the bear's twin from Angelo's fingers. ‘I rather think we had better wash this before it joins the collection,’ she twittered, ‘the poor dear's covered in blood. It would never do for him to wake up and find himself in such a state, now would it?’

‘Right from the start,’ Ted spat, ‘right here—you tricked me!’

Miss Ursula nodded in confirmation. ‘I did, yes.’

‘In the name of God,’ he shouted, ‘Why?’

'There really was no other way,’ she replied.

‘So it's all been for nothing, I waited fifty years, fly back to here, haulin’ the kid with me, and for what?’

Miss Ursula cleared her throat as a sign that she was growing tired of the bear's complaining.

‘Do cease your grizzling, Edward!’ she snorted, a degree of the familiar irritation creeping into her voice. ‘You appear to have forgotten the other matter we spoke of, or did you deliberately disobey my decree?’

Ted grunted disparagingly. ‘Yeah, well I figured as how the critter from the box was your problem, not mine.’

'There is still time to deal with him.’

The bear scoffed and waved a dismissive paw. ‘You gotta be crazy, sister!’ he cried, ‘I ain't doin’ nothin’.’

Neil had been staring at the Websters in amazement and listening to Miss Ursula's discourse with Ted in fascination but now he felt it was time to butt in.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said, ‘but I think we ought to be getting back to the Stokes's. It won't be long before Josh and the gateway appears...’

Miss Ursula turned on him with a disdainful glance. The maggot speaks!’ she announced. ‘And what does he have to say for himself? Not a word of apology for breaking into our premises and trespassing where he was strictly forbidden to enter.’

‘Hey!’ Ted yelled. ‘Let him alone. Grouching at him won't make me help you.’

'Then I wonder what will?’ she asked, eyeing the bear intently.

‘I know! I know!’ her sister piped up.

‘Quiet, Veronica. Now, Edward.’

‘Will you stop it with that Edward? The name's Angelo!’

Miss Ursula turned on her most dangerous smile. ‘Angelo, then, if you prefer,’ she humoured him, ‘are you not anxious to go back and save the life of the Evans girl?’

‘Jean,’ the bear growled, ‘what's she got to do with this? There's nothing you can do to her—at least that's something I got right this time round. She's safe in the shelter at number thirty.’

Miss Ursula turned to her sister who was tittering and let her explain.

‘Oh, no,’ Miss Veronica simpered, ‘both she and her little boy are still at home—they never went across the road. Isn't it awful? In, how long will it be, Ursula?’

‘A little over thirty minutes.’

‘Oh, yes, in thirty minutes time the bomb will land just as it did before. Won't that be a splendidly large bang?’

Both Ted and Neil stared at her, appalled.

'Then I ain't changed nothin’ yet!’ the bear muttered. ‘Kid—we gotta get back there, now!’

‘Oh no!’ Miss Ursula told them, ‘if you attempt to rescue the young lady and her son then I shall surely see to it that your efforts fail and they suffer the same... fate, as before.’

Ted glared at her.

‘You know I am more than capable of that,’ she said.

‘Please,’ he cried, ‘don't do this!’

Miss Ursula laced her fingers together and revealed her brown teeth in a triumphant grin. ‘I believe you will find Belial at the ... er ... munitions factory, is it? Even now he is approaching the gates. Very great has he become. I hope for Jean's sake you will be able to despatch him in time.’

'The factory?’ Ted cried. ‘I don't know where that is!’

‘I do!’ Neil answered. ‘I was round there today, after I got away from Mrs Stokes.’

“Under thirty minutes left,’ Miss Veronica chirruped.

The bear glared desperately at Miss Ursula. ‘You promise I can save Jean and little Danny if I pull this off?’

‘You have my solemn word.’

‘Right!’ Ted roared at Neil. ‘Kid, we ain't got much time—we gotta steal that Jeep.’

The boy gaped at him. ‘Who's going to drive it?’ he asked.

‘I’ll tell you how!’ came the confident reply.

Hurrying over to the abandoned vehicle, Neil and the bear jumped into the seats and Ted barked out his instructions.

With a lurch, the Jeep sprang backwards. Then, with a screech of burning rubber, it plunged through the fog.

Glancing behind them, the bear saw the shapes of the Webster sisters shimmer and vanish—to be replaced by the bodies of the real MPs who shook themselves and wondered what had happened.

Outside the entrance to the munitions factory, Kathleen Hewett peered into the mist as a small black car came chugging into view.

From the automobile, looking unusually flustered and mopping his perspiring lip with his handkerchief, stepped Mr Ormerod.

Furtively glancing around them, he strode up to her, his babyish face flushed and trembling.

'This had better be of the utmost necessity!’ he snapped. ‘Should I find that you have falsely used the emergency code then you will be struck from the company.’

To his surprise the girl was laughing at him.

‘Don't take on so, little piggy!’ she jeered. ‘None of that matters any more.’

The meticulous man gawked at her. ‘Are you mad?’ he began to squeal.

There's something I think you should see,’ she told him, ‘a vision so magnificent that you will no longer have any use for any other performer. The whole production has been cancelled and in its place a drama, the like of which you have never dreamed, is about to unfold.’

‘You're drunk!’ he glowered, his lashless eyes beginning to swell.

Kath ignored the remark and pointed to the indistinct bulk of the factory rising behind the high walls.

‘Hush,’ she said, ‘the overture commences.’

Mr Ormerod quaked with rage. ‘If you have dared to bring me here merely to plead yet again for the destruction of this place, then you have overreached yourself for the last time.’

Reaching into his suit, he pulled out a stubby pistol—but Kath was unconcerned.

‘Now shall this grubby little country and its dithering population know that they are beaten!’ she cried. ‘Arise, my lord, the time is upon us!’

Mr Ormerod thought she had gone completely insane. Then his froggish eyes saw a large shape rear up behind the high brick wall and he noticed for the first time that the iron gates of the factory had been thrown down and were lying buckled and twisted upon the ground.

Framed between the demolished entrance, the indistinct figure of the monstrous squander bug wavered for a moment—its terrible eyes gleaming thirstily. Then, with a thrash of its powerful, segmented limbs, it veered round and clawed its way towards the vastness of the munitions factory.

‘What... what is that?’ Mr Ormerod's strangled whisper asked.

Kathleen hooted exultantly. ‘It is a sign,’ she cried, ‘in which all our dreams are made manifest. A divine testament to the excellence of the Reich. A thousand years and more shall our dominion be, for with Beli Ya'al as our guiding beacon, our enemies shall be utterly defeated.’

As she spoke, inflamed by her madness, there came a violent, thundering din of crashing bricks, as the demon's talons went crashing through the factory wall.

Mr Ormerod turned a scared face to her as the squander bug smashed his way into the munitions building and his pink face quivered like an unset, strawberry mousse.

‘What is it doing?’ he cried shrilly.

Kathleen began to step away from the entrance and in a jubilant voice said, 'Why, going to detonate the stored explosives! How else can he feed and grow strong?’

Guffawing, she turned and began to run for cover, tearing through the mist and leaving her former superior to realise slowly the mortal danger she had placed him in.

In a sweating fluster, the man ran back to his car, fumbled with the door handle, then scrambled inside.

Through the fog there came the chilling roar of the demon's laughter and the hideous sound made Mr Ormerod drop his keys on the floor.

Groping for them in the darkness and whining pathetically, he finally turned the ignition and the automobile coughed and spluttered to life.

Wrenching the steering wheel round, Mr Ormerod pressed his foot down—but it was too late.

With a tremendous, bone-jarring boom, that pounded and echoed in the man's chest, shattering the windscreen into a million fragments, the buildings of the factory flew apart.

Into the troubled, fog-filled night, a dazzling flash of brilliant white flame suddenly erupted. Expanding to a gargantuan ball of ravaging force that flowered blindingly in the milky fog, piercing its smothering ceiling and scorching up into the plane-filled heavens.

Mr Ormerod's car was flung across the street as the perimeter wall was hurled down. Smashed and dazed, his jolting screams were only silenced when the shattered vehicle was engulfed in the stampeding shock wave. A second, smaller explosion resounded through the streets as the car exploded with such ferocity that it was propelled forty feet into the air—executing a perfect, fiery arc over the roof of a shuddering terrace.

The houses that had surrounded the factory were utterly destroyed, flattening before the savage might of the lethal, obliterating energies.

Foundations were laid bare and ripped from the earth, whilst an immense, black cloud of choking debris was cast into the tormented air.

Huddling in the shelters, the terrified inhabitants were either crushed beneath the tons of collapsing rubble or shaken to death by the ghastly, unleashed forces. Many fell headlong into the massive pits which gaped greedily open in the rupturing ground, their bodies never to be recovered. Into these splintering gulfs, buckled roads and burning trees tipped and slithered and the night was rent with despair.

Within the smoking ruins, unharmed by the rending blast and rearing up from the crater that was once the factory floor, Belial stretched out his cockroach-like limbs to the churning sky.

The once dense fog was now ragged and swirled about the horrendous destruction in tattered shreds. Yet within the fine, lacerated threads of vapour, rising sluggishly from the fresh graves, other forms were moving.

Into the night the souls of the dead ascended, mingling ethereally with the eddying, melting mist.

Yet Belial was aware of them. His lusting eyes scried through the haze and a ravenous skirl rumbled from his scabious guts when he beheld the countless victims of his unhallowed appetite.

Drawing his foul lips back over his fangs, the demon gulped down deep, insatiable, gluttonous breaths.

Drawn into the powerful, devouring gale the curling fingers of mist were sucked—down into his blistering gullet, and with them came the delectable, nourishing morsels he so avidly coveted.