'No, no, I'm all right.' It was Kulek's voice. 'It was just so . . . so . . . overwhelming. The power has become so great.'

Bishop sensed the blind man's utter weariness and shared in his feeling of defeat. How did you combat something so intangible, something that had no material form, no physical nucleus? How did you destroy energy from the mind? The living people who gave themselves up to the Dark could be controlled, killed, but the killing itself allowed that energy to become stronger.

A wild skid as the driver tried to avoid a group of people in the centre of the road caused Bishop to clutch at the back of his seat. The car swerved into a narrow sidestreet, leaving the group calling after them; they may or may not have been victims, but the driver had no inclination to stop and find out. Dull glows were coming from the windows of many houses they passed as though the occupants were lighting fires or candles to create a natural light. They saw that other people were leaving their homes, leading or carrying children, and jumping into their cars, switching their headlights on.

'Looks like we're not the only ones heading for the bright lights,' the driver remarked as he swerved around a car that was just pulling out ahead of them.

There were more headlights in the distance as people followed the example of neighbours and hurried out to their own cars, not understanding what was happening but knowing enough to realize the darkness around them was dangerous.

'It's going to be bloody chaos soon!' Simpson shouted. 'They'll all be trying to get to the other side of the river!'

'Who can blame them?' Bishop replied.

Their car was forced to stop when two cars on opposite sides of the road swung out and collided. Their speed had not allowed any serious damage, but the cries of anguish and panic could be plainly heard. Another car screeched to a halt behind the Granada.

'The silly bastards have blocked the road.' The policeman looked behind, hoping to reverse away from the situation. Yet another vehicle had pulled up behind the car blocking their exit and horns began to bellow their annoyance.

The police driver looked swiftly from left to right, searching for a way out. 'Hold on tight!' he yelled, then jammed the gearstick into reverse and struck down hard on the accelerator pedal, braking almost immediately after. The Granada shot back a few feet, crunching into the car behind and pushing it back, allowing the policeman valuable room ahead to manoeuvre. He spun the wheel round and once more mounted the kerb. Bishop sank back into his seat, his heels pressing involuntarily into the flooring as though to brake, sure there was no way the Granada could pass between the lamp-post and the low garden wall on their left. They got through only because the car itself widened the gap considerably by taking much of the garden wall with it. The tearing of metal and crumbling brickwork on the passenger side made Bishop lean towards the driver, expecting his side of the car to rip free at any moment. The policeman found his way back on to the roadway, the two crashed cars successfully passed.

'Always wanted to do that,' he said, grinning despite the tension.

'Sunday drivers,' Bishop commented, relieved to still be in one piece.

'There's a main road ahead. We should be able to make better progress.'

The driver's optimism, however, was misguided, for as they tore into the wide road, they saw that the intersection ahead which was normally controlled by traffic lights was jammed solid with vehicles.

'The sideroad there!' Bishop pointed at the narrow turning to their left and the driver directed the car into it without hesitation. At the far end they could see a building blazing, figures standing in the road watching.

'Right!' Bishop shouted, but the driver had already seen the turning and was reducing speed. The car struck something that made a dull thud against the metalwork; neither of the two men in the front had seen whether it was a man, woman or stray animal. The driver accelerated once more, saying nothing.

The sidestreet ran into another main road and the Granada came to an abrupt halt halfway across it. To their right was the jammed intersection they had just avoided and now they could see people being dragged from the cars and attacked. Again, there was no way of knowing whether or not the attackers were Dark victims or merely angry motorists frustrated at not being able to escape the lightless area of the city. As they watched, a man, lit by the headlights, leapt on to the roof of his car while hands reached up and clawed at him, trying to drag him down. His resistance came to an abrupt halt when his legs were swept from beneath him by a stick or iron bar of some kind; he fell on to his back, then slid from the roof, fists pummelling him as he went down. Screams directed their attention to another spot in the jumble of machines: a woman was being stretched across a car bonnet, her clothes ripped from her body, arms and legs pinned down by eager hands. The rush of others towards her obscured what followed, but as the screams became more shrill, there was little doubt as to what was happening to her.

Bishop's hand tightened on the Smith and Wesson as Jessica said, 'We've got to help her, Chris, please, stop them!'

He looked towards the policeman who shook his head. 'Sorry,' Simpson said, 'we'd have no chance. There's too many.'

Bishop knew the man was right, but he was unable to sit there and let the atrocity happen. The driver sensed his mood and quickly stabbed down at the accelerator pedal. He swung the car around in a tight quarter-circle, heading away from the intersection. Anger burst from Bishop and for a brief second he considered levelling the gun at the policeman's head.

Then Edith Metlock began to laugh.

He swivelled around to look at her, the gun poised, barrel angled towards the car's roof. Kulek and Jessica had recoiled away from the medium and were staring at the dark form sitting opposite them.

The laughter did not belong to her. It was deep, nasty, a man's heavy laughter.

The driver kept his foot down, knowing it could be fatal to stop in that blacked-out area, but he experienced the same dread as the others: the coldness seeping through him, the feeling of fluttering pressure just below the back of his neck, the loosening of sphincter muscles. The laughter was unnatural.

'Edith!' Kulek said sharply, the weariness now gone from his voice. 'Edith, can you hear me?'

Oncoming cars flashed by, their lights briefly casting beams into the interior of the Granada, the drivers unaware that the way ahead would be blocked by the jam at the intersection. Edith's face was momentarily illuminated as each fleeing vehicle swept by and they could see her eyes were full of a malice that was alien to the woman herself. Her mouth was open, but her lips did not curve upwards into a smile; the laughter rattled from somewhere deep in her throat.

Kulek blindly reached out towards her, his searching hand finding her immobile face. The wind blew in through the broken windscreen and howled around the interior of the car. Still she laughed.

'Force him from you, Edith!' Kulek shouted above the noise of the wind and the car's engine. 'He cannot take you unless you allow him to!'

But the laughter had become that of many now. And the wind had stopped.

It was as though they were in a vacuum; even the noise from the engine could not be heard. Only the hollow laughter of things that were dead filled their heads, mocking them and enjoying their fear.

The driver nervously glanced back over his shoulder, unsure of what was happening, the sounds making him hunch his body over the steering-wheel as if he were warding off something physical. 'For Christ's sake, make her stop! Hit her, do something!'

Kulek began to talk to her again, his voice low and soothing; the others could not hear him, but each time the interior was lit up, Bishop could see the blind man's lips moving, and he knew Kulek was urging the medium to rid herself of the demons using her body.

'Oh, no!' It was the driver again.

Bishop turned and saw the policeman was staring at the road ahead; he was heaved towards the smashed windscreen as the brakes were slammed on. The car skidded to a halt and rocked backwards and forwards on its suspension; the three passengers in the rear were thrown against the backs of the front seats.

Because of the remaining shattered glass in the windscreen, Bishop could not see what had made the driver stop. He quickly leaned over towards the steering-wheel and peered through the gaping hole in the glass. He drew in a sharp breath.

A line of vehicles stretched across the road, those at each end jammed into shop doorways so there was no possible gap for other cars to break through. The blockage had been deliberately set up to prevent the main road being used as a means of escape to the other side of the river. They saw the wrecks of other cars that had reached that point before them, their bonnets buckled and bent because the drivers had not braked in time. Faces peered over the top of cars at the Granada, then figures leapt over the barrier and appeared from doorways on either side of the road, streaming towards them. Their cries snapped the policeman into action, but not before the first man had leapt on to the car bonnet and was curling his fingers around the jagged windscreen glass for grip. Another joined in, this one a woman, her face black with dirt and her body emaciated.

The door on Bishop's side was pulled open just as the car shot backwards away from the blockade, swinging wide with the added momentum. Bishop felt Jessica's hands on his shoulder as he nearly tumbled out on to the road. A man clung to the door, his legs stretched out behind him as he was dragged along. The woman on the bonnet was thrown off and landed in the road, her piercing scream instantly cut off as her skull cracked against the hard surface. The first man still miraculously clung to the broken window and was hauling himself forward against the gravitational pull, his free hand reaching in and clutching the steering-wheel.

'Shoot him, Bishop!' the policeman cried and, almost in a reflex action, Bishop raised the weapon and pointed it at the gaping hole in the windscreen. Instead of squeezing the trigger, he brought the gun down hard on the man's knuckles. The hand opened and glass snapped from the windscreen as the man flew away from them.

The Granada gathered speed, the driver silently praying that no other vehicle would suddenly appear behind them. Without warning he jumped on the footbrake and spun the wheel into full lock. The car did a hundred and eighty degree turn, its nose ending up pointed in the direction from which they had come. The passenger door swung shut, sending the man clinging to it skidding and bouncing across the road.

Once again the accelerator pedal was pressed and the car leapt forward. Bishop was too breathless to make any comment on the driver's skill; he checked behind to see if the others were still in one piece, but even before he could ascertain whether or not they were, the car was screeching around to their right, the driver knowing it was useless to go back the way they had come. When Bishop had righted himself again he saw they were speeding along a street that had high-rise buildings on one side, a row of shops on the other.

Somehow, he knew there was something ominous about the headlights that swung into view ahead of them.

Simpson raised an arm to shield his eyes from the glare. 'Silly bastard he's on full beam.' He flashed his own headlights to warn the other driver, but the advancing beams were not dipped in acknowledgement. Their faces were brilliantly lit by the oncoming lights and Bishop realized the vehicle coming towards them had to be a lorry or a truck of some kind its lights were too high above the ground for it to be a car. The policeman steered over to his right, for the other vehicle was on the wrong side of the road. The other driver matched his direction, pulling to his left.

'Jesus, he's trying to hit us!' the policeman whispered, but the wind was back in the car and no one heard his words. The glare became even more harsh, the dazzle painful. It filled their vision, drawing closer like a fiery comet dashing across a black void. Bishop could hear Jessica screaming, the policeman shouting. The laughter of the dead.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself back against his seat, bracing himself for the impact.

28.

For Bishop, there was no sense to the next few moments, just the shock of screaming noise and whirling lights. The police driver had spun his steering-wheel to the left in an effort to thwart the oncoming vehicle, but the other driver had altered his direction just enough to clip the Granada's right wing, sending the car into a screeching spin, the occupants violently jarred by the blow. The policeman was powerless to control the skid and the car turned completely around almost in its own space, before careering across the forecourt of a block of flats to their left. Most of the glass in the windscreen had been shaken loose and Bishop opened his eyes in time to see the entrance to the high-rise building tearing towards them; he jammed his feet hard into the footwell in front of the passenger seat and pushed both hands against the dashboard to prevent himself going through the windscreen when the car hit concrete.

Even though the driver had the brake pedal fully pressed and was turning the wheel to avoid hitting the building head on, the impact, when it came, was tremendous. The bonnet buckled upwards as it met the corner of the entrance, the radiator cut in half and each segment pushed back into the engine in a shower of scalding steam. Bishop was thrown forward, but was saved from going through the windscreen by the position he had taken up moments before; his chest hit the dashboard and he was thrown back into his seat. The driver clung to the steering-wheel which collapsed against his weight and he found himself out of the windscreen, his face against the risen metal of the bonnet, unaware of the body that slammed past him. Edith Metlock was saved from flying over the front seats because she had been knocked to the floor when the lorry had struck the wing on her side; Jessica had already been clinging to the back of Bishop's seat when they had first been hit and her grip had tightened so that when they plunged into the building she was able to prevent herself from being propelled forward. Jacob Kulek was less fortunate.

The total silence that followed did more to rouse Bishop than any voices or body-shaking hands could have; the screams, the laughter, the screeching tyres, had all culminated in the strident cry of torn and crushed metal, and now the contrasting quietness seemed to prod him physically.

He pushed himself upright, his movements slow and deliberate, waiting for sudden pain to tell him he was injured. None came, but a general numbness gave a hint of the pain to come from the bruising he had received. He heard a whimper from behind.

'Jessica?' He twisted his body to see. Somehow the headlight on the passenger side had remained undamaged, although its twin was completely shattered, and just enough light was reflected back from the cavern of the building's entrance to enable him to make out shapes in the car's interior. 'Jessica, are you hurt?'

He half-knelt on his seat to reach her. Her face came up from the top of his seat where it lay, her eyes still closed, beginning to open. She whimpered again and shook her head slightly as if to clear it. Her eyes opened fully and she stared blankly at him.

Movement on the driver's side caught Bishop's attention; the policeman was cautiously drawing himself back from the glassless windscreen into the car. He groaned aloud as he slumped back into his seat. There was blood on his forehead and Bishop could see tiny sparkles of imbedded glass. The policeman gingerly rubbed his chest then drew in a sharp breath when his probing fingers reached his ribs.

He groaned. 'Cracked one, I think,' he said turning to Bishop. 'Maybe just bruised. You okay?'

Before he could reply, Edith Metlock's head and shoulders came into view. 'Where are we? What's happened?' she asked.

Bishop and the policeman exchanged quick glances. 'It's all right, Edith. We've had an accident,' said Bishop gently, aware of the obviousness of his statement.

'Come on,' Simpson said abruptly. 'We'd better get out of here. We're sitting ducks. Did you lose the gun?'

Bishop felt around the floor of the passenger footwell and his fingers touched cold metal. 'Got it.'

'There's a torch in the glove compartment get that, too.' He pushed open his door, grunting with the effort.

Bishop took the torch and stepped from his side of the car knowing they were lucky not to have been seriously injured: the damage to the front of the Granada was appalling.

'Father!' Jessica's scream sent Bishop rushing to open her door. She tumbled out and pushed past him, running towards the wrecked part of the car. He realized what must have happened when he saw only Edith Metlock in the back passenger seat: Jacob Kulek had been hurled through the windscreen.

He found Jessica kneeling beside the still body of her father. Slipping the gun into his jacket pocket, he knelt and shone the torch on to Kulek's face. The blind man had the look of death on him, his eyes narrow slits through which only the whites showed, his mouth partially opened, a faint, empty smile on his lips. Bishop frowned, for he could see no outward physical signs of injury. He probed the skin beneath Kulek's jawline with two rigid fingers and was surprised to find the pulse fluttering weakly.

'He's alive,' he told Jessica and her sobs subsided. She slipped her arm beneath her father's head, raising him slightly from the paving. The blood from his skull began to flow freely.

Bishop became aware that the driver and Edith had joined them.

'Dead?' the policeman asked brutally.

He shook his head. 'Unconscious. His skull may have been fractured.' Bishop took a handkerchief from his pocket and helped Jessica place it against the wound; the cloth immediately became a soggy, red mess. But Kulek moved and a murmuring came from his parted lips.

Jessica called his name, touching his cheek with her free hand and, for a moment, his eyelids flickered as though he were going to open them.

The policeman crouched low and said urgently, 'We've got to get going, Bishop, it's too dangerous to stay here.'

Bishop stood, passing the torch over to Edith who had replaced him by Kulek's side. Although still bewildered by her surroundings, she had the presence of mind to loosen the blind man's tie and shirt collar.

'We shouldn't move him,' Bishop said to the policeman in soft tones so Jessica could not hear. 'We don't know how badly he's hurt. Fortunately, most of the glass was out of the windscreen, but he must have gone through the opening with some force. Either the top of the car or the concrete pavement must have . . .'

The policeman cut in. 'We've got no choice we'll have to carry him. We'll need to find some other transport to get us away from here.'

'There are plenty of parked cars around, but how can you get one started?'

'That's no problem it's just a matter of jumping the wires. I'm going . . .'

This time it was the policeman who was interrupted as the revving of an engine came to their ears. They turned and looked back in the direction from which they had come. Probing headlights lit up the street throwing elongated shadows from the many figures making towards the wreck.

'They're coming for us,' Bishop said quietly.

The sound of the lorry's engine grew to a roar as it began to gather speed, several of the walking people silently disappearing beneath its wheels as if they were unaware of the vehicle's presence, even when they were crushed. Bishop and the policeman guessed the driver's intention.

'Get back into the building!' the policeman ordered the two kneeling women. Jessica opened her mouth to protest, but quickly saw what was happening. Bishop and the driver reached down for the injured man, pushing the two women towards the swing doors just beyond the lifts in the entrance hall. They roughly pulled Kulek towards the doors, a hand each beneath his shoulders, allowing the rest of his body to drag along the floor.

The whole of the entrance became bright as the lorry drew nearer, the driver beginning to angle his vehicle towards the block of flats and the wreck in its forecourt. Jessica and Edith pushed at the yellow swingdoors; they were stiff and opened only slightly. The women used their shoulders and swung the doors wide, holding them open for the two men to drag Kulek through.

'Use the gun!' the policeman shouted. 'Try and get the bastard before he reaches us!' Bishop let go of the injured man and ran back to the entrance, drawing the Smith and Wesson from his pocket. The lights were blinding once more and he kept his eyes narrowed against the glare. With both hands curled around the butt of the gun he took careful aim, amazed at his own coolness, knowing he had to somehow divert the lorry if it hit the entrance square on, the impetus would easily carry much of the bodywork straight through to the rear stairwell. He aimed the gun at a point just above and slightly to the right of one circle of light, to where he hoped the driver would be. The vehicle was no more than seventy yards away, going into a sharp turn that would bring it head on across the forecourt towards the entrance. Fifty yards away. Bishop squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. Forty yards.

He resisted the urge to run and fumbled at the safety catch. Thirty yards.

Squeeze. Recoil. Three times.

One of the headlights went out. Glass shattered. The lorry came on. Bishop ran.

He threw himself at the swingdoors that Jessica and the medium held open and heard the explosion of metal against concrete behind, his fully stretched body sliding on the tiled flooring and tipping over the few steps leading down to the building's rear exit. The two women fell away from the released doors which were slowly closing, covering their faces with their hands, more against the horrendous tearing noise than the flying wreckage. As Bishop rolled on to his back, the building itself seemed to jolt and he saw something bulky shoot from the cabin of the lorry and scrape itself along one wall of the entrance, leaving a large smear of red as it went. It smashed against the swingdoors, an arm becoming trapped between them, preventing them from closing completely. Bishop just had time to see the driver's bloody face peering at them through the reinforced glass, his neck propped up at an impossible angle, before flames billowed out and filled the entrance in a great, leaping ball of fire.

He drew his knees up and covered his head as a blast of hot air swept through the partially open doors; for a moment he thought he was alight, but the searing feeling quickly passed as the air was funnelled up the stairwell. Cautiously raising his head once more, he looked over the top of the three stairs he had fallen down and saw the flames had retreated, but the burning cabin of the lorry completely blocked the entrance. The hallway was filled with chunks of twisted metal, much of it smouldering and black, and the vehicle had struck the entrance at an angle, totally destroying the crashed Granada. Edith Metlock had fallen to one side of the swingdoors and had been protected by the solid wall facing the stairway leading to the upper floors. The police driver was half-sitting against the exit doors, the body of Kulek sprawled beside him.

Bishop put the gun back into his pocket and crouched beside Jessica whose legs were stretched out on the lower two steps. He helped her into a sitting position and when she saw the burning lorry in the entrance, she clung to him. His fingers sank into the soft hair at the back of her neck and he held her to him, her small, trembling body feeling vulnerable to his touch.

She pulled her head away from him and looked quickly around. She found her father and tore herself away. Kulek's eyes were fully open now and confusion was clear on his face, which was bathed in a flickering warm glow from the fire. His mouth opened and closed as if he were trying to speak, but no words came.

Bishop rose to his feet and pushed at the exit doors. They were locked.

The policeman looked up at him. 'Don't worry about them we might be better off staying inside this building.'

'But the fire.'

'It won't spread. They built these blocks of flats to contain any fires. Let's get upstairs and find a phone at least they shouldn't be affected by the power cut. We'll get some help sent to us.' He eased himself into a standing position, keeping his grip on the blind man. 'Right, let's get him up.'

Together, they managed to get Kulek on his feet. 'Jacob, can you hear me?' said Bishop.

Kulek slowly nodded, a hand trying to reach behind his head.

'It's all right. You've had a bad knock. We're going to try and get into a flat upstairs and find some help.'

The old man nodded, then managed to say his daughter's name.

'I'm here, Father.' She had found another handkerchief or a piece of cloth from somewhere and was holding it against the wound on Kulek's head. Fortunately, the blood was not flowing as badly as before.

Bishop put his shoulder beneath Kulek's arm, grasping the wrist around his neck, his other arm around the blind man's waist. 'Can you walk?'

Kulek took a tentative step forward, Bishop holding him tightly. The policeman held his other arm, supporting him, and between them they managed to get the blind man up the first three steps. Edith came forward from the corner she had been crouching in.