warehouse. Ran down after it. Reached the end of the row. Looked round the corner.
Nothing.
Checked along to his left, his right. His left once more.
Saw the shadow again.
Ran towards it.
As he approached the end of the next row, squinting against the gloom, he didn’t see the cricket bat being swung towards him until it was almost too late.
He managed to twist his body out of the way of the shot, letting it connect with his shoulder rather than his head, the intended target. He let out a gasp of pain, grabbed where he had been injured. Dropped his gun.
The bat came at him again.
He opened his eyes just in time to see it coming, managed to scramble out of the way. Then turned to see who his attacker was.
Balchunas. Eyes wide with fear and desperation. Panic and anger. Not good combinations.
‘Get back… let me… let me go… bastard… you bastard… ’
He swung again.
This time Mickey was ready for him. He waited until the bat had been swung and was out of the way. Then grabbed Balchunas’ arm, pulled it backwards. Balchunas screamed. Mickey kept pulling. Balchunas dropped the bat; Mickey forced his arm behind his back.
As he did so, he felt the Lithuanian being pulled away from him.
‘I’ve got him.’
Mickey turned. Clemens was standing next to him, twisting Balchunas’ other arm. The Lithuanian tried to drop to his knees, whimpered.
‘Please, no… no… stop… please… ’
Mickey let go. Stepped back. Was about to argue when movement caught his eye. A back door was opened and closed again quickly. He saw in silhouette who had gone through. Fenton. He looked at Clemens.
‘Look after him. If you injure him, I’ll have you.’
Before Clemens could answer, Mickey was off.
Out of the warehouse, into the night.
After Fenton.
126
The sickle came down towards Phil’s face.
He jumped backwards, got out of its path. The Gardener was breathing heavily from the exertion.
Phil dodged round him, ran to the altar. Picked up another blade, turned. Just as the sickle came towards him once more. It caught his arm, cutting through his jacket. He felt a slash of pain as it sliced into his flesh. Blood started to seep through the edges of the tear.
The Gardener advanced. His madness gave him strength, negated the age difference. Phil moved behind the altar, picked up a candle, threw it at the Gardener’s face. It hit the hood, fell to the floor. Sputtered, went out.
Loss of blood was starting to make Phil light-headed. He had to focus, concentrate. Just to stay alive.
The Gardener swung, missed.
Phil used that to his advantage, went on the offensive. Swung his own blade. Connected with the Gardener’s chest. The Gardener screamed, clutched himself where blood started to seep through. He screamed in rage, came at Phil again.
Phil upended the altar, threw it into his path. The Gardener stopped.
In the cage, Finn began to scream. The Gardener turned.
‘Shut up… shut up… ’
Phil was weakening. Stars dancing before his eyes. He couldn’t see straight. He needed to rest.
The Gardener was weakening too. Phil could see it. But he wouldn’t stop. He came at Phil again.
Phil tried to move out of the way, but was too tired.
The blade came towards him.
Phil couldn’t move.
127
‘Phil?’
Marina looked round the chamber. Took her iPhone from her pocket, turned on the flashlight.
‘Phil?’
There was no sign of him. She shone the torch round, listened. Looked behind her. Glass hadn’t followed. That was something. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. She had to do something. Make a decision. Another look round.
‘Phil?’ Louder this time.
Nothing. She shone the torch once more, found the bed. Crossed to it. Made the same discovery Phil had made.
‘Oh my God… oh my God… ’
She looked round once more, frantically this time. She knew, rationally, that the skeleton couldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t rise up and chase her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared by it.
Or by the person who had done that.
She tried to find another entrance or exit to the chamber. Felt all along the walls, the floor. Found a tunnel. She knelt down, listened.
Heard voices. Screaming, shouting.
‘Phil… ’
Giving a quick glance behind her to make sure Glass wasn’t following her, and wanting to get out of the chamber as quickly as possible, she crawled inside.
128
Mickey ran. Through puddles and potholes. The rain was still lashing, the lighting in this part of the yard pooled and sporadic. He viewed the night like a static-filled TV screen.
He ran away from the warehouse, down an alleyway between the stacked containers. Fenton still ahead of him. The night, the rain, covering him. Fenton ducked round a corner. Mickey increased his speed.
He ran round the corner. Stopped.
No sign of Fenton.
Mickey slowed, stopped running. Looked round.
The area had opened out, enough space for a truck or two to get between the stacked containers. Open ground. Nowhere he could hide.
But he had gone. Disappeared.
Mickey looked up, thinking he might have climbed above him, tried to escape that way. Squinting against the rain, hand shielding his eyes from the lights. Couldn’t make out anything. No figure was there.
He looked round again. There was nowhere Fenton could have gone. Nowhere.
Mickey sighed. Shook his head.
Impossible.
He looked again. Walked down the side of the containers. On his left-hand side, at the base of the biggest
