Hospital.
How long had she been out?
She freed herself from the top sheet and struggled to sit up. Someone had changed her while she was unconscious, and Amy discovered a loose gown of some kind draped over her body. Her own clothes were folded neatly on a chair beside the bed, with her phone and bag and keys sat on top of them.
Those keys wouldn't be much good to her now. Amy breathed carefully in and out, feeling the rawness of her throat and lungs, and wondered what was left of her flat. She remembered sirens but no more than that, and the fire had been spreading like a bad rumour. She and Cordelia had barely –
Where was Cordelia?
Amy wrenched herself up and looked around, but found herself alone. She was in a single room rather than a ward, and her only company was the machine wired up to her wrist. It's heavy beige presence and incessant beep were almost comforting, reminding her she hadn't been abandoned.
Cordelia must have been taken away – and as Amy remembered her friend's injuries she understood why. Was Cordelia even alive?
No not that she shouldn't be asking that.
Cordelia had been alive when Amy pulled her from the house, Amy was sure. She could remember a flutter of breath in the other woman's chest, the rush of blood.
What about Cordelia's children? Were they alone at her house, still waiting for their mother to come home?
Even moving her arm was painful, but Amy stretched and got hold of her phone. It didn't respond for a moment and she stabbed at the screen, making trivial wishes to let it work please let it work –
– and then it came on as normal. Amy looked into the familiar blue glow and found herself smiling, despite everything. She started getting Cordelia's number when the phone interrupted her, presented her with two messages.
The first was from Jenny, rubbishing Amy's warnings.
The second was anonymous. Amy's fingers shook as she opened it, but it said nothing more hateful than: "u were right it wasnt safe"
Not Tom, then. It didn't match the cryptic message she'd got at Jessica's either – in fact there was only one person Amy knew who texted like that and that was –
Jenny.
Jenny was gone too. That was what it had to mean.
All the anonymous messages flooding phones like death rattles, like ghosts. Jessica had got them from Jack and Amy from Jessica and now Jenny, Jenny despite everything she'd done to stay safe.
Could you talk to them, these ghosts? She obviously couldn't reply to an anonymous, so Amy found Jenny's number and tried texting it instead. "What happened to you?"
Blank screen. Why had she expected anything else? Amy was just about to put the phone away when it jumped in her hand, words spilling across the screen.
"i dont kno its gone dark"
Unmistakably Jenny, somehow. Amy typed back so rapidly her own words went to pieces.
"Were are you whats going on?"
Again, the long pause before an answer. "i dont think im anywhere i don't kno"
A further pause, then before Amy had worked out what to say another anonymous message followed. "help me pls"
"help"
"I don't know how," Amy messaged, but the reply was only "help" again.
Amy had run dry of every tear she possessed, and as she looked at the screen found a new mood creeping over her, a cold resolve.
No sense thinking about blame any more. She'd made mistakes, but it hadn't been her who took Hazel and Jack and Jessica and Steven away, hadn't been her who attacked Cordelia or started the fire. It was the shadows, and this was what they did to people – stripped them away from the world, reduced them to blank grey faces on someone else's screen.
How dare they. How dare anyone do this to people, especially her people – and Amy told herself she'd loved every victim, even Steven at his worst. They'd been her life, her extended family, and now they'd been taken away.
Wait. She was missing something worse, something urgent.
Amy was alone, and the room was lit by the glow of the corridor outside. Even as she thought that she heard a familiar sound on top of the endless beeping, coming from outside the window.
In the darkness behind the glass, metal scraped against metal. A shape flapped in the wind.
Pain lanced up Amy's back and through her skull. She'd leapt out of bed without thinking and her legs were threatening to give way.
Her phone buzzed and new anonymous words appeared. "i can see the light"
Amy could see it too – the cracks around the door were growing brighter, throwing the corners of the room into deep shadow. She didn't have time to dress but her coat was there and Amy pulled it over herself, bringing fresh pain across her shoulder blades. She rammed bare feet into shoes, steadied herself on the bed as her knees buckled.
She had to leave. He was outside.
Amy pulled at the door and light rushed in. A wave of dizziness rolled over her and she had to steady herself on the doorpost, and as her head dipped she saw two shadows stretching behind her – one short and curvy and familiar, the other taller and long-legged with a smooth round head.
She ran. Into the bright corridor and away, her legs buckling and feet slipping and her chest on fire. Lights shone pitilessly above her, doorways yawned dark and empty on either side. Her head felt fit to break in half and still Amy ran, mist rising in front of her eyes until she could hardly see.
The last bit of air escaped her and forced her to stop, to breathe. Her head swam, throat burned. Amy risked a glance backwards and saw the empty corridor, and just as she breathed back out –
– saw the flicker of movement along the smooth blue floor –
– a shadow, running –
– running without source or owner, skipping from one light to the next like a projection.
It was coming straight at her. No footsteps no noises just silent movement.
With the quick thoughts of terror Amy looked at empty space above and shadow below and realised: it's there but I can't see it. It exists when the shadow exists but it's more than the shadow the shadow is only a sign of the things from the dark places. He calls them with light and they come to be.
A second passed. The shadow ate up the distance. Amy gathered her breath and bolted, down to the end and around the corner into a wide hallway with lifts and lights and vending machines.
The lifts were closed, blank steel. She didn't have time to call them. There had to be stairs in case of fire –
– fire she remembered fire lungs filling up –
– no time for that. Amy headed for a door, banged it open, found darkness and piled shelves. Headed for another, found it locked. Ran for a third –
– there was a tickle of air on the back of her neck and she knew without looking –
– the third had stairs stretching down, doubling back on themselves. Amy hurled herself down them, jumping every second step, careless of tripping or falling or of anything but getting away.
Halfway down the flight she stumbled. Amy caught herself on the rail, teetering on the edge of the steps, and couldn't help but look behind her. The steps were empty, floor bare, but then she saw the flicker on the wall as not one but two shadows raced down after her.
Amy regained her balance and sprinted, her mind registering details even as she tried to pour her whole being into running.
The second shadow was shorter but just as quick and they tumbled over and past each other like spiders like children like cats. Their feet met the stairs as quickly as hers and they moved far faster so that run how she might they were gaining.
She grabbed the handrail, used it to swing herself around the corners. Her balance kept going and her breathing hurt, and the useless thin gown got in the way of her legs.
Amy kept on. It didn't matter if she fell. Didn't matter that she couldn't feel her legs. They were coming closer and she couldn't run fast enough even if she broke herself trying.
The stairs went down another flight, two flights. Doors opened
at the bottom, and Amy was out into a main lobby. Counters and glass front doors and actual people, people walking and talking and staring at her.
There were too many people for this time of night – and the receptionist was looking at Amy while talking into a handset, while two others started to walk towards her. The wire she'd pulled off her wrist must have sounded an alarm.
The man and woman coming for her were both thickset and serious-faced. They didn't look like they made jokes or listened to excuses. Amy glanced at the door behind her and saw no sign of the shadows – of course there wasn't, they wouldn't come with people here – but she knew the two orderlies would take hold of her and drag her back to the room until she was better.
Her gown and bandages betrayed her and she couldn't think what to say.
"How're you feeling?" asked the man. "It's not really safe to be up this soon." He kept on walking towards her.
"You've forgotten to dress yourself," added the woman. She looked like she was trying to smile.
"I have to go." Amy tried to sound normal, play it down.
"You don't look well. Are you sure you want to?" The woman took another step forward, arms by her sides. She was meant to come across as unthreatening, as safe.
Amy didn't buy it for a moment. "I really need some fresh air." She didn't have to lie about that – her head was still swimming from before, and her ear throbbing fit to burst. "I'll come right back afterwards."
"You don't have to ask us for permission." The man backed off a little, grinning with his mouth but not his eyes. "While you're here it's our job to make sure you're well, not to keep you prisoner."
Soft words, dangerous words, trying to drag her back into the lonely dark. Amy kept her distance. "You don't have to worry, I'll be fine on my own." She started to head towards the doors but the pair stayed with her, orbiting her like moons.
"It's no problem, we'll wait for you," the woman said.
Maybe they were nurses. She was meant to be able to trust nurses but this place was a trap and Amy couldn't risk even a moment more of being alone indoors with what was coming for her.
She ducked out of the front door and stood trembing on the steps. The nurses were watching her from the other side of the glass, and Amy couldn't risk running for it until they relaxed their guard. Needing an excuse for standing around, she went for her phone.
Two messages.
The first was anonymous, in Jenny's style again. "i can see him hes watching u"
The second was from Tom.
Amy didn't open it but stood shivering in the cold with her finger hovering over delete. How dare he even be alive.
She wanted to banish the message and Tom with it, but –
– but there was no-one –
– no-one left, no-one else, Hazel gone Jack gone Jessica gone Steven gone Jenny gone Cordelia wounded –
– if Tom was undeservedly alive he was at least still left to her. Still company of a sort. Still protection against the shadows, for all even thinking his name made her skin crawl.
Amy opened the message. Just to see.
"Sorry about evthing srsly but I worked it out their hatching weve not got long"
Badly typed. Like the other messages he'd used to send her. Tom must be really worried.
If he was so sorry, let him prove it. He owed her a debt and then some, and no matter how upset he was Amy didn't feel like letting him off easily.
She replied:
"I need someone to pick me up from Hospital. Come get me and we'll talk."
No time to worry about Cordelia. Amy glanced up at the top of the building, at the endless rows of windows, hoping with every inch of herself that her friend was alive and okay. She'd have to find out later, if there was a later to worry about.
She was probably safe for now with those two nurses staring at her through the window. Probably. Until they got bored and looked elsewhere, or decided to drag her back inside. Too many ways for things to go wrong.
If Tom had worked anything out, it was the only chance she had left. Even if it meant putting up with him.
Amy huddled underneath her coat and stared into the night sky.
Tom had kept walking for some minutes before he gave up on Terry – selfish git hadn't even bothered to reply.
His legs were coming back to life and that was good because he needed to be ready to run. Something could pop up at any second.
Tom only hoped it was something he could see.
The street was empty and that made it nearly as bad as the house. He needed to get where there were people, and quickly. Town would be best but Tom didn't fancy trying to squeeze into pubs and clubs by himself – he needed a wingman, a shield.
Donald might be done with work soon. Tom pulled his phone back out, walking faster as he did.
The battery was gone. A red bar blinked at him, and when Tom loaded up the message screen the entire phone buzzed and went dark. He'd forgotten to charge it with everything going on, and now no matter how he pressed or prodded at it the phone wouldn't come back on again.
That was it. Last line, gone.
Tom stared into the distance. He could see the bright lights of town up ahead, cold and lonely as stars. There was no shelter there, not with all his connections broken – anything could happen behind his back.
He looked back down at the dead phone and nearly threw it on the ground. Stupid useless junk.
What would he do now if the news broke? If it all came together out there on the web? He'd be stuck in the dark like all the other sheep and idiots wandering around with their eyes closed and the idea was unbearable. It was the first rule: stay connected. Never get cut off.
The charger was back in the house, where he'd seen Steven. The thing that wasn't Steven. Them. It didn't match anything Tom had ever read but it had to be Them. What had that crazy video said? Watch the shadows?
Going back would be heading where they wanted him. They'd know his phone was down already – if They were monitoring anything They'd know – and going back for this charger was the expected move, the stupid move.
He should go to town. Blend in with people he didn't know and wait for daylight.
Tom realised he'd been standing in the street all this while. No cars had passed and all the nearby houses had curtains shut tight. He was alone and unobserved, utterly vulnerable.
Idiot. He needed to decide now and move. Take the smart decision.
Were They expecting him to be smart? Was that how They thought? Push him towards town, where anything They did would get lost among the crowds?
Tom hesitated, caught on a knife-edge, but one thing decided him: the phone. He needed to be able to keep an eye on the world, relied on it like he did food and sleep and air. After all the things he'd lost today he couldn't cope with the idea of an information blackout.
Walking as quietly as possible, Tom started back down Langley Avenue towards the house. He couldn't think of it as home, not any more.
The windows were lit up. Tom remembered turning the lights off when he fled, and his feet dragged slower and slower as he approached the front door. There was no movement at the windows, no sign of life – whatever had lit the house up looked to be hiding. Lying in wait.
Light had brought the Steven-thing into the house. Jenny had been right. Any of those rooms could be a death-trap even if the – individual – who had turned them on wasn't there.
The charger should be in the living room somewhere. He could grab it and be back out in seconds, but –
– that wouldn't solve much. He'd have a dead phone and a useless lump of plastic. There was nowhere open he could plug it in at this time of night besides peoples' houses and there was no way of reaching anyone without the phone. That left this house.
He was standing still again, and right in front of the place. They could be watching. They probably were.
Tom pushed the doubts out of his head and fumbled for his keys. Opened the door. The hallway was bright and empty, and he left the
door standing wide as he headed into the front room – there'd be no getting stuck if he needed to run for it. The broken laptop still lay in the middle of the floor and Tom tried not to even look at it. Dirty clothes and envelopes and cardboard boxes were packed around the base of the sofa and he rifled through these. When nothing came to light Tom hunted under the sofa cushions, down the back of the furniture, underneath the crap on the coffee table.
Nothing. No charger. He could have sworn he left it in here – Tom didn't keep many things in his room upstairs, he liked to stay in the centre of activity, keep an eye on the house like a spider in a web – but there was no sight or sign.
It had gone missing last week too, and he'd eventually found it – where? Tom couldn't remember. Something about two phones being the same. A lend.
Steven had nicked it for his own phone, that's what it was. Which meant –
– the charger was in that room. Upstairs.
He'd have to find it in the dark.
Tom's insides wobbled. He clamped down on them and headed for the stairs. Light still on, door wide open. The house was like an invitation to passers-by. He didn't care.
The stairs were loose under his feet. Slippery. The carpet was coming away.
His ears strained so hard they started to hurt. No sound of anyone upstairs. Maybe he'd left the lights on after all and got confused.
Upstairs was still dark. So was Steven's room. Tom knew he'd turned that one off and had no intention of lighting it up again, but that meant he'd have to search in the dark. Feel around and hope something wasn't hiding.
How stupid was he being? Was the shitty phone even worth it?
He was worse off without it and this was no time to dither.
Tom headed inside and couldn't see a thing. Clothes tangled around his feet, and something hard and wooden banged against his shin. This was useless. The light from the stairs was too dim, but he didn't dare touch the switch in here, couldn't risk the Steven-thing coming back.
Unless it was here already, hiding in the darkness. Tom couldn't hear a thing, but his skin crawled and he started to back towards the doorway.
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