Stephen Gallagher - Valley of lights

Winter was the one I shot first.

He bucked once, like dead muscle being touched by a live wire, and then he slumped further forward with the breath rattling out of him. I did each of them the same way, working my way around the room and pausing only to reload as the still-air stink of the bodies gave way to the sharper, irritating smell of cordite. A couple of them bled heavily, but most of them didn't bleed at all. One of them I did sloppily, and made a big mess on the faded wallpaper behind his head. The gun became hotter and hotter in my hand and the air grew thicker in the room, but I made sure of every one of them. Every shot was a story's end.

And then when I climbed the stairs, there were another half-dozen in the bedrooms.

I didn't have enough rounds for them all, and so to save my last load I had to force myself to touch them and to turn them so that their faces were pushed into the pillows. I pressed on them hard, and they gave in without a whimper. The bedding was cheap and old, like everything else in the house. They talk about atmospheres that you can cut with a knife, but this was one you couldn't cut with anything; it would have been like trying to slash your way through a fog, and like a fog it seeped into you and soiled you and left you unclean. I came out of the bedroom checking my watch, wondering how long I had left, and it was then that I caught the sounds of some of the worst recorder playing that I've ever heard.

It was so bad that I couldn't even make out the tune, and I knew that it had to be her. It was coming through muffled from somewhere above, which meant that there bad to be a loft or an attic overhead. I wondered how come she hadn't heard the shots or, if she had, why she hadn't reacted. She hardly sounded concerned.

I'd checked all of the bedrooms by now, but I'd overlooked a narrow door which I'd assumed led to a closet but which opened onto an equally narrow ascending stairway. At the top of this was a further solid, six-panel door, and I banged on this and said, 'Georgie? Are you in there?'

I didn't get any reply, but the recorder kept on squeaking away on the other side. Didn't even skip a beat, assuming the existence of a beat that could be skipped.

I was wondering how I was going to get a run to break down the door with the stairs just behind me, when I noticed belatedly that the key was in the lock. I opened up and stepped inside.

I got a surprise.

I was expecting the same aura of sleaze that I'd seen in the rest of the house, but the loft appeared to have been cleaned out and made presentable. Georgie was sitting on the bed and was only just beginning to register wide-eyed astonishment at my unexpected appearance. She was wearing one of those lightweight Walkman headsets and must have been playing along to the music from a cassette, which was why she hadn't heard me. The bedding underneath her was new and so was the T-shirt that she was wearing, a couple of sizes too large and with an 'A' Team logo on the front. She scrambled to her feet, obviously pleased to see me but hesitating slightly, as if she wasn't quite sure whether she knew me well enough to come running over and show it. I went to her and crouched down to her level and took her face in my hands, studying it carefully.

Loretta's eyes looked back at me, giving another twist to the knife.

Georgie said, 'Is it okay for me to go home now?' Only she said it too loudly, and I had to reach up and unhook the headset before I replied.

'You bet,' I said. 'Come on.'

'Don't forget Hector. Bobby got him for me.'

She was calm and I was shaking, it was ridiculous. I looked around for who or whatever Hector might be and saw one of those decorated cardboard boxes that pet stores give you to take birds home in, with air-slits cut so that it looks like a little cage. It was standing on the bedside table by her breakfast tray, and I could see that there was something moving around inside.

'A present from Bobby, was he?' I said. 'Well, then, I suppose we'd better not leave him behind.' And I went to pick up the box by the cut-out loop on the top. I had to step over a video recorder and a stack of tapes to get to it; the TV was down at the end of the bed.

'And my new recorder,' she said.

'Yeah, your new recorder as well. Listen, I'm going to carry you down and I want you to keep your eyes tight shut, all right?'

'If you mean so I won't see the zombies, I already saw them whenever I came down to the phone.'

Something seemed to flip over inside me then, the way it does if you look down and see an unexpectedly long drop. But Georgie seemed completely unruffled, as if the 'zombies' were simply an accepted part of the scenery that wouldn't trouble her any more than the carpets or the wallpaper.

'Well,' I said, 'just go along with me, anyway,' and I gathered her up and got as much of her luggage together as I could carry and then we squeezed out and down the loft stairs to the upper landing. She wasn't heavy, but she was getting just a tad too big to simply scoop up in one arm like a grocery bag. Her face was close to mine so I could see that she was keeping her eyes squeezed shut the way that I'd asked.

As we started down the main stairs to the ground floor, she said, 'You forgot my comic books.'

'I'll come back later for your comic books. We're in a hurry right now.'

'Can I open my eyes yet?'

'Just a minute longer.'

'The zombies don't bother me. Bobby explained all that.'

'Bobby's full of surprises,' I said.

The main door was still half-open from when I'd kicked my way in, and it was letting some much-needed light and air into the hallway. Bobby – the original, at least – was dimly visible way across the sitting room on our left, a discarded glove no longer fit for use. He seemed to be contemplating the powder-stained hole through which I'd stopped his heart for good. An unexpected sliding of tyres on the gravel outside suddenly made me think that I'd allowed my time to run out, but a glimpse of the car through the open doorway told me that it was Angela. I'd have to hurry if she wasn't to see the bodies – the work wasn't finished yet, and a squawk raised too soon might ruin my chances – so I dumped the excess baggage at the foot of the stairs and went out alone with Georgie, pulling the door shut behind me so that Angela wouldn't see the carnage in the hall.

'This is a friend,' I said to Georgie in a low voice, 'she works for the radio. Don't mention the zombies just yet, okay?'

Georgie, feeling the light on her face at last, opened her eyes and nodded.

Angela was out of her car and coming around. 'Is she safe?' she said.

'Great,' I told her. 'You did a good job.'

She opened the door for me so that I could put Georgie into the back of the car. 'The pickup went by so fast, I didn't get a look at the driver,' she said. 'I was hoping that it was him.'

'It was,' I said. 'Let me drive us back, now. There isn't much time.'

He was in town now, and I had to find him before he'd had the chance to think too hard about the ruse which had prised him out of his hideaway. I'd succeeded in peeling his disguises from him one by one and now he was down to his last, the weatherbeaten face that I'd glimpsed behind the wheel of the pickup truck, but I'd only keep my advantage if I could get to him before he could realise how vulnerable he now was. The ghoul was there, only one layer of skin deep, and whatever the cost I was going to haul him out into the light to die.

The red pickup was on the street by the post office when we got back into town. I cruised by as slowly as I dared, but I couldn't make out whether he was still inside the building or not. I turned a corner and then parked in the only shade that I could see, and as I started to get out of the car I said to Angela, 'Stay with her. Please.'