In The End Box Set | Books 1-3

by Stevens, GJ

  “It looks clear,” I said.

  His gaze shot across the view, his face full of panic as if I’d reminded him of where he’d run from.

  “It’s clear,” I said in a softer tone.

  He nodded and jumped from the car, still checking the horizon as he jogged around the bonnet.

  Taking a deep breath, I stopped halfway through the pull, my bound hands searching the seat, touching at the small of my back as I wriggled to cover every part. My fingers wouldn’t connect with the gun.

  His hand was at the door. I snatched a look down the right side between the centre console, peered left between the door and seat. As it opened, I looked up at his hand reaching out to help me up. I’d expected the light to come on above our heads so I could get a better look, but it stayed off.

  Something made me turn away, a noise in the distance perhaps, but I never noticed the source because as I turned, my foot touched against one of the hard objects out of place.

  My gaze followed down to the dark pistol on the floor. Next to it was a long claw hammer and a crowbar and the guy’s hand reaching toward my feet.

  57

  There was nothing I could do.

  His body blocked the door.

  His arm extended, hand reaching deep into the footwell.

  I paused; thoughts of kicking out flashed through my head. Thoughts of propelling myself forward, smashing my head against his. None of the glimpsed ideas ended well; only in more pain with the cuffs still tight around my wrists.

  “Mine,” I said as he pulled the pistol up, turning it in his hands as he swapped his view between me and the black handgun.

  He mouthed a word I didn’t quite catch. His face stretched with surprise, eyebrows high on his face.

  He stepped back. Turned away, but something made him stop and stare along the road. My heart sank as I thought of the creatures coming our way, the thought of having to run again. This time without the gun.

  “Help me out,” I said as I struggled in the seat, twisting to get my feet to the road with the memories of my previous plans to escape coming back to ridicule me.

  He turned and seemed to remember. He came back to a long-forgotten part of the night and snapped around in a hurry. He bounded over in two long steps, pushing the muzzle of the gun into the waistband of his jeans before taking both my shoulders and hoisting me up.

  Out into the night, I twitched my gaze to the flashing blue lights at the far end of the village.

  After slamming the car door shut, he hurried me along its length. I let him escort me, the skin of his hands rough on my wrists as he ushered me to a door. His grip didn’t release as he pushed in the key and guided me over the step. Only when inside did he let go.

  I turned to see the door close, his back leaning against the wood.

  We waited. Our breath slowing. The flash of blue growing through the gap under the door.

  Together we watched it grow so intense I could see my legs in the eerie blue while listening to the growl of the engine before it died back.

  He turned his back and I listened again as he pushed his key, twisting the bolt into place.

  Oh shit, I thought.

  “They’ve gone,” he said, his voice still quiet. I felt his hands reach out and with a firm touch they were at my forearms, guiding me to turn and urging my back to the wall as he slid past. “Wait here.”

  I heard his footsteps place with care on the carpet, stopping in a room nearby where I listened to him rifle through the contents of a drawer. I urged my night-vision to improve, but the concentration did nothing for my pounding headache centred on what felt like a melon-sized bruise reaching out from my forehead.

  I heard friction from a match striking out of sight and watched the doorway off the hall build with an eerie light. The glow brightened to the sound of footsteps. He was at the doorway with a burning candle resting in a glass tumbler in one hand, a bunch of unlit candles in the other.

  The orange of the light made him look so different; his skin fresh and unblemished, making me question if I’d misjudged his age. With the pistol still tucked into his jeans and his mouth in a wide smile, he looked very pleased for himself.

  “Follow me,” he said, and he stepped into the hall, holding the candle out in front. It felt like I was about to follow a priest to my execution, but what choice did I have?

  I took one slow step and then another, keeping my eyes forward, not noticing my foot snag until it was too late. I fell forward, stumbling over whatever was in my path; the object skittering across the carpet until I stepped on it a second time, taking my feet from the floor.

  The fall felt like it took an age. The carpet lit as the guy turned, the flickering light revealing the stacks of metal boxes with multicoloured wires coming out of the back. The home electronics with their black cords wrapped around their middles, the stack I’d knocked still collapsing.

  As my shoulder hit the carpet, I watched DVD players, Sky boxes, video cameras and games consoles cascade around me to thoughts of the hand tools littering the footwell of his car. His fear of the roadblock. Of the blue flashing lights.

  With my wrists scraping hard against the cuffs, I caught his wide-eyed look as his gaze followed me down. With his features shadowing in the candlelight, I felt his hand push against my arm, turning my view down to the carpet.

  I’d been right all along.

  I’d stepped out of the frying pan and jumped, hands bound, into the witch’s oven.

  58

  “No,” I said with the last of my breath, the muscles in my neck spasming as I fought to keep my face from the carpet. My hands darted left and right from the warmth of his fingers trying to get a grip.

  “No,” I repeated with little success, my fingers going limp as he took a firm grip and pushed my wrists into the small of my back. I tried to scream despite knowing I had no breath.

  “Hold still,” he said in the struggle, but his words made me wriggle harder against his weight until I felt his pressure release, like I’d won the battle.

  It felt like my wrists were coming away from each other. My hand was free. I tried pulling my arm up to my side, ready for the disappointment but my hand came away. I couldn’t believe it, despite the ache in my shoulder as I moved.

  As the reality settled, I pushed my hand to the floor and rolled, searching in the darkness. There he was, looking down with a heavy brow, his face illuminated by the candle flickering on the floor. His hand offered out.

  “Alex,” he said, pushing his open hand towards me.

  I lay on my back, swapping my view between my wrists, the cuffs still hanging on the right.

  I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. I’d been so wrong about this guy, about Alex.

  My hand touched his and he gripped as I pulled, taking my other hand with his left until I was on my feet. He kept hold of my right before pushing a small key into the cuff’s lock.

  “You have a handcuff key?” I said, rubbing each wrist as the metal released and working my shoulders around in circles. The relief flowed over my head like cooling water after being in the sun for too long.

  “Five pound ninety nine on eBay,” he said, pocketing the key.

  “Why would you need that?” I said and paused, the question overwhelming my aching senses and my head too busy to think about his words for long. “Jess,” I said, when he replied with a flash of his eyebrows as I pushed my hand out again.

  We shook, his grip more gentle and more considered than I’d expected.

  “Sorry about the...” he said, nodding to the littered floor. “Are you okay?”

  I thought for a moment. I felt fine; my head ached a little, the fall not helping. It surprised me enough to keep other thoughts I didn’t want to dwell on pushed to the corners of my mind.

  Raising my hand to my forehead, I touched at the tender bulge and with relief I realised it wouldn't stop me fitting through doorways.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I said as he bent down
, piling the household electronics back into neat stacks against the walls. “Can I use your phone?”

  He nodded.

  “Shall we?” he said as he finished stacking, offering a hand towards the end of the corridor and picking up the lit candle before lighting another and handing it over.

  I took the candle and followed him into a living room dominated by a wide TV hanging on the wall. Even in the low light I saw there were no decorations of the season; just a single Christmas card on the mantlepiece reminded me we were supposed to be jolly.

  Apart from the TV, a man of Alex’s age didn’t look like he belonged to the decor, to the chintzy decoration.

  He pointed to the rectangular phone on a side table.

  “Take a seat,” he said as he took my candle, fixing it with dripping wax into a mug resting on the nest of tables at the side.

  I did as he asked, choosing the single overstuffed armchair in the corner next to the phone. He went to sit on the three-seater couch, but first had to pull the pistol from his trousers before resting on the edge and laying it to the side.

  “My gun,” I said, tipping my head towards the pistol.

  He looked down at the weapon as if he’d already forgotten.

  “You going to shoot me?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  I paused for longer than I should, but instead of speaking I let a smile bloom on my lips as I ran my hands over my hot wrists, head shaking.

  He watched my reply before picking up the gun by the barrel and leaning over. The warm grip felt solid and reliable in my hands, its power buoying my insides. Letting my thoughts gather, my options flashed before my eyes. I was back in control.

  For a moment I thought about standing. Thought about aiming the pistol in his direction.

  I’d been wrong about this guy and looked up to see him watching my every move, his expression intense and not hiding the uncertainty. He’d done nothing to me. Despite my fear. Despite his opportunity.

  I lay the pistol on my lap, smoothing down the wrinkles in the skirt either side and smiled back.

  Remembering the phone, I turned and picked up the handset, but no tone replied.

  “Line’s dead. Do you have a mobile phone?”

  His only reply was to lean back and pull a thin, black mobile from his pocket. Tapping at the screen, he turned it around to show the No Service message staring back.

  “Something to do with the power being out I guess,” he said.

  Noticing my feet, I tied the trainer’s laces. I had to prepare for whatever came next; a habit I knew I should get into.

  “So you’re a burglar?” I said, in a matter-of-fact fashion that took him by surprise.

  He stuttered the first words of his reply so much I could only guess their meaning as his gaze flashed to the gun. When I didn’t reach for the pistol and take aim, he shook his head.

  “No. Why would you think that?” His face screwed up with confusion and his reaction seemed real enough. Judging people’s responses was part of my job.

  “You don’t seem to like authority?” I said, turning my head to the side.

  “That was for you,” he said.

  Not convinced, I nodded.

  “Why do you keep the electronics scattered around the house? The house breaking tools in the footwell of your car?”

  I watched his smile bloom, then fall again as he peered to the corridor and the stacks of black boxes piled against each wall.

  “They were my dad’s,” he said, his voice lowering. “He’d buy broken electronics from the internet, fix them and sell them on.”

  I nodded, but couldn’t have hid my uncertainty well as he leant over to the mantlepiece and pulled a stack of business cards, blowing a sheen of dust as he brought them close.

  He handed over two cards. Angling the top one to catch the light from the candle, I read Bob’s Electronics in black letters on the white card.

  “He wasn’t imaginative with the name,” he said, his voice high at first but falling as if some realisation came.

  “Where is he?” I said, but soon realised it would be a tough question to ask anyone in the coming days.

  “He died last month. Bowel cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” I replied and pushed my hand out with the cards.

  “I used to help him after work. It was the only thing we’d do together. I haven’t been able to bring myself to clear his things out.”

  I nodded as he took the top card, leaving me with the one I hadn’t yet read. The word Locksmith stared back at me in bold black letters. I looked up and he turned away as I did, trying to hide a new vulnerability I hadn’t seen until now. How wrong I’d been.

  I stared back, wondering how after all that had happened I had the capacity to feel such a deep sorrow for what this guy had gone through and still he showed me, a stranger, so much compassion.

  “Can I trust you?” I said.

  He stared back, raising a single eyebrow.

  “I’m not the one running around in the dark in hand cuffs and carrying a gun,” he blurted out.

  “Touché. Forget that,” I said. He’d given me every reason to trust him already, whereas I hadn’t. “I need your services,” I said, standing. “And bring the handcuffs. They’ll come in useful.”

  59

  “Wait, what?” Alex said, standing, his hand reaching out.

  I stood, backing away from his reach. My eyes fixed on his scarred knuckles and I looked up only as he withdrew, his intent on the gun limp in my hand.

  “You…” he said, but stopped as the churn of my stomach radiated across the room. Raising his eyebrows, a smile widened across his mouth. “Do you want something to eat?” he said, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

  My defences fell again, leaving my insides knotted with pain. The feeling wasn’t new, but the cramps hadn’t been my key concern. Until now my concentration had focused on impending death or incarceration and flashing back to shots I fired in the darkness of that bedroom. A compliment to Alex, I guessed.

  Mind and body relaxing, I drew in a deep breath. A few minutes of delay wouldn’t hurt, a few hours perhaps. Daylight would be our friend and would maybe give time for the area around the van to clear. He could get me inside, on the assumption they’d locked it.

  I nodded and his smile grew wider.

  “Sit down. I’ll go see what I can rustle up.”

  I didn’t like being in the room on my own. Hated the flicker of the candle and the shadows it cast. The hypnotic movement sent me within myself. The chaotic dance resembled the flashes of light I kept seeing in my head.

  In the strobe I saw Toni, her wide-eyed expression, a bloodied wound growing before my eyes, despite knowing my head filled in the blanks. I didn’t want to think about this right now. I never wanted to think about it again. I’d spent this last year getting over her, filling the empty void with self-respect and now I’d done something so much worse than she had. Albeit without intention.

  Standing, I lifted the candle before the anger or the sorrow grew too loud and, watching my feet, I headed towards the kitchen.

  “Gas still works?” I said, as I found Alex stirring a pan in the blue flame's glow, the grill bright below.

  “It’s pressurised,” he said, turning towards me. “Doesn’t need electricity,” he added, returning to the pan. “You don’t have to carry that around, you know.”

  I looked down at the gun. He was right; at least, I hoped.

  “I took the cuffs off,” he said, still looking at the stove.

  I had my chance and didn’t take it. I heard the words only in my head.

  “I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t say thank you,” I said and turned away. “Thank you.”

  I wasn’t ready to give up the gun just yet.

  “It’s okay. Take a seat,” he said, turning, nodding towards a small table on the opposite wall of the small kitchen where he’d laid out a single place with a lit candle in the centre. Behind the table were stacks of piz
za boxes piled high like a memorial to a single man’s life.

  I pulled out the wooden chair and sat, resting the gun on the table close to my hand and watched as he placed a steaming plate of beans piled high on two slices of toast.

  “Are you eating?” I said, grabbing the knife and fork, not waiting for his answer before I dove in.

  He sat opposite and watched as I ate, but I enjoyed the food too much to hear his reply. Looking up with my mouth too full to add any more, I saw him watching me with a question still hanging on his lips.

  “I said when did you last eat?”

  I thought back to the taste of food I could remember. The fresh, gamey meats I could smell in my head. The char-grilled BBQ overpowering the tomato sauce and I almost choked as I forced myself to stop those thoughts, remembering the last meal of a cheese sandwich; Toni’s smile as she offered out the plate. For a fleeting moment I saw the look on her face she would pull if she could see me now. If I hadn’t just killed her.

  “Yesterday morning,” I said, holding back the cough. I ate the rest of the meal in silence, too distracted to care about my audience and gulping down the water Alex offered.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he said as the last of the water disappeared.

  I sat back in the chair, basking in my full belly; enjoying the stretch of my stomach whilst trying to ignore the lack of satisfaction. Trying to forget I may never feel it again unless I gave in to my new urges.

  “People have different names for it,” I said, and watched him stare as if hanging on each word. “Are you a religious man, Alex?”

  He smiled and on the edge of laughter he shook his head, a confusion on his brow just holding back the odd reaction.

  “Good, nor me, but don’t tell my parents,” I said anyway.

  His smile grew and I enjoyed his white teeth again.

  “It’ll make this easier.”

  His brow grew heavier.

  “They are what they seem,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “A virus, a plague has taken over the land,” I added as I tried to think of how I would say this on camera. “Reports of a deadly virus are coming out of a secret government research facility in Devon.”