by Ryan Casey
James looked at Aoife.
Then behind, at Frank.
And then at Aoife again.
He cracked his knuckles.
“Unlucky for you, I pretty much run this street,” he said.
And then he nodded.
Out of nowhere, a man and a woman appeared.
Grabbed her, dragged her back.
James’ face turned.
“And if what you say’s true, then I’m proud of my boy.”
“Damn right,” someone shouted.
“Because what you people did to Frank’s boy Sam here is unforgivable.”
“Fucking unforgivable,” someone else said.
And Aoife felt herself being dragged back through the crowd.
Being spat at by the mob.
Frank, Sam’s dad, staring at her with venom.
Rex barking away.
And the boy who could’ve spoke up, standing there, head down, angry mum behind him.
“Take her to somewhere she can’t escape,” James said. “It’s about time we took a trip up the hills and found my boy. Then had a little word with her people.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Nathan ran as fast as he could towards Max’s house up the hill and tried to get the screams of the boy, Cody, from circling around his mind.
He focused on the trees before him. Looked ahead. Not down at the estate looming in the distance. And not over his shoulder, back towards the house, where Mum and Max both kept an eye on each other.
He could only focus on the path ahead.
Find the supplies Max had sent him out to get.
Gather what he needed, and take them back home.
And then get Max back on his feet before heading down to the estate to find Aoife.
He winced at that thought. He just wanted to be back home now. Locked inside, away from the outside world. Definitely didn’t want to be down in the estate, where he knew he’d be in danger. In deep, deep shit.
Because if the people down there knew he was with the family who was responsible for the kid’s death…
And if they knew what’d happened to Cody—what he’d done to Cody…
He pushed those thoughts aside. He couldn’t think about that. Not right now.
He kept on going and going until, eventually, he saw Max’s house right before him.
It was just like his family home on the surface. The one he’d lived at his whole life, other than his spell at Leeds University. Detached. Dark brick. Kind of run-down, but in a charming way.
Only Max’s maybe crossed the line on that front. It looked more run down in a run- down way. Ivy shoots and moss crawling up the walls. Dusty windows, one of them with a small crack in it. Definitely needed some sprucing up.
He looked down at the list he’d written himself. Ran through it, again and again. He still couldn’t believe Max knew this stuff off the top of his head. Crazy, really.
And he knew it was a gamble. He knew setting up an IV was a gamble, especially in a non-sterile environment.
But shit. What other options did they have right now?
He seemed to be doing better. So if he could get the drip set up, get some antibiotics in him, and then head down to this warehouse Max told him about, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.
And finding Aoife along the way, too.
He sighed when he thought of Aoife, walking towards Max’s house. He’d snapped at her. But at the end of the day, he’d just lost his dad. Lost him in the most brutal way. He wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and he could be forgiven for that, surely.
He still hadn’t processed everything that’d happened this morning. Still hadn’t quite figured out how to digest the shock. And it would catch up with him eventually. Absolutely no doubt about that.
But right now, while he was still thinking straight, he had to do what he was here to do.
He opened the door to Max’s house, stepped inside. Immediately, he coughed, the air filled with dust. There was a speck of blood on the wooden floor, and the fridge door was open. There was a surprising amount of water in there, as well as a ton of other foods that would go a long way.
And for a second, looking around this place, Nathan had a horrible thought. What if Max died? Would it be so bad? After all, it’d give him and Mum longer to survive. They had supplies here. So many supplies.
So maybe…
He shook his head, shuddered. No. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t a monster. Shit. The power had barely been out two days, and this was what he’d sunk to? This was what he’d become?
He walked across the house, through the lounge, which was dark and quiet. He saw a photo on the mantlepiece. A photo of Max and a woman and a kid. And it made him feel sad, somehow. Because Max never mentioned being married or having a kid. And he didn’t seem like the type, either.
Nathan wondered what kind of secrets Max was hiding.
He reached the cellar door. Opened it. Stared down into the darkness below. Cobwebs everywhere. Dust moving across his field of vision.
“Well,” Nathan said. “Here goes nothing.”
He found a match from the kitchen and then climbed down the stairs, using the match to light his way. And when he got down there, he was surprised to find just how well-stocked this place was. Canned food. Loads of water. Contraptions he didn’t even know the purpose of.
And again, that dark thought came into his head.
What if we keep it?
What if me and Mum keep it all for ourselves?
He shook his head, and then he got to work at grabbing the medical supplies Max sent him here for.
He wasn’t sure how long he packed his rucksack, only that he kept on getting distracted by the things around him. And then by the image of Cody lying there on that blood-soaked kitchen table.
Then of Dad.
His vacant eye sockets staring up at him.
Horror on his dead face.
No. Don’t think about it. Don’t go there. Not now.
He got moving quicker, and then he ran through the list just before the match went out, making absolutely sure he had everything.
And when he was sure, he smiled.
It actually felt like there was a chance, now.
A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.
He climbed the stairs. Left Max’s house.
And then he walked through the woods again, feet crunching against the fallen leaves below.
He was going to make it back in time.
And then he was going to go get Aoife.
They were going to make it.
All of them were going to make it.
It was only when he got close to his house that he saw something that stopped him right in his tracks
People from the estate were approaching his house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aoife sat in the closet under the stairs of one of the terraced houses in the estate and held her hands around her body.
It was dark in here. Pitch black. And it was cold too. She was shivering. Wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the adrenaline. Probably a combination of both.
All she knew was that she’d been in here for some time. What felt like forever, even though it probably wasn’t as long as it seemed.
She stared up at that door. It was quiet out there. She felt alone. The man, James. Cody’s dad. He’d had her taken in here, dragged through a hallway. She’d seen weird sights on her way in—dog shit on the floor. The smell of weed in the air. Ash trays overturned, spilled onto the carpet.
And then she’d been thrown in here, and the door was locked behind her.
And now she was trapped.
She kept her hands around her knees, freezing. She’d tried the door a few times already but with no luck. She’d even banged against it a few times, but there was no hope. There was no getting out of here at all.
All she could do was sit here. Sit here and wait for this mob to decide her fate. Wait for them to climb their way up to Nathan and
Moira’s place. To confront them both.
And Max…
She thought of Max, and she felt a bolt of total fear. Because she’d come down here to help him. She’d come down here to help him and now he was stuck up there. Dying.
But what else could she have done?
What more could she have done?
And then there was Rex, too.
Her stomach sank even more when she thought of Rex. Because she’d been separated from him. He’d been taken away from her. And she dreaded to think what they might’ve done to him. She hoped they hadn’t hurt him. After all, they were just people. Angry people, people who had lost a child.
And they wouldn’t just hurt an animal out of spite.
And yet…
James.
Cody’s dad.
He’d had that same look in his eyes as his son.
She got the sense that he had that same mean streak inside.
She pictured them going up the hill. Towards Moira. Nathan. Max.
She wondered what they were going to do up there.
And she wondered what lengths James might go to when it came to revenge.
She wondered if Rex was safe.
She wondered and wondered and wondered…
And it was all she could do.
Because she was trapped.
She lowered her head. She didn’t like to admit weakness. She didn’t like to admit vulnerability, even to herself.
But sitting here right now, it was her past she found her thoughts drifting to most.
Not Jason. Her piece of shit ex who, for all his flaws, she still had to admit she missed. Not him at all.
It was her childhood she found her thoughts drifting to.
Dad.
Out in the woods.
Lying on her stomach, by his side, as he gripped onto the hunting rifle beside her.
Pointing it at the pheasants in the distance. Something she always found so sad.
“It’s better this way,” he’d say. “Better than the way they treat them when you buy them from the shop.”
In the years since, Aoife knew that was true. But it was still hard to accept that any other being—especially a being so innocent—had to suffer for the benefit of humanity.
And then there was what Seth told her.
Her brother.
Killing Dad.
How Dad used to mistreat Mum.
Used to mistreat him…
She shook her head.
She didn’t want to think about that. Because it didn’t line up with the dad she knew. The dad she idolised. The dad she loved, more than anyone she’d ever loved.
And yet could she deny it, really?
She thought about Seth.
About killing him.
About the pleasure she’d got at that moment.
The relief she’d got at that moment…
And she wondered if he could’ve been any other way.
If his upbringing was different, maybe life could’ve worked out differently for him.
And then there was something else, too. It felt like she was suppressing something, but not the thing she was expected to suppress after killing someone—and especially after killing her brother.
But she felt herself suppressing the fact that it felt, to her, like the right thing to do.
Maybe it was just the shock. Maybe some form of grief or guilt would come.
But she heard his words in her mind, words that her consciousness had created.
You’ll never live this down, sis. You’ll never forget. I’ll make sure of it.
He was wrong.
She thought about all these things; then she had another flash to Max.
To Nathan.
To Moira.
To Rex.
She thought of all these people, and she felt a sudden surge of strength.
She couldn’t just sit here.
She couldn’t just give up.
She stood up, walked over to the door, turned the handle, tried to open it. And then she banged against it. Again and again and again.
She kept on going and going, hoping and hoping, praying and praying and—
It all happened so fast.
The door swung open, right in her face.
She fell back.
But the door was open.
She could get out.
She was…
She looked up and saw a woman standing over her.
Her nostrils twitched.
She looked down at Aoife.
Knife in her hand.
Dyed red hair.
Mean faced.
“James told us to leave you,” she said. “But I don’t see why you should breathe another second for what you’ve done.”
And then she came flying towards Aoife, knife raised.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Max sat on the sofa in Moira’s living room and had a horrible feeling something had gone wrong.
Nathan had been gone for a while. Or maybe time was just going slowly because he was sitting around, waiting. He felt really rough. He wasn’t sure if it was also because he was waiting around, but he felt more ill now than he had before.
But he had to stay on this sofa. He had to rest. As stubborn as he felt, there wasn’t a lot in his control right now.
He just had to wait.
Moira sat at the table opposite. She wasn’t doing a whole lot of anything herself. And could he blame her? Could anyone blame her? She’d just lost her husband. Right after her husband just shot a kid. Right after her son just failed to save the life of another kid.
And now her son was gone, and she was stuck in her home with a stranger.
He knew he should speak to her. Knew he should at least attempt to reassure her.
But at the same time, he just wanted to lay low.
He wanted to stay quiet.
And yet…
“I know it’s raw right now,” Max said. “And I want to tell you it’ll get easier in time. But it won’t. It never does. But you’ve… you’ve kind of got to learn to grow around the grief. Around the pain.”
Moira looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “What do you know about grief?”
He didn’t want to go into it. But he didn’t have much of a choice now the opportunity was right here before him. “A lot, actually. My wife and my… my son were murdered three years ago.”
Moira’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yesterday, I had a chance to face their killer. To look him in the eye. I thought it was the moment I’d been waiting for. An opportunity. A chance at revenge, once and for all. I thought it would make me feel better. Cure me. But I… I let him live. I let him live. And somehow… somehow that felt better.”
Moira narrowed her eyes. “What point are you trying to make here?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Max said. “Just… Well, I guess I’m getting off the point. The point I’m trying to make is that you don’t ever get better after something like this. You—”
“Learn to grow. Yeah. I know. I know all too well about losing a child.”
Max nodded. Felt a little conscious about even bringing the whole thing with Kathryn and David up now. Especially if Moira had suffered a loss like that, too.
“We grow around our loss,” Moira said. “I know that. And I appreciate it. I appreciate you trying to reassure me. But I haven’t even had time to process things. And now my son is out there. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not quite ready to subscribe to the words of reassurance crap.”
Max half-smiled. Nodded. He respected her for being honest. Because he knew how it was. It was impossible to process the death of a loved one. Especially when it was so fresh. So he’d do better not to patronise Moira right now. Better just keeping quiet.
“How are you feeling, anyway?” Moira asked. “Again. Forgive me for being a little self-centred right now.”
Max nodded. “I’d be lying if I said I felt great.”
“You look like shit.”<
br />
“Thanks.”
She smiled. Laughed a little. Wiped a tear from her eye. “I hope my son’s okay out there, Max. I hope the journey you’ve sent him on won’t lead him to any trouble. Or I’ll make bloody sure you don’t get better.”
Max laughed at that. It hurt to laugh, but he appreciated Moira’s strength right now. Her resolve. “Nathan seems a good lad. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”
“And your girl?” Moira asked.
“Hmm?”
“Aoife. She really is a good one. She’d be good for my Nathan; she would.”
Max looked away. Why did he feel weird about that comment? Aoife was too young for him. Way too young for him.
And yet… was there a flicker of jealousy?
And was the reason because she reminded him—something about her—reminded him of Kathryn, back when she was younger?
“She’s strong too,” Max said. “I’m sure she’ll find her way.”
He looked back at Moira, then. Saw the way she looked at him. Like she could tell from the look on his face that he felt something for Aoife.
Old people. Why were they always such fucking mind-readers?
“Well,” Moira said. “Whatever happens, we’ve not exactly made the best impression on the estate. So we’re probably going to have to think about tightening this place up.”
“My place would be better,” Max said. “Got a good cellar we can hide out in if need be.”
“Is that an invite?”
Max opened his mouth. Stopped himself. Was it an invite? Was he really willing to let these people into his home?
“I suppose it’s the least I owe you after what you’ve done for me. For a while, anyway.”
Moira smiled back at him through her tears, through her pain. Nodded. “Well. We can worry about that when we get to it.”
He looked back at her. And again, he found himself admiring her strength. Admiring the fact that for all the pain she’d be going through right now, she was keeping her head high. That she was fighting the shock.
And he knew it would hit her. Hard. She’d know that too.
But for now…
He was about to say something when he heard voices outside.
When he heard footsteps.
Moira’s eyes widened.