The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  The Suffering of Innocence

  1.

  Morning came slowly to Penny Crescent. The sky lightened from a heavy violet to a deep blue, concealing the stars that had dared to emerge overnight to watch the carnage below. A car occasionally passed the entrance to the street: the early worker, yawning and longing to return to the warmth of his bed, unaware of the near danger, or the plight of those trapped within one of the houses. No birdsong greeted the coming of the new day as the glow of the morning sun swelled on the horizon; they were all being digested in the stomachs of several Prowlers, along with any other animal unlucky enough to stray close.

  At one point, the hum of a small motor and the clinking of glass bottles disturbed the silence of the morning. A milk float meandered its almost casual journey down the street, stopping outside the Dean house. The milkman, a pleasant fellow by the name of Albert Timpson, climbed out and lifted his cap. Squinting, he stared up at the sky and decided that this was going to be a mighty fine day. He flopped the cap back on his head and whistled a cheery tune as he removed two pints of semi-skimmed milk from a red crate on the float.

  With a slight spring in his step, Albert merrily walked around the back of the float and through the Dean’s gate. He approached the front door.

  Two black shapes darted across the grass.

  He placed the two full bottles of milk down and reached into his pocket for his notebook. Scratching a quick note, he scanned the area in front of the door to be sure he hadn’t missed the empties. Shrugging his shoulders, Albert returned the notebook to the pocket of his white coat.

  Breaking glass sounded from the milk float.

  On the back, in amongst the crates, a group of Prowlers was gathered. Some stood motionless, observing him with their large, unblinking eyes. Others feverishly investigated the contents of the plastic crates, knocking them off onto the road where the bottles smashed in a river of creamy milk.

  Albert shook his head in disbelief. He’d had his fair share of dog troubles on his rounds before, and had even taken a rather nasty nip from a ginger cat, but this…

  Something touched his leg, and Albert yelped. He looked down and saw one of the creatures clinging to the fabric of his trousers with its many thin legs, scuttling up his body and onto his coat. Yelling, he tried to swat it away, despite the repulsion of having to touch the horrid thing.

  The Prowler evaded his effort and darted around to his back, climbing up between his shoulder blades in a second.

  He struggled to stay on his feet with the extra weight. The creature was easily the size of a large dog.

  Albert tried to reach it screaming as he felt the tiny points of its legs digging in and penetrating his coat, reaching the skin beneath. His back grew wet. Blood slowly leaked from these points, causing widening stains on his white coat like bullet wounds.

  Albert grunted as the blow came, feeling he’d been punched in the back. He coughed, jetting a red spray from his mouth in a cloud. It speckled the wall.

  He gazed down and saw the tip of a black claw protruding from his chest.

  Albert gasped, but he inhaled only pain. He staggered and screamed.

  The other claw took off his left ear with a snip.

  The old milkman fell down hard, struggling for breath.

  The Prowler on his back tugged its claw free, using both to dig into the flesh. It picked off tiny, bloody scraps.

  Albert gurgled. His blood oozed out in a wide circle around him. He focused on the milk float, and wondered who would deliver the milk now.

  The Prowlers from the float leapt off and scurried down the path in an excited group, eager to join the feeding. Albert heard their claws snapping in anticipation.

  Who will deliver the milk now? Who will…deliver…the…m-

  2.

  “Did they get him?” asked Joe.

  “Yes,” said Eleanor, closing her eyes. “I’m afraid they did.”

  “Dammit!”

  “What do we do now?” asked Anne, stood in the doorway holding a large candle. Although morning had arrived, barely any light entered through the boarded up windows, and the house remained in darkness. The flame cast a moving golden sheen across her solemn face.

  “Someone else will come,” said Frank, sat in one of the armchairs. He’d been flicking through the latest issue of Physics World to try and take his mind off the situation. It didn’t help.

  “Yeah, someone else will come, and someone else will die just like the milk man.” Joe looked through one of the peepholes out onto the rapidly brightening street. The body had already gone, moved by the group of Prowlers probably. All that remained was the pool of blood at the Dean’s doorstep. “We can’t go on like this. It’s not right. It’s our battle.”

  “I told you we should have shouted to get his attention,” Frank grumbled.

  “You saw what happened,” said Joe, turning away from the hole. “Shouting would only have attracted them our way. We have to do something before more people come. I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t want to be in this situation again.”

  “There is always…the other plan,” said Eleanor quietly, “although there has been no activity in the house since the attack. I think the mana might have…gone.”

  “Then we wait,” said Frank, getting up and heading for the doorway. “We wait for it to come back.”

  3.

  Jake stood just inside the bathroom, holding hands with Charlie and Bronwyn, all three facing the landing. A large white candle had been placed in the sink to light the room. Narrow bands of blue shone between the gaps of the boards of the window.

  Behind them, Jenny urinated. It splashed into the toilet bowl, unnaturally loud in the quiet house.

  Jake started to hum Oh Baby Baby I Love You, attempting to drown out the sound.

  “Can we go downstairs yet?” asked Charlie, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Sleep had done the boy good, bringing him out of his trance-like state. Jake was amazed at the resilience of someone so young. He himself felt so much worse off, seeing Adam sucked into the walking machine every time he closed his eyes. The children just seemed to be bored, being cooped up in the house.

  “I need to get ready for school.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be going to school today, pal,” said Jake, glad of the conversation. It would save them from having to listen to his mother pee. As much as it disgusted him and probably the children, he decided it was better than leaving anyone alone, especially with a Prowler still unaccounted for.

  “Well, can we watch cartoons?” asked Bronwyn.

  “I don’t think so. Your mummy and daddy want you to stay in your bedroom. It’s the only room with a door, so it’s safer in there.”

  He glanced down at the hammer head that jutted out of the waistband of his jeans. Jake knew that if the Prowler revealed itself, the hammer would be out of his pants so quick… He didn’t want to carry it openly in front of the kids, but needed it close. The waistband was perfect.

  “I’m done,” said Jenny, flushing the toilet.

  Jake and the children all turned back to face her. Out of sight behind them, a black shape stepped out of the deep shadows on the landing. It observed them for a second before pushing Charlie’s bedroom door open and scampering inside.

  “Th…Thanks for doing this, Jake,” said Jenny. Her voice shook as much as her body. The tears and mucus that constantly dripped from her face slicked her flabby skin. It glistened in the candle light.

  She looks like a giant, pink slug, thought Jake, instantly guilt-ridden over the observation.

  “Come on,” said Jake, giving the children a gentle tug. “We should get back into the bedroom.”

  “I want Mummy,” said Bronwyn.

  “I’m sure she’ll be up to check on you soon,” said Jake, hurrying them along. Jenny followed behind. “She’s with your Dad, keeping an eye on things downstairs.”

  “But it’s day again!” whined Charlie. “Monsters only come out at ni
ght, and they’ve gone!”

  “No,” said Bronwyn. “They’ve not.”

  Jake shivered from Bronwyn’s cold voice and picked up his pace across the landing.

  As they passed through the doorway, the kids jumped onto the bed and crawled over to the headboard, resting back on it side by side. Jenny hesitated just over the threshold.

  “I…I hate this, J-Jake,” she said.

  He closed the door and jammed the chair to Charlie’s desk under the knob. He gave it a pull and, sure it was tight, eased his arm around his mother’s shoulders. He rubbed her through the fabric of her T-shirt. It was damp. She sweated profusely.

  “It won’t be long now,” he said. “They’re thinking of ways to get us out of this. The children are their priority, but you…you’re my priority.”

  He squeezed her.

  Jenny put her hand on his.

  “H-Help me get back down, J-Jake,” she said, pointing at the mattress on the floor. The blankets were all bunched in the middle. “I think I n-need to sleep again.”

  Jake was uneasy with his mother sleeping so much. Probably a symptom of shock, the threat she’d slip into a fear induced coma flared in his thoughts. Yet, having her sleep kept her quiet, which stopped the children becoming upset.

  He decided to let her sleep.

  Jake grabbed her hand as she eased herself to the mattress. His thin bicep strained, taking more and more of her weight. Her behind lowered within inches of the blankets, and the wet grip of her sweaty skin slid free of Jake’s hand. Jenny fell back with a thump.

  “Sorry,” said Jake.

  “It’s…It’s okay. But Jake?”

  “Yes?”

  His mother looked up at him with a confused look on her face.

  “I’m…I’m wet.”

  “What?”

  She couldn’t have pissed herself, he thought, she’s just been!

  Jenny spread her legs and from in between, a wide circle of black liquid seeped out. The seat of her beige shorts was already stained.

  “Mum, get up quick,” he said, holding out a hand. Jenny took it. With a mighty heave, he pulled her back up and examined the blanket.

  The growing pool of black oozed from underneath the material.

  “Mum, get on the bed with the children.”

  “Why? What’s-”

  “Now! Do it!”

  With a cry, she crawled onto the bed. The children, keeping their eyes on Jake, rushed to her side and wrapped their arms around her waist.

  Jake pulled the hammer out of his waistband. On all fours beside the mattress, he picked up the corner of the blanket and slowly lifted it.

  The candle light barely penetrated the darkness revealed. Jake held the blanket higher to allow more light to enter.

  He swallowed.

  “W-What’s there, J-Jake?” asked Jenny.

  “I don’t know yet,” he replied.

  He lifted the blanket higher still.

  A half-mashed eye stared back at him through the darkness.

  “Jesus,” he cried, dropping the blanket and holding the hammer out in front of him.

  4.

  “At least that’s another problem taken care of,” said Joe on hearing the news. “Is your mum okay?”

  “It didn’t help her nerves much,” Jake replied, “but she’s better now. Plus it’s woken her up a bit. She’s upstairs with the children, telling them old stories about Dad to keep them occupied.”

  “Then some good has come of it. Jenny’s feeling better, the Prowler has been killed and it’s finally daytime.”

  Sunshine seeped in through the peepholes like two torch beams, eliminating the need for candles. Although the living room was still dim and had its shadows, everyone felt glad to be out of the flickering candlelight.

  Frank had spent most of the morning in the kitchen, using the hot water tap to make coffee. He was alone in doing this; no one else wanted a drink made this way. He seemed quite content to sit in the kitchen and drink, despite the sight and smell of the Prowler bodies scattered around the floor and work surfaces. Eleanor asked him that if he was to stay in the kitchen, to alert them immediately should the mana appear. Frank agreed, and popped his head into the living room every so often to report nothing had happened. He checked that Anne was all right, glared at Joe and returned to his caffeine-fuelled vigil.

  Joe remained fixed by the window. The slightest sound from outside and he quickly pressed an eye to a peephole to relay what was happening. Usually it was a group of Prowlers, back to large numbers, patrolling down the street. There had been no sighting of The Collector since the early hours.

  “He’s also waiting,” said Eleanor. “Same as us. Thinks he can wait us out.”

  Joe yawned.

  “But why would he do that? You said that he probably has the power to burst in here, so why doesn’t he?”

  Eleanor leaned back on the sofa.

  “I don’t know, Joseph. Maybe if we do manage to communicate with him…”

  Anne, who dozed on the other side of the sofa, moaned.

  “No,” she said, her eyes opening. “We wait.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Eleanor. “I thought you were asleep.”

  Anne stretched her arms and groaned as her shoulder popped.

  “I think I was for a moment. Please, can we forget about talking to him until it’s a last resort?”

  “How long do you intend to wait?” asked Eleanor.

  Anne settled back done.

  “Until late afternoon. I don’t think we’ll be bothered in the daytime. He won’t take the risk of being seen. I don’t think I can face another night, though. We wait until later and then make a break for the car. It might catch him off guard.”

  “It won’t work,” said Jake from the corner. “Those things are everywhere. It only takes one to see you and they’ll all come running. We won’t all fit in the car anyway.”

  Joe sighed.

  “He’s right, but at least we’re now thinking of how to get out of this. Sitting around hasn’t helped.”

  Anne balled her fists. “But it got us this far. We’re alive, aren’t we?”

  “Deans!” shouted a voice outside.

  Everyone fell quiet, listening hard…

  “Deans, get out here. Right now!”

  Jake swallowed. “Oh my God,” he said, starting to shake. “He’s calling us out!”

  Joe pressed his face to the peephole.

  “It’s not him,” he said quickly. “Jake, you’d better get over here.”

  Jake stood, hammer at the ready, and approached the window.

  “You two better get out here!” came the cry from the street. “I know you’re in there!”

  Jake looked through the hole and gasped. “Smithy?”

  He stood at the Dean house with his back to them, his long, greasy hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “I’ll wait here all day if I have to,” he shouted. “I know what you did!”

  He sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “You know this guy?” asked Joe.

  “It’s Smithy. I buy…” Jake coughed. “He’s a friend of mine. He must know about what we did to his grandmother.”

  Joe turned from his peephole to look at him.

  “What did you do?”

  “Erm…nothing. Must be a…misunderstanding.”

  Smithy marched up the driveway and knocked on the front door. “Come on out and face me, you cowards!”

  “We have to do something,” said Eleanor. “We can’t just leave him shouting out there.”

  “What can we do?” said Anne. “We can’t go outside…”

  Joe started to bang on the horizontal door covering the window.

  “Hey! Over here! Hey!”

  Anne jumped off the sofa and ran over to Joe, grabbing him around the shoulders.

  “Don’t! They’ll come back!”

  He shrugged her off and spun to face her.

  “Look outside,” he cried.
“Just look.”

  She stared into his eyes.

  “Look,” he said again.

  “Oh no,” groaned Jake. “I can see it!”

  Anne stepped past Joe and lowered her gaze to the peephole.

  Smithy continued to pound his fists against the front door of the Dean house, shouting threats against the twins.

  Anne scanned the street and garden around him.

  “I can’t see any Prowlers,” she said.

  “Look up,” said Jake. “Up near the window!”

  She paused, following his instructions.

  “No,” she said. “This can’t happen!”

  Montgomery lurked just below the slant of the roof, head turned to one side, watching Smithy directly underneath.

  “Hey,” Anne called, slapping her fists on the wood. “Over here!”

  “Smithy,” yelled Jake, following Anne’s lead and hitting the door. “Get outta there!”

  Joe stepped between them, also beating his fists on the barricade.

  Outside, Smithy stopped and cocked his head.

  “I think he heard us,” cried Jake.

  “Last chance,” shouted Smithy. “Open up or I’ll knock this fucking door down!”

  Something landed with a splat on his shoulder. He stopped shouting and turned his head.

  “Fuck,” he spat, staring at the thick, white mess. “Damn birds!”

  He pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and dabbed the stain.

  Jake, Anne and Joe continued to beat against the wood, shouting at the top of their voices.

  Smithy still fussed with cleaning his shoulder.

  “If I had my pellet gun you’d be sorry, you feathery little bastard…”

  He looked up.

  Smithy screamed from the sight of the beast above him, covered in drooling mouths.

  “Move,” cried Jake. “Fucking move!”

  Montgomery swung down, its chest and belly ripping in two, forming the huge, teeth-lined maw. It fell directly on top of Smithy, the teeth clamping down on his neck. His head disappeared inside the mouth.

  “No,” Jake screamed. “It’s got him!”

  Montgomery twisted its body sharply and the rows of teeth slammed together.

  Smithy staggered a few steps back down the driveway until his feet tripped over themselves. He fell forwards. Montgomery rolled off his shoulders, landing as gracefully as a cat on its large hands.