Nailed by the Heart (20 page)

"Why?"

"I
don't know, David. It's up to the police to sort it out."

David
looked up, interested. "The police? Are they going to take Tony
to prison?"

"We'll
have to wait and see. I'm going to drive over to the police station
in Munby this afternoon."

"Where's
Mum?"

"She's
been hosing the courtyard and the car down."

"Would
that petrol have blown us up?"

"No,
of course not. Now you color in some pictures for me, I'm just going
to see your mum."

He
stepped out into the courtyard. It was still wet from the dousing
Ruth had given it. The seafort's massive gates were shut and locked.

He
looked around. No real damage done. But he felt lousy. Tired, and
somehow dirty. He just wanted to shower with scalding water. This
building, with its high stone walls, had become part of him. It had
been violated. Gateman would pay for this.

"Chris."

Ruth's
voice, flat and unemotional, came from above. He looked up. She stood
on the walkway that ran around the top of the wall. From the way she
stared fixedly out it was obvious she had seen something that held
her attention.

Stomach
muscles tightening, he ran quickly up the steps.

"What's
wrong?"

She
nodded down toward the sea. "Who are they?"

He
looked sharply downward. The tide, fully in, swirled waves that
sucked at the base of the seafort. For a moment he couldn't see what
she had noticed. He searched the troughs of the waves. Only dark
rocks showed among the surf.

But
there should be no rocks where he saw them now.

Leaning
forward, gripping the wall's coping stones with both hands, he stared
down at the dark shapes in the water.

"People
... There are people in the water."

Shivering,
he looked at his wife.

"I've
been watching them ten minutes. They've not moved. They're just
standing there." She shrugged. "Waiting."

He
turned and looked down again. There, twenty feet below, shoulder-deep
in the rolling sea, waves sometimes breaking over their heads, were
six dark shapes.

They
looked alike, their dark heads emaciated and hairless.

All
six faced out to sea, heads held in the same position, chins slightly
up, their eyes shut in a relaxed way that made them look asleep.

Or
dead, thought Chris, feeling a tide of cold seep through his body. He
recalled the Easter Island statues; they had the same angular heads
and impenetrable expressions, all facing in the same direction. And
for all that these things moved, they might have been cut from rock.

But
they weren't. They were something awful that shouldn't be there.

He
felt his wife's hand on his.

"Look.
There's another one."

She
was right. He'd not seen it appear, but there it was just like the
others. The head above the waves, eyes shut, facing seaward like one
of those Easter Island statues.

Chris
and Ruth stood transfixed, their attention focused utterly on the
heads.

And
as they watched, the figures began to move.

Smoothly
and slowly. Very, very slowly the heads lifted as they turned their
faces up to Chris and Ruth standing on the battlements.

Chris,
unable to do anything else, stared back at the upturned faces. Their
eyes were still closed in that relaxed sleeper's way. But now their
mouths were partly open. Just black holes occasionally catching gobs
of white surf.

He
turned to his wife. Pulling his gaze from them was like breaking a
spell. He guided Ruth gently away from the wall. "Don't look at
them, love," he said. "Come on. We're going downstairs."

Halfway
down the stone steps that led to the courtyard, she stopped sharply.
"Who are they, Chris?"

"I
don't know, love. And I don't think I want to know."

She
looked at him, her dark eyes frightened. "I wish they'd
connected the telephone, Chris. I want someone to come for us."

"Don't
worry. If they haven't gone by tonight, we'll go to the police."

"No,
Chris. We've got to get away as soon as we can."

The
thought of leaving the seafort appalled him. Come what may, he
wanted to stay. He lived here. This was his home and his
life-everything rolled into one.

"But
we can't just leave. What about the seafort?"

Her
eyes widened.

"Bugger
the seafort. Look... I think Tony knew something. He was trying to
tell us when you forced him out. Chris ..." She clutched his
hand tightly. "Let's just go. It'll probably be just for a few
days, but I want to get away from here. ... Tell me we can go,
Chris?"

"David!"
His mum's voice was urgent. "Quick, get in the car. Wind that
window up. Are the doors locked? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He
watched unhappily from the back seat of the car. His mum stood,
tapping her fingers rapidly on top of the door. The engine was
running.

David
looked out of the rear window. His dad was running very fast. He was
on the battlements on top of the walls, running then stopping to look
out over the wall, down at the beach below.

Maybe
he was looking for Tony Gateman? Or that man with the loud voice and
lots of hair.

Today,
his parents' behavior had puzzled him. His dad had seemed quiet this
morning after his fall off the dunes the night before.

Then
there was the trouble that morning with Tony Gateman and the funny
man, and that petrol all over the place. All that shouting and seeing
his dad so angry had scared David. It had made him realize his dad
wasn't always the nice person he seemed.

Then
after lunch his parents had packed suitcases full of clothes and
loaded them into the car. They'd made him stay in the caravan all the
time so he couldn't tell what they were saying to one another. But
they looked worried.

"Mum?"

"Just
a minute, David. We're waiting for Dad."

"Where
we going, Mum?"

"Ah
... We're just going to your Nan and Grandad's for a few days ..."
She forced a smile. "That'll be nice, won't it?"

He
swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn't like this at all.

His
dad had finished looking out over the walls. He now came running down
the stone steps into the courtyard, jumping down the last four.

"Okay!
It's clear."

His
mum swung herself fast into the driving seat and revved the engine
until it deafened David.

His
dad opened the seafort's twin wooden gates. He leaned cautiously out
to look left then right. As David would if there were hungry tigers
out there on the beach.

His
dad waved. "Come on!"

The
car accelerated savagely out of the seafort, front wheels sliding
around with a crunching sound. She stopped sharply, throwing David
forward against his seatbelt.

His
dad ran around to the driving side and shouted, "I'm locking the
gates."

"Chris
... Leave it!"

"No.
I'm not throwing it all away." As he talked he kept looking up
and down the beach. "This thing will pass-in a few days.
Everything's going to be all right."

"All
right ... For Christsakes be quick."

David
watched his dad race back the few paces to the seafort to drag the
doors shut. He fumbled with the lock and the padlock before running
back to the car and into the front passenger seat.

"Chris.
Your door. Lock it."

The
front tyres squealed as the car lurched forward.

"Slow
down, Ruth. It's okay, they won't be up here."

"You're
an expert, then?"

"No,
but they never left the water. They came in with the tide; they went
out with the tide. Love-we'll end up on the beach."

The
note of the engine dropped; they slowed as they ran off the end of
the causeway onto the metalled road that linked with the coast road,
tyres swishing through patches of sand.

When
they reached the coast road that ran to Out-Butterwick between the
dunes and the marshes, she didn't slow the car. The coast road ended
there; there would be no traffic.

Seconds
later she braked hard again. The car slid to a stop.

"Shit
..." She punched the wheel. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Jesus
Christ."

"What's
happening, Mum? Why are we stopping here?"

"Shush,
David ... Just a minute."

His
dad looked at his mum, right into her eyes.

"Ruth
... We're trapped."

"We'll
leave the car, Chris. We can walk."

"Normally
we could. But... I don't think we can risk it. Not now." His dad
took a deep breath. "Ruth ... I think our only alternative is to
go back. If we go back to the seafort, lock the gates, we'll be
safe. After all, they built the bloody place to keep out an army."

David
stretched up against the seatbelt to look out.

Through
the windscreen he could see that the coast road had now come to an
abrupt end. Running from the dunes to his left, across the road, to
one of the marsh ponds was a mound of beach pebbles. David guessed
the mound of pebbles was as high as his head. He could climb it
easily. But not the car. It would get stuck. They couldn't pass on
either side because of the high dunes and the miles of slimy mud and
water.

"The
beach. We can drive along the beach."

"You'd
have to cross the stream that runs across the beach. It's fairly
deep. If we get the car stuck... It means going on by foot... And
soon the tide'll be on the turn. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble
to build that barrier."

"Those
men in the water?"

"Your
guess is as good as mine."

"But
what are they? We don't know if they're dangerous. They might be ...
they might be just ..." She put her face in her hands. Quickly
she recovered. "You're right ... You only have to see them ...
You know they're dangerous ..."

"What's
the matter, Dad? Why are we trying to run away?"

"We're
not, kidda. We just want to visit Nan and Grandad. ..." A pause.
"Looks as if the council have dug up the road again. We'll just
have to wait."

His
mum reversed the car to where the road was widest then turned it
round.

David
pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees.

This
was not nice. This was not nice at all.

That
evening they came back in with the tide once more. Seven Easter
Island statue heads, the color of congealed blood. They stood
shoulder-deep in the surf and faced out to sea-eyes shut, mouths
partly open.

"What
are we going to do, Chris?"

Chris
and Ruth stood on the battlements looking down at the dark
head-shapes in the sea. He put his arm around his wife's shoulders.

He
didn't know what they could do.

"We'll
just sit and wait. The gates are locked. Nothing can get through
them. Whatever they are, they'll go in the end."

"What
about all those people in Out-Butterwick? I'm worried about them."

"They
can look after themselves. It's us, the Stainforths, that are
important. We're not leaving the seafort until it's all over."

They
stood, arms around one another like frightened children, watching the
tide, and the things it carried, roll forward and drown the beach.