by Mark Ayre
Mercury had dreamed of a miracle in which she defeated Heidi and was cured of the demonic remnants in her soul. In which she could enjoy a normal life. She would enjoy it here in her bungalow.
Another beam fell.
If a higher power existed, watching over all things, they were laughing.
There would be no miracle. Mercury might destroy Heidi. Might save the world.
She would never save herself.
Fighting the overpowering urge to give up, remembering she didn’t just fight for the world, but for Amira, Mercury twisted the wheel, slammed the accelerator, sped towards her friend.
Away from the crumbling remains of her home, her hope, her humanity.
Ten
“He’s a guy; you’re hot. He’d got engaged to the love of his life yesterday; I’d still give you a chance. This guy’s lonely, depressed. Ain’t never had a girl like you so much as look at him. You ain’t going to struggle.”
Despite her brother’s pep talk. Although she had spent far more of her life trying to throw off male attention than capture it, Sam was still sure her target would show no interest.
There he was. Alone. Drink clasped in one hand, phone on the table in front of him. Looked like he was reading rather than watching anything. Occasionally he would touch the screen and slide up his finger, as though scrolling.
Were he reading, he would not want anyone interrupting. If Sam sat with him, he would give her a dirty stare, ask what she thought she was doing, then tell her to leave.
Sam did not want to talk to the target; dreaded what would happen if her brother’s plan worked. Regardless, if he were to reject her, as she was sure he would, she would feel embarrassed and miserable. Not because her brother would be furious, or because she would have let him down. Rejection hurt. Even if it was rejection from someone you didn’t want in the first place.
Behind her, a door banged, someone barged past Sam. The shock drew from her a yelp. The barger looked back, looked her up and down, smirked, then walked away.
Several people had looked around at her yell. The target was one of them. For a moment, their eyes met. After a second, he looked away, drank his drink. It was almost gone.
Turning to the bar, Sam waited patiently for one of the staff to notice her. After five minutes, a woman in her forties or fifties with a smoker’s nails and voice whistled to one of the young bartenders.
“Oi, lass has been waiting ages. Take her order, will you?”
Flushing, Sam said, “Thank you,” as the bartender approached.
“Gotta be a bit more assertive,” said the woman. “Else you’ll get nowhere.”
Subconsciously, Sam touched her cheek. At home, she had proclaimed to Benny one too many times that she would never be able to pull the target. He had lost his temper. After he had cooled down, he fetched her a bag of frozen peas and gave her a warm smile.
“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he said. “You know how upset I get when you’re so down on yourself, don’t you?”
She had nodded, winced as she pressed the peas to her face. After a couple of minutes, Benny had taken her hand in his and removed the bag. With a free finger, he had stroked the darkening skin.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Sammy,” he had said. “You have to be strong. If you’re confident, you will get what you want, what you need. Remember that. Just be confident.”
The bartender took Sam’s order as she tried to take strength from her brother’s loving words. With a deep breath, she picked up the wine and the pint of cider and forced herself to approach the target’s table.
He didn’t look up until she was right by the spare chair. As his eyes met hers, she panicked. This was when she was supposed to speak. She could think of nothing to say. She was failing. He was going to laugh; to send her away with the flick of a hand.
Lost in her failure, Sam did not at first realise that he, too, had opened his mouth but was unable to speak. Once she did, it was easier to focus on his wide eyes and reddening skin. She recognised that expression. She had seen it on herself.
With her brother, she had been over and over what she might say to the target, to convince him to trust her, and to let her sit with him. She had been sure, without the right excuse, he would push her away, fearing cruel intentions.
Bolstered by his expression, she said, “May I sit?”
He could only nod. Once Sam had sat, she pushed the cider his way.
“I bought you a drink. I hope you don’t mind.”
Again his mouth flapped. At last, he found the strength to say, “No.”
He took the drink but did not raise it to sip, though he had finished his last pint. He glanced left and right, then over his shoulder.
Somehow his evident nerves helped her take control of her fear.
“You probably think this is strange, me wanting to sit here,” she said, then worried that this sounded arrogant. That it seemed as though she was saying he would think it was strange because she was beautiful and he was ugly. She fought the impulse to go on the defensive, to say this was not what she meant.
He said, “No.” Then thought it over. “Well, I guess, I’m not used to girls, or anyone, wanting to sit with me.”
“I’m probably disturbing you,” she said, looking at his phone. “You’re reading. I can go.”
“No,” his hand half crossed the table, then retreated. “Stay. I’d like you to stay.”
He lay a hand on his phone, darkened the screen, then moved both hands to his cider, which he clasped. He kept looking at Sam’s eyes, then down at the table, embarrassed.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
“Liam, yours?”
“Samantha.”
She did not know why she had said Samantha. Her brother always called her Sammy. Everyone else, Sam. Once upon a time her parents had, on occasion, called her Samantha. No one since then.
“Pretty name,” he said.
Though she had not chosen it, and it was nothing about which she should have been proud, she blushed as though he had complimented a skill. He was still blushing himself. Though he was not traditionally handsome, he had a kind smile and friendly, soft eyes. His round features she found cute. He seemed innocent and ordinary.
A wave of sickness, brought on by guilt, overcame her.
“So, you know, I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, not looking at her as he spoke. “What made you come over?”
“It’ll be easy,” Benny had said. “Once you sit with him he’ll be putty in your hands. From there, it’ll be simple to get him to do what we need. You won’t have to wait long to make your move.”
Liam was awaiting an answer.
“I was supposed to be meeting a friend,” she said. “We were going to have a drink then he was going to walk me home, but he stood me up. I didn’t want to be on my own, and, well, you looked friendly.”
He blushed harder, smiled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to try and get you to walk me home. I just thought you might like a chat, while I have my drink.”
“Make sure you let him know you don’t mean to get him to walk you home,” Benny had said. “That way he’ll feel safer about offering it.”
“Well, I’d be happy to keep you company,” Liam said. “More than happy.”
“Thank you.” Sam rested a hand on his.
Benny had said, “Make sure you touch him. Nothing much. Innocent. But the moment you’ve connected physically, in any way, he’ll be yours.”
Withdrawing her hand, Sam forced herself to drink some wine. At Liam’s smile, she wanted to cry, wanted to scream. She hated what she had to do but could not let her brother down.
Could she?
“So,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
They spoke for an hour. Conversation flowed freely. Sam felt herself smiling, enjoying herself. She almost forgot why she was there.
Then a text. When Sam’s phone buzzed, she jumped. Liam must hav
e seen her face drop as reality hit.
“What’s up?”
Shaking her head, Sam collected her phone and looked at the screen.
What’s taking so long?
Without replying, she locked the phone, put it away. Liam wanted to press the matter of what was wrong but didn’t want to pry. He was a sweetheart.
“It’s nothing,” she said. Then, without thinking. “Just my brother. Wondering when I’m coming home.”
A silence hovered between them. Sam realised she didn’t want Liam to offer to walk her. If he did, she wouldn’t be able to say no, as much as she would like to.
Benny was outside. He would be furious if Sam left without the target, but if she said Liam refused to come, Benny would have to understand. In the end, he would just have to.
Rising, she slid the empty wine glass forward and took her bag.
“Thank you for keeping me company,” she said. “I should go before my brother comes looking, but it’s been lovely. Really lovely.”
The urge to kiss his cheek was strong, but she resisted. There were memories from tonight she could cherish. She could not remember the last time she had held such a long conversation with someone other than her brother. Alhough it made her feel guilt and shame to think it, the discussion with Liam was far more engaging than was chatting with her brother, who was not the smartest tool in the shed, having given up his education to raise his sister.
“Goodbye,” she said to the awkward but pleasant Liam.
“Bye,” he said. “It was lovely talking with you too.”
She smiled, and walked away, at once feeling relief and terror. Now she would have to face Benny, to admit she had let him down. She would hate herself, but she’d done the right thing.
Through a set of double doors, she came into the cloakroom. Another set of doors would release her outside. In this vestibule, she pulled her coat tight around her, not because it was cold, but to put off the moment when she would have to face Benny.
Coat tightened, deep breath taken, she reached out and opened one of the double doors.
Behind her, another door opened. Someone touched her arm.
Turning, she saw Liam, looking bashful but pleased with himself.
She opened her mouth to shoo him, then closed it without having spoken. She could let her brother down by not pushing Liam into walking her home, but turning him away was one betrayal too far. She flinched at the thought.
She prayed Liam had followed her only to say a proper goodbye.
He said, “Let me walk you home.”
Despite her fear of Benny, her determination not to let him down, she wanted to say, No. To turn Liam away.
She still had her hand on the double door; it was half-open. The night air rushed in.
“You don’t have to,” she managed.
“I want to,” he returned, without hesitation.
A final chance to turn him away; Benny loomed large in her mind.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
Hating herself, she pulled open the bar door and led the target outside.
Eleven
In the distance, sirens, growing closer all the time. Mercury, already driving too fast, put her foot down, sped towards her destination.
At a turn, she almost flipped the car. Once steadied, she looked ahead, took in the line of trees that surrounded Amira’s carpark. The part of the building she could see, the top half, looked as always it had—no cause for alarm. The smoke which drifted over the trees could only have been coming from the block of flats. That explained the sirens.
The sirens which grew closer. Mercury beat them to the finish line, speeding into the carpark and slamming the break, spinning the car, almost hitting a bright blue Mini. She stopped across two spaces, facing not the building or the trees but across the carpark to the gathered residents, recently evacuated. Fearful but intrigued, they stared at her, whispered to their neighbours and families.
Smoke, black and thick, poured from the building’s lobby, but Mercury could see no signs of fire. When she stepped from her car and towards the flats, the wind whipped her skin, but no heatwaves pulsed from the block.
If the residents had escaped unharmed, and it seemed most if not all had, might not have Amira? They might have passed like ships in the night. Even now, Amira and Trey could be investigating Mercury’s home while Mercury investigated Amira’s.
No. A cursory scan revealed Amira’s car. Untouched, empty. They were still in the building. That they had not departed indicated they were either not alone or not alive. Unable to entertain the latter scenario, Mercury approached the building, ready to rescue her best friend. Also Trey, if it was convenient.
As she neared the lobby, a man burst from the smoke. Coughing, spluttering, he went to his knees; turned his head to the approaching Mercury. Even through watery, stinging eyes, he recognised her. Mouthed, No. The reaction revealed his alignment with Heidi, even before he drew a knife from his jacket.
Mercury had no blade. Even if she had, she could not have killed the infected, who had been transformed into something sick and twisted by his master but, unlike the possessed, was still human. Already, Mercury had slain several of them and was unable to shake the guilt. If she could avoid it, she would always let his kind live, however much Amira would despair at this decision.
The infected man rushed Mercury, but his eyes were streaming, his throat clogged with smoke. His moves were dopey. Mercury stepped aside, caught his arm, wrenched free his knife, and spun him around. With her increased strength, she was able to lift him from the ground and hurl him several metres across the tarmac. After crash landing with a cry, he rolled on the floor groaning; did not try to rise.
Mercury hurried on, plunged into the building.
Packed with smoke, entering the lobby was like diving into a black hole. Oppressive darkness. Immediately, Mercury began to choke. Even with her eyes clenched shut, they began to sting, began to water. Within five paces, she had walked into and almost flipped over something. Quick examination revealed the hazard to be a chair. Easy to round once she knew what it was.
From nearby, more coughing. A few indistinguishable, shouted words—still no flames, nor heat. Mercury had no doubt a group of infected had caused this. The question was whether they had been aiming to set the building ablaze and had failed, or if the smoke was for show, to trick others into believing the building was ablaze, and they had succeeded. She supposed it didn’t matter.
Trying not to breathe, she crossed the lobby. Having visited hundreds of times, she knew the way to the stairwell door without the power of sight. Bumping into another enemy was her only concern.
She came close. A couple of feet from the door someone span past. At the last second, she heard his feet, his curse, and stepped back. He flew past without realising she was there. Once he had tumbled to the ground, she rushed forward, pulled open the door, and stumbled into the stairwell.
When the door closed, she chanced a look at her surroundings. The smoke here was not so thick as in the lobby. Still, it filled her eyes and made them water. To protect her throat, she was holding her breath; had been since entering the building. Her lungs ached. Seconds from now, instinct would force her to take a huge breath. If she didn’t move, she would choke.
Once more clamping her eyes tight shut, Mercury took the stairs two or three at a time. With her eyes closed, she faced an increased risk of tripping. She’d ascended often enough to be sure of where she was going, even blind.
As she reached the middle floor’s landing, she opened her eyes. Here the smoke was thin, easy to see through, and though it thickened every second, Mercury knew she had plenty of time before it filled the top floor as it had the bottom.
Eyes open, she jumped onto the stairs, which would take her from the middle to the top floor. At last, she opened her mouth and gulped several lungfuls of air.
Though she could barely see the smoke, she tasted it in those breaths. As she neared
the top floor, she paused to release a volley of hacking coughs, retreating a couple of steps as she did. Not far above her head, the enemy lurked, possibly in a standoff with Amira. She did not want her coughs to serve them a notification of her presence.
Once the coughing subsided, Mercury made her way to the landing at the top of the stairs, facing the door which opened into the top floor corridor, off which could be found Amira’s flat.
No smoke had, as yet, reached this far. Visibility would not be an issue for either Mercury or any enemies she might face. Lifting her knife, preparing to attack, she approached the door, lay a hand on the smooth wood.
More often than the stairs, she had used the lift to reach Amira’s floor. She had used the stairs enough times to know that beyond the door behind which she stood was a corridor. To the left was the lift, two flats, the window onto the fire escape. To the right were four more flats, the first on the left being Amira’s. At the end of the corridor was another window, this one offering no fire escape.
Any enemies who had risen this far would likely be to the right, towards Amira’s flat. Someone might also be guarding the fire escape to the left. Of this threat, she would need to be wary.
Taking a deep breath, Mercury prepared to shove open the door and burst into the corridor. Before she could make her move, an explosion indicated that someone had fired a gun. Probably a shotgun.
Forgetting caution, Mercury dived through the door into the corridor, knife outstretched, and span right.
Immediately ahead, three men, all moving towards Amira’s flat. One had a shotgun, one a pistol, the final man a baseball bat.
“Can’t you hear the sirens?” Mercury shouted. “The cops are coming. It’s time to leave.”
The man in the middle of the trio, the man with the shotgun, spun 180 and fired.
Having not taken the time to aim, his bullet missed, smashing the wall beside Mercury.
Reloading, this time he aimed before pulling the trigger.
As he had prepared to fire, Mercury had tugged open the door into the stairwell and dived through. The bullet sailed through the door, past her shoulder, into the wall. Chips of plaster and paint flew.
