7
Special Constable Helen Scott was enjoying her day off browsing in The Lanes, a market-style area on the ground floor of Meadowside set aside for small and local businesses to sell their wares, when she heard the shrill, piercing scream. It came from her left, near one of the entrances to The Lanes. She put down the hand-crafted wooden elephant she had been inspecting, and looked to see what was happening. Nearby shoppers had also stopped to see what the commotion was about, and she had to step around them to see clearly.
A bearded, long-haired, scruffily-dressed man in his mid-forties had a hand around the throat of a young girl from behind, choking her. The girl’s eyes bulged in their sockets. Her mouth gaped open as she struggled for breath. The man lifted her a few feet from the ground and seemed to sniff the back of her head. The girl’s legs kicked out wildly before her. Her hands flew to her neck and pawed at the fingers grasped around it.
Helen didn’t hesitate. “Out of the way, I’m a police officer!” she shouted, barging through the crowd that had gathered to watch.
Despite being only a part time volunteer with the police force – what the regular officers cynically referred to as a hobby bobby – Helen couldn’t stand by and do nothing while a child’s life was at stake, no matter what her training said the protocol was. She was supposed to call for backup in any cases of violent disorder, and then let the specialists take over. But if she did that, the girl would be dead long before any help arrived.
A youth in a hooded top was filming the attack with his phone, and Helen had to push him out of the way. He swore at her and resumed filming. Helen would deal with him later, and confiscate his phone for use as evidence.
“Put her down, right now! You’re under arrest!”
The bearded man bared his teeth and growled like a dog. He stared at Helen with wide, piercing bloodshot eyes and stepped toward her, still holding the girl before him in one hand like a grotesque, struggling puppet. Someone behind him, a woman from one of the nearby stalls Helen had been browsing earlier, grabbed the man’s hair and yanked his head back. The man stumbled back a few steps, the young girl’s body swinging in the air as he flailed his arms, before he righted himself and pulled back. He made an odd hissing sound through his teeth, like a vampire in an old movie.
Helen didn’t know what to make of it. The man was either deranged, or high on drugs. Maybe both. Either way, he was a threat not just to the young girl, but to everyone around him. While he was busy struggling against the woman from the market stall, Helen saw her chance and rushed forward. She seized the man’s wrist and dug her fingernails into it while she supported the girl’s weight with her other arm. Helen twisted and pulled, trying to get the man to release his grip around the girl’s neck. The girl’s face was turning blue, her tongue lolling from her mouth. Helen knew she didn’t have much time left to save her.
The man’s hair ripped from his scalp. The woman from the market stall cried out and fell back, still clutching a tuft of hair in her fist. The man surged forward into Helen and knocked her off her feet. She struggled back up, using her grip on the man’s wrist as a crutch, and jabbed him in the adam’s apple with her fingers. The man lashed out at Helen, his fingers held like claws, and batted her away. Helen stumbled back, clutching her cheek where he had struck her. She felt warm blood drip between her fingers.
Other shoppers tried to wrestle the man to the ground. One jumped on his back and grabbed him around the neck with both hands. Another wrenched the man’s free arm up his back. But with seemingly superhuman strength, the man refused to go down. He hissed and snarled, his head jerking in all directions, his teeth snapping like a feral dog at those who were trying to restrain him.
Helen struck the man’s face with the palm of her hand, and felt the cartilage of his nose crunch beneath it. She balled a fist and punched him in the forehead. He just stared at her and hissed, his wide, bloodshot eyes boring straight into her soul. His lips curled back into a snarl, and for a moment he looked like he was smiling at her. Helen stepped back when his head jerked forward, his teeth snapping together. She lunged forward again and punched him in the solar plexus, then jabbed him in the left kidney with her fingers straightened. The man roared and staggered forward a few steps, determined shoppers still clinging to him and trying to hold him back.
Someone, Helen didn’t see who, struck the man’s leg with a large bronze table lamp, shattering his kneecap. The man toppled to one side, spinning as he fell, his arms flailing, his fingers still squeezed around the girl’s neck. The young girl soared in a wide arc and crashed head first into the wooden flooring when the man landed face down with a loud thud.
The shopper who had been clinging to the man’s back fell heavily and rolled off, groaning. Others took his place and kneeled on the man to pin him to the ground. A few punched and kicked at him as he struggled beneath them. The hooded youth with the camera phone moved closer to get a shot of the man’s snarling face, providing a running commentary as he filmed.
Helen gripped the girl around the waist, stood on the man’s wrist, and tugged her free from his grasp. Blood poured from a wound in the girl’s scalp and matted into her hair, but Helen didn’t have time to worry about that. She lay the girl down gently, then checked her airways were clear, tilted her head back, and commenced resuscitation. The girl’s chest rose, then fell when Helen raised her head to look, willing her to breathe on her own. She glanced at the bearded man to check he was still firmly restrained and no longer a threat. Someone was securing his hands and feet with leather belts taken from a nearby stall. Helen carried on trying to revive the young girl. She looked up when she sensed someone crouched before her. It was the youth with the phone, holding it before him in his thumb and forefinger, pointing it at the lifeless young girl.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Helen shouted. “For fuck’s sake, put it away and do something useful instead.”
The youth shrugged, still filming. “Like what?” he asked with a sneer.
Helen shook her head and sighed. She blew air into the girl’s lungs, trying to ignore the voyeuristic youth and his camera phone. The girl still wasn’t responding, and Helen feared it might already be too late. She tried to calculate how long the girl had been deprived of oxygen, tried to remember how long the brain could survive without it before being permanently damaged.
“Has anyone phoned an ambulance?” Helen yelled, looking at the small crowd that had gathered around her.
“I tried to,” someone nearby said. It was a young man in casual dress, denim jeans and a white T-shirt. “But there was no answer.”
“What do you mean no answer?” Helen asked, taking out her own phone. Emergency Services always answered within the first few rings, and they had enough operators to handle even the worst of disasters.
Before the man could reply, more screams came from the entrance to The Lanes. Everyone turned to look. Helen looked down at the still lifeless young girl and sighed. She closed the girl’s eyelids and placed her arms by her sides, then stood up and faced the entrance.
Several people lurched into The Lanes, swinging their arms by their sides as if they had trouble balancing. They came from all walks of life – young, old, fat, thin, both smart and casually dressed. They lunged at shoppers and pulled them off their feet, lashed out with their hands, snapped with their teeth. Shoppers panicked and ran blindly in all directions, screaming in terror.
Helen tried to direct them to the far exit, but struggled to make herself heard over their screams. She knew she had to regain order, for their own safety as well as hers, but they were way beyond listening to reason. She found herself swept up by them, herded between market stalls that led nowhere, then back the way they had come when they reached a dead end. Eventually, either through luck or common sense on the part of the leaders, they found the exit and Helen was carried with them back into the shopping centre.
She looked around, gaping in shock at the dead bodies littering the concourse. While the
panicked shoppers scattered, she took out her phone and dialled the emergency services, then stared at the screen in disbelief when she heard an engaged tone. She hung up and called her local police station. That too was engaged. She tried both numbers several times, but always got the same engaged tone. In desperation, and going against all protocol, she dialled her commanding officer’s direct line.
“Come on, come on,” she said as she listened to the dial tone. It rang out to voicemail. Helen swore. “Ma’am, it’s WPC Helen Scott. I’ve tried ringing the station but it’s engaged and I can’t get through. I’m in Meadowside, and there’s some sort of riot in progress. There are multiple fatalities, and I need urgent backup as well as medical assistance. I’m going to liaise with the security staff here, but you can reach me on this number for updates.”
Helen put the phone away and looked up. Pale faces stared down at her from the balcony above. “Where’s the security office?” she shouted. Nobody replied. “Does anyone know where the security office is?” Helen repeated.
A man raised his hand and pointed diagonally through the shopping centre. He pointed straight, not down. Helen took that to mean the security office was on the upper floor. She thanked the man and headed for a nearby escalator, planning what she would do once she got there.
8
“For fuck’s sake,” Mike shouted, banging his fist against the metal shutters covering the entrance to the chemist. Someone inside the shop screamed. Mike bent down to the letterbox slit and peered through it. “Open up, it’s an emergency,” he shouted.
“Go away, leave me alone,” a woman shouted back.
Mike straightened up and punched and kicked the shutters, making them rattle and shake in their frame. “Open this fucking door, right now!”
“Let me try,” Tom said. Mike punched the shutter again and stood to one side. Tom took his place and bent down to the letterbox. “Look, missus, our friend is sick. She’s been bitten, and now she’s unconscious and she’s gone a funny colour. We just need something to help her, that’s all, then we’ll be on our way.”
“How do I know you’re not one of them?” the woman yelled.
“We’re not, come and see for yourself.”
“No, you’re just trying to trick me. I’ve called the police, so you’d better get out of here or you’ll be in trouble.”
Tom sighed. “Look, we just need something for our friend, and then we’ll be on our way. You can look through the letterbox if you want, you don’t need to open the door. Please. I think she might be dying, you need to help us.”
An ice cold shiver ran down Kylie’s spine. She glanced quickly at Britney, then looked back at Tom. Was he right? She knew Britney was in a bad way, but could she be dying, like Tom said? She gulped down a lump in her throat. Inside the chemist, she heard the sound of hesitant footsteps walking toward the door.
“No, it’s just a trick,” the woman said, and the footsteps quickly receded. A door slammed somewhere inside the chemist.
“You fucking bitch,” Tom yelled, and punched the shutters. When he turned to Kylie she saw he was crying. “Kylie, I’m–” His eyes widened, staring at something behind her. Kylie spun around and gasped.
A man lumbered toward them, his lips curled back to show blood-stained teeth.
Mike grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it at a run across to the opposite side of the shopping concourse. The man stopped and turned to watch. He took a step toward Mike, then changed his mind and spun back to face Tom and Kylie. He snarled and staggered toward them with his hands outstretched.
“Come on,” Tom shouted. He took Kylie by the hand and dragged her along, making a wide berth around the man. The man tried to grab them as they passed, but was left grasping at empty air. Kylie heard him hiss in anger as they ran away. Mike ran past on the opposite side, pushing the wheelchair ahead of him, and veered toward Kylie and Tom once he had skirted around the man. They rounded a corner into another concourse, and slowed to a stunned walk when they saw what lay there.
Bodies littered the floor. One man lay on his back with his arms flayed out by his sides. His exposed ribcage glistened red, his internal organs strewn around him. Another had no eyes, and Kylie could see his jawbone showing through a large hole in his cheek.
A young girl, not much older than Kylie, gave out a faint moan as they passed. She clutched a ragged, gaping wound in her chest and looked up at them, pleadingly. Her intestines curled around her fingers as they tried to squeeze their way out of her body. Her face was pale, deathly white, her lips an odd bluish colour. Kylie knew there was nothing they could do for her, and hoped the girl wouldn’t suffer too much before she died.
Mothercare’s shop-front window was smashed, and muffled screams of agony came from somewhere inside. Kylie didn’t want to think about what might be happening in there. Dozens of crazies milled around inside the shop, knocking things over and fighting amongst themselves. A man locked eyes with Kylie and stumbled toward the broken window with a snarl. The others turned to see what had drawn his attention, then they hissed as one and followed him out of the shop.
Kylie didn’t need to wait for Tom to tell her to run. She ran blindly, screaming, desperate to get away from the things she knew would be in hot pursuit. Tom called after her, told her to wait, but she didn’t dare stop. She ran on, her heart hammering in her chest like it was trying to burst out.
“Kylie, wait,” Tom shouted again.
Kylie blinked back her tears and shook her head. She skidded to a halt when her mind registered dozens of crazies crowded around the base of the escalator she was running straight for. Terrified shoppers looked down from above. Someone screamed when one of the crazies stepped onto the escalator. The crazy’s arms flailed wildly as he lost his balance and fell forward on his face. Others climbed over him and lashed out at each other over the confined entrance to the escalator. Another stumbled onto the escalator and fell. Then another. They tumbled around together, the escalator’s downward motion rolling them over and over.
Kylie felt Tom tugging on her arm and allowed him to pull her away. She sobbed, knowing it was all pointless anyway. They were never going to get away, so they might as well just give in now and get it all over with. Her mother was dead, Britney was probably dying too. The only other person Kylie cared about was Tom, and he was stuck in the same nightmare as her, so why bother going on? Sooner or later the crazies would get them, so why fight it?
Tom pulled her toward a large department store. Kylie pulled back when she saw blood splashes on its windows, a mangled corpse near the doors. Why would they be any better off in there? She struggled in Tom’s grip, desperate to get away, but he held her tight.
“We need to get upstairs,” Tom said.
“What?” Kylie stopped struggling and looked into Tom’s eyes. “What for?”
“There doesn’t seem to be any of them up there yet, otherwise people wouldn’t be just staring down at them like that. You saw what they were like on the escalator, I don’t think they can work out how to get up there.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Kylie was close to tears again. She wanted Tom to reach out for her, to hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be okay. But Tom just shrugged and looked away.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Probably escaped from a fucking nut-house or something,” Mike said.
“What, all these?” Tom said, incredulously. “There’s fucking hundreds of them.”
“Yeah well, I don’t fucking know do I? I doubt anyone does. All I know is we’re well and truly fucked.”
“You’re not fucking helping with talk like that,” Tom said, shaking his head. “We just need to get upstairs, then we’ll be okay. The coppers will be here to sort it out soon, you’ll see.”
Mike laughed humourlessly, but didn’t say anything else. Tom bundled Kylie through the doors and held them open while Mike pushed Britney through. The department store was in disarray, with scattered garments littering the
floor, along with tipped over mannequins wearing the latest fashions. But other than the body near the exit, which Kylie didn’t want to look at, there were no people. The shop was deserted, as if there had been a bomb scare and the place had been evacuated. Or everyone had simply vanished.
Tom closed the doors and pulled a belt from one of the mannequins, then tied it around the doors’ handles to fasten them together. He pulled one of the handles to test its strength, then nodded to Mike.
“Should be okay. Come on, this way,” he said, and led them to a lift in the centre of the department store. He pressed the lift’s call button, looking around anxiously.
Kylie knew how he felt. Her skin prickled with unease. The shop was too quiet, as if all the crazies were hiding somewhere and watching, waiting for their chance to leap out and pounce. The lift door pinged, making her jump, and slid open with a faint whir.
“Ground floor,” a woman’s disembodied voice said from the lift, “Ladies’ and gentlemen’s clothing and accessories.” Mike pushed Britney inside and pressed the first floor button as soon as Tom and Kylie joined him. “Lift going up,” the voice said as the door closed.
“First floor, death and destruction,” Mike said.
Tom wheeled on him. “For fuck’s sake Mike, pack it in! I mean it this time.”
The lift door opened. “First floor, fancy goods, kitchenware and electricals.”
Tom stepped out cautiously while Mike held the lift door to stop it closing. Tom looked around, then beckoned for the others to join him. Kylie squeezed past the wheelchair and hurried to his side. The upper level of the shop seemed normal. No dead bodies, no pools of blood, no disarray. Just neat rows of boxes on shelves, and a stack of televisions in the far corner all playing the same music video with the sound turned down low.
Tom walked over to the televisions and crouched down in front of one. He flipped open a panel at the side and changed the channel to BBC News. The screen changed to show shaky aerial footage of a large group of crazies laying siege to a town centre, above a banner reading LATEST: RIOTS BREAK OUT IN MAJOR YORKSHIRE CITIES, PM TO MAKE A STATEMENT SHORTLY. Tom turned up the volume. A news reporter shouted to be heard over the constant whir of helicopter blades accompanying the scene.
Meadowside Page 5