Shadows Fall

  He looked at the row of half a dozen telephones before him, and shook his head slowly. He’d ring in the morning. He looked about him for his jotter pad, to make a note, and his gaze stumbled over the stack of papers he’d pushed to one side some time ago. They didn’t matter. Just a bunch of reports, and since they weren’t concerned with the murders, they didn’t matter at all. He picked up the top report so he could officially sneer at it. Apparently Lester Gold had been seen in town wearing his old Mystery Avenger outfit. Stapled to the page was another report that other superheroes and costumed adventurers were turning up all over the town, some new and some out of retirement, as though in response to some unspoken need in the community. Great. Just what he needed. A bunch of well-meaning amateurs and old men in tights and cloaks with no colour sense, getting in the way and messing things up. He picked up the whole stack of papers and slammed them down on the letter spike.

  One of the phones rang, and he looked at it stupidly. Whoever it was, they shouldn’t be ringing him. He wasn’t supposed to be here at this hour, and anyway, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The dispatcher should have known better than to put the call through. The phone persisted, the ringing shrill and piercing, and in the end Erikson picked up the receiver just to make it shut up.

  “Sheriff Erikson, and this had better be important.”

  “Deputy Briers, Chief. We’ve got problems. We’ve been getting reports on disturbances from all over town. I’m heading out to Darkacre, and Collins and Lewis are over at Mansion Heights. We’re getting reports on fires, fighting, even explosions. It all sounds pretty ugly. What’s that? Wait a minute, Chief, someone’s trying to… what?”

  The voice broke off abruptly, but Erikson could hear another voice gabbling excitedly in the background. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to concentrate on what the Deputy had been saying. Disturbances? What did he mean, disturbances? Briers’s voice came back again suddenly, hurried and perhaps just a little panicked.

  “Sorry, Chief, I’m going to have to go. Things are getting out of hand here. I can see flames on the horizon. Word’s coming through of open fighting in the streets, even people killed. Fire-fighters and ambulances have been contacted, but there’ve been so many emergency calls we might have to just sit tight and take a number. You’d better get out here, Chief. Things are going to hell in a hurry.”

  The Deputy broke the connection without waiting for an answer. Erikson had only just started to replace the receiver when the phone next to it rang. This time it was Deputy Hendry, out in the Haymeadow suburbs. More disturbances, damage to buildings, people hurt. Another phone rang, and another. Disturbances, more disturbances. People with guns, shooting in the streets, tanks and troop carriers heading in from the outskirts. Erikson tried desperately to make sense of it all, the alcohol still clouding his mind. He tried to get details of what was happening, but the Deputies, like the town, had been taken by surprise. He was trying to calm one man down and get him to talk coherently when there was the sudden sound of an explosion in the background, followed by screams. Another explosion, louder, and the phone went dead.

  Erikson looked at the receiver in his hand, and shook it, as though trying to persuade it to work again, but the lines stayed dead. He put the receiver down slowly, staring at the suddenly silent phones. His town was under attack. The whole damn town. He tried to think what to do, and the whisky swirled through his thoughts, thick and heavy and confused.

  —

  Polly Cousins carefully made her way down the narrow, dimly-lit steps that were the only entry to the Cavern. The cellar club didn’t believe in fripperies like easy access and exterior lighting. The door finally loomed up before her, and swung open as she approached it. Harsh light spilled out into the gloom, blocked off almost immediately by the huge form of a bouncer apparently descended directly from King Kong. And not descended all that far, either. He was easily seven feet tall, and seemed almost as broad across the shoulders. He looked Polly over carefully, just to be sure she wasn’t carrying any visible weapons, and then stepped reluctantly back to let her in. Polly strode past him with her nose in the air, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides to keep them from shaking.

  It had been a long time since she’d last been at the Cavern; a long time since she’d been able to leave the house at all. But now all her personalities had merged again, she was going to celebrate if it killed her. She’d spent most of the day travelling round the town, getting to know places again, and trying to get some kind of control over her nerves. No; nerves was the wrong word. She’d been scared. Sick to the stomach, trembling-in-every-limb scared. It had taken several hours, but she finally had her nerves under control. She felt only a mild terror now at the thought of her first date in years. It helped that she’d arranged to meet James Hart in the Cavern. She’d spent some happy times here, when she was younger and her life was still her own.

  She stopped abruptly in front of a wall mirror just before the main door. She looked good. She was dressed in long flowing black, with heavy eye-makeup and black fingernails, and looked the quintessential Goth. The Gothic look had been very in the last time she’d been here, which only went to show how long it had been. She was still fashionably thin, and dressed in her best she looked several years younger than the troubled stranger she was used to seeing looking back out of mirrors. At least, she hoped she did. She wanted to look her best for James. She lifted her chin again, pushed open the main door and strode determinedly into the club.

  Loud and vibrant music washed over her, along with the roar of massed voices, stopping her in her tracks. The air was thick with mingled smoke, incense and company, and she looked desperately about her for something familiar. Luckily the bar was close at hand. She made her way through the crush, ordered a large drink, and then steeled herself to look about her. The Cavern looked very sixties tonight, but then it always had. In two golden cages hanging from the ceiling, two go-go dancers in feather bikinis were frugging energetically to the music of the live band. Down below, the happy crowd were bopping enthusiastically to the beat, dressed in a clashing collection of fashions. Waitresses moved unhurriedly between the tables at the far left, wearing low-cut blouses, leather mini-skirts and knee-high boots. A tall and slender man strode out of the crowd with a girl on each arm, smiling at everyone. He was wearing the bright red military coat of the Chelsea Pensioners, and a pair of ridiculously narrow sunglasses. Polly had to smile. Very Penny Lane. Very Sergeant Pepper. It occurred to her that most of the young people currently dancing their hearts out before her probably wouldn’t even recognize the references, but she refused to allow the thought to depress her. Her drink finally arrived, though when she heard the price she nearly sent it back. She’d forgotten how pricey club drinks were. She smiled thinly. It seemed some things hadn’t changed while she’d been gone. She sipped at her drink resignedly, and looked about her for James Hart.

  She was on time, but she hadn’t spotted him yet in the crush of bodies. She hoped he wasn’t the sort who deliberately arrived late, so that his date would, theoretically, be all the more eager to see him. She wasn’t sure her courage would hold together much longer, drink or no drink. Her heart was all but kicking its way out of her chest. Suzanne Dubois was supposed to be here somewhere, to give her moral support, but there was no sign of her anywhere either. Polly looked about her, keeping a firm rein on her emotions. Her gaze stumbled across a group of Beats sitting around a table, all wearing heavy duffel coats and dark glasses, despite the gloom. They huddled together as if for comfort, trying to look cool and waving books of privately printed poetry at each other. No one was paying them any attention, which was probably what they were looking so annoyed about. Sitting at the next table were a bunch of slightly faded-looking hippies; all wide eyes and dreamy smiles, long hair and flower power. The Cavern was heavily into the sixties tonight, though there was a fair sprinkling of other times and fashions to be seen.

  And then James Hart was suddenly there
before her, appearing out of the crowd in an instant. He smiled at her easily, and she smiled back, suddenly so nervous again she was practically hyperventilating. They shook hands rather formally, and Polly realized he was just as nervous as she was, which made her feel a whole lot better.

  “Nice place you suggested,” said Hart, leaning forward and raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub. “You’ve nearly finished that drink. Would you like another?”

  “Peach brandy and lemonade,” said Polly automatically. She drained her glass and handed