Maniac Menagerie, page 20
The door rattled as the maniacs threw themselves against the other side. Nealy put his back to it and shouted, “Come on, get something to block this bloody door! Hurry.”
Sim grabbed one of the benches and was relieved when he found it to be heavy yet mobile. He dragged it over to the door, his strength enhanced by his panicked nervous system. Once he reached Nealy, the two of them lifted the bench up onto its end and leaned it against the wall. They wedged it diagonally just underneath the door handle to keep it from turning.
Both of them stepped away nervously.
“It won’t hold,” said Sim. “Not for long.”
“We only need a minute,” said Nealy, and he rushed to the rear of the locker room where there was a separate, caged-off area. “Gibbons might have sabotaged the Keep,” he said bitterly, “but I wanted to make sure there was a place or two that only I could access.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small set of keys. He unlocked the mesh cage and unlocked the door.
Sim stepped up beside Nealy while the man opened a double-width locker. Inside was exactly what they needed. Guns.
“You ever fired one of these before, son?”
Sim shook his head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Nealy grabbed a modern-looking black rifle along with a stubby magazine and raised them both in front of Sim. “JTS M12 something or other. Besides a little clay pigeon shooting from time to time, I’m not really a gun guy. Anyway, it’s an automatic shotgun with a nasty kick, so you need to hold it firmly against the inside of your shoulder. Don’t press it against your collarbone. Magazine loads by pressing it into the receiver here and giving it a bit of a waggle. To take it out, just press the paddle switch here.” Nealy shoved the magazine in with a bit of back and forth wiggling and then slid it out again by pressing on a little thumb release. It seemed easy enough.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it.”
“Good lad.” Nealy slammed the magazine back into the receiver and handed the weapon to Sim. “First time you shoot a shotgun, it’ll scare the bejesus out of you. Just be ready for the kick and the noise and you’ll be fine.”
Sim nodded, holding the shotgun against his shoulder for practice and feeling both unnerved and empowered. This slick black chunk of metal and plastic was going to determine whether he lived or died.
And whether or not he made it back to Chrissy.
Nealy grabbed a matching shotgun for himself and loaded it. Then he grabbed a spare pair of magazines and handed one to Sim. “This gives us ten shots in total. A hit anywhere will do the job, but try not to let anyone get up close. Once they’re inside the range of your barrel, the weapon becomes a hindrance, not a help.”
Sim nodded, understanding that guns were better when there was space to fire them. “Okay. So, we just… shoot our way out of here?”
“Think it’s time the hunted became the hunters, don’t you?”
“Why did you build this place, Nealy? And why did you bring me here?”
“Not really the time for it, eh? But I suppose I owe you some answers. You did a video on Geoffrey Evans once. Do you remember?”
Sim frowned. He immediately knew the episode to which Nealy was referring. “Yes. Evans and John Shaw raped and murdered two young women in Ireland.”
Nealy nodded. “County Wicklow. Elizabeth Plunkett and Mary Duffy.”
“Okay, but how does that relate to you?”
Nealy put a hand on Sim’s shoulder. “There were other women, son. Other victims of Evan’s vile impulses. Let’s just say I happened to have a connection with one of those women. The reason I chose you to come here is because of the compassion you showed when reporting on those crimes. It spoke to me on a personal level, and I wanted to meet you.”
“Then I really have to ask, why Jason?”
Nealy tittered. “Because he has a talent for trivialising the extreme. I needed to normalise the existence of the Keep if people were ever going to accept it. To tell you the truth, my investors were getting cold feet. I needed to build a buzz on a shoestring budget.”
“So you chose YouTubers?”
“Influencers. The cheapest exposure you can buy. Most of you will whore yourself out for pennies on the dollar. Anyway, we need to get out of here. I promise I’ll make this up to you later, Mr Barka. I pay my debts.”
“So long as you’re alive,” Sim added.
“There is that.”
A crash sounded at the front of the locker room.
Sim realised he was shaking, so he steadied himself. He pressed the shotgun against his shoulder and prepared for the fight of his life. “Time to take back the Keep, I guess.”
“Screw the Keep,” said Nealy. “It can burn.”
The bench fell away from the door, no longer jamming the handle. With the automatic locks disengaged, the maniacs outside were easily able to open the door and rush inside.
Nealy shot first, and the noise was startling. A red shell leapt into the air and a trail of smoke puffed out of the barrel.
Miguel Reyes, the old, demented serial killer, went down screaming, his entire left arm detached, bar a few strands of gristle. The smell of his blood filled the air as more maniacs flooded in behind him, snarling like wild dogs.
Here goes. Sim pulled the trigger and unleashed a bellowing fury from his shotgun. It kicked backwards against his shoulder, a solid punch, but he kept it under control. He saw nothing exit the barrel except smoke, but a raving lunatic went down like God had punched him.
Sim fired again and opened up a bloody hole in the chest of the Cali Cutter.
I just killed two notorious serial killers. What the hell is happening?
Nealy moved shoulder to shoulder with Sim as they advanced, leaving the cage behind them and crossing the locker room. Half a dozen maniacs had made it inside, but the doorway caused them to bunch up into a group. Together, Sim and Nealy dispatched them easily. In fact, it was shocking how easily taking a life became when your own depended upon it.
For the first time since coming to the Isle of Durne, Sim felt hopeful. He felt in control.
He felt powerful.
They moved out of the locker room and back into the hallway. There were not as many inmates as Sim expected, and one in particular was missing.
Where is the Boxcutter?
Sim’s fears turned towards Chrissy. Although he’d had no choice, he had left her, and he had no idea if she was okay. Ironically, he had to rely on Jason, of all people, to protect her, a man he had hated less than a day ago.
I don’t hate him. I’m jealous of him.
He faces evil with a smile on his face. He doesn’t let it win.
“I won’t let it win either,” Sim said out loud, and then emptied his last shell into Francine Mescal. The French poisoner went down screaming, clutching her shattered shoulder as it bled all over the ground. There were a couple more inmates in the hallway, but Sim needed to reload. He pressed the magazine release and let the metal ammo container fall to the floor. Then he slammed in the spare. But it wouldn’t click into place. “Come on, damn it!”
An inmate leapt at Sim, but Nealy moved in the way and smashed the shotgun’s breech against the man’s snarling mouth. His teeth went airborne, tinkling to the ground. Nealy tossed the shotgun down, empty.
Sim wiggled the magazine and clicked it home.
He raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
The broken-toothed maniac went airborne like his teeth.
Slipping quickly out of his bloodlust, the final inmate turned and ran. Sim aimed and prepared to pull the trigger. But he didn’t. He couldn’t shoot a man in the back. Not even a horrific killer.
Nealy snatched the weapon from Sim, raised it against his shoulder, and fired.
The inmate flopped to the ground. A hole in his back.
Sim looked at Nealy and took a step back.
Nealy shrugged. “Time to take charge, son. You can leave it to me.”
Sim nodded and leapt around the bodies in his way. The hallway was clear, and so was his route to Chrissy.
But where the hell is the Boxcutter?
Sim, with Nealy beside him, beat at the control room door and begged to be let inside. When there was no answer, Sim assumed the worst. He started kicking at the door, sending plaster flakes raining from the ceiling above.
A scream sounded. Chrissy.
Sim bellowed and threw himself against the door. It rattled but stayed in place. “Open the fucking door. Jason!”
“Stand aside,” said Nealy. He aimed the shotgun and fired off a shot that left the metal area around the lock scorched and pitted. Sim kicked it again and the door rattled a little more in its frame.
Nealy fired again. Then again.
Then the shotgun was empty, so he started beating at the handle with the weapon’s stock. The handle started to bend and break free.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. William Kendall White appeared on the landing, another six inmates at his side, and a plume of black smoke rising behind them. In the massive freak’s hands was a fire extinguisher. Had he gone to find something to help break down the door?
“Nealy, hurry.” Sim kicked at the door. “Come on!”
Chrissy screamed again.
But who’s in there with her? The door is still locked, and William Kendall White is out here.
Nealy smashed at the handle again. It finally fell to the ground. “We’re in!”
Sim barged open the door and forced his way into the control room. He was astonished by what he saw.
Gerry was in the corner, lying next to three dead guards. Jason was unconscious on his back.
And Chrissy was screaming as Lee Chen tried to tear off her clothes.
Sim launched himself at Lee. He knocked the killer sideways and then immediately checked on Chrissy. She was gibbering in fear but didn’t seem hurt.
Nealy slammed the door and put his back against it. The Boxcutter was right outside. “We need to get the hell out of here,” he warned.
Sim looked over at him. “And go where?”
Lee Chen launched himself at Sim and knocked him onto his back. He was different from before – a sly fox with a toothy sneer. A predator. Even the wounds on his face seemed to have receded, as if he’d been playing at being an injured lamb.
Chrissy screamed as Sim fought to keep Lee from beating him. The man was bony and awkward.
Jason stirred nearby, spouting confused gibberish.
Nealy groaned as the door rattled behind him.
Sim grabbed Lee’s wrists and tried to keep the killer’s fists away from his face. He was strong for his size, but not as big as Sim, which meant the fight was nearing a stalemate. The problem was that every second they fought was a second nearer to the Boxcutter getting inside.
Gerry let out a moan and started dragging herself over to the dead guards. Sim didn’t know what she was doing, and he was further confused when she started to crawl under the desk with them.
Lee Chen struggled to pull his wrists free of Sim’s grip. He gnashed his teeth and tried to bite.
The door sounded like it was going to give way at any moment as bodies threw themselves against the other side.
Sim gritted his teeth and fought to keep hold of Chen.
I have to do something. I can’t talk my way out of this.
I have to fight.
Trapped on his back with Lee on top of him, Sim lifted his head off the ground. He opened his mouth and clamped down on Lee’s shoulder, feeling muscle and fat splitting between his teeth.
Lee Chen bellowed and pushed himself away, losing a thick clump of flesh as it tore free.
Sim spat the morsel out and tried to keep from gagging. He looked over and saw Nealy about to lose his battle with the door. They locked eyes, a shared moment of panic.
“Hold on!” Sim clambered to his feet and threw himself against the door just as it was about to open. Nealy nodded at him but was too disturbed to speak.
Jason crawled to his feet nearby, now awake enough to recognise the danger they were in. He, too, clambered forward and settled against the door, adding his own weight to the effort.
But that left no one to deal with Lee Chen.
The Shanghai Spike produced a length of sharp metal that he must have been concealing inside his prison jumpsuit the whole time. Grinning, he sneered at Sim, and then turned around and leered at Chrissy. She was still lying on the floor, dazed by her own energy-sapping fear.
“No,” Sim shouted. “Don’t you touch her.”
But Lee didn’t listen. He stalked after Chrissy. She put up her hands and screamed.
A gunshot rang out.
Lee Chen cartwheeled and crashed against a bank of CCTV monitors, then crumpled to the ground, clutching his thigh. Blood flowed between his fingers.
At the back of the room, Gerry held a smoking handgun. She must have taken it from one of the guard’s bodies.
Thank God for the French, thought Sim.
One danger dealt with, Sim now refocused on what was happening at his back. He turned towards Nealy. “What do we do now?”
“We need to go through that door,” said Nealy, pointing to the room’s other exit.
Jason shook his head. He was down on his butt, pushing at the bottom of the door with his feet. “Soon as we move away from this door, they’re coming in.”
“How many?” asked Chrissy. “How many maniacs are left out there? I heard shooting.”
“That was us,” said Sim. “We thinned the herd, but there’s still half a dozen of them out there, not to mention…”
No one needed to mention William Kendall White.
The door continued to rattle behind them, opening half an inch after every blow. There was a metallic clanging that must have been the Boxcutter smashing the fire extinguisher against the door.
“I’m so sorry,” said Nealy, shaking his head in shame. “I’ll never be forgiven for my sins. Not after this.”
There was a moment of silence. No one could offer solace against a statement that was so obviously true.
“I killed my mum,” said Sim.
Everyone stared at him. Chrissy gasped.
Sim nodded to let them know they had heard him right. “What I said about the Boxcutter is true. He attacked me and my mum next to the canal, but when we jumped into the water, he ran away. I had never learned to swim, and I went underneath the water. For sure, I thought I was going to die.” He took a moment, placed a hand over his heart. “I can still feel that pressure in my chest now. But, right when I was about to lose consciousness, I came up on the other side and managed to pull myself out. It was like a miracle, a second chance, I couldn’t believe it. Then I turned around and saw my mum still struggling to keep herself above the water. She was right in the middle of the canal, drowning. I could have jumped in and saved her, but…”
Chrissy shook her head, confused. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because she was a selfish drunk. I spent my entire childhood cleaning up after her, being embarrassed by her. When I was really young I used to go entire weekends without food while she drank herself stupid or disappeared on a bender. Sometimes, she used to hit me.” He shrugged. “And in that moment by the canal, watching her struggle to keep her head above the water, it was just so easy to do nothing. All the anger – all the hatred that I didn’t even know I had inside – bubbled up inside of me and I let her die. She understood what I was doing towards the end. I saw her eyes change the moment she realised she was going to die. She knew.”
Jason shook his head. “Fuck, man, that’s…”
“Evil?”
“Nah. It’s… sad. Just sad. I’m sorry that happened to you, Sim, and I’m sorry that you had to do that.”
Sim nodded to himself for a moment and then looked up again. He wanted to see Chrissy’s face, to see the horror she must have felt. “The thing that stays with me the most,” he carried on, “is that when my mum was gone, swallowed up by the dirty brown water, I looked across to the other side of the canal and saw William Kendall White. He was watching me – and smiling. It was like we shared something. He thought we were the same. I suppose we are.”
Gerry used a desk to pull herself up. She still held the gun, and she used it to point to something on the ground. “We need to stop talking and get out of here. Chrissy, grab that piece of metal and jam it underneath the door. It might buy us a few seconds, no?”
Chrissy glanced down at the length of sharp metal that Lee Chen had been intending to stab her with. It looked like part of a cheap chair leg. Chen was still alive in the corner of the room, clutching his leg with gritted teeth.
Chrissy picked up the length of metal and shoved it underneath the door, shoving it back and forth and needling it further and further until it stuck tight. To everyone’s relief, it stayed there, wedged beneath the door, even as inmates threw themselves against the other side.
“Okay,” said Nealy. “Get that door open. We’ll make a run for it together.”
Chrissy opened the door on the other side of the room, flinching as if expecting to be attacked.
“Okay,” said Nealy. “After three.”
He counted, and they ran.
The door burst open behind them but caught against the wedged metal bar. The inmates shoved at the door, scraping the metal shard along the ground and sending up sparks.
It bought them only a handful of seconds. Not enough.
“Shit,” said Sim, and he rushed back to slam the door closed again. An inmate got an arm and half of his chest through the gap. Gerry fired the handgun and struck the wall a few inches away from him. It was enough to send the inmate back out into the safety of the hallway.
Jason rushed to help Sim keep the door closed.
But Nealy stood in the middle of the room, looking back and forth.
“Mr Nealy,” came a rasping voice beyond the door. It was William, a beast that could somehow whisper and shout at the same time. “You killed so many of my fellows. That makes me very angry. You need to be punished.”
Nealy stood, stiff like one of his waxworks.
“That’s okay,” whispered William. “We all need to be punished sometimes. You get used to it. Hey, do you want to make another one of your deals?”
