“Gross!” The girl with pink talons and painted-on eyebrows turns her phone to the window and walks forward, holding its camera to the woman.
The flabby monster sways across the glass, her tongue dancing in its own saliva. She presses a hand to her crotch and rubs.
“Eeeww!” The painted girl squeals.
“Disgusting!” An elderly woman stands up with a snap and hammers on the window. “You stop it now!” Her husband chortles as the woman at the window digs a hand inside her grubby waistband and slides a hand between her legs. The knuckle of her index fingers jabs at the fabric. Katy covers Justin’s eyes and forces him to face the café’s counter.
“That is the most gross thing I have ever seen,” Josh declares and moves back from the window.
Trails of smoke escape from her mouth as she gyrates against her hand.
“Let me see! What’s she doing? What’s she doing?”
“She’s unwell, Justin. Now come away. We’ll go to the shops. Do you want some chocolate?” Katy pulls Justin further away from the window, then clasps arms around his chest and picks him up, feet trailing along the floor as the two disappear deeper into the department store.
The smoke twirls and winds itself among a group of young men.
A scream rises, breaking through the shouts of ‘disgusting’ and ‘call the police’ that fill the café. The woman continues to grind, staring directly at them. The man with the carrot cake sniggers. “You’ve pulled mate!” Nate grimaces and grabs Josh’s arm, moves him back towards the counter. The woman slides along the pane of glass towards the door as another scream breaks through the noise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nate turns from the smeared window as the woman abandons her clitoris and leaps towards the double doors. Grabbing a chair, he runs to the doors, clipping the edge of a large potted faux fern, tripping then staggering forward. She reaches the door as he does, and pulls. Despite her sallow wrinkles, and now deeply sunken eyes, her strength is terrific. She pulls at the door, and it opens.
Nate screams for Josh as the gap widens. He pulls at the long brass bars and the door closes again. The woman’s shoulder pushes. The door inches open. Separated by a single pane of glass, Nate strains, pushing against her force. He checks the top of the door. A brass lock lies flat against its upper panel, another sits at the bottom. “Flip the lock at the bottom, Josh. I’ll get the top.” As soon as Josh flips the lower lock, he reaches for the upper. The door locks, rattling as the woman throws herself behind it. She pushes up against its glass, snot smearing against the pane, and licks. Nate stands back. The woman mirrors his actions then tips her head back. The shriek that erupts from her throat stops the shoppers in the street. Several stare, some take out their phones to join the others already filming her bizarre antics, others take steps forward. A woman barrels into a small group of teenage girls too busy filming to notice her approach. She floors one, straddles her, takes fistfuls of hair and begins pounding her head against the ground. The others scream, their phones forgotten, as the woman begins to drag the girl away. The stalker throws herself at the door. The street outside is suddenly alive as people react, some running away, others turning to run after them, or stop them, and attack. A tall man, paper folded and tucked up beneath his arm, turns to the café window and lowers his head. He charges, head smashing against the glass. It breaks as a dent, a crackled mosaic at its centre, leading to a spiderweb of cracks, but the glass stays in place. He rams it again. The dent grows. The cracks split. The doors shudder beneath the woman’s unrelenting and barging shoulder.
Deep from within the department store, screams rip through the increasing shouts. Nate searches for Katy and Justin. He catches their disappearing figures as they move up the escalator at the shop’s centre. “Josh! This way.” Darting past the displays of perfume and makeup, he runs to the escalator, taking its moving risers in giant leaps, quickly joining Katy, Josh close behind. As they move upwards, a man leaps across the central divider, hands grasping, a trail of smoke sliding past his ear. He grabs the moving bannister and is pulled along, his feet slipping. With a quick move, Josh turns, raises his leg and kicks, the sole of his boot landing firmly against the man’s nose. Blood, as red as his eyes, flows from one nostril as he tumbles backwards, hitting each metal riser until he reaches the bottom. He lays stunned as the moving steps pull him up to the next floor. As they reach the top, he rolls onto his belly, and pushes up.
“Run!”
Downstairs, glass breaks, and the grunts, screams, and shrieks from the street add to the chaos of the noise inside.
“She’s in!” The fear in Josh’s voice pierces Nate’s heart. He has to keep the boy safe.
“This way!”
He scans the area. Another café sits in the corner overlooking the street. Small groups stand at the window looking down, two women clutch each other as they stare. A man tugs at a woman to move away. The shop floor is filled with miniature faux beds neatly made up with prettily patterned duvets of tiny floral sprigs, or massive blown-bloom roses, others are gun-metal grey and drab beige, or dog-shit brown as Nate thought of them—who wants to decorate their house in dog-shit brown? He scans beyond the beds and stacked shelves of bedding to the pots, pans, and endless rows of unnecessary kitchen utensils. On the back wall a large sign reads ‘Toilets’ with an arrow to the left. Lockable doors!
Katy is already half-way down the aisle as he shouts, ‘This way!’
Screams and snarls from below, and some from above, follow them as they run to the toilets. A large rectangular archway leads to three doors: ‘Ladies’, ‘Gentlemen’, and ‘Baby Changing’.
“In here’. Nate gravitates towards the men’s toilet.
“No!” Katy returns. “Baby Changing!”
“Why?”
“Just come on!”
She strides forward, Justin already at the door, and they all push through into the room. Flickering light becomes steady as the door opens and Nate is greeted by a warm space with a single toilet and a high table complete with baby-changing mat and stack of nappies. Katy shuts the door behind him and snaps the lock shut.
“Jesus Christ!”
Nate stoops, hands on thighs as he recovers his breath. Standing, he slings an arm across his son’s shoulder, pulls him into his body, and hugs him tight. The boy, stiff at first, softens, then returns his hug, and they stand in a mutual embrace until Josh pulls away.
“She’s after me, isn’t she?” His voice is high, anxious.
Nate’s instinct is to protect him, tell him everything will be all right. “No! Of course not.” It feels like a lie, but how can any of them know what that thing is thinking, or if it still has the capacity to think.
Katy sits on the only chair in the room, Justin slides onto her knee. She accepts his weight with an ‘oof’ and then pulls his head to her chest, stroking his hair. Her eyes fill with water and tears roll down her cheeks. Think, Nate! Think! These people need to be safe—you need to keep them safe. The door’s locked. It’s solid. Stay here.
Josh crouches, then sits on the floor, pulling a water bottle from his rucksack. He takes a swig and offers it up to Nate.
“We’ve got enough water at least.” Josh points to the sink. “And a toilet.”
Katy’s watery eyes flicker with concern. “We won’t be here that long! Surely. I ... I can’t go in front of you ... boys!”
Nate closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall. She may have to.
The ringing of Josh’s phone breaks the silence, and a wisp of smoke seeps under the door unnoticed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The boy sits with knees pulled up, face turned to his shoulder as he talks into the phone; it is an imagined privacy. Every syllable of the boy’s conversation, every lie, can be heard. On the other end a woman’s tinny voice—Melanie. The boy ends the conversation and immediately begins to scroll through his list of contacts.
“You didn’t tell her what was happening then?�
�
Josh shakes his head. “No. I didn’t want to worry her. There’s nothing she can do.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes. They haven’t had any meteors.”
“Yet.” Katy adds.
Josh stares at the screen as he presses ‘CALL’. The phone rings. Nate reads ‘Tina’ on the contact display, and the boy once again turns away.
Justin groans and Katy pulls him closer.
“He asleep?” Nate asks.
“Nearly, I think the whole morning has knocked it out of him.”
Nate envies the boy’s oblivion; there isn’t a single ounce of him that can sleep, his nerves are racked so tight. The phone rings and clicks to answer. Josh pulls it to his ear. A few awkward introductions follow then Josh becomes increasingly agitated.
“I’ll be there. Tina! ... Listen. Wait where you are. I’m coming for you.”
“Josh!”
The boy clicks the phone to off and stands.
“Josh?” Nate pushes up from the floor and stands opposite his son.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Tina, she’s in trouble.”
“And ... you’re going to her rescue?” Nate asks, incredulous.
“Yes.” Josh reaches for the door’s handle.
“Josh! No! You can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous. You’ve seen what those monsters are like. I don’t understand what’s going on, but people are going berserk. And what about her? The woman that’s stalking you?”
“You saw her. She’s looking old. Whatever is infecting her is killing her too.”
Nate has to agree that the woman had looked ill, and not just because she’d turned into some sort of raging zombie-type creature that wanted to break their bones; her body seemed to be deteriorating. “She still strong, Josh. It took two of us to keep her out.”
His eyes flicker with fear. “I have to help Tina, Dad,” he insists.
“But what if she’s infected?”
“She’s not!”
“You’re not going.”
“I am.”
“I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Try me!”
Silence falls between them and a tense standoff follows. Josh backs down and the tension breaks. It’s Nate’s job to keep the boy safe, not for him to go out to a probable death as an ill-equipped, and deluded, knight in shining armour.
“I admire your courage, Josh, but it’s just too dangerous out there.”
The boy nods, takes a step back.
“Your dad’s right, Josh.”
“I am,” Nate returns locking eyes with Katy. She looks pale, her lips a little dark against the grey of her skin, as though she’s beginning to sicken. “We need to rest here for a while and recuperate, perhaps even sleep.”
“Sure,” the boy agrees and Nate breathes a sigh of relief, taking a step away from his son. It is a mistake. In the next second, Josh grabs for the door, unlocks it, then disappears.
“Josh!” Katy stands, jolting Justin awake as he slips to the floor. “Get him!”
In three massive strides Nate catches up with the boy, slamming thick fingers down onto his shoulder, grabbing his jacket.
“No, Dad! I’ve got to go.” Josh yanks his shoulder away. The fabric slips, and Nate grabs his sleeve, his grip intense.
“You have to stay with us!”
Screams and shouts fill the building.
“Listen to that! They’re still in here.” Suddenly aware of the danger, Nate checks around. “Get back inside and that’s an order.”
Josh gives an almighty yank, the fabric slips from Nate’s grasp, and the boy steps away. “I’m going, Dad!”
“No! For Christ’s sake, Josh!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it. I have to help, she’s on her own.”
“Where? Where does she live?”
“The Stacks. The first tower.”
Josh turns to run.
“Come back!”
“Meet us at Mum’s,” he calls back. “We can all be safe there.”
How the hell will he make it that far? “No! Josh. No!”
“Bring Katy and Justin.”
Nate’s heart sinks as he watches his son disappear, clinging to every second of the image, desperate to run after him, tackle him to the floor, and force him to return. A shriek somewhere close in the building startles him back to the present, and he steps back to the baby changing room and locks the door.
“He’s gone!” Nate slams a fist against the wall. “I couldn’t stop him.”
Grief grips his soul as he sinks to the floor and leans back against the wall, certain that his son will die. He’s just a kid, fifteen years old, how the hell will he survive? Head in his hands, fingers running through his hair, all he hears is the throbbing of his pulse, and the white noise of tinnitus that has crept up on him over the last few years. Minutes pass until he becomes aware of Justin’s breathing; a quick, raspy, in and out. Feet shuffle. He lifts his head and stares straight into a pair of red eyes, the irises cataract blue. Startled, he pushes up against the wall.
Justin’s head is pressed against Katy’s chest, but his fingers are clenching and unclenching the fabric of her jacket, and his back heaves. Katy smiles, black lips breaking at the corners to reveal two rows of perfectly aligned and white teeth. The smile pulls back, creasing the skin around her eyes, and locks into place. A shrill yap fills the room as she appears to make an effort to speak. Her teeth snap together, her brow creasing in frustration then anger as more rasping yaps follow, her words incomprehensible, not even words, just hideous sounds.
“Katy!” The pulse throbbing at Nate’s throat makes the word painful. Keeping his movements slow and fluid, he slides up against the wall—no jarring movements. Katy fidgets in her seat then throws the boy to the floor. Justin writhes, his legs in spasm. Katy’s eyes lock onto Nate’s and then she pounces, jumping from the chair, and grasping his head between both hands.
He roars in pain as teeth bite down onto his scalp and sinks beneath her weight. Boots kick at his shins. With a huge effort, he throws her to the wall. She slams against the toilet, her cheek hitting the cistern, and crashes to the floor but instantly turns and springs back up. Nate reaches for the door as she lands on his back, one hand gouging at his eyes. He staggers back, pushes with force, and crushes her into the wall. Winded, she grunts. Justin’s rasping groans fill the small space as he continues to buck and twist on the floor.
As Nate pulls the door, Katy attacks again. Nate realises that she will be relentless until one of them dies. Cold instinct takes over. In a quick movement, he grabs her shoulder, spins her round, and clamps her head between large hands. Sliding one hand beneath her chin, the other across her forehead, he gives a sharp and forceful twist. Her neck breaks in one swift, merciful snap. She drops to the floor. Turning his attention to Justin, the boy writhes on the floor, his eyes staring and insane. Nate straddles him, pressing his weight onto the boy’s soft belly, covering his mouth with one hand, pinching his nose between two fingers with the other. Airways blocked, the seconds Justin takes to die seem like an eternity.
The boy dead, he staggers from the body, revulsion creeping over him as a greasy pall, and wipes his hands against his jeans, rubbing hard until they burn with friction. He steps out of the room with a new realisation—kill or be killed. It is the only way he can save Josh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
From the foyer come shrieks, screams, and the crashing of shelves: wire baskets, mascara, blush, eye-shadow, and glass bottles skittle across the tiles. The heavy scent of perfume wafts from the lower floor and mingles with a toxic scent of rotting, sulphuric faeces.
Footsteps pound, and grow louder. He has to leave.
Slipping Katy’s rucksack over his shoulders, he checks the short corridor to the shop floor. Nothing moves. Outside, sirens blare, glass breaks, and there is the unmistakable tat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire along with the rumb
le of heavy engines and grinding gears. The place has gone from dismal, down-on-its-luck, northern shopping centre to war zone in ten minutes flat.
At the corner, he scans the homeware section. Towards the café, between a stack of duvets and faux beds, a man is being attacked by two women. Nate checks across to the cooking section; pans, sieves, and bowls, line the shelves, but hanging from a panel of hooks is a selection of knives. He moves slowly, crouching below the top of the shelves and makes his way to the display.
As Nate reaches the bank of shelving, he checks again for movement, moves within touching distance of the knives, and takes an eight-inch, stainless steel, heavy-duty meat cleaver, along with a steel mallet, and a 22cm blade that claims to be ‘excellent for slicing roast beef without unsightly ragged edges’. He keeps the mallet to one side and places the other weapons in the rucksack. He scours the shelves for anything else that could prove useful, and takes the lid of a large steel stewing pot, holding it up as a shield, along with a flat iron griddle which he places in the bag. In a moment of inspiration, he takes a rectangular baking tray and places it inside his t-shirt, tucking the fabric into his jeans then zips his jacket up. Armed and protected, he’s ready to face the street.
Within fifteen feet of the escalator, three men burst from its moving steps. Nate pulls back, the edge of his improvised shield knocking against the wall, he grabs the rim, silencing the ringing metal. The men lurch past, each clawing for the other, until one trips and they fall in a heap of punching, clawing hands, and kicking feet.
One of the men stands, staggers backwards, and tumbles down the moving escalator, blocking the space as his clothes become jammed. Unable to move without giving away his position, Nate waits. With two men dead, the third grabs one by the armpits and drags the body to the escalator. From his position, Nate watches as he drags it from the bottom of the escalator towards the exit. As the man pulls the body through the double doors opening onto the street, he jerks beneath a hail of bullets. Nate decides to exit through the rear of the building.
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