Decay Inevitable

Sean tilted his head. There was another sound, but it was distant. It was deep too, as if it was coming to them from beneath the ground. It sounded like old machinery, steaming and clanking, struggling to provide the energy for whatever was being constructed or processed or destroyed.

A splinter group had broken away from the gathering on top of the hill; five men, deep in conversation, were slowly walking towards them.

“Excuse me?” Emma called. “How do we get in?”

All of the figures bar one made a detour at the sound of her voice and strolled away. The dissenter hesitated for a few seconds and made a beeline for Emma.

“We cannot sustain more aliens here,” he insisted, in a voice that seemed to be the sum of a cathedral full of echoes. His eyes were lilac and filled the sockets with colour, leaving no room for any white. “There is imbalance. We are in danger and you are endangering yourselves. You must leave us.”

Sean joined Emma and explained that they couldn’t leave until they had found de Fleche. “Do you know where we can find him?”

But the other man was already shaking his head, the bluish dome of his scalp waggling like a fallen saucer coming to rest on the floor. “Names have no place here,” he said.

“Then where do we have to go? How do we get in there?”

“You can’t,” the man said quickly. “And anyway, why should you want to? I wish you would leave. It’s dangerous for you here. There are monsters...” He bit down on the word as if it were forbidden and he had committed an awful transgression by uttering it. “I wish you would leave,” he said again, before hurrying away in pursuit of his colleagues. “You have no place here. No right to be here.”

“He’s lying about this building,” said Emma. “There must be a way in.”

“I’m kind of on his side now, though. I mean, why would we want to?”

“Because it’s here. Because there’s nothing else.”

Sean rubbed his chin. “What’s all this about monsters?”

Emma grabbed his hand. “You’ve had a stomach full of monsters over the past few weeks. A couple more aren’t going to frighten you off.”

He watched the gathering of smocks as they drifted out of sight over the crest of the hill. The night swarmed around them and the ocean whispered as it collapsed against the shore. In the forest, new noises were emanating, from things Sean guessed they hadn’t seen when they first entered it.

There are monsters. If the dead could be moved by such things, if they could suffer fear, then what hope was left for anyone else?

PART FOUR

THE SHERIFF’S PICTURE FRAME

What shall we be when we aren’t what we are?

– Derek Raymond,

He Died With His Eyes Open

CHAPTER FORTY: XX

LAST NIGHT.

Last night, it had seemed there would be no end to the pleasures that accosted her every move. There were many options and she explored them all. It was a long night. It was a very messy night.

At first the town was too bright for her. Lights on every building dazzled her as she walked through streets thronged with people. She felt her mouth watering but quelled that appetite in the hope that it might be superseded by another. She saw herself, ghostly and unsure, in the deep-black panes of shop windows. She concentrated on her panic, which threatened to engulf her whenever she lost her reflection to a group of men or women walking by. Just because she didn’t see herself didn’t mean she wasn’t there. Once the group had bypassed her, she returned to the window. The black dress. The long, almost uncontrollably curly hair. The eyes that seemed too green to be human and better suited to a large cat. The décolletage. The curve of the buttocks. The jewel on a necklace. She saw these things on herself and echoed on the women around her in different styles and colours. The men looked at her. The women did not. She fitted in.

She focused on a group of men and followed them into a pub called the Tut ’n’ Shive. The inner walls of the pub were painted black and the lighting was more subtle than on the street. The music and voices were very loud however, and she had to compensate for that. Susannah’s hearing was extremely good – too good – but she found that Simon’s was less so, which helped in here. She felt confident about the way she looked, an amalgam of the best of those with whom she had come into contact.

She ordered a drink at the bar, pointing to a silver bottle that a number of other women were swigging from. When the bartender asked her for money, she stared at him blankly.

“I’ll get this.”

She turned to find a man standing next to her, brandishing his wallet.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”