Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (28 page)

“Yes . . . and no,” said Happy, reluctantly. “It’s not the Beast. I’d recognise that in a heart-beat. But it does have something of that flavour about it.”

Melody produced her machine-pistol, so suddenly none of the others could be sure exactly where it came from. She aimed the gun at the keypad, and everyone edged back as far as the cramped space would permit. The sound of gunfire was painfully loud in the confined space; and bits of broken keypad flew through the air, showering over everyone. The door swung back a few inches.

“What is a Ghost Finder doing with a gun?” said Felicity, pointedly.

“Is that a trick question?” said Melody. She turned up her nose at the shattered keypad. “Think of this as a picklock with attitude.”

She made the machine-pistol disappear about her person, stepped forward, and placed one hand flat against the steel door. She braced herself and pushed. The door gave way before her. The stench was suddenly that much worse, rich and foul and acrid, rolling out past the door in heavy waves. Everyone coughed hard and turned their heads away. Melody stood her ground and pushed the door back some more. Heavy sucking sounds came from inside the cellar and a slow, steady susurrus, like something large breathing. Melody glanced back at JC. He nodded, and she threw all her strength against the door.

Tom moved in beside JC. “Where, exactly, does she keep that gun?”

“Trust me,” said JC. “You don’t want to know.”

“You don’t know, do you?” said Tom.

“Ask Happy,” said JC. “He’s sleeping with her.”

Tom looked to Happy, who shot him a disturbing smile. Tom shuddered, briefly.

“Brave fellow . . .”

“I’ve always thought so,” said JC.

“I can hear you!” said Melody, not looking round.

JC moved in beside her, and together they pushed the door all the way open. A bruised red and purple light fell out into the corridor. The stench was almost overpowering. Happy moved up alongside Melody, and the three Ghost Finders moved cautiously forward, into the cellar. Followed, slowly and very reluctantly, by the radio staff.

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The cellar was packed full, from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling, with awful things. The humans stood bunched together, inside the doorway, feeling small and insignificant, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of what lay before them. The cellar spread out in all directions, easily the same size as the huge reception area above it; and there was barely an inch of open space left anywhere. Strange organic shapes pressed up against each other, alive and even blossoming, in an utterly unnatural way.
Unearthly,
thought JC.
Not of this world.
Rounded surfaces oozed dark, tarry liquids as they heaved and swelled and subsided. Protuberances thrust out here and there but not in any way that made the shapes make sense. It was like looking at alien organs, torn from some inconceivable body, which had somehow learned to thrive on their own. Strange sounds beat heavily on the still air. Something that might have been a slow, sullen heart-beat, and something else that might have been breathing. A thick, viscous mulch, like bloody vomit, covered what could be seen of the floor.

The radio staff were the most affected. They clung together, making quiet noises of distress. The Ghost Finders took it more in their stride.

“I’ve seen worse,” said JC.

“Really?” said Melody. “When? Not on any case we worked together.”

“This is so above our pay-scale,” said Happy. “We’re supposed to deal with ghosts. Does this look in any way spiritual to you? I say we all back out, very carefully, and send for the SAS. Or anybody else with really big guns and a careless attitude to high explosives.”

“What is this?” said Jonathan. He had both hands pressed tightly over his mouth and nose, trying to keep out the smell.

“This is disgusting,” said Tom. “I saw the machines, as they were unloaded from the trucks; and they didn’t look anything like this! I mean, I would have said something . . . Where did all this come from?”

“Looks to me like it grew here,” said JC. “From a preprogrammed seed, probably. Biotech. Organic machines. Once it was established here, it kept growing until it filled all the space available.”

“You’ve encountered things like this before?” said Felicity.

“No,” said JC. “But I have read some files . . .”

He broke off as several of the nearer shapes expanded suddenly, the glistening surfaces stretching disturbingly taut. Dark shapes burst through, popping out onto the dank air. Disturbingly human eyeballs on the end of long, wavering tentacles, dripping thick, glutinous liquids. The eyes stared balefully at the newcomers.

“Told you,” said Happy. “It knows we’re here.”

“You had to knock,” Melody said to JC.

All across the cellar, strange living shapes bulged and heaved and pressed against each other. Protuberances thrust out, lengthening and thickening. Everything was some shade of red or purple, an angry, violent colour under the bruised, sullen light that seemed to seep from everywhere at once. It made everything seem that much more . . . fleshy. JC thought of rotten fruit, and mushrooms, and fruiting mushrooms. The bulging shapes pushed up against each other, and sometimes a large shape would engulf a smaller, swallowing it up.

Everything was connected to everything else by long, warty tubes that pulsed and twitched, like connecting nerve fibres. More tendrils hung down from the ceiling, like jungle liana, stirring and curling as though moved by some unfelt breeze. Or dreaming thoughts. More eyes popped out on wavering stalks, bobbing on the air as they swept this way and that, concentrating on first one human face, then another. One eye lunged forward, straight at Felicity, studying her with malignant interest. She slapped at it with her hand. The eyeball dodged her blow easily and withdrew a few feet.

Another eye advanced on Captain Sunshine. He stood where he was, frozen in place by its unwavering gaze. Sally stepped quickly forward, putting herself between the Captain and the eye. She punched it, hard. Her fist sank deep into the eyeball, but the surface didn’t rupture. The eye retreated quickly until it was well out of range. Sally looked at her dripping hand, slimed from contact with the eyeball, grimaced, and wiped her hand clean on the back of the Captain’s jacket. He didn’t react.

“Bad trips are bad enough,” he said slowly. “But when they want to reach out and touch you . . .”

“Feel how hot it is in here,” said Melody. “I’m sweating like a pig. It’s like a greenhouse; or a forcing-house for something delicate, that needs supporting and protecting . . .”

“Organic machines,” said JC. “Living computers. Put here to do . . . something. What?” He glared at Jonathan. “How could you not know this was going on down here? Right under your feet?”

“I didn’t know! All right?” Jonathan said angrily. “I didn’t have a clue. None of us did!”

“Remember the aversion field, JC,” said Melody. “It’s quite probable these things were generating a
Don’t think about it
message, as well. That’s why it never occurred to them to do anything about the smell.”

Long, undulating tentacles arched across the walls and stretched between and around the curving shapes, criss-crossing in mid air in insanely complicated ways. Like diagrams of roads in Hell. Every square inch of wall was covered with thick mats of the stuff, like a fleshy, creeping ivy. Tendrils writhed and twisted around each other, dripping dark, oily fluids. The thick mulch on the floor squelched loudly as JC led the group slowly forward. They had to pull their feet free after every step, with an effort, being careful not to lose their shoes. The floating eyeballs retreated steadily before them. JC peered past the heavy layers of bulging organic shapes and thought he could make out, in the exact centre of the cellar, a single shape bigger than all the others. A dark purple barrel, rising all the way up to the ceiling, covered in shapes and protrusions that rose and fell in intricate patterns. The sound that wasn’t a heart-beat, and the sound that wasn’t quite breathing, all seemed to emanate from this large central mass.

“What are we looking at?” said Jonathan. “What’s it for?”

“I love the way you keep asking me questions, like I’ve got any answers to give you,” said JC.

“You’re supposed to be the expert,” said Felicity.

“No-one is an expert on this shit,” said Happy. “We’re all tourists on this ride.”

“But why did the new owners want this installed?” said Tom. He looked down at something he’d trodden in and grimaced. “I mean, it must serve some purpose even if it’s not what they said it was for . . .”

“It’s horrid,” Sally said flatly. “I hate it. Looking at this stuff is putting my teeth on edge. It doesn’t belong here, not in our world. It makes me want to . . . step on it all! Crush it, grind it, under my heel! Set fire to everything and watch it burn . . . You only have to look at this to know it’s not on our side.”

“Machines made out of flesh . . .” said JC. “I think I detect the hand of the Flesh Undying in this . . .”

“Not the Beast?” said Melody.

“Maybe the Beast saw what was happening here, from its place outside of Time, and took advantage,” said JC. “It does love to manipulate things to its advantage. Remember when we thought this whole set-up might be a trap, for us? Maybe this . . . is a trap within a trap. The Flesh Undying sets this up to draw us in, and the Beast makes use of it, reworks it . . . to create a doorway from its world to ours. And an opportunity to take its revenge on us at the same time.”

“You really are making this shit up as you go along, aren’t you?” said Jonathan. “You don’t understand this any more than we do!”

“I may be guessing,” said JC. “But it is at least an educated guess. If you’ve got a better interpretation of what’s happening here, I’ll listen.”

“Assume you’re right, JC,” said Melody. “For the sake of not arguing. Assume that central mass is working to create a door, or perhaps more properly a tunnel, between our reality and that of the Beast’s. What do we do?”

“Drive a stake through its heart,” said Happy. “Or fire. Fire’s always good.”

“That was my idea!” said Sally.

“Excuse me,” said Felicity. “But you mentioned something called the Flesh Undying. You’ve talked about it before. What the hell is the Flesh Undying?”

“Classified,” said JC. He shot her a smile, then turned to Jonathan. “These new bosses of yours. Have you ever met them?”

“Well, not in person, no,” said Jonathan. “The sale and transfer of the radio station was a done deal by the time I got to hear about it. I was given the choice of going along or finding employment somewhere else. All I’ve ever seen are e-mails from the parent company: Strictly Substitute Sausages. They are a real company; I looked them up. But we’ve never had a visit from any of their representatives. I’ve never even spoken to anyone on the phone. Which is a bit odd, now I come to think about it. I always assumed they were maintaining a professional distance, in case they decided to shut us down. I figured as long as they were leaving us alone, it was better not to do anything that might rock the boat . . .”

“Could be a front for the Crowley Project,” said Melody. “They often use existing companies as masks or fronts for their nasty little schemes.”

“Who are the Crowley Project?” demanded Felicity.

“Even more classified,” said JC. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes I do!” said Felicity. “That’s why I asked!”

“Look, if we’re the Good Guys, they’re the Bad Guys, all right?” said Happy. “We mend things, they break them. Except . . .” He looked at JC. “I have to wonder if this could be connected to the forces working inside the Carnacki Institute. If the Flesh Undying’s agents are involved . . .”

Felicity’s ears pricked up immediately. “This thing has agents? Inside the incredibly secretive Carnacki Institute? Oh this gets better and better! Are you saying all the conspiracy sites I’ve been boning up on are actually onto something? The Institute really is up to things? Disturbing, secret . . . illegal and immoral things?”

“You might say that,” said JC. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Surprisingly, Felicity grinned briefly. “Tease . . .”

JC looked around him. “We have to shut this down. Every last bit of it, with extreme prejudice and balls-to-the-walls violence. If we destroy the doorway, then the Beast can’t get into our world. And the terrible future we saw will never happen.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Melody. “I should be able to whip up some incendiary devices . . .”

“Fire!” said Sally. “I said fire!”

“And a timer?” said Happy. “So we could get away to a safe distance, first?”

“Perfectionist,” said Melody.

“You do realise,” said Felicity, “that if we do actually survive this, and save the whole world in the process, I am going to grill you all unmercifully on the Beast and the Flesh Undying and the Carnacki Institute. And then tell the whole damned world what happened here. There’s a story in this, and I want every last bit of it!”

“Even if we did tell you,” said JC, “you wouldn’t be allowed to tell anyone. And even if you did, no-one would be allowed to publish it.”

Felicity sniffed. “There’s this thing they have these days, called the Internet . . .”

“You’d be nothing more than another voice,” said JC, “ranting in the wilderness.”