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<h2>2</h2>
<p>The woman spun around in the centre of the mall. Her arms were
spread wide and she looked like an elderly ballet dancer trying a
final slow pirouette. Two girls passing close by turned to look at
her, sniggered and moved on. Over by the Italian delicatessen, a
couple watched the sluggish graceless spin. The woman&#8217;s
handbag spun away to the left, hit the tiles and slid along the
floor to the wall. Up above it the lights caught the Christmas
tinsel and a choir of plastic angels swung their heads idiotically
from side to side as they sang doleful carols.</p>
<p>The woman, tall and angular with grey frizzy hair opened her
mouth in a silent yell. Her eyes rolled upwards until only the
whites were visible and then she fell with a resounding thump to
the floor. She jerked as if a savage current of electricity was
discharging through her body, back arching right up from the
surface. A gout of spittle coughed from the back of her throat. A
dry, desperate croak rasped from her yawning mouth. A pair of boys
almost fell over the skinny, splayed legs and swerved to avoid the
obstruction without stopping</p>
<p>Two assistants came rushing out of Body Shop and reached the
stricken woman. One of them, red-haired and freckled, hung back
nervously. The other, short, plump and dark haired crouched over
the fallen shape.</p>
<p>&#8220;Are you all right?&#8221; she asked, the question
everybody asks when it is clear that nothing is all right.</p>
<p>The old woman gagged again, mouth now twisted into a grimace of
pain. Her hands were clamped in against herself, one on her thin
chest, the other on her belly. Her legs were spread wide, bare and
bloodless, shivering and thrumming uncontrollably. The
woman&#8217;s head rattled hard against the floor.</p>
<p>&#8220;Get a doctor,&#8221; the girl said, turning over her
shoulder to her friend. &#8220;Phone an ambulance.
Quick.&#8221;</p>
<p>The red-head hesitated, wringing her hands together, somehow
dismayed and revolted at the same time.</p>
<p>&#8220;Come on Jeanette, <em>run</em>. She&#8217;s really
sick.&#8221;</p>
<p>From another shop doorway, another woman came hurrying across
from the Rolling Stock car accessory shop front.</p>
<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;She just fell down.&#8221;</p>
<p>The sprawled woman&#8217;s eyes rolled downwards and for an
instant they locked on the kneeling girl. Her mouth opened and
closed several times. Three small moles, equally spaced in a line,
marked her face like ink blots.</p>
<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s had a heart attack,&#8221; the second woman
said. Her name was Jenny McGill. &#8220;That or a stroke. Try to
get her on to her side.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;<em>Baby,</em>&#8221; the word came hissing out, almost a
snarl. A spray of spittle came out along with it, making the word
incomprehensible.</p>
<p>Jenny McGill from Rolling Stock pushed at the prostrate form.
&#8220;Christ, she&#8217;s stinking,&#8221; she said, not unkindly.
It was true, the woman smelled pretty awful. She looked as if she
hadn&#8217;t eaten in days, or washed in longer than that. Despite
the smell, old sweat and damp clothes and something else besides,
Jenny pushed and hauled until she got the victim on her side. She
tilted her chin back to clear the airway and recoiled again. The
breath came panting from between teeth that were grey and rotten.
It stank of decay.</p>
<p>Ignoring this reek, she pulled open the thin cardigan and
thinner blouse, careless of the few buttons. A surprisingly swollen
breast pushed out of a grey brassiere and she pushed it to the
side.</p>
<p>&#8220;Is she going to die?&#8221; the plump girl asked. A crowd
was gathering around them. People&#8217;s voices held the hushed
tones of the curious, ready to be shocked at the nearness of
tragedy, the proximity of death. Up on the higher level, beyond the
busy escalator, a gallery of folk, boys, girls and adults were
hanging over, spectating greedily.</p>
<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t know dear, let me have a listen. I&#8217;ve
done first aid.&#8221;</p>
<p>Jenny bent right down, turning her head to the side, got an ear
to the heaving chest. The skin was clammy and hot, too hot. She
clamped the heel of her hand against her exposed ear, cutting off
the tumult of sound, though the plastic angels still managed to get
through with <em>We Three Kings.</em> She pressed harder until the
festive music faded out and closed her eyes to concentrate.</p>
<p>The woman&#8217;s heartbeat was faint but fast, tripping like a
woodpecker burr against the ribs.</p>
<p>&#8220;Fibrillation,&#8221; Jenny said. &#8220;She&#8217;s
going.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; the plump assistant asked.</p>
<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s her heart. Is your friend phoning for
help?&#8221;</p>
<p>The other girl twisted her head, found a space in the gathering
crowd. In the Body Shop, the red-head was putting the phone down.
&#8220;Yeah. I said to call an ambulance.&#8221;</p>
<p>Jenny McGill nodded. Down there against the flesh, the smell was
worse. It sent a shiver through her and for an instant her own
vision wavered. It was powerful and rancid, and Jenny almost turned
away. The sweat stood out in strings of beads on the pallid skin.
The breasts pressed upwards against the fabric, rounded and
bloated, laced with dark veins. They did not look natural on the
oddly wizened frame.</p>
<p>She leaned down again, listening to the dreadful rippling sound
of a heart beating out of control. There were other sounds in
there, an odd <em>whoosh</em> of turbulence, the sound of water
leaking from a pipe, and a louder gurgle from further down, in the
abdomen somewhere, as if the woman had been eating cucumbers or
beans and was getting ready to blow.</p>
<p>Jenny knew it was more than that. Fibrillation meant that the
heart, despite its frantic beat, couldn&#8217;t get the blood
pumped up hard enough. It was pooling down there in the arteries
and veins in the belly, a mass of liquid pressing against the
bowels and bladder. Unless the woman was stabilised, she would blow
all right. She&#8217;d blow herself right out of this world.</p>
<p>&#8220;Stand back,&#8221; Jenny said. &#8220;Give her some
room.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Flipping hell, what&#8217;s that smell?&#8221; a boy
asked. &#8220;Has she shit herself?&#8221;</p>
<p>The crowd pushed back a little. Jenny pushed herself up to her
knees. The woman&#8217;s eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. She
mouthed silent words, only managing a hoarse gurgle.</p>
<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s that?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Baby,&#8221; finally the word blurted out in a coughing
his. &#8220;Got to get my baby...&#8221;</p>
<p>Must be hallucinating, Jenny thought. The woman had to be in her
sixties. She put her hands together, one on top of the other, the
heel of the left one pressing just under the ridged sternum. She
pushed down hard. The woman&#8217;s head came off the ground an
inch, maybe two and slammed down again with a sickening crack. It
sounded like a coconut falling onto stone. Jenny pushed again.</p>
<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s she doing?&#8221; the boy asked.</p>
<p>&#8220;Giving her heart massage,&#8221; his pal told him.
&#8220;I saw it in casualty. It never works. You need that electric
thing. The jump leads.&#8221;</p>
<p>Another push. Hard and definite. The dying woman coughed once
and her eyes bulged. Her mouth was working all the time.</p>
<p>&#8220;Why doesn&#8217;t she give her the kiss of
life?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;You try it. Have you smelt her? It&#8217;s worse than dog
farts.&#8221;</p>
<p>Jenny McGill didn&#8217;t stop her efforts. Her eyes were fixed
on the woman. She pressed down again hard, stopped, bent to listen,
heard the fluttering purr under the surface and went back to
heeling her hands down on the breastbone.</p>
<p>&#8220;Haven&#8217;t you boys got better things to do?&#8221;
she snapped. &#8220;Go out and tell the ambulance men where to
come.&#8221;</p>
<p>The expert on smells gave her a blank look.</p>
<p>&#8220;Get moving,&#8221; Jenny rasped at him. He saw something
in the look in her eye and pushed out of the crowd towards the
door.</p>
<p>&#8220;Can you help her?&#8221; the plump girl asked. Her name
was Carol Padden. She was normally rosy cheeked and cheerful, but
the woman&#8217;s plight had drained the blood from her face. Carol
was fifteen and worked only part time. She had never seen anyone
take a fit or a heart attack before. All she could hear was the
savage, stuttered breathing and the rolling madness in the sprawled
woman&#8217;s eyes and it scared her.</p>
<p>&#8220;Doing my best honey,&#8221; Jenny said. &#8220;Doing my
bloody best.&#8221;</p>
<p>Her breath was coming almost as fast as the old woman&#8217;s, a
panting sound of effort. It wasn&#8217;t working, she knew. The
woman still writhed and twitched under her hands. There was no
change in the fibrillation. Finally Jenny pushed herself up and
leaned back, a trickle of sweat running down her own forehead. The
woman&#8217;s breath was a dry rattle and the smell, sickly sweet
and powerful as rotten meat, came rising up with it. Jenny slicked
a hand across her bow and as she did so, the woman&#8217;s eyes
swung round and fixed upon her.</p>
<p>For an instant they were pale and unfocussed and then, in the
next they suddenly cleared. In that moment they were bright with
life.</p>
<p>&#8220;Baby,&#8221; she repeated and this time there was no
mistaking it. &#8220;Where&#8217;s my baby? I need to
get...&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;What baby?&#8221; Jenny asked.</p>
<p>The woman&#8217;s hand came up and snatched at Jenny&#8217;s
wrist. The fingers closed over her forearm and gripped with
desperate force. It was so tight that Jenny winced as her bones
ground together.</p>
<p>&#8220;Wha....?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Get it,&#8221; the woman grated. &#8220;Get the baby.
Bring him.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;What baby?&#8221; Jenny asked, twisting her arm, trying
to free herself from the grip, but the woman&#8217;s fingers felt
as if they were made of iron. The knuckles stuck out white as bone.
Despite the pain in at the junction of the radius and ulna, Jenny
thought it was impossible for the woman to be so strong. She was
dying. Her heart was giving out right there on the floor. Nothing
but a massive electrical shock would stabilise that fluttering
uncontrollable beat.</p>
<p>&#8220;Find it,&#8221; the woman said again, though this time,
it was less clear. It was as if the very act of grabbing
Jenny&#8217;s wrist and speaking at all had drained the last of her
strength. She raised her head up, eyes still bulging, lips drawn
back over dirty, stained teeth. The smell came wafting up, thick
enough to choke on, an unnatural scent that smelled of death and
decay. She fixed Jenny with desperate eyes.</p>
<p>Jenny McGill nodded, prepared to agree to anything. She pulled
back and the woman&#8217;s grip slackened. Her head went slowly
back down to the floor. For another second, maybe two, the pale
eyes hooked on to hers, sharp as needles.</p>
<p>Then the life went out of them.</p>
<p>It was just as if somebody had pulled a switch. The life went
out and Jenny knew the woman was dead. Her whole body slumped, a
puppet with its strings cut. The mouth gaped and a trickle of thick
saliva slid out. It was pink.</p>
<p>Absently rubbing her wrist, where the bruise would later show
the four blue finger marks and a deeper smudge where the thumb had
pressed, the woman&#8217;s final imprint, her last mark on the
world, Jenny leaned away from the slack face and the eyes which had
unfocussed and were now fixed on something a million miles away, or
something beyond the white light that people spoke of. It
hadn&#8217;t, Jenny knew, been a slow death. At the end of the day,
sometimes that was all that mattered, that death was not slow.</p>
<p>Slowly she got to her feet, dimly aware of the ululating sirens
coming closer down Meadow Street towards the mall.</p>
<p>&#8220;Make way, come on, give us room,&#8221; a man&#8217;s
voice bawled. The clatter of trolley wheels thrummed over the metal
strip where the security door was closed at night. The crowd,
already thinning, moved back further. The drama was almost over. A
woman had fallen and died, unusual, but not the end of the
world.</p>
<p>&#8220;Ambulance,&#8221; the man&#8217;s voice barked.
&#8220;Coming through.&#8221;</p>
<p>Jenny saw the green medic&#8217;s overalls and was glad. They
would take over now, relieving her of any responsibility. She
raised a hand to flick away a stray slick of hair that had fallen
over her eyes and she got a scent of the woman&#8217;s smell.
Suddenly she felt unclean.</p>
<p>&#8220;Right, where&#8217;s the problem,&#8221; the paramedic
said. The crowd parted wide and they came striding forward, expert
eyes taking in the scene.</p>
<p>&#8220;Anybody know what&#8217;s happened?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;She collapsed. I saw it,&#8221; Carol Padden told him.
The colour was coming back into her pretty face. &#8220;She just
put a hand to her chest and spun round and fell down. This lady
said she was filigreed.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Fibrillating,&#8221; Jenny corrected. &#8220;At least I
think so. Her heart was too fast. I tried heart massage, but it
made no difference.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Done the course, eh?&#8221;</p>
<p>Jenny nodded as the man did exactly what she had done, bending
down as if in penitent prayer, and put an ear against the
woman&#8217;s chest.</p>
<p>&#8220;Not any more,&#8221; he said, wrinkling his nose.
&#8220;What the hell has she been rolling in?&#8221; He turned to
his partner. &#8220;She&#8217;s stopped Phil. Let&#8217;s get her
to the paddles. We might make re-suss.&#8221; The first man turned
to Jenny. &#8220;How long has she stopped?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;A minute or so. Not long.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t get long,&#8221; the man said, but he
grinned, showing a friendly mouthful of good teeth. He was a
technician, unfazed and unshocked. He and Phil quickly lifted the
body onto the trolley. The crowd melted away. The first man winked
at Jenny.</p>
<p>&#8220;You did your best, love, That&#8217;s all anybody can
ask.&#8221; He smiled again and then they were off, heading for the
doors. Jenny turned away and began to walk back to Rolling Stock
where the cashier at the door had turned in her swivel seat to gawp
while two small boys took advantage of her inattention to stuff
their pockets with flashlight batteries. She had only walked ten
paces when a dreadful scream tore the air and instantly the
shopping mall hubbub was silenced. Jenny spun. A few yards away
Carol Padden turned almost as quickly.</p>
<p>The paramedics had almost reached the big glass doors at the
west end of the mall, where the smart leather shop showed
mannequins that could have auditioned for a bondage movie. The lead
man had his arm held out at shoulder height to straight-arm the
door wide open, though that wouldn&#8217;t have been necessary
because they were automatic anyway. A few yards away, tethered to a
litter bin, a small yappy Yorkshire terrier went into a frenzy of
high pitched barking.</p>
<p>The scream sliced warm air, loud and high enough to shiver the
glass on the leather shop window. Phil, pushing the trolley, head
bent, stopped. Beside him a child, held in its mothers arms, went
into hysterics.</p>
<p>The woman on the trolley sat upright and screamed so loud it was
hard to imagine a human being could make such a huge noise.</p>
<p>&#8220;What on earth....,&#8221; Jenny muttered. Her heart
suddenly jumped so high it was hard to swallow the sudden saliva at
the back of her mouth.</p>
<p>The dead woman sat upright. The lead man was in the act of
turning. The woman&#8217;s mouth was open in an impossible gape,
ferally wide, just like an animal.</p>
<p>&#8220;...she was dead.&#8221; Jenny finished her sentence.</p>
<p>The scream went on, high and glassy and completely
unnerving.</p>
<p>The paramedic stopped. Phil&#8217;s head was coming up. The door
had started its slide open and the woman rolled off the trolley.
She tumbled to the hard floor and hit it with a thump loud enough
to be heard thirty yards away. Her coat flew open and a bloated
breast spilled out, grotesque and rubbery, filigreed with veins.
The grizzled hair sprung out in all directions. There was a
cracking sound as if a bone had broken, but the woman turned,
almost in slow motion. Her hand reached out, fingers hooked into
claws. Her scream abruptly cut off.</p>
<p>&#8220;Christ on a bike,&#8221; Phil said. &#8220;What&#8217;s
going on James?&#8221; He turned towards the woman who was rolling
away from him, raising herself on to her knees. She crawled away
from the trolley.</p>
<p>&#8220;I thought you said she was stopped.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;She was. Honest to God. There was nothing there.
Absolutely nothing.&#8221;</p>
<p>The woman ignored them. The second hallway of the mall angled
away from the front door. Up on a ledge, the plastic choirboys
still swung their heads in pathetic unison while the Christmas
dirges implacably continued, oblivious of the drama. From here, it
was clear that the sound and motion did not coincide.</p>
<p>The woman almost scurried across the neatly patterned tiling. A
well-dressed girl came walking out of a shop, arms laden with
parcels. She was oblivious to the commotion until she almost
stumbled over the woman. Whatever she thought it was, it was clear
that it was entirely unexpected. She screeched. All the parcels
went up in the air. They came down and hit the ground with a series
of thumps. The old woman scuttled past, a ragged, spidery shape
with that ballooning breast dangling like a growth.</p>
<p>She made it half way along the walkway. Phil and his partner
went chasing after her, but they needn&#8217;t have rushed.
Whatever burst of strength the woman had managed to summon left her
just then, when she was half way to the far wall where baby buggies
and walkers and prams were parked in a line.</p>
<p>One moment she was scuttling on hands and knees, a grotesque,
fluttering shape on the floor. The next her hands slid from in
front of her and she tumbled headlong, her forehead hit the floor
with a sickening crack. She rolled over, twitched twice, and was
still.</p>
<p>The medics reached her, one of them dragging the trolley behind
him. Without any hesitation they heaved the woman back on
again.</p>
<p>&#8220;Make sure she&#8217;s strapped in this time,&#8221; James
said.</p>
<p>&#8220;Make sure she&#8217;s dead next time,&#8221; Phil snapped
back. Over by the bookshop, an old and elegant woman&#8217;s mouth
fell open into a shocked oval.</p>
<p>&#8220;Sorry ma&#8217;am,&#8221; James said. He tried to smile
but couldn&#8217;t. He had never seen anything quite like this
before. The dead did not get up and walk, or crawl. Not in any of
the manuals. And she had been dead all right. He&#8217;d heard
nothing inside her except for the gurgle of settling fluids.
She&#8217;d been dead and gone.</p>
<p>But she had screamed loud enough to wake the dead and
she&#8217;d gone crawling like a ragged spider.</p>
<p>He shook his head. His partner strapped the form onto the flat
and they ran for the doors. They opened in time and the medics got
to the ambulance.</p>
<p>Inside the mall, Jenny McGill watched in stunned silence. Her
heart was beating fast and she felt suddenly faint. The sight of
the woman crawling, a hunched and grotesque shape scuttering across
the floor, had scared her so badly her hands were shaking.</p>
<p>She put them up to her face and again she smelt the
woman&#8217;s scent. It smelled of death.</p>
<hr />
<p>&#8220;Step on it James,&#8221; Phil urged. &#8220;Get this
thing moving.&#8221; The siren was screaming as loud as the woman
had done and the ambulance rocked from side to side as the driver
hauled it round a tight bend.</p>
<p>Phil had slit the faded blouse down the centre and got the black
pads of the portable resuscitator onto the ribs under the rubbery
breasts. He thumbed the node and despite the insulation, he felt
the hairs on his arms stand up when the current discharged. The
woman&#8217;s muscles contracted violently, back arching off the
trolley despite the restraining straps. Her arm, which had rolled
off the surface and had hung limply, fingers pointing at the floor,
spasmed in a sudden snap. It came up, fingers now clenched into a
fist and punched Phil&#8217;s left testicle with enough force to
make him cry out in pain.</p>
<p>&#8220;You okay?&#8221; James called back.</p>
<p>&#8220;Bitch hit me,&#8221; Phil managed to reply.</p>
<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
<p>The fingers unclenched and the hand fell back down again. Phil
bent, trying to ignore the pulsing ache, secured the arm under a
strap and tried again. The body flailed once more, but the monitor
line stayed horizontal.</p>
<p>&#8220;Trying adrenaline now,&#8221; Phil said. &#8220;Fifty.
Straight in.&#8221;</p>
<p>He aimed the thick needle at an angle under the breastbone,
pointing it upwards and slightly to the right. Without hesitation
he started to depress the plunger and the hormone went straight
into the heart muscle.</p>
<p>&#8220;Nearly there,&#8221; James said. &#8220;Got
anything?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Nothing yet.&#8221;</p>
<p>The ambulance sped through the gateway, siren still yelling
urgently, and ran straight for the covered bay in front of the
accident unit. While Phil had been delivering the cardiac shock,
James had been on the radio calling in. A crash team were waiting
to take over. The brakes squealed and the Phil was thrown forward.
Just at that moment the woman&#8217;s body gave an enormous
shudder. Her eyes flicked open, pale and blue and faded. They
looked around. Phil turned. Her hand jerked against the
restraint.</p>
<p>&#8220;Baby,&#8221; she whispered. &#8220;Got to get my baby. He
needs me.&#8221;</p>
<p>Phil stared at her, stunned into silence. The adrenaline
hadn&#8217;t worked. The shocks hadn&#8217;t had any effect. Yet
now she was alive again.</p>
<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s something funny going on here,&#8221; Phil
said. The hairs on the back of his neck were crawling. The
woman&#8217;s eyes swivelled towards him.</p>
<p>&#8220;My baby,&#8221; she whispered again. &#8220;Bring
him.&#8221;</p>
<p>Phil opened his mouth to speak when another enormous convulsion
arched the woman off the trolley. It happened so quickly that he
had no time to react, and with such force that one of the
restraining straps broke and sent the fastener flying to smack
against the roof.</p>
<p>The door opened. Hands reached in. The woman flopped back down
and the life went out of her eyes again.</p>
<p>Somebody unsnapped the brake and the trolley was hauled outside.
Phil followed behind.</p>
<p>&#8220;I gave her fifty of adrenaline,&#8221; he told Brendan
Quayle, the young emergency resident who was already pressing his
stethoscope down against the woman&#8217;s ribs. &#8220;She came
round. But it didn&#8217;t look right.&#8221;</p>
<p>The team trundled their package inside. James came round and the
two medics followed them into the unit.</p>
<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t feel a thing,&#8221; the doctor said.
&#8220;Did you shock her?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Twice. Up to four hundred. Not a thing. The line was
flat.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;But she came round after adrenaline?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Not right away. It was maybe a minute, a bit
longer.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t have been. Wouldn&#8217;t take that
long,&#8221; the doctor said, though not unkindly.</p>
<p>Phil shook his head. The sudden lurch inside the ambulance and
the croaking whisper from the woman had badly unnerved him. He had
seen many things on the road. Dying children, mutilated crash
victims, frozen bodies in the snow. They were all part of the job.
You bit down on the shock and went on and eventually you treated
them like numbers because it was easier that way.</p>
<p>But this had been different. She had been dead twice and she had
come alive and there had been a mad look in those rheumy eyes.
Whatever had happened to the woman, it had not been natural. Phil
didn&#8217;t quite articulate that thought, but something inside
him knew. He shivered again.</p>
<p>It took the crash team less than five minutes to pronounce the
woman well and truly dead. Phil looked through the portholes of the
doors, half expecting her to come lunging up from the table. A
nurse drew the sheet over her head. Nothing happened. The
woman&#8217;s nose and her oddly full breasts poked at the surface
of the fabric, but she remained still.</p>
<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve gone all white,&#8221; James said.</p>
<p>&#8220;Nearly shit myself,&#8221; Phil said. &#8220;And she
nearly neutered me.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t win them all. Come on, I&#8217;ll get you
a cup of tea and we&#8217;ll write the report up later.&#8221;</p>
<p>A tall nurse came and wheeled the gurney away down to the
mortuary. Phil followed its progress until it went through the
swing doors and disappeared from sight.</p>
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