All My Nightmares
Chapter Two
In the event, the afternoon had been quite enjoyable. Although red hot coals applied to the soles of his feet would not have forced Charles to say so, he admitted to himself that the others had been right – it was good to escape from camp for a while. The children had been boisterous but generally co-operative during their check-up, and of course had flocked to Hawkeye and his chocolate like moths to a flame, while he laughed and put them at ease. As usual, Charles had been vaguely envious watching Hawkeye work his magic. I can make meaningless smalltalk with a roomful of senators, he found himself thinking. I can discuss poetry and music with the finest minds in Boston – but I can't connect with people the way he does.
To the children, however, company was company, and after the medicals Charles had been dragged, half-protesting, into an afternoon of games and general chaos. Now the children were in bed and the adults were relaxing outside, drowsy and content. Mr Kim, the orphanage's owner, was smoking an ancient pipe and discussing the state of the roof with Father Mulcahy, while Margaret sat with the two middle-aged women who made up his staff, browsing happily through some magazines she had brought for them. Hawkeye sat on a tree stump, idly lobbing pebbles at a chunk of wood. The air was still and heavy, and there was a general disinclination to move very much.
If I had a glass of brandy in my hand, thought Charles, this would be a fine ending to a surprisingly pleasant day.
"Hey, you know what would make the perfect end to this day?" said Hawkeye suddenly, stretching and yawning. "A cold beer."
"Well, as orphanages are not well known for their well-stocked liquor cabinets, you may have to survive for a little while longer without your booze," snapped Charles, irritated at having his thoughts hijacked.
"I have beer," said Mr Kim, and all heads turned his way. "Some GI's gave it to me last month. It is not a drink I enjoy, so I put it in the cellar under the store hut, back behind the house. It is cool there – it is where I keep our fruit and vegetables in the summer. Sometimes we shelter there if the shelling is too close."
"What are we waiting for?" Hawkeye was on his feet, as alert as a dog on the scent of something rabbitty.
"I really think we should be getting back," said Father Mulcahy reluctantly, looking out towards the nearby hills, where angry-looking clouds were massing. Within the last few minutes, the long evening shadows had vanished and a breeze had materialised from nowhere.
"You will not reach the camp before the storm comes," said Mr Kim. "Heavy rain, and perhaps thunder and lightning. You should stay until it passes. Storms come quickly here, but they pass quickly too. Stay, have a beer, and then go home safe and dry."
"Sounds like a good plan." said Hawkeye. "I remember sitting on the cliffs back home after a hot summer day, watching lightning over the sea. There's nothing like a good storm."
Margaret shuddered. "I'm not sure," she said. "I never know whether to be impressed or terrified."
"Snuggle up to me, and after a few beers you'll be laughing at the lightning," said Hawkeye. "Come on, Margaret – come and help me." He tugged at her hand like a child wanting a playmate and she couldn't help but smile. His mood was infectious. She hauled herself to her feet.
"Okay, okay! You're a terrible influence on me, Pierce."
"Yes, I am. I'm a wicked, wicked man, and one day I'll make a wicked, wicked woman of you, if you ask me nicely."
"Perhaps Major Winchester could go with you," suggested Mr Kim. "The cellar door is quite heavy."
"Yeah, you wouldn't make the lady fetch your drinks, would you, Charles?" Hawkeye couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. "This is your chance to impress the Major with those blue-blooded biceps."
Charles refused to take the bait. "I am quite content right here, thank you. Unlike you, I am capable of enjoying myself while still sober."
"Aw, don't be a party-pooper, Charles." Hawkeye put his hands on the arms of the chair Charles was sitting in and made puppy eyes into his face from a distance of about six inches. "Pleeeeeeeeese."
Exasperated, Charles pushed himself up, forcing Hawkeye to take a couple of rapid steps backwards. "All right! If giving the baby his bottle will get me five minutes of peace……" Hawkeye grinned in triumph and scooted round the corner of the building. Charles followed reluctantly.
"I don't know about 'Hawkeye'," said Father Mulcahy with a fond smile. "I sometimes think we should call him Peter Pan."
Mr Kim frowned. "I do not understand – Peter Pan?"
"It's a story about a little boy who never wanted to grow up," explained Margaret, and Mr Kim laughed.
"Ah, I think I see now. Yes, that is very good. There is much of the child in Doctor Pierce." He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and handed them to Margaret. "For the lamps," he said.
It was just starting to rain as they reached the wooden hut. They could hear the wind whispering through the nearby trees, and the temperature had dropped suddenly. The door squeaked and stuck a little as Hawkeye pushed it open, and he sneezed as the dust got into his nose.
"Not much in here," he said, peering around the gloomy interior as the others came in behind him. "I guess they've found a use for most of the stuff we would call junk."
In one corner, next to a pile of netting and a shredded bicycle tyre, he found two oil lamps on top of a box. He shifted the netting with one foot, evicting a host of scurrying, many-legged creatures, and found a heavy wooden hatch set into the floor.
"Give me a hand here, Charles," he said, and between the two of them they hauled the hatch up by its rusted handle and leaned it back against the wall.
Margaret lit the lamps and they all peered into the dark hole. There seemed to be five or six steep steps down to a dirt floor below, but beyond that they could see nothing. Outside, the first thunder grumbled across the sky and rain rattled on the roof.
"Let's make this quick," said Hawkeye. "You two go down and hand the bottles up to me, and we can use this crate to carry them." Charles opened his mouth to argue, but when Margaret walked past him and started down the steps, he picked up the other lamp and followed her.
The cellar was cool but dry, and the smell reminded Charles of walks in the woods at home. He swung his lamp around, making huge shadows dance on the walls. The room was roughly square, and he calculated that six or seven paces would take him to the back wall. He had to hunch his shoulders to stop his head brushing the roof.
"Can you imagine all those children sheltering in here from the shells?" said Margaret, putting her lamp down against one wall. "It must be terrifying for them."
Charles placed his lamp opposite hers, and the pool of their combined light pushed the darkness back into the corners. He began looking through the various boxes and bags heaped in the shadows. "Let's just get this ridiculous escapade over with and be on our way," he said.
"How's it going down there?" came Hawkeye's voice from above.
"Hold on," Margaret called back, moving a half-empty sack of potatoes. "I think I've got something – yes, here it is!" She tucked two dusty bottles under her arms, picked up two more and carried them back to the steps, where she handed them up to Hawkeye. "Come on, Charles," she said. "There's about a dozen more. We might as well take them all."
They were retrieving the last few bottles when the gloom around them lit up for an instant brighter than a midsummer day, and a roar like an enraged giant shook the walls and floor. Margaret jumped, and the bottles she was carrying fell to the floor unnoticed. In the shocked silence that followed they heard a faint creaking noise, which became rapidly louder. There was a huge crash, the world shook again, and a shower of wood, leaves and earth poured through the hole at the top of the stairs, along with a figure who came tumbling down the steps and landed in a heap at the bottom. The hatch slammed like a gunshot as Margaret rushed to his side.
"Are you all right?"
Hawkeye coughed and shook dust from his hair. "Just let me catch my breath," he croaked, pulling himself to his hands and knees. "What the hell was that? Something hit me in the back, and the next thing I know, I'm nose to nose with the worms." He wiped blood from a cut on his left cheek and winced.
"I think it must have been a lightning strike," said Margaret.
Charles had climbed the steps and was pushing against the hatch. "My guess would be that a tree came down. You were lucky this hole was there, Pierce, or you would be in as many splinters as the hut up there." He pushed a shoulder against the door, but it didn't move. "Lord knows how much debris there is on top of this," he said.
Hawkeye twisted round to look up at Charles, and because Margaret had her hand on his shoulder, she felt the transformation sweep through him. His entire body seemed to pull in on itself as every muscle tensed. He began to tremble, and his gaze flickered round the cellar like a cornered animal. When his eyes came back to rest on Margaret they were wide and pleading.
"What is it?" she said, alarmed. And then she remembered.
He cowered against her, his breathing rapid and uneven. His face was the colour of old paper in the lamplight. "Margaret," he whispered. "I – I can't….I don't….."
"Pierce?" said Charles, coming to join them. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
Hawkeye didn't seem to hear him. He clung to Margaret's arm, shaking uncontrollably, and she saw sweat on his face in spite of the coolness of the cellar.
Margaret hugged him tighter, and looked up at Charles helplessly.
"Claustrophobia," she said. "He has claustrophobia. He can't stand to be in an enclosed space."