Doc Mortis

Chapter Five THE SEARCH BEGINS

Every one of the doors along the corridor led into offices of various sizes. Some were little more than large cupboards with just a single desk and chair in them. Others were big, sprawling things with bookcases, filing cabinets and tables too.

Regardless of their size, all the rooms were in the same condition. The furniture was toppled or broken. Books and papers were scattered across each filthy floor. The walls were decaying and the ceiling was damp and the windows – all of them – were blocked with planks of wood, sheets of metal and rusted lengths of barbed wire.

Computer equipment was smashed, chair coverings were torn, and the whole place stank like a sewer. It made me all the more desperate to find Ward 13 and get out.

But I knew if I wasn’t prepared I might never make it to Ward 13 alive. Back in the real world, my abilities gave me at least a fighting chance against the horrors that came hunting for me. I could conjure up a weapon, or a shield, or, or... something. But my powers didn’t work in the Darkest Corners, as I’d discovered when I’d tried using them to attack my dad.

My latest encounter with him seemed like an age ago. Could it really have been only yesterday?

I needed a weapon. Something to fight with, in case anything came after me in here. A gun would’ve been nice, but I’d have settled for a sword or an axe – something I could do serious damage with if I found myself cornered.

The best I could find was a snooker cue. It was half pinned below a heavy wooden desk in one of the larger offices. The desk weighed too much for me to lift it, so I spent three or four minutes puffing, panting and swearing below my breath as I wiggled the cue free.

It wouldn’t have stopped Mr Mumbles, or an army of living dolls, or a flock of flesh-eating crows, but I felt safer with the cue than I had without it. It had a heavy end for hitting and a pointy end for stabbing. It’d do until I could find something better.

About half of the offices had working lights. Most of them buzzed on and off like those in the corridor, but a few remained on constantly. It was the first time I’d been to anywhere in the Darkest Corners that had electricity. It had come as a surprise, and made me wonder what else I didn’t know about the place.

And about the person Joseph told me was in here with me.

I held the cue in both hands, heavy end pointing upwards and tried not to dwell on who – or what – might be lurking in the hospital. Getting to Ward 13 was all that mattered. Edging up to the office door I glanced out, scanning the corridor for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

I crept out into the flickering lights of the corridor and pressed on. I stuck close to the wall, barely glancing into some rooms, stopping to search any that looked like they might hold something useful.

None of them did. Just more broken furniture, more smashed computer components, more rot and filth. Sometimes I’d come across a family photograph – the smiling faces of wives, husbands and children – trapped behind dirty, broken glass.

Those pictures, I think, creeped me out more than anything else. Those smiling faces, those loving hugs, they were so out of place – a captured moment of happiness, lost in hell. And they reminded me of the other photograph too. The one that made no sense. The one that was still in the wallet in my pocket.

But I wasn’t dwelling on that, either. Now that I had a weapon and somewhere to head towards, I was feeling much more positive. It might be a long road to get there, but at least I now knew where “there” was.

And it was all thanks to Joseph. I wondered why he didn’t just tell me where to go, or about the map in the wallet. Why had he hidden it? Had someone been watching us even back there in the real world?

I gave myself a slap. I could ask questions like that all day and not get any answer. Now wasn’t the time. I had to concentrate on getting to Ward 13, getting the cure, then getting back to Mum.

I was almost at the end of the corridor. It ended in a T-junction, joining another corridor that ran off in both directions. Before the junction, though, there was a final door. It was undamaged, unlike the others, and, also unlike the others, this door was closed.

What to do? Part of me – a big part – thought I should keep moving, leave well alone. There could be anything behind that door, after all.

But another part was intrigued. Maybe I’d find a better weapon in there. Or something else I could use.

There could be anything behind that door, after all.

Pressing my ear against the wood, I listened. I could hear the thudding of my heart and the buzzing of the nearest fluorescent light, but from within the room itself there wasn’t a whisper.

The door handle was cold. Moving slowly, so as not to make a noise, I pushed it down and gave the door a nudge. It thudded softly against the frame. I tried again, using my hip to shove the door harder this time. Again, it didn’t open.

‘Locked,’ I muttered, out loud. That was that, then.

I turned and walked away, but stopped after just a few steps. Why was it locked? What was in there?

It shouldn’t have bothered me. I shouldn’t have given a damn. But the room was locked up for a reason, and I wanted to know what was inside.

The door was flimsy and flew open with one kick. I hadn’t expected that. Unbalanced, I followed my foot through into the room, only stopping when my momentum ran out a few paces later.

The office I found myself in was as dark and as cold as the grave. My breath rolled away in little clouds, before being lost to the blackness. From out in the corridor, the flickering light spat blurry shadows on to the wall, but otherwise did nothing to brighten the gloom.

I felt for the light switch, not holding out much hope. To my surprise, two wall-mounted lamps came on, chasing the darkness from the room. The light didn’t make the place feel any warmer, though, and I felt myself shiver as I stepped further in and looked around.

The room was in a better state than the others. Everything in it was just as wrecked, but it looked as if someone had tried to tidy some of the debris up, or at least sweep it into a pile at the back of the room.

The window was barricaded, just as all the others had been. Over in one corner, a desk lay on its side. It had been pushed right into the corner, so its four legs were pressed against one wall. Within the little square space between the desktop and the skirting board lay a crumpled hospital blanket. It must’ve once been white, but now it was a dark rainbow of dirty stains.

There was a lump about the size of a football beneath one corner of the blanket. I watched it for a while to make sure it wasn’t moving, then gave it a prod with the point of the snooker cue to be doubly certain.

Satisfied that whatever was under there wasn’t alive, I hooked the cue tip beneath the blanket and flicked it away. A small bundle of packets and boxes was revealed. I squatted down to examine them.

There was a bag of cashew nuts, half empty, and two packets of crisps, both unopened. Beneath them was a bashed box of expensive chocolates. The top layer was empty, but there were still three pieces left in the bottom tray.

My stomach gave a growl, urging me to get stuck in. I realised I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten. Had it been that meal I’d picked at in Marion’s kitchen? How long ago was that? One day? Two? Suddenly I felt very hungry.

I popped one of the chocolates in my mouth.

Then spat it back out again on to the floor. Coffee Cream. I wasn’t that hungry.

A small satchel lay open and empty on the floor beside the overturned table. I took it, stuffed one of the bags of crisps inside, then slung the satchel across my chest.

The second crisp bag crackled as I opened it. A vinegary smell wafted from within and my mouth began to water. I grabbed half a dozen crisps in one go and crammed them into my mouth. They were stale, and didn’t actually taste much of anything, but I didn’t care. I chewed hungrily, spraying crumbs everywhere.

The second handful of crisps was out of the bag before I’d swallowed the first one. I chewed faster. My stomach ached sharply as the full force of my hunger made itself known. Gulping the crisps down, I raised the next load to my mouth.

A sound from the doorway made me stop. I opened my hand, letting the crisps fall. Holding the snooker cue like a fighting staff, I spun round.

A boy stood in the corridor, just beyond the door. But not just a boy. The boy. The boy from the photograph.

He was small, but the way he was hunched over made him look even smaller. His face was caked with dirt, with two tracks of clean leading from his eyes and down his cheeks.

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