THE KILLER OF THE DARKNESS

EPISODE THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-SEVEN

Even monsters dream. The curtains at the window, heavy with dust and age, stinking with decay. Not drawn, the moonlight spilled on to the moth-eaten carpet and the stained wood on the floor. He could open the window, he discovered. Open it and reach out into the biting cold of the night beyond, pushing his arms between the bars until his shoulders ached for freedom.

Like pushing his arms into the sleeves of his protective suit. Reaching into the dread-night of the sealed environment. Watching the light flooding into the box as he twisted the latch.

A cloud scudded across the blotchy face of the full moon. A taste of mist in the air. The salt-sea aroma permeated the room. Out of the corner of his bloodshot eyes he caught sudden sight of a tiny dot of light, a star, perhaps. Gleaming alone in the misting sky.

In his bloodshot mind's eye, he imagined the tiny speck of light passing through the stellar clouds, bouncing off the atmosphere of distant planets, grasping at smaller specks of material, ushering the mists of space.

His hands clenched at the thought, grabbing at handfuls of the gathering cloud, and seeing it slip through his tortured fingers. He sensed the gaps in his left hand. He guessed the nerves and muscles no longer there.

Not an image he welcomed, and he pushed harder against the bars to break back to reality to lose the dream and let it slip on to the island.

The dark shadowy silhouette in the top hat and cape nodded his satisfaction, smiling as if he knew what would happen. What would be unleashed.

The 'thing' pressed harder still, so near now he could feel the rough edges of the rusted surfaces through his costume.

Until the 'thing' felt them give.

*

I snatched in my breath, staggering back. Two Alpenkorps on either side grabbed me, preventing me from backwards.

       I ceased struggling, rooted to the spot, chest heaving, with no doubt at all. The monstrous, frightening appearance with the flare-stick in its hand, I grew accustomed to seeing in my mind; a tall Ku Klux Klan-like apparition, made more so by the burning torch.

       Instead of the long gown, a one-piece boiler outfit made from aluminium-looking fibre which ended in similar attached boots. The tall-pointed cowl rising in one piece from the shoulders, inset by an evil-looking face formed in black immobile rubber, the glass eye pieces slanting up in a sinister grimace above high primitive cheekbone.

       Twin metal bars projected forward giving the appearance of cruel baboon-like jaws, from the front of which a black breathing pipe led away to a backpack. The hand holding the torch, gloved, continuous with the rest of the suit.

       My pulse began to slow. The first fundamental shock, emotional. My rational mind took over.

       A man must be inside. I tore my eyes away and glanced around. The Alpenkorps stared at him. My eyes found Mũller's.

       "What is it?"

       Mũller looked the Obersturmbannführer up and down.

"This is designed for use in the Reichenberg."

       The frightening image moved forward, the light flashing in the glass eyepieces. I shuddered and took hold of myself as it passed. The circle of flaming torches backed away as the awesome form moved to the Reichenberg and dropped down like some deep-sea diver, hands running along the edge of the canopy.

       I could not be sure in the pulsating light, but it made things swell and diminish, I thought I glimpsed the fins of the Reichenberg extend and contract, as if excited, making me want to vomit.

       A click ensued, and the opaque material of the hood pulled back, reminding me of an eye-opening.

       The Obersturmbannführer turned, the inhuman brutal face catching the torchlight on its high polished cheeks, black shadows forming beneath, making it look like a skull grinning back from under its hood.

       There came a crackling sound from Mũller's radio. This time I heard the voice of Obersturmbannführer August Dänzer.

       "I made sure the firing limb is off."

       Mũller released his breath with a rush.

       "Well, that's something."

       The figure stooped and started to enter the Reichenberg. I realized what Mũller had said about the strange unit, it is designed to fit inside the thing. This remained puzzling. How did they come to obtain one?

       The seconds ticked by all eyes on the Reichenberg lying on the sound, the only sound the hissing and spluttering of the flares.

       Mũller's receiver burst into life again, the voice high with emotion through the mechanical distortion and bursts of static. But it sounded like a stream of incomprehensible gibberish.

       I faced Mũller to challenge him, the pieces of the jigsaw whirling around in my mind sticking everything together in one awful rush.

       Mũller started barking commands into his transmitter; instructions which I could not understand. Mũller brought up a whistle and gave two short piercing blasts. The Alpenkorps broke ranks and working without directions commenced a flurry of trained activity.

       Two Alpenkorps skied away in the opposite direction, their torches like fireflies turning and twisting against the velvet darkness.

       A third soldier raced to the Reichenberg and began to help the monstrous fantasy while the others began setting up a field transmit-receiver and pegging out more flares in a cross-shape. I glanced around to make out the best route to make a break for it. Mũller broke off from his latest radio assignation.

       "Don't do it. You and your people are in grave danger. There is something you must do for them. Trust me."

       Something about the man, his bearing, made me abandon the idea of attempting an escape. In any case, unarmed, against machine-guns in the hands of expert troops, it would be pointless if they wanted me as a prisoner.

       They took the Reichenberg headgear from the Obersturmbannführer His cold face welcome after the horror mask. The latter, like some malignant disembodied head, stared back evilly at me from under the Obersturmbannführer s arm as he approached Mũller who moved forward to meet him.

       They spoke to each other. When they concluded, at Mũller's wave, two Alpenkorps moved forward and set down a field case. From it they took a small glass injection bottle and a syringe. One of the soldiers tugged at my sleeve and jerked my head.

       I tore my arm free as Mũller faced me, his voice hard and urgent.

       "Do as he want. Take it off."

       I stared at the needle.

       "I want to know what you are doing."

       As the Alpenkorp held up the syringe before me, clearing the air bubbles from the liquid by pushing some out through the needle, Mũller nodded at it.

       "It's anti-toxin. The tanks in the nose cone are empty. Do not waste time. Let him give you the injection."

       I glanced at the needle again and then back at Mũller. I took a deep breath, made up my mind, and started to undo his jacket.

       They cleaned my upper arm with cold spirit. The pinprick was almost undetectable, but the pressure of the liquid as it flowed into the muscle made me grit my teeth.

*

He had settled into a sort of staggering run, forever falling forwards over the snow-covered ground, but never quite pitching on to his face. There was enough light from the moon seeping through the gathering pea -soup for him to make out the landscape.

He stumbled over an outcrop of rock, lost his balance. This time he did fall. He lay for a moment, glaring back up at the grey-blackness. The whole sky alive, moving as the smog rolled in from the ocean. If he listened, he could hear the crash of the waves against the base of the cliff. Not far now. Not far at all. And then...?

He pulled himself back to his feet, almost retching for breath. The breathing apparatus restricting him, like a strait jacket. The skeletal outline of a tree thrust through the murky air beside him, and he grabbed at the nearest bone-branch for support. The dexterity of the glove, able to curl around the damp, brittle wood.

Somewhere at the back of his memory he could hear the crack of the pain as he abandoned the Reichenberg, disconnecting from the control-panel. Leaving part of himself in that cramped cockpit. His brain muzzy knowing the pain would come back again soon.

The sound of the dogs jerked him back to the present. He searched for solace and their howling woke the farmer. And now they gave chase.

The ballyhoo of the barking, sounded filtered and drawn out by the haze, a mournful baying tinged with a tired sadness which made him yearn to join in. But he knew he must keep silent. They would pick up his smell soon enough. The dogs would be racing across to him. Hunting him. Soon they would find him, find him, and kill him.

He stumbled onwards again, hoping not much further. Straining his eyes, as he moved nearer the edge of the cliff through the night-fog.

The ground stopped, as if cut through by a high serrated knife. It gave way into a chasm of blackness. He teetered on the edge, staring down. The sound of the waves crashed through the night. All he could detect, was the mistiness swirling round the base of the bottomless depths, as if stirred up by the wind. Escaping down an enormous plug hole, drawing him into its very heart.

The dogs sounded close now. They had the scent. His aroma.

Only now he knew why he came here. Now, as he stood captivated by the empty space where the water should be. Now, as the dogs ran. Just one way they would lose his fragrance, he knew. Only one way out.

He turned to look back. At the same moment, the first of the dogs appeared through the haze in mid-air, emerging from the gloom as it leaped towards him. He raised his arm to ward off the snapping teeth, took a step backwards.

For a moment he poised, half on the edge, half over it. Until the animal connected with his arm, knocking him backwards, falling with him, tumbling head over kicking heels into the abyss.

Before the sound of the breakers and the fog swallowed him whole.