Стюарт Макбрайд - All That’s Dead

He crept into the hall again. Opened the door to the kitchen, just in case. Still no King.

A filthy bathroom at the far end.

Stairs — the treads rotten and blistered as they reached up into the darkness. Sod that. Besides, there was no way King had climbed them. Anything heavier than a small terrier would probably go straight through the wood and crash down into the basement. Plus: no footprints in the dust.

Which left the door at the end of the hall. Only this one was closed.

Logan stuffed his cracked phone in his pocket, raised his battering-branch, and reached for the handle. Took another deep breath.

In three, two, one...

He threw the door open and charged inside.

A cloud of bluebottles growled into the air as he staggered to a halt in the middle of what must have been the living room. Maybe ‘living’ was the wrong word for it. A collection of five chest freezers lurked in the dark, little green lights down by the base of the units showing that they were on, accompanied by a low gurgling hummmmmmmmm .

Logan dug out his phone again and played its wheezy glow across the chest freezers. They all had one of Mhari’s horrible messages spray-painted on them. The only one not switched on was ‘WALLACE’.

The room’s windows looked out over the cliffs to the North Sea, everything reduced to shadows and silhouettes as the night grew. The air warm, and... sickly, smelling of hot metal and rancid meat.

No King.

One by one, the flies settled onto the blood-smeared lid of the freezer marked ‘JUDAS’. It wasn’t the only freezer with stains on it, but the blood on ‘THREE MONKEYS’, ‘THE DEVIL MAKES WORK’, and ‘SPITE’ had dried to dark muddy brown. ‘JUDAS’ shone a fresh bright red.

Logan stepped towards it and his foot skidded forward.

Aaaaaaa...

He braced himself, arms out, swinging them to keep upright.

Lurched to a stop. Then stared down at whatever it was he’d stood in. It glittered in a wide puddle that stretched from here to the base of ‘JUDAS’. Yeah, that was definitely blood.

‘Jesus.’

Every fridge freezer except for ‘WALLACE’ was padlocked, but for some reason ‘THE DEVIL MAKES WORK’ and ‘SPITE’ had chains wrapped around them too — an extra brass padlock securing each in place. As if there was something in them that Mhari really didn’t want getting out.

Logan inched his way closer.

Closer.

Bluebottles staggered through the fetid air, buzzing around his head, glittering in the phone’s glow.

Closer.

He licked his lips.

Closer.

Reached for the chain and—

A pale face appeared in the broken window behind the freezer, ghostly and horrible and it screamed at him and he screamed back and they both flinched away. Then Steel clicked on a wee torch and shone it through the window. ‘You trying to give us a heart attack?’

‘Don’t do that!’

‘Nearly crapped myself, there...’ She puffed out a breath and lowered her torch. ‘Kingy’s no’ out here.’

Logan looked around the room again: the chest freezers with their spray-painted words. ‘Think I might have found Professor Wilson, Councillor Lansdale, and Scott Meyrick.’ He leaned on ‘THE DEVIL MAKES WORK’ and frowned at her through the window. ‘We’re going to need a whole heap of SE techs to—’

A something thumped into the lid beneath his hands and he flinched away.

Steel let out another wee shriek. Then, ‘What?’

Holy buggering hell. Logan backed away from the chest freezer; there was someone in there. Someone—

His left foot hit something and he staggered again, nearly crashing down into the puddle of blood. Whatever he’d stepped on, it clanged and rattled against the floorboards.

Another thump from ‘THE DEVIL MAKES WORK’. Then another. And another — the whole thing rocking and shaking. Muffled screams coming from inside.

Logan grabbed the padlock holding the lid shut and twisted. Yanked at it. But it was solid. Break it. Break it off. He raised the battering-branch, swinging it overhead and down on the padlock, setting it rattling. ‘CAN YOU HEAR ME? THIS IS THE POLICE!’

The thumping got louder. So did the screaming.

Logan hammered at the lock again. Twice. Three times... The branch snapped in his hand, its top half spiralling away to thunk against something in the darkness.

Sodding...

He swept the phone’s half-arsed glow across the floor.

There — the thing he almost fell over — the wheel brace from his Audi.

Logan grabbed it and smashed it down onto the padlock. Didn’t do anything to the padlock, but the bit of fridge freezer it was attached to snapped clean off.

The lid banged up as far as the chain would allow and a sliver of cold-white blared into the room as the internal light came on. A pair of eyes stared through the gap, breath seeping out in a cloud of pale grey. ‘HELP ME! PLEASE! HELP ME!’

Professor Wilson — it had to be. No mistaking that plummy voice, even under all the panic.

Wilson shoved the lid up again and again, rattling the chains, making the internal light pulse off and on. Causing the room to strobe. ‘HELP ME!’

The living room door banged open again and Steel marched in. ‘What the bloody—’

Logan pointed the wheel brace at her. ‘Switch them off! Switch them all off.’

‘GET ME OUT OF HERE!’

He stared at the chain, then at the next chest freezer in line: ‘SPITE’. It was padlocked too.

Steel dropped to her knees, torch clasped between her teeth as she fumbled about behind ‘THE DEVIL MAKES WORK’.

Logan marched over to ‘SPITE’, tightened his grip on the wheel brace.

‘NO! DON’T LEAVE ME!’ Wilson’s voice cracked on the last word. ‘Get me out!’

He battered the lock twice, denting and deforming it. But the third go snapped the padlock off. Logan yanked the lid up as far as the chain would let him and the internal light bloomed its hard white glow. Difficult to see what was inside, because of the angle, but the interior was smeared with more dried blood. ‘Hello?’

Professor Wilson broke into sobs. Getting quieter and quieter, as if he’d used up the last of whatever he had left. ‘Please! Please... get me... get me out... of here.’

Was that groaning coming from inside ‘SPITE’? Difficult to tell with Wilson making all that racket, but it definitely sounded like groaning.

Logan grabbed the fallen padlock and wedged it into the gap — propping the chest freezer’s lid open.

Then turned to ‘JUDAS’.

No chain on this one, just the padlock. He battered it off and threw the lid open.

The internal light burst out into the gloom. Logan shielded his eyes, peering inside. Swore.

Detective Inspector King lay naked in the bottom of the chest freezer, curled up on his side, covered in blood.

Oh God...

She’d killed him.

Mhari Powell had killed Detective Inspector Frank King. Dozens and dozens of flat round nailheads glittered in the light, each one sticking out of King’s flesh on a short metal stalk. And they were everywhere: hammered into his arms, legs, chest, head. One poking out of his closed left eye.

‘Get me out, get me out, get me out.’

A faint curl of white fog oozed out from King’s bloody lips.

He was breathing.

He was alive .

Logan turned to Steel. ‘He’s still alive!’

‘Please, please, please, please, please...’

Steel must have finally found the plug, because the light inside ‘THE DEVIL MAKES WORK’ died, leaving its occupant in darkness.

‘You have to let me out!’

She picked her way past the pool of blood on the floor and peered into ‘JUDAS’. Blinked. Shook her head. ‘Holy mother of...’