gns.thegraveyardvultures-第26部分

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the　fictional　Frankenstein's　monster。　But　Sabat　could　not　induce　his　eyelids　to　close；　just　as　hours　before　it　had　proved　impossible　to　open　them。　He　was　condemned　to　watch；　to　listen　to　noises　beyond　the　angle　of　his　limited　vision。
　　
　　Jesus　Christ；　whatever　it　was　it　breathed；　rattled　a　broken　ribcage　with　stentorian　intakes　of　air；　stood　and　moved　uncertainly　on　clicking　feet。　It　was　behind　him；　skulking　in　the　shadows；　wheezing　so　that　he　felt　its　cold　breath。　Now　ing　for　him；　a　hunter　from　beyond　mortal　ken　stalking　its　prey！
　　
　　Mentally　he　braced　himself；　knew　not　what　form　the　attack　would　take；　a　blasting　of　his　reason；　a　stopping　of　his　heartbeat　by　the　sight　of　this　terrible　miscreation　or　the　strangulating　grip　of　skeletal　fingers　around　his　throat？
　　
　　Something　came　at　him　out　of　the　darkness；　a　grotesque　bloody　form　that　struck　him　with　its　full　weight；　knocking　the　breath　from　his　body；　causing　him　to　scream　his　terror　in　his　mind。　Cold　flesh　against　his　face；　a　weighty　thing　that　sagged　and　slid　across　his　body；　its　grasp　slipping　away　because　those　fingers　were　lifeless。　And　for　the　second　time　within　the　space　of　an　hour　the　corpse　of　Andy　Drew　escalated　crazed　fear　in　Sabat！
　　
　　Sabat　wanted　to　laugh　his　relief　aloud　but　all　vocal　functions　were　denied　him。　The　corpse　had　finally　slipped　from　its　perch；　moving　the　skeleton　of　William　Gardiner　as　it　did　so。　As　one　terror　receded；　another　returned。　Somebody　was　shuffling　round　into　Sabat's　line　of　vision！
　　
　　He　stared；　tried　to　prehend；　but　there　was　no　explanation；　neither　the　dead　nor　the　black　forces　of　evil　gave　up　their　secrets。　Such　things　were　best　kept　beyond　the　reach　of　mortal　knowledge。　For　the　being　which　had　received　life　from　some　unearthly　source　was　not　in　skeletal　form　…　it　was　the　shape　of　a　man；　flesh　and　blood；　which　looked　down　upon　the　inert　form　of　Sabat　with　cold　unblinking　eyes；　and　it　was　all　the　more　terrible　for　its　human　form！
　　
　　A　tramp…like　appearance；　the　ragged　clothing　unable　to　hide　the　wasted　body　underneath；　and　at　first　glance　Sabat　thought　that　it　was　Gardiner's　skeleton　clothed　in　rotting　tail…coat　with　a　battered　top　hat　set　at　a　rakish　angle　on　the　skull。　But　it　wasn't。　Flesh　was　stretched　tightly　over　the　bones；　parchment　thin；　the　face　half　in　shadow；　vaguely　familiar。
　　
　　The　man　moved　forward　a　step　and　Sabat　saw　him　more　clearly。　Changing　features；　at　first　he　thought　it　might　have　indeed　been　William　Gardiner　clothed　in　a　new　skin　that　was　too　small　for　him；　a　countenance　of　evil　that　even　now　seemed　uncertain　of　its　own　identity。　Then　it　was　like　looking　into　a　dirty…grimed　mirror；　seeing　his　own　features　reflected　behind　the　grime；　again　the　ruthless　evil　。。。　but　not　quite　his　own。　Quentin's！　But　before　Sabat　could　make　up　his　mind；　the　nose　had　broadened；　the　dark　eyes　moved　closer　together；　the　thick　lips　parted　in　what　was　intended　to　be　a　smile；　a　settling　of　the　shifting　face　into　something　more　positive；　one　that　he　knew　because　he　had　seen　it　that　same　day　half…hidden　by　a　voluminous　cowl；　his　panion　then　standing　before　the　high　wooden　cross　on　which　were　draped　the　very　clothes　which　he　now　wore。
　　
　　'Maitre　Carrefour！'　Sabat　got　the　name　out；　found　that　he　could　speak；　that　he　could　move　his　head　in　order　to　obtain　a　better　view　of　the　one　who　stood　before　him。　'Lord　of　the　Crossroads！'
　　
　　'Indeed。'　The　voice　had　that　same　nasal　thickness；　an　accent　which　could　not　be　attributed　to　any　race　throughout　the　modern　world。　'It　is；　sent　by　Damballah；　chief　of　the　Rada　gods。'
　　
　　'Damballah　is　not　ing？'　A　note　of　disappointment　was　in　Sabat's　voice　as　he　managed　to　sit　up；　pushed　the　body　of　Andy　Drew　off　him　so　that　it　rolled　on　to　the　floor　with　a　sickening　thud。
　　
　　'No；　too　often　are　the　chief　gods　summoned　by　mortals。　But　my　presence　will　suffice。　First；　though；　I　must　remind　you　of　your　vow。'
　　
　　'I　have　not　forgotten。'　Sabat　stretched　his　limbs；　found　that　they　moved　easily；　just　a　slight　sensation　of　pins…and…needles　in　his　legs　where　they　had　been　trapped　by　the　bloody　corpse。　He　turned；　saw　that　the　blood…spattered　skeleton　still　lay　in　its　original　position。　'That　。。。　thing　。。。　Gardiner　。。。　it。。。　moved'
　　
　　'Perhaps　and　perhaps　not。'　Maitre　Carrefour　smiled。　'The　bones　are　latent　evil　but　they　cannot　walk　at　present。　You　must　ensure　that　they　never　do；　that　the　malignant　entity　within　them　is　destroyed。'
　　
　　'You　have　been　sent　to　help　me？'
　　
　　'No；　only　to　free　you　from　that　which　paralysed　your　body。　Damballah　has　kept　his　word；　but　even　the　Rada　gods　cannot　do　more；　for　in　this　place　the　Petro　evil　is　strong。　It　is　an　ancient　burial　ground　ruled　over　by　Baron　Cimeterre；　and　his　power　has　been　strengthened　here　by　the　remains　of　this　man　Gardiner。　Already　there　has　been　bloodshed　and　death。　We　cannot　infiltrate　it；　no　more　than　we　can　win　that　war　of　everlasting　strife　which　you　have　twice　seen　for　yourself。　You　are　a　mercenary　of　the　gods；　Sabat；　taking　sides　when　it　suits　your　cause。　We　have　seen　your　treachery　and　we　dare　do　no　more　than　free　you　from　that　which　held　you　and　remind　you　of　your　vow。　But　you　cannot　leave　this　place　until　the　man　called　Spode　is　destroyed　along　with　the　evil　in　him。　The　exit　is　sealed　to　you　by　Damballah　until　that　has　e　about　and　only　then　will　you　beable　to　leave　this　tomb　of　the　dead'
　　
　　Sabat　knew　that　the　Lord　of　the　Crossroads　spoke　the　truth；　that　Damballah　had　trapped　him　here；　cunningly　enforcing　his　bargain；　ensuring　that　a　devastating　blow　was　struck　against　the　arch　rivals　of　the　Rada　gods；　suspicious　that　once　released　from　his　paralysis　Sabat　might　flee　in　order　to　save　himself。
　　
　　'I　cannot　delay　here。'　The　other　stepped　back　into　the　shadows；　a　silhouette　once　more。　'It　is　up　to　you　now；　Sabat。　The　Rada　gods　wish　you　well。'
　　
　　Then　Sabat　was　alone；　glancing　around　the　evil　crypt；　his　only　panions　two　mutilated　corpses　and　a　malignant　blood…stained　skeleton。　So　cold；　whispering　voices　that　could　have　been　in　his　own　mind。　He　shivered；　glanced　in　the　direction　of　the　passage　with　its　slimy　damp　walls　that　led　out　of　here　up　into　the　dusk　of　an　open　world。　Yet　he　knew　that　escape　was　denied　him；　would　not　even　have　wasted　time　attempting　it　even　had　he　wished　to　flee。　He　had　to　stay；　not　only　because　there　was　a　battle　to　be　fought　but　because　there　was　a　score　to　settle。　Cold　fury　was　beginning　to　dominate　him　again；　that　killing　mood　which　he　had　first　discovered　in　the　SAS；　an　insatiable　lust　for　blood　and　death。
　　
　　'You　won't　win　this　time；　Mark　Sabat。　This　is　the　end　for　you！'　Quentin's　mocking　tones　ing　at　him　out　of　the　darkness。
　　
　　But　Sabat　only　laughed；　low　and　mirthless。　He　had　cast　off　the　mantle　of　despair　and　once　again　had　bee　the　fighting　machine　of　old；　the　nemesis　of　evil　forces。　There　was　no　time　to　be　lost。
　　
　　He　worked　quickly；　his　brain　on　full　throttle；　seeing　the　situation　as　it　was　and　knowing　what　he　must　do。　The　voices　around　him　had　sunk　to　almost　inaudible　whispers　and　he　ignored　them　for　they　could　not　harm　him　at　the　moment；　they　too；　must　wait　for　Royston　Spode's　final　act　of　depravity　before　they　were　powerful　enough　to　attack。　Sabat　dropped　to　his　knees；　and　began　to　strip　Andy　Drew's　body　of　its　ragged　bloodsoaked　clothing；　tearing　the　denim　off　in　congealed　strips；　baring　the　mutilated　flesh。　Christ；　Spode's　bestiality　knew　no　bounds；　the　stomach　spilled　out　of　the　base　of　the　inverted　cross　wound　and　Sabat　was　forced　to　cram　it　back　with　his　fingers；　human　offal　that　was　still　warm　to　the　touch。　Revolting；　but　this　corpse　had　a　definite　role　to　play　in　his　plans。
　　
　　Next；　his　own　clothing；　peeling　off　jacket　and　trousers；　carefully　removing　the　。38　from　the　pocket　before　he　began　the　awkward　task　of　transferring　them　to　the　naked　corpse；　several　sizes　too　large　but　he　overcame　this　by　folding　the　surplus　material　beneath　the　body　where　it　would　not　show。　Then　he　laid　it　out　carefully；　with　all　the　care　that　an　under…takers's　assistant　in　a　morgue　might　take；　positioning　it　in　the　same　place　where　he　himself　had　lain　inert　only　a　short　time　before。　Andy　Drew　in　death　had　taken　the　place　of　Sabat。
　　
　　He　stood　back；　surveying　the　result　of　his　efforts　with　a　critical　eye。　Congealed　and　smeared　blood　masked　the　features；　rendered　them　unrecognisable　except　by　a　very　close　scrutiny；　and　Spode　and　his　coven　were　unlikely　to　do　that；　they　would　be　only　too　eager　to　begin　their　sacrifice。
　　
　　Sabat　shivered　in　his　nakedness；　picked　up　the　。38　and　glanced　at　it　lovingly　in　the　flickering　candlelight。　It　was　as　though　it　was　a　part　of　himself；　flooding　him　with　fleeting　memories；　one　in　particular　he　liked　to　savour；　a　terrorist　he'd　cornered　in　a　disused　farmhouse。　Sabat's　orders　had　been　to　bring　him　in　dead　or　alive　but　he　had　decided　not　to　burden　the　taxpayer　with　maintaining　this　kind　of　scum　for　the　next　twenty　years。　The　first　shot　had　smashed　the　other's　gun　arm。　The　left　one　went　up　in　a　token　of　surrender　but　it　was　splintered　at　the　elbow。　Back　against　the　wall；　the　killer　had　screamed　for　mercy；　carried　on　screaming　as　he　writhed　on　the　ground　with　both　kneecaps　shattered；　Sabat　had　taken　a　bead　on　the　head；　but　just　as　his　forefinger　curled　around　the　trigger　he'd　shifted　his　aim　to　a　stomach　shot。　Just　one　bullet　…　the　man　had　taken　an　hour　to　die　and　his　final　agonised　cries　had　been　sweet　music　to　Sabat's　ears；　a　symphony　of　justice　the　way　it　should　be。　He　could　hear　him　now；　pleading；　crying。　And　he　wondered　if　the　Reverend　Royston　Spode　would　beg　for　mercy　at　the　end！
　　
　　He　looked　around　for　a　suitable　hiding　place；　found　a　niche　in　the　wall　from　which　the　altar　was　clearly　visible　and　squeezed　himself　into　it；　sharp　stones　grazing　his　back　as　he　did　so。　The　dried　blood　on　his　body　was　camouflage　enough；　he　was　almost　invisible　in　the　shadows。
　　
　　All　he　had　to　do　now　was　to　wait　and　for　a　man　of　action　that　was　the　worst　part。　He　fondled　the　。38　again；　felt　the　intense　cold；　wondered　if　it　was　all　really　happening　or　whether　he　was　back　in　his　astral　looking　down　on　his　own　bloodstained；　dark…clad　body　lying　before　Satan's　shrine。
　　
　　The　voices　abated；　came　back　again；　Quentin　snarling　like　a　wild　beast；　a　caged　black　soul　frustrated　by　its　imprisonment。　And　other　noises；　the　steady　drip　of　water　somewhere　as　it　trickled　down　the　stone　walls　and　formed　a　pool；　tiny　scurrying　feet　and　pairs　of　red　rodent　eyes　regarding　this　intruder　into　their　domain　with　hostile　glares。　For　even　the　rats　in　this　place　were　malevolent。　Satanic　vermin　sensing　that　soon　there　might　be　fresh　bones　to　gnaw；　Sabat　could　hear　one　masticating　close　by；　remembered　Miranda's　corpse　in　the　corner　and　almost　went　to　her　defence。　But　it　mattered　not；　the　dead　were　dead；　their　bodies　beyond　recall。　It　was　the　living；　and　those　who　were　to　die　this　night；　that　concerned　him。
　　
　　Suddenly　he　stiffened；　his　ears　picking　up　another　sound；　far　off　voices　that　were　neither　within　himself　nor　the　murmurings　of　the　dark　forces　lurking　in　the　shadows。　A　tuneless　chorus；　an　intonation　gathering　in　volume；　the　echoes　picking　it　up。　Animal…like　snarlings　t