by Matt Rogers
“You need to come with me, right now,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but filled with rage. “Your parents have already been contacted and the two boys you assaulted have told us everything, so don’t you even think about giving me excuses.”
He grimaced. So now his dad knew about this, too. He had been hoping family contact would be left out. Now, the chance of repairing things had gone from slim to nonexistent.
The worst possible scenario had occurred.
“Don’t ignore me, young man,” Mrs Bensley said. “Follow me, now.”
Jake hesitated. This was it. The decision he made would have far-reaching consequences, no matter what he did.
He didn’t move.
“Bye, miss,” he said, realizing his future was now devoid of all hope.
He sprinted off down the hallway, forcing himself into the crowd of students. Some refused to budge.
“What the –” a kid muttered as Jake bumped him. “Idiot.”
Mrs Bensley’s cries of protest followed him all the way to the exit, but they were drowned out as he threw open the door and ran out into the storm.
CHAPTER FOUR
The thunderstorm was relentless. It was one of the worst Jake had experienced. Rain fell in sheets so thick he was drenched in seconds. Buffeted by strong winds, the drops blew horizontally and whipped against his body, chilling him to the core. There was no other way to get to training besides taking the bus, so he drew the hood of his jumper up over his head and powered along the pavement.
It was a five-minute walk to the bus stop. Usually, in a scenario like this he would struggle to suppress the fear that his phone might receive water damage. Now, disabled electronics were the least of his concerns. He welcomed the weather; it reflected his mood. As he strode through the storm, he exhaled, trying to release all the worry built up inside.
It was bitingly cold. His clothes were already soaked through. The damp material pressed uncomfortably against his skin. Goosebumps sprouted along his arms and neck, giving him an involuntary shiver. The dark sky lit up all of a sudden as a bolt of lightning streaked across the horizon.
A hand pressed down on his shoulder.
“Where you going, bud?” Liam said.
“Kickboxing,” Jake shouted above the rain.
Liam was just as soaked. His hair was plastered across his forehead. He had been walking from the opposite direction and Jake hadn’t seen him.
“Sorted things out with your dad?”
“No way, man,” Jake said. “You know it’s not going to be easy.”
“Yeah. Thought there might have been a chance. Where have you been all day?”
“Do you know Adrian?” Jake asked. “Year 12 guy. Beats up kids for their lunch money?”
“I hate that prick.”
“He tried to rob me at recess. I knocked him out and I think I broke his nose.”
Liam was speechless. “Jake, you know how strict this place is on fighting. What if you get expelled, man?”
“I think I already am. I just, uh, ran away from the vice principal.”
“Are you crazy? What are you doing?”
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know what my life will be like ten minutes from now. This might be the last time I see you for a while.”
They stood there, staring at each other, oblivious to the rain. Eventually, Liam clapped him on the back and gave him a reassuring smile.
“Take care, bud. This will sort itself out. You know it will.”
“See you round, Liam.”
Jake’s best friend for as long as he could remember walked off, and Jake’s heart sank. He had a bad feeling about parting ways; this situation wasn’t going to simply sort itself out. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t be seeing any of his friends for a long time.
*
The school grounds exited out onto a main road, a road that led straight to the bus shelter. Jake was almost there when a screech of tires sounded next to him. A white van had stopped in the middle of the road, directly adjacent to the footpath. His pulse quickened a little.
He was getting ready to run as the window of the van wound down, but a familiar face protruded from inside. It was Tim, his kickboxing coach.
“Get in!” he shouted over the noise of the storm.
He didn’t have to ask twice. Jake jogged over to the passenger side and tugged the door. He threw his bag in the footwell and clambered into the passenger’s seat, slamming the door behind him.
The front compartment smelt homely, like dampened leather. It cut off the noise of the storm. He allowed himself to settle back into the seat and tried to take his mind off the day’s events. Tim was in the driver’s seat, dressed in a Nike rain jacket and training shorts.
“Good timing, huh?” he said, looking Jake up and down.
“To say the least,” Jake said. He was saturated, dripping from head to toe. The passenger seat was already wet.
“How have you been?” Tim asked. He pressed down on the accelerator and the van began to pick up speed.
“Not so good at the minute.”
The two had to shout to be heard above the rain pummelling away against the windscreen. It was torrential. The visibility was so low that they could barely see the road outside.
“You okay?”
“Not really. To be honest, I was only coming to kickboxing training to get your advice.”
Jake saw Tim raise an eyebrow. He was hunched over the wheel in a desperate attempt to see the road ahead, but Jake could still make out the concerned expression on his face.
“What happened?” There was a pause. “Jake, what did you do?”
A loud bang from the van’s bonnet cut off Jake’s response. Both of them jolted in their seats. To drown out the sound of the rain, it must have been incredibly loud. A split second later, their world lurched and the van went into an uncontrollable skid.
“The engine’s dead!” Tim shouted, stamping the brakes as hard as he could. It accomplished nothing.
Jake didn’t respond. His limbs were locked in panic. The van slid around on its wheels until it was travelling sideways along the road. He lunged for a handhold.
Just as quickly as the slide had begun, it ended. The van began to slow, and with a jarring hiccup from the engine they came to rest by the side of the road.
They sat in stunned silence. Jake’s heart was beating against his chest. Adrenalin was pumping through his system once again.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Tim said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Bloody hell, that scared me.”
“You and me both.” Tim looked around. “Well, looks like I’m going to have to jump out and try and fix it. Not the most opportune time for a thing like that to happen, hey?”
“What do you think it was?”
“Who knows? Trust my luck for this stupid old box to die on me in this weather.”
“The gym’s in the next street,” Jake said. “Want me to head over and tell the class you’re going to be late?”
“You’ll get drenched, buddy.”
Jake motioned to his bedraggled clothes. “Can’t get much worse than this.”
Tim shrugged. “I guess. It’s probably a good idea to let the class know. Try and stay undercover though.”
“You worry too much, baby,” Jake said in a falsetto tone.
Tim burst out laughing. “Shut up. What do I care if you get wet? Get out of here. And hold onto that thought, dude. We’ll talk about what’s on your mind after training.”
“I’ll leave my bag in the van.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
With that, Jake stepped outside and ran over to the footpath. The rain got straight back to work, soaking his already damp clothes. He was already too cold to feel the temperature change. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and trudged along the flooded pavement, silent and morose, staring down at the ground so the rain didn’t sting his eyes. He was clammy. Sitting in an out of control car
as it careered across a main road had twisted his gut into a knot. He breathed deeply and tried to return to normal.
Up ahead was the entrance to a narrow alleyway. The walls were covered in graffiti and gang tags. It looked uninviting, but it cut straight across to the adjacent road that housed the gym. Rows of rusty steel balconies running up the wall provided some cover from the rain, too. It was better than taking the long way round.
He steered right and headed into the alleyway. The downpour settled into a constant dripping as he moved underneath the balconies. The only noises were the splashing of water against the ground, and his own footsteps. Both echoed off the walls and cast an eerie atmosphere over the whole place. Big blue dumpsters overflowing with rubbish lined the sides. It seemed like all of Melbourne’s waste had been deposited into this alleyway. Black bags were spilling out across the floor. The smell was horrendous.
Bang.
Jake whipped around, startled by the noise. It had come from behind him, a fair way back. The alleyway was dark and he couldn’t see far at all. As he turned, he spotted one of the dumpster lids clatter to the concrete. Something had displaced it, causing it to fall.
He didn’t want to call out, so he stood still, watching intently. The splashing of water cascading down from the balconies was the only noise to break the silence.
Nothing. No movement. No sounds. Satisfied that it must have been the wind, Jake turned back and continued down the alleyway. His mind was simply playing tricks on him.
“Everything’s fine,” he said out loud, but he heard the shakiness in his own voice.
Hisssss.
He froze. This time, it was much closer. He turned once again, and once again saw nothing. But this time he wasn’t ignoring it. Slowly, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. By some miracle, there was no water damage. The screen illuminated and he opened up the camera, pointed the phone into the darkness behind him and pressed the ‘capture’ button.
The flash lit up the whole alleyway for a single moment. It revealed a silhouette standing in the middle of the path, hunched over ominously. Jake managed to make out nothing more than a pale, bald head before his world was plunged back into darkness.
Fight or flight kicked in. Usually, his instincts would have told him to fight, but he wasn’t sure what he had just seen. Fearing the unknown, he ran.
Jake broke into a sprint, legs flying across the ground, kicking up water. The pounding of footsteps from behind him started to echo off the walls. The noise sent a bolt of fright shooting through his chest. He picked up speed. Never had he run faster in his life, but the assailant’s footsteps only seemed to increase in volume.
The end of the alleyway was too far in the distance. Jake needed another solution, fast. Looking up, he saw the lip of one of the balconies above his head. It was out of reach, but directly below was a dumpster, propped up against the wall and full to the brim with rubbish. Its lid was resting on a pile of black garbage bags.
Three long, powerful strides provided a sufficient run-up. He exploded off the ground and launched into the air, using all the power in his legs. Mid-leap, he planted a trainer on the brick wall and kicked off. It provided the extra vertical momentum needed to reach the top of the dumpster.
The balcony was now overhead. He leapt off the corner of the dumpster without breaking a stride. The lid, resting on the soft garbage, acted as a springboard of sorts. He stretched out, now almost three metres above the ground. But he had miscalculated the jump. The other end of the balcony passed over his head, and now he had nothing to latch onto. He twisted his torso hard and reached out wildly. Somehow, one hand seized the bannister. It took every ounce of strength to stop himself from falling, but once he had a firm grip he pulled himself up and scrambled onto the balcony on all fours.
There was no more protection from the rain. It seemed like it was falling harder than before, pelting everything exposed to the sky. The pools of water forming at Jake’s feet flowed over the sides and cascaded down to the ground below.
The balcony was made of dilapidated wooden planks. It was attached to a long-abandoned apartment. A glass sliding door prevented him from entering, but he could see the state of the place from the outside. Everything inside was rotting. Overturned furniture littered the floor. The two doors he could see were shut, probably locked. There would be no escape route that way.
He turned to face the alleyway again, desperately searching for a way out, aware that time was ticking. For the moment, he was safe from his pursuer. There was no easy way up onto the balcony. Terror had lent him an athletic boost, and it was unlikely that it could be copied.
Jake took a step to inspect the bannister running around the balcony. That was when he saw it. A blur of movement, abnormally fast, soaring up from the alleyway floor. It was impossible to make out what it was, but it cleared the five metres from the ground to the balcony in one giant leap. He had never seen such a sight in his life. He could only stare open-mouthed as the figure dropped down with a crash, landing on both feet on the balcony floor right next to him.
The feeble light from the overcast sky revealed what had been chasing him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.
Jake figured that it must have once been a man. It was completely hairless, with skin the palest shade of white. Bloodshot eyes bulged in its sockets, complete with irises coloured a milky shade of red. These terrifying eyes were locked onto him. It sported the expression of a wide-eyed, rabid animal. Half the skin on its left cheek was missing, leaving raw, infected skin exposed. Its lips were curled back inside its mouth, and its razor-sharp teeth, stained with blood, had ripped through the skin. Underneath a tattered leather jacket and worn cargo pants, it had the physique of an Olympic sprinter, yet its musculature did not look normal, as if every muscle was positioned slightly wrong. Long, thick claws of bone protruded from each finger.
Jake was utterly helpless. His brain refused to respond. The creature snarled viciously. The noise gave him the mental kick needed, and suddenly he regained movement. He began to take a step back, but it was too late. The creature wrapped a hand around his throat. He gasped as its cold claws pressed against his skin.
It lifted him off the ground. He yelled out as his trainers left the balcony. The creature held him up in the air, suspending him only by its claws. One dug into the side of his neck, accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain.
He was almost paralysed by fear.
The claws dug deeper. Pain came in nauseating waves. In a burst of energy, he lashed out with his right foot. The tip of his shoe slammed into the creature’s kneecap with enough force to buckle it. It loosened its grip. At the possibility of freedom, Jake bucked and kicked and twisted with all his might until it released him.
He hit the balcony on his rear. All the force from the impact shot straight up his tailbone, making him grunt in shock. But there was no time to focus on the pain.
The creature had backed off and was clutching its leg. It let out a low hiss as he rose to his feet.
He had to act now. Fighting his urge to get as far away as possible, he shoulder-charged the creature. It stumbled backward, thrown off-balance by his strike. But it wasn’t enough. It halted after a few steps, stopped by the bannister. Leaning against it.
Jake had an idea.
The bannister was made up of thin wooden columns, with a thick railing running over the top. The wood was old, musty and wet; possibly unstable.
Before the creature had a chance to recover, he hit it with a front-kick, putting everything he had into the blow. The kick connected with the middle of its chest, exactly where he had planned. Instantly, there was a groan and the bannister gave way under the force. He watched in enormous relief as the creature went toppling back over the edge, along with fragments of the wooden railing.
Jake didn’t have time to see it hit the concrete. He was already working on his escape.
He grabbed a section of the broken railing. With a heave, he tugged it away, ripping a
metre-long piece of thick wood from the bannister. He turned and aimed it at the door. The makeshift battering ram would break the glass, and from inside the apartment he would work out how to escape.
There had to be a way. He charged.
And barely made it two steps.
Something smashed into him from behind with unbelievable power. It shook his entire body from head to toe. The wooden ram slipped out of his palms. Only as he was propelled through the air did he realise he had been tackled. The realisation struck just before he was thrust front-first into the glass door, carried by the momentum.
It shattered upon impact. Being thrown through glass was nothing like he had seen in the movies. The collision knocked all the breath from his lungs. He ploughed into the apartment amongst a cacophony of breaking glass. Shards scattered across the floor.
He was in too much pain to move. The sharp edges of the broken glass had cut him in over a dozen places, blood was flowing freely from the puncture wounds in his neck, and he was winded. He lay on his back, helpless, and watched as the creature advanced towards him. It took slow, tentative steps, savouring its victory. Its shoes creaked against the floor.
Jake grimaced as it stood over him. He tried to rise, to no avail. The creature snarled and raised a hand high into the air. Its claws were aimed at his throat. He closed his eyes. Terror completely overrode his system.
So this is what it feels like to die, he thought.
There was a squelching sound, but oddly no pain. Then he was spattered with some kind of warm liquid.
There was still no pain. He opened his eyes. The blood that had hit him was not his.
The creature was still standing above him, but it was frozen, motionless. Black blood covered its face. A few seconds went by before he registered the bullet hole in the middle of its forehead. As soon as he did, it lost its balance and toppled over. Accompanied by the sound of breaking glass, its body thumped into the floor.
Jake stared into its lifeless eyes before he instinctively rolled away, using one last burst of energy to put as much distance as he could between them. There was no need. It was dead.
