Thankfully.
In the third cell was a cadaver so badly decayed that, at first sight, the men had difficulty recognising it as being human. It was naked, and its discoloured flesh was covered in a layer of dried blood, glistening decay and other, less obvious grime. The floor was awash with seepage and putrescent dribbles. The creature threw itself at the railings when the men neared, and though it was initially held back by shackles and chains, the force with which it lunged was such that one arm was wrenched out of its socket. The stump twitched furiously. ‘What happened to it?’ Jones asked. The smell here was suffocating, like nothing he’d ever endured before.
Harris used the butt of his rifle to shove the monstrous thing back, and it tripped over what was left of its own feet, ending up in the far corner of the cell, thrashing furiously in its own mire but quite unable to pick itself back up and come at the men again.
Wilkins braved the stench and the creature’s fury to get closer. He raised the torch to get a better view, though at the back of his mind was the concern that had the gases generated as a result of this thing’s decomposition not yet fully dissipated, he might ignite an explosive cloud of noxious odour. He covered his mouth and nose and peered into the gloom, only stepping back when he could stand to see no more. ‘I believe this must be one of the very first of them. I presume this is all that remains of one of the scientists’ earliest experiments.’
‘Why keep it locked up?’ Barton asked. ‘Why not just get rid of it?’
‘I assume they were studying it. By keeping it isolated down here, away from everyone else, they might have been hoping to observe its behaviour and condition.’
‘You think it did all this to itself?’
‘Almost certainly. The natural process of decay is responsible for much of what you can see here, but the effects have been magnified by the inherent fury of the beast. Remember, these things are only able to reason at the most basic of levels. They are only interested in fighting. Self-preservation is an unknown concept to them. That’s if their brains are even capable of considering concepts.’
‘You’ve lost me again,’ Barton said. ‘Pardon me, Lieutenant Wilkins, but you have a frustrating habit of using a hundred words where one or two would probably do.’
‘He’s saying that because this thing was locked away, it tore itself apart,’ Harris explained.
‘Then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’ asked Jones. ‘Won’t they all end up like this then? Or they’ll all rot down to nothing at least.’
‘That may be so,’ Wilkins said, ‘but it’ll take time. And as long as they’re left to their own devices out there, they’ll continue to kill and to multiply. It makes them even more of a threat, not less. Can’t you see, they’ll stop at nothing to spread this infernal condition around the globe. Nothing!’
The group moved on, leaving the furious inhuman beast eviscerating itself on the cold stone floor of its cell.
Steps. Another heavy wooden door.
‘Thank the lord,’ Wilkins said under his breath, and he allowed himself to lower the flaming torch at last. His arm ached with the effort of keeping it aloft, but he hadn’t dared not use it. The corridors under the castle were like a maze. It wouldn’t have taken much for them to lose all sense of direction and keep going around in circles.
Harris went to start climbing, but Wilkins stopped him. ‘Come on, sir, the sooner we get on with this the better. I can’t stand all this waiting around. If there’s going to be a fight, then let’s get fighting and let’s get home. All this talk of deadly germs and super-weapons is just making matters worse.’
‘We need to keep our wits about us,’ Wilkins warned. ‘If there are any Nazis left in this building – dead or alive – they’ll be gunning for us. We can be assured of a pretty grim welcome, whoever and whatever we find up those stairs.’
He was right, of course, and no one argued. Wilkins climbed to the top of the stairs and readied himself. He glanced across at Harris who nodded to show that he was ready, then opened the door.
Both men recoiled when a shocking number of large brown and black rats scurried through the suddenly open doorway and flooded down the stairs, a tidal wave of dirty fur and yellowed teeth. At the bottom of the steps, Jones’ nerve almost broke. He aimed his weapon into the undulating mass crawling hurriedly over and around his boots. ‘Hold your fire,’ Wilkins ordered. Jones’ finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn’t shoot.
‘I hate rats,’ he grumbled, watching them surge down the corridor, looking like a bizarrely undulating carpet. Squeaks of fear and spiny, lashing tails.
‘They’re clearly not interested in us, are they?’ Wilkins said. ‘They’re leaving the proverbial sinking ship.’
Barton took hold of Jones’ collar and turned the young soldier to face him. ‘Look at me, Jones.’
‘Get off.’
‘Not until you calm yourself down, lad. The rats are the least of our problems. You need to forget about them and focus on whatever it is they’re running away from.’
Eventually the steps became clear, and Wilkins and Harris went through the door into the main part of the castle. They were surprised to find that there was some illumination here. Electric lamps which glowed dull yellow were strung along the wall like fading Christmas lanterns. Wilkins extinguished the torch and tossed it aside. He felt infinitely better carrying a pistol in one hand and his trusty knife in the other. Holding the flame had hampered his ability to defend and attack.
Although still uncomfortably quiet, after the cramped confines of the level below-ground, the increased space up here felt strangely liberating. No more stooping. The ceilings were high. No longer enclosed by unending solid walls on either side. Space to move. Options. And yet, despite its size, the whole place felt foetid and filthy. There were marks and smears everywhere they looked. Bloody handprints. Drag marks. Drips and pools of crimson gore.
They moved as a pack along the wide corridor, covering all angles between them. The first doorway they came across led into a large kitchen, and they entered to briefly stop and take stock. Food had been left half-prepared and unattended on counters and stoves. There were several large cooking pots, the unidentifiable contents of which had been baked solid. The flesh of a pig on a spit was black and hardened. Wilkins checked the enormous oven at the centre of the kitchen. ‘No residual heat,’ he said. ‘This oven’s as cold as this poor unfortunate soul.’ He nodded at the body of a woman slumped in a corner of the room. She wore a simple grey pinafore dress which was heavily stained with blood from what was left of her head. It also covered much of the wall behind her. She appeared to have been shot at extraordinarily close range, and Wilkins wondered if she’d perhaps done this to herself to escape whatever nightmare had unfolded around her.
The only sound in the kitchen came from dripping taps and dripping blood, but they could clearly hear noises coming from elsewhere in the castle. Barton led them back out into the corridor, but soon found that he could go no further. There was a blockage up ahead. A heavy piece of antique-looking furniture had been pulled away from the wall and dragged across a doorway. ‘We’ve no option but to keep going, far as I can see,’ he said, and Wilkins agreed. They could hear movement on the other side of the door which increased in frequency and volume when Barton spoke.
‘Do it,’ Lieutenant Wilkins ordered.
The men took up position back along the corridor and Barton began to move the dresser. The fury of the dead was incredible. They hammered against the door to get through, and the sheer force of the weight of dead flesh pushing forward was such that by the time Barton had shifted the dresser just a few inches, the first few grabbing hands were shoved through the gap, reaching out for him and his colleagues. Harris ran forward and began hacking at them with his bayonet, intent on doing as much damage as possible before they were released. Flesh was slashed, bones were broken, and hands and fingers were sliced off, but the dead continued to fight undeterred.