Dolgikh grinned after him, calling out: ‘We’re pretty close to the border, Comrade. Have you ever thought of defecting?’ When Gerenko failed to answer, he muttered, ‘Shrivelled little shit!’ Then he put his hand on Zek’s shoulder and she felt his fingers bite. ‘Well, Zek, shall we join him, or perhaps we’ll hang back a little and do some stargazing, eh?’
She looked up at him first in astonishment, then outrage. ‘My God!’ she said. ‘I’d prefer the company of pigs!’
Before he could reply she’d turned away. She started after Gerenko — then jerked to a halt, freezing in her tracks. Someone was coming up the trail towards them, closing on Gerenko. And even in the failing light it was obvious that the someone was a dead man. Lord God —he had only half a head!
Dolgikh saw him, too, and knew him. He recognised his fouled clothing, the damage a snub-nosed bullet had done to his head. ‘Mother!’ he gulped. ‘Oh, mother!’
Zek screamed. Screamed again as a huge bloody hand passed over her shoulder, grabbed Theo Dolgikh by the collar and spun him round. Dolgikh’s eyes stood out in his face. Behind the girl he saw a second corpse: Mikhail Volkonsky. And, God — Volkonsky had taken hold of him with his one remaining arm!
Like a startled cat, Zek bounded out from between them, fleeing after Gerenko. She didn’t hear the mental voices of the dead, saying:
Oh, yes, these are the ones, Harry! But she did hear his answer:
Then 1 can’t stop you taking your revenge. And she knew who was speaking, and guessed who he was speaking to.
‘Harry Keogh!’ she screamed, flinging herself breakneck down the track. ‘God, oh, God, you’re worse than all of us together!’
Until a moment ago Harry had been beyond Zek’s reach both mental and physical, hidden in the metaphysical Möbius continuum. Now he stepped out of the shadows directly in her path, so that she flew gasping into his arms. For a moment she thought he was another dead man and pounded at his chest; but then she felt his warmth, the beat of his heart against her breast, and heard his voice. ‘Easy, Zek, easy.’
Wild-eyed, she pulled back from him. He held her arms. ‘Easy, I said. If you go running like that you’ll hurt yourself.’
‘You. . . you’re commanding them!’ she accused.
He shook his head in denial. ‘No, I only called them up. I’m not calling the shots. What they do is for themselves.’
‘What they do?’ Breathlessly she looked back towards the ruined castle, where mad, frenzied shadows fought and tore. She glanced down the track: Gerenko had somehow avoided Gulharov’s lunges, (his talent, of course) but the dead man was limping after him. Winds tugged at Gulharov, threatening to blow him back into the gorge, and thorns tore at his legs trying to trip him —but still he pursued.
‘Nothing can hurt that one,’ Zek gasped. ‘Living or dead, men are only men. They can’t touch him.’
‘But he can be hurt,’ said Harry. ‘He can be frightened, too, made incautious. And it’s growing dark; the ledge back there is narrow and dangerous; there can easily be an accident. That’s what my friends are hoping, that there’ll be an accident.’
‘Your. . . friends!’ Hysteria lifted her voice.
Gunshots sounded from the ruins, and Dolgikh’s hoarse screaming. He wasn’t simply shouting but screaming, like a terrified animal, for he’d just discovered that you can’t kill the dead. Harry covered Zek’s ears, drew her head to his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. He didn’t want her to see or hear. He didn’t want to see or hear, and so stared out over the gorge instead.
Weaker than he’d ever been before in his life, weak with terror, Theo Dolgikh was being dragged towards the rim of the almost sheer drop. Mikhail Volkonsky, on the other hand, was as strong as he’d ever been in life, and he no longer felt pain. With his one good arm round Dolgikh’s neck, the huge ganger had him in a necklock which he wouldn’t release until the man was dead. And now they were almost there, battling ferociously on the very edge of the gorge. Which was when Felix Krakovitch and Carl Quint showed up.