Vengeance Child (22 page)

The stare became even more glassy.

Wilkes debated whether a slap across her face would sharpen her wits. Tempting . . . Instead, he slammed his hand down on the tabletop. ‘Wake up, woman. Surely you're over this wretched bug. Now, once you have the bracelet bring it to me at my house. Don't let anyone else see it. Don't tell anyone about it . . . Dear God, June. Snap out of it. This infection only lasts twenty-four hours at the most. Don't go faking being ill.'

She rubbed her forehead. ‘I'm . . . uh . . . sorry. I thought I was getting better. I'm finding it hard to . . . think properly.'

‘June, take the bracelet from the boy. Where do you think you're going?'

‘I need to lie down for a while.' Unsteadily, she walked down the hallway toward her bedroom.

‘Heaven preserve me from imbeciles,' he barked in the direction of the bedroom door. ‘I'll do it myself. But don't get too comfortable. As soon as the quarantine's lifted you're out of this place. Do you hear?'

Wilkes marched out into the street as the wind roared past the houses. He couldn't delay this any longer. It was time for him to find Archer. Then take the bracelet. And no more Mr Nice Guy. His lip curled into a grin.
As if I was ever such a thing.

Twenty-Six

That old tingle ran through him. One that told Mayor Wilkes the hunt was under way. Sometimes it would be the hunt of the commercial deal, or a strategy to crush a political competitor. This time the tingle came upon him as he walked briskly along Main Street in the direction of the hostel. With June, his PA, confined to her sickbed he'd find Archer himself. Then he'd get hold of the bracelet. That promise of action was enough to get his adrenalin flowing. In the hostel's dinner hall he found commotion. Laura shepherded children out into the garden through the hall's rear doorway. Lou sat cradling a boy on her lap. It was the boy with the middle-aged face. He appeared to be asleep. However, the concern on Lou's face suggested there was more to this than met the eye.

‘Lou,' Wilkes said, ‘is Archer all right?'

‘Mayor Wilkes? You remembered one of the children's names?'

He smiled his best political smile. ‘I'm not made of stone, you know. Archer had a nasty fall out on the street earlier. I thought I'd look in on him.'

If Lou was surprised by his sudden concern for the Lodge children she kept it hidden. ‘Oh, that little graze. He's fine.' She hugged the boy. ‘Archer's got his own way of dealing with the world. When things get that bit too much for him he closes down for a while. It's like a trip switch on electrical equipment.'

‘He'll get well soon?'

‘Archer will be fine, Mr Mayor. We're going to get him to bed for a while.'

‘Here?'

‘No, something more homely. I'll take him to the place I've been staying.'

Mayor Wilkes went to pick Archer up. Already he glimpsed a twinkle of something gold in the child's pocket. ‘Here, let me help you, Lou.'

‘Thank you, but no, Mr Mayor,' Lou said pleasantly in her sing-song voice. ‘He needs to be close to someone familiar right now.'

Wilkes tried not to show it but inwardly he seethed with frustration. ‘Of course. Just you give me a call, though, if you – or Archer – need anything.'

She smiled her thanks. One of the teenage children arrived carrying a Burberry pattern blanket. The girl helped Lou wrap the comatose Archer in it. Then Lou, still holding Archer, got to her feet without any difficulty. The boy must be as light as a feather, thought Wilkes with a modicum of surprise. At least extracting the bracelet from him will require no effort at all. What I need is just a minute alone with him. Still smiling, Wilkes adopted a helpful persona. He opened the door to the street then held up his hand to stop a couple on bicycles so Lou could safely cross.

‘Sure I can't be of help, Lou?' Wilkes asked.

‘I'm fine.' The woman carried the boy easily. ‘Besides, I'm staying at that cottage just over there.'

‘The one with the lilac door?'

‘That's the one,' she answered. ‘Thanks anyway.'

Wilkes watched her go toward the snug cottage with a weeping willow in the front garden. Still smiling, he made a mental note of the address. He'd call back later. When there was nobody around to interfere with his plans.

Archer heard everything. Like when you listen through a rolled-up comic it all sounded funny, sort of echoey, faraway, yet he heard each word distinctly. He knew that Lou carried him. He'd heard her conversation with Mayor Wilkes. Archer remembered that Jay had repeated Laura's name. That meant he'd put his curse on her. For now, while in this state of seizure, that knowledge occupied another part of his brain. He knew it was bad. Only he was detached from that sense of danger. Archer could not move, or talk. He'd remain like this for a while. Eventually, he'd fall asleep. When he awoke he'd be back to normal again. Until the next time. Archer felt Lou carry him upstairs. Then more voices . . .

‘Oh. Lou, what happened to the little chap?'

‘He's fine, Agnes. He just needs to rest a while. How's William?'

‘I'm perplexed, dear. He seemed to have got over the bug this morning. He ate a huge breakfast. Then by lunchtime he came over all drowsy, and forgetful like. Not him at all. About an hour ago he said he'd have to go back to bed. Thing is, he couldn't remember how to find the stairs. Funny that, isn't it?'

‘William could still be dehydrated. Have you called the doctor?'

‘He's on his way.' A bell rang. ‘Oh, that'll be him now. By the by, can I help you with the little chap?'

‘No, I'll be fine. You concentrate on getting William back on his feet again.'

Within moments Archer lay on a soft bed with a quilt over him. He felt its protective touch. Lou bustled around him; a window opened a fraction for a healthy dose of fresh air. Water poured into a glass on his bedside table. Motionless, he gazed at a white lampshade against the red ceiling. More voices:

‘Oh, Victor.' It was the old woman's voice. ‘I thought it was Dr Nazra.'

‘I saw Lou carrying Archer and wondered if she needed any help.'

‘Go on up, Victor. First door on the left.'

Archer could not move. The clump-clump of Victor's feet on the risers grew louder. Lots of things went through Archer's mind. The Ghorlan~Victor bracelet. The dead/alive woman with the bright blue eyes. She'd risen from the back seat of the entombed car. Archer suspected Victor had put her there . . . after bashing her to death with his fists first. And that bracelet was evidence. Evidence of murder.

Footsteps grew even louder. A sound of breathing. Archer knew that Victor approached. He couldn't move a finger. Paralysis gripped him. A shadow moved in the room. Then Victor's face loomed over the bed. The eyes locked on the boy's face. Concern? Or the moment before the man smashed his fist into Archer's face? Cold spread through Archer's body. A deathly cold . . . just like the dead/alive woman would feel as she lay in the car.

‘Archer. I wanted to see you.' Victor smiled.

Heart pumping, Archer tried to scream out. Not so much as a sigh escaped his lips. With all his might he tried to leap from the bed. He must get away before Victor reached him. Only he had no power of movement. He might as well have been carved from dead wood.

‘Victor?' Lou's voice. ‘Were you looking for me?'

‘I saw you carrying Archer. Do you need any help?'

‘I'm fine. All Archer needs is rest.' She chuckled. ‘My, my, everyone's being very considerate today. Mayor Wilkes wanted to help, too. He was most concerned about Archer's well-being.'

‘Really?' Victor's voice suddenly became deeper. ‘Talk about miracles.'

‘Are you over the bug, Victor?'

‘I think I'm just about back to normal.'

‘You sure? You look as if you've got something on your mind.'

Archer heard Victor start to speak but another voice echoed on the stairs. The old woman called, ‘Dr Nazra, come on up. William's taken to his bed again.'

The doctor's soft tones resembled chimes on the air. ‘That's been the pattern today. Those who contracted the virus appeared to make a complete recovery. Now some are starting to display signs of confusion and lethargy. Unfortunately, that's prevalent with influenza. You may suffer bouts of mild depression for months after. I hope this germ doesn't do the same to us.'

With Lou nearby to comfort him Archer found himself drifting into sleep.

Mayor Wilkes faced the breeze coming in from the river. Mountains of black cloud were marshalling themselves over the Welsh hills. He knew this was a sign that Siluria would be attacked by a storm. Attack was the right word. When bad weather blew in from the west it could be hurricane force. For ten minutes Wilkes had watched the cottage where Lou had taken Archer. As soon as Lou returned to the hostel he'd nip in quick. He knew Agnes Davies. Suavely, he'd explain he'd dropped by to find out if old William had recovered yet. Then he'd track down Archer. Only things didn't go to plan. Within seconds of Lou entering the cottage, she'd been followed by Victor (
bane of my life, that man, always in the way
); moments later, Dr Nazra had entered the cottage, too. Wilkes needed to get his hands on that bracelet. This wasn't a chore he could delay until tomorrow. A cold wind blew up the street. It seemed to carry with it another of the Badsworth Lodge misfits. A thin boy marched along, as if matching the pace of the breeze. He swung his arms as he walked. His huge, elfin eyes smouldered with something that approached excitement. As if he anticipated wonderful events.

He chanted to the rhythm of his stride. ‘Laura, Laura . . . Siluria, Siluria . . . Laura, Laura . . . Siluria, Siluria . . .'

Why mutter the name of the nurse and the island? Then again, the behaviour of these kids to Wilkes was inexplicable. They were screwed up. And this was the boy that caused the trouble when the group arrived here. For some reason, the boy put the fear of God into all the other children.

Air currents screamed through tombstones in the churchyard. Wilkes watched dark cloud racing over the hills. The storm had begun its march on the island. Little Siluria was going to be hit hard.

When the opportunity for Wilkes to enter the cottage didn't arise he decided to check on June. If she dragged her bones off her sickbed she could visit Archer on some pretext. It should be simple for her to separate the strange little boy from the bracelet.

When he opened her bedroom door, he paused. ‘Well, well, well,' he murmured in surprise. ‘You managed to escape after all.'

Stretched out in bed, the sheets twisted around claw-like hands, June stared at the ceiling. Without a shadow of doubt the woman was utterly lifeless. Already the eyes were sunk into her dead face, while her lips had turned a delicate shade of blue.

Twenty-Seven

Mayor Wilkes found the doctor sitting on a garden bench, staring at a phone in his hand. From the expression on Dr Nazra's face he might have expected the device to turn into a spitting cobra at any moment.

Instead of beginning with a greeting, Wilkes barked, ‘You know that pad of death certificates you keep in your safe? Get one. June Benyon has just died.'

Dr Nazra's face had turned a washed-out grey. ‘I need more than one.' He inclined his head to the cottage. ‘Mrs Hollander died ten minutes ago. Before that I'd been in Mr Kowalski's house. He's passed away, too.'

‘This epidemic's got nasty, then?'

The doctor nodded, exhausted.

Wilkes clicked his tongue. ‘You've called in more help?'

‘Yes, I've just spoken to the director of emergency planning.'

‘Good, because this is more than we can handle.'

‘No . . . 
bad
is the relevant word here. It seems as if the island has been struck by a mutant version of the virus that's been infecting people on the mainland. There, sick people are getting better. Here they become worse. Much, much worse.'

Wilkes fumed. ‘My God. All the medical expertise we have is you and one qualified nurse, the woman from Badsworth Lodge.'

‘And that's all we will have until the virus is identified. At the moment, the infectious diseases specialist doesn't know what this is. Or how it can be treated. Until they find a treatment for the condition we remain under quarantine.'

‘Surely they can send medics in those bloody space suits you see them wearing when they're playing out their biohazard scenarios?'

Wearily, the doctor shook his head. ‘Too risky, even for protective suits. We're a code red. Nobody is allowed on to the island, or off. We're locked out of the rest of the world. We might as well have been exiled to the dark side of the moon.'

‘Surely this can only be temporary?'

‘How long we're isolated here, I cannot say. Medical specialists have seen nothing like it . . . I've seen nothing like it. Not in all my thirty years as a medical man. You've heard of pneumonic plague and bubonic plague, Mr Mayor? Well, this is a psychoactive plague. It starts in the digestive system then it attacks the brain.'

Wilkes began to understand. ‘I wondered why June Benyon couldn't comprehend a thing I was telling her.'

‘It begins with vomiting,' the doctor said, ‘with a high fever, episodes of hallucination, then it appears to vanish from the body. The patient feels much better. Only the virus is in the process of occupying brain tissue. Within hours the patient experiences lethargy, confusion, forgetfulness; the condition worsens until they lapse into coma. Ultimately, the virus switches off the part of the brain that governs respiratory function.' His bloodshot eyes were grave. ‘Its victims stop breathing. They suffocate. They die.'