Paupers Graveyard (24 page)

‘Call it inside information.' He had no intention of telling her about the ghosts. ‘The houses are new, but seemingly built on an old famine graveyard. You're just going to have to trust me on this one.'

She paced the room, lost in thought and fiddling with the heavy gold chain around her neck.

‘Typhus was rampant during those times, but could it have lain dormant for so long?' Turning to Joe she asked, ‘Will you take me there? I'll need to get a team working on the area as soon as possible. If we find the exact source we might be able to stop the spread.'

‘I'd like to spend some more time with Jenny first.'

‘Okay. It'll take me a few hours to get the equipment and manpower I need. I'll come back and let you know when I'm ready.'

Black Jack went to see what all the noise was about. Huge white tents had been set up just outside the graveyard. Thick black coils of electric cable snaked across the grass to shuddering, humming generators that powered giant searchlights and made the place bright as a summer's day. White-coated doctors, scientists and technicians moved busily around the place. It made no sense at all to Black Jack, but Elizabeth and Timmy knew exactly what was happening. Joe was still at the hospital with Jenny, whose condition was rapidly improving. As he had decided to stay with the child, Lucy and her team arrived armed only with his address and limited information about the place.

They spent the first day setting up the equipment. Her tent held all the microscopes, sterilizing units, incubators and general articles like gloves, masks and sterile suits. She intended to get started first thing next morning and a group of security guards were left to protect the expensive equipment.

It was dark when Lucy left the estate and she wondered at its empty stillness. One would expect to see a group of teenagers huddled somewhere, or perhaps neighbours gossiping over garden walls. It felt eerie, out of time.

****

The security guards were hard men. Most had criminal records for public brawling and were usually found working as bouncers at pub doors at weekends. Very few would challenge these four to a fight.

The main tent was filled with many articles Black Jack had never seen before. He picked up the delicate electron microscopes, turned them over in his hand, examined them, and then threw them over his shoulder. They made little sound as they shattered on the grassy surface. It was not until he started to destroy the incubators that he attracted the guards' attention. They arrived together at the tent and struggled to beat each other inside. There was something about the sound of breaking glass that excited them. They gaped in wonder at the scene of carnage. All the equipment lay broken on the grass. Glass crunched under their feet as they moved forward, open-mouthed and aghast that anyone would have the audacity to do such a thing.

‘What the fuck happened?' one asked.

All sides of the site had been covered. No one could have got in without them knowing. An argument ensued and developed into a tussle, as each man blamed the other. It was only the dark shadow moving across the white of the tent that brought proceedings to a halt.

‘There's someone out there.'

‘Tell us something we don't know, dickhead,' another growled.

They moved in a pack towards the entrance, the shadow moved with them.

‘I'll tell you something. He's a brave cunt.'

They were all thinking the same thing. Either that or he was very stupid.

Black Jack had been watching and listening to these men since their arrival. At first, their coarse language and boasts had fascinated him. They were fearless, their faces scarred and showing the signs of battle, but they were human carrion, mentally weak, pathetic. Because of this he could not approach them for information. They were uneducated and would be of no help to him. He could smell them in the same way he could smell the whore. They were vermin. But, unlike the rats, they might prove to be greater adversaries. There was fun to be had. They pounced out of the tent to be met by … nothing. He stood watching, as they ran around in circles trying to find the intruder.

‘Split up,' their leader called. ‘The cunt must be here somewhere.'

He followed one to the hedge bordering the houses and watched as he shone his torch into the back gardens. Black Jack picked up a heavy mallet that had been used to hammer the tent pegs, and then carelessly discarded.

The crying in the trees started up. The wind tore against his body as invisible hands tried to pull him back, to stop what was about to happen. He swung the mallet with all his might at the back of the man's head. The force crushed his skull; splinters of bone were embedded in his brain. Blood splattered everywhere, dripped from the leaves and bushes and coated the head of the mallet.

It had been so easy, too easy; he needed the thrill of the chase. He walked nonchalantly across the site, the mallet swung over his shoulder. The men were too far apart to notice him, and he wanted to be done with them before the first body was discovered. He loved the element of surprise, crouching behind a clump of bushes, he waited for his next victim. When the guard was close enough to hear, he shook the bushes. Torchlight beamed towards the sudden rustling and the man moved cautiously forward. Black Jack stood up and revealed himself. Before he could act, before he could shout a warning to his colleagues, Black Jack caught the man on the side of the head. It took four more blows before his moans of agony ceased and his head was reduced to a bloody mass.

The remaining men were making their way back towards the main tent.

‘What in the fuck is that noise?'

‘Must be the wind blowing through some pipes or something.'

There was something unearthly about the sound, though neither would admit it, not wanting to be thought a coward. Black Jack was waiting for them at the main tent. He swung the mallet between his fingers as though it were a twig. Blood dripped from it and the head was covered in gore. The men stopped short. Like well-trained dogs their instincts were to attack, but this was like nothing they'd ever seen before.

‘Look at his fuckin' eyes.'

‘Contact lenses,' his companion sneered. ‘Has to be, let's get him.'

‘You're prepared to try your luck with me, are you?' Black Jack laughed. He liked their daring, their foolishness. ‘Shall we commence, gentlemen?'

They nodded, signalling that they would attack at the same time. Pouncing straight at him, they collided into one another. Each shook his battered head, trying to clear it. Black Jack lashed out. The first few blows fractured shoulder bones and arms. They struggled to rise, only to be knocked back down again, screaming in agony as the mallet met with kneecaps and ankles, shattering them. Helpless, cowering, they tried to cover their heads with their useless hands.

‘You disappoint me, gentlemen,' Black Jack swung the mallet, finishing off what he had started. The screaming of the men mingled with the cries all around them.

Timmy and Elizabeth watched as Jack toyed with the men. They, like him, realised what these men were, but they didn't deserve to be tormented in this way. It was only when the last man had been killed, that they returned to the earth. No one had a chance against Black Jack's increasing strength. Not even Elizabeth or Timmy.

****

Lucy and her team had to park outside the estate. Ambulances, police cars and the vans of news crews blocked the road, and they were refused admittance past the taped-off crime scene. Lucy tried to find out what was happening from one of the reporters milling around, but her inquiries were brushed aside as each vied with the other for news on the breaking story. She called to one of the policemen, introduced herself and asked to speak to whoever was in charge. She waited as he relayed the news along the line. Fifteen minutes went by, and she was becoming irritated at being kept waiting. She was anxious about her equipment. Had it been stolen? It was so frustrating not knowing what was going on.

‘Okay, doctor, you can come through.' The policeman lifted the tape to allow her to duck under it and pointed towards a group on men. One of them turned on her approach.

‘You, Doctor Edwards?'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘Good,' he led her towards the tent. ‘This was your site, your dig or whatever you want to call it?'

‘Yes, we're checking the soil and water supply for bacteria.'

‘Not today you're not.'

His attitude was beginning to annoy her.

‘Can you tell me what happened?'

‘Someone attacked the security guards,' he said. ‘Made a right mess of them, their own mothers wouldn't recognise them.'

‘And the equipment?' she cringed, knowing how heartless the question seemed.

‘That got the same treatment as the men.' He didn't seem to be the least put out. ‘It's all in bits.'

Her colleagues would have a field day when they heard about this. Four brawny security guards had been murdered, and thousands of euro worth of equipment had been destroyed. She'd have to grovel for more. Despite the gravity of the disease, they would be unwilling to finance her again, and may call in what they would term, ‘a more experienced, local specialist.' The attitude here was completely different from back home. It had been hard enough to prove herself there, but here it was like stepping back into another century.

‘When will I be able to get back to work?'

‘When our investigation is completed.'

‘And do you know when that might be?'

‘Maybe later today.'

‘Thank you. You have been very helpful.'

‘No problem.' If he recognised the sarcasm in her tone, he showed no sign of it.

The team groaned as one when she told them what had happened. There was nothing they could do, but return to the hospital.

****

By nightfall the site had been searched and the detectives finished with their examinations. They would return in search of clues, but find nothing. Elizabeth, Timmy and the children grew used to hearing screams coming from the few houses that remained occupied. The police were constantly being called to the estate. Women were being attacked in their beds. The beatings and abuse they suffered was plain to see, but the stories of the thing that caused the injuries were crazy. The police were baffled and everyone, from the mayor to the police superintendent, was up in arms.

****

Hospital admissions with typhus were still increasing, and after demands from the medical council, Lucy and her team were allowed back on the site. By now ninety per cent of the houses had been abandoned, their owners either too sick or too scared to stay. Lucy was allowed to continue on the understanding the equipment was packed away each night. They collected samples of soil and water from different areas of the estate. Elizabeth watched in frustration as they worked. The disease was in the graveyard, and possibly in the soil on which the last three houses had been built. So far, no one had dug there. Lucy had to establish a viable link. Frustrated, she wandered the site, trying to figure out what was wrong. Elizabeth and Timmy watched as she came closer to the trees and bushes bordering the graveyard. There was something familiar about the woman, something that stirred Elizabeth's heart. Lucy stopped, sighing in despair, and tugged at the chain around her neck. Elizabeth cried out, as she recognised the locket that hung from the chain. It was the one she had given to her Lucy on the day she lost her and her other daughters, the day they had sailed out of her life.

She started to go to her, wanting to know who she was, how she had the locket. Timmy had to pull her back, whispering to her, urging her to be careful. But he too had been disturbed by the woman's appearance. She looked like … somebody.

Lucy, hearing the cry, parted the bushes, but could see no one. Just an animal, she decided. Elizabeth wanted to call out to her. The longing and heartbreak she felt when that ship had sailed was now returning.

‘Dear God, Timmy, what's happening to me?'

The other children felt her pain and sprang from the earth, running to her, trying to give what little comfort they could with hugs and kisses. Timmy watched the retreating figure and was unaware that little Katie was doing the same.

‘Who's she?' she asked.

When Timmy didn't answer, she decided to find out for herself and flew through the bushes. She had to know why this person made her beloved Elizabeth so sad. Lucy was unaware of the child walking backwards in front of her, studying her face. When she had seen enough, Katie turned and ran back to the graveyard. Elizabeth sat weeping on the grass. Timmy and the others gathered around her, frightened and unsure of what to do. The smaller ones tried to cuddle her, but it was hopeless, she was wretched. She wanted her children, her own flesh and blood. To smell just once more the scent of their hair, feel their arms warm around her neck. There was no warmth here. She was sick of the dead.

‘Elizabeth,' Katie crawled towards her, pushing the other children away. ‘I saw you.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Out there.' Katie pointed towards the next field. ‘It was you, but then again,' she mused, ‘it wasn't.'

Timmy hadn't wanted to admit it, but he had thought the very same thing. The woman looked exactly like Elizabeth had before, but how was that possible?

‘Timmy,' Elizabeth called. She was walking towards him, her pain so visible, he felt he could almost touch it.

‘Is Katie right? Do I look like that woman; did I once look like that woman?'

‘Elizabeth …' No matter what he said he would hurt her.

‘You never lie, Timmy. I know that. Please don't do so now.'

‘Yes, she looks a bit like you. Only,' he stopped and forced a smile, ‘you were, I mean you are, much more beautiful.'

‘Thank you,' she walked to the bushes, hungry for one more glimpse of the woman. ‘She's mine. I know it. We are of the same blood. Oh, Timmy, it's one of my children!' Hope rose like a light around her. ‘God has sent one of my daughters back to me. Grown now, I grant you, but nevertheless mine.'

‘Elizabeth, listen to me.'

‘I will go to her,' she said, blending into the bushes, only to find herself being dragged back by Timmy.

‘We've been dead for over a hundred and fifty years, Elizabeth. She cannot be your child.'

The cry from her lips was heart-rending. It reached Lucy and the other members of her crew, who were busily packing up for the night.

‘What in the name of heaven is that?' someone asked.

They stood and listened as the crying echoed in the still air. It could have been anything, an injured animal, perhaps. But Lucy thought differently. She could feel its anguish in her heart, she wanted to call out, answer its cry, but that would be ridiculous. Her colleagues were already starting to give her funny looks. With all the samples reading clear, they already had enough ammunition to throw at her.