by Farah Ali
A Note to the Reader
Dear reader, thank you for choosing Even Pretty Things Rot, I hope you enjoyed reading this novel. If you could spare another minute of your time a review on Amazon would be greatly appreciated.
Books by Farah Ali:
Poisoned Bones
Damaged Souls
Web of Scars
Even Pretty Things Rot
If you would like to contact me I would be delighted to hear from you and always respond:
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @farahauthor
Follow Farah on Amazon to be notified of new releases: https://www.amazon.com/author/farahali
Also by the Author
The second book in the Deerleap Hollow Series will be out soon.
In the meantime, if you enjoyed Even Pretty Things Rot you might like to read other books by the author also available from Amazon.
Sample from Web of Scars
The screaming smothered her, choking and terrifying with implications. Frances wanted to lash out and grapple with it, subdue it as if it were a living creature.
Stop.
Please stop screaming.
Stop. Please.
Who was screaming like that?
The pitiful shrieking was almost worse than the sickly churning in the pit of her stomach as the car plummeted off the ravine, shifting the world from a rational horizontal position into vertical insanity.
All four wheels of Rose’s compact red car were in contact with the slick inclining tarmac, then in a blink everything changed and they skidded into the opposing lane, careening towards the edge, flying through the air in a deadly descent.
A barrier may have saved them, but there was no barrier to smash into—just a sharp unforgiving bend in the road followed by stark emptiness.
Her breath rasped and hitched.
It’s me.
From a surreal distance she realised she’d been screaming with the others all along.
She wanted to shut her eyes but couldn’t stop staring at the stones and rocks below. So many colours and shapes, quite stunning even in the twilight.
The inevitable was coming yet her mind fought against it.
Time slowed down then sped up. For a split-second she untethered from her body, rising above the car, watching it drop. A solid mass of ground rushed towards them. She raised her forearms and braced for impact.
Frances got her wish. As the car crashed at a forty-five degree angle, metal met rock and the screaming stopped. But they kept moving, sliding down in a cacophony of hurtling stones until the mangled vehicle came to a smoking standstill.
A deafening silence descended across the valley.
Minutes passed.
Frances opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by blood. Dazed, she lifted her head, wincing as her neck protested and a bolt of pain thudded through her skull. The lacerations criss-crossing her face stung like whip marks and a giant hand of pressure clutched the lower half of her body squeezing the life out of her with iron fingers.
But she was alive. Injured, perhaps seriously, but alive.
Even in her shock she knew they were lucky. The car had not flipped, suffering only one impact on the way down to the bottom.
Still, it was nightmarish. The front had crumpled into them and the shattered windscreen had imploded. She could not see her feet.
What about Rose and Nilah?
Frances fumbled with her seatbelt gasping at the flare of agony in her lower body as she shifted. Gritting her teeth she turned swallowing a sob.
Nilah’s brown eyes stared back wide and unblinking, her neck to the side at an unnatural angle, her face frozen in terror. Her pink tutu and ballet slippers were stained with red spray. Frances’ throat shrank. The child’s favourite cuddly toy—a yellow octopus with huge eyes—lay bereft by her feet.
‘Oh Nilah. Oh no, Nilah. No, no, oh no.’
Slowly, afraid of what she would find, Frances glanced across to her best friend, blinking through the warm liquid dripping down her face.
Rose’s chin rested on her chest and a sheaf of bloodied strawberry blonde hair hung like a curtain over her features. Frances leaned across trying to avoid the rammed in steering column.
‘Rose? Rosie, are you okay?’ she whispered, undoing her friend’s seatbelt.
Rose slid towards her. The top of her head brushed against Frances’ cheek leaving sticky smudges. Grasping a shoulder Frances brushed aside thick wavy hair, ignoring the glass fragments showering her lap.
Rose’s eyes were shut and a nasty gash on her forehead leaked at the edges. The airbag had broken her nose reducing it to a pulped mess.
‘Rose?’
Frances placed two fingers against the side of her neck desperately searching for a pulse.
‘Oh no.’
Sobbing, Frances leaned back and tried to regulate her breathing. Her vision clouded and she suppressed an overwhelming urge to sleep.
Think.
Hope had fractured for Rose and Nilah, but by some miracle she lived. Surely someone would drive past and find them. But would anyone even realise she was in trouble? The sky was darkening and a steady trickle of blood leached out of her. How long could she survive without help? Frances bit the inside of her cheeks as hysteria threatened to drown her.
And she’d left her phone at home. Low guttural moans rattled in her chest as she surveyed the destruction. Rose’s phone holder wasn’t even attached to the dashboard anymore.
She clenched her hands as the boot of claustrophobia ground its heel into her chest.
Think, Frances. Think.
What about the car behind them? She had sworn under her breath wondering why the selfish person had neglected to switch their headlights on. The driver must have seen them lose control and go over. But perhaps not. They had been some distance away and the snaking road had treacherous bends.
Her heart hammered and she couldn’t breathe.
I have to get out of here.
She unlocked the door, praying it hadn’t wedged shut and pulled the handle. Nothing happened.
Please open. Please.
Shaking, she tried again.
Nothing. She tried again, yanking and pushing with all her weight. It flew open.
Summoning all her strength she wriggled out from beneath the wreckage, howling at the raw pain in her hips and knees, dimly aware of the lack of response from her left leg.
After what felt like a lifetime of manoeuvring she escaped the steel coffin. Panting, too afraid to look down, she couldn’t help registering the way her jeans stuck and the congealing moisture in her shoes.
The relief of freedom was intense. Leaning over, her hand on the door for support, she vomited. Wiping her mouth she glanced around the barren expanse of land rendered still and baleful in the dusk.
Movement caught her eye and she froze. Then she staggered, dizzy, focusing in and out, convinced her eyes were playing tricks on her. Someone was standing on a ledge, watching from above.
She squinted. Fool. It must be a shadow cast by the rocks because nobody would stand by and watch you suffer.
There was a path down the rock face, precarious but accessible, and anybody who’d witnessed the crash would come down and help. It was the normal thing to do. She knew this and yet the unsettling feeling of being watched remained. There’s nobody there, I’m alone. Stop it, Frances, stop being stupid.
She looked at Rose then at Nilah. How could the evening have ended like this? Grief and sorrow clawed at her heart and she took deep trembling breaths.
Her nostrils flared. Petrol. There was petrol in the air. It was thick enough to taste and coated the back of her throat in a nauseating oily layer—how could she not have noticed it before?
‘Oh God. Oh my God.’
Frances couldn’t claim to be psychic, but in a flare of precognition she knew the explosion was imminent. The cunning silence menaced and deceived her—as if someone had wound up a secret clock in anticipation of a
fiery alarm that would shake the world.
Hobbling, dragging her left leg behind her, she fled, ragged shallow gasps catching in her throat.
Any minute now.
No, not minutes. Seconds.
I’m going to burn alive.
‘Please, no.’
Her knees gave way and she crawled on her belly, scrabbling across sharp pieces of flint that sliced her palms and forearms, sensing a presence throughout the desperate halting progress.
Then a tremor rocked the ground and all thoughts were forgotten.
The explosion ripped through the air mushrooming behind her. Whimpering, she covered her head and cowered as her vision turned orange and the heat of the blast singed her hair.
Move, damn you, move.
Wheezing, she pulled herself along until the scorched tongues of the blaze no longer lapped against her. With ringing ears she flopped onto her back, gazing unseeing at the smoke-filled sky, overcome by savage waves of pain.
Rose and Nilah. Nilah and Rose. Rose and Nilah. Nilah and Rose.
The slimy feel of Rose’s hair between her fingers.
Nilah’s broken neck and unseeing eyes.
Her tutu was covered in blood.
Frances pounded the ground with her fists. Her teeth chattered as she shivered. The acrid air stirred. Barely able to keep the darkness at bay, her eyes flew open at a crunching sound, as if someone were walking across the stones towards her. She turned her head to the left. Were those black thick-soled shoes a couple of metres away?
‘Help me.’
She coughed and spluttered in the billowing smoke. No answer.
‘Please help me.’
More crunching. Footsteps or something else?
Her eyelids fluttered. Waning now, Frances turned her head in a final attempt to identify the visitor. Nothing. Probably a fox or some other creature flushed out of its hiding place by the flames. Yet she shuddered in foreboding. She had cheated death, yes, but she felt marked.
Marked? By whom? For what? Her gaze skittered over to the blazing car.
The bubble of anguish burst. Rose and Nilah.
She screamed. The pitiful sound bounced off the cliff-face mocking her in imitation. Then above the fury of sizzling metal she recognised a noise that made her weep.
Sirens.
And finally, against a backdrop of fire, Frances’ eyes rolled up and she sunk into cottony blackness.
Enjoyed this sample? Read Web of Scars for more...