'We don't,' said Lambert, flatly. 'Try praying when you pull the trigger.' He tried to smile but it faded, washed away like chalk in the rain.
Another hand. This time it was Walford.
'Sir,' he said, 'how do we know that these… things will be all that's on the streets tonight? I mean, we might kill innocent people.' He swallowed hard.
Lambert nodded. 'Look, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, anything that's walking those streets tonight won't be human.' He became aware that his own hands were shaking and clenched them into fists. 'Whatever you see, blow the fucking thing to pieces.' There was a note of anger in his voice. He scanned the faces once more. Silence hung over the room like some huge invisible blanket. Lambert continued. 'All right, the cars are full of ammunition, you'll have no problems there. It's in the glove compartments, on the parcel shelves, everywhere we could find to put it, it's there.' He tried to-smile again. 'One more thing, I want all the cars to keep in touch. Retain contact at all times and radio in to base every thirty minutes. No more than two men are to leave a car at one time. Understood?'
Nodding. Murmurs of approval.
'Right,' he checked his watch, 'it's seven fifteen now, I want this town patrolled until morning.' He finally found the note of humour he'd been looking for: 'Don't worry, you'll all get paid overtime for this.'
A ripple of laughter.
The men rose to their feet and were filing out of the room when Davies turned and raised his hand.
'What is it, Chris?' asked Lambert.
'These… things,' said Davies, 'they're living corpses, right?'
Lambert nodded.
'Well, then how the hell do you kill something that's already dead?'
The Inspector had no answer and the words hung in the air.
It seemed like they were driving into a huge black pit. That, at any rate, was how young Gary Briggs viewed the slow descent into Medworth. The town was in almost total darkness apart from the time switch lights which illuminated shop windows and a sparkling of house lights, most of which were subdued behind drawn curtains. Beside him sat Lambert, the shotgun cradled across his lap. He was stuffing handfuls of cartridges into his pocket. There was a sudden metallic click from the back seat where Dave Jenkins sat and Briggs felt his heart leap. He realized that it was only the older constable cocking his weapon. The youngster tried to relax, attempting to find some comfort in the fact that, if they did sight any of the things, he would be the one to remain in the car. His own shotgun was propped against the dashboard beside him. Even in the chill of the night air which was flooding in through a partially open window, he could feel the perspiration forming on his back.
Dave Jenkins, the oldest of the trio in the Panda, swallowed hard and ran his hand absent mindedly up and down the sleek barrel of his own shotgun. He peered out into the night, squinting into hedgerows, trying to see through the all enveloping gloom. His mind was elsewhere though. It was with his wife, Amy. He'd packed her off to her mother's when this trouble first began, fearing that it could escalate and he had been disturbed to find that it had. But, besides that, she was pregnant. Near her time by now. Jenkins was overcome by a great feeling of helplessness. Even now it could be happening, she could be having the child. He just prayed that he lived to see it.
Inspector Tom Lambert sat back in his seat and scanned the road ahead, lit only by the twin powerful headlamps of the car. The road which led down from the police station into town was a series of sharp curves and bends and Briggs was constantly braking in order to steer the vehicle safely onward. The car they occupied, Puma Three, had been the last of the three to leave. Lambert had watched the other two drive off, then, after all the men had checked their ammunition, he had climbed into the Panda beside Briggs. They were to patrol the Eastern part of the town, the area which took in the small industrial estate, one or two of the housing areas and Lambert's own home. The other two cars had their designated sectors as well. As he watched the darkened countryside drifting by, Lambert's face was etched in an attitude of grim determination. An act he hoped was working. He'd never been so bloody scared in his life. Frightened not just for himself but also for Debbie, but he drove her fleeting image from his mind and concentrated on the road ahead. It was beginning to straighten out.
Paul Greene sat in the back seat of Puma Two and shivered. He felt sick and could scarcely control his rapid breathing. Once already, Sergeant Hayes, seated in the front beside Walford, who was driving, had looked round at him and asked him if he was O.K. Greene had nodded and clutched his gun tighter as if trying to find some comfort in it. He wondered what his mother was doing. He had personally fitted the locks and bolts to her doors when she had decided to stay in Medworth. He had pleaded with her to go but she had refused. The least he could do now was to make sure she was adequately protected. If indeed, that was possible. They had lived together in that little house just outside the town centre for the last twelve years. Ever since Greene's father had left. In his late twenties now, the young P.C. could still recall the vision of his father standing in the doorway of the house, the night he had left, the car of his 'fancy woman' outside, waiting. Greene remembered how his mother had cried for three days afterwards. He was an only child and the departure of his father brought him and his mother even closer together. He had joined the force partly as an attempt at independence but had finally discovered that he preferred the doting of his mother. Now he wondered what she was doing, fearing for her life even more than his own.
Sergeant Vic Hayes closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He felt tired, depressed rather than frightened at the thought of what might confront them that night. He had been sergeant in this peaceful little town for more than fifteen years and now, in the space of a couple of months, all those happy memories had been superceded by the horrors which were occuring daily. He still found it hard to believe.
Tony Walford guided the car slowly through the streets of Medworth's largest housing estate, his eyes alert for the slightest sign of movement. He prayed that they wouldn't come across any of the things that night. Not because of the danger involved but because he didn't think that he could force himself to use his gun on any of them. The very idea of shooting another human being made him shudder. Human being. The words stuck in his mind. Lambert had said that they weren't human. Another thought struck him, one which made the forthcoming task even more difficult. He realized with horror, that he might even recognize some of them. Walford drove on, all the time mouthing silent prayers that they would not see any of the creatures.
'Puma One checking in,' said Chris Davies, holding the transmitter at arms' length to lessen the high- pitched whine of static which had invaded the wavelength. He waited for Grogan's reply, then flicked the switch to 'Off.' He replaced the hand set and returned to gazing out of the window. He and the other two men in the Panda had been given the task of patrolling the centre of Medworth itself. The shopping areas and parks which dotted the town like pieces in a grass and concrete jigsaw. Davies was pleased that they had been assigned this particular sector as there was more likelihood of spotting something. He worked the pump action of the shotgun, chambering a shell, and smiled. God help you bastards, he thought.
In the back, Stuart Ferman was beginning to wish he had never joined the bloody police force. He felt giddy, the smell of plastic, sweat, and gun oil thick in his nostrils. He wished he were at home. He lived alone on the ground floor of a block of flats. Although, strictly speaking, he didn't occupy the dwelling totally without company. He shared it with two enormous Alsatians which he'd had since they were puppies. They'd been handed in to the station by some kid who didn't want them and Ferman had taken them home with him. He had cared for them with a love he didn't think he possessed, watching them grow into the magnificent creatures they were now. He wished he had them both in the car with him at this moment.
Ron Bell, driving, slowed the car as he saw something move ahead of him. He nudged Davies, who had been peering out of the side window and pointed to the area where he had seen the movement. All three men felt the tension rising as Bell edged the Panda closer. Its bright headlamps suddenly swung on the source of the disturbance.
It was a cat.
Caught in the sudden glare it hissed and fled from the blinding light. The trio of men in Puma One felt the tension drain from them and Bell breathed a sigh of audible relief.
They drove on.
Debbie Lambert had found what she searched for.
She had discovered the information about fifteen minutes ago and now she reread it, translating quickly,
