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action, break the spell of petrification, dismissing Foster; he had to save
Thelma Brown. His eyes flicked round the top of the pit once, a vain hope that
there might be a ladder or even a rope handy. There wasn't and he knew then
what he had to do.
That creature had her head under the muddy water now, deliberately drowning
her whilst he lifted the lower half of her body up, a kind of wheelbarrow
stance that facilitated the backward and forward movements of his filthy
thighs. Slamming faster and faster, rotted lungs wheezing loudly under the
strain. Oh you filthy fucking bastard, you've no right to exist! Maybe you
don't and it's another trick of this bloody fog, but whether it is or not the
girl is going to die if I don't do something fast.
Lee balanced himself, took a deep breath. Don't think about it or else you'll
chicken out. You're demonstrating a life-saving exercise to a bunch of rookies
at the baths. You're on the high springboard. Nothing to it, just don't look
down. Fill your lungs, relax your muscles as you go; go right down and come up
fast.
Airborne, somersaulting once, judging the distance in his own mind. Lukewarm
chlorinated water that'll make your eyes smart. Impact!
A soft landing that threw him flat, reality coming back as he wallowed in the
mud, clawed himself up to the surface. It sucked viciously and he knew he had
gone in above his knees, was temporarily trapped in the morass. Take it easy,
struggle too hard and you'll sink deeper. Move the right leg a few inches, now
the left, work your way steadily upwards. Then lie flat and ease yourself out;
training instructions for rescuing people trapped in quick sands, as per
manual.
The thing in the pit was aware of his presence, turned slowly, released the
girl and she flopped back down into the water, lay partly submerged, face
downwards. Not moving, half-floating. Oh Jesus, I'm too late,- she's already
dead!
Stupefaction bordering on hypnosis as Detective-Constable Alan Lee stared up
into the malevolent features of a behemoth in human form. A vile stinking
body, from the pelvis downwards just skeletal; that inhuman sex act had been a
pointless simulation then, a last blasphemous attempt at procreation. Symbolic
rape.
Bubbles formed and burst on nose and mouth cavities, eye sockets pouring
watery filth like acute conjunctivitis, that wheezing now a liquid sound.
Advancing unsteadily, arms stretched out towards the man helplessly trapped in
the mud.
The policeman knew that his brain had to snap, that it had reached the limit
of human endurance, could not accept what it saw. Lying forward, the way the
manual taught you, but his legs still wouldn't come free. Laughter somewhere
reminding him of the taped mirth producers use to boost unfunny comedy films
on TV. Laugh or we'll laugh for you. Foster, of course, up there savouring
every second. Just remember you're a murderer, copper. She's dead and you
killed her.
Lee closed his eyes for a second, one last try, and then he opened them again.
'I'm a police officer.'
The other took another step, coughed up a solid lump of slime that plopped
into the water.
'D'you hear me, I'm a police officer! You're under arrest, for rape and
murder.' Stop that fucking laughing up there, I'm serious.' Anything you say
will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.'
It towered over him now, Christ it had to be well over six feet tall, a
colossus that pissed stagnant water all over you. Cold stinking water, the
stench making you retch. Lee pulled for all he was worth, got his right leg
almost free; the mud beneath him shifted, started to suck it back down again.
A noise to his left; Thelma had submerged, rolled over, surfaced again, was
floating free on her back, arms stretched right out over her head as though
she was doing the backstroke, staring vacantly up at the lowering grey sky
above the pit. A rush of trapped air made bubbles on the water, big ones that
burst slowly one at a time. She might not be dead yet, very close but not
quite. I've got to give her artificial respiration, it's my duty. Get out of
the way, you bugger, let me go to her.
'You're bloody well under arrest.''
Crying hysterically now, not caring for himself when a huge hand reached out,
caught him by the hair and jerked his head back, almost dislocating his
vertebrae. Hair came out by the roots, floated on the surface like the
feathers of a mallard in moult. Still telling the fucker he was under arrest,
that he had to accompany him to the station where he would be required to make
a statement. Some bugger was still laughing, jeering. Their mates always acted
up when you arrested one of them. Ignore it, get on with your job.
Fingers prised his mouth open; he tried to bite on them but it didn't seem to
make any difference. A sudden snap, instant pain and his jaw wasn't working
any more, a ventriloquist's dummy that had bust a spring. But the show went
on.
The creature was bending down, scooping up handfuls of cold black mud, feeding
them into that open limp mouth, stuffing the morass in with its fingers,
shoving it right down the back of its victim's throat. Handful after handful,
poking it up the nostrils, a macabre nose-pick in reverse.
The policeman was not struggling any longer, gasping one last time for breath
and then giving up, accepting that he was going to suffocate. With bulging
eyes that threatened to pop at any second he studied the limp floating figure
of the girl. She had touched the far wall of the pit and it had swung her
round; she was coming back this way. Almost doing the splits, letting him
feast his eyes on her ravaged flesh, a final act of revenge even after death.
Take a good look, Constable. I'm all torn about, still bleeding. You did that
to me. Not him, because he doesn't have anything left to do it with. You
tricked me, took advantage of your position and the situation. Now I'm dead
and you're not far off. I'll give you another thirty seconds at the most.
Neither of us will be leaving here. We'll be down here for ever with that, and
eventually we'll become like him. Just waiting for somebody else to fall in
here and then we'll fight like hell over them. Bye for now, copper, you dirty
bastard. See you soon.
Alan Lee tried to scream one last yell of remorse, wanted her to understand
how it had all come about, but the effort was too much for him. And even after
the constable died, foul mud was still being crammed into his mouth, slipping
steadily down his throat and into his lungs.
Up above, the man who had once been James Foster turned away and walked off
into the dense fog, idly fingering at the open bloodless wound in his throat,
a subconscious action which was fast becoming a habit with him.
ELEVEN
Andy Dark eyed the German with both fear and amazement, watched the steady,
gloating descent down the stairs. The conservation officer glanced once behind
him towards the open door. If it had not been for that menacing Luger in the
other's hand he would have grabbed Carol and taken pot luck on a dash for
freedom. But for her sake he dared not chance it.
'So, my prison cannot hold you.' Bertie Hass reached the bottom step,
advancing slowly on them. 'You British are all the same, you will never accept
the inevitable. Even now in the face of defeat you fight on, risk
annihilation. A mad race of people.'
'You're crazy,' Andy snapped, pulling Carol behind him. 'The war's been over
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