Authors: Dean Vincent Carter
When they lifted the headmaster again, Sean could
see that the tie round his mouth was sodden with
something dark that wasn't water. It could have been
blood, or slime from the creature, but either way it was
a bad sign.
James pointed the way along a corridor, past a lecture
theatre and two laboratories. Titus's feet scraped along
the floor as they pulled him along, a mud slick forming
behind him like a snail trail. Sean glanced into the
labs as they went by, wondering what would have been
going on there on a normal day. A day very different to
this one. At the end of the corridor, James indicated a
doorway on the right that led to the offices.
'That's it over there,' James said, pointing to a door
with a poster of a cartoon Loch Ness monster on it.
'I'll see if it's unlocked.' He went over and twisted the
door handle, relieved to find it open. He went in and
switched the light on. The room was tidy and clean; there
were empty drink cans in the bin, post-it notes with
handwritten messages stuck to a computer monitor, and
a bowl of fruit, still fresh, on one desk. They dragged
Titus inside and dumped him in one corner.
'Sean, you keep an eye on him – tell us if he wakes
up or moves. James and I will look for something that
might help us,' Waites said.
'OK,' Sean replied, though he wasn't entirely happy
with the arrangement. He sat down on a chair and
kept his eyes on the headmaster, while he heard papers
being shuffled around behind him. He didn't think he'd
seen anything as sad, pathetic or disturbing as the man
slumped awkwardly in the corner. For the first time
he felt genuinely sorry for him. Although strict, Titus
had been well-respected, and certainly didn't deserve
anything like this. But, like the others, he would soon
be dead, nothing but a bleeding mess. When this was all
over, when the floods had gone, when the creature had
hopefully been destroyed, his family would have to face
up to their loss. There would be tears, questions, outrage,
but at least he hoped they would be spared seeing him
like this. Doing and saying things that were beyond his
control. Sean was close to tears himself now. The man
before him was dying and there was nothing anyone
could do about it. What an undignified end for such a
dignified man.
'Shit,' Waites said, throwing random papers to the
floor. 'I don't know if this is any good or not. It's just
reports and surveys . . . How are we meant to know
if we've found something?' He looked at James, who
couldn't think of anything encouraging to say in reply.
He too was sifting through sheets of handwritten and
printed notes, looking for a key word or phrase that
might be significant. What were they expecting though
– an answer written in big bold red letters somewhere,
emphasized with a few exclamation marks? It could
take hours to go through all Sally Cooper's papers, and
then there was her computer. She was bound to have
a password-protected user account. The more Waites
thought about it, the more Morrow's dying message
seemed too vague, too cryptic. If he knew he had seconds
left to communicate something, why write something
so . . . unhelpful?
'Maybe we should try Morrow's office,' James said.
'It's next door.'
'All right. You stay here, Sean. Don't take your eyes
off him,' Waites said, pointing at Titus. 'And shout if
he wakes up.'
'OK.'
Sean watched them leave the office, and almost immediately
felt ten times more vulnerable. The man's
hands weren't even tied behind his back. He'd already
proved that he could move fast if he had to. What
if he had already regained consciousness, and was
just waiting for the right moment to attack? Sean
shuddered and wheeled his chair away from the inert
figure in the corner.
James knew Morrow's office well; his notes were written
in a notebook that was kept in his top desk drawer.
Morrow only used his computer to access the internet
and send and receive emails. When he needed to make
notes he always wrote them by hand. James took out
the book and flicked through to the most recent entry.
Disappointingly, it was four days old and mentioned
nothing of the specimen he'd found, which was odd,
because James remembered seeing the man writing in
a similar book after examining the strange creature. If
he'd been writing in a different book, where was it?
'No good?' Waites asked.
'No. It's the wrong one. He definitely made notes
about that thing though.'
'Did you ever see it?'
'The specimen? Yeah, but I just thought it was some
kind of fish or slug. I couldn't understand why he was so
excited about it. He didn't really talk about it to anyone
else. Holland must have found out somehow though . . .
He was a nutcase. I think it got to him first.'
'So where's this missing notebook then?'
'It could be in his room.' Seeing Waites's quizzical
expression James added: 'His bedroom, I mean.
Morrow sometimes stayed here when he was working
late. A few of the other scientists have rooms here too.'
'All right, we'd better go check it out. Let's just make
sure Sean's OK first though.'
They returned to the next-door office, where Titus
still lay unmoving. His skin seemed to have broken out
in more sores in the brief time they'd been away.
'Any problems?' Waites asked Sean.
'No,' he replied. 'He's still unconscious . . . I think.'
'We need to go upstairs to see if Morrow left his
notes up there. Are you going to be OK for a few more
minutes?' Waites could tell from the panicked glance
towards the body that he wasn't.
'Yeah, but I want his hands and feet tied,' Sean
insisted.
'Yeah, you're right.' Waites could now see a black
liquid oozing through the gag. It made him feel ill. 'Just
need something to tie him up with . . .'
They all looked around the room.
'The blinds,' James said, pointing at the windows.
Waites nodded, walked over and started tugging on
the long cord, eventually pulling the whole blind down
before removing the cord.
'This will have to do. I'll tie it round his hands and
feet in one go.' Waites carefully turned the headmaster
over, trying to avoid the weeping sores that covered
his skin as he did so. He ran the cord round the man's
ankles a couple of times, pulled it tight, then used the
remainder to bind his wrists, knotting it securely. When
he'd finished, he rolled Titus onto his side. He wondered
how difficult it was for him to breathe with the
tie round his mouth and whatever gunk had collected
inside. But there was no way he was removing the gag
– he couldn't risk letting that thing out.
'Right. That should do it. Don't take your eyes off
him, Sean, and for God's sake don't go near him. We'll
be as quick as we can, but if you have any trouble, shout
as loud as you can.'
'What if I need to find you?' Sean was looking more
and more uncomfortable with the situation.
'Just come up the stairs,' James said. 'They're out here
on the left. Just shout for us and we'll come and meet
you.'
'Right . . . OK.'
As the other two left Sean looked at the headmaster
again; he didn't like being left here with him – he didn't
like it at all.
They had only been gone for ten seconds when Sean
felt an overwhelming urge to call out to them. So the
man was tied up . . . So what? The creature inside him
was capable of all sorts of things. Sean looked at the
tied wrists and feet. Waites seemed to have done a good
job, but it might not be good enough to keep the man
restrained when he woke up.
A sound that came from out in the corridor interrupted
Sean's thoughts. It was an odd scratching or
gnawing, and it seemed to be getting closer. He tried
to ignore it, but it continued – until finally he had to go
and have a look.
He poked his head out of the office doorway; then,
when he was confident enough that there was nothing
in the immediate vicinity, he stepped out and peered
down the long corridor that led past the laboratories
and the lecture hall. There was nothing there. The sound
had stopped too, so he couldn't tell where it had come
from; though as he turned back he heard a new sound,
this time a whining – maybe from some lonely or
frightened animal in the first laboratory. He knew he
shouldn't go any further, that he shouldn't have even left
the office, but it sounded like something was in pain,
and his instinct was to try and help it.
James led the way up the stairs to the first floor. He had
only been up here on a few occasions: it contained sleeping
quarters, storage rooms and little else of interest. But
he had once gone to Morrow's room to leave him a note
about something. He suddenly remembered the doctor
was dead; it had completely slipped his mind, and he
felt guilty: Dr Morrow had been a friendly, helpful and
interesting man, someone James had learned a lot from.
He would miss him.
He found the room and opened the door. The bed was
made; money, receipts, books and mugs were assembled
on top of the chest of drawers. A solitary sock lay on
the floor near the bed, and a tiny red light indicated that
the TV was still plugged in. A lot of mundane stuff, but
considering the owner of the room had been alive until
a few hours ago, it all made James feel sad and angry.
He walked over to a pile of magazines and notebooks
lying on a chair and dumped them on the bed. He and
Waites sifted through them, checking each notebook
for anything recent. All the notes were old, however.
'Doesn't look like there's anything here,' Waites said.
James dropped the two books he was holding onto
the bed and went over to the bedside cabinet. In the top
drawer was another notebook, but this one looked new,
hardly used. 'Maybe there is . . .' he said.
'Got something?' Waites asked as James flicked to
the last few pages of the book.
'I think so.' He read out the last few lines of the last
page. '
I am going to wait until tomorrow, then venture
outside. I must get away, I must warn everyone about this
thing before it is too late . . .
'
The laboratory was cold and a window had been left
open so rain and leaves had got in and covered much of
the floor and furniture. Nature was invading the building.
Sean looked for a light switch and turned all the
lights on. The room reminded him of the science labs
at school. He couldn't hear the strange sound any more,
but he stood still anyway, and waited. Sure enough, after
a minute or so he heard something moving at the far end
of the room. He went over, stooping to look under the
benches in case there was something hiding there. He
was almost at the far wall when he saw it. Hunched up
in a wet, bedraggled ball was a small dog. It was looking
at Sean, its eyes wary, uncertain. Sean approached it
slowly now, not wanting to scare it off.
'Hello,' he said. 'Who are you then?'
The dog's ears pricked up, but it stayed where it was.
Sean knelt down and reached a hand forward very carefully
towards its head. The dog shrank back a little at
first, then moved forward again, sniffing Sean's fingers,
then licking them. Sean stroked it, but its fur was wet
and smelly. All of a sudden it turned its head as though
it had heard something.
'What is it?' Sean asked the animal. 'Did you—?'
Then he remembered his responsibility and where
he should be and cursed himself for being distracted.
'Come on. Come with me,' he said, then got to his feet
and ran back towards the office. He didn't look back
to see if the dog was following, but it was. Outside the
door he stopped, then went forward more slowly, ready
to turn and run at the slightest hint that something was
wrong. He inched forward, step by step, wondering if
Titus had regained consciousness.
The answer to this, as the rest of the room was
revealed, was a clear 'yes'. The second, more urgent
question, however, was: where the hell had he gone?
James read the previous two pages of Morrow's diary
entries, while Waites stood beside him and did the
same. Things had clearly gone seriously wrong at
the study centre. The creature had been allowed to
progress from a state of harmless dormancy to one
where it could manipulate a human being into
performing acts of violence; and all the people in
the study centre had been murdered by its first host,
Holland.
'Are they going to believe this?' James asked. 'The
police, I mean.'
'I don't know,' Waites said, shaking his head. 'I'm still
not entirely sure I do. This should help though. This and
any more notes we can find on Morrow's experiments
will help explain things. It still doesn't give us anything
we can use to stop this creature though. Why did he try
and point us towards Sally Cooper when he died? What
was he trying to tell us?'
'I don't know.'
'This guy he mentions in his diary, Holland. Did you
know him?'
'Not very well. I saw him a few times around the
centre. Bit of an oddball really. Kept himself to himself
most of the time. Morrow never got on well with him.'
'Obviously not. Perhaps he knew something about
the creature. Where's his room? We should go and see
if he kept a diary or made notes.'
'It's just down the hall. Shouldn't we go and check on
Sean though? I don't like leaving him on his own with
that thing.'
'All right, you go to Holland's room and grab what
you can. I'll make sure Sean's OK.'
While Waites headed back to the stairs, James hurried
down the corridor. Even before he got to Holland's room
he could smell it. It was a pungent composite smell of
various elements. Some he couldn't quite make out, but
the strongest one was familiar. Blood.
The dog padded into the office, sniffing around and
wagging its tail. It circled twice, then sat down and
looked at Sean. Sean himself was trying to work out
what to do. He went to look around the small foyer
between the offices, listening for movement, his heart
pounding. Titus could have gone anywhere. The dog
started sniffing the damp floor where Titus had been
lying, and the discarded cord from the blind. After a
second or two it gave a sharp bark, then turned and left
the room.
Sean knew he should probably go to look for Waites
and his brother, but the headmaster had been his
responsibility, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself
if he allowed the creature to get away. He headed off
after the dog, hoping that Titus had simply collapsed
somewhere else, and that he would be able to drag the
body back to the office before the others got back from
their search.
James pushed the door open slowly; the horrible smell
was even stronger now, making his stomach turn. As far
as he knew, Holland was the first person to be infected
by the creature; Sean had supposedly witnessed his
death on the riverbank. If that was true, then the bodies
in Holland's room must have been murdered while the
creature had been in control of his mind. He paused
for a moment, swallowing, then reminded himself that
he had an important job to do: this was no time for
wimping out.
Important job or not, it was impossible not to be
stunned and horrified by the carnage. James guessed
that there were the bodies of three people in there,
though the number of limbs and lumps of flesh could
easily lead one to think there had been more. The carpet
was soaked with blood and other matter, and although
at first he couldn't work out what had caused the
devastation, the long, chewing saw marks in the cupboard
suggested a chainsaw. He hoped it was now well
away from the wrong hands.
The urge to vomit was powerful but not as strong as
James had expected; what he'd already seen had clearly
desensitized him to such horror. He approached the
desk, which had been damaged by the saw, and noticed
the computer monitor. He moved the mouse, flinching
as his fingers smeared a drop of blood, and was
surprised to see the screen blink into life. The computer
had obviously been left on, and as James scoured the
desktop icons he noticed one labelled journal. He
double-clicked on it and a word-processing application
loaded up. He scrolled down to the last few pages of the
document but there were so many mad ramblings and
random symbols that he had to scroll back up to find
a paragraph that made sense. And what he saw almost
made his heart stop.
'Oh my God . . . no . . .' He re-read the passage,
hoping that he'd misunderstood it, but no such luck.
It was too much of a coincidence; it had to be real. In
which case they were in far more trouble than they
realized. He thought for a second or two, then set about
deleting the file. It wasn't enough though: he took out
his penknife, unscrewed the computer case, removed
the hard drive and the screws holding it together, then
cut the thin magnetic disks inside to shreds.
When he was satisfied, he tossed the pieces onto
the floor and left the room. Thunder was once again
reverberating outside and the rain resumed its
merciless attack. This
is the end of the world
, James
thought.
Who would have believed that it would
start here?