Carnies Read online

  Paul suddenly remembered his dream, the one he’d had after being bitten. The words in the dirt: ‘sins of the father’.

  ‘Your father?’

  Alvan nodded. ‘He... he hurt one of them, terribly.’ Something clicked inside Paul’s mind, two parts of a single puzzle. ‘Ben,’ he breathed. ‘Your father shot Ben.’

  The little man nodded again.

  ‘You were the boy!’ Paul exclaimed. ‘You saved his life!’

  Alvan closed his eyes. ‘I should have stopped the first shot, not the second. If I’d have been faster, Ben would never have been injured.’

  ‘And if you’d been slower,’ Paul said, ‘he’d have been killed.’

  The little man shook his head. His eyes were closed and he was trembling.

  Paul changed the subject, not wanting to press the matter. ‘Ben said your father’s name is Parkes, and he’s a powerful man in town. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alvan replied. ‘He’s the richest person in Tillbrook. Pretty much owns most of it in fact. And he’s been trying to get the carnival out of the town for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘But why? What does he have against them?’

  Alvan sighed. ‘You have to realise, Paul, that the carnival has been here for a very long time. They came from the woods one day, setting up in a field at the outskirts of town. None of them spoke any English. They were apparently from somewhere in Eastern Europe, though I don’t know where.’ He laughed a little. ‘I doubt if any of the carnies still alive know either, now.’

  ‘So they were foreigners,’ Paul said. ‘In more ways than one. Not easy to blend in.’

  ‘No,’ Alvan agreed. ‘But they did their best. All they wanted to do was run their carnival. But not enough people came, of course. They couldn’t afford to buy supplies with the small amount of money they made.

  ‘So they began to... forage.’

  Paul spoke, wonder in his voice. ‘You mean...?’

  ‘No, no,’ Alvan said hurriedly. ‘They slaughtered some cattle and sheep, that’s all. They didn’t kill the townspeople. Well, not at first, at any rate. But soon the townspeople, led by the mayor at the time, realised what was happening to their livestock, and attempted to drive the carnival out of Tillbrook. They attacked them.’

  ‘I’ve seen what happens when people attack them,’ Paul muttered, and images of the previous night splashed across his mind’s eye.

  Alvan nodded. ‘As have I.’ He sighed once. ‘After that the town was terrified of them. They tried giving them money and food to appease them, but the carnival folk were proud and refused their charity. So the townspeople started going to the carnival, paying their money, seeing the same attractions time and time again, playing the same games. Over the years, it became a kind of ritual.’

  ‘Like an offering to the gods,’ Paul observed. ‘To keep them happy.’

  ‘Exactly. These days, most of the townsfolk don’t even know why they go, they just do. It’s a tradition.’ He smiled a lopsided smile. ‘But the carnival needs more than just money. It needs new blood, or else it’ll become inbred. So every once in a while, someone will go there and not return. They’ll have the beast in their blood, and the carnival will take them in. Take them and turn them.’

  Paul could imagine what effect that would have on the attitudes of people in the town, having their friends and relatives swallowed by these people who were, after over a century, still strangers, still outsiders. ‘Toby,’ he said.

  Alvan looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. ‘Ah yes, Toby Macintosh. He’s Noelene’s son. She runs the petrol station.’

  ‘I spoke with her young daughter,’ Paul explained.

  ‘Sarah,’ Alvan said with a smile. ‘Good kid. Takes after her dad, in that regard at least.’ He looked at Paul, his eyes serious. ‘Her mother, Noelene... she’s part of a group working to get rid of the carnival. A group that knows exactly what they are.’ His gaze flickered for a moment. ‘A group led by my father.’

  ‘Parkes?’

  Alvan nodded. ‘I think they probably tipped your brother off to the carnival, hoping he’d reveal their true nature to the world. They needed a good journalist, but a desperate one.’

  ‘Well, they picked the right one,’ Paul said with a smirk, then the smile turned sour. ‘Except that he’s dead now.’

  Alvan looked surprised. ‘Dead?’

  Paul nodded, his eyes burning. ‘I killed him, Alvan. Last night, during a fight at the carnival. He...’

  ‘I know,’ Alvan interrupted. ‘The bikers. Damn them to hell, they’ve been causing trouble since they arrived last weekend. Their leader was... er, well, he’s not around any more. The others wanted revenge.’ He looked Paul in the eye. ‘Your brother just gave them an excuse. It would have happened anyway, sooner or later.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Paul conceded. ‘But David...’

  ‘Paul, you’re not listening to me,’ Alvan interrupted.

  ‘I saw the battle. And afterwards, I did what I always do. I cleaned up after them.’

  Paul remembered Alvan’s earlier comments on the subject, when he’d first arrived here. He’d hoped then that Alvan was being literal. Now he knew better.

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ he explained. ‘When people push them too far, when blood is spilled, I make it all go away. There’s a lake at the end of the river, about twenty minutes’ drive along a bush track. It’s very wide, and very deep, and no one ever goes there. Except for me.’

  ‘You...’

  ‘I get rid of the bodies, yes.’ He didn’t look proud. ‘I clean up as best I can, and I dump the vehicles they leave behind. I keep them safe.’

  ‘You dumped David’s body?’ Paul asked. His voice sounded small and afraid, like a child’s.

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ Alvan said. ‘I cleaned up the bodies. But your brother wasn’t one of them.’

  Paul was stunned. ‘He wasn’t?’ Alvan shook his head.

  ‘Then he’s still alive,’ he said, with growing wonder. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Well, he might have got away from the carnival, but it doesn’t mean he necessarily survived,’ Alvan said. ‘He may have died somewhere else.’

  A horrible realisation crept over Paul like a chill. ‘Or he is still alive,’ he said. ‘And I bit him.’

  Alvan looked down at Paul. ‘Which means...’

  ‘Jesus,’ Paul breathed. He threw the sheet back and tried to sit up, but the pain in his leg was too intense. He cried out again.

  Alvan pushed him back down onto the bed. ‘No, you can’t move yet. Your leg hasn’t healed.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Alvan said, holding him down. ‘Tomorrow we’ll go and talk to Amos. We’ll tell him what we know.’ He shook his head. ‘Even if your brother survived, and even if he’s turned, most likely he’s in a hospital somewhere being treated. There’s no rush.’

  Paul subsided, his strength spent. He suspected the accelerated healing process in his body took a lot of energy. He lay back on the bed, no longer struggling.

  ‘That’s better,’ Alvan said. ‘Now, I’ll make us some dinner, then you’ll rest. And tomorrow we’ll go for a drive. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Paul agreed, exhausted.

  Alvan started to leave the room, then spotted something. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I retrieved this from the forest when I first found you, when the girl bit you. I kept it as a souvenir, but I guess you might be needing it again now.’

  He picked up something leaning against the wall and tossed it to Paul. It landed across his lap. He looked down at it, with an odd mixture of nostalgia and regret.

  It was his cane.

  -32-

  From his vantage point in the tree David could watch the whole encampment. He’d changed out of his suit into some comfortable black trousers and a black jumper, and positioned himself upwind, so his scent wouldn’t give him away. He sat comfortably in a bushy section of the tree’s canopy, invisi
ble to anything more than a determined examination. He’d been here for over an hour, barely moving, just watching the activity at the camp, studying the carnies. He’d spent the afternoon making sure everything was in readiness, particularly acquiring and preparing the aces he’d wanted up his sleeves. That had taken hours, but it was time well spent. By morning, he’d be ready to take these creatures on.

  For the moment, though, as the sun was setting over the forest, he had another step of his plan to execute. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and how to do it.

  He was watching the biggest structure there, which seemed to be the leader’s residence in the permanent camp. He had to admire the design and location of the place. If he hadn’t followed the scents they’d left behind he’d never have found it. It was beautifully hidden, at least from humans.

  However, that label no longer applied to him. He had risen above his humanity, and become something more, something better. He smiled to himself at the thought, and continued to watch the camp, though his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. But it didn’t seem to matter. His other senses were so acute that he’d be able to observe the camp blindfolded if need be. Truly gifts from God.

  A woman emerged from the large wooden house, flicking her long dark hair as she walked into the fading sunshine. He recognised her at once as the fortune teller from the carnival, the one who’d been at the manager’s side the night before. But his new senses revealed much more about her than he’d previously known. There was another scent on her, caught by the breeze and carried to David’s nostrils.

  Amos. She was his bitch. How interesting.

  Kill her, his father muttered inside his head. Kill her now. Kill them all now.

  ‘Patience, Father,’ he said under his breath. ‘It’s not the right time yet.’

  If not now, then when?

  ‘Soon,’ he purred. He found himself becoming aroused by the sight of Rachel. There was something primal about her, an earthy beauty that talked to his new instincts in ways he couldn’t explain or comprehend. He wanted this woman, wanted her in the most bestial way, pure and uncomplicated. He wanted to cleave her, to overpower her, to take her and have her. If he’d allowed himself to, he’d have leapt from the tree, fallen the ten metres to the soft ground and run to her, at her, into her, pinned her to the ground and...

  He closed his eyes and forced the thoughts from his head, into his Worry About It Later box. As he’d just reminded his dead father, now was not the time. It was time to practise what he preached.

  He looked again, and now the manager, the leader, Amos, was standing by her side. He could hear every one of their words, despite the distance.

  ‘...he’s all right?’ she was asking.

  ‘That’s not our concern any more. Hampden has been cast out. He must fend for himself.’

  David was a little startled by this revelation. He’s not at the camp any more, he thought, panic creeping into his head. That changes everything.

  It changes nothing, his father said, his silent voice stern. Your plan is a good one. At this stage, Paul would simply be a complication, a distraction. You can deal with him later.

  ‘You... you’re right,’ David whispered, regaining his confidence. ‘First things first.’

  Yes, the voice said. And this camp is the first thing. You should wipe them out. God is at your side.

  ‘God helps those who help themselves,’ David whispered, eyes fixed on the camp. ‘This is not a simple community, the kind that normal people form. It’s a pack. More like a single creature. A huge, powerful, resilient creature.’

  So?

  David watched Amos, who was speaking to the woman again.

  ‘...just going to go into town to pick up our supplies. I’ll be back in a few hours.’

  ‘All right,’ she responded, her voice flat, anger just beneath the surface.

  She returned to the house, and the leader headed out towards the forest to David’s left. David smiled and pulled on his leather gloves. He then reached for the scabbard he’d fixed at the small of his back to make sure it hadn’t become dislodged. It was still there, almost nine inches of sheathed metal.

  ‘So,’ he said as he descended from the tree, ‘in order to kill such a large creature, you must first remove its head.’

  THREE

  Confrontations

  -33-

  The weather was sour and unsettled, which suited Paul’s mood. It had been raining on and off for most of the night, a spitting kind of rain that never built up enough of a rhythm on the corrugated iron roof to be soothing. Instead it kept him awake with its uneven and unpredictable beat, much like the sound of a failing heart. He slept in fits and starts, maybe for an hour at a time, but his thoughts kept coming back at him again and again.

  By morning he felt more tired than he had the previous evening, but the pain in his leg had dulled to a persistent ache. He examined it and could almost see it healing in front of his eyes. The bone had slid back into place and the swelling had gone down. It was still an angry red and purple, but many of the broken blood vessels had reformed, and it was clearly on its way to normality. Maybe in a few days he could walk on it again without pain. He’d got used to that in a hurry, despite the years he’d spent being unable to walk far without his cane. It was probably natural, though, to become accustomed to good things quickly, and to bad things slowly.

  Alvan fed him some breakfast - bacon, eggs and sausages - which he ate like he hadn’t been fed in a week. That’s how it felt, too. His body seemed to have burned off an incredible amount of energy during the night while healing his broken fibula. He wondered what would happen if he was hurt badly enough that he couldn’t move. Would his body simply eat itself, cannibalising whatever it could in order to repair the damage? Or would it just give up?

  Not invulnerable after all, he thought, and it was a comforting notion. Silver wasn’t the only thing that could kill his kind. Time and a lack of resources would do the job just as well.

  After eating and dressing Paul and Alvan climbed into his van and drove into the woods, heading for the carnies’ encampment. It took over an hour to reach it. The tracks had turned from sand into thick, voracious mud in the rains overnight, which made every metre slow at best, perilous at worst. A few times the van threatened to slide completely off the path into trees or down small ravines, but Alvan handled the vehicle without a trace of panic. He was obviously used to driving in these conditions. By the time they arrived the sun was well on its way into the sky, just visible as a pale glow through the grey clouds that stretched to the treetops in every direction.

  Paul stepped out of the van, leaned hard on his cane and looked around. At first glance the camp seemed to have its usual level of frenetic activity. There were carnies running to and fro, looking stressed, much the same as the morning before. But something struck him as different about this morning, though he wasn’t sure at first what that was.

  They were all empty handed. Nobody was hauling equipment, or pushing barrows full of food, or even holding any tools. It was activity without an obvious purpose.

  As Paul limped towards the camp with Alvan walking behind him, a familiar large man emerged from the crowd and came to meet them. His arms were folded, his brow furrowed. It was Carl, one of Amos’ foremen.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a gruff voice, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. He sounded distracted, and his eyes didn’t stay on Paul and Alvan for long. Instead they darted around instead before returning to them from time to time. For some reason this made Paul even more uncomfortable.

  ‘We have to see Amos,’ Alvan spoke up from behind

  Paul, his voice a little shaky. ‘It’s urgent.’

  Carl stared at them, as if he didn’t understand what they were saying.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Alvan asked. ‘I said-’

  ‘Amos isn’t here right now,’ a soft voice interrupted, and Rachel stepped forward from the crowd. ‘Alvan, you know the rules
. You’re not allowed to come here.’

  Alvan blushed. ‘I know, but...’

  ‘And Paul,’ Rachel continued, ignoring the little man’s explanation, ‘you have been cast out of our community. You were told never to return. And yet here you are, the very next day.’ She looked at him, frowning. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paul responded, not meeting her eyes.

  ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

  Paul jumped. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied in all honesty.

  ‘I don’t even know if he’s here. All I know is that he’s still alive.’

  ‘He’d better be,’ she said, voice grave, ‘for your sake. Carl?’

  The big man came forward fast, grabbed Paul by the upper arms and lifted him off the ground. Paul yelped, both in surprise and pain, and his cane dropped to the ground. From behind him, he heard Alvan’s cry of confusion.

  ‘Where is he, you maggot?’ Carl growled, his face close to Paul’s. ‘What’ve you done with him?’

  Paul winced. ‘I... I don’t know... I thought I’d killed him...’

  The fingers tightened on his arms. He felt the bones flexing under the pressure, close to snapping. He groaned.

  Rachel walked up beside the two men. ‘Tell us where he is, Paul. Tell us now.’ Her voice was like the blade of a knife, cold and hard and sharp and dangerous.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Alvan yelled, exasperated and afraid.

  ‘He doesn’t know where his brother is! He came to warn you!’

  There was a long silence, broken only by Paul’s agonised panting.

  ‘His brother?’ Rachel asked at last, sounding puzzled.

  Paul nodded. ‘I... I thought I’d killed him...’

  ‘You...’ she started, then turned to Carl, who was looking perplexed. ‘Put him down, Carl,’ she ordered.

  The hands released Paul’s upper arms and he fell to the ground. The pain in his leg flared up again as it hit the dirt. He lay there for a few moments, his breathing ragged, as the finger-shaped aches in his arms faded. Then he sat up, reached for his cane and looked up at Rachel.