Disintegration

32

“Problem is,” Jas sighed, “you need power to use most of this stuff.”

Harte nodded and continued to walk around the collection of gym equipment at the side of the pool. It was just far enough away from the stagnant water to avoid the worst of the acrid stench which they’d tried to clear by propping open some of the outside doors. This place would have been quite nice in the summer, he thought as he gazed around through the dust and cobwebs. He’d never been much of a fan of exercise, but the prospect of finally having something constructive to do with his time was appealing. Providing they could get enough food and nutrition to replace whatever energy they used up while working out, the benefits of using the gym equipment were obvious. As well as keeping them in shape—or, in the case of most of them, getting them into shape—the physical exertion would also undoubtedly allow them to release some of their frustrations. Webb could continue with his therapy sessions without having to round up decaying corpses and batter the hell out of them.

“Weights are all right, though, aren’t they?” he said. Jas looked up and nodded. He’d been wiping the dust off a screen attached to the front of some kind of rowing machine.

“Weights are fine,” he replied. “I used to do a lot of weight training. I can show you a few exercises that’ll help.”

“I don’t want to end up looking like a bloody bodybuilder,” Harte immediately protested. “All the muscle turns to fat as soon as you stop training, doesn’t it?”

Jas grinned.

“You’ve got to get the muscle first, mate!” He laughed. “You got any idea how much they had to eat to get like that? And there’s the bulking up foods and the steroids and—”

“I get the picture.”

“We only need to do enough to keep ourselves in shape—just in case.”

“In case what?”

Jas shrugged his shoulders. “You know the score. If it’s not the bodies, then there are a few people in here who look like they’re ready to kick off.”

“Such as?”

“Such as Webb.”

“Oh, him,” Harte said. “Don’t need much strength to keep him in check. Kid’s a bloody idiot. You shout at him loud enough and you can see his lips start to quiver. I tell you, mate, when I was in teaching I came across hundreds of kids like Webb. They’re all talk and no action. He’s no threat.”

“You sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“And how sure’s that?”

Harte didn’t answer. Instead he started looking at another piece of training equipment. It looked more like a medieval torture device than anything that might actually have been designed to do some good.

“What’s this do?” he asked. Jas didn’t answer.

“Just watch yourself around Webb,” Jas warned, his voice low and deadly serious. “I’ve seen him in action and I don’t like it. I’ve watched him when he thinks no one’s been looking. I’ve seen him do some things—”

“Like what?”

Jas, now much closer, wouldn’t be drawn. He continued past Harte and stood at the edge of the pool, looking into the murky water. They’d need to drain the pool, he decided. The glass doors, roof and walls made the place like a greenhouse.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he eventually replied, forcing himself to think about Webb again. “Just be careful, that’s all. He’s got himself a new friend now. We need to make sure he doesn’t get carried away and start showing off.”

“That kid Sean seems okay. He seems pretty sensible.”

“He’s like a coiled spring,” Jas said. “Poor sod’s been trapped in here with a bunch of old bastards who are scared of their own shadows. By the look of the dust in here he hasn’t been using the gym to let off steam, so he’s going to be full of frigging teenage angst and hormones. I tell you, he’ll be itching for a chance to get out of here and see some action to prove he’s a man.”

“Looks like a strip of piss to me,” Harte grunted. “I can’t see him fighting his way out of a bloody paper bag.”

“Keep your eye on the quiet ones.”

“Whatever.”

“I mean it. Just don’t let him get carried away. If you see him getting out of control, jump on him hard. If he starts looking up to Webb and seeing him as a role model, then we’re going to have all kinds of problems to—”

Jas stopped talking, interrupted by a sudden crashing noise.

“What the hell was that?” Harte asked anxiously. Jas disappeared back out through the nearest door and ran along the corridor. Howard’s dog pelted toward them from the opposite direction. The animal stopped beneath the window of the small office where Martin’s pet corpse was kept. She looked up and snarled but didn’t make a sound. Howard himself followed breathlessly at a distance. Jas peered through the glass. He could see the Swimmer scrambling about on the floor, slowly picking herself back up.

“Problem?” Howard asked.

“Stupid thing fell over,” Jas answered. “Looks like it knocked itself into a locker.”

“Was that all it was?” Harte asked, his heart pounding. He looked over Jas’s shoulder. In the dappled light from the skylight he could see a metal locker lying on the ground that hadn’t been there yesterday, but he couldn’t see the corpse.

“She hates that bloody thing, don’t you, girl,” Howard said, leaning down and ruffling his dog’s fur. The dog didn’t move. “She gets all defensive when it starts making noise.”

“You sure that was all it was?” Harte asked again, his whispered voice barely audible. “Where is it?”

“Over there,” Jas replied, pointing toward a corner of the room. Harte squinted into the gloom but couldn’t see anything. Then, just for a fraction of a second, he caught sight of an arm swinging clumsily behind a metal storage rack. “It probably heard us while we were by the pool. Fucking thing’s hiding now!”

Feeling slightly braver, he took a step closer and pressed his face against the window. He could clearly see the outline of the side of the corpse now that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the light. For a moment he thought it was looking back at him.

“None of us like having that thing around,” Howard mumbled. “I think Martin’s getting too attached to it. I just tolerate it ’cause I know that when this one’s rotted down to nothing and it can’t get up again, it’ll be safe to go back outside.”

“How can you tell what condition it’s in if it spends all its time hiding in the dark?” Harte asked. “Maybe we should force it out into the open so we can see exactly what it’s up to.”

“What do you want it to do?” Jas sighed. “A bloody tap-dance routine?”

“Stupid fucking thing,” Harte said. He lifted his fist and hammered on the thick safety glass. “Come out where we can see you, you stupid fucking thing!”

“Give it a rest,” Howard said. “Keep the noise down.”

Harte ignored him and carried on hammering.

“Harte,” Jas said angrily, “cut it out.”

“Not until it comes out. No good having a pet you can’t see, is there?”

The corpse suddenly lurched forward. It threw itself across the room, slamming into the window, the impact and recoil sending it tripping back into the shadows again. Harte jumped back across the corridor with surprise.

“Christ,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to appear calm and unfazed. The creature in the office dragged itself back toward the window and stared out, its dull eyes constantly moving from face to face.

“What the hell are you doing?” Martin asked, rushing toward the noise like an overprotective parent. He pushed his way closer to the glass. Jas noticed that the trapped corpse almost appeared to relax when it saw him. It immediately backed off and returned to the shadows. Had it recognized Martin, or had he just imagined it?

“We’re not doing anything,” Harte replied, sounding like a guilty child who’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Leave her alone,” Martin said, seething with anger and turning on the other men. “She’s important. The day she finally drops is the day we’re free to go outside again. We need her. We’ve managed perfectly well here so far and we don’t need cretins like you coming along and screwing it all up. Understand?”

Harte didn’t say anything. Martin didn’t give him a chance to. Before Harte could open his mouth he’d turned his back and stormed away along the corridor.