World's End (Age of Misrule, Book 1) (29 page)

"You're so sharp you'll cut yourself." Laura's mockery was drained of its usual acid.

"I think we should get back," Ruth said. Laura hesitated, then nodded, but as they turned, a shape flashed between them and the building. Ruth caught a glimpse of something burning red, like hot coals.

Moving quickly over to one side, they tried for an elliptical route back to the light. Another growl, closer at hand this time, turned into a chilling howl.

"Shit!" Laura hissed.

Ruth thought: It's hunting.

And then they were running, the splashing of their feet accompanied by the thunder of powerful paws. Whatever it was crashed into a car in front with such force the side crumpled and it spun into their path. Ruth stifled a scream. They darted sideways between two other cars, no longer knowing in which direction they were running. Along the way, Laura slammed into a wing mirror and careened into the other vehicle. Ruth was already several feet away before she realised Laura had slipped to her knees.

As she turned she caught sight of the black shape, as big as a small pony; it shifted its bulk and started to run. If it hit the nearest car, Laura would be crushed between them. Without thinking, Ruth sprinted back as Laura hauled herself to her feet. At the moment Ruth yanked on Laura's jacket, there was the sledgehammer sound of buckling metal and a crash as the windscreen exploded. The impact hurled them backwards into a deep puddle.

The beast leapt and slammed on to the bonnet where it poised over them. Their minds locked in fear at the first clear sight of it. It was the dog that had attacked Church in Salisbury. Black Shuck. The horribly intelligent eyes burned crimson as its hot breath steamed in the chill night. The rain was running in rivulets off its black velvet hide, mingling with the sizzling drool that dripped from its fangs. Unable to move, Ruth and Laura watched as its muscles bunched. Slowly, it raised its haunches to attack.

Then, from out of the swirling rain, there was a penetrating screech as an owl swooped down, claws raised at the dog's eyes. It soared away just as the beast snapped its enormous head round. But it was enough of a distraction; Ruth and Laura were already moving as the dog's jaws gnashed on empty air.

The services seemed to be at the distant end of a dark tunnel. Their lungs burned from exertion, but they closed the gap quickly as they heard the beast leap from the bonnet and start to pound the tarmac behind them. We're not going to make it, Ruth thought. The sound of its feet thundered closer. But then, miraculously, the doors were opening and they were slipping and sliding on the floor in the glaring lights.

Any thoughts they had reached sanctuary were dispelled a moment later. The dog was travelling with such speed the doors didn't have time to open again. They burst inwards, showering glass and twisted metal across the floor as the dog skidded, then righted itself. Two women emerging from the toilets shrieked and darted back inside. Another man chose that unfortunate moment to wander haphazardly out of the shop. The dog turned its head and in one fluid movement of its jaws, took his arm off at the shoulder. It was too quick for him to scream; he blacked out from the shock and collapsed into a growing pool of blood. Ruth and Laura scrambled away again, their eyes burning with tears of fear.

They could hear the rasping breath of the dog echoing along the corridor as they sprinted to the restaurant, a rough, traction engine sound filled with power and menace. As they burst in, Church's face registered momentary shock at their bedraggled appearance, but then he was moving without asking any questions.

"Into the kitchen," he hissed, hauling them towards the hot food counter. They scrambled over it, burning themselves on the hot metal. When the dog entered a second later, the youth on the checkout took one look at it and slipped under his till, either in a faint or in fear. In the kitchen, two bored cooks waited patiently for orders. Their sudden flurry of protests were silenced by the roar of the dog.

"My God, what's that?" one of the women cried, eyes wide.

"Can you lock this door?" Church demanded. It was of a reinforced design to contain a fire.

The woman nodded in confusion, fumbling for a bunch of keys in her pockets. Through the door, the beast's rasping breath drew closer. There was a clang as it jumped on the hot food counter and then a dull thud as it landed on the other side. As the woman located the key, Church snatched it from her hands and secured the door. They retreated to the other side of the room and ducked down behind a stainless steel unit just as the dog thundered against it.

"What's out there?" the other woman whimpered.

Church looked to Ruth. "Black Shuck," she said in a small, cracking voice. She suddenly started to shake from the cold and the shock. Church slid his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. "Is it going to be like this all the way?" she said weakly. "Never being able to rest?"

There was another crash against the door and they all jumped.

"What's going on?" one of the cooks screamed. She crawled away with the other woman, casting angry, frightened glances at Church, Ruth and Laura.

"How can we hold off something like that?" Ruth said. "It's going to get us sooner or later."

"The dog isn't the worst of it," Church replied fatalistically. "You heard what Tom said. It's a precursor, a portent."

"For what?" Laura asked. As if in answer, there came a mighty clattering on the roof far above them, rumbling from one side of the building to the other; like hoofbeats. The dog howled, in warning or welcome.

Ruth saw the vaguest shadow pass across Laura's features; in the imposing edifice of her confidence it was as if the foundations had shattered. Cautiously, Ruth reached out a comforting hand to Laura's arm; Laura flinched, didn't look at her, but nor did she knock it away.

They stayed huddled there for the rest of the night, listening to the sounds beyond the door; the grunts and growls, snufflings and crashings that couldn't have come from any beast born on earth. On one occasion, after a forty-fiveminute gulf of silence, they thought it had finally departed, but just as Church was about to turn the key in the lock it crashed against the door, almost bursting it inwards. It was a warning that they heeded.

When the faintest glimmer of dawn first brushed the clouds, Church ventured to the slatted glass windows and opened them just enough to look out. The motorway was empty, the storm blown out, although the clouds still roiled above them. And in that surging vapour he had the uneasy feeling he could glimpse dark figures on horseback, riding the clouds, lost among them; seeking refuge from the light, ready to return another night.

He turned to the others. "Let's go," he said.

The restaurant was empty, the dog gone, as Church knew it would be. The two cooks ran out, crying with relief, to greet the checkout youth who emerged from beneath the till looking like he'd been sedated; he hadn't come between the monstrous dog and its prey, so it had left him alone. The reinforced kitchen door was gouged and splintered.

The rest of the services seemed deserted, but Church eventually located some members of staff in the management office. In a room beyond they could see the covered body of the man who lost his arm to the dog. Phone lines had been down throughout the night, so no emergency services could have been called; even mobiles hadn't worked. Some kind of electrical disturbance caused by the storm, the staff said, but that didn't explain what had happened to those who had gone off in their cars to fetch help and had not been heard from since. No one seemed quite able to believe that what had taken place had actually happened. They talked of wild dogs, as if there had been a pack, and seemed oblivious to anything uncanny. Church, Ruth and Laura returned to the car park, leaving them trying to impose some order on an event that wouldn't accept it.

As they approached the car they noticed the interior light was on and one door was slightly ajar. They circled the Nissan cautiously, suddenly on guard, until they noticed the boot was open too, the contents of their bags strewn around the interior. A knife or screwdriver had been crudely forced into the keyhole.

"Bastards!" Laura said. "We've really been hit with the bad luck stick."

"I don't think it's a coincidence," Church said as he sifted through their possessions.

"You think they were looking for the stone?" Laura asked, her hand automatically going to the rucksack.

He nodded. "But whatever was here last night wouldn't have jimmied open the boot."

They repacked their possessions in silence, filled up with petrol and returned to the motorway, haunted by too many unanswered questions.

After the storm, the day turned bright and clear. At that early hour the motorway was eerily devoid of even the slow caravans of lorries lumbering towards Exeter and Torbay. The scenery gradually changed as they crossed the county line, the tranquil green fields of Somerset giving way to Devon's wilder landscape of hills, rocky outcroppings and impenetrable, dark woods, filled with romance in the glimmering post-dawn light. At Exeter, the lantern, which Ruth held in her lap like a baby, began to tug westwards. The motorway died just south of the city anyway, so they picked up the A30 which ran all the way along the spine of Cornwall to the end of the world. They were only on it for a short while as the lantern suddenly flickered with irritation and guided them on to a tiny B road which spiked into the heart of Dartmoor.

"I don't like it when we get too far away from civilisation." Ruth glanced uncomfortably out of the window at the disappearing habitation as they moved toward the looming expanse of Dartmoor on the horizon.

"You should see the map," Laura said, poring over Church's AA Book of the Road. "The roads around here look about good enough for pig-droving, and there're only a handful of villages, all with about three houses in them. Welcome to Nowhere."

As the fields became scrubby uplands and windswept rocks, Ruth said uneasily, "I wonder what's out there." Then, after a moment or two when neither of them answered, "I want tall buildings, cars, pollution-"

"I don't think that would be any safer," Church said. "It's just an illusion."

Laura suddenly craned her neck to peer through the side window up into the blue sky. "Hey! There's another one! I thought they slept during the day?"

Ruth followed her gaze. An enormous owl swooped on the air currents, dipped low, then soared again, but it seemed to have no trouble keeping up with them. Ruth squinted, trying to pluck details from the silhouette; she knew instinctively it was her familiar, the same one that had attacked the beast in the car park.

For some reason she didn't quite understand, Ruth still hadn't got around to telling them about her meeting with the mysterious girl in the glade. Although she had been disturbed by it, in some way it had seemed intensely private and to talk about it felt instinctively like a betrayal of trust; which was a strange way to think about it. Besides, in the cold light of day it hadn't seemed frightening at all.

"That one at the services saved our lives," Laura continued.

"It doesn't make sense," Church said. "Why would a bird do something like that? They're normally smart."

Ruth didn't answer. Now she was speculating on why the girl had particularly used that word familiar, with all its connotations. She followed the owl's progress carefully, and wondered.

Soon the last signs of civilisation disappeared. As if on cue, another storm blew up from nowhere. It swamped the blue sky with slate-coloured clouds that billowed and twisted in high winds like the smoke from some conflagration, and drew a line of shadow across the land. Lightning flashed on the horizon and thunder boomed out dully. Church flicked on the wipers a second after the first drops hit, but it was like someone had thrown a bucket of water at the windscreen. He pulled the car over to the side of the road in the hope that it would pass and instantly felt exhaustion overcome him. Reluctantly he suggested they find somewhere to rest.

When the rain lessened slightly, they continued slowly on their way, but there was little to see. They passed through a place called Two Bridges right in the centre of Dartmoor which seemed to consist of just one house and a sprawling, white-painted pub tucked away in a hollow. And then, as they crested the ridge beyond, they came across an ancient inn made of Devonshire stone with a half-timbered upper storey; squat and heavy, it looked as if it had been thrown up out of the ground by some force of nature. The Elizabethan windows were a mass of tiny panes, too dark to see through, although Church did catch sight of the welcoming flicker of an open fire. An old wooden sign swung in the gale featuring a hand-painted design of a vaguely human face made out of leaves and the legend The Green Man, the ancient title which offered a particular welcome to travellers. A small note in the window said Accommodation.

Church pulled the car on to the tiny pockmarked car park and they sprinted through the rain to the stone porch. The door was locked-it was well before opening time-but Church hammered on a brass knocker until they heard movement within. The door swung open to reveal a thin man in tight blue jeans and a white T-shirt that flapped on his bony frame. He was severely balding, with just tufts of black hair curling back over his ears. A thick moustache hung like a brush over his top lip. He had eyes like a rodent, darting and curious, and a scar curved over the right one, but his smile was pleasant enough.

"Waifs and strays from the storm?" he enquired in a fey, accentless voice.

"We could do with some rooms if you've got any spare," Church said.

"As you can see, it's not exactly Piccadilly Circus round here at this time of year so I think you might be in luck." He stepped back and swept his arm theatrically to invite them in. The tasteful decor of the pub reflected the building's great age: stone flags, dark wood tables, benches and stools, a few line drawings and old photographs on the stone walls. The fire Church had seen earlier burned heartily in a fireplace big enough to have two small bench seats inside the chimney breast. The landlord saw Church looking at it. "Nice, isn't it? I have to keep it going, even in summer, though. There's a superstition in these parts that if the fire ever goes out the landlord will meet a terrible death. I don't believe it myself, naturally, being a sophisticated urbanite, but then again I'm not about to take unnecessary risks."