by Walker, Luke
“There’s no power,” Simon said.
“No shit. You think I didn’t think of that?”
He raised a placatory hand to Kelly. “I’m not saying that. It’s just that’s why they’re not opening.”
For a moment, Kelly wanted to argue the point, if only to have something real to focus upon. Outside, a couple laden with shopping from Tesco passed directly by the doors.
“Hey.” Kelly struck the doors. They shook a little, the impact jarring her wrists. The couple walked on.
Simon ran to the right, hammering on the windows, keeping pace with the couple. Even though all that separated him from them was glass and a few feet, they gave no reaction and walked out of sight.
“What the fuck is going on?” he whispered.
Kelly kicked at the doors, small boot connecting squarely and the thud making her toes throb. The glass trembled. On the pavement, an old woman waiting to cross gave no reaction. A taxi slowed to a stop. The driver waved to the woman, who returned the gesture and crossed the road.
Cold in a way that was not purely to do with the incoming evening, Simon fumbled for his iPhone. It was as useless as it had been on the floors above.
“Shit.” The shout escaped before he had chance to swallow it back. He hit the door again so he didn’t have to look at the others.
At the main reception desk, Kelly tried one of the phones with little hope.
“Dead,” she said to the others without turning.
The silence that came back lived with a collective wince. Dead, it said. Dead like the man Rod killed and oh and by the way, where the hell is that man?
Kelly fumbled with the next phone before throwing it down in disgust. It knocked a cup of pens over; the pens scattered to the floor, one rolling towards Rod’s foot. Letting go of Alex and wiping away the last of his tears, Rod kicked idly at the pen.
“Well, I tell you what. No bloody way I’m staying here any longer. Either we smash those doors down or we go out another way.”
Rod strode past the pillars, moving towards the cash office.
“Rod?” Alex moved to follow. “Where are you going?”
“I broke one sodding window with a chair. I’ll break another.”
Rod made it another five steps before he, Kelly and Alex heard the voice bellow from the air.
COME AND SIT DOWN WITH ME, ROD.
Still standing at the useless doors, Simon jerked back as Kelly let out a whispered scream and Alex ducked.
What the hell’s going on?
The women looked in all directions, searching thin air. Simon walked a little closer to Alex, utterly unsure of what to do or say. This wasn’t like his usual lack of skill in any situation outside work. This was things slipping over to the wrong side of sanity.
“What is it?” he hissed.
Then saw Rod.
The man looked like he was about to faint. Rod’s cheeks, forehead and nose had gone beyond white to an almost blue, and his lips were one faint red slash. His hands were fists; he swayed as if blown by a strong wind. Some intuitive part of Simon’s senses, something the twenty-first century had no use for, caught the wild aroma of an animal’s terror. Death was here, the smell said while Simon’s rational, human awareness knew nothing of it. Death on all sides and all that could be done was to face it.
Simon’s panic broke the surface. “What is it?”
The reply in the air was again for all of them apart from Simon.
WANT A CUP OF TEA, ROD? COME AND HAVE A SIT DOWN IN MY SHED AND WE’LL HAVE A CUP OF TEA.
Rod’s answering scream was a wordless negation of his horror.
Behind Simon, something thumped against the glass of the exit.
He turned.
Standing on the pavement, filling the pavement, dozens of bodies stood upright. And surely there was no way they could actually be standing. But they were.
Before his backing away from the window became a mad sprint, Simon had time to take in the terrible injuries and ruined frames. Skin had been stripped away, layer by layer, to reveal the rich red of the flesh underneath. Weeping scars curved cheeks and lips into nothing more than lines. Melted flesh from foreheads rained over eyes, leaving them as tiny holes through which black balls, all blind, stared out. Clothing was reduced to tattered remnants. Shirts, jackets, jeans and skirts, now scorched material, flapped in the breeze. Somehow breaking through the windows, the reek of the burned skin and cooked flesh filled Simon’s nose and oozed across the foyer. He tried to gag and failed. All he could do was see.
More people joined the crowd, pushing those at the front a step closer to the doors, making the damage to their faces even clearer. Features became pooling strands of dangling skin; noses melted into mouths, and mouths slipped down over chins. And all the skin, the red and orange of a healthy bonfire, and all the exposed sinew and muscle cooked like overdone steak.
Mouths opened as Simon stared. Skin tore, dropping blood and small pieces of roasted meat to patter on the floor. A chorus of agonised voices sang as one.
We’re burning.
Chapter Ten
For Kelly, thinking coherently was out of the question. So she ran.
Alex reached for her sister; the women collided, both trying to yell at the other. Alex’s greater weight propelled Kelly towards the doors leading back to the stairs, and something Kelly would later think of as a hand shoving her head turned her around.
More of the burned people stood at the windows, lining the pavement and jostling to get closer to the glass. The distance made no difference. Their injures were as clear to see as they’d been when Kelly stood at the reception desk, watching Simon smack his hands on the glass. The mental picture was an invitation: a middle-aged woman splayed the cooked meat of her hand on the glass, smearing blood, the hand moving back and forth as if she was waving.
“Run,” Alex shouted, but Kelly remained seemingly glued to the spot. Even Alex’s powerful shove did no good. A rhythmic pounding sounded as dozens of people beat on the windows in unison; red coated the glass, turning the outside into a blurred montage of people who couldn’t be alive let alone stand upright. Backing away from the exit, Simon tripped and went down hard. He turned as he fell, landed on his elbow and cried out. Someone outside echoed the sound with precise, terrible skill before every single burned body took the cry and let it fly from their lungs turned black and vocal cords now little more than baked string. Simon skittered over the floor, flailing through huge pools of sunshine and his legs kicking as if he’d lost the ability to walk. He crawled, moaning, crying, and one limp hand reached towards Kelly. She saw him and took a tiny step backwards.
Let him go. That’s what she had to do. Get away from the people outside.
They’re dead, dead, they’re all fucking dead and they’re going to make me burn like they burned.
Kelly’s mind blocked away all consideration, leaving her with a lone imperative—to get away.
The sight of Rod made her freeze.
The big man stood between two of the stone pillars, back to the exit. He faced the lift, and although Kelly only had a profile view of the lift, she knew what Rod was staring at.
The doors were open.
ROD YOU LITTLE FUCKING BASTARD COME AND HAVE A SIT DOWN IN MY SHED.
The rage rained from above as it broke free from the floor. It was everywhere and it was all the mad anger in the world.
ROD I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T COME INTO MY SHED RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
Rod let out a tiny gasp, the sound swallowed by the barrage of mocking yells still chorusing from the pavement. Kelly saw his mouth open wide; she saw his barrel chest expanding and she saw despair eclipse every light of hope in Rod’s eyes.
He stepped towards the lift.
“Rod.”
He stumbled at Alex’s shriek, glancing towards the women as if not believing they’d still be there, and a distant voice mocked Kelly, telling her if she’d listened to herself, she and Alex would be n
owhere near either of the men.
Holding Kelly’s wrist in a rock hard grip, Alex ran for Rod, and Kelly had no choice but to also run. Simon finally made it to his feet, and the sisters came within a few inches of running into him. Bundled into a tight group, they all saw the pitch-black inside the lift. Although the afternoon light shone into all corners of the ground floor, it couldn’t penetrate the darkness inside the lift.
The lift doors smacked together, snapping shut with a tremendous crash as they had when Kelly stood alone, sure she was being watched.
A lone finger touched the back of her neck with a lover’s care and a name came close to spilling from her mouth. She bit it back at the last second.
“Move,” Alex shouted.
The women in the lead, the group sprinted for the doors and the stairs. Alex hit them first, one arm raised to send them bursting open. Kelly let go of her sister, took the lead and the first of the stairs. She raced up two at a time, not aware of the thunder of her heart or the thick layer of perspiration coating her from her feet to the top of her head, not giving a shit about anything other than the need to get away from whatever the hell was going on behind them.
She reached the first landing; Simon dashed by, taking the lead. Kelly turned back, waving Alex on.
“Fucking move it.”
Panting, Alex reached the landing, leaving Rod not yet halfway up. He’d turned a nasty shade of red and fumbled for the railing, crying out as his sweat-soaked hand missed it. Dismissing the man without registering doing so, Kelly pushed Alex on and moved to race behind her sister. Simon was already at the next flight of stairs, his long shadow a stain on the white of the floor, and the world was the building and the building was beyond hot; it was a scorching wall of desert air, and all Kelly could smell was the rotten stink of her sweat and terror.
“Wait for me.”
Rod had made it halfway up the first flight of stairs. A foot in front of Kelly, Alex was turning around and Kelly knew the stupid bitch would. Couldn’t help herself when it came to other people, even if those other people would fuck everything up, would—
Still running but now slowing, turning even before she came to a stop, Alex looked over Kelly’s shoulder to the top of the first flight of stairs.
Convinced she was turning around to see the Welshman have a heart attack, Kelly moved to follow her sister’s gaze.
Alex spoke before Kelly completed the movement.
“Dad?”
The figure stood on the top step, facing them. A man. As the people outside had been charred to the point of surely being unable to move, the man not ten feet from Kelly and her sister had undergone injuries catastrophic enough to mean he’d never get out of his hospital bed again. He’d be lucky to even wake up. That’s what Anthony said, even if the doctors and nurses weren’t saying it. The car driven by the drunk idiot had sent the man now standing at the top of the stairs flying from the pavement to the hard road, where it had welcomed his skull and the good meat of his brain, had welcomed them both to the point of drinking his blood and sending him into a sleep next door to death.
Alex. Help me, baby. I hurt.
Kelly groaned and tried to back away. The words weren’t quite a voice or a thought from outside her head. They’d come in the hot air. They swam into her ears.
My head hurts, baby. You have to help me.
Bandages wrapped around the man’s skull bloomed red. Streams of blood ran from underneath them, down his cheeks and into the curls of his thin beard. From there, they dripped to the faint green of his hospital gown, staining it, soaking it to his scrawny body before forming a widening puddle at his feet.
Rounding the corner that turned to the stairs, Simon crept forward, eyes on the sisters’ backs. There was no sign of Rod and no sound following Alex’s lone word. And had she said dad or had he misheard? Simon drew closer, saw the empty air the women stared at and drew breath to shout at them or for Rod. At the last moment, instinct commanded Simon to keep quiet. Fighting to control his breathing, he wiped sweat from his mouth and said nothing.
Still at the halfway point of the stairs, Rod stared at the back of the black man who’d come out of nowhere to block the route ahead. With grim fascination, Rod watched the puddle of blood drip from the top step to the one below, the thick red shining like oil.
I have to get past him. Perhaps surprisingly, Rod felt no fear. It seemed he’d used it all during the terrible few seconds that could have been hours while the featureless space inside the lift howled at him in the voice of a dead man. Presented with the image of someone who clearly should be attached to machinery keeping him alive, Rod felt only an animal need to escape. Fear would keep him rooted to the spot; he had no use for fear.
Alex’s father. That’s what she said. In hospital. He can’t be here.
Argument changed nothing. The black man was here in the same way the voice from the lift had been there.
I knock him down; I get past him. He’s only a little fella. He’ll go down easily.
Convinced he could deck the bleeding man as easily as he’d beaten men in pub fights years before, Rod readied himself to run the last few steps. The sharp sting of the stitch in his side and the lack of breath went away. He could do this, could get to the girls and get them away.
The black man’s upper half turned. Bones cracked with a ghastly snapping sound and split his skin. The movement stopped, leaving his legs and feet facing the landing and everything above the waist turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Rod shrieked. He couldn’t help it.
They are mine. He is yours.
If the twisted shape spoke with a voice, it was lost to Rod, although the words came as clearly as speech. So did realisation.
Alex’s father wasn’t speaking to him.
Without turning, Rod knew who was breathing against his neck.
Chapter Eleven
Hello, Rod. Nice to see you. You’ve grown, but I suppose it’s been a good few years, hasn’t it?
Among those remaining in Greenham Place, only Simon couldn’t hear the voice. He stood at Kelly and Alex’s backs, hands twisting uselessly together, too scared to run from the others.
“Alex, we need to move,” Kelly whispered and Simon’s mind roared agreement. His voice remained frozen in his mouth. All he could do was stare at nothing and listen to a faint wind blowing from the floors above and not dare turn to see what might be behind him.
Still on the stairs, Rod faced the man at his back. And while he knew exactly where he was, and the names of the people behind, he knew those things as if they were fading memories from his childhood. Here and now? No, not even a little bit. They belonged to the wide-open land of his parents’ farmland. They lived below the massive Welsh sky that dwarfed the boy he’d been fifty years ago. They were as long-ago and forgotten as the child who’d laughed at the man now standing on the stairs in front of him, when that man snapped his false teeth together, then tried to scream when he saw the pink worm of that man’s tongue coming closer.
They’re right here, Rod. They haven’t gone anywhere, but they will if you come with me. Come and sit next to me. We’ll talk about the old days. Would you like that?
“No,” Rod breathed. The fact he had any voice at all was a miracle. Arguing against the image of this man with his smooth, black hair and his easy smile and the chunky gold of his watch bouncing the sunshine back and forth was beyond anything Rod knew.
“You are not here,” he whispered.
Of course I am. You can see me, can’t you? That means I’m here and I can see you. I see how fat you’ve got. Mind you, you always were a big boy, but look at you now. Big and fat and slow and old. Too much food? Too many good meals from Joan? Too many beers? Stuffing your fat fucking face and drinking all those pints down the pub with the boys after you retired? Before that, wasn’t it? Careful not to drink when you had a shift coming up, but happy to spend a weekend afternoon with your mouth in a pint, isn’t that the truth, Rod? Shoving it all into your gob
like a fucking animal? My God, how revolting you are these days. Not like before. Not like when you were a boy. My, how lovely you were, Rod. How perfectly fucking lovely. How—
“Shut up,” Rod bellowed. A snatch of white-hot pain stabbed him directly in the centre of his chest; a curiousness that felt as if it belonged in the same dead past of his childhood wondered if he was about to have a heart attack. And another part welcomed that. Maybe, with a bit of luck, he’d be dead before he hit the floor.
Let’s talk, son. We can talk about how fat you are now. Like the food, do you? The beers? The good meals? The man let out an ugly noise that might have been a laugh in another world. Burying yourself in fat, Rod? Doesn’t surprise me. People like you always do. Better to eat and drink and eat and drink than face anything, eh? That same mock-laugh echoed up and down the stairs, and Rod wondered if he was going to throw up or soil himself.
Better overdoing it all than facing a truth, right? Better that than admit what you might end up being even now.
The man snapped his teeth together with a shocking, sudden movement. Rod cringed.
Joan and the kids and the grandkids and the buses and your life. A cover, Rod. Let’s talk about that. Let’s talk about you hiding things behind stuffing your face and going to the pub and thinking you might be like—
Another voice interrupted the man’s raving.
It hurts, Alex. Please help me. Get the doctors.
It was the other man, the chap Rod had almost forgotten about. Rod twisted, searching for an escape past either of the horrors above and below.
“Dad?” Alex sobbed, shaking Kelly off and advancing upon the shape of her father, dressed in his blood-soaked bandages, the oxygen mask supposed to be covering his mouth and nose now a torn, stained piece of useless plastic. It dangled against his chest like a necklace.