Eyes the merest watering slits, head half-turned to shield her face, Amanda managed to hold her arms in the heat long enough to release the brakes.
Gloves smoking and the heat rubbing her hands raw, she pulled the bike toward her, ploughing her way through the boxes behind, kicking a clear path through the sleeping bags as best she could. The heat around her legs was nigh on unbearable.
She needed to do this. Needed to do it for Michaela.
Skeebs had worked the last of the locks. He rolled the door open, the world beyond incandescent. A whirlwind tore through the room, ash swirling with Skeebs’ crisp packets, burnt pages from the burning books dancing a moment before they were consumed by the daylight. The cold hit Amanda like a slap to the face, scalding her skin just the same as the scorching air before her.
No finesse, no time, she pulled the quad to the door, ran to its rear, planted her boot and pushed. The front wheels left the cabin, the burning undercarriage hitting the floor with a bang that shook the room. A second hard boot and the thing disappeared. It hit the rushing ground nose first. Shards flew in all directions as it pin-wheeled through the air before it disappeared, sucked away down the route behind them.
Bending down, she beat at the flames that had caught her jeans and sleeves.
She saw the playing card pinned under her boot: Simon and herself in the cinema, her head on his shoulder, serene.
Snatching it up, she turned to her sleeping bag. She’d been playing with them when the chaos had started. Now the world dropped out from under her when she saw the empty space where they’d been.
‘No!’ The word was snatched away in the wind. Her heart felt like it had been pulled out from under her ribs.
And suddenly she saw them everywhere; pinned to walls, caught in the twisted rucks of the sleeping bags, shivering against the prisoner, the boxes, the table. The entire carriage was plastered with her memories.
Lifting her arm, she found another stuck on her elbow, pressed against her on its way out the door. Making to grab it, the wind plucked it out between her fingers, out the door and away.
How many had she lost?
Lurching, feeling like she was in a nightmare, she made for the door. The flames were gone, the door needed to be closed before she lost anything else.
Oh God, Simon, I’m so, so sorry.
The door began to roll in its tracks, trees, snow and stones whipping by a foot away.
‘Amanda!’
Something hit her in the side, sending her into the screaming wind. The engine roared in her ears, sleet stung her face, wind battered at her. She was bent around the door, feet inside but out from under her, clinging to the door so hard she could feel her knuckles shifting in her hands.
A moment felt like a lifetime.
Swinging her body, pulling with everything she had, she spun back into the carriage, over-compensating, until her back hit the door from the inside.
She slid down, dazed, desperate to catch her breath.
There was a card in front of her, caught up in Caleb’s sleeping bag. She rolled onto her hands and knees, intent on getting them back in her pocket where they belonged.
‘Amanda!’
Skeebs had managed to plant his boot into the adjacent wall beside the door, his body being twisted around the frame out into the freezing air. Caleb’s huge hands clasped the boy by the shoulders, those piston-like arms working to shove the boy out onto the blurring train track beneath.
Reeves!
Her and Simon’s first kiss shivered in the wind, easing out from its crease, into the air. She could grab it if she was quick.
‘Amanda!’
Staggering to her feet, Amanda launched herself at the big man. Catching him around the middle, Caleb moved by barely an inch, knocking the breath from Amanda, hurting her already bruised ribs. But she managed to check him, buying the boy a few seconds more.
‘Come on, Amanda,’ Caleb laughed as they realised he still had the advantage, ‘don’t know how to fly?’
Amanda redoubled her efforts, teeth clenched, tired muscles aching, the wind sucking and swirling around them, her boot heels inches from the void. It was like pushing against a brick wall. Her lungs felt like they’d been run over a grater.
The First Kiss, leapt into the air, somersaulted and sped out into the light. Another followed it. And another.
She could feel Caleb’s muscles knotted under his clothes, as he held the two of them at bay. He started to push back. Amanda’s stomach lurched as her centre of balance began to tip. Skeebs beside her, the same.
The wind began to pummel the back of her head with a cold, clutching hand. The engine roar began to grow. Sleet filled her ear.
Caleb grinned. His hat had slipped back, the bandage beneath blood stained like a third eye.
Something flashed in the corner of Amanda’s vision, scoring a line of pain high on her left cheek.
The big man fell back. Steph’s lips were pulled back in a snarl as she clung to Caleb’s back, knife in hand, pressing the symbols against his skin. The knife point poked a divot in the flesh under his left eye.
There was no hiss of burning meat, no smoke, but Amanda could see the strength draining from Caleb, like Steph was gaining weight by the second.
‘Get the door closed!’ Amanda croaked.
But Skeebs was already on it, squinting against the harsh light, tears running down his face from the smoke and the cold outside. He leaned over Amanda grabbing at the handle.
The final card in Caleb’s sleeping bag darted for the exit, taking Amanda’s breath with it.
The door closed with a slam, the card trapped in the jamb. Amanda was ready with the padlocks.
Caleb had melted to his knees now, Steph clinging to him, a pout of determination puckering her lips. He shrugged the girl off as easily he would an empty backpack. ‘I’m alright. I’m alright.’
Steph fell away, limp, rolling onto her back and breathing like she’d run a marathon. The front of her jacket was scorched where the fire had eaten at it, those colourful tights blackened and tattered. The skin of her chin was blistered and sore looking, a first-degree burn if Amanda was any judge, no permanent harm done.
The carriage was in complete disarray, boxes spilled everywhere, their contents scattered and kicked to every corner of the room. Burned text book pages were still settling to the floor, fringed with red-orange embers. The wall where the quad had burned was black, the trailer clinking as it cooled. There was the lingering smell of burnt plastic and hair but the air was fresh as a mountain glade and they were all gasping it in huge, greedy lungfuls.
There were still cards. Here and there. She still had some. Thank God, she still had some.
‘Fuck.’ Skeebs collapsed back against the door and slid down it. ‘What the fuck was that?’
Eyes widening, he rolled away just in time to avoid Amanda’s boot as it planted itself where his head had rested a moment before.
‘You were a fucking decoy.’
Amanda followed with another kick and another, hitting Skeebs’ boots, the boy working to ward off the blows. The knife was in her hand.
‘I was trying to save us,’ said Skeebs. ‘He said she didn’t know what she was doing. He was taunting me. Saying how he was going to use her himself. Make her use the books!’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Didn’t have a fucking choice, did I? I didn’t know he was going to do this.’
‘He’s a demon. What did you think—’
‘You alright?’ asked Caleb.
Steph pushed Caleb away. ‘Nooooo!’ She let out a long, low moan, crawling on her hands and knees toward her mother’s bag. The seams had split like an overripe corpse, the stuffing pushing its way out, burned beyond repair. The zip had melted.
There were pages everywhere, torn, burnt, crumpled, trampled. She pulled the nearest toward her, turning them over before looking up at Amanda, her eyes full of hurt. ‘What do we do now?’
‘F–fu
ck!’ Skeebs was open mouthed. The rest turned.
Reeves was watching.
His eyes were swollen shut but Amanda could feel the man watching them. Beneath the swelling, his skin red, puffy and stretched so tight it shone, he was smiling. It may have been a trick of the light but as his mouth curled up at the corners in a mirthless smile, the creases that enveloped his eyes did the same, making two new smiling mouths above the original.
His face split as his mouth opened like a fresh wound, his tongue a bright bloody red. ‘At last.’
Amanda’s heart had gone into overdrive, hammering so hard she felt sick. Steph had paled. Caleb’s fists clenched.
‘What?’ Skeebs looked from the prisoner to Amanda, furious. ‘Who the fuck is that? That’s not him! It’s not even fucking him!’
Chapter 19
Amanda
She couldn’t look Skeebs in the eye. Amanda’s head was spinning.
Tongue thick in her mouth, she fumbled out the words. ‘I can explain.’
And voice fighting not to crack, eyes itching, that’s what she did. She told the boy how she had lost her family and how she had captured the demon who had killed them.
Ten days earlier
‘I said it’s over!’
Amanda clutched at the dash as the car swerved and accelerated, street lights a strobe, the wail of a taxi horn already left behind.
Caleb’s face was a grimace, his attention consumed by the road. A single sooty streak ran across his cheek.
The car stank of ash, smoke and vomit. Bridget was gasping and coughing in the back seat, drool snaking past her lips to the splash of sick that ran into the foot well.
‘What happened?’ Jamison’s voice faded as the signal shifted, the phone moving around Amanda’s ear with every swerve and bump.
‘The club’s gone. Reeves torched it. Everyone was inside. We’re all that’s left. I’m getting Simon and the kids. We’re done.’
‘Police,’ Caleb prompted.
‘The police are already investigating. We’ve got a few hours before they put it all together, maybe a few more before they realise we’re not among the bodies. We’re done, Jamison. Once we’ve got Simon and the kids, we’re gone.’ Amanda wiped at the sweat on her brow, could feel the grain of soot against her skin. ‘I suggest you do the same. We can’t fight him, we’re going to try running. If we manage to stay a step ahead of him—’
‘Slow down,’ said Jamison. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
‘It doesn’t matter. We thought we had him. Turns out he had us.’
The car lurched as Caleb braked hard, a van swerving in front of them. Bridget let out a moan from the back seat.
‘I can buy us some time,’ said Jamison. ‘Pull a few strings and gum up the investigation.’
‘Do it on the move. If Reeves gets us, you’re next. We’re going to be spending the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.’
‘Just get to your family. I’ll be in touch.’
‘What about AK?’
The line hissed with static.
‘It’s over, Jamison. Everything we built. He brought it crashing down in months. You don’t owe him anything. You hear me?’
‘Yes.’
The admission took Amanda by surprise.
‘I should have listened.’
‘Just get it done. Maybe we’ll see each other again. We’ll deal with him later.’
‘I hope so—’
Amanda cut the line. Her chair rocked as Bridget pulled herself up and forward, bringing further stink of the burned club with her.
‘Did you talk to AK? Did he say anything about my—’
‘Jamison’s taking care of it.’ Amanda brushed her away. ‘Come on!’ She hit the dashboard, cursing at the traffic.
‘Don’t want the police on our case,’ said Caleb.
Pushing herself back in her seat, Amanda began dialling her family again, hoping for a better result than the last. Michaela was out tonight, some nightclub somewhere.
Five times she’d already tried calling them. Five times and nothing, and her blood was running cold.
Was this it? Had Reeves grown tired of the game and decided to finish it with one bloody sweep of the board? Best to get gone. Simon, the kids on the driveway waiting for her, bags packed. They’d track Michaela down and be out of the city before dawn.
Car horns blared and tires screeched as the car jumped through red lights.
Four rings and then the dead hiss as the line opened onto the voicemail.
‘Come on!’ Amanda’s voice was a clenched, raw growl as she killed the line, fingers fumbling to find Darren’s number.
Her whole body felt like it was in freefall and that was only partly to do with the acceleration of the car as Caleb gunned the engine. He was pushing sixty, street lights and shop windows passing in a light-hazed blur; red lights ignored, precaution thrown to the devil despite what the big man had said.
The phone rang mid-dial. She answered immediately, heart leaping in her chest. ‘Yes?’
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ It was AK, already in full swing.
‘We’re leaving. The club’s done. The hunt’s done.’
‘You even think of leaving and I’ll kill your daughter.’ She grimaced at the empty threat was about to retort but AK got there first.
‘She was out tonight. Ruby Blue, right? I got men bringing her to me, right now.’
His words were the feeling of iced water across her face.
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’ll send you a picture. You’re going to see this through.’
He cut the call.
A motorcycle leaned on its horn as Caleb swerved around it, the sound quickly swallowed as they pulled away.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Caleb.
‘We need to track down AK and finish him. Once the others are safe.’
Her whole body felt like one long scream down the familiar roads to her house. Her heart was lodged in her throat on the approach. What had Michaela been doing, going out. She knew better.
She was out the door before the car had even come to a stop.
Her keys shook in her hand.
But the door wasn’t locked.
‘Simon!’
The hall was as she’d left it, stretching back to the kitchen. Empty. ‘Simon!’
She checked the front room, then the back. The garden was dark.
They’re all out. On the tube. At the cinema. Please.
She wanted it to be true. There had to be some other explanation why they weren’t here. Some scenario where they were all safe. They’d come through the front door, laughing then bewildered at her panic. They’d all leave together.
Simon would explain where they went. Why they’d left all the lights on. And food going cold on five plates.
‘Simon!’
Her words closed on a choke as she spotted the blood.
The red was vivid, falling from the landing in a quick, steady drip, down onto the stairs, soaking the carpet.
Amanda staggered back against the wall.
The blood spilled down in long, thin streamers.
She’d had nightmares like this. She couldn’t say for certain she wasn’t in one now. Suddenly it all felt so unreal. She knew she should cling to this moment, this weird few seconds as her life changed around her into something far more terrible. Into something she wanted no part of.
She pushed her way forward, up the stairs, through the crimson drizzle.
Emily’s eyes stared out to meet her. She was lying prone, her head tilted to peer sightless through the railings. Those gorgeous brown eyes would never see her again. The girl’s hand reached out for Amanda to hold.
Amanda’s skin burned where her daughter’s blood had touched her. She was making a noise, some hoarse, wet, breathless grunt that she could hear but couldn’t control. She could hear her blood rush in her ears, her every muscle and tendon tightening to pull her into this fist-curl
ed, arched-back snarl of misery as she crested the stairs.
Emily was bent like a question-mark, the overlarge T-shirt she wore to bed sodden, sticking to the carpet.
The image blurred with tears. ‘Noooo.’ The thing was barely a word, just a single, raw chord of grief.
Caleb was beside her, she hadn’t even heard him following. But he was huge and real and Amanda sucked in a breath, pulling in the wider world with it.
Legs numb beneath her, she entered her bedroom, softly illuminated by the bedside lamp.
Simon was slumped against the corner wardrobe facing the door, pyjamas bibbed red from his torn throat.
There was Darren too, only his head visible behind the bed, eyes closed so that you could believe he was sleeping.
Amanda stumbled, catching the edge of her bed as her legs finally failed. Now the tears came, full and terrible.
‘Shit,’ Caleb whispered.
Simon’s head was bent back against the wardrobe. His eyes were rolled upward so he was staring at her in the mirror on the door, blaming her. Amanda couldn’t look away. Caleb moved behind her, looking to Darren and then twisting down to look at something in the corner behind Amanda. ‘Bridget!’ he shouted.
Bridget arrived in the doorway. ‘My God.’ She moved in the mirror to join Caleb.
Amanda covered her face, sobs wracking her body, the sound filling the room. She wiped at her cheeks, her fingertips laced red with her youngest daughter’s blood. She crawled forward until she could see Darren’s whole body, bent-limbed. The shoe box was open by his foot, Amanda’s gun in his hand.
‘He’s dead,’ said Bridget.
Amanda turned, anger flaring.
There was Reeves, sprawled in the final corner, the floor and walls painted red, three bullet holes in his chest.
Bridget finished checking for a pulse and grabbed the thing’s shirt, ripping it open and wiping at the coating of blood underneath.
‘But if he’s…’ Bridget stood, staring at nothing until her gaze caught on Darren. ‘Check him.’
Amanda blinked, eyes hot. ‘What?’
‘Look, he’s still breathing. Check him.’
The words took a moment to sink in. She was right, the movements were faint but Amanda could see her son’s chest rising and falling.
The End of the Line Page 22
