The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (27 page)

“Somebody help him,” screamed Eleanor.

Anne still lay on the floor face down, moaning. Blood poured from the side of her head. Frank slumped against the wardrobe, struggling to get up, like a boxer after receiving a decent knock to the chin. All the fight had gone from his limbs.

“Joseph, quickly!” said Eleanor.

Joe sprang into action at his grandmother’s cry. He ran behind Charlie. Wrapping his arms around the boy in a tight hug, he positioned his foot on the window ledge at the side of the creature. He tensed his leg and pushed backwards.

“It can’t pull the both of us,” he growled to Charlie. His voice stuttered in breathless gasps.

The creature’s eyes narrowed on Joe, and a thick trickle of saliva dripped from the mouth.

“Pull,” shouted Eleanor from behind. “For the love of God, Joseph! Pull!”

7.

Joe tried to push back from the window ledge, but it felt like the boy was anchored to the window by a steel cable rather than a mere arm.

“Montgomery!”

The creature froze from the shrill call drifting in through the broken window.

“Get yourself down from there this instant!”

The grip on Charlie released, and Joe and the boy toppled backwards to the carpet in a tangled heap.

The creature reached up and grabbed the guttering with both hands. It peered down.

“This is your last warning, Montgomery!”

With a grunt, the vertical mouth sealed up with a wet smacking sound, returning to a badly scarred white hide. The creature swung away, moving across the guttering like a child frolicking across monkey bars.

Joe quickly freed himself from Charlie, who lay panting on the floor, and jumped to his feet. He ran to the window, pressing his face against one of the remaining panes, and looked down onto the street.

The creature traversed down the front of the house. It moved like an ape, swinging from guttering to drain pipe and shimmying down to the ground. Walking on its hands, it padded across the garden with surprising speed and into the road, clutching the legs of the lone figure that stood waiting.

It was
him
; even from the bedroom Joe saw his eyes glow a deep blue from under the rim of his bowler hat. He leaned over and gave the beast a short, sharp pat on the nose. The creature recoiled, holding its hands over its face.

“Naughty, naughty Montgomery,” he said. “That was a very bad thing to do. You could have fallen and gotten hurt.”

Montgomery moaned, making the noise of several nails dragging across several chalkboards.

The Collector ignored it. His gaze met Joe’s, and he tipped his bowler in greeting.

“I hope Montgomery didn’t cause too much of an inconvenience,” he called. “He can get so excitable when he’s hungry!”

Joe stared down at him.

“Anyway,” the man continued, “I’m sure you all have a lot to discuss; a neighbourhood meeting, if you will. You have my word: there will be no interruptions, until it is time for me to call.” He tipped his hat again. “Use wisely what precious time you have left, as I grow impatient with this game.”

He turned and headed down the street, Montgomery at his heels.

“See you again soon!” he called back.

Joe gasped as a group of Prowlers, maybe a dozen, scuttled down the pavement on the other side of the road. Others leapt from the bushes in the Harper’s garden to join them. He watched them go, and the street returned to its sleepy state.

8.

“Mmmma…?” moaned Anne, pressing down on the carpet with open palms and raising her head a few inches. Blood poured down her forehead from the hairline. Her eyes lolled back to the whites, and she slumped back down.

Eleanor rushed over, dropping to her knees. She turned Anne’s head to the side and swept her hair back, studying the injury.

“I think she’s concussed.”

“Mummy!” Bronwyn wailed from the bed.

“It’s okay, dear,” said Eleanor, smiling at the girl. “We’ll look after her.”

Charlie lay on his back in silence, his eyes so wide it disturbed Joe to look at them. Charlie’s stare remained locked on the broken window, peering into the night. Joe guessed the kid was in shock. Hell, who could blame him?

Joe’s heart still raced, and the bedroom seemed to tilt. He failed to imagine how Charlie felt. The boy had been the creature’s victim; the one whose head had nearly been devoured. The kid was
petrified
.

At least he’s silent
, Joe thought, wincing at a particularly high screech from Bronwyn.

“Mum-my!”

“Bronwyn, dear,” soothed Eleanor, “your mummy can’t get better with all that noise now, can she?”

This seemed to do the trick. Her cries became muffled yelps.

With the distraction gone, Joe returned his attention to Charlie. He quickly unfastened the row of buttons on the boy’s pyjama top, despite the agony in his fingers. This done, he spread the fabric wide, exposing the pale chest beneath.

Three narrow welts from the creature’s nails ran parallel down Charlie’s sternum. Joe decided the wounds should be disinfected. God only knew what diseases that thing might have been carrying.

Does God even know the thing exists?

Leaning over, Joe scooped Charlie up and carried him over to the bed. The boy’s eyes remained on the window throughout the short journey. Joe laid him down beside his sister, who immediately threw her arms around him.

“Easy there, be careful,” Joe whispered. “The poor lad’s really been through it.”

He stroked Charlie’s head through his hair, willing him to say something, to blink…to do anything.

Anne moaned again and tried to get up.

Eleanor rubbed her back. “You just stay put, dearie. Everything’s okay now. You just had a nasty bump on the head.”

“Ch-Charlie?” Anne muttered.

“He’s fine.”

In the corner, Frank lurched to his feet, kicking aside the boxes brought down by his fall. Once upright, he swayed and shook his head for a moment. He focussed on Joe.

“Get away from my son.”

Joe removed his hand from Charlie’s head. “What did you say?”

“You heard,” said Frank. His intense stare almost equalled that of his son’s. “Move away from him. Now!”

“Frank!” Eleanor scowled. “There’s no need for this.”

“There’s every need,” he said, his hard gaze not deviating. “We take you in, all of you! Let you treat my home as you please and what do you do to repay us? You bring
him
here.”

“This isn’t our fault—” Joe started, cut off as Frank snapped his hand up.

“
I’m
talking,” he shouted.

“This isn’t one of your classes, Frank,” said Eleanor. “You can’t speak to us this way. Besides, if it wasn’t for Joseph, then Charlie would…would…”

“He did nothing but get in my way.”

“Get in your way? Get in your way?” Joe growled, fists clenching at his sides. “Like your wife got in your way?”

Frank cast a glance at Anne, who still moaned on the carpet.

“That was an accident,” he said a little more quietly. “It was in the heat of the moment.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Eleanor. “Joseph, calm down.”

Joe’s breath billowed through his nostrils. The bully needed knocking off his high horse, and if his grandmother and the kids weren’t here…

“I’m going to get something to fix the window,” Joe said. “Someone has to do something other than argue.”

“Joseph?”

“Yes, Grandma?”

“You need to do something about your fingers. They’re bleeding.”

Joe looked down. Trickles of dark blood dripped from his hands. Clenching his fists had forced the wounds open.

Cursing, he hurried from the room, not bothering to give Frank another look. His footsteps thundered down the stairs.

9.

“Is…is Anne okay?” Frank asked, crossing the room to the bed and sitting on its edge next to Charlie. He started his own examination of his son, especially of the injuries to his chest.

“She was knocked out, but seems to be coming round just fine,” said Eleanor. “I don’t think she’s seriously hurt, but we should keep an eye on her.”

“Charlie? Charlie!” He waved his hand in front of his son’s eyes.

Charlie lay still, unblinking.

“Give him time,” said Eleanor. “After what the poor tyke’s been through…”

Frank nodded and pulled the bed sheets up, tucking them under Charlie’s chin.

“Are you okay, hon?” he asked Bronwyn.

She jumped out of bed, tears pouring from her eyes. Frank swept her up in his arms and lifted her up, cradling her against his shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s gone, and your Dad won’t let it come anywhere near you or your brother again.”

Anne groaned.

“Will Mummy be all right?”

Frank swallowed. “She’s just a bit sleepy, dear. She’ll be up and about in no time. Won’t she?”

“She might be a bit groggy for a while, but yes,” said Eleanor.

Hearing the sound of a lock click open and shuffled footsteps on the landing, Frank stopped rocking his daughter.

Jake peered around the door.

“Is…is it safe?” he asked, taking in the destruction of the room.

Frank set Bronwyn down, careful to avoid the broken glass scattered across the carpet.

“Get back into bed, hon. Look after your brother.”

Bronwyn quickly obliged.

“Where the hell where you?”

Jake entered the bedroom, still coated in his brother’s blood. “In the bathroom. Mum didn’t want to be on her own, so I waited with her while she showered.”

“Didn’t you hear the noise? The screams?”

“Yeah, but we thought the machine was back. My mum was scared and-”

“Don’t you dare blame your mother,” roared Frank. “We could have done with your help!”

“Frank…” moaned Anne from the floor. “Stop…it…”

“Listen to her,” said Eleanor. “This won’t help anybody.”

Frank glanced from face to face. Even Bronwyn, who had kept quiet through the whole exchange, stared at him. Charlie remained entranced.

“I need a drink,” Frank said, pacing out of the room. He stopped to jab an accusing finger towards Jake’s face. “If you’re more concerned about looking after number one, just remember I could have left you outside. Just remember.”

He glared at Jake, and then headed down the stairs.

Defence

1.

In the kitchen, Joe considered his weapons. The choice stood between a butcher knife from the drawer, or a brush propped up against the fridge. The knife seemed the obvious choice, yet Joe was reluctant to get too close to these creatures. He placed it on the kitchen table, picked up the brush with his newly bandaged hands and swung it through the air to try it out. It had the reach, but the thin shaft of wood felt weak. The thing that attacked Charlie could probably bite through it in a flash. His eyes returned to the knife.

“To hell with this,” he said, keeping hold of the brush and picking up the knife. If the thing got through the wood of the brush, it would get a nasty surprise between its beady, black eyes.

Holding the weapons in one hand, he swept back the curtain of the kitchen window.

Should only take a minute to dash to the shed and back
, he thought, scanning the outside.
But better to check the coast is clear.

The contents of the back garden eluded his vision, and he focussed on his own reflection. The man staring back, with dark bags under his eyes and a smudge of missed Prowler blood across one cheek, looked like a homicidal caretaker, clutching the brush and the knife. The garden was a background of perfect darkness.

He could be stood out there with hundreds of Prowlers and his pet…thing swinging on the washing line for all I know
, Joe thought.

He let the curtain fall.

At the back door, the keys dangled from the lock. Two bulky deadbolts, at the top and bottom, were closed, adding much needed resistance. Without these locks, the door would swing open with a good, strong kick.

The attack upstairs had alerted him to the poor security of the house, with so many ways the man and his small army could gain access. Every window and door needed to be secured. Pipes and vents had to be sealed. The windows were the weakest point, and after boarding up the broken pane upstairs, he intended to do the same to every other, wood permitting. Although he’d need Alpha Male’s permission before he started knocking boards up.

Joe had seen enough sieges in films to barricade a house.
Night of the Living Dead
and
Dog Soldiers
were near enough step by step guides. All the inner doors would have to come off, and the kitchen table provided a nice big chunk of solid wood. In desperation, floorboards could provide a little extra. With everyone pitching in, Joe believed they’d quickly secure the house against another attack, at least long enough to get them through to morning.

The monsters are defeated at dawn. Isn’t that how it works?

One problem hindered his plans: the lack of tools.

Joe needed to visit the shed; he presumed Frank kept his tools in there. A rapid search of the kitchen, and even the living room, revealed nothing, nor was there so much as a hammer in the cupboard under the stairs. Every family man had a tool box, full to the brim with nails, screws, wires, blades and everything else he’d hardly use. It was an unspoken family law. An easy present from the wife that might, conveniently, lead to all those little jobs around the house getting done. Joe guessed Frank may have bought his own, the biggest, flashest toolbox money could buy.

Size and expense meant nothing to Joe. All he required was a good hammer and a box of nails. A saw would be handy, too.

He switched off the kitchen light and stood for a moment in the darkness. Without the reflection, the view through the window had cleared. A tree stood at the end of the garden bathed in moonlight, the leaves still, and a dark shape loomed beside it. The shed.

If I can’t see them
, he thought,
at least they can’t see me anymore, unless the bastards can see in the dark.