'Lead the way,' Bishop told her. 'Upstairs to the first floor.'

They half-carried, half-dragged the weak form of Kulek up the stairs, going fast, thankful that the lorry was partially blocking the entrance to the flats, the flames preventing anyone from passing through any gaps. Neither Bishop nor the policeman had forgotten the approaching figures.

The fire from below lapped over the balcony of the first floor, so they decided to continue upwards to the second. Edith led the way down the short hallway to the open landing, a four-foot-high balcony running in either direction along the length of the building. The block of flats seemed comparatively small against normal high-rise buildings. There were only three apartments to each floor and as yet they did not know how many floors there were, but Bishop guessed there were probably nine or ten. There were two flats on the landing to the left of the short hallway, one to the right. The policeman helped Bishop prop Kulek against the balcony, then hurried along to the single flat on their right. While he banged on the door, Bishop looked down into the forecourt and street below.

Smoke rising from the burning wreck stung his eyes and he quickly drew back, but not before he had seen the people standing just beyond the ring of light thrown by the flames. Their faces were turned upwards as though watching him.

'Police. Come on, open up in there!' the driver was calling through the door's letterbox.

Bishop left Jessica steadying her father with Edith helping her, and hurried over to the irate policeman.

'There's someone in there,' he said, turning to Bishop, 'but they're too scared to open the bloody door.'

'Have they said anything?'

'No, but I can hear them moving around.' He put his face to the letterbox again. 'Look, it's the police we're not going to hurt you.' He rattled the flap when no reply came.

Bishop looked back over the balcony and did not like what he saw. The flames below seemed to have lost much of their intensity; soon they would be low enough for those waiting to get through to the stairs. And although they were only shadowy blurs, there were many more people down there than he had at first thought.

'Let's try another flat,' he said hastily to the policeman.

'Yeah, I think you're right; wasting our bloody time here.' He stooped for one more try. 'Look, if you won't let us in, at least call Emergency. Ask for the police and an ambulance we've got an injured man here. My name's Simpson, driver to Detective Chief Inspector Peck. Got that? Chief Inspector Peck. Tell them I've got Jacob Kulek with me and to send immediate assistance. Please do it!'

He rose once more, shaking his head. 'Let's hope they listened.'

'Let's hope they've got a phone,' Bishop replied, leaving the policeman staring after him as he returned to the two women and Kulek.

'Shit,' Simpson said to himself, then followed Bishop. 'Let's get up to the next floor,' he said. 'These other buggers won't open their doors now they know their neighbours wouldn't.'

This time Jessica helped Bishop move her father as Edith and the policeman led the way, the medium shining the torch ahead of them in the darkened stairwell. On the next landing, Simpson went to the first door on their left and rattled the letterbox.

'Hello in there. This is the police. Open up, please.'

They leaned the injured man against the wall in the hallway, Bishop reluctant to be seen by the victims below.

'Edith, bring me the torch,' he called out softly, and the medium left the policeman to come round to them. 'Shine it on Jacob; let's see how he is.'

He looked a hundred years old, his face drawn and pale, the lines in his skin somehow more deeply etched than before. His sightless eyes blinked against the light, but there seemed to be little thought behind them. Bishop knew by the way his tall but frail body sagged that he would collapse without their support. Just how badly he was hurt, there was still no way of knowing; he had known men to be conscious even with a fractured skull. Yet, it seemed impossible that Kulek could even be semi-conscious after being tossed through the windscreen with such obvious force.

'Father, can you hear me?' Jessica anxiously bit her lips when she received no reply, and looked across at Bishop pleadingly.

'He's a strong man, Jessica. He'll be okay once we get him to a hospital. Hold him, Edith, while I see how Simpson is getting on.' Bishop really wanted to find out what was happening below without alarming the two women. Allowing the medium to slide into his position without losing grip on Kulek, he turned the corner, then peered warily over the balcony. The area of light below had become smaller, the blaze on the lorry and the Granada having become several separate, weaker fires rather than one large inferno. The ring of waiting people had drawn closer. Bishop shuddered at the thought, but it seemed as though these people knew who had been in the Granada, knew that Jacob Kulek was in the block of flats. Was it possible? Was there some telepathy between them and the Dark? This strange force possessed and directed them; did it really have an intelligence?

Someone stepped into the area of light below and looked directly up at him; it was a woman and there was something vaguely familiar about her. He reached for the spectacles he used for driving, pulling them from his breast pocket and slipping them on. For the first time that night, anger became more dominant than his fear. It was she, the tall woman, the one who had helped kill his wife. His fingers tightened around the balcony rail and for one wild moment he wanted to run back down the stairs and throttle the life from her. How had she known where to find them? Had it been what Pryszlak had wanted all this time to trap them in an inescapable area of darkness? And why? Was it just revenge on a man who had refused to help him so many years before? Or was Jacob Kulek a threat? The questions flooded his mind, but they remained mere questions, for he had no answers at all.

'Someone's coming!'

The policeman's voice brought Bishop back to the situation behind him.

'Will you open the door please?' Simpson said, this time keeping any harsh authority from his request. 'There's nothing to be afraid of. I just want to use your telephone if you have one. Look, I'll put my identification card through the letterbox, then you can examine it under any light you've got in there.' He lifted the letterbox flap and slid his wallet through. 'Okay. Now please have a look at it, then let me in. We've got an injured man out here and we've got no time to waste.'

Bishop could just see a vague shape through the window next to the flat's hallway, in a room that was probably the kitchen. It moved from view and again there seemed to be movement behind the reeded glass of the hall door.

Simpson looked across at Bishop and said, 'I think we're in luck this time.'

There were noises inside, a bolt being drawn back, a door-chain being loosened. Finally the lock turned and the door opened fractionally. Bishop thought he could see a face peering out at them, but it disappeared when the policeman moved closer.

'Hello?' Simpson said. 'Don't be alarmed, no one's going to hurt you.' He reached towards the door and gave it a gentle shove. It opened a little wider and he poked his head into the gap. 'Have you got a phone?' Bishop heard him say.

The policeman pushed the door all the way open and stepped into the blackness of the hallway. For a moment, Bishop lost sight of him; then he appeared again, backing out of the doorway. He slowly turned, his eyes looking pleadingly at Bishop, who now saw the hilt of the carving knife protruding from a point just below the policeman's rib cage. Simpson sank down the door-frame to the floor, one leg buckling awkwardly under him, the other sprawling outwards so he was propped there. His head gently lowered itself to his chest and Bishop knew he had died.

The shock had dulled Bishop's reactions, for he was not even reaching for the gun in his jacket pocket when the figure came lurching out of the blackness. He reached up automatically to ward off the thin clutching hands. The glasses he had just donned were knocked away, the lenses having prevented his eyes from being raked by sharp-nailed fingers. The creature he struggled with hissed and spat at him and he realized that it was an old woman. Her wrists felt brittle in his grasp and although she only had the feeble strength of the aged, she fought with an intensity that was frightening. She pushed him back so that his shoulders were over the balcony, her fingers curling closed then open like talons. It was Jessica who ended the battle by coming up behind the old woman, reaching both arms around the scraggy neck, and pulling her away from Bishop. He felt no remorse when he clenched his fist and struck the ranting woman's jaw as hard as he could; to him, she was no longer a human being, just a shell, a host for an energy that was pure evil. She gave a sharp cry and staggered from Jessica's grip, falling backwards over the sprawled leg of Simpson into her own hallway. Her head cracked against the wall inside and she went down in a heap, her body crumpled like a bundle of old rags.

Bishop had to draw Jessica away from the still form of the policeman and she moaned softly as she leaned against him.

'How many, Chris? How many more will it take?'

He was afraid to reply for the answer depended on how much evil existed and in how many minds. Who knew what dark thoughts a friend, neighbour or brother kept hidden? And who didn't possess such thoughts? He led her back to Edith and her father.

'Let me have the torch, Edith. I want you to wait for me here while I search the woman's flat for a phone.'

'Can't we lock ourselves in there?' said Jessica. 'We'd be safe, wouldn't we?'

'If I can call the police from there, maybe.' He hesitated before deciding to tell them the truth of the situation. 'There's a crowd down in the forecourt I think they want us, or at least, Jacob. It wouldn't take them long to break down the door or smash the windows. We'd be trapped.'

'But why should they want my father?'

It was Edith Metlock who answered. 'Because they fear him.'

Both Bishop and Jessica looked at her in surprise, but the sound of footsteps prevented any further questions. Someone was coming along the landing from the single flat on the other side of the hallway; a faint glow preceded the footsteps. Bishop pulled the revolver from his jacket pocket, and pointed it towards the approaching light, hoping there were still bullets left in the chamber. The man peered cautiously around the corner, holding the candle well before him. He was dazzled by the torchlight.

'What's goin' on 'ere?' He blinked his eyes against the light.

Bishop relaxed slightly; the man seemed normal enough. 'Step out where I can see you,' he said.

'What's that a gun?' The man raised the long, iron bar he was carrying.

'It's all right,' Bishop assured him. 'No one's going to harm you. We need some help.'

'Oh yeah? Well put the gun down first, mate.'

Bishop lowered the pistol, holding it by his side, ready to be raised if necessary.

'What 'appened to the old lady? I saw her run out at you from me door.'

'She killed a policeman who was with us.'

'Bloody 'ell. I'm not surprised though she was always a bit crazy. What did you do with her?'

'She's unconscious.' He decided not to tell the man she was probably dead. 'Can you help us?'

'No, mate. I'm looking after meself and the family, that's all. Any bastard who comes through my front door cops this.' He brandished the iron bar in the air. 'I don't know what's goin' on lately, but I ain't trustin' no one.'

'My father's hurt, can't you see that?' Jessica pleaded. 'You've got to help us.'

There was a short silence, but the man had made up his mind. 'I'm sorry about that, miss, but I don't know who you are or what you are. There's too many nutters around for me to take any chances. I mean, who crashed the bleedin' lorry down there, for a start? Thought the building was coming down.'

'We were being chased.'

'Oh yeah? Who by?'

Bishop was beginning to grow irritated by the man's doubting attitude. 'Look, we wanted to use that woman's telephone. That's what I'm going to do now.'

'You'll be lucky: she ain't got one.'

'What about you? Have you got one?'

The man was still cautious. 'Yeah, but I ain't lettin' you in.'

Bishop raised the gun once more.

'I'll 'av you with this first, mate,' the man warned, holding the iron bar in front of him.

'Okay,' Bishop said resignedly, knowing it was pointless to argue; any man who thought he could beat a bullet with an iron bar either had to be very dim or very sure of himself. 'Will you ring the police for us? Tell them where we are and that Jacob Kulek is with us. We need help urgently.'

'They're likely to be a bit busy, aren't they?'

'I think they'll make the effort. Just remember to tell them Jacob Kulek is here.'

'Kulek. Right.'

'Tell them to get here fast there's a mob downstairs after us.'

The man took a quick peep over the balcony. 'Oh my Gawd,' he said.

'Will you do it?' Bishop persisted.

'All right, mate, I'll get on to 'em. You ain't comin' in though.'

'Just keep your door locked and barricade yourself in. You should be okay it's us they want.'

The man backed away, the iron bar still pointed forward, his eyes never leaving the group in the hallway. They heard his front door close and the bolt being drawn.

'Nice to see the old blitz spirit coming back,' Bishop remarked wearily.

'You shouldn't blame him,' said Edith. 'There must be millions like him, totally confused by what's going on. He has no reason to trust us.'

'Let's hope he at least rings the police.' Bishop glanced towards the balcony and saw the glow from the fire had dimmed considerably. 'We'd better move on,' he said to the two women.

'Where can we go to?' Jessica asked. 'We can't get out.'

Bishop pointed upwards. 'There's only one place to go. The roof.'

Inside the flat, the man was trying to calm his terrified family. 'It's all right, it was just some people in trouble nothin' for us to worry about.'

'What are they doin' 'ere, Fred?' his wide-eyed wife asked, clutching her ten-year-old daughter to her. 'Were they in that crash downstairs?'

'I dunno. They wanted me to get the police.'

'Are you goin' to?'

'I'll 'av a go, won't do no 'arm.'

He pushed past his wife and entered the sitting-room, walking over to the telephone resting on a sideboard. 'Keith!' he called back to his teenage son, 'get somethin' up against the door somethin' solid.' He laid down the iron bar and leaned close to the telephone, using the candle to see the dial.

He let it ring for a full two minutes before replacing the receiver. 'Would you believe it?' he said incredulously to his wife who had followed him into the room. 'It's bloody engaged. Their lines must be jammed solid. Either that or they're out of order.'

He shook his head regretfully. 'Looks like those poor beggars out there are on their own.'

29.

They had only reached the sixth or seventh floor Bishop had lost count when they heard footsteps on the stairs below.

He leaned against the rail, gasping for breath, trying to listen. Jacob Kulek was now over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, and with each step Bishop took, the blind man seemed to grow heavier.

They're in the building.' He looked into the blackness below and could see nothing. The acrid smell of smoke from the burning wreck seemed to fill the stairwell even though it was apparent that the worst of the fire was over.

Edith Metlock shone the torchbeam downwards and they saw what looked like tiny white creatures sliding upwards along the stair rails; they soon recognized the shapes as the hands of ascending people, the rest of their bodies hidden by the overhanging staircases. It was an eerie sight, for the hands seemed to be disembodied, a nightmare army of marching claws.

'We'll never make it!' Jessica cried. They'll catch us before we reach the top!'

'No, they're moving slowly we've still got a chance.' Bishop pushed himself upright again, adjusting the weight of the semi-conscious man on his shoulder. Take the gun from my pocket, Jessica. If they get too close, use it!'

They went onwards, Edith leading the way, shining the torch ahead of them. Bishop felt his legs weakening, his body slumping more and more under the load. His teeth bit into his lower lip with the effort and the muscles in his back protested their agony. They reached another floor and he fell to his knees, unable to stop himself. Kulek slid from his shoulder and Jessica just caught her father's upper body before it touched concrete. Bishop drew in sharp breaths, his chest heaving. He leaned his head against the bars of the stair rail, his face wet with perspiration.

'How far down are they?' he asked between gasps.

Edith shone the torch downwards once more. 'Three floors below us,' she said quietly.

He grabbed the rail and jerked himself to his feet. 'Help me,' he said, reaching down for Kulek.

'No,' Kulek's eyes were open and he was pushing himself into a sitting position. 'I can walk. Just get me to my feet.'