Stephen Jones - Dark Terrors 5 - The Gollancz Book of Horror

He began plucking tins from the shelves. I crossed to the other side of the room and began raiding the shelves myself, paying little attention to what I took, just tossing things into a big cardboard box. I didn’t expect we’d have much appetite. The box was quite heavy when it was full; I had to tuck the rifle under my arm and use both hands to lift it. Jerry had filled his box before I finished; he held it easily under one arm. We moved back through the cluttered room, the tins rattling in the boxes. At the door, I paused.

‘How about tobacco?’

‘Why, yes… we might feel the urge to do some smoking, at that. I think Mendoza keeps the tobacco in the counter at the back. Might grab a couple bottles of rum from back there, too; can’t do any harm to have some rum. Might help, even.’

‘I’ll get it,’ I said.

I lowered my box to the dusty floor and stepped to the back of the room. I saw a variety of tobacco, in all forms, in a glass display case. The rum bottles were on a shelf behind. I filled my pockets with tobacco and stepped around the end of the counter… and a white face loomed up from the shadows!

I tried to scream.

My vocal chords rebelled; they stiffened like frozen iron in my throat and only a strangled gasp came from me. I recoiled. The butt of the rifle struck the glass case, shattering it. I distinctly heard each splinter of glass fall out, the tinkling sounds echoed by the rattle of tins as Jerry shifted the box. He was shouting something from the door and I think I was shouting then, too; I know my mouth was open and a rushing filled my ears. I swung the rifle up before me, not aimed as a weapon but crossed against my breast like a crucifix against a vampire.

Jerry shouted again.

‘Move!’ He was advancing towards me along the shelves.

But then I slumped against the broken case, my vitality sucked from me in the deflation of sudden terror. Jerry was behind me, one hand on my shoulder; the other thrust the pistol past me. I could feel the big man tremble. I shook my head. It took great concentration, my skull was heavy, my neck limp. By then I’d realised there was no danger… horror, yes, but no danger. The face had not moved towards me; I had inclined my head towards it as I reached for the rum and the white face had seemed to rise, thrown from the dark shadows as if buoyant from a heavy sea.

The man was dead, spread-eagled behind the counter as if nailed there by his final convulsions.

Jerry let his breath out slowly.

I was hollow. My energy, my life force, my very bones seemed to have been sucked from me into the vacuum of fear. I was still shaking my head — an act of inertia. I had thought the man alive, reaching for me — and I had been unable to flee, had never thought to use the rifle… had waited for his touch…

‘Mendoza,’ Jerry said.

The hand that had been trembling on my shoulder was firm now, solid as a stone, but the hand that gripped the gun had begun to shake as he lowered it.

He moved me aside and leaned over the corpse. He did not touch it.

‘Looks like he might of died of natural causes,’ he said. ‘Heart attack, maybe… he wasn’t young..’

‘Yes, it looks that way.’

Jerry looked at me, face as white as Mendoza’s.

‘Isn’t it remarkable?’ he said. ‘Here and now… a man dying of natural causes… it makes you see that life goes on.’

He paused, wondering if his statement had been absurd… or profound.

‘I never killed anyone,’ he said. Nor had he yet. But the gun was in his hand… he would have; he might have to. He was peering into my face. He said, ‘Harland, do you think these… things… will go to heaven?’

I gaped dumbly at him and he flushed; the question had been genuine.

‘Yes,’ I said. I held no brief for the hereafter, but I said, ‘Yes.’

And he said, ‘I’d like to think so…’

Walking back down the front with the heavy boxes, we met a patrol coming from the other direction. When they saw us they spread out and their rifles came up. They looked terrified — as terrified as we must have looked.

‘Take it easy,’ Jerry snapped.

‘Don’t come too close. Just move on.’

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘There’s a dead man in Mendoza’s. We don’t know if he’s one of… them… but you’d better send someone to get the body.’

He didn’t look as if he understood.

‘To burn it,’ I said.

‘Oh. Yeah. You just move on.’

We moved on. The patrol turned, watching us. Then they went on in the other direction. When we had come to the jail, I looked back. The patrol had moved on down the street, past Mendoza’s and, as I looked, they turned to the right, inland… towards the compound. I hoped they wouldn’t forget to send a van for Mendoza’s body. I looked out at the harbour. There was some wood floating about, timber and planks, and an oily slick spreading slowly through the water. The swordfish still hung, neglected forever now, on the scales. The grey gunboats passed to and fro across the mouth of the harbour. How long? I wondered. How long would it be?

Mary was looking out the window as we approached.

Framed in the window, her face seemed to be disintegrating, dissolving with fear. Her cheeks were pinched in and her eyes were huge and staring. Jerry waved but she didn’t acknowledge the gesture. She turned, looking back into the room. Her profile spread like a pale wash against the glass. Then we had passed the window and I heard the bolt rasp free. Mary opened the door and stepped out. Jerry’s shoulders twitched as, instinctively, he tried to comfort her in his arms, but found the laden box between them. Mary was crying.

‘Hey, now… it’s okay,’ the sheriff said.

‘It’s not okay; nothing is okay.’

‘We’ll be all right. Just a question of — ’

‘Doctor Winston is here,’ she said.

‘Hey, that’s great,’ Jerry said. He went through the door. Winston was standing in the corner, smoking a cigar, hands clasped behind his back. He looked as if he were thoughtfully considering a diagnosis.

‘Glad you made it,’ Jerry said. He put the box on the desk. ‘That you thought to come here.’

‘Mary doesn’t seem to think it such a good idea,’ Winston said. He was calm enough, but he’d been chewing on the cigar; the wrapper had started to uncurl.

Jerry looked at the girl, blinking.

‘Doctor Winston has been… wounded,’ she said.

Jerry started, all his big body going taut.

‘He hasn’t touched me,’ Mary added, quickly. ‘He came to the door. I let him in. I was glad to see him… I didn’t know he had been hurt.. ’

‘How’d it happen, Doc?’

‘Why, it was one of these lunatics that seem to be about. That’s why I came down here… to see if you had any idea what is going on here? Something to do with the research in the compound, is it? I tried to phone there but couldn’t get past the switchboard and, by the way, I’ve heard nothing from my nurse…’

‘How long, Doc?’

‘What? Well, I phoned there at — ’

‘How long is it since you were attacked?’

‘Well, what does… or does it?’ Comprehension came into the doctor’s face. He took the cigar from his teeth. ‘It does matter, eh? Apparently you know more about this than I. What is it, some sort of germ warfare?’

‘Doc… how long?’

Winston winced at Jerry’s tone. They were friends; he didn’t understand it. He had paled slightly under his normal flush and Jerry’s jaws were tight with great bands of muscle.

Winston said, ‘Better part of an hour,’ and he was watching the sheriff carefully, gauging his reaction. Winston was a big, heavy man; he looked to have a slow metabolism. I relaxed somewhat but, in relaxing, went icy cold. ‘What is it, Jerry? What sort of thing is it? Am I liable to contaminate you by being here?’