Already Dead(47)

He had no idea where the figure came from. One second, he could see nothing but an empty road through the streaked glass, a bend a hundred yards ahead and overhanging trees cascading sheets of water on the muddy verges. In the next instant there was something moving in front of him, a shape slithering down the bank on his right and running into the roadway. It wasn’t a dog or a fox, or even a deer. It was upright on two legs, arms thrashing wildly in the air as it ran, light reflecting off wet clothes, spray flying from the tarmac as its feet hit the surface.

‘What the—!’

Cooper’s foot hit the brake pedal and the car began to slide, the tyres pushing up a surge of water that hit the stone wall like a tidal wave. Steer into a skid. He swung the steering wheel, aware of his headlights swaying crazily from side to side, illuminating the trees, and then the road, and then a figure standing on the white line, a white face turned towards him in astonishment, not knowing which way to run. As he fought to get the car under control, he lost sight of the figure again. When he finally slithered to a halt, cursing loudly at the windscreen, the runner had gone.

Cooper sat for a long time, gripping the wheel tightly, staring out at the rain pouring down on his car out of the darkness. The engine had stalled, but the wipers were still thrashing backwards and forwards, their insistent rhythm the only sound in the night. His heart was thumping as fast as the wipers, and his eyes strained to see anything that might be lying in the road. He twisted in his seat to look behind the car, but there was nothing.

After a while, his heart began to slow, the adrenalin surge subsided, and he realised the Toyota was sitting diagonally across the narrow road, blocking both carriageways. Lucky that there was no traffic tonight. Only a solitary person, who’d been running somewhere in the rain.

Cooper started the engine. His headlights flickered and brightened. The angle of the stationary car meant the lights on full beam were pointing at the woods on the far side of the road. They fell directly on a white painted sign, which leaped out of the night like a barn owl opening its wings for flight, the brightness startling and uncanny in the surrounding darkness. What did that sign say? He couldn’t make out the words from here.

He put the car in gear and pulled it into the side of the road under the trees, where it was out of the way of traffic. Then he dug his Maglite out of the glove compartment, opened the door and walked across to the sign. Oblivious to the rain soaking his hair and clothes, Cooper pointed his torch at the board and read the words written carefully in black paint.

A.J. MORTON & SONS, NEXT TURNING ON THE RIGHT.

Where had he seen that before? A.J. Morton & Sons. It was strange how memories suddenly swam out of the darkness, appearing as half-seen shapes from a cloud of mist or smoke. It felt as though his mind was trying to suppress the memory of more recent events by tossing up random fragments of recollection to distract him, like the metallic chaff discharged by military aircraft to confuse a guided missile.

Cooper shook his head in bewilderment, scattering raindrops into the night. A.J. Morton & Sons. It came from way back.

He flinched in pain as something dripped on to his face. It was hot and scalding, like melted wax. He brushed the blob from his cheek and saw a smear of green, molten plastic on his fingers. Shielding his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling. The light fittings were melting. They had once been shaped like candles, but now they were drooping, slowly dissolving into liquid that spattered his scene suit and landed in his hair.

He pulled his jacket over his head, conscious as he did it how futile a gesture it was. His protection wouldn’t last long once the flames touched him. He had to keep moving.

Cooper turned back towards the bar. Glowing embers faced him. Before he could move, a shelf bearing a line of optics tore away from the ceiling with a shriek and crashed to the floor. Glass flew in all directions, shattering into fragments, glittering in the flames like a shower of meteorites.

He pulled open the blackened door, keeping his body behind it in case of a back blast caused by a rush of air. The door handle was almost too hot to touch. Cooper looked at his hands, and saw that his fingers were red and blistering. The pain hadn’t hit him yet, but it would.

He glimpsed something red on the wall by the door. A fire extinguisher. He grabbed it from its bracket, thumped the handle and sprayed foam towards the heart of the blaze. It subsided a little, and he kept spraying until the extinguisher was empty. Immediately, the fire flickered and sprang back to life.

‘Liz! Where are you?’





17





Friday




The smell of disinfectant, the gleam of polished steel, an echo of footsteps off the cold tiles. Nothing spoke more clearly of death. The sensations of the mortuary had become so familiar to Diane Fry that she knew she’d experience them all over again one day, in her own dying moments. She was convinced she’d smell that odour on her deathbed, hear the echo of approaching footsteps as she breathed her last. The glint from a steel table, the flash of light on a scalpel – they were the last images she would see as her eyes closed in death.