The Dark Horde (11 page)

“Exactly!” Harold said.

“Danny’s traumatic incident yesterday appears to have triggered what is known as a brief reactive psychosis. But today, the effects appear to have subsided and he seems to have recovered.”

“So–” Harold began.

Bernard raised a finger. “However, the results of some tests, including a corpuscular blood test and an EEG or brain wave test, are still pending. I anticipate that I’ll be able to make a comprehensive assessment of Danny’s physiological and psychological condition in the next day or so.”

Bernard was getting blank looks from the parents. “But in order to understand the underlying cause for this psychosis and make a positive diagnosis, I need to ask you about his history. His habits, his health, his moods and any significant events.”

Danny cleared his throat. “I’m fine, dad. I just want to get out of here and get back to school. I’ve already missed a whole day of class!”

Harold and Margaret turned back to Danny.

Danny held up an exercise book and a textbook on nineteenth century Australia. “Look, I’ve even been doing my history assignment that I have to hand in on Wednesday!”

“Fantastic, son! I can see you’re itching to get back there. I would be too! I wouldn’t want to be stuck in this stuffy place either, so don’t worry. We won’t be leaving until you’re out of here!”

“Awww, thanks dad.”

Margaret fretted but Harold’s attention was only on Danny.

Crazy, be buggered!

Bernard could see that this wasn’t going to work. He’d have to organise another time to speak to the parents in a more controlled environment. Time to execute closure.

“I’m prescribing some low strength anti-psychotic medication for Danny to take should the symptoms recur.”

“Anti-psychotic? I thought you said the symptoms subsided,” Margaret said.

“Well they have but–”

“Our son’s not a psycho, he doesn’t need any medication,” Harold interrupted.

“Fine. I’ll give the medication to the Matron at the school just the same, in case it’s needed. I am confident
they’ll know
how to look after him.”

Harold frowned and folded his arms. Margaret rubbed his shoulder. “So can we take him back to the school now, then?” he said.

“I’m happy to sign his release papers if you are satisfied that Danny is well enough to go back to school. However, I will need to check with the principal first and confirm that the school is ready to take him.”

“I can do that. In fact, I’ve got Lucas Prescott’s number right here.” Harold pulled a card out of his breast pocket as he walked to the phone next to Danny’s bed.

Bernard sighed and took a chair. “If you insist.”

The main point is that the parents are happy to assume responsibility for Danny.

Harold rang the principal of Oberon Grammar School whilst Margaret sat on the end of Danny’s bed and peered into his eyes.

Devoid of emotion, his eyes met her gaze. Unrelenting, unwavering, unrevealing. They might have been stones.

She began to feel tired, but she had to resolve this. She couldn’t turn to the nurses or the doctor – they’d already shown how incompetent they were. The answers lay with her son. She’d expected a flurry of tears, confessions and pleas to “take me away from here”. She’d expected her son to open up and tell her everything. Instead, she got this blank smiling face that told nothing, frustrating all attempts to breach the walls that Danny had erected. All the while, her bloody husband kept trying to calm her down and assure her that ‘their Danny’ was alright, when she knew something was wrong! Bloody men, always trying to repress things rather than deal with them.

“I want you to promise me, Danny, that what you’re saying is the absolute truth, that you’re not lying to me in any way. I want you to promise me, Danny, that you’re not hiding anything from me, that you aren’t still seeing or hearing things, and that you really are okay, as you’ve said.”

He smiled and returned her intense gaze with an expression of calm, speaking lucidly, “I promise.”

Nothing. Nothing! Absolutely, bloody nothing!

Margaret held a hand to her heart and turned to Harold as he put the phone down. Their eyes met.

“We’re getting Danny out of here,” Margaret said.

“The school’s ready to take him now,” Harold answered.

Bernard rose from his chair. “Let’s go sign those release papers, shall we?”

Danny watched the whole spectacle... Smiling.

MONDAY 2:17
PM

Brian looked around him at the endless stretch of shop fronts, factories, traffic lights and telephone poles along Sydney Road. Cars, trucks, electric trams and pedestrians fought for control of the congested street, spewing their fumes into the smoggy air. Beyond lay the city centre, no doubt even busier, where skyscrapers crowded the horizon: crystalline monuments to capitalism.

So much for living in the ‘garden city’.

The outlook improved on reaching the tree-lined Royal Parade running through Parkville and past the historic buildings of Melbourne University. However, the improvement was lost on Brian as he struggled to navigate his way through swarms of traffic and an oval-shaped multi-lane roundabout at the terminus of five main streets. With difficulty, he ended up on William Street, which he followed into the thriving central business district.

He passed the stone edifice of the Supreme Court, the sheer glass of the recently completed twin Rialto towers and crossed the brown Yarra River near the venerable Flinders Street station. He turned into Southbank Boulevard and headed along the river towards the Melbourne Arts Centre spire, another new addition to Melbourne’s skyline. Before reaching it, he turned off into Kavanagh Street and his destination, the Victorian Institute of Forensic Pathology (VIFP). The VIFP was established as a result of the Coroners Act in 1985 to centralise the provision of forensic pathology services throughout the state, in addition to housing the State Coroners’ Office and providing training facilities, resources and research support to doctors and medical students.

Brian stubbed out a cigarette as he went through the boom gate into the VIFP carpark. There was a steady drone of vehicles on adjacent roads.

He yawned and paused in his seat a moment.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Sergeant McDougall had said. It had been a hectic day with interviewing neighbours, relatives and friends, none of which shed much light on what had happened at the Weston farm. Now it was headline news and talk of a serial killer on the loose was rife in the town.

All the police really found so far was another set of shoeprints in the driveway of the Weston farm along with the footprints of large dogs. However, neither Weston had such a pet. Barney Weston lived alone and was being visited by his only son, Frank. Furthermore, everyone that Barney and Frank were in regular contact with, had been accounted for.

The homicide squad allocated to the job by CI, were keen to assume responsibility for the investigation, something which Brian was only too happy to relinquish. However, he still had a duty to see that the Howqua Hills district was safe and that meant finding the killer. The stress and frustration of the job was not helped by the constant enquiries from the media and the public, circling like flies to a shit.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Sergeant McDougall had said. The idea had grown more appealing over the course of the three-hour drive to Melbourne.

Brian yawned again before dragging himself to his feet and starting towards the modern complex and an entrance prominently signposted “Reception”.

A lupine-headed creature, heavily built and upright, descended from tree cover to sniff the driver’s door of Brian’s vehicle. Then it galloped towards the Institute, following the tree-line of the carpark. It leapt onto the five-metre-high roof and disappeared into shadow.

Brian entered, brushing lint off his police uniform and found himself in a well-lit foyer lavish with modern decor.

“Can I help you?” came a mature female voice behind him.

“Yes.” Brian turned to face her, noting a desk covered in information pamphlets. “I have an appointment to see Dr David Dawson.”

Brian stood in a forensic laboratory filled with test tube racks, microscopes and various medical contraptions he had no idea about. Science wasn’t a subject he paid much attention to in school. The hot female teacher he had in Year Ten was, however, an exception. She’d even tried to crack onto him to get his attention, which it did, but not in the way that she might have hoped.

David, the only other person in the laboratory, drew Brian’s attention to the sample he had set up under a microscope. “Have a look at this, Brian, and tell me what you think.”

Brian peered down the eyepiece...

A collection of white circles floated past his view, brimming with mobile purple dots. His eyes watering from the strain, he looked away.

“Well?” David prompted.

“Well what?”

“What do you think? You know what they are, don’t you?”

“Er...”

“Or rather what they’re not! Haha!”

Brian gave a sour look. “Actually David, I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

And I wanna punch you in the face.

David spoke excitedly, “What’s in that sample from under Frank Weston’s fingernails is why I asked you to come here, so you could see for yourself–”

“The revelation’s blinding me.”

“You must understand that what I’m about to tell you is completely off the record and not to be used as evidence. I’m only showing you here and now, so that you can see for yourself and–”

“Just skip the preamble and tell me what it is, doctor. I’ll decide whether it is or isn’t relevant or admissible in court.”

David became sombre. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you unless you agree to strike it from any official record. I’m sorry, Brian, but there’s no other way.”

This was getting nowhere. I didn’t drive two-hundred fucking kilometres to hear this. I’ll do whatever I like with the information anyway.

“Okay whatever. Now tell me.”

David’s face lit up like a child. “Those aren’t human blood cells! And nor are they from any animal!”

I’m so gunna fucking deck you.

“So, what’s your point?”

“Brian, that
is
the point! Those cells belong to something that’s completely unlike anything Science has seen before!”

Brian pictured demonic red eyes staring at him from the darkness. He hesitated to respond.

David pointed to a pile of forensic photos on the bench next to them. “Let me show you these and you may understand a little better...”

He showed Brian various gruesome pictures of the killings, describing them in detail. Brian’s mind wandered as he struggled to comprehend David’s extensive medical vocabulary.

David’s summary was more plain: “The injuries on Barney and Frank Weston are consistent with a killer capable of ten-metre leaps and able to tear off a human head in one hand. Feats simply impossible for a human.”

Brian leant on a nearby bench for support. “I take it this isn’t a conclusion you’ve reached lightly, that you’re
absolutely
sure about this?”

David scanned the corridor outside. He turned back to Brian, his eyes darting. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come down if I wasn’t. The sample is indisputable and the injuries are implausible not just by any human, but by any known animal as well.”

David paused to take a breath. Brian found a stool to collapse onto. “A kangaroo or a particularly athletic dog such as a greyhound is capable of jumping ten metres, but no such animal or anything similar is capable of grasping the vertebrae of a human and tearing it out with such force that the spinal column is completely severed from the torso. There simply isn’t a human or animal that can leap such distances
and
perform such feats of strength.”

Brian noticed his bandaged hand trembling. He squeezed his forehead as he studied the ground, grimacing. David waited with clasped hands.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Only two of my immediate staff, Dr Chris Gamble and John Taylor, are aware of the full details and thus the implications.”

“What do you mean by the full details?”

“Essentially, they’re the only others who know that the samples reveal the presence of an unknown life form.”

There, he said it. An unknown life form. Fuck.

“And to what extent are others aware of these findings?”

“Others here at the Institute, including the Coroner, understand that the wounds are unusually horrific in their ferocity, but not to the extent of them being inhuman.”

“Why not? Haven’t they seen the photos?”

“Yes they have but apart from myself, only Chris and John have read the field forensic report
and
been able to study the stress inflicted by the injuries in detail, which in addition to the sample, has been what’s convinced us. At this stage the Coroner has only been sent a preliminary report that’s inconclusive in its findings.”

“Sooo...” Brian coughed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Others will learn the truth soon enough, but I’m sure that the information available to them will be censored. And that censorship will probably include you and your station, so I wanted to tell you before that happened, whilst I’m still able to.”