Thud!
Startled, she knocks the plant over, spraying dried compost across the windowsill. Lumps of dark soil drop into the sink. Her heart kicks at her chest.
Thud!
Attracted by the light, a huge moth bats against the glass.
It flutters away, circles, then returns, its wings leaving a dusty print on the window.
She grabs the jar from the sill. Calm it, Sarah!
Leaving the kitchen, and hoping the moth turns its attention to the moon, she makes her way to the living room. Sitting in the dark, its rooms abandoned, the house felt strange; it would remain in eerie silence until the sun rose and the family awoke, filling it once again with noise and light.
THE PAIN IN KHALED’S leg is immense. From his ankle to his knee it screams at him. Stopping at the hedgerow, he’d slumped against the rise of grass at the edge of the field. Making his way through the field of corn, wheat, or whatever the treacherous stuff was, had nearly finished him off. The ears had looked of uniform height, but the earth beneath was ploughed into ankle-breaking peaks and troughs. He’d stumbled down among the crop twice, and each time harsh stalks had scratched his face and his eyeball stung where one had caught him. The anger in his belly was roiling to rage. He’d make them pay for his pain.
He’d followed the row of lights across the fields, used them as his guiding stars, and they had brought him to a house, or rather two houses sitting together perhaps a kilometre from the town. The lights were a string of hanging solar lanterns, pretty though too dim to give much light to the garden they decorated. From his elevated position at the edge of the field he can see down to the river. The bridge sits to the right, a massive silhouette, stark and black against the midnight blue of the moonlit horizon. Below its main expanse there are ‘things’ that break the beauty of its line—dangling ‘things’ like flies wrapped in cocoons and hanging from a spider’s thread—things that were out of place along the minimalist symmetry of the bridge. He squints to focus. A cloud passes over the moon and the ‘things’ disappear against the black of the water. His head throbs with pain and the taste of blood lingers in his mouth. That pig-bitch could have killed him with that iron.
Leaves rustle and voices carry across the field.
“They’re coming. Move!”
He stands, hobbles, then lurches against a branch as a loud crack sounds only feet away, followed by a hideous barking.
“What was that?”
“A deer probably.”
“Will it bite?”
“Shut up and move!”
The moon breaks out from behind the clouds and the bridge is once again in relief. As Khaled pushes through the hedgerow into the garden he realises what the ‘things’ breaking the aesthetic of the bridge are—bodies. He’s seen them before, men and women, hung by their necks, thrown over the side of an overpass in Sinjar, the first town he’d helped to take under control. The fires had burned that night too—the house fires and the camp fires. At first the truly grotesque violence that he’d witnessed had been a shock, but after the first weeks, then months, after it had become a daily occurrence, he’d become immune to the suffering and gore. He’d laughed with the others as the men and women cried for mercy. Not all of them begged. Some of them went with dignity, but there were always the ones who begged and cried and pissed themselves as they were pushed over the edge. They’d writhe and bounce on the ropes—unless the ropes unravelled, and then they’d thud to the hard tarmac and lie broken. His teeth clench until his jaw hurts as he remembers the brothers taken from the cells. Did they piss themselves too as they were forced over the edge? This time he hasn’t the stomach to laugh. He will make the kafirs suffer for this. He will have his revenge.
Khaled pushes at the branches as he steps through a gap in the hedgerow. Sharp thorns catch at his sleeves. Pain rips through his calf. He stumbles and cries out with pain. Hamsa grabs his jacket and pulls him to his feet. His feet kick at leaves and twigs then he squats behind a shed catching his breath. His jeans are ripped and wet with blood.
“You’re injured. Let me see.”
“No, there’s no time.”
Hamsa clamps a hand on his shoulder. “They will have food,” he gestures to the house. Lights glow and move inside. “Maybe water, maybe bandages and something for the pain.”
“We need to get away from here.”
“You need that leg seeing to. Those men in the car—they won’t give up easily. They’ll be tracking us.”
“You think they followed us?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“We make it quick. Get in, kill them-”
“Kill?”
Hamsa rounds on Jay. “Why the questions? You want to make friends with them? Huh? Khaled, I am beginning to have questions about this boy. If he is a traitor-”
“I’m no traitor.”
“You may have to prove that. You seem to like the pig-eating kafirs.”
“No, no. I hate them.”
“We haven’t got time for this. Go. Go to the house. He can prove his loyalty there.”
Khaled steps out from behind the shed then steps back a finger to his mouth. “Someone’s out there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Mum!” Joe calls again. “Dad can’t find my ‘jamas.”
“Coming.” Sarah takes the first steps up the stairs with a weary stride and creaking knees.
“Mum!” Amy’s face appears at the top of the landing.
“Amy! You scared me.”
“Sorry, but Mum, there’s someone on the lawn!”
“Probably just Megan looking for Maurice.”
“No, Mum. It was a man. I think there was more than one.”
“Show me.”
“No. Lock the door, Mum. It looked like they were running to the house.”
Terror is riven across Amy’s face and Sarah makes a quick turn on the stairs, slips, grabs the bannister to save her fall, then runs to the bottom. The hairs on her neck prickle as she runs through the kitchen, the soft glow of the candle casting deep shadows. Amy is right—there are noises outside. She glances to the window but can see nothing beyond the candle’s glow, the dark of the kitchen, and her own movement reflected back in the glass.
The back door is four feet away when the handle begins to move.
Cold fear grips her and she sprints forward, hand outstretched. If she can just slide the lock! Her foot slips as the handle presses down and the door begins to open. As she falls, she twists, her knee slamming against the concrete step, her head hitting the door, forcing it to bang shut. Ignoring the excruciating pain radiating out from her kneecap, she pushes against the door and reaches for the lock. Her fingers fumble, find the lock, and slide the button to closed. The room is silent as she listens. Voices mutter then footsteps move away. Reaching for the handle, she twists the key securing the door with a second lock, then staggers to stand and pushes the bolt closed. Her hands tremble as her heart beats fast and heavy against her chest.
“Sarah!” Gabe checks through the back and front window as he runs across the kitchen. “What happened? I can’t see anything outside.” He bends and offers his hand.
“Someone tried to get in.” Sarah takes his hand, grimacing with pain.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Sarah grips Gabe’s arm.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“If it’s someone trying to break in then they’re being rather polite about it. You sure it wasn’t just Amy’s overactive imagination?” Gabe walks to the back door. “We’re all tired.”
“Gabe! Don’t open it.”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Gabe slips the bolt back and slides the lock’s button.
“Check who it is first.”
He twists the key. Sarah steps to the kitchen counter and takes the biggest knife from the knife block.
The door opens.
“Oh, Gabe!” Megan! “Have you seen Maurice? There was a terrible noise out here and I could have sworn that I
heard his cries but when I call he doesn’t come. There were foxes out here the other night.” The bright light of Megan’s LED torch floods the backroom floor with its harsh light and glints on the blade’s steel.
“Oh, Sarah. Was that knife meant for me?”
Sarah leans back and puts it back on the kitchen counter. “Sorry, Megan. It’s been such a terrible few days and Amy thought she saw someone on the lawn coming over to the house.”
“On the lawn?”
“Yes, but I think perhaps she’s tired. We’re all on edge.”
“The last days have been awful. Thankfully, David managed to get home yesterday so I feel much safer now. Perhaps it was him that Amy saw. I did ask him to see what all the noise was about.”
Movement catches Sarah’s attention and then Maurice slinks around the corner, and slides around Megan’s legs. “Oh, Maurice, there you are.” Megan bends to stroke the cat as he flicks his tail in the air, jumps up onto the fence and disappears back home.
Sarah sighs as the door closes. That was the end of that drama.
“Come and sit down.” Gabe cajoles as he reaches for the roller blind over the large kitchen window overlooking the lawn.
“No! Don’t. We need to see out.”
“But there’s nothing out there, and besides, we’ve got lights on in here so if there is someone out there they’ll be able to see in and not the other way round.”
“What if there is a thief though Gabe? When I talked to Sam earlier he was saying there’d been an increase in crime since the blackout.”
“True. Brian Alton had his strimmer and electric lawnmower stolen from his garage and Trev lost the tools from his van.”
“We’re out of town here. Easy targets.”
“Which is why we’ve got safety lights and lockable gates.”
“Which aren’t working because of the blackout. We need to be more vigilant. People are taking advantage of it.”
Gabe looks back through the window to the dark grass beyond. “If it’s dark outside and we have light inside they, if there is anyone out there, can see straight in.”
“OK. Close the blind. I’ll close the curtains.”
“Oh, and check the front door is locked.”
KHALED CROUCHES BENEATH the wide kitchen window, a yellow glow lighting the interior, casting shadows against the wall cupboards. An eerie pantomime had played out as faces appeared at windows, figures ran and stumbled, doors banged, cats wailed, then all was quiet.
Khaled limps his way to the front of the house. This will be easy. The door is old, wooden with two frosted glass panels. The paint shines a dark grey in the light; the glass seems thin, not the reinforced glass of a modern door—easy to break. A small porch surrounds the door, covered with roses and honeysuckle. The sweet scent wafts around him. Hamsa reaches for the door’s handle as a light moves on the other side of the frosted glass.
GABE PINCHES SARAH’S bottom and chuckles as he turns to run up the stairs. “Coming,” he shouts in response to Joe’s call. His wife was such a worrywart. Sure, the last few days had been difficult, but it wasn’t all bad; the crisis had also brought them together. Since all the electronic devices that filled their lives had so spectacularly failed he felt closer to the kids and they’d had more conversations in the last few days than in the entirety of last month. Plus, it was almost like having an adventure: having to survive on what they had, use their own ingenuity to get through each day; him and Sarah working together to keep them all alive. Nevertheless, he’s hopeful that the electric comes back on in the next day or so.
As Gabe steps into Joe’s room, he hears the hard tap, tap of Sarah’s footsteps across the kitchen floor soften as she moves into the carpeted hallway. Joe is already in his bed, duvet pulled up against his cheek. Gabe sits the jar of light on the dresser and moves to the curtains to pull them across.
“Dad, leave them open.”
Movement catches his eye. A figure, barely visible, no more than a silhouette moves from the shadows and onto the front porch. Another follows and, as Gabe turns to warn Sarah, a third joins them.
Gabe runs to the top of the stairs. Sarah, keys in hands steps to the front door. “Get up here now,” he hisses.
“NOW!” KHALED HISSES. Hamsa pushes the handle down. The door opens a fraction then stops as a force pushes it closed. Someone is on the other side. Hamsa leans into the wood, shoulder pressed up hard and pushes. A grunt and the door gives but doesn’t open. He growls, pushes with all his force.
“Sarah!”
The pressure releases and the door slams open. A figure, a woman, twists away and makes for the stairs. Khaled lurches and grabs for her; his fingers grasps the back of her blouse. Pain shoots through his leg and he stumbles. Released, the woman scrambles up the stairs. Khaled regains his footing as she slips but disappears into an upstairs room before he can right himself.
Hamsa barges past Khaled. “You should have let me go first.”
Khaled bites his teeth together. No one spoke to him like that. “Keep them upstairs,” he spits back. “I’ll check down here.”
The downstairs rooms checked and found empty, Khaled makes his way upstairs. His footsteps are muffled on the soft carpet. They were here, cowering in some corner, waiting for him to find them. He won’t disappoint. He counts the doors that lead off the greyed-out landing, and listens. All is quiet apart from the faint scuffle of movement. He jabs his finger to the room at the end of the corridor. Each limping step to the door is excruciating. He twists the door knob and pushes. It opens a few centimetres before butting up against something heavy.
“They’ve barricaded themselves in. Let them stay here until we are ready.” Pain makes him unsteady and he staggers to the bannister. “First we look for food. You,” he jabs a finger at the boy. “Stand guard at the bottom of the stairs. Watch for any movement.”
Moving back down the stairs, Khaled locks the front door, walks through the kitchen, and locks the back door. In the kitchen he takes three knives from the block next to the hob and lays them on the table.
The house is silent but for the clack of cupboard doors being opened and closed.
“They have nothing!”
“They must have something!” Khaled pulls out a kitchen chair and sits with a thud. The pain in his head throbs, his hair is caked with blood, his face smeared. He takes the jar of light sitting at the table’s centre and holds it above his damaged leg. The cloth is wet with blood. He tears at the fabric. A shard of metal sits gouged into his calf, and a gash nearly ten centimetres long sits at its side. The shard glints in the light.
He calls for the boy then rips at the trousers to expose the sharp metal.
He holds the light above the wound. The blood glistens. “Take it out.”
The boy shuffles back and grunts. “That needs a doctor.”
“Pull it out.”
“But-”
“Now!” The boy, startled by Khaled’s barked instructions, knocks against the chair. “Careful,” Khaled seethes as the movement sends pain stabbing through his leg.
“You sure?”
“Just do it.”
The boy takes hold of the shard. Pain shoots through his calf; Khaled grits his teeth and growls. The boy releases the shard. “Don’t play with it—pull it.”
Reaching for the metal again, Jay holds it firmly between his fingers and tugs. Khaled growls as the metal tears at the wound and rips at the flesh. As the pointed tip appears, relief is instant.
“Got it!” The shard is an almost perfect triangle dark with blood. “That must have hurt.”
“Shut up!”
Blood clots at the edges of the wound, but flows from its centre.
“Look for bandages. I need something to tie this up—and hurry.”
Five minutes later, Hamsa steps back into the kitchen as Khaled pulls at the cloth, tightening it around his calf then ties a knot. A large sterile dressing sits beneath the white bandage, the wound cleaned with the antiseptic wipe
s Jay had found in the first aid kit. Hamsa checks through the cupboards looking for supplies. Khaled sits at the table sipping a glass of sugared water, and listens. The front and back door are locked and the family upstairs, cowering. The only thing that has stopped Khaled’s bloodthirst, stopped him from running up to their room, ripping the door open, and slaughtering them where they stand, is the pain in his leg and the need to refuel. The group that had run them off the road would be sniffing around very soon, if they weren’t already, and Khaled needs to conserve his energy. He takes another sip of sugared water.
The family were organised. The kitchen was clean and tidy and even the shoes were lined up neatly in the hallway, but there was no food. They’d checked every cupboard, every drawer, the fridge and even the freezer but the cartons were drooping with wet, the food spoiled. They had found some packets of dehydrated rice and pasta along with some sauces. These were now in the rucksack taken from the peg in the hallway. There were also teabags and coffee granules but no way of making a warm drink. Also in the rucksack was half a bag of porridge oats. A bottle of water had been shared between them.
“What now?”
Khaled sits for a moment, cradling his glass of water and stirs in another teaspoon of sugar. “We go back to the intersection. We can radio for reinforcements from there.”
“Reinforcements.”
“Yes, reinforcements. I’m not letting these pigs get away with killing our brothers. They need to be taught a lesson.”
Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series Page 69