by Ryan Casey
It wasn’t light at all. Wasn’t bright. In fact, it was dark. Very dark. She could barely see a thing. Only she was in some kind of big room with a large window opposite. She could see the moonlight shining in from outside. That must’ve been what’d seemed so bright at first.
She closed her burning eyes. Her head ached like mad.
Fuck it. She needed to figure out what the hell was going on here.
Her wrists were tied. Typical. Her ankles didn’t feel much freer, either. She was on some kind of chair. Uncomfy as hell. Why did people always have to throw you on an uncomfortable chair when they captured you? Like, wasn’t the whole act of being captured enough in itself?
She scooted herself around in the chair, side to side, tried to get herself comfier. Knowing full well she had to figure out how the hell she was going to get out of this mess.
“No point fighting,” a voice behind her said. “No point resisting. You’re with us now. And you ain’t gonna get out of it. So just accept that. It’ll all go a whole lot easier for you if you do.”
She didn’t recognise this voice. It wasn’t Kent or any of the twats from before that she could tell.
And she couldn’t see whoever it was, either. He was right behind her. Keeping himself out of the way.
“You gonna stay behind me?” Aoife asked. “Or are you gonna look me in the eye?”
The man laughed. Slowly stepped out, right in front of her.
She couldn’t see him properly in the moonlight, but she could make enough of him out to tell what kind of bloke he was. That long, greying hair, so greasy she could almost taste it in the air. The stench of his breath like something had died in there. And the sores all over his skin. Not the picture of health, let’s put it that way.
“You’ve got some nerve,” he said. “The boys told me about that.”
“What the boys didn’t tell you is how much I’m gonna enjoy killing you the first chance I get.”
The man laughed again. Shook his head, scratching his grey locks. “You’re somethin’, I’ll give you that. You’ve got fight, and you’ve got spirit. It’s nice to see. But we’ll work on that. We always do.”
“Where’s my dog?”
“Your dog? I don’t remember seeing a dog.”
Aoife felt instantly protective. “If you’ve done anything to him. Anything…”
“It’s like I said. I don’t remember seeing a dog.”
“I don’t know what your deal is, you creep,” Aoife said, shaking. Almost at her fucking wits’ end. “But when I get out of this chair—”
“You ain’t getting out of that chair,” the man said. Sounded sterner now. More assertive. “Well. You might. From time to time. But you’re livin’ by our rules now, sugar. And let me tell you somethin’.”
He leaned over. Right to her ear. So close she was drowned in the stench of his acrid breath.
“Us guys, we have long, long days of work. We get tired. We get stressed. And when we get back… well. Let’s just say we need to get the stress out of our system. And a beautiful lady like you… you’ll help with that.”
She spat at him. Right in his face.
He stepped back. Wiped the saliva from his face. Smirking, almost like he’d enjoyed it. “That’s how you lot always react in the beginning. But in time… in no time at all… it’s like I said. We’ll work on that.”
He turned around. Walked over to the side of the room, towards a door.
Looked back at her. That smirk still etched across his face.
“I’m William, by the way. I run this place here. And you and me are gonna get to know each other awful well over these next few days. And weeks. And months.”
His smile widened, and she caught a flash of those yellow teeth, barely reflecting in the moonlight.
Then, he turned around, and he disappeared through the door, leaving Aoife in the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Grace followed the footprints from the estate, in the direction the men had taken Aoife, and she swore she was being watched.
It was a very suburban area she was in, so it wouldn’t exactly be majorly surprising if there was someone else around. She could see the big, detached Victorian houses alongside the road on one side. On the other, the old hospital. A maternity ward, once upon a time. Big long building with huge windows. It always looked derelict and unlived in. Spooky as hell.
But now, in this world without power, it looked more empty and more derelict than ever.
She knew the men were around here somewhere. She held her rifle close. She’d found some ammo back at the warehouse. Loaded up. Not many bullets.
But hopefully, she wouldn’t need many anyway.
She just needed to get in there.
Get Aoife out, somehow.
Because Aoife was hers. And she wasn’t going to let anybody else near her.
She walked further down the road when she saw movement behind one of the windows at the old hospital.
There was someone in there. It was only slight, only momentary, but definitely a figure in there.
Shit. She needed to lay low. Needed to keep a low profile. Last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself, out here on her own.
She went to walk further down the street when she heard movement behind her again.
She turned.
Didn’t see anyone.
But she knew she was being watched. Just that sense that someone was here with her. Someone was close.
She had to be careful.
She had to watch her step.
She went to turn around again when she saw a figure in the shadows.
She froze.
Lifted her rifle.
Really didn’t want to have to use it. Especially not yet. One pull of that trigger and the sound would be enough to radiate around the whole damned street.
But if someone was here, if someone was stalking her, if someone was close…
She had to be willing to do anything.
She walked back. She had to find whoever it was. She had to deal with them. She couldn’t have them stalking her.
She reached the road she’d seen the figure disappear down.
Stood by the old post office on the edge of the street. Hands shaking. Heart racing.
Fuck it. Here goes nothing…
Then she stepped around the corner and pointed her rifle.
She saw the figure right away.
Saw the source of the movement.
And when she saw it, she froze.
It wasn’t a man. It wasn’t a person at all.
It was a dog.
She went to turn away from it, went to leave it, when she noticed something.
Something struck her about this dog.
It was familiar.
And then it hit her.
Aoife’s dog.
The Rottweiler she’d seen following her everywhere.
It was him. It had to be him. Couldn’t be a coincidence.
She was half-tempted to put a bullet through its skull. To shoot it, right here and right now.
And another part of her wanted to keep him with her so she could get to Aoife—and then, when the time was right, punish her even more.
But there was something stopping her.
The memory of her own dog.
Wilson.
Golden Retriever.
How loyal he was. The good times they’d had together. The laughter. The warmth. The happiness.
And how broken she’d been when she’d lost him that day at the vet’s, forced to have him put to sleep.
She felt herself welling up. Choking up. Remembered the sound of the barking and the howling inside the estate when she’d attacked. How guilty she’d felt. Guiltier than any person she’d caused pain.
She looked at this dog, and a part of her wanted to kill it. If just to get to Aoife.
But the part of her that remembered Wilson overrode everything else.
She lowered her rifle.
“Go away,” she said. “Get the hell out of here.”
She turned around, kept on walking.
Heard those nails on the tarmac behind her.
She stopped. Sighed. “Come on. I’m giving you a chance here. Don’t push your luck.”
But remarkably, he didn’t stop following her.
She turned around. “Look, mutt. I killed your dad. And I’m really, really keen on killing your mum. Consider yourself lucky I’m even giving you a chance.”
He tilted his head.
And despite her annoyance, despite her irritation, she actually laughed.
Shook her head and laughed.
“Dumb mutt,” she said. “What are we going to do with you?”
She looked at him, and she pictured the kind of life he’d lived before. He looked pretty well looked after. He probably was well looked after.
And it brought back her guilt.
Her guilt over what she’d done to his home.
To his people.
She took a breath and sighed.
Remembered what those people did to her people.
Or more specifically, what Aoife did to her people.
She gritted her teeth.
Tensed her fists.
Turned around.
It all happened so fast.
First, the dog barking.
Then, the sound of someone shuffling before her.
Then, a hand around her mouth, and darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aoife had no idea how long she’d been locked away in this room, staring out of that large window ahead of her.
But she must’ve, by some miracle, dozed off at some stage. Because one moment, it was pitch black; the next, it was light.
She squinted out at the morning sun, beaming in through the window. There was condensation dripping down the glass. Outside, it looked frosty. Somewhere residential by the looks of things. Big field between her and the houses opposite. They looked big. Detached. Familiar, somehow. Maybe she’d gone down this road once upon a time. She wasn’t sure. Probably. Looked like she was back in Preston, after all.
She was freezing cold. So cold her lips felt numb. Her face felt icy. Her ears and fingertips felt like they were going to drop off. She couldn’t stop sniffing, couldn’t stop shivering. She knew she needed to get the hell out of here and make the bastards who’d tied her up here pay for what they’d done.
But at the same time… that niggling sense.
She wasn’t getting out of here.
She tried to pull against the binds around her wrists but with no luck. The ones around her ankles were just as tight, if not tighter. She gritted her teeth together. Her entire body tense. She wanted to shout out. Wanted to scream as the air before her frosted with her breathing.
She wanted to shout so loud that everyone in this place heard her.
But she knew she couldn’t. Because that’d just draw everyone here.
And she needed to get out.
She pulled at the ties around her wrists again. Totally stuck. No way were they snapping. Fuck. She had to try another approach, another plan.
She took a few breaths, looked all around the room. There had to be something in here. Something she could use. The room was dusty. Empty. Looked like it’d been some kind of hospital, but a long time ago. Abandoned desks. Paperwork on the floor. Graffiti on the walls and foliage growing up the sides of the windows.
This place looked like it’d fallen into ruin a long time before the blackout hit. And it looked like the kind of place people might sneak into, kids with booze and drugs, urban explorers, those types. And if those types sneaked in here, and the place was in the kind of disarray it was in, then surely there had to be something nearby she could use? Something she could use to help herself escape?
Look, Aoife. Just fucking look. There has to be something. Use your brain. Don’t admit defeat before you’ve even tried. When have you ever been a quitter?
She looked around the floor. Brick dust everywhere. No broken glass or anything, which she found remarkable considering the condition of this place.
She looked over at the old desks. At the dust-laden wooden surfaces. Tried to find something she could use. Anything.
But there was nothing.
“Fuck,” she muttered. There had to be something around here. Something she could use. Anything…
That’s when she saw it.
Behind her, on her left, she saw an old, loose piece of metal pipe. The edge looked pretty sharp. Sharp enough? She wasn’t sure. But it was the sharpest thing in sight.
She tried to edge her chair back. Tried to force it back with all her weight, fully aware that one of the scavenger creeps could be in here with her, watching her, just taunting her.
But it didn’t matter anyway. ’Cause the chair didn’t budge.
“Come on…”
She tried again. Tried to edge back. And this time, she moved a little. Just a little.
Nowhere near close enough to the pipe. Nowhere near at all.
But progress.
That was the main thing.
She shuffled even further back. Towards that pipe. No idea whether this was going to work, but fuck it, what other choice did she have?
She had to keep going.
She had to keep trying.
She edged further and further to the back of the room when suddenly, she felt her chair shift just a little far back…
For a second, she hovered. Waited for the chair to go crashing to the floor.
Everything standing still.
And then she rebalanced, and the chair fell into place again.
Shit. That was a close call.
She took a deep breath. Edged further back. Heart racing. Sweat trickling down her, even though it was freezing cold in here. She knew she just had to keep trying. Keep focused.
She could do this. She’d been in worse situations than this before, and she’d made it out. She wasn’t going to let a bunch of scavenger pricks get the better of her.
She edged so close to the pipe that she was within touching distance. And it was just the right height for her to back against. To rub her wrists against. To try and break the ties.
She went to stretch out her wrists when she heard a bang somewhere to her right.
Then, footsteps.
She froze.
Turned around.
Fuck.
There was someone here.
Someone was coming.
She tried to shuffle forward, desperately tried to get back into place when suddenly she saw the man who ran this place—William—enter the room.
He looked over at her with a smirk on his face. Like he was unfazed by her runaway attempt. “Goin’ somewhere?”
He laughed. Shook his head.
And he said something else, too.
Something Aoife couldn’t make out.
Because all she could focus on was the woman here with him.
The woman he was dragging into the room.
“You’re in luck,” he said. “You’ve got yourself some company.”
Aoife sat there, totally still, and stared into the eyes of a woman she didn’t recognise.
Her face was burned. Badly burned. Her skin all veiny, all covered in angry red sores. Some of those sores were bleeding.
Her skin looked swollen, and her lips were purple.
She had barely any hair. Just a little strand dangling down the middle.
“Not as pretty as you,” William said. “But hell. Put that bag over her head, and she’s got a banging body.”
Aoife couldn’t think.
She couldn’t speak.
She couldn’t say a word.
Because the woman here in the room with her—the newly captured woman—was Grace.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Are we gonna just sit in silence like this?”
Aoife heard Grace’s voice, and her entire body felt like it’d been electrocuted. She felt anger. She felt hatred.
She felt pain.
But the hardest thing? The hardest thing of all?
The fact that she was so close to her, but she couldn’t do anything to her. Because of the ties around her wrists and her ankles.
“Your dog’s okay, by the way,” Grace said.
“Shut up.”
“Hey. I just wanted you to know. Well. It was okay, anyway. Stupid mutt followed me through the streets. I thought about shooting him. Really, I did. But you know what? I’m not a monster like you.”
“You’ve got nerve after everything you’ve done.”
“Trust me. The last place I want to be is here right now. And the last thing I want to be doing with you is talking. I want to make you suffer. I want to put you through a world of pain for everything you did to me. To our people. Because you see it now, don’t you? Look at me. Look at me and look at what you did.”
Aoife didn’t want to turn. She didn’t want to look at her. She didn’t want to see.
But she couldn’t help herself.
Grace was tied to a chair similar to hers, right opposite. Her face didn’t match her voice. Not at all. There were the remnants of a woman there, somewhere. But her skin was all bumpy, the features all smoothed over. There were sores, too. Angry red sores and blisters. Her lips had been charred away. A few tufts of matted hair dangled from her bald head, here and there.
The only remnants of her humanity?
Those beautiful green eyes.
“I’m in pain all the time,” Grace said. “And I don’t just mean emotionally. I mean actual pain. I don’t sleep at night because I can’t close my eyes properly. I can’t lie down because it feels like someone is cutting and cutting at my body, bit by bit. Like someone’s burying a million hot needles into my back, my chest, right into the skin, right into the muscle, right into the bone.”
“And I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? After the world of pain you’ve put so many through?”
“I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me. I’m just asking you to understand why I do this. Because the physical pain… the pain you can see for yourself… that’s nothing compared to what I’m going through.”
“So you keep saying,” Aoife said.
“You have no guilt, do you? No remorse whatsoever? For what you did?”
