Hometown

by Luke Walker

  ‘On three,’ Stu whispered. ‘Just don’t look.’ He inhaled and let out it out with his words. ‘One, two, three.’

  They dashed across the gap and Stu couldn’t help himself when he heard the sly hiss of a loosed arrow. He looked.

  The woman on the road lay still. A new arrow rose from the exact centre of her back.

  Got her spine, Stu thought. He crashed into the next building and vomited as quietly as he could.

  Forty Five

  They reached the car park at Tesco around five minutes later. Nobody spoke as they slipped between wrecked cars and kept as close together as possible. Will’s fear had grown into a form of terror he’d never known and it was easy to believe he wouldn’t have been anywhere as near to this level of fear if he’d been alone.

  Karen. It was all about her. Keep her safe. Keep her in one piece. Keep her safe.

  The thoughts filled his head to the point of knocking anything else out of the way. He saw the cars and the damaged buildings, but they were off to the side of his attention. Karen was what mattered. Nothing else.

  They reached the pavement beside the car park, followed it and grouped beside a smashed wooden fence that blocked the pathway from the flats on the other side. Will glanced around. If he remembered correctly, the road on the other side of the fence was Magnolia Drive which in turn met Thorpe Road.

  He poked the fence and wiped his finger on his jeans. The fence was real. No doubt of it. But he didn’t want the feel of it on his skin.

  ‘Two or three minutes down here. We’ll be at the river in five,’ Mick said.

  ‘And probably another ten minutes to Geri’s house,’ Stu said.

  They followed the path and stayed close to the low fence. It came to an end where it met hedges. Without debate, they walked away from the hedges and nobody commented upon the rotten stink coming from the greenery.

  The path met a cycleway lined with patchy grass. Ahead, it curved into Magnolia Drive. Stunted trees lined the path. The branches were bare and Will wondered if this was a good idea. There’d be few places to hide out here. Maybe behind tree trunks but without any thick branches or lush hedgerows, they’d be exposed.

  Mick led them to the path and towards the river. Colder air rose from the water to meet them. Will shivered and Karen held him tight.

  The cycleway levelled into a straight line. Tired looking trees ran alongside it and the cold from the water grew the further they walked. Will placed a hand on his stomach. If they didn’t find food soon, they wouldn’t have the strength to walk much let alone run.

  A sound caught his attention. He jerked his head to the right. Wind pushed through grass in a secret whisper. Opposite to the bare trees, the grass grew thick and wild; the wind blowing through it made the blades and nettles rub together and created a secret whispering.

  He glanced behind; they’d come a fair way. The end of the cycleway and the road which would eventually take them to Geri’s house had to be less than a mile beyond. He watched the waving grass as they walked. Several minutes passed; he didn’t look away. Pressure built in his chest and despite their relatively fast pace, things around him felt too slow.

  Geri. Where are you?

  They walked, Will’s eyes moving from waving grass to bare tree to the path beyond and back to the grass. He forced himself to relax as much as possible and kept his eyes on the back of Mick’s head. His breath frosted in front of his mouth with each exhalation; the tips of his fingers burned owing to the ugly cold biting into his exposed flesh. He flexed his free hand repeatedly and relished the hold of Karen’s fingers embracing his other hand. He studied her face, wishing he could see her clearly. He saw enough to know she was smiling at him and that was something wonderful in a horrible place.

  Abruptly, his mind threw up the image of the girl from Andy’s flat, her face superimposed over Karen’s.

  He jerked away from her, nausea rolling inside him.

  ‘What?’ she whispered.

  He shook his head and breathed slowly. ‘Nothing. Just imagination.’

  She gave him a reassuring smile and he drew her close.

  ‘The girl in the flat,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Did she look like anyone to you?’

  The question sounded stupid. And it felt stupid.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Karen frowned. ‘Maybe. It’s hard to say.’

  Mick and Stu glanced at her; Stu met Will’s eyes, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  Will spoke as quickly as he could, describing the idea he’d known the girl from somewhere. Karen nodded when he finished speaking.

  ‘I hate to say this, but she looked a bit like Geri. Not a spitting image. Maybe a cousin.’

  ‘Sort of the idea I had, too,’ Will muttered.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Mick said.

  ‘I have no idea. It’s just odd, is all.’

  ‘We can deal with that when we get to Geri’s house. For now, come on,’ Stu said.

  Will held Karen as they walked, one arm around her waist, his fingers touching a tiny patch of exposed skin and relishing the feel. He refocused his attention on Stu and Mick a step ahead and the sound of their shoes and boots on the path.

  Something flickered to the side of his vision. He stopped walking and gazed to the field off to his right.

  Through the thin trees, lights advanced.

  They came from nowhere, it seemed. Six flaming torches, all on the far side of the field, the vague shapes holding them not hurrying but all coming towards the river as if they had all the time in the world to get there.

  Will’s hand clamped hard on Karen’s and she drew in a pained breath.

  ‘Will, Christ, that hurt.’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Mick whispered.

  Stu and Karen followed his gaze. Stu swore and lifted his blood-stained knife.

  ‘What do we do?’ Will said. The pressure in his chest, which had faded for a moment, returned, growing with each passing second.

  The blazing lights changed direction. All of them began to move in a straight line across the river, heading for the pathway.

  ‘Run,’ Will said, pulling Karen.

  They sprinted, their makeshift weapons swinging beside their legs. A shout rose from the field and Will knew without looking the others had given chase.

  He didn’t think. He ran with Karen’s hand in his; the group covered a hundred yards of path and Mick dropped to the long grass growing on the riverbank.

  Stu halted and Will came within a foot of crashing into his friend. Stu grabbed Mick’s hand.

  ‘Get up, you shit,’ Stu said, panting.

  Mick rolled over, eyes much too wide. ‘Got me, it’s fucking got me.’

  A pallid hand jerked out of the grass, dirt and earth ingrained in the pale flesh. Will screamed as a pale forearm shot from the grass. The hand raced up Mick’s leg, reached his thigh and pulled. Mick slid a few inches, bellowing. The long grass parted around him and a second hand, as white as a fish, pulled at his other leg.

  The second hand had eight fingers. It splayed over Mick’s leg like a pale spider.

  Will lunged at Mick’s other hand; he and Stu pulled hard. Mick came with them. The hands in the grass pulled in return and Mick went with them. The shouts from the field came again and Karen grabbed Will’s bat. He saw her movement with stupid wonder.

  I don’t even remember dropping it, he thought.

  She swung it at one of the hands on Mick’s leg. It jerked away at the last second and she struck Mick’s thigh.

  He howled.

  The hand shot back to its place on Mick’s leg and both pulled. Karen swung the bat at the grass, aiming for the body of whatever held Mick. The bat hit something solid, the hands pulled and the people, if they were people, shouted again from the grass. They were closer now, much too close.

  Karen.

  She stared at him and Will realised he’d spoken aloud.

  ‘Fucking pul
l him,’ Stu yelled and Will realised a second thing: Mick hadn’t stopped screaming since he’d fallen.

  Will’s grip faltered just for a second. The hands pulled Mick and he broke free from Stu’s hold.

  He slid into the grass and vanished.

  ‘Mick.’ Stu ran into the grass. At the same time, a ghastly splash rang out and a huge explosion of blood coughed out of the river. It pattered down on to the greenery and back into the water. Karen shrieked, a broken shriek of rage and hurt. Stu lunged forward again. Will grabbed him and they both whirled. ‘They’re coming. Run,’ Will shouted.

  The hollers behind had become whoops of savage joy. Will pulled Stu again who stumbled back to the cycleway.

  ‘Mick, Jesus …’ he said, sobbing.

  They ran, made it fifty yards and the sound of those behind changed. They’d reached the cycleway.

  Will ran faster than he thought possible, Karen and Stu beside him. No solid thought existed in his head, only the need to run. They reached the end of the cycleway, shot on to the road and crashed through an overgrown garden. Pain had bloomed in Will’s side a moment before and the stitch stabbed him eagerly as they ran.

  They dashed over another garden, crossed the pavement and sprinted in the middle of Audley Road. And there it was—the sign on the side of the road for Oakfield Walk.

  Speech wasn’t possible. Will pulled Karen onwards, heard people shouting from behind and understood the bellow of hate and rage following them.

  They skidded over black grass, mud licking the legs of their jeans, and ran into the Walk.

  All the houses apart from one were as damaged as all the others they had passed.

  Number twelve stood untouched. The front door was open, beckoning them.

  Will looked back. The six figures from the field were seconds behind them, hoods and rags covering their faces.

  Will, Karen and Stu reached the front garden of number twelve, sprinted to the front door and a strange whisper stung the air right behind Will.

  His mind shrieked one word

  —arrow—

  and then nothing.

  Forty Six

  The front door wasn’t locked. Kirsty stayed a few steps behind Sam as he pushed the handle down and opened the door to a hallway, walls lined with photos, stairs off to the right.

  ‘We’re here,’ Sam shouted and Kirsty didn’t miss the trembling in his voice. She remained still even when he gestured for her to follow.

  ‘Where’s Phil?’ she said.

  ‘In the living room. It’s at the back. Just down here.’

  A tiny voice whispered in Kirsty’s mind, telling her to phone Jo and let her know what was going on. More importantly, where she was.

  ‘Come, quick,’ Sam said.

  His mouth trembled.

  This is wrong. This is all wrong.

  ‘Come on,’ he shouted.

  ‘No. Tell me what’s going on.’

  He flinched and said the rest in a low voice. ‘It’s her. His sister. She’s here.’

  Cold terror crept up and down Kirsty’s arms. Her light jacket did nothing to warm her. Her mind attempted to flash back to the figure outside the cemetery. She wouldn’t let it.

  ‘Geri?’ she said, feeling stupid. ‘Here? Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Alive?’

  His eyes remained nailed to hers.

  Confusion and panic stopped her thoughts making sense. Geri. It was all about Geri, and she was here now.

  Which meant Stu must be on his way.

  The logic of the thought didn’t matter. She jogged forward, hands still on her phone and keys, and passed Sam. He closed the door gently and pointed to a door at the end of the hall.

  ‘In there,’ he said.

  ‘After you.’

  He grimaced; Kirsty wrapped her hand around her car keys, satisfied with the way the metal jutted from between her index and middle fingers. She glanced up the stairs as they passed. Nothing there but more photos on the wall. Nothing on the other side but the open kitchen door.

  Sam pushed open the living room door and Kirsty heard him speak. ‘We’re here.’

  Nothing replied to him.

  Kirsty crept forward and realised she was sweating as if she’d sprinted here.

  Sam was facing what looked to be a sofa; Kirsty could only see the arm of it and a patch of the blue carpet.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said again and a woman’s voice, faint and weak, came in a reply Kirsty didn’t catch.

  ‘Stu?’ she called.

  Kirsty rushed forward, shoved the door open and faced the living room. There was nobody on the sofa, nobody beside her but an old man.

  Something cold pressed against the back of her neck and Phil murmured behind her.

  ‘Don’t move, Kirsty.’

  She couldn’t breathe. The movement of her thumb seemed to be happening to another person. That other person pressed the nine on her mobile three times.

  ‘I’m really sorry about all this, Kirsty. I really am.’

  He pushed with his other hand and an old lady fell past Kirsty. She hit the carpet and rolled, crying and holding her wrist. Sam ran to her, also crying, and tried to pull her upright. He glared past Kirsty and shouted:

  ‘You bastard. Get out of my house.’

  ‘I need your mobile, Kirsty,’ he said. Tears filled his voice. She wanted to turn, to see him, but didn’t dare move.

  ‘Mobile?’

  ‘Give it to me. Please, Kirsty.’

  He pressed the knife a little harder into the back of her neck; a tremor ran from his wrist to his fingers and into the blade. Kirsty fished around in her pocket as if having trouble pulling it free. There was no way the operator could have heard everything; they’d probably hung up when she hadn’t told them she wanted the …

  ‘Police.’ She threw the phone towards a chair. ‘Twelve …’

  Phil’s boot smashed down on the phone. It snapped and he leaped back to her. His movement to the phone had been so fast, she’d barely felt the lack of metal on her skin. He lifted it to her face and leaned towards her.

  ‘We have to talk,’ he said. ‘You and me.’

  He was crying and the kitchen knife shook inches from her face.

  ‘Phil, please.’

  He shook his head and wiped at his nose and eyes like a child.

  Kirsty couldn’t speak. A dream-like terror had come, banishing all thoughts apart from of her daughter. Even Stu was out of her head for the first time since the night before.

  ‘We’re going to talk about my sister,’ Phil said. His breath tickled her lips and she struggled to think past the fear. The first conscious thought that came was an image of Phil in Memorial Square, covering his mouth as he fought tears and she’d thought him good-looking in an odd way.

  Horror rose into her mouth and she said the name. ‘Geri.’

  Phil sighed and all the weariness she’d ever heard was a weight in the sound. ‘Geri,’ he whispered.

  Tears ran down his cheeks.

  Forty Seven

  Stu hit the bannister, his forearm struck the wall and he bellowed his pain. The crash of the slamming door filled the hallway and Karen, holding Will, dropped to the carpet. Stu struggled upright and fought for words, any words.

  Will fell out of Karen’s grip.

  ‘Am I alive?’ he said and Karen pressed her face to his, lips to lips.

  ‘Mick,’ Stu croaked and staggered past Karen and Will. He gripped the handle and saw the splinter in the wood of the door level with his head.

  ‘Arrow,’ Will said and Stu stared at him. ‘Bows and fucking arrows.’

  Stu touched the splintered wood, cold. If they’d been a second slower, the arrow wouldn’t have hit the door. It would have hit Will.

  ‘Mick,’ he said again.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Karen whispered.

  Stu screamed once. It hurt his throat and he didn’t care. Andy, now Mick. Not Mick. It couldn’t be true.

  ‘Tho
se bastards. I’m going to fucking kill …kill …’

  His words fell apart and wept hot tears. He tried to choke them back and they fell anyway, bitter in his eyes and on his cheeks. He punched the door, relished the pain and did it again. A hand took his and held it. Karen.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s not fucking all right,’ Stu yelled and she didn’t flinch or let go.

  ‘No. It’s not,’ Will whispered.

  ‘Will,’ Karen said.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Will said and Stu stared at him through the blur of his tears. Will’s shape wavered; Stu blinked his tears away and Will returned to focus.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Will said again.

  ‘How do you work that one out?’ Stu whispered.

  ‘I let him go.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. If we hadn’t run, we’d all be dead,’ Karen said and Stu attempted to summon anger just as he pictured himself punching Will in the face.

  ‘I can’t do this. It’s too fucking much. Geri, she’s dead. She’s dead and they’re killing us.’ Stu’s voice rose into a scream. ‘We’re dying here and I can’t do this.’

  He drew his foot back and smashed it into the front door. It shook and a small piece of wood broke from the impact of his foot. He kicked again and again and only stopped when Karen pulled him back.

  ‘Stu, stop. Stop it. Please.’

  Stu shook and held a hand a hand over his mouth.

  ‘Geri’s dead, Karen. She’s dead and we can’t help her. Mick’s dead. Andy’s dead. Who’s next? Huh? We can’t help her. She’s dead and we’re dead if we stay here.’

  ‘I know, Stu. I know.’ Karen’s voice sounded as if it was coming from faraway. Stu took a few breaths and did his best to focus. ‘I know she’s dead and I know we’re hurt, but we can get through this, okay? We’ll be all right.’

  ‘How?’ Stu croaked.

  ‘I don’t know. But we have to keep ourselves together. We have to keep in one piece otherwise we’ve got no chance.’

  Stu’s rage faded away to leave him feeling sick and cold. Anger made no difference, though. His grief didn’t change Karen being right.

  ‘Christ on a bike,’ he whispered.