by mike Evans
Rebecca stopped running and Joan slowed to a stop beside her.
“What is it, dear?”
“That was my fault.”
“Whether it is or it isn’t doesn’t matter right now,” Joan replied darkly.
“Of course it does,” Rebecca yelled through angry tears.
“All that matters is that we get on the stairway to freedom before we end up on the stairway to heaven,” Marley replied.
“He has a point,” Joan agreed, looking toward Marley.
His eyes went hazy for a second before refocusing. “Oh shit, do you think this is like one of those crazy movies, like Saw or Hostel, where there’s some mad scientist dude testing us, and making us play his sick games like lab rats? Because I’m no good at puzzles! I can’t even do sudoku without getting stressed to the max.”
Joan tutted and reached for Rebecca’s arm. She began to pull Rebecca as they started to walk again. “No, this is not a movie, this is real life, and I don’t know about you two kids but I need to get home to my Frank.” She tutted again and let go of Rebecca.
“Frank Sinatra!?” Marley gasped.
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
Joan grumbled her irritation.
And Marley jumped up and down on the spot. “That’s badass, lady. Can I meet him? I mean,” he looked around, “that is if we ever get out of here.”
“Not Frank Sinatra. My Frank, my husband. I tell you, when he gets a whiff of what’s been going on here, he’s going to be crazy mad. That man is protective of me.” Joan whistled through her teeth.
Marley’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, man. That would have been cool.”
Rebecca looked down at the small penknife in her hand, realizing how pathetically small it really was. If they were going to be stuck in here until help came, she needed a weapon—a real weapon. Because despite the fact that Joan had turned from a dithering old lady into supergran, and Marley was carrying André’s bloody bat, she only trusted in herself. That was a lesson she’d learned a long time ago.
The sound of growls had them all looking up, and as one they began to move as quietly as possible around the edges of floor five, avoiding the small pop-up stores as best they could. As they passed Holly’s store, the sweet scent of herbs and spices and fragranced oils filling their nostrils, Marley bumped into one of the stands. Rebecca grabbed hold of it as best she could to try and stop the small bottles from toppling over, but it was no good. The stand was heavy, and greasy from the oils, and Rebecca dropped her knife to cling to the shelving. She stopped it from falling, but didn’t manage to stop several bottles of oil toppling over and pouring down her clothes.
Joan pushed the shelving back up and Rebecca stepped back, feeling slightly intoxicated from so many scents all over her, soaking into her hair and right through her clothes. At the back of her mind she held a little relief in the thought that perhaps the scented oils would mask her scent.
“Marley!” Rebecca shout-whispered as she wiped her hands down her pants to get rid of some of the oil.
“Sorry, Alice…I mean, Rebecca.” He blinked, looking anxious.
Joan began to lead the way, with Rebecca in the middle, until they were finally back at the elevators. Rebecca peered around the corner, realizing that the soft clang of the doors opening and shutting on the metal fire extinguisher was echoing loudly across the now almost silent floor five, and drawing too much attention.
She looked back around at Joan and Marley and shook her head.
“There has to be another way out of here,” Joan hissed and leaned back against the wall. The hollow metal sound behind her made her frown and she turned and looked. There was a small metal door on the wall and she grabbed for the handle and slowly pulled it open, realizing as the slow screech of aged metal hinges reverberated around the deathly quiet floor five that it was a long-ago used garbage chute.
Rebecca winced as Joan pulled it open wider, the screeching of the metal getting louder. “Stop, stop!” she whispered and grabbed at Joan’s hand.
“This is it: the way out,” Joan said almost victoriously, slapping away Rebecca’s hand. She stuck her head in the dark chute and listened intently before deciding that she’d take the risk. She grabbed hold of Marley and began climbing up, using his body to leverage herself at the entrance of the chute.
“Are you crazy? Anything could be down there!” Rebecca whispered. “It’s not been used in decades, and for all we know it isn’t safe.”
Joan winked. “I’d rather take my chances in the dark than be stuck up here like a rat in a cage.”
And with that she pushed away from the entrance and her body disappeared into the blackness beyond.
“Shit!” Rebecca gasped. “Shit!” She stuck her head in the dark chute, hearing Joan’s body sliding down. “Shit.”
Marley grabbed her by the shoulders. “We’ve gotta go,” he said and began pulling her away as Butch and Holly turned the corner. Their eyes fixed on Rebecca and Marley and they picked up their pace, a long, throaty growl erupting from their bloodied mouths.
Rebecca let go of the garbage chute door, wincing as it slammed shut, and then she began to run. She skidded around Crazy Jake’s music store, her Dockers skidding in a puddle of blood on the floor. For a moment she stumbled, sliding to her knees before she got back up. Her hands were covered in congealed blood, hard and soft chunks of something or other clinging to her fingers as she frantically wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans and realized that at some point she’d lost her puny knife and the car keys that were attached to it.
In front of them was the fire exit sign, and both Rebecca and Marley picked up their pace. Marley shoulder-slammed into the metal door, pushing down on the long bar handle that ran across the front. His frantic yelps as he rattled the chain wrapped around the handle drew more attention to them, and growls erupted from several pop-up stores and stalls around them.
“Oh, God!” Rebecca called out as she grabbed Marley’s arm and began to drag him away.
“I’m too pretty to die!” he called after her.
They headed back around to the elevators, passing the foyer area where several bloody sofas were proudly assembled in a circle, forever waiting for someone’s ass to sit in them.
“What’s the plan?” Marley asked, panting and wheezing. He pulled out an inhaler from his pocket and took a deep breath of it. “This body was not made for running, dudette,” he gasped.
Rebecca wiped away the sweat on her forehead and continued to run. Her calf muscles were beginning to cramp, but worse than that was the raging beat of her heart in her chest. The ache of loss, of sorrow, of anger, but more importantly of fear.
They both slammed against the wall and Marley looked around it, gripping Rebecca’s arm as he dragged her with him.
The elevator was clear, barring the fire extinguisher, and both Marley and Rebecca toward it and skidded inside. The dead body from earlier was still on the floor. The blood had spread out and their feet splashed in it, and Rebecca knew that she’d never be able to wear these Dockers again after today. Which was a damned shame since they were practically brand new.
Marley reached down and placed his hand on the fire extinguisher.
“Wait!” Rebecca yelped. “They were downstairs! These things, whatever they are—they were downstairs. They could be everywhere!”
“Better down than out,” Marley replied, suddenly serious. He raised an eyebrow at Rebecca, who dragged a hand down her face, unsure of what to do.
A shadow passed by and Butch’s hairy, gangly body filled the elevator doorway, his arms reaching for Marley, who ducked and slid out of the elevator before falling on his ass. He stood up quickly and looked about for something, anything, that would help them.
“Marley!” Rebecca screamed as Butch came toward her, snarling and snapping his jaws at her like he was hungry. “Help me!” she screamed again, and Marley swung the bat at Butch’s back, but it only bounced off him.
Marley swung again and
again, and Rebecca lodged herself into the corner of the elevator, her feet scrambling for placement between the floor and the dead body as she prayed for a miracle. Or at least for a semi-decent plan from Marley.
Butch took another step closer to her, his bloodshot eyes terrorizing in their stare.
Rebecca screamed no, her gaze switching from Butch to Marley in equal amounts of pleading and terror. “Please, Marley! Help!”
Butch was close enough to grab her, his strong arms wrapping around her small body as she squirmed and kicked to get away from him. His mouth bore down on her skull, his jaws opening wide as her dark hair snagged between his teeth.
“I’m sorry about this, dudette. Better to be over and out though, right?” Marley replied before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a box of matches. He struck one, and then pushed the unlit end back into the box, burning his fingers as he did. Then he kicked the fire extinguisher out from the doorway and threw the matches inside the elevator, making sure they landed as close to Rebecca as he could get them.
“A pox upon your family!” she screamed as Butch bit down on her head and a spray of blood arced across the small space. She sagged and dropped to her knees. And as she hit the elevator floor the match flame engulfed her body, the highly flammable incense oils turning her into a sweetly scented human kebab. Marley grimaced as the doors closed and Rebecca’s screams were drowned out as the elevator made its descent to the ground floor.
Marley looked around him, the now telltale growling sounds alerting him that he needed to move. He hated his decision. After all, he’d really liked Alice. But he couldn’t have her ending up like these other crazies. She was dead for sure anyway; the fire had been just to make certain of the fact.
Still, he surmised, probably not the best death anyone could ask for.
Marley jogged back to the garbage chute and pulled open the creaky metal door before climbing inside. He looked down into the blackness below him and prayed that he wasn’t about to plummet into certain death. He reached into his pocket and felt for Rebecca’s keys. He’d picked them up when they’d crashed into the stinky oil stand. He hadn’t meant to keep them, but it was a good job he had, he decided.
Before he could change his mind, Marley let go of the metal doorframe and fell into the darkness.
“Kowabunga, dudes!” he called as his body slid down the chute and the door above him swung closed, swallowing him up into the blackness beyond. Whatever was at the end of this tunnel, he decided, couldn’t be any worse than being trapped on this death floor.
© Copyright Claire C. Riley 2016
Authors Note:
The band referred to in the story – Iodine Sky is a real band, and you should totally look them up. They are on Facebook, Twitter, IG and their music is available at all good media outlets.
Check them out here → https://www.facebook.com/iodineskyofficial
Rebecca, or DC in the story is actually my tattoo artist. Not only does she do amazing tattoos, but she’s one of the quirkiest, funniest and nicest people I’ve had the pleasure of coming into contact with. If you’re ever in Manchester UK, you should look her up and book in for a tattoo.
Check her out here → https://www.facebook.com/dctattoomanchester/?fref=ts
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Claire C. Riley is a USA Today and International bestselling author. She is also a bestselling British horror writer and an Amazon top 100 bestseller.
Her work is best described as the modernization of classic, old-school horror. She fuses multi-genre elements to develop storylines that pay homage to cult classics while still feeling fresh and cutting edge. She writes characters that are realistic, and kills them without mercy. Claire lives in the United Kingdom with her husband, three daughters, and one scruffy dog.
Author of several bestselling series, including:
Odium The Dead Saga Series (3 books),
Odium Origins Series (3 books),
Limerence (The Obsession Series) (2 books),
Thicker than Blood series (2 books),
& Shut Up & Kiss me,
Twisted Magic Raven’s Cove Series,
And Out of the Dark!
Plus many more anthology contributions.
www.clairecriley.com
www.facebook.com/ClaireCRileyAuthor
http://amzn.to/1GDpF3I
Be Prepared All Ye Merry Maids
Floor Six
Katie Cord
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment upon purchase. This eBook may not be traded or sold to other people. If you want to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this but did not purchase it, please return it to where you got it from. Thanks for respecting this author’s work.
© 2016 Katie Cord, All Rights Reserved
Katie Cord on Amazon
Floor Six
Alessia
“You can’t quit. You know this is your last chance. I’m giving you this last chance. You should be thanking me for hiring you!”
Alessia’s mother’s words grated at her. She gritted her teeth and pressed her cell phone hard against her ear. The pain felt good, it helped her stay present in the moment. The woman always had a way of making her check out. At the hospital, they’d called it disassociation. When it happened, she couldn’t come back. Not without doing something stupid. The last time, it was holding up a gas station. She’d had it together enough to not use a gun, so she bypassed an aggravated robbery charge. Which is why she landed up working as a housekeeper for her mother on the sixth floor for Bee-Prepared Apocalypse Prepping Company. The logo was a bee with a large stinger wearing a combat helmet inside a large bright red circle. Their slogan made her laugh. Take the sting out of the apocalypse.
She stared out the window and watched executives, doctors, and other people who hadn’t fucked up like her milling in and out of the building for their lunch breaks.
“Mija, are you there? You know I love you. You are so lucky. Be grateful …” Her mother said.
Alessia cut her mother off, “Be grateful that I didn’t grow up in El Salvador? I don’t want to hear the shit you went through!”
“Limpia el desorden que hiciste,” her mother shrilled.
Alessia banged her head against the window. This was not how she wanted her day to start.
“Mom, you know I don’t speak Spanish. I’m sorry. I do love you.”
Guilt flooded her. She’d messed up by not cleaning the offices last night. It was too easy to sit in the office and stare off into space. It didn’t help that she’d been caught taking a couple of MREs from the sample closet to give to the homeless. She wasn’t a total selfish monster. It felt like it sometimes, but, she knew how to care for other people. The new girl at Bee-Prepared didn’t understand that. No room for breaking the rules with her. What an uppity secretary.
“Okay, I want that floor spotless. My other girls can do two floors a day. You’ll get there in a couple of months. In a year, you’ll be running this place when I’m not here. You can do this.”
The loving, kind mother was back. As long as I did what she wants, Alessia thought.
“Mom, I gotta go. I’ll make you proud.”
“Love you, mi. . .”
The phone went dead.
Alessia watched as the office workers filed into the building. Out of the crowd, six bright yellow shirts stood out. It was the Bee-Prepared sales team. She rolled her eyes. Assholes. She crammed her phone in her back pocket, grabbed the window cleaner and a cloth from her housekeeping cart, and grudgingly went back to work. The busier she looked, the less likely one of those prepper sales jerks would start asking her stupid questions.
Laurel
"What are the sales projections for next quarter?" Derek Black asked over his broad shoulder.
Laurel Regan trudged behind, silent and dutiful, with her eyes to the ground. If she looked up, a wall of blinding yellow assaulted her vision. Derek walked shoulder to shoulder with his younge
st son, Sean, in Bee-Prepared's signature polos. Derek wasn't interested in what she had to say. He wanted a secretary, not an executive.
"Good?" said Derek's oldest son, Alex, from the back.
Laurel refrained from rolling her eyes. He might be the oldest, but he was also the dumbest. The entire Black family seemed a little slower than they appeared on commercials. She wasn't sure who was coaching them, but it sure wasn't Alex. Bee-Prepared was not what she expected.
Her family had idolized its founder, the strong-willed and witted Abie Marshall Black. A legendary Vietnam vet who survived alone in the jungle for eighteen months with nothing except for what he called “the three Bs”: bare hands, brains, and balls. His tell-all book looked like it was going to be made into a movie. The government refused to acknowledge that Abie had been out there. It was a top-secret mission that could ruin relations between countries even today. According to Abie, anyway.
"Daddy, it looks like we will have an increase of roughly twenty-two percent over the next quarter. Adding the Bible to the bundle really seems to help with the rapture crowd," Fayth Michelle said, beaming. Of the three Black children, she was the shrewd one. If there was a way to save or make money, Fayth was on it. Laurel regretted mentioning to her that some of the MREs were missing. Of course, Fayth Michelle took credit for finding the discrepancy.
Her stomach lurched at the thought of facing the housekeeper. That girl looked like she could kick somebody's ass. Thankfully, they hadn't fired her. An altercation with a pierced and tattooed Latina wasn't something Laurel wanted. Both of them appeared to need their jobs.
"Honey, can you help me up those stairs?" Abie pointed with his cane.
"Sure, Mr. Black." Laurel grabbed the elderly man's elbow. He felt like nothing but a sack of bones.
"Thanks, honey. How do you like it here?" The frail man looked down at Laurel and smiled. He was wrinkled from top to bottom, and he didn’t say much. Most of the time, he wandered around the office staring at nothing in particular.
"Oh, I'm good, sir," her voice a little weak.
"It doesn't sound like you're good," Abie said. The old man continued to hold Laurel's hand in the crook of his arm.
