by Luke Walker
‘Just gone eight?’ she said.
‘I think so.’
‘We’ve both gone nuts, haven’t we?’
‘I honestly don’t know if I wish that was true.’
‘Do you remember anything after the pub and before this?’
‘Not really. We were in the pub, near the doors. Then it’s like …it’s like everything faded. All the colour went like we were in a black and white photo.’
She shook her head, frustrated.
‘It’s okay. I know what you mean,’ Stu said.
‘That’s all I know. Then we’re here and it’s like we’re in a nightmare.’
Stu sniggered and a forced note darkened the laugh.
‘What?’ she said.
He ran a finger over the cracks in the wall. ‘I feel like we’re in a film. Something like Escape From New York. You seen it?’
‘Kurt Russell?’
He nodded. ‘Snake Plissken would get us out of this.’
Stu rubbed his mouth and in the little moonlight, she saw how close he was to tears. The forced jokey comment hadn’t helped to calm him at all.
‘What about Bruce Willis? He’d know what to do,’ she whispered and Stu stared at her. A sickly grin spread over his mouth.
‘I’d prefer Bruce Lee,’ he murmured.
Karen hissed laughter. ‘Chuck Norris. He’d roundhouse kick us out of here.’
In the quiet of the ruined pub, they laughed as softly as they could and for a few glorious seconds, worry over Will left Karen’s mind. Stu held her.
‘We’ll work this out,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
Tears fell; more threatened and she furiously blinked them away, mentally yelling at herself to stay calm.
In one quick movement, Stu cocked his head.
‘What?’ Karen whispered, abruptly afraid.
Stu placed a finger to his lips and leaned close to the window. Karen strained to hear, heard nothing for a moment but her own heartbeat, and then someone walking fast.
More than one person.
She joined Stu beside the window, the footsteps closed and the figures outside were right in front.
Joy exploded through her. She ran to the main doors, skidding on the stone floor, Stu right behind her, and her hands hit the handle just as the door opened.
The movement pulled her with it and she fell against Will, crying, laughing and attempting to kiss him at the same time.
Twenty Three
They took one of the few whole tables which gave them as much of a view of the pub as the moonlight would allow. Will glanced from shadow to shadow, wishing that more of the open floor was visible and doing his best to not think of what could hide in those shadows. The wall against his back was a comfort despite the cold seeping through his fleece. It helped for him to feel slightly grounded, or as grounded as he could given what had happened.
‘So nobody’s seen Andy?’ he said, still watching the shadows.
They’d told each other their stories, his hand hadn’t left Karen’s, and there was no sign of Andy.
‘Not seen anyone,’ Mick replied. ‘Only that mad fucker with this.’ He tapped the bat.
‘It’s pretty safe to say whatever’s going on, we’re somewhere people don’t like us,’ Will said.
‘We’re in Dalry,’ Stu said. ‘I mean …’ He gestured to encompass the pub. ‘We know this, don’t we?’
‘Mate, I hope I never get to know anywhere as shit as this,’ Mick said in a flat voice.
Stu shook his head. ‘Christ on a bike.’ He met their eyes. ‘What’s the deal? What do we know? All of us have seen or heard or had some contact from Geri, right? Our dead friend has been trying to speak to us and …’ He paused and Will replayed Stu’s last sentence. As mad as it sounded, as completely unrelated to the real world, their situation boiled down to those few words. The probability of their situation wasn’t the issue. It was all about the reality of it.
‘She’s been trying to speak to us, we get together and we end up here. It looks like Dalry, it’s got the same buildings and roads and stuff but it’s a fucked up, nasty place, right? So the thing is, how do we get out?’
‘The thing is, where’s Andy?’ Karen said.
Mick shifted. ‘Can I say something?’ he said, eyes on the table.
‘Of course,’ Karen replied and took his free hand. Mick wrapped his fingers around hers and spoke without making any eye contact.
‘I’m scared shitless. When that guy came at me, it wasn’t just being scared because, you know, here comes a nutter with a baseball bat. It was because I had no idea what was going on. I still don’t. Why did that guy want to kill me? None of us have a fucking clue. And we don’t know where Andy is. He’s somewhere here, somewhere like we are. If this was normal, I’d be out there like a shot with this.’ He lifted the bat for a moment. ‘You know that. He’s a mate despite of the last couple of years. You all are. I know things have changed and we don’t see that much of each other, but that doesn’t matter. If I wasn’t so shit scared, I’d be out there right now, looking for him.’
His voice fell into a few hiccupping sighs. He freed his hand from Karen’s, rubbed his eyes and still made no eye contact.
‘I think all we can do right now is hope Andy gets here soon,’ Will said and hated the taste of his words.
‘I …’ Stu said and Will spoke over him.
‘If he’s not here by the morning or if we haven’t worked out what’s going on, then we look for him, all right?’
No words had ever sounded so ugly.
Stu looked away.
‘All right,’ he muttered.
‘It could be a plan to see if we can find somewhere that’s a bit more of a cover,’ Karen said.
‘We haven’t seen anyone here,’ Stu replied and Karen raised an eyebrow.
‘How do we know that means anything? Even if there isn’t anyone around here, they’ll see us if they go past.’
She pointed to the window and its smashed panes. Stu nodded although it was with reluctance, Will thought.
‘Where to?’ Stu said.
‘Upstairs?’ Will suggested. ‘At least we’ll be out of sight of the street.’
They stood. Will pulled Karen close. Stu and Mick were watching him. Waiting for him.
Who made me a leader?
He knew.
Karen had. He had her to worry about, to keep safe. Stu didn’t have his wife here; Mick didn’t have Jodie. Illogical or not, sexist or not, he was in charge because he had the most to lose.
‘Stick close,’ he said and gave the others an uneasy smile to say he knew it was a horror film cliché.
They bunched together and a freakish mixture of dismay and sorry humour filled Will for a moment. He swallowed it back and walked towards the centre of the pub, hand holding Karen’s. The shadows he’d watched earlier looked as if they were growing larger the closer he drew to them, growing into the cracks on the floor, oozing through the smashed chairs.
A tickling sensation touched the back of his neck: hairs rising. Will struggled to stay calm and to concentrate on the weight of his wife’s hand. The shadows moved with him, matching him step for step.
Bollocks. All bollocks, he told himself.
The shadows moved, he reached for the stairs and grimaced at the feel of the muck coating the rail.
‘Ready?’ he whispered and glanced upwards.
A little more moonlight shone at the top of the stairs and fresh air kissed the sweat on his face. Despite the cold, it was welcome.
‘Get a move on, Elton,’ Mick whispered and Will sniggered.
He led them up, watching his step and watching the moonlight draw closer. As he placed both feet on level floor, he moved closer to Karen and saw the body lying below the closest table.
Twenty Four
Stu crouched a little way from the table and gazed at the corpse. It was sexless. Decay had eaten its features and there was nowhere near enough flesh on its remains fo
r him to take a guess whether it was male or female. Even the remnants of the clothes didn’t help. They were simple rags that exposed white bone and mould.
‘Shit,’ he breathed and stood. Will had dropped his branch and wrapped his arms around Karen. Both stood against the wall. Mick remained at the top of the stairs as if unwilling to come any closer.
‘It’s very dead,’ Stu said. ‘Probably for ages.’
‘Is that supposed to be a good thing?’ Will said.
‘How the fuck should I know?’ Stu wiped sweat from his mouth. ‘Sorry. Been a long day.’
Mick cackled laugher that was too close to hysterical for Stu. He glanced at his friend. Mick subsided and Stu faced the body again. Now that they knew it was there, its smell couldn’t be ignored. As odd as it seemed, the stink hadn’t been noticeable downstairs. Up here, it was all around them.
‘We up for finding somewhere a little less grim? An office or something? I don’t think anyone’s going to mind if we go into the staff areas,’ he said.
Keeping in a close group, they moved towards the upstairs bar, crunched over broken glass behind it and reached an open door. Stu glanced around. A line of moonlight illuminated beyond the door a few feet. He had no idea what was further inside. While he could picture a storage cupboard somewhere ahead, a little space for them to crouch inside and hide like animals, he had no way of knowing where the corridor would take them.
‘Maybe we should stay out here?’ he whispered.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Will muttered and sniffed several times. ‘What the hell is that stink?’
‘Your arse?’ Mick whispered and Karen thumped him. Stu placed a hand over his nose and mouth and breathed slowly.
Where’s Andy?
The interior voice was horribly shrill, the sound of a nagging old woman.
We’ll find him or he’ll find us, he told the voice and it subsided into mutterings.
Mick nudged his arm. Happy to leave whatever was beyond the door, Stu walked with the others back to the centre of the second floor. The smell, a rich, meaty stink, seemed to have grown stronger. He studied the floor but saw nothing other than dirt and broken furniture. Mick nudged his arm again and jerked his head towards the nearest row of windows. Silently, they crossed to them and peered down to the street. It appeared as ugly and as abandoned up here as it did on the ground floor.
Stu inhaled fresh air and shivered.
‘I think we might be dreaming,’ Mick whispered and glanced at him. Stu wanted to see humour on his friend’s face, even a bitter kind. There was just a tiredness he’d not seen before, a look that belonged on the face of an old man.
‘No. I don’t think so,’ he replied and Mick made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a hiccup.
‘You’re probably right.’ He laughed a little. ‘But I prefer my idea.’
They returned to the others and Stu gestured to a nearby table which was relatively whole. There were no chairs. They crouched beside it, Karen and Will wrapped around one another. Freezing air flowed in a steady stream through the wrecked windows. Stu jammed his hands under his armpits and thought of his wife and daughter. In his head, he told them he would see them soon, he’d be home before morning, he loved them.
Conversation came and went. They spoke of the moments before they’d come to this place, if anyone had seen them and what others might have made of it. Karen mentioned Andy and where he might be, and Mick changed the subject quickly.
Their voices faltered and fell silent. They shifted closer together, disturbing dust, eager to share body heat. Stu dozed. His thoughts blurred into a surreal mix of half-dreams, imagination and fear all bathed by the freezing air.
Then in the silence of the ruined pub, a shrill crash rang from below.
The tinkle of falling glass immediately followed it.
Twenty Five
‘Shit,’ Mick whispered and leaped upright. Stu followed him, his thin sleep forgotten. He reached for Will and Karen and the group raced towards the other side of the pub floor. Animal fear pushed Stu on past the broken tables and filled his head with images of hiding in a tiny room, hiding in the dark.
The outline of the bar rose ahead, more glass broke downstairs and a grunt joined the breaking glass. It was unmistakeably the sound of someone satisfied.
Stu halted the moment before he crashed into a doorway behind the bar. Will struck him; he overbalanced and Mick’s hand yanked him upright. Stu stared at his friends, unable to speak. The moonlight showed their terror and he took that as silent agreement.
Stu entered the corridor beyond the doorway, felt the others come with him and slid against a wall until Mick whispered behind him.
‘Go further.’ Mick pointed.
More sounds rose from below and Stu couldn’t be sure what they were. Holding his breath, he walked blindly, arms outstretched until he hit a wall and realised the corridor turned. A window at the far end let in enough moonlight to show the open door on his right. Stu paused and strained to hear. There was no way of being sure if he could hear footsteps out in the bar or if his imagination had made the sounds.
Will pushed him and gestured for him to move. Stu crossed to the door and peered inside.
The room wasn’t large. From what he could see, two office chairs lay on the floor beside the remains of a table. What might have been a computer was on the table and a wrecked pot plant had clearly been smashed into a corner. The outline of a door directly opposite beckoned him. Pulling Will, who in turn held Karen with Mick behind her, Stu crossed the little office to the door and wanted to laugh despite his bitterness.
The room wasn’t the same tiny cupboard he’d imagined but nor was it far off. Perhaps six feet across with what he guessed were shelves lining the walls, their safety came down to a room smaller than a prison cell.
Stu crouched and pulled Will with him. Wood grazed his neck and he shifted forwards. Their collective breathing seemed much too loud and he wanted to tell them to keep quiet. Instead of speaking he reached for their hands, hot and sweating despite the outside cold.
I could die here.
The thought didn’t bring fear, only resignation. He understood it. There was no way out and if whoever had broken the window downstairs found them here, he and the others would fight and more than likely die.
He shifted position as slowly as he could. They were leaning against a wooden wall, not brick as he’d imagined. Freeing his hand from Will’s, Stu ran his fingertips over the wall, felt the nicks and grooves in it and froze when his finger slid over a tiny hole. Keeping his finger there as a guide, he pressed his eye against it.
The view of the upper floor bar was close to non-existent. The odd broken table, shafts of moonlight coming in through smashed windows and casting odd shadows as they struck the furnishings—nothing was clear. Nothing but a new stink of dirt and sweat come to the chill air.
Movement.
Stu flinched but kept his eye fixed against the hole.
More movement. He took a guess that it was at the top of the steps, a low figure, maybe a crouching man.
The figure shuffled across the floor and Stu flinched again. A second figure had come from below, another crouching shape following the first.
Then a third and a fourth.
There’d been no time to focus upon his fear during their dash to this room. All that had been in his mind was getting away from whatever was below. As Stu watched the moving shapes, resignation vanished and fear of the dark and the unknown things that might be inside it took its place.
He swallowed, forced saliva into his mouth and glanced at the shape of the others.
‘Don’t make a sound,’ he whispered and looked through the hole again.
The shapes were no more defined. Even so, he could see what they were doing.
Eating the body at the top of the stairs.
The greatest wave of terror he’d ever known crashed over him and he could do nothing but swallow his scream.
Twenty Six
Hours passed.
Mick knew he’d dozed as unbelievable as it seemed. Time didn’t matter here, nor did the impossibility of their situation. All he had to think about was the bat in one of his hands, and Karen’s hand in his other. Even the horrific sounds from the bar didn’t matter when put against his bat and Karen beside him.
He dozed, he thought he dreamed and those silent hours trickled by. Mick’s mind took him far away and he thought of little other than his bat and his friend.
Karen stirred beside him. Mick lifted his head, wincing as tendons in his neck cracked. The movement had started with Stu, Mick realised. Stu, then Will, then Karen and now him stirring in the dark.
‘We can go,’ Stu said in a low voice. The first complete sound in hours seemed too loud and Mick winced again.
‘Up,’ Stu muttered. ‘We’re getting out.’
‘How do you know it’s safe?’ Mick said. A horrible taste of old beer and tiredness filled his mouth.
‘They’re gone. Went about an hour ago.’
Mick licked his teeth and banished the memory of the sounds from the bar: the tearing, the crunching, and what could only have been lips smacking together.
‘What’s the plan?’ Mick said. He stood. Pins and needles stabbed his legs.
‘Find Andy.’
Andy. Shit.
Shame burned Mick’s face, reddening his cheeks. Andy hadn’t been in his head for hours. But maybe that was a good thing. If the worry over his mate remained, so would the need to find out where he was. Andy hadn’t been with them so wherever he was, he was safe from the people in the pub.
People. Right.
‘I’ll go first,’ Will said and brushed past Mick.
No chance, Mick thought and realised he hadn’t spoken the words. He pulled Will back from the door. ‘No chance,’ he said.
Will faltered. Mick eased his way past him to the door. In a close line, they moved to the doorway which led to the bar. Mick took a few breaths which did little to calm him and walked forward.
Dawn hadn’t come. The pub was still illuminated by thin streams of moonlight. Mick’s eyes travelled over the dust and pieces of wood, all a little more visible for some reason. They passed over lumps of cushions, reached the steps and shot back to the lumps which were body parts.