by Luke Walker
Geri? Kirsty thought and couldn’t blink, couldn’t shut away the sight of this damaged building while beside her, Phil talked to his dead sister.
Stu. Help me. Oh, Christ. Help me.
Eighty Four
Will and Stu ran into the maths block, the door to the art department swung shut behind them and something let out a low snicker.
Both men froze. The sound was repeated, a sly laugh full of mocking, bitter humour. Will’s eyes met Stu’s. They were staring, white circles.
‘Stu. Stu.’
The voice wasn’t even close to human. A whistling noise filled Stu’s head. It was the sound of the void they’d come through to get here. His mind attempted to protect itself by throwing itself into that white nothing. If he went into it, he’d never get out.
Terror buried him when the voice spoke.
‘Stu. Dear Stu. Lost your way. Lost your friends. Lost your wife.’
It came from the floor and the walls. It came from everywhere.
‘She’s dead, Stu. Dead as Mick. Dead as Andy. Dead as Geri. Dead as you.’
It chuckled, something well pleased with a good joke.
Needles stabbed Stu’s hand. Will was gripping it, digging his nails into Stu’s skin. The pain brought a savage focus.
‘Fuck you,’ he cried.
At once, the laughter vanished. For two seconds, nothing breathed. Then the windows that lined the far side of the corridor exploded in a great volley of flying glass. Will and Stu ducked, shielding their eyes and faces from the glass. It scattered on the floor in wickedly sharp pieces. Fresh air slid in through the holes and Stu smelled a chill at odds with the bright day. His mind lurched and nausea claimed his stomach. The outside chill was a complete contrast to the sunshine and made him feel as if he was in two places at once.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Will whispered.
This place. Dalry. Where we were.
Stu’s words wouldn’t come out despite the need to scream them, to grab Will and run.
The chill was growing stronger. Sunshine mixed with the fresh air and it was all the good sun of summer just as it was something darker at the same time.
‘Stu,’ Will said. ‘We have to go.’
The fire alarm brayed at them.
‘Shit.’ Stu lifted a hand to cover his ears. At the same time, the crash of breaking glass broke from somewhere close.
‘Where was that?’ Will shouted.
In response, Stu grabbed his friend’s arm and they ran to an alcove which led to toilets. Together, they squatted close to the boys’ toilet door and listened. The ringing alarm made it impossible to tell where the breaking glass had come from or if anyone was running through the corridors. Desperately, Stu tried to think through his panic.
Nobody here, no kids. This isn’t the real school and we’re away from the fucked up version of Dalry, so who’s breaking in here?
The fire alarm fell silent and a surety hit Stu. Someone had turned it off deliberately. He stood. ‘We need to keep going.’
The men ran as quietly as they could to the next junction of corridors. When the soft slap of their trainers on the floor stopped, an echo of it came.
Not an echo. Running feet. Coming, fast.
More glass broke from somewhere much closer than before. It was immediately followed by more, then a scrape of wood on wood.
‘Run. Get to Block,’ Stu whispered.
‘What?’
‘I’ll make some noise, distract them.’
‘No fucking chance.’
‘Run.’ Stu shoved Will. ‘Get to Geri and talk to her. She’s our way out.’
‘There’s nobody here. She can’t shoot anyone.’
Stu shook his head as a door banged open.
‘Doesn’t matter. This is about her.’
He sprinted back towards the doors they’d passed through a moment before and shouted over his shoulder.
‘Get to Geri.’
The crash of Will’s trainers echoed as he ran the other way. More glass broke, followed by the sound of many voices jeering and calling.
All of them were shouting Will’s name.
Terrified, Stu whirled around. The voices changed as he did so.
Some shouted Will’s name.
But others now shouted his.
Eighty Five
Karen crept backwards until her back hit the wall. Not taking her eyes from the rows of dead children, she listened to the sounds of the people in the corridors. They didn’t sound any closer but nor were they any further away. Her best guess was that they were in the corridor to the left of the room she was in. If that was right, they could be on her in thirty seconds.
Holding her breath, Karen crossed to the nearest desk. The two dead boys sitting there gazed at her with blank eyes.
At least they don’t smell, she thought and had to swallow a horrified laugh.
Gripping the desk at both ends, Karen lifted it and staggered backwards under the weight. Sweating, Karen lurched to the door and placed the desk against it with as little noise as she could make. She took a few breaths and listened. The footsteps were no closer.
She ran to the next desk, avoided looking at the dead girls and took the desk to the door. She placed it on top of the first and told herself she couldn’t move any more. It was a thin defence but better than nothing.
Karen ran to the windows, pulled at the blinds so they moved away from the glass and peered outside to the edge of the school field. Dull surprise hit her when she saw the twenty or thirty children on the playing field. Twelve year olds by the looks, all playing football and everything right with their worlds, everything as it should be.
‘What the hell is this?’ Karen whispered and couldn’t take a guess for an answer. They were back in their last day; she knew that but it seemed that last day was outside the building. Inside, it was …
The icy cold of a winter night filled her nose, a fierce chill that shoved thoughts of loneliness and hurt into her mind, thoughts of being lost in dark places with the light of home far away.
It was the smell of Dalry and all its secrets. It had bled through into this version of Dalry, come here to corrupt it, turn all this heavenly summer light into the permanent night they’d escaped from.
It had come back for them.
Sweating, Karen pushed the window open, wincing as the scrape of it sounded in the still quiet. She boosted herself up, slid halfway out and a hand grabbed her shin.
Karen slid back into the classroom and grabbed at the window. Her mind one white noise of horror, she stared into the room and came close to simply being unable to accept the sight of dozens of lifeless children come from their seats to pull her back inside. Two held her by the shins, a boy and girl in their uniforms, their mouths open and stupid saliva drooling from their lips. Another boy placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed.
Revolted terror shoved into Karen’s muscles. She pulled herself on the window, made it half a foot and they pulled her.
Daylight blinded Karen. She thought of Will, of his smile.
They pulled her again. Only her head and shoulders jutted out of the window. Hands were all over her body; her t-shirt had rucked up to her breasts and cold fingers prodded her stomach. A sexless hand rose from her shin to her knee, then higher. Eager fingers squirmed against her crotch and a barrage of images assaulted her: fourteen, a party, her mouth full of the taste of cheap wine and Sam Radford’s hand sliding up her skirt, hot on her thigh, her crotch a pleasant ache; sixteen, music from her stereo loud enough to drown out her gasps and Andy’s nonsensical words against her mouth as his middle finger slid deep inside her; twenty-three and pulling Will on top, his hand a lovely weight against her stomach and her body rocking against him as his hand dropped and she was ready for him, oh God, she was ready for him, she was open for him, she was here right now and it’s touching me oh Christ oh Christ.
Outrage consumed her and she barely heard her own thought.
Geri, I’m sorry, I�
��m so sorry but this isn’t my fault, so get these fucking things off me.
Karen’s scream broke free. She yanked on the glass pane and shot out of the classroom to drop to the concrete below. The ground scrapped her forearms and the cuts sang. She ran in a lurch, trying to stand at the same time and not looking back until she was at the edge of the now empty field.
The window was shut, the blinds up. Even from a distance of thirty or more feet, Karen could see the rows of children at their desks. They were all writing and studying and listening to their teacher.
Karen rubbed at her crotch and legs, desperate to lose the feel of the violating hands.
‘You bastards. You fucking bastards.’
She welcomed her anger and wished for one, just one, of the dead kids to be right in front of her now. She’d tear them apart.
No time for that. This is almost over.
The voice in her head wasn’t quite Geri’s. Nor was it far off.
Struggling not to weep, Karen ran through the school grounds.
Eighty Six
The stairs.
Kirsty saw their outline. There wasn’t enough moonlight to make out the stains on the walls and floors particularly well, but she could take a guess as to what they were. The same as they’d been on the way here, splashed everywhere. Blood, everywhere. Broken furniture and windows on all sides. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the school. They’d come somewhere else.
If Phil had noticed, he wasn’t showing it. He pushed her along and talked to someone who wasn’t there, someone he was eager to see, someone who was apparently eager to see him.
Geri. This is all about Geri, Kirsty thought and a meaty hate of a person she’d never met enveloped her.
‘Almost with you,’ Phil said.
He panted as if running and his sweat coated her mouth and neck. With dull horror, Kirsty realised that the stabbing lump against her was Phil’s erection. Her stomach clenched hard. She focused on her feet until the nausea in her mid-section passed but couldn’t ignore the lump against her.
Phil pushed her against a wall and leaned in close to her face. Blood from cuts on his cheeks had trickled to his jawline.
‘It’s just up here. Then through the doors. Then it’s all over. Think you can go a bit further?’
She didn’t react. He shook her so her head bounced off the wall. The centre of her face exploded and she screamed.
‘Think you can go a bit further?’ Phil repeated.
‘Yeah,’ she croaked.
He pressed his groin against her.
‘Yeah?’ he said, and the bastard was grinning. For an instant, Kirsty’s one wish ceased being her survival. She wanted nothing more than to make Phil scream as she had.
‘You’ll like my sister,’ he whispered. ‘Everyone does.’
He pressed his face to hers and his sweat was on her lips. Kirsty clamped her mouth shut and ordered herself not to vomit.
‘Up the stairs,’ Phil said and pushed her. She stumbled on the first step. He pulled her upright and held her by the hips as if guiding a close friend.
Kirsty did her best to ignore the feel of his hands by counting the steps that took them to the second floor. Fifteen. Then the outline of the doors ahead, a rectangle in the gloom. Phil stood beside her, still panting, and she watched him from the corner of her eye. He stared at the doors and although she couldn’t be sure, she thought he was whispering.
Wanting to hear his words just as much as she didn’t want to, Kirsty tilted her head towards him and strained to hear. His words were hisses in the dark.
‘I told you, didn’t I? I told you I’d come back for you and you know why, don’t you? I love you. Always did. Every day. And you knew that, really, didn’t you? Even when you said you didn’t. You knew it. I proved it. And I came back like I told you I would. And you’re back like I knew you would be. It’s because we can’t stay away from each other. But you knew that already, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Didn’t you?’
Each repetition had a little more emphasis and volume than the previous, a little more life. Kirsty pulled away from him and he didn’t appear to notice her move.
‘I remember your blood,’ he said and his erection pulsed against Kirsty’s leg. Her vision greyed for a moment.
Gripping Kirsty’s hand hard enough to make her sob, he pulled her close and ran to the doors.
Kicked them open.
Light everywhere. And warmth. The light and warmth of a summer evening.
Kirsty saw.
Eighty Seven
Stu shot through the doors into the art department, dashed past displays of drawings and paintings and stopped in an open plan classroom. The shouts of whoever was coming after him rang out loud. They’d be through the doors in seconds.
He sprinted to the far right corner and ducked behind a high shelving unit. A moment later, the doors crashed open again.
Stu lifted the bat, held it with both hands in front of his face and listened.
Something whispered, then giggled childishly. He couldn’t tell how many there were. Maybe three. He scanned what he could see of the classroom. Nothing that resembled an obvious weapon. He tightened his hold on the bat.
Come on, you fuckers. Mick. Andy. Come on and try it. I’ll bash your fucking heads in.
Another whisper. Stu stood straight.
‘Where are you?’
The voice was somewhere between a laugh and a shout, and while it came from a man, it wasn’t a man’s voice. The sound of it made Stu think of children pretending they were adults.
‘Are you here?’
Another voice and the last word dragged out in a sing-song voice.
‘Come on, you fuckers,’ Stu breathed.
They moved a chair out of their way, then kicked it. It flew into the centre of the room, knocking others aside. As soon as the echoes stopped, a few steps slid over the ground.
They were coming towards him, moving along the shelving unit.
Stu gazed at the bat and a brief wish came that he still had the knife which had stabbed Andy instead of forgetting it when they ran from Geri’s house
One last giggle and they ran at him.
Stu swung his bat and jumped forward at the same time. It struck something that howled. Something else clattered to the floor. Stu swung the bat again and the man ducked. The bat hit the unit behind him and glass exploded.
The second man ran at Stu, knife coming up. Stu smacked his bat into the man’s elbow and the blade clattered to the floor. Stu screamed wordless noise at them and the sound seemed to come from someone else’s mouth.
The first man raced at him; Stu hit him in the face and he dropped. The second man, holding his elbow and screeching like an animal, ran. He sprinted to the corridor that led back to the doors and vanished from sight.
Stu kicked one of the knives away and tried to find his voice. It was buried below the roar of blood in his ears.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ he spat.
The man grinned. His hand shot out from under his leg and the penknife he’d palmed slammed deep into his eye.
Gagging, Stu jerked back as the man’s legs shook and blood ran down his cheeks from the ghastly wound in his eye. He was dead, gone with horrible triumph.
Still gagging, Stu brought his bat down on the man’s head and face until there was nothing but blood and bone above the neck. Exhausted, he collapsed against a table and fought for his breath.
‘Geri,’ he whispered.
Stu pushed himself upright and ran to the corridor. As he turned the corner to the doors, a blurred movement flew at his face.
Stu fell back, dropped, and the man’s fist swung for his face.
The blade struck the wood of the bat and a knee struck Stu’s thigh. He screeched and his flailing hand found the hot, grimy skin of a face. He struck the man’s nose; cartilage twisted and Stu shoved hard. The attacker squawked and his knee missed Stu’s testicles by inches. Stu bellowed into the man’s face and something set a detonati
on of agony off deep inside Stu’s leg.
He looked down.
The knife stuck out just above the knee.
Spit flew from his mouth as he screamed at the man who reached for the handle of the knife. Stu did the same; his assailant got to it first and Stu swung the bat as hard he could. At the same time, the man shoved the palm of his hand against the handle and Stu’s leg exploded into fire.
His bat glanced off a narrow shoulder in a weak blow. The man jerked back, clearly expecting a harder blow and Stu bucked beneath him. He rolled, hit his wounded leg against the floor and cried out. Hands crashed down on his throat, fingers met each other and his head hit the floor, once, twice, again and again.
Blood filled his eyes. Black closed in.
Then screaming came, shrill and horrible. A thud. The fingers fell from his throat and he coughed blood and spit even as he tried to inhale. Fire blossomed in his neck and mouth. He pushed himself over and Karen was there, tall and glorious. She still held the chair with which she’d hit the man. He lay on the floor, unconscious and bleeding.
‘Stu, Jesus.’
She fell against him and pulled him upright. Her tears dropped on to his face and he blinked until she came into proper focus.
‘Karen?’
‘Will, Stu. Where is he?’
‘We split up. He went to find Geri. What happened to you?’
Each word was a blade in his throat. He coughed more blood, swallowed some and gagged. He spat to the floor.
‘I was in the reception. Nobody’s there, Stu. The school’s empty.’
‘I know.’
He swallowed and coughed more blood. Some spattered on to Karen’s hand and she didn’t let go.
‘I ran; people came after me so I hid.’ She was babbling and Stu had no energy to tell her to calm down. ‘The dead kids, Stu. Like before. They came after me, grabbed me but I got away and ran here.’
She wept and embraced him. He pressed into her breasts and accidently shifted his leg. He screamed.
‘Fuck.’ Karen reached for the handle. Stu steeled himself but couldn’t keep another screech inside as Karen yanked the knife free, the meat of his leg splitting further around the blade. Everything from his waist down was on fire. Blinking furiously, he reached for her.