Something of the Night Read online

  The face inside was shrouded by darkness.

  A mystery.

  ***

  Alice had now amassed a generous pile of kindling, which she’d piled at the centre of the room. She’d had also ripped some of the cardboard boxes up into thin strips and weaved them between the lengths of wood. All she needed now was a light.

  All that remained of the shelf was a flat base, too big to use on the fire. Two other flat panels lay beside her, which had originally been the top and middle layer of the shelf. She took the sheet of wood and then propped it up in front of the open window. The barrier acted in two ways: one, it stopped the wind from getting in; and, two, the flames would not be able to reach beyond these four walls. That only left one problem - the smoke.

  How was she going to dispel the smoke?

  She looked up at the cracked ceiling. It was a patchwork of chipped plaster, slats of decaying wood and a scattering of holes that looked like open sores in a layer of rotten skin. Although the holes were numerous, they were small in size, little more than pinpricks in a mouldy canvas. But if she could enlarge one or two, then that would be sufficient enough to draw the smoke up and away from the occupants below.

  Picking up the battery-operated beacon, she stepped out of the back room and searched along a narrow passageway. At the very end, she found a dark staircase. She began to climb them step-by-step. About half way up, her foot stepped down onto open air. She reached out and her hand found the support of a banister. She regained her balance and then began to carefully prod ahead with her foot. The step directly in front had all but gone, years of neglect had eaten it away, but the next one seemed okay, so with added caution she stepped onto it. A slight groan of protest sounded underneath her boots. Quickly, she skipped from step to step and arrived at the top unscathed.

  Her breath caught in her chest.

  A whole floor of toys appeared before her. Row upon row of cardboard boxes reached from floor to ceiling. Most of the boxes were bleached of colour, but their designs were still partially visible on some. Alice made her way towards the first rack of toys. She took the first box and tilted it until the faint picture on the front revealed itself. It showed a family: mum, dad, and two beaming children, sitting around a complicated-looking contraption. The thing in the centre was made up of scaffolding, pulleys, tables that tilted and a trap or net at the centre; and it looked to be anything but fun. It must have taken an age to build the thing. Alice shrugged. Perhaps that was the point. She brushed some of the dust away from the top and read the two words printed there.

  Mouse Trap!

  Strange, why would anyone want to trap a mouse? What good were they for eating? A rat? Maybe? Rat Trap! But she was sure of one thing, nobody would be smiling – they both tasted like shit. She put the box back and moved to the next.

  The next box stole her breath. It was smaller than the first and it had a picture of something that she could only describe as… beautiful. A horse with someone strapped to its back, both jumping over a wooden gate, filled the picture in a blaze of colour and action. Although the barrier looked real, its settings did not. Instead of an expected field, the gate was situated in an open arena. The person, a woman, looked silly. She wore a small, round hat pushed tightly over her head, a red jacket and a pair of ridiculous pants, which ballooned out over her thighs. She appeared to be clinging onto the animal with her knees. Alice turned her attention away from the woman and focused on the beast she rode. It was huge and powerful-looking, with a long, slim, majestic head, a dark mane of hair that ran from the back of its head to two muscular shoulders, four legs, two of which had a wrap of white cloth around their lower half, and a tail decorated with brightly coloured ribbons. Its two front legs were folded towards its long body and the moment of drama had been captured brilliantly. Alice bent her knees, sprung up and said, “Gee up, Boy,” willing the beast to clear the gate. She heard something slide about inside. She squatted and rested the box across her knees. Then, delicately, she lifted the lid.

  “Oh… no,” she moaned, as she peered inside.

  The picture inside had been broken into tiny irregular shaped pieces. She took a couple of the pieces out and examined each individually. The first was a small blob with a protrusion on two sides and a round indentation on the others. Part of the woman’s head could be seen on one side and just a plain background on the other. She dropped it into the box before examining the next. This one had two straight edges and only one indent and one protrusion. At first there didn’t appear to be any part of the picture on it. Alice managed to match it against the picture on the lid and discovered it to be part of the arena’s dusty floor.

  “Why would anyone destroy such a beautiful thing?” she whispered to herself.

  She dropped the pieces back into the box before replacing the lid. Then she tucked the box into her waistband. Once she’d sorted the fire out, she intended to see if she could stick the pieces back together again.

  She left the rows of toys behind and now worked her way through a corridor. She found the room above her makeshift fire. The floor looked fragile and dangerous. Using the main beams for support, Alice walked towards the centre of the room, carefully balanced with her arms held out wide. She reached the centre and crouched lower. From this position she could make out the room below through the colander of holes.

  With her behind fixed firmly to the beam, she used both feet to kick away the plaster and succeeded in creating a sufficiently large hole. Then she climbed back to her feet and stood balanced on the beam. She headed in the opposite direction and found herself at a shuttered window. It took her a couple of minutes to free the rusty catch, which then allowed her to push open the two shutters. As she did so, the wind caught them, ripping both away from the sill and flinging them into the darkness. For once, the wind had helped rather than hindered. At least now she need not worry about them slamming shut. And the natural draught she’d created would continually draw away the smoke from below. Even the horrid grey sludge that fell from the sky would help in hiding the faint plume of smoke.

  She spun gracefully, then crossed the beams, traversed the corridor and returned to the dark staircase. She mentally counted them off until she reached the missing step. Taking hold of the banister, she stepped over the void and reached the bottom intact. She returned to the unlit fire and sat cross-legged beside it.

  She pulled the box free and placed it delicately in front of her. The beacon returned to the floor next to the box. Part of the lid had ripped away and a piece of paper fluttered slightly. She smoothed it down and the second part of a word joined the first. Jigsaw. She looked at the word, then at the animal. Jigsaw, she thought, what a nice name. Removing the lid, she took a handful of pieces and laid them out on the floor. Her hand hovered over them for a second before she plucked one up. It was an ear. She placed the first piece of Jigsaw’s head down and then began to look for the next.

  After a couple of minutes of silence, her concentration was broken when boots crunched through the passageway. Her heart quivered with fear. There were two sets of footsteps. Squirrel appeared then and he looked worried. Close behind the mechanic came a second figure, dressed in a wet cloak that hid the wearer’s features. A powerful-looking rifle hung from one of its hands. Alice panicked. She reached inside her jacket, intent on drawing her pistol. The stranger reached up to pull the hood away.

  Her heart missed a beat.

  Elliot.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  One thousand, three hundred and sixty steps, that’s how many Ben had climbed with the Browning weighing him down. By now, his legs had become so weak he was in danger of collapsing and never getting up again - not ever. He looked up, counted sixteen more steps and almost cried with joy. With typical irony, the heavy weapon had not been called upon; and Ben was convinced the beast Jacob Cain had told him about lay dead or dying somewhere below them. Yet, he’d been forced to cart the Browning all the way from the ground floor up to the 86th.

 
“Nearly there,” Jacob said.

  Lieutenant Hutson smiled a weary look of relief. “I guess we’re close to the moment of truth.”

  “Yeah,” Jacob agreed. Although no one had actually spoken about it, all three were terrified that The Ray of Hope would be irreparably damaged.

  “This,” Ben commented, “had better have been worth it.”

  “It was your plan, remember?” Jacob said.

  “Aye – and I’m the one paying for it.”

  Jacob grinned mischievously. “Would you like me to carry it the rest of the way?” He held his hands out. Ben grumbled a long string of obscenities - No.

  “Can’t say I didn’t offer,” Jacob retorted.

  Another tirade of obscenities fell from Ben’s lips, and, even though Lieutenant Hutson didn’t fully understand them all, her cheeks still turned a slight shade of red.

  Jacob climbed the last few steps and stood before a door with Level 86 stencilled across it. This one appeared to be twice as strong as the other doors, and locked tight. A huge locking mechanism had been chiselled into the wood and the keyhole looked like a dark, misshapen eye. He pushed his shoulder against the door to test its strength. It was as solid as rock.

  “Is everything okay?” Hutson asked.

  “Damned door is solid,” he told her.

  Hutson reached out and took hold of the handle. She tried it to the left. Nothing. Then she twisted it to the right. The thing didn’t budge an inch.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “This,” a voice from behind said.

  Ben stepped forwards and brought the Browning’s muzzle up to the keyhole. He pulled on the trigger and his face grinned with devilish delight. In the next instant, the locking mechanism and part of the framework ceased to exist. Now, a tattered hole filled with darkness had taken the lock’s place. Using his boot, Ben kicked open the door and stepped out onto the platform.

  Together, they walked around the observation deck. Seven or eight pairs of binoculars hung limp and rusting from the railings; the only picture they would be capable of revealing now would be one of despair and dilapidation. The entire city had become a dark, forgotten landscape. The deck curved around and brought them to the opposite side.

  And there, in all its splendour, sat, The Ray of Hope.

  “Is that it?” Jacob asked, disappointed.

  Perched on a four-legged trestle was a lifeless, circular searchlight. The diameter, Jacob reckoned, must be a little over three feet, which was barely half what he’d expected. The object stirred images from a long-ago conflict, seen in black-and-white photographs or film. It had been used to search out enemy aircraft, and pre-dated the earliest radar detection systems. Jacob stepped closer and the glass cover caught him in a dark reflection. Concentric lines ran from the centre of the cover in ever-increasing circles, turning the glass into a powerful lens. His reflection was distorted into a wide, stretched blob.

  Again, he asked, “Is that it?”

  The disappointment of the object had silenced any reply from the Lieutenant.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Ben commented from behind.

  They turned and gave him a look of frustration.

  “What?” Ben asked, their displeasure a mystery.

  “What the hell is that?” Jacob complained. He looked back at the searchlight and huffed miserably. “What the hell is it?”

  “It’s a General Electric Carbon Arc Searchlight, more commonly known as a Sperry Searchlight,” Ben explained.

  “A Sperry what?” Jacob asked.

  “A Sperry Searchlight,” Ben repeated. “It’s named after the guy who invented the gyroscope it’s sat on.”

  “Gyroscope?”

  Ben shook his head and he looked genuinely disappointed at his audience’s dire lack of knowledge. “Don’t you know anything?”

  “Not from 1942, no,” Jacob replied.

  Hutson shrugged her shoulders. She had absolutely no recollection or understanding of the greatest battle man had ever seen. That was, the greatest battle until now.

  Ben stepped closer and his excitement managed to push his fatigue away for the moment. “She’s probably well over ninety years old,” he said with childlike wonder.

  Jacob released a deep, agonised moan. “You dragged us all the way up here for a relic. Great …”

  “Hold your horses,” Ben said. “This baby was made to last.”

  “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.”

  “Trust me,” Ben responded, and grinned.

  Ben stepped over to the Sperry and placed his hand affectionately on it. With the giant standing beside it, the searchlight looked even smaller and more pathetic than before, little more than an oversized metal drum. However, instead of stretched skin over the front, this instrument had a magnifying membrane of glass.

  “Shouldn’t it be… I don’t know – larger, or something?” Jacob asked.

  “You’re getting confused with the 1942AU Hercules Flathead, a big bitch to be sure. This baby, though, is the 1943MA – mobile anti-aircraft unit – a more portable and lightweight anti-aircraft unit.”

  “You’re just a fount of knowledge,” Jacob scorned.

  “Indeed,” Ben said, ignoring the sarcasm. “You have to remember, halfway through World War II radar was invented and the searchlights became almost redundant towards the end of 1943. But the 1943MA became a smaller version of the AU and was used predominantly to help protect installations that were under construction, and before the complicated mechanisms of radar had been implemented. The old AU ran off a General Electric DC generator, capable of producing 16.7 KW.”

  “Great… ”

  “The combined weight of the generator, light and transport trailer was in excess of 6000 pounds. Can you imagine pulling that load across Europe during the winter months?”

  “The mind boggles,” said Jacob wearily.

  Ben looked from one blank face to the next. “Don’t you guys ever read?”

  Jacob grumbled. He’d probably read more books than the guy had hairs on his head and face, but just recently he’d been a bit too preoccupied with the distraction of a million vampires.

  “Not recently, no,” he replied.

  “Look,” Ben said, “the AU was just too big to transport, so a smaller version was created.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hutson said, her face forming into a frown. “Even if they did make a smaller… whatever – then why is it all the way up here? And wouldn’t the light have been useless against the undead?”

  Ben clapped his hands excitedly. At least one of them had initiative, if not understanding. “That’s correct, but this baby was modified to operate two Xenon ultraviolet tubes. The original white light was deemed too harsh for its purpose, so they changed it to a softer blue or UV and named it ‘The Ray of Hope’.”

  “But why?” Hutson asked.

  Ben sighed. “Because it was a symbol of peace. Hope. For almost two decades western civilisation had been at war with the east, and after years of bloodshed and suffering Man began to finally understand his differences, differences between cultures, religions, ideologies and values. And to symbolise peace, the rulers of the west created The Ray of Hope. They said as long as the light shone, man would be protected from terror, prejudice and ignorance. Basically, from himself.”

  Jacob nodded. That time of peace now seemed like a million years ago. Indeed, it had been a very different world from the one they lived in now.

  “You mean, man killed man?” Hutson asked, sickened.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Ben responded morosely. “I always thought it would be the invasion of UFOs which would bind men together – brothers amongst brothers. I never thought we’d figure it all out by ourselves. There’s a certain sick sort of irony that after finally finding peace, this happens.”

  Jacob nodded again. God definitely had a twisted sense of humour.

  “But it’s just one light. How can that help us now?” Hutson asked.

  “J
ust one light?” Ben repeated. “Honey, have you any idea how bright this thing gets when it’s on full burn?”

  “No.”

  “It burns at 8 million candelas,” he said.

  “What’s a can-deela?” she quizzed.

  “It’s a unit of light. Each candela is equivalent to one burning candle. Can you imagine eight million?”

  Hutson’s mouth dropped open. It seemed like enough to light up the entire world.

  “But how do we power this thing?” Jacob asked.

  Ben’s enthusiasm took a nosedive. “That’s the only problem.” He shuffled around the searchlight and disappeared around the back. They heard a desperately sad sigh as Ben found that the generator was a hunk of rust and decay. “The generator’s goosed.”

  For once, Jacob’s optimism flourished. “If we can save the light, then there are generators at the underground we could use.”

  “But what about diesel?”

  “That too.”

  Ben’s face broke into a colourful smile. “Alright!” His elation, however, was short lived. “Wait a minute, how big are these generators?”

  Jacob shrugged. “Not sure, but plenty big enough to operate that.”

  “See, that’s the problem,” Ben said miserably.

  “What problem?”

  “It can’t be too big or it’ll never work.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’ll be too heavy to carry.”

  “As long as we get the light back, then we don’t need to carry it anywhere,” Jacob explained.

  “Yes we do.”

  “Where?”

  “How do you think we were planning on using The Ray of Hope? Stood at the end of a battlefield waiting for it to be shot to pieces?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Jacob admitted.