by Ryan Casey
She stood up, then. Stepped out from the bush, Alison by her side.
It was the mum who looked first.
She didn’t jump like was natural in this world. She didn’t even look so surprised, she was so caught up in the initial shock of grief.
She just looked at Holly like she didn’t understand.
Then the man looked up.
There was something different in his eyes. Something more focused; something she hadn’t seen before.
But it was definitely there.
Hate.
They were silent for a while, both sets of people. And Holly wasn’t sure where this silence was going to break.
It was the woman who broke the silence.
“Who—who are you?”
Holly felt a lump building inside her stomach. She saw Alison look at her. She cleared her throat. But no words came out. She could only look at the knife. She could only look at the boy.
Alison stepped in. “What happened. To your… to your son—”
“You killed him, didn’t you?” the man said.
Alison shook her head. “There was someone chasing us. Someone firing at us. We hid. And he just came out of nowhere. He just… he just came out of nowhere and before we knew it he was lying there.”
The man stood up. He walked over to Alison. Holly found herself tightening her grip on the knife. Just in case. Just so nothing went wrong.
Alison stepped back a little. “I’m so sorry. Truly. But—”
“You killed him!” the man shouted. “You killed my boy!”
“I—”
The next few seconds all happened so fast.
First, the man took a swing at Alison.
She fell to the ground.
Then the man was on top of her, wrapping his hands around her neck, tightening his grip.
Holly’s heart raced. She knew she had to act fast. She knew she had to try something. Anything.
So she walked over to the man.
Then she walked over to the woman and put the knife to her neck.
“I killed him.”
The man stopped. He looked around. Hands still around Alison’s neck as she lay flat, struggling.
A frown crossed his head. “What?”
“I killed him,” Holly said. “It was an accident. It was just like Alison said. But I promise you something. If you don’t let her go, I’ll kill your wife, and then I’ll kill you.”
The man looked at her with horror. Alison looked at her with horror, too.
But she had this.
This was the only choice she had, the only realistic option she could take.
It was the only way she was going to keep Alison alive.
The man’s anger returned as he tightened his grip on Alison’s neck. “You killed my Tommy.”
Holly pushed the knife further into the woman’s neck. It was so close to piercing, so close to bleeding. “Don’t try me. Let her go. Now.”
The man looked over at her. Anger. Despair. Hate.
He kept his grip around Alison’s neck.
And Holly knew how this was. She knew how it was going to go now.
She prepared to do something she didn’t want to do but something she had to do.
She prepared to pull back the knife.
But then something happened.
The man let go of Alison.
He stood up. Walked over to Holly.
She kept her ground. Kept her knife to his wife’s neck.
“Now you keep up your end of the bargain, you little shit. You little murdering shit.”
Holly could see two options.
One was a dark road she didn’t want to take. But she needed a distraction. Only a distraction would get her out of here.
“Ian, please,” the woman said.
He stepped further towards her. Fists tightened. And Holly knew that her time was running out. She knew she had to decide now, as Alison stumbled back to her feet.
She looked into Alison’s eyes as Ian approached.
“Alison?” she said.
Alison shook her head. “Holly—”
“Run,” she said.
Then she pushed the woman forward, pulled back the knife and stabbed her in the back.
Not deep.
But just enough.
She saw the man’s eyes widen.
Saw the look on his face of distraction, of horror.
And it was enough.
It was plenty enough.
She ran around the falling woman. She ran past Ian. She ran past the body of Tommy, and over towards Alison.
And as much as Alison looked at her with horror, as much as she looked at her with hate, Holly knew there was only one thing she could do now.
Run.
Chapter Fifteen
Mike looked at the burning building in the distance, listened to the screams, and he felt his whole world falling apart.
The sun beamed down, melting some of the snow that had fallen. He could see bodies lying by the open gates of the community. Inside, he caught a glance of animals that had been slaughtered. He didn’t know who’d do such a thing. He didn’t know why anyone with any long-term plan would cause such devastation.
But there weren’t necessarily loads of people with long-term plans.
Some people didn’t have a plan at all.
They just wanted to watch the world collapse.
He stumbled forward, barely able to process what he was looking at. He knew he was walking towards a potential death zone if he went in there; that chances were he wouldn’t survive it.
But at the same time, Mike knew he didn’t really have a choice.
There were people he cared about in there. Claire. Kelsie.
He had to make sure they were okay.
He stepped towards the entrance to the gates. When he walked inside, he realised this whole sorry situation was even worse than he’d first feared.
There were a lot of dead animals. Even some of the dogs had been killed, although the bulk of them ran around wildly, primal fear on their sorry little faces.
There was a trail of dead bodies leading up towards the main building. Mike recognised faces there, as the trail led towards the fire. He could see others in the distance—people with knives and arrows attacking people recklessly. All of these people wore balaclavas. Some of them had various body parts around their necks.
He could smell the stench off them from here.
He swallowed a lump in his throat when he walked past one of the children. Because that meant to him that they were going about their killing indiscriminately. It meant they didn’t care who they killed or who got in their way.
Which meant Kelsie was in danger.
Mike picked up his pace, distancing himself from the shock and horror of this situation. He had to keep moving. He had to focus. He couldn’t let himself fall behind.
He was close to the doors of the main building when he heard the footsteps emerging from his right.
He turned. Saw a man standing there, blade in hand. His eyes met Mike’s through that balaclava hole. And they held their gaze at one another, just for a moment.
Then the man started running towards Mike, and all Mike could do was run into the burning building.
When he got inside, the scene was even worse than he’d imagined. There was food on the floors, mixing with the blood of the fallen. Water bottles had been pierced and were seeping out everywhere. Supplies were broken, medical equipment scattered everywhere, going up in smoke.
It seemed like this had been the work of an army. And yet he’d barely seen anyone in here. A guerrilla movement, that’s all this was. A group who had planned this exceptionally well, then hit this place where it was weakest.
The most despicable act of all.
But Mike couldn’t let the scene get in his way, not least when someone was behind him. He looked up the stairs. He had to get up there, get to Kelsie. He had to save her. He couldn’t let her fall.
He made a le
ap for the stairs. Threw himself about halfway up.
When he got halfway, he stopped.
The steps in front of him were burning.
He went to take his time, to plot his next move, when he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him.
He looked around.
That man was chasing after him.
He looked back ahead. There were two routes here. One led to certain death, the other led to possible death.
In the end it was a no-brainer.
He held his breath, and he threw himself up the stairs.
The fire nicked his shins, made him yelp.
But he landed beyond it.
When he turned back this time, he saw the flames were even higher.
The man stood at the other side of the flames. He tried to lift his leg over it, but it was too late.
Mike had made it, just in time.
He couldn’t dwell on his victory, though.
He got back to his feet and ran to the top of the stairs.
When he looked down the corridor, Kelsie’s room right at the back on the right, he saw a sight that brought him almost to his knees right away. Miranda was dead. One day after her husband, Fred, she’d fallen.
Mike sighed, shook his head. Another good person. Another truly good soul. Gone.
He walked down the corridor, heart racing, unable to face up to what he might find. When he got to the end, got to Kelsie’s door, he almost hoped she wasn’t in here, so that at least then there was a chance she was still alive.
He stepped around and saw.
Kelsie was there.
She was sitting on her bed, the covers pulled right up to her face.
But she was alive.
“Kelsie,” Mike said.
He walked towards her, pulled the covers away, but she just kept on gripping on to them, totally in fear, in shock.
“Kelsie,” he said. “Come on now. There’s no time to waste. We have to get out of here.”
“But I’m scared.”
“I know you’re scared. Everyone’s scared. But we’re going to get out of here. We have to. Now.”
She resisted for a few seconds. Then she nodded and let Mike take the covers away.
He picked her up, went to walk out of the room.
Then he saw the figure standing there.
It took him a few seconds to realise who it was.
Then he processed it.
“Claire.”
She’d been beaten. Burned. She looked in a bad way.
But she was standing.
She was still standing.
“Come on,” Mike said, walking to the door. “We need to…”
But then he stopped.
He stopped because he could see more people racing up the stairs, over towards them.
There was no way out.
He backed into the room. Ran over to the window. Yanked it free with all he had, to failure.
“We’re not gonna make it,” Claire said.
“Don’t say that,” Mike said. He lifted an ornament, then he smashed at the window, broke the glass away.
He looked outside. It was a big drop.
But it was do-able.
He could make it.
He hoped.
He turned around, waved to Claire. “Come on!”
But Claire didn’t move.
She just stood there, ornament in hand.
“Claire,” Mike said.
“We’re not all gonna make it,” Claire said. “But you are.”
Mike shook his head. “Don’t do this.”
Claire smiled at him. “Keep Kelsie safe. And we’ll have that drink sometime in another life.”
He heard the footsteps approaching Claire.
He wanted to go over there and help her.
But it was already too late.
He turned around and, Kelsie in his arms, he stepped to the edge of the window as Claire let out a cry.
He felt tears building.
Looked down below.
“Hold on tight and close your eyes,” Mike said.
“But what if we don’t make it?” Kelsie asked.
Mike took a deep breath. “We will. We will.”
He tightened his grip on Kelsie.
Then he stepped out of the window and fell towards the ground.
Chapter Sixteen
Ian held Sofia in his arms and wondered how his world had fallen apart so fast.
The afternoon was rolling on. The clouds had thickened all over the farmhouse. The farmhouse itself was silent. Without Tommy, there was no character here. It felt lost. Haunted.
He’d managed to get back here. He’d managed to drag Sofia back here. He hadn’t even had the time to bring Tommy back here yet.
He’d been too worried about his wife. Too concerned about making sure she survived, making sure she made it.
Making sure she didn’t leave him too.
He placed her down on the kitchen table. She was gasping, whimpering, but Ian wasn’t sure whether that was from the pain of being stabbed or just from the shock and horror of losing Tommy, still.
But she was still here. Bleeding, sure. In shock, sure. But alive.
He was determined to make sure she wasn’t going to fall, too.
“It’s okay, love,” Ian said, holding her hand. “I’ve got you. I’ve got this.”
He panicked, wanting to wallow in the pity of his loss but knowing any hesitation could cost Sofia her life.
He rushed to the other side of the kitchen. Went into the top drawer and the cupboards, pulled out the medical equipment, then ran back over to Sofia.
He stroked the hair out of her eyes. Kissed her head, which was boiling hot and sweaty. “I’m going to stitch up this wound, and you’re going to make it, okay?”
He got to work on stitching the wound up, pouring alcohol over it. It wasn’t that bad. Mostly just superficial. Which made him wonder about the girl’s intentions after all.
But it wasn’t easy, not with his shaking hands, not with the sense of dread and foreboding that kept on washing over him, nightmarish.
Sofia grabbed his hand at one point. She looked deeply into his eyes. “Don’t, Ian. Just… just let me go.”
Ian felt total sadness then, total despair. He could see where Sofia was coming from, and that’s what hurt him most.
He squeezed her hand tighter now. “I’m not going to let you go anywhere. Not even if you want to.”
He got back to work. He fought as hard as he could. And eventually, by a miracle, he stitched her up.
He dabbed some of the wound with some cleaning alcohol, which clearly agonised Sofia. He stepped back once it was bandaged. He knew she’d be okay physically. She hadn’t lost much blood. The wound wasn’t that bad.
But her mental state.
That was the main issue.
She’d just lost her boy.
They’d both lost their Tommy.
He stood by the door of their farmhouse while Sofia slept, but mostly she didn’t, she just cried instead. He looked out across the fields, towards the woods.
And as he stood there, he knew one thing for certain, as a fire burned inside him.
He walked across the room. Grabbed his hunting rifle from above the fire.
Then he walked back to the doorway.
That girl. Holly. She wasn’t going to get away with this.
She was going to pay for what she’d taken from him.
And nobody was going to get in his way.
Chapter Seventeen
It was at least fifteen minutes later that Holly finally stopped running.
The clouds had formed overhead, thick and suffocating. It felt like the day had been going on for eternity. All around her, the trees closed her in, the sound of the branches brushing against one another in the wind.
All of it reminding her of what had just happened.
All of it reminding her of what she’d done.
She turned around. Saw Alison sitting against
a tree to her right. She’d gone pale. Totally pale. She didn’t look well.
And as much as Holly wanted to reassure her that they were okay, that things were going to work out between them, and that she’d done what she’d had to do… she sensed the time for peace with Alison was well and truly over.
“I had to—”
“No,” Alison said. Her voice was sharp and unforgiving. “Just… just don’t, Holly. Just don’t.”
She saw the way Alison looked at her. Saw that expression in her eyes. It was an expression she’d never forget; an expression she’d have to live with for a long time.
Fear.
“He would’ve—he would’ve killed you,” Holly said.
“His wife hadn’t done a thing,” Alison said. “She was grieving her son, for God’s sakes.”
“You hadn’t done a thing either—”
“We killed their son, Holly!”
Her voice echoed through the trees right then. And when Holly heard those words aloud, it cut through the denial she’d been holding up to protect her. It cut through the hardness she’d felt about pretty much everything before now.
“We didn’t kill him,” Holly said. “I killed him.”
“Yeah,” Alison said, standing up. She walked over to Holly, then. Stood over her. “Yeah, you’re right about that. I shouldn’t feel any guilt for what happened. I shouldn’t take any of the blame. Because you’re right. You killed him. You alone.”
Sickness swelled inside Holly’s stomach.
“But that’s just it. That’s the difference between you and me. I feel guilty for what happened. I feel bad that I was even close to being involved because that’s just how it is. I feel bad because I was standing by your side. And I’ve been standing by your side for far too frigging long.”
Regret inside Holly then. She took in a deep breath, tried to calm herself, cool herself. “It’s on me. But—but it doesn’t have to always be this way—”
“But it will be, won’t it? It will be because this is who you are.” She was practically spitting now. “You’re a monster, Holly. An evil little monster. You were a spoiled brat when your dad was around. You’ve probably been a spoiled brat your whole damned life. But I’m not standing for it. Not anym—”