Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [112]
The man called Sean was hauling Jack into the cool, shadowed interior of the barn. Jack had stopped struggling. There was no way he could get out of the net. But one thought gave him hope.
Ace. Ace had shown him the way out of his body when they took warlock. She had released him from the cage in the laboratory. As long as Ace remained free there was hope for him.
Sean dragged him across the concrete floor towards one of the low electric trolleys with two cages on top. A shape stirred in one of the cages. That was when Jack saw the small black cat. The cat who was now Ace.
They’d captured Ace as well.
‘Got you,’ said Sean with satisfaction. ‘Got you both.’
* * *
Chapter 26
Creed liked driving at night. Ever since he was a kid, riding sleepily as a passenger in his dad’s station wagon, he had loved the feeling. There was something mysterious about the world in darkness and the sensation of passing through it on a journey, on a quest.
When he was young he had watched the passing landscapes of the Midwest: grain elevators, small flat prairie towns, wide, boundless fields. Occasionally stops at railway crossings to wait for an endless string of freight cars to rumble past.
The scenery here was different. Lush green hills and woods rising and curving, then giving way to angular concrete forms that masked dense housing as he neared London. Creed was driving on the main highway, or motorway as the locals called it, that led up from Kent.
The street lights in England were a strange amber colour which Creed immediately liked. They streamed past as he kept the Porsche at a steady ninety miles an hour. The engine note of the car was complex, smooth and integrated. It was the same police‐issue car Webster had used when he had raced to Canterbury. The old Texan had got it serviced by the local IDEA office and filled it with useful goodies and now Creed was finding it a pleasure to drive.
‘Do you know why the cops in this country drive Porsches?’ Creed glanced over at the woman sitting beside him. Justine’s face was alternately hidden in shadow and revealed in flashes of yellow light as they flashed past the street lamps. She remained staring straight ahead, saying nothing. Creed kept talking anyway. ‘The British cops found they were always getting into high‐speed chases with drug dealers who would outrace them. Because the dealers always drove Porsches. So the police figured if you can’t beat them, join them. Nowadays Porsche even have a special model they build exclusively for the British police.’
Justine said something, low and quick.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
‘I said “Go screw yourself.”’
‘What’s the matter, didn’t you like my story? Usually girls love a long rambling anecdote about automobiles.’
‘You might as well give up,’ said Justine. ‘Because we’re not going to be friends.’ She rubbed her face and her handcuffs flashed with reflected light.
‘Listen, I’m as unhappy about this situation as you are.’
Again Justine said something so quickly and quietly that he couldn’t hear it.
‘What?’
‘I said, “Go screw yourself”.’
Creed hit the brakes. As the Porsche slowed with a squeal of rubber he steered it into the concrete siding that served as an emergency escape lane for the motorway. He put the handbrake on, wrenched the door open and walked around the Porsche to the passenger side. He flipped the door open and dragged Justine out by the handcuffs. Late night traffic sped past on the motorway, exhausted drivers glancing at them with curiosity.
Justine watched him with dark eyes, resigned to whatever was going to happen next.
Creed unlocked the handcuffs. He got back into the car and threw them into the back seat. Justine stood staring at him through the open door, rubbing her wrists where they’d been chafed by the metal. Creed sat watching her silently. She hesitated for a moment then got back into the car beside him.
As Creed started the car she glanced at the cuffs lying