“Over here!” he called. “Lure it over here!”
She didn’t look round, but followed his voice, slowly walking backwards towards where she thought he was. “What are you going to do?” she called, twitching as the bird tentatively snapped its jaws, cleaving the air only inches from her face. As she quickened her pace, still walking backwards, she could tell it was growing nervous, weighing the right time to strike.
The percussive bang of a pistol firing just over her shoulder caused her to start, stumbling backwards. Her feet lost their traction on the tiles and she fell. She thrust out her hands to break her fall, and twisted as she dropped, but still struck the ground hard, catching her chin on her forearm. She called out in shock and pain and rolled, groaning, only to see the beast still looming over her. It was bleeding from a bullet wound in its face, shaking its head in frustration.
She risked a glance round to see Newbury standing a few feet away, his legs planted firm, his arms outstretched and clutching a pistol. He squeezed the trigger again, and then again, emptying the chamber. The bird bucked and screamed as the bullets ripped into its torso, but still it did not stop.
“Veronica! Get out of the way!” he bellowed, but it was too late. She had nowhere to go, no time left in which to run. The massive bird screeched and thrust its beak at her, and she was forced to roll urgently to the left to avoid being impaled.
The beak smashed into the tiles with a force that she felt reverberating in her bones, and the bird reared up, hissing, readying itself for another strike.
Veronica screamed, this time rolling to the right as the beak descended once again, crashing down only inches from her cheek, so that the back of her head bounced painfully against the tiles. She screamed again. Her head was swimming.
Almost as if in slow motion, she saw the monster pull back then whip its neck forward again, its jaws yawning open in readiness.
This is it, she thought as she cried out in terror, her throat raw from screaming. This is how I die.
The jaws descended … and then the creature emitted a strangled cry and reared back, swinging its head from side to side in confusion. For a moment Veronica had no idea what was happening. It was as if she were being assaulted by a random sequence of images, none of them quite making any sense: the writhing beast, a flashing light, the shadow of her own hand over her face. She could hear nothing but the roar of blood in her ears, drowning out everything else. She breathed and exhaled; blinked.
And then reality rushed in again, and everything snapped into focus. The lamp!
She pulled herself up onto her hands and knees. The bird was still thrashing back and forth, stumbling as it tried to get away from the light. She glanced at Newbury, who was clinging to the search lamp amongst a heap of dead German agents, swinging it around so that the brilliant beam flickered in the beast’s eyes, dazzling it.
“Quickly!” bellowed Newbury.
“Quickly what?” she cried.
“Kill it!” he returned, exasperated.
Veronica stared at the creature for a moment. With what? She glanced around her in desperation. Nearby, the corpse of a dead Service man lay crumpled, face down. Blood streamed from a wound in his head, pooling on the tiles around him. His hands were splayed to either side of him, and in his right he still clutched the pistol he’d been firing before he took a bullet of his own.
She ran to his side, dropping to her knees and fumbling for the gun. The dead man’s fingers were still warm, and his grip on the weapon’s handle was still firm. She tried yanking the gun free, but his hold remained steadfast.
“Hurry!” called Newbury.
She looked round. The bird was staggering in her direction, bobbing and ducking its head. It had realised that it took some time to swivel the lamp around in its housing, and was moving quickly, attempting to stay out of the path of the dazzling beam.
Veronica grunted as she tried desperately to prise the weapon free. She heard the thud of the bird’s footsteps from behind her, felt its presence over her shoulder, the intake of air as it drew breath to screech. The gun came free in her hands and she twisted. Just as the beast opened its chasm-like jaws, she raised the pistol and fired directly into its mouth.
The bird emitted an agonised wail and took a step back, and Veronica climbed hesitantly to her feet. The creature’s mouth was still hanging open, the jaws working slightly, as if unable to close.
She raised her arms and squeezed the trigger again, and then again, loosing shots into the bird’s mouth, blowing holes in the back of its throat, the top of its skull. The creature took one final step backwards, and then, with a deep exhalation, crumpled unceremoniously to the floor.
Veronica allowed the pistol to slide out of her grip, clattering noisily upon the tiles.
She heard Newbury’s footsteps as he abandoned the lamp and came rushing to her side. “Are you hurt?” he asked, urgent, breathless.
“I’m fine,” she said. She glanced around, looking for the others. The entire scene was one of carnage. Bodies were strewn across the ground, scattered around the nearby exhibits. Most of them were dressed in overalls or black suits; agents. At least those men had known what they were getting into. The same could not be said of the civilians who had perished in the botched operation. She cursed Angelchrist for the irresponsible way he had handled the matter. Questions would undoubtedly be asked.
Now, however, neither Bainbridge nor the professor were anywhere to be seen.
She was about to ask Newbury if he knew what had become of them when she saw the look on his face. She followed his gaze. Across the nearly empty exhibition hall, the second bird was still rampaging, snapping indiscriminately at the few remaining people who were trying desperately to find their way to the exit.
Her shoulders dropped. “Again?” she said, with a sigh.
Newbury shrugged. He held up another pistol, which he must have taken from one of the dead German agents. “We can’t allow it to get out into the park,” he said. “Think of the havoc it would wreak.”
She nodded, stooping to reclaim the still-smoking pistol she had dropped. “Very well,” she said, with a sigh. “But next time you ask me to accompany you to one of these damnable exhibitions, you can jolly well take it as read that my answer is no.”
Newbury chuckled loudly as they set off together in pursuit of the second beast.
CHAPTER 17
“I’m afraid Sir Maurice is, shall we say … indisposed.”
Veronica made a brief appraisal of Scarbright, standing on the doorstep of Newbury’s house. He looked impeccable as always in his neatly cut suit, with starched collar and perfectly folded cravat. Nevertheless, the strain was showing somewhat in his expression. His eyes had narrowed, his lips pinched. He’d lost a modicum of his usual confidence. He was clearly embarrassed about the situation, and unsure how to respond.
“Indisposed. Ah, yes. Well, we both know what that means,” said Veronica, knowingly.
Scarbright gave a shrug, as if to say, What would you have me do?
“Never mind,” said Veronica, forcing a smile as she took the last two steps up to the house, gently nudging Scarbright aside with her left arm as she stepped into the hallway. “I’ll wait in the drawing room.”
Scarbright looked momentarily taken aback, and stammered as if to raise an objection, before sighing graciously in defeat. “Yes … well, quite so, miss.” He closed the door behind her. He probably knew already that she had no intention of waiting.
Veronica strolled brazenly down the familiar hallway, stopping before the panelled door to the drawing room. She rapped loudly. “Sir Maurice, may I come in?”