New Title 1 (30 page)

Moon didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

CHAPTER 21

As Ratty and
Izzy
approached the building in which Nigel Moon had interrogated them, the fog seemed less dense.

 
“Why are we going this way?”
Izzy
asked. “We need to head the other way.” Her voice trembled almost as much as her body.

“Because I need to know what’s going on.” Although he felt responsible for her, Ratty was determined to find out the truth.

“But that’s stupid. Let’s just get out of here and tell someone that
something’s
going on.”

“What, and have them bring us back here. You’re a drug addict, remember. Why should they believe anything you tell them? We need some proof because we don’t know what’s going on.”

“I’m not a bloody drug addict!” She looked hurt by the accusation.

“Well, when we get the proof that something’s going on, perhaps they’ll believe you.”

Izzy
kicked at the floor, venting her anger and frustration. “Well, let’s find something and then get the hell out of here.”

Remembering there was a man on reception, Ratty headed around the side of the building. He tried to peer through the various windows, standing up just enough to look into the room without being seen if anyone should happen to be inside, but the glass was all blacked out.

Half way along the building, he spotted a partially open window. It was only about eight inches in height compared to about thirty inches in diameter, but with a squeeze, he knew he could get through. Standing on tiptoe, he peered into the room, relieved to see no one was inside.

“Wait here,” he said to
Izzy
.

“No chance,” she spat back. “Where you go, I go.”

Ratty considered this for a moment before nodding his head. She was right. He didn’t want to lose her again. “Okay, but you go first so I can help you up. And be quiet.” Forming a stirrup with his interlaced fingers, he helped
Izzy
squeeze through the window before struggling through behind her.

The room was about fifteen feet square and stocked with tins of white labelled food. The only identification on the tins was the contents: baked beans, spaghetti, soup and so forth, stencilled in black. Some of the tins were in cardboard cartons, others were piled on shelves, but they were all kept in order. The only other marking on the cans was a batch number.

“This must be a storeroom.” He picked up one of the cans and shook it.

“Don’t do that,”
Izzy
said as though she half expected it to explode.

Ratty grinned and put it back on the shelf.

There was only one door to the room and Ratty crept toward it and carefully turned the handle. He opened the door a fraction and peered out into a deserted corridor. One of the neon tubes on the ceiling flickered, casting baleful light that was more orange than white.

“Come on,” he whispered.

“Are you mad?”

“Well, we can’t find out what’s going on staying in here.” He felt as scared as
Izzy
looked, but he tried to hide it behind bravado as he crept out of the room.

As
Izzy
followed him into the corridor, Ratty felt his heart pounding with an explosive mixture of fear and excitement. Adrenaline raced through his veins, a fuse ready to ignite him into action.

His eyes and ears were alert for the smallest sound, the slightest movement. He sensed
Izzy
behind him, felt her warm breath on his neck as she tried to control her breathing.

Some of the doors lining the corridor were labelled: STOREROOM, MEDICAL STORE, LABORATORY, EXAMINATION
ROOM
, and MORGUE. Most of the rooms were only accessible with a swipe card, such as the laboratory and the medical store. One of the only ones that wasn’t was the morgue.

Ratty pressed his ear against the door to check whether there was anyone inside – at least anyone that was alive – before turning the handle and pushing the door open a fraction.

“We can’t go in there,”
Izzy
wailed.

“Why?”

“Because ... because it’s a morgue.”

“And?”

“Well, you know ...”

“Well if there’s anyone in there, they’re not likely to complain are they?”

“That’s sick.”
Izzy
pulled a lemon-sucking grimace.

“Sorry. But there might be something in here that can tell us what’s going on.”

“Hopefully not.”

Ratty shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we won’t know if we don’t look.”

Izzy
conceded with a shake of her head and Ratty slipped inside.
Izzy
followed, letting the door swing shut behind her, the resultant bang echoing around the room.

Ratty winced. He waited, tensed in case anyone heard the noise and came to investigate.

“Sorry,”
Izzy
silently mouthed.

Shaking his head and satisfied no one was coming, Ratty looked around. The room was longer rather than wider, with one wall covered with small square doors. Walking the length of the room, Ratty approached one of the doors. There was a handle on each door and he grabbed the nearest one and pulled.

“Now what are you doing?”
Izzy
grabbed his hand, but it was too late.

The door opened to reveal a square hole with a metal tray. A zipped body bag was just visible on the tray. Shaking
Izzy
off, Ratty pulled it out on squeaking runners.

“Ratty, what the
hell
are you doing?”

Ignoring her, he unzipped the bag and parted the plastic covering. “
Jesus
, come and look at this.”

Izzy
shook her head.

“Look, come on.”

Izzy
still shook her head.

“He won’t bite, come and look.”

Exhaling in frustration,
Izzy
took a tentative step forward and quickly glanced at the contents of the bag before turning away, ashen faced.

“It’s a vicar, see his dog collar.”

“Congratulations.”
Izzy
held her hand over her mouth as though she was going to be sick.

“Someone’s cut his throat.”

Izzy
coughed, clutching her stomach, and Ratty zipped the bag back up and slid the tray back into the hole before closing the door.

He approached another door and opened it before
Izzy
could protest. Pulling out the tray, he opened the body bag to reveal an old man. His features were waxy and bloodless. Opening the bag further, he saw the man’s body had been extensively operated on. Where the man’s organs should be, there was now just a hollow cavity. Ratty quickly shoved the tray back into the wall without zipping the bag shut. The sight had made him feel slightly queasy and the tips of his fingers tingled.

He didn’t want to open any more doors. He had got the general idea. Even if he didn’t know what it proved, it was proof that
something
was going on, but he wasn’t about to sling a dead body over his shoulder, even if he could lift it. He wanted something smaller.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said.

Izzy
let out a sigh. “At last.”

Checking the coast was clear, they stepped out of the room and continued along the corridor. The floor had a type of rubber coating and Ratty winced whenever his footsteps produced a mouse-like squeak.

At the end of the corridor they came to a T-junction. “Which way?”
Izzy
nervously looked along both corridors.

Ratty didn’t know. He could see
Izzy
looking at him, needing guidance. “Left.” He tried to sound surer than he felt.

They passed more doors which needed a swipe card to enter until they came to a door with a simple handle. A sign on the door said, VIDEO RECORDS. Pressing his ear against the door, Ratty satisfied himself there was no one inside and he turned the handle, pushing the door open to peer in at shelves of DVDs.

As though offering a warning, he heard footsteps squeaking along the floor and he dragged
Izzy
into the room, shutting the door just as a figure turned the corner. Both of them leaned against the door, holding their breath. The footsteps passed without stopping, the squeak receding into the distance.

Both of them let out a loud sigh of relief.

“We should get out of here,”
Izzy
said when she had calmed down enough to speak.

“Not yet. Let’s see what we can find in here.”

They were in a large room, the shelves of which contained scores of recordable DVDs. There was also a television and
DVD
player in the far corner. Ratty pulled out one of the discs. It was dated and titled:
The Slaughtered Dog.
Another series was titled:
Church
, and dated accordingly. Others seemed to just have numbers on them.

Pulling out one of The Slaughtered Dog discs, he took it to the
DVD
player and inserted it. Turning on the television, he saw a high angled shot taken from inside the pub. It seemed as though the cameras were motion activated as every shot contained movement.

“What
are
all these discs for?”
Izzy
asked.

“I don’t really know. It looks as though they were filming the people in the village.”

“Why would they want to do that?”

“That’s what we’ve got to find out.”

As Ratty ejected the
DVD
, a thought occurred to him and he walked down the aisles, checking the dates for the latest recordings, and brought back discs marked
Church
, which he began to play, skipping through each chapter.

Some of them showed the vicar preaching to an empty church, others showed a few people in attendance, but they seemed distracted, rapping their fingers on the pews. On one disc he saw Chase asking the vicar questions and getting frustrated by his replies before they disappeared outside.

“That was the girl who’s moved into my granddad’s house,” Ratty said. He still couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t have won the house in a competition. It didn’t make any sense.

On another disc, Ratty watched the vicar talking to a figure with their back to the camera. They seemed to be in a heated discussion and the vicar was trying to placate the other person, grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them before turning away and kneeling before the altar where he started to pray. Ratty watched as the figure pulled out a knife. A funny feeling danced in the pit of his stomach as the disc played, and he watched wide-eyed as the figure grabbed the vicar by the head and slashed the knife across his throat.

“Oh my God,”
Izzy
shrieked, covering her face with her hands.

Clutching the wound, the vicar fell forward on his knees. The attacker raised the knife to plunge it into the vicar’s back, but then stopped. Disturbed by a distraction at the side of the church the figure scurried into the shadowy pews.