by Ian Woodhead
Just one remained. Harry spun around and faced the thing. He growled low in his throat, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on the fleshmelta side-arm gripped in its right hand. Harry spun the snatched weapon around so the business-end pointed at its lower chest.
It let out a couple of high-pitched squeals before dropping the pistol. It was about to make a run for it. Harry dropped the fleshmelta, brought his arm back, and threw the blade. The knife completed two graceful loops before the blade slammed into the back of the creature’s head. It fell to its knees before keeling over.
He ran over, eager to retrieve my knife, only to pull the handle out of the green mush and find the blade lodged deep in a thick rope of knotty sinew running up the thing’s back. Dammit, he’d had that knife for almost a decade. His options were reduced to the one. Harry unclipped the weapon, swore softly at the corpse then ran as fast as he dared alongside the edge of the wall.
Just as Harry expected, most of the interior walls had gone, demolished and removed at some earlier date. The familiars had extended the base into here. All Harry had to do was to continue running along this wall to reach the inner sanctum. At least, that’s what he hoped.
It took him another minute or so to reach the last corner. He almost smacked his face into the rotting plaster due to his attention focused solely on the four exits he picked out in the dim light. Not one of them displayed any movement. For one glorious moment, Harry actually believed that perhaps he had been wrong about them sensing an intruder, that one of their prey animals walked amongst their number. His triumph vanished when the movement he had been dreading now materialised under the four exits and three more that Harry had failed to notice.
With his back against the wall, Harry shouldered the fleshmelta and uttered his last prayer, knowing that he would get off four shots, perhaps five, before one of them returned the favour. Foot-soldiers might be easy to defeat up close, but they were all crack shots with their weapon of choice.
“I go with dignity.” Harry squeezed the trigger and the meat of one of the vile beasts slid off its crystal skeleton. “I go with honour.” He fired twice more, each shot finding their targets. Harry saw three of them had now dropped into firing position. His life, such as it was, had come to an end.
“I go with…” The last word remained unspoken when the wall he had been resting on fell away. Harry stumbled backwards. He spun around to stop from crashing onto the floor. Harry cried out in shock when his eyes found what he first believed to be his celestial exit from this world.
His befuddled mind sought order from the chaotic vision before him. He wasn’t dead, the things hadn’t melted him. He was still alive, and that swirling mass of blue and red light hovering about a foot from the floor was his sole reason for entering this hornet’s nest. Harry also knew that the temporary reprieve he had just gained from stumbling had just run out. He only had one chance left.
***
Harry Scrimshaw raced into that light and left this world forever.
The sergeant had no way of knowing, but he hadn’t been the first individual to cross through the enemy-built trans-portal. Several others had already gone ahead to prepare the ground for the next invasion. This dying world offered nothing but scraps. It was time to move on, to find another world. The thousands of immobile Goliaths standing in the midst of their exhausted feeding grounds were impatient to move on.
CHAPTER TWO
The last number seventy-three bus for the night had dropped off its last three passengers on the opposite side of the road next to the betting office. The bus rumbled towards the turning circle, leaving the departed passengers wobbling inside the dilapidated bus shelter.
Callum McGuire felt that familiar hard knot grow in his guts when three inebriated gentlemen noticed him. He stood perfectly still, feeling like a rabbit caught in the glow of a pair of headlights while they staggered across the now empty road heading straight for him. They giggled, laughed, and pointed, acting like a set of naughty school kids.
He guessed they were all at the borderline legal drinking age, which, in his opinion, made them the worst kind of person to bump into on a street utterly devoid of anybody else. Callum wasn’t usually bothered by the appearance of kids their age. Or any kids really. Oh sure, the little terrors called him names on occasion, threw stuff at him, and generally tried to make him feel like some low-grade animal, but they never got physical, not even the older ones. He could handle himself and the locals knew that. Word got around.
Normally, the local teenage pissheads generally left him alone. After all, Callum had been a common sight in the town of Brandale for over two decades now. He might have mellowed in recent times, but he was sure that his younger violent exploits were still discussed.
That sneering expression plastered across their faces suggested that these jokers now approaching him didn’t fit into that category. He released a low moan and attempted to unknot his twisted guts. So much for word getting around. Then again, what else did he expect? This part of town wasn’t a part of Callum’s patch.
He reluctantly dropped the pizza box back into the trade bin, then moved back until the cuff of his filthy parka brushed against the corner of the wall. Callum might be a relative stranger to this part of town, but that hadn’t stopped him from memorising his escape route. Until now, Callum kinda expected his ancient bad boy reputation would protect him from having to face shit like this. Brandale wasn’t a huge place, with only a dozen or so pubs and plenty of old fishwives who transmitted gossip with a religious furore.
They were all taller than him, with the tallest having at least a foot on Callum. He presumed him to be the boy who made the decisions, judging from the fawning postures the other two exhibited.
The brown-eyed thug, complete with an unimpressive collection of stray bum hairs under his nose, grinned, displaying a set of teeth which so needed work from a dentist’s tools. The kid gave him the laser eyes treatment, while lifting a hand from the pocket on his baggy, grey sport’s pants. Callum’s guts knotted up once more when the fluorescent light from the takeaway shop window reflected off the silver handle, gripped in the kid’s thin fingers.
A soft snick noise accompanied brown-eye’s quiet chuckle and there it was, the lad had just officially revealed his intent. The other two stopped moving, but brown-eyes didn’t. He was almost at arm’s length when one of the other boys suddenly broke the tension.
“Go on, Sky. Stick the dirty bastard!”
Perhaps if Callum had been younger, like two decades younger, he would have taken them on, knife or no knife. In fact, back when he was in his prime, he ate scrawny brats like these three for breakfast, but time hadn’t been kind to him, and Callum felt every one of his fifty-four years twice over.
Callum spun around, almost tripping over his own feet, and pelted down the high street before turning into an alley behind the Horse and Crown. His hope that perhaps a chase would be too much trouble evaporated when he heard their running footsteps hitting the wet pavement. Perhaps if that thug hadn’t spurted out that kid’s name, then they would have gone their separate ways. What sort of parent burdens their child with a name like Sky? No bloody wonder the bastard turned out like he did. Callum almost felt sorry for him until his ears caught their shouted insults, coupled with what they were going to do to Callum’s face when they caught him.
Like he needed this sort of hassle after the day he’d just struggled through. All Callum had wanted to do was to find something to eat before settling down behind the old brick wall at the back of the park. Had that been too much to ask for?
The bastards were gaining on him. They obviously sensed this as the insults turned into triumphant laughter. There was no way he’d able to keep this up. Callum stopped dead, turned around, already prepared to ensure he would inflict as much damage to Sky with the hope that if he did hospitalise him, that knife wouldn’t end up sliding into Callum’s flesh. He wasn’t bothered about the other two; they were just puppets. Cut the strings
and they turned into rag dolls.
Had he already known moments before he turned around that his pursuers had also stopped? With his ears full of the noise made by his ragged breathing, Callum watched with interest as Sky and the quiet minion held onto the locked metal gates which led into the pub’s loading bay, while the shit-stirred boy looked back towards the main road. They leaned over and proceeded to paint the alley floor. It looked as though the drinks they’d no doubt chucked down their necks weren’t too disposed with all that running.
“I hope you both choke,” he muttered, before turning back and continuing his retreat, this time at a slower pace. Callum stopped again, looking over his shoulder to check on their progress. They were still following him, but it looked that their need to catch him had lessened somewhat.
Callum severely doubted that any of them would be able to see him now. The shadows from the huge trees overhanging the wall which separated the alley and the town park obscured everything. Just to be sure, Callum stopped once more and glanced over his shoulder. As predicted, the three kids had slowed before finally stopping.
He nodded in grim satisfaction when the three turned as one then sloped back along the alley. “Yeah, and don’t come back again,” he whispered. “You have no idea how close you lot came to ending up in hospital.” His words of relieved bravado went unheard, just how he liked it.
Callum climbed onto the top of the thick stone wall and dropped onto the other side, landing in a thick patch of nettles. “Great,” he muttered. “Thanks for that.” Callum jumped out of the nettles and sat in the damp grass, already knowing that some of those leaves had found the small tear just above his knee. He wrapped his arms around his shaking legs.
What a totally crappy way to end this already memorable day. The nettle sting would soon go, but the hurt caused by those kids would last so much longer. Not only had those cockwombles scared the shit out of him, they had also denied him of a substantial meal.
Callum hadn’t had time to open that pizza box, but he just knew that the damn thing wasn’t empty; in fact, he was willing to bet some proper folding money that there were at least three slices left, maybe even four.
He tipped his head back and gazed at the now upside-down, imposing-looking wall and wondered about the possibility that those three could still be hanging around. The chances were sure to be remote. After their little barf party, they’d make their way home, surely.
“Don’t be too sure on that one,” he whispered, “and don’t call me Shirley.”
He rested his left hand over his guts and already knew that he would be going back. That decision was as sure as mustard. Callum had no choice, not if he wanted to eat. There were only two hot food places in Callum’s patch. The fish and chip shop wasn’t open tonight, and Babylon Delight now had padlocks on their bins.
The old part of town opposite the New Harmony housing estate was the only patch left in town that hadn’t been extensively mined. Well, it had. Old Joe Decker had claimed that patch as his own way back before Callum experienced his troubles. Back when he actually believed he would have a normal life.
Before this week had ended, word got around that Decker had gone. Just vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a bed made from cardboard boxes behind the bank and his collection of carrier bags full of old sweet wrappers.
Thing is, also from what he had heard, Decker hadn’t gone alone. As mad as it sounded, all the rats had vanished as well. The fact that this made no sense didn’t enter into Callum’s mind. As far as he was concerned, the absence of his main competitor meant the bins outside the takeaways, cafes, and grocery shops were now fully laden with practically unspoilt food. A veritable king’s ransom.
All the cats and dogs had vanished as well. This scrap of info came from all the postcard-shaped notices he’d seen in the shop windows as he performed his daily trudge across his patch, looking for anything of value left on the paths or in gardens.
All this only happened a couple of nights ago. He found out about the news about Decker quite by accident. Thanks to the weather changing from a bright summer’s day into a storm come six and coupled with the owner of his usual rain shelter suddenly deciding to bolt and padlock his shed, Callum had no other choice but to run down to the flyover in order to get out of the torrential downpour. A few of Brandale’s other street-men obviously had the same idea. Four of the boys had already got a fire going in an old oil drum by the time he arrived. Once the heat from the fire began to start drying his sodden clothes, talk had already skimmed over the usual gossip and had settled upon old Joe Decker’s patch and his disappearance.
Two of Brandale’s originals both swore blind that they knew someone who knew someone who told them that the council had been using a new rat poison and Decker must have inadvertently eaten some as well. The remaining Brandale original slowly nodded before explaining to Callum that Decker used to have this habit of catching rats and using their pelts to line his underwear.
Callum missed the next line of dialogue from the two who claimed to know everything, but he was sure that they’d said that some guy from the waste treatment works had buried his corpse, along with all the dead animals in the land-fill site over on Beacon Road.
Gavin Styles, who was the youngest member of their cosy get together, disagreed, and despite the others telling him to shut his stupid gob, still managed to spurt out that aliens had abducted Joe before two of the others smacked him around the back of the head. They all knew that Gavin had a few problems in the upstairs department, but unlike the others huddled around that fire, the kid wasn’t technically homeless. They generally only allowed the kid to hang around because, on occasion, Gavin appeared amongst them with cans of beer shoved into the deep pockets of his tatty Army jacket. Their patience with him recently was teetering on the edge due to Gavin telling them, last week, that aliens had stolen his jacket.
Two nights is a long time to wait, and Callum had known that if he hadn’t made a move tonight, then some other guy would make the move and claim Joe’s old patch. Down under the flyover, they had a laugh, told stories, and generally cursed the world. It was neutral territory. Down there, it was them against the rest of society.
All that bonding bollocks and camaraderie went straight out of the window when it came to expanding your patch. It was serious business. Joe’s patch had three pubs as well as a couple of fast food shops. In Callum’s eyes, as well as the others, claiming those extra shops could mean a difference to whether they lasted through the next winter.
Callum took his weight off the damp grass and wandered back over to the wall which separated his patch and Joe’s patch. By rights, that patch ought to belong to him anyway; none of the other guys were anywhere close by. Well, Gavin did have an older brother who lived on the estate, but that didn’t really count.
The pubs were shut now and the only takeaway still open was Khan’s Kebab Shack, and that was right in the centre of town, a good mile from here. His three recent adversaries had no reason to hang around and plenty of reason to stagger home, and wash the dried vomit off their chins before climbing into a nice, warm bed.
He planted his hands on the side of the wall, surprised to find that they weren’t shaking. His insides were still coiled up like a dozen wet, possibly slimy springs. He turned his hands around and stared at the pale white scars which criss-crossed his palms. In the pale moonlight, they looked like hand-shaped road maps. “I don’t want to go down any of those streets and roads again.” He quickly turned them back over and climbed up onto the top of the wall. “Please don’t make me travel to that place again,” he murmured. Callum dropped into the alley. “Please make it that they went home.”
The journey back to that trade bin proved uneventful. It felt like a bit of a disappointment when none of those three kids jumped out on him. Callum lifted the plastic bin lid and rested it on the brick wall. Already, his mouth began to fill with saliva at the prospect of tucking into whatever the previous owners of that pizza had left in
that box.
“Spicy chicken please,” he whispered while leaning inside to retrieve the box. “Even pepperoni or donner will do me.” Callum snagged the box and pulled it out of the bin. He sat down and rested the prize on his knees. “Anything but ham and pineapple.”
Before opening the box, Callum double-checked the surrounding area, just to be sure that he was alone. He turned his head to the left and something just under the trade bin caught his eyes.
“That’s unexpected.” He reached out and folded his fingers around Sky’s knife. Callum dragged it out from under the bin and held the object in front of him. The kid must have dropped it as he hurried home to clean his face. Callum grinned. What a shame. The poor boy will be distraught when he found out. He turned it over. This was no cheap knock-off either. Somebody had paid good money for this. He might be able to get a few quid for the knife. There were a couple of shops on the other side of Brandale who didn’t ask questions. Oh sure, Callum wouldn’t get a good price, but that didn’t matter. If he got enough for a pint and a pie, he’d be happy.
Callum opened the pizza box and sighed heavily. So much for his luck turning around. It was sodding ham and pineapple. Still, it wasn’t all bad news. Now that he had the knife, at least he didn’t have to pick out all the disgusting bits of pineapple with his fingers. He pushed the small ridged button on the handle forwards and the blade thrust out of the front of the handle.
Three drops of blood fell off the blade and spattered over the pizza. “Oh Jesus!” he gasped, throwing the box off him. Callum jumped up and backed himself against the wall, his swirling thoughts trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. The knife, still with the blade open, lay by his feet. He wanted to kick it back under the bin; out of sight meant out of mind. Skulking back to his park, after picking up that over-turned pizza, now felt like the best decision he could ever make. So he’d have to pick bits of gravel and hair off the cheese before eating it, but that didn’t really bother him. Callum had eaten much worse.