Six Days, Six Hours, Six Minutes

by Alex Smith

  “Where are you?” said the kid, turning into the boys’ room. “Why don’t you come and play?”

  He disappeared inside, but Blake didn’t move. It was just a kid, caught up in some sick psychopathic game. He was as much of a victim as Blake was.

  Except he was here with one intention—he was here to kill Blake, kill Julia. He’d come here to murder Connor.

  Blake stood up, adjusting his grip on the nail gun. He didn’t hesitate this time, walking into the boys’ room to see the kid leaning over the bed like he was trying to find the Nevill boys again. The mannequin that Daniel Keller had made stared back from under the duvet, the photograph taped to the rucksack.

  “Peekaboo,” the kid said again. “I see…”

  He pulled the backpack from beneath the quilts, and before he could work out what was going on, Blake shot him.

  The first nail slid halfway into the top of his spine, jutting out of his skin. He gasped, trying to reach up and back to find it, and Blake pushed the nail gun against the guy’s grasping hand, firing off another shot. The kid spun around wildly, his hand stuck to his own shoulder. He saw Blake and gargled a scream, trying to tug himself loose. Blake fired again, punching a nail into the ridge of his collarbone and driving him back onto the bed. The kid craned his head up, his face twisted into a carnival mask of terror. He was still trying to pull his hand free, his legs kicking at the air.

  Blake aimed the nail gun at his face.

  “Go on then!” the kid screamed. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t die. I won’t die. He won’t let me!”

  He was too loud, he’d draw the others.

  “Sorry,” Blake said, and pulled the trigger.

  The nail gun hissed, but nothing came out.

  He tried again, swearing, flipping the gun to see that it was out of ammo. The kid was laughing, screaming at the top of his voice.

  “I got them! I got them! Up here up here up here!”

  Blake backed out of the room as more footsteps barrelled up the stairs. This time it was the locksmith who appeared, his sour face swelling into a grin. He pointed a finger at Blake, then lifted his hand to reveal his weapon—a big, steel carving knife. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even pause, just started running down the landing, faster than he looked.

  Blake retreated, knowing that his other weapons were in Alice’s room. He barged through the door, the locksmith’s footsteps right behind him. And suddenly Julia was there, rushing in from the side, holding something.

  He ducked beneath her, momentum carrying him into the wardrobe. He looked back to see the locksmith fly into the room, the bucket of petrol hitting him in the face. He cried out but he didn’t stop, throwing himself on Julia and driving her to the floor. She cracked her head as she landed, grunting. The locksmith flopped on top of her, trying to find purchase. Her fist caught him in the side of the face but there was no power there, the blow making him angrier. With a mangled cry he sliced the knife across her chest and she screamed.

  Blake pushed himself up, crossing the room in a heartbeat and kicking out at the lump of darkness on top of his wife. It connected badly, hitting the man’s meaty shoulder, and Blake bounced off. The locksmith tumbled from Julia’s stomach, rolling. Blake recovered first, moving in for another kick. The man was fast, though, grabbing Blake’s foot and twisting, pulling him down.

  A shockwave of agony ripped through him, the world blazing phosphorous bright. He caught a glimpse of the knife as it flashed towards him, the flat of the blade glancing off his forearm. He flailed in the dark, hearing Julia groan beside him, hearing Connor’s muffled squeals from inside the wardrobe. There were more footsteps, too, thundering up the stairs.

  A burst of light filled the room, flickering briefly and going out. Blake glanced at Julia as she lit another match—enough light to see the locksmith clamber awkwardly onto his knees, clutching the knife in both hands like he was sacrificing something at the altar.

  Darkness, and Blake rolled away, hearing the knife thunk into the carpet.

  Another match scratched into life, flickered, dimmed, then flared. Julia tossed it at the locksmith but it fell short, landing on Blake’s trousers.

  He ignited with a whumph and the pain was instant, the blue flame eating into his legs. He kicked out, panic swelling inside him, his feet thumping the floor. The room was flooded with firelight and through the shuddering heat he saw the locksmith open his mouth and howl with laughter.

  It didn’t last. The fire spread, hungry, winding across the fuel-soaked carpet as fast as a snake. Blake’s clothes had caught a spattering of petrol, but the locksmith had been drenched. He went up like a bonfire—one second there, the next engulfed from head to toe.

  He didn’t seem to notice at first, the knife rising for another attack. Then his skin began to crackle and he opened his mouth as if to scream, nothing coming out. The blade tumbled from his grip and he somehow managed to get to his feet, running from the room.

  Everything went dark, something cold and damp over his face. Blake fought it but he heard Julia shout to him, telling him not to struggle. She pulled the duvet away, the flames on his legs doused.

  “Come on,” she said, using the light of the burning man to navigate to the wardrobe. She pulled Connor out, trying to fumble him into the sling, holding him tight against her bloody chest.

  Blake ran to the door, the landing burning bright as the locksmith ran down it. There was somebody else there, staring in horror at the inferno—the man in the Arsenal cap. The locksmith almost made it to the stairs before collapsing, the fat beneath his skin popping. The flames were spreading, curling up towards the ceiling and devouring the strips of loose wallpaper.

  Blake looked back just as Julia reached him, Connor held fast in the sling. He took her hand and they crossed the landing, going for the spare room. The guy at the top of the stairs spotted them and called out, but he couldn’t get past the spitting inferno of the locksmith.

  “Outside!” said Blake as they ran through the door. He clawed in a lungful of smoke and bacon-stench, retching so hard he thought he was going to cough up his stomach. He grabbed the ladder, lifting it to the window and sliding it through. “Go!”

  Julia checked that the coast was clear and stepped over the sill, Connor’s cries loud enough to be heard a mile away.

  “It’s okay, baby boy,” she said to him as she climbed down, her voice broken to pieces. “Don’t cry, mummy is here.”

  Blake went to follow, then turned back. All of their weapons were inside Alice’s room. If he left the house now they’d be defenceless. He ran to the door but something burst through it, colliding with him and driving him back into the wall. The impact shook the air from his lungs and skinny arms beat at his head and neck.

  “No!” Blake yelled, trying to protect himself. It was the teenager, naked from the waist up, his hand mangled from where it had been nailed to his shoulder. His balled fist crunched into Blake’s mouth and he felt something crack, a tooth landing in the back of his throat and choking him. Another fist pounded into his abdomen, then a knee exploded in his groin and he doubled over, losing his balance.

  The kid threw himself at him, laughing hysterically. Blake put out a hand, looking for the wall—but there was no wall, only window, and suddenly they were both falling. Even in mid-air the guy was trying to hit him, his face contorted by insane rage. Then the kid hit the fence, Blake landing a split-second later on the roof of the bin shelter. It crumpled beneath him, absorbing some of the shock, but it still felt like every single organ in his body had ruptured into jelly.

  He felt hands on his, Julia right there. He let her help him, saw her mouth moving. His ears were full of noise, like somebody had set off a firecracker inside his skull. The boy had fallen on the other side of the fence, although both of his shoes had been knocked loose, scattered over the path.

  Blake shook his head until Julia’s words began to filter back in, Connor’s cries too.

  “… know where they ar
e. Blake?”

  He couldn’t find the energy to speak. The bin shelter was damaged but still intact and he scrambled back onto it, straddling the fence. The kid was slumped on the other side, his body facing down but his head pointing up, a piece of spine jutting out from his throat. His eyes seemed to look right at Blake, glistening in the moonlight and still full of rage.

  I can’t die. He won’t let me.

  Blake lowered himself into the back garden and helped Julia over. They stood there for a moment, shielded by the fence and the locked gate. Julia was running her hands over Connor’s head, trying to soothe him, but his cries were louder than ever. There were muffled shouts from inside the house, echoed from the front garden.

  “We can’t go on,” said Julia, her hand touching Blake’s mouth and coming away tipped in blood. “We have to go, while we can.”

  He reached out and touched what little of her chest was visible past Connor. The locksmith’s blade had cut through her shirt, leaving an ugly gash across the top of her breasts. It was bleeding, but it didn’t look deep.

  “No,” he said. He took Julia’s hand and led her away from the fence, running until they were around the back of the house. He tongued the space where his tooth had been, the shattered mess of enamel that was left. Then he looked at her. “No, we don’t run. Three down, three to go. We can do this.”

  And she was nodding back to him when he heard the sound of an engine roaring up towards the house.

  A third car was arriving.

  Fifty-Nine

  “No more,” said Julia, clutching Connor like he weighed a hundred pounds, like she could barely hold him. “No more.”

  Blake led her along the rear of the house. All of the windows here were still boarded tight, hardly any noise from inside now. Those whoops and cheers had muted into angry shouts as the men who were left found their dead.

  If we die tonight, Blake thought. Then at least we’ve taken some of them with us.

  It was no consolation, though, not while the devil was still alive.

  They kept walking, the back garden fifty feet or so of knee-high grass and rotting toys that led into the forest. The trees were like teeth, but the impenetrable darkness between them was beautiful. It looked solid, and Blake knew that if they set foot inside the forest it would cocoon them, keep them safe. He wondered if Doof was okay out there. He hadn’t heard the little dog in a while.

  “We should get into the woods,” he said. “We can disappear.”

  Julia nodded, Connor’s screams muting as his mother’s movements lulled him. The sound of the engine was louder by the time they reached the back of the garage. It couldn’t be more of the man’s disciples, could it? How big was his legion? Blake had a vision of an endlessly spawning army—every time they killed one, another two would appear.

  He rubbed his eyes, saying Just a man, just a man beneath his breath.

  He peeked out from behind the garage, blinded by a new set of headlights coming up the long driveway. More lights flashed, burning splodges of blue on Blake’s retinas. He blinked, not quite believing what he was seeing.

  It was a police car.

  It rumbled up the drive, parking just behind the UPS truck. The engine died, the headlights powering down but the blues still rolling. Blake edged out further, saw the devil still standing in the middle of the front garden, the delivery guy by his side. They both turned together and the younger guy’s shit-eating grin vanished.

  “Holy shit,” said Blake. He felt Julia’s weight against him and heard her intake of breath when she saw the car. “How did they know?”

  “I called them,” she said, breaking down into sobs. “I’m sorry. I called them.”

  Blake leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

  The car door opened and a uniformed constable got out. He looked up at the house, then at the huge, hulking shape of the devil. He said something that Blake couldn’t hear and another cop climbed out of the passenger side.

  “Come on,” Blake said. “Taser him or something.”

  The delivery guy stepped towards the police, confrontational. He was sidestepping, drawing their attention away from the house. There was nothing in his hands, but there were weapons everywhere, Blake knew. The first constable held up a hand, arguing with him. Their words floated past Blake, too far away for him to hear. He watched, wondering whether to step out now and call to him.

  Julia beat him to it.

  “Hey!” she yelled as she stumbled past him. “Help us! Please!”

  Both constables looked over, their eyes widening like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

  “I need you to stay—” said one, and it was as far as he got because the delivery guy threw himself at him. He literally jumped on him, the same way he had Adam, wrapping his arms and legs around his torso. He was headbutting him, or maybe biting him, the constable staggering away in shock as he was savaged. His backside hit the bonnet of the police car and he gained some purchase, twisting his body hard. The delivery guy snapped free, falling to the mud, but the police officer just stood there, one hand to his throat. He was making a choking noise, his body swaying.

  “Fuck!” yelled Blake.

  The other officer had recovered from his shock and was running around the front of the car, baton drawn. But he was too slow.

  The devil rushed in like liquid night, his coattails rippling behind him. He was so fast, impossibly fast, crossing in front of the UPS truck and launching himself across the driveway like a guillotine blade. He reached the cop, dwarfing him, one big hand grabbing his arm and another swallowing his face whole.

  “No!” Julia screamed. “No! No! No!”

  She fell against Blake and he held her, both of them watching as the devil bent the cop backwards over the hood of the patrol car, folding him like a ragdoll. The constable’s legs flailed, kicking at the air, his muffled screams filling the night. The devil cupped the constable’s skull between his big hands, holding him there. The delivery guy was back on his feet, whooping.

  “No, Blake,” Julia said.

  He grabbed her, pulling her away, but she resisted.

  “No,” she sobbed. “There will be more police, there has to be.”

  Blake saw the devil’s thumbs crawl towards the constable’s eyes and burrow into the soft flesh. He heard the cop’s howl blast from his mouth, as loud as a jet engine.

  “We have to…” Blake started, stopping when he saw the delivery guy break into a run, heading for the truck. He bent down, then straightened, holding something in both of his hands, something long, something dark.

  “Oh no,” said Blake. “Oh fuck.”

  Out here there was no denying it. It was a shotgun.

  “Go,” Blake said, turning away and pulling Julia with him. This time she didn’t argue, letting him steer her back towards the garage.

  A world-shaking shot detonated behind them, echoed by a burst of laughter from the delivery guy. Another followed, the windows of the garage shattering as he fired at their backs.

  “Run!” Blake yelled.

  “Woo!” the delivery guy roared. “Look at them go!”

  The snap of the shotgun being breached, then Blake and Julia were behind the garage. Blake didn’t stop running, dragging her across the back garden towards the shelter of the trees. Connor was squealing again now, startled by the gunshots. Julia stumbled, almost falling, and he helped her up, looking back to see the delivery guy skid to a halt beside the garage, thirty feet or so behind them, the gun braced against his shoulder. He loosed a shot that scattered into the trees, releasing a pale plume of smoke.

  “Go!” yelled Blake.

  He split off from his wife, crossing the garden and waving his arms, trying to get the delivery guy’s attention. Julia was running again, nearly there.

  “Hey, you fuck!” Blake shouted. “Come on!”

  The delivery guy burst out laughing, his grin too big for his face. He pointed the gun at Blake, one eye screwed shut as he a
imed down the barrel. Blake kept moving, trying to make himself a harder target. The guy tracked him for a moment more then swung the gun to Julia. She was almost in the trees, so close now, another few steps.

  “No!” Blake roared.

  The big gun barked, bucking so hard in the guy’s grip that he dropped it. Blake heard the impact before he saw it, that fleshy thump. Blood exploded from Julia’s side and she spun in a wild circle, collapsing onto her back.

  Blake ran for her, tearing across the garden, the guy’s insane laughter chasing him. He didn’t care that the man was reloading. Nothing mattered now other than reaching her. He skidded to his knees by her side, his hands hovering over her, not wanting to do any more damage by touching her. She stared up at him, gulping air. The wound was a series of ragged holes in her lower back where the shot had entered, blood pooling there, as black as ink in the dark. It had missed his son by a fraction of an inch. Connor squirmed on his mother, trying to pull loose, his screams loud enough to shatter the world.

  “No,” Blake said, his tears falling onto Julia, onto his son. “No, Julia, no.”

  He glanced across the garden, seeing the delivery guy struggling to breach the gun. After a second or two he gave up, his face contorting with rage. He took a couple of steps towards Blake then turned and fled, disappearing down the side of the garage.

  He’d be back, though.

  Blake cupped a hand on Julia’s wound, his wife’s blood as hot as boiling water, scalding him.

  “Can you move?” he asked.

  She grit her teeth, nodding. Blake undid the straps of the sling and lifted his son.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t cry, everything will be okay.”

  He grabbed Julia’s arm with his free hand, so much blood that she slipped out of his grip. He helped her up again and she screamed as she stood. She scrunched up the sling and pressed it to her back as best she could, looking like she might pass out. Blake held onto her, held on to them both as they pushed into the treeline.

  They moved into the dark, into the ancient, silent stillness of the forest. They had to go slow because of the undergrowth, twice Blake catching his foot on a root and tripping. He used the trees to keep himself standing, pulling Julia behind him. Back at the house he could hear more shouts, somebody calling out, mocking him. He kept walking, knowing that if they stopped now they might never start again.