“There’s no time, sweetie. Just do it. Call me when you get to the house, and lock the gates and all the doors, okay?”
Cat hesitated, her mind whirling. This is crazy! What’s happening?
“Catherine. I need you to do as I say. Now.” Her mother’s tone became hard, brooking no disobedience.
“O…Okay, mom. I’m going. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Hurry. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay.” Cat got to her feet, grabbing her hockey stick and school bag with the phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder. She kept her eyes averted from the dead guy, pretending he wasn’t there. “I’m up.”
“Love you, sweetheart. Stay safe.”
The line went dead, and Cat shoved her cell into her pocket before breaking into a sprint. She pumped her arms and legs, pushing herself as fast as she could go. The houses flew past in a blur, her bag bouncing up and down on her back. It wasn’t long before she reached her home, the familiar hunter’s green gates coming into view.
Cat stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath and fumbled with the lock and chain that held it shut. Once inside, she locked again before rushing into the house.
Running from room to room, she shut the windows and closed the curtains. Shrouded in gloom, she collapsed onto a chair at the kitchen table. Her hockey stick lay in front of her. A fresh surge of panic at the sight of the blood staining the wood sent her scrambling to the washbasin to scrub it off. Where’s Mom? I need her!
She reached for her phone, dialing her mom’s cell. It rang and rang, each ring punctuated by an empty click when her mother failed to answer. An awful sense of premonition washed over Cat when it went to voicemail. A tinny female voice told her to leave a message.
She called again.
And again.
And again.
Voicemail.
“No, no, no! Where are you, Mom?”
Cat phoned the office number.
“Dr. Botha’s office,” a harassed female voice answered.
“Aunt Sue?” Cat asked, picturing her mom’s colleague. Frizzy red hair, thick-rimmed glasses, a heart of gold, and a pocket full of sweets summed up Susan Elliot. She was always a favorite with the kids who visited Dr. Botha. “Is that you?”
“Catherine?”
“It’s me. Is my mom there? I need to talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, sugar. She left ages ago.”
Cat’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure? She’s not answering her phone. I’m worried.”
“I’m sure. She grabbed her bag and ran out of here shouting something about you needing help.” Concern tinged Sue’s voice. “Are you okay, sugar?”
“I’m fine,” Cat replied. For a moment she considered telling Aunt Sue what had happened but couldn’t face having to explain the whole story. It was too awful. “Had a tussle with some homeless man, that’s all.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, I’m okay. Look, Aunt Sue―” The line died, leaving Cat staring at the phone in her hand.
“Crap!”
Next, she dialed emergency services.
Then the police.
Nobody answered.
Cat slumped over the table, tears streaking down her face. With numb fingers, she logged onto Facebook. She scrolled down the page, horror taking hold. Shots of car crashes and riots filled the screen. One picture showed a mob swarming a bus. Further down, a girl she knew from school had posted a picture of her older brother with the title: WTF?!? There was a chunk missing from his arm.
A video of a Fourth Grade teacher attacking one of her students had gone viral. Cat stared at the grainy footage, watching in disbelief as the woman bit the boy on the shoulder, sinking her teeth in before working her jaws to loosen the flesh. Childish screams filled the kitchen. Cat pressed pause, her eyes locked on the teacher’s dead gaze that peered at the screen over the chunk of meat in her mouth.
Bile pushed up Cat’s throat. She crossed the floor to the window overlooking the gate, fixing her eyes on it in the vain hope that at any moment her mother’s battered red Ford would appear. “Come on, Mom. Where are you?”
With a frustrated growl, Cat ran to the living room and switched on the TV. She perched on the edge of the seat and flicked through the channels. Report after report streamed in, airing live from Johannesburg, Durban, and Cape Town. Frightened news reporters ran around, their cameramen capturing footage of enormous traffic pile-ups, mobs, looters, and attacks.
Headlines ran on a loop at the bottom. They read: Mystery illness strikes population; Husband eats wife in front of witnesses; Is this the end?
After staring at the screen for half an hour, Cat switched the volume to mute. Restless, she jumped up and paced, breaking off only to spray Mercurochrome onto her skinned knees and force down a sandwich. Twice more, she stopped to use her inhaler, the constant anxiety worsening her asthma.
The minutes ticked by, each second longer than the last. The hands on the clock moved with stilted clicks across a bland white face.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Forty.
Fifty.
An hour.
Two hours, thirty-three minutes, and fifty phone calls later, Cat was forced to admit the truth. Her mother wasn’t coming home. Something terrible had happened to her. “What to do? What to do?”
She redialed emergency services and raised the phone to her ear slowly, hoping with every cell in her body somebody would answer.
“Emergency services, how can I assist you?”
“I need help! Please send someone,” Cat cried, relief making her dizzy.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but we have no vehicles available at the moment.”
“How is that possible? I need help; my mom is missing. She’s in trouble. I’m sure of it.”
“Yes, Miss, I hear you, but we are currently overwhelmed with calls. I have no available vehicles to send to your location.”
“What?” Cat’s voice rose a few decibels in pitch, matching her growing disbelief.
“Miss, I advise you to remain calm. The situation is―”
“The situation is crazy. That’s what it is. What’s going on?”
“I can’t answer you, Miss. I’m very…Carl?”
Silence.
A dull thud.
The rustle of papers.
A rasping groan.
“Carl? What are you doing?”
“No!”
Cat listened in growing horror as the dispatcher screamed, pain lacing every note. She dropped the phone and backed away, eyes locked to the speaker. The screams continued, the vowels expanding until they became her, consumed her.
A final peal of agony rang out, followed by strange noises before the line died. Noises that sounded like someone eating. Cat’s heart banged in her chest, and she sat down on the carpet with a thump as her legs gave out.
End of Sample - Available Here
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About the Author
South African writer and coffee addict, Baileigh Higgins, lives in the Free State with hubby and best friend Brendan and loves nothing more than lazing on the couch with pizza and a bad horror movie. Her unhealthy obsession with the end of the world has led to numerous books on the subject and a secret bunker only she knows the location of. Visit her website to sign up for updates, freebies, and more!
WEBSITE - www.baileighhiggins.com
/> Higgins, Baileigh, Dangerous Nights (Book 3): Edge of Night
Dangerous Nights (Book 3): Edge of Night Page 14
