THE exertions of being kidnapped were enough to drain anyone even on the best of the days. Strang was nearly dead on his feet. Saira struggled to support his weary body as they crashed through the barrier and stumbled down the slope towards the beach. The ant-like figure - his son - was running across the bridge. In such open ground it would only be a matter of time before the pursuers caught up with him. Would they have instructions to kill?
The long grass was sharp and cut through the light slacks which Saira wore, rasping against her skin. The old man was no longer capable of carrying his weight and leaned heavily on her shoulders as they came to the first support of the mighty bridge, resting on a hillock of cut stone blocks. The smell of rotting seaweed and acrid grease was overpowering, and in the distance was the single spire of Grangemouth, its giant plume of hydro-powered steam rising into the heavens.
Although so far from home, something about the scale of the structure and the surrounding dust of sand brought Saira’s mind back to Media where such epic monuments were the norm. The presence of her former husband had been a body blow.
That he was working for the corporation which now sought her, her new husband and father-in-law was but a secondary marvel, compared to the fact that he was still alive at all. The London police had been insistent that he had died in hospital and she was the one responsible for his silent, unexplained collapse.
Scanning the shoreline for options, the number of hiding places was distinctly limited. The few fishing boats that graced the water were far from land. She could see a cluster of houses, perhaps a foundry or fish processing plant further towards the widening channel. Could they reach those in time?
No, their only option was to hide, to seek refuse in the rocky outcrops which jutted from the high grass slopes into the water. If the area was to thoroughly searched they would be found quite easily but it was their best and only hope. Once dark, they might be able to find shelter.
Voices from the bridge above cut through the mumbling waves. She fancied she heard Jack’ voice but could not be certain of anything on the colossal framework above. As they hobbled along the shoreline, a small inlet could be seen. There were jutting rock walls on either side of the stream and the folds in the cracked red stone could hide them from prying eyes.
She dragged the old man closer but then recoiled suddenly as a silent figure emerged from behind the rock wall corridor. His hair was short and he wore the dark tails and tie that was now horribly familiar. His lips were pursed in grim satisfaction.
The fugitives back-pedalled awkwardly over the rocks, drawing back towards to the water. Other men were stepping into view, some from the grass banks which topped the beach above her. Others from the outcrops where they had just come, others appeared from the horizon from the direction of the fish factory. At least dozen figures were walking, slowly, purposefully towards them.
Dragging, the helpless figure towards the water’s edge, Saira searched for something, anything she could use as a weapon. Although voice in her head told her it was pointless to fight, her fingers grasped a smooth stone, slightly larger than her hand. Strang, grimly aware that they were now exposed and powerless, tried to remonstrate as the advancing figures encircled their prey.
But they came no further.
From the pebble-strewn slope which Jack and Saira had slipped from, a heavy figure was striding towards them. The head was bathed in sweat – a sea surrounding angry continents of red flesh. It was Melody. He marched over the uneven rocks as smoothly as riding on a rollertube. The ring of guards around the trapped duo melted respectfully as he approached.
“Don’t come any closer!” Saira brandished the rock in her hand.
“A good wife is loving and loyal. A good wife does not marry another man.”
“I mean it!”
“He asked me if I was ready to go,” Melody ignored the threat, as though their conversation on the train had been interrupted, “I confess that as I lay in hospital so shortly after making our wedding vows, I almost saw the light go dark. I was standing at the entrance to a doorway. I was being drawn inside. All I had to do was take the first step but…”
He drew closer so that he was almost face-to-face with the shivering pair.
“You were right, my drear. There are more things in the world than I was willing to admit. Forces of which we know nothing. But now my eyes were opened. If I wanted more life, he would be happy to oblige. All I needed to do in return was to assist with a few simple tasks. I was not ready to go. But don’t worry: I have a plan to correct your bigamy. Once the father dies, I’m going to ensure the son enjoys a nice, slow session in the steam chair. By the time we are finished you will no longer be married to two men, my dear. I will be your only husband and I will teach you the wifely discipline that you so obviously require.”
She was prepared to answer for the deaths of her husbands but now she wanted one more. With a bellow of rage, she hurled the stone towards the colossal figure of Melody. It bounced off his forehead, landing in the white-specked water.
There was no reaction from the giant man, none at all. Slowly, he reached into his pocked and produced a stub-nosed cylinder which he levelled and the unsteady Strang, aiming squarely at his chest.
“No hard feelings, old man. A promise is a promise after all.”
He squeezed a button on the rod and a shot rang out, followed by an encore of red from the older man’s chest. Saira screamed in anger as the waves lapped against the fallen body. Her sharp cry deepened and became a howl, which became louder and louder until it no longer seemed to come from her own body, as though from a mouth other than her own. And suddenly the sound did belong to another, for a massive dark shape dropped onto the beach as if it had fallen from the sky.
With a terrible roar, the dark blur tore towards the pock-marked Melody, scattering the Butlers around them. Melody aimed the deadly cylinder but with one swipe of its arm, the creature swiped at his head with deadly force and Saira heard the crunch of her husband’s neck breaking.
His head contorted and the jaw bone snapped clean from his skull, hanging loosely from a few fibres of muscle. The creature turned around and faced the stunned assassins with a terrible roar. It was a beast, a proper beast, furious and terrible. But its face, its face was a woman’s.
“Sheonagh”, Saira whispered in awe. The animal Turned and Saira could see beyond the fury into the dark watery eyes of the guide they had left less than a day ago.
She wore a suit made of thick brown fur and glogs with dirty black claws like thick rusty nails. Her teeth were like pointed stalactites. Standing on both feet, with her back to the prone figures in the water, she seemed to tower above the men but was no more than her normal five feet tall.
It was hard to know where the costume ended and the woman began, whether she was woman at all or consumed by an animal rage. But instinctively, Saira knew they were seeing their friend’s true nature, the part of herself she hid from view.
Viscous, thick phlegm dripped from their defender’s bared teeth. A strong musty smell hung in the air, like the aroma of the cliff top cave with its centuries-old musk and the time-polished carcasses.
The men on the beach had recovered from their shock. Brandishing metal weapons, they opened fire upon the creature. Sheonagh roared in anger as projectiles bit her flesh, splashing rusty blood onto the pebbles. Bounding forward, she swiped at the closest man, who stumbled as he tried to move backwards. The paw studded with three razor claws crashed against his skull with the force of a bear’s paw. A lifeless body crumpled on the shore. Further bullets dug into the matted hide but again seemed only to make her angrier than before. She lunged at yet another man, knocking him to the ground before sinking her teeth into his exposed throat.
Bullets whizzed past Saira. She flung herself onto the rocks, over the bleeding body of her new father. She felt for his hand. There was a faint beat below his wrist and as she touched hi
m he coughed a fountain of red from blue lips.
The men were running now to the rocks and up the slopes from where they had come. Sheonagh reared up on both feet once more, offering a thunderous roar of defiance at the fleeing assailants.
Will he live? The voice was Sheonagh’s but not quite hers, darker and deeper like the sound of the ocean
“I don’t know. We need to get out of here fast. What’s happened? What are you?
A long story.
“How did you get here?”
Took the train. First time.
They were interrupted by a piercing whistle and the beast roared in pain. The men had stopped at a safe distance and were returning fire. More were emerging from the hillside, their coats and closely cropped hair like miniature versions of the now-dead Melody. Two dozen silver tubes pointed in one direction.
The pistols spat in contempt but Sheonagh continued to stand firm. Thick purple geysers on the creature’s body answered each bullet, matting her coat with blood. One more volley would her down. Saira could no longer feel Strang’s pulse. No breath escaped his lungs. She hugged the dead body, preparing for her own death.
Suddenly Zarius was among them. His pulsating wings were spread wide, filling the skyline, blocking the towering bridge, the estuary, even the clouds from view. There was a hiss of steam, a faint odour of something sweet as a fine mist filled the air.
The same smile, the same wild hair but Zarius now looked different… glorious. The whirr of bullets fizzled out, cackling guns were silenced, the gunmen were still. The beach faded away as everyone drowned in paralysing light.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO