by Russ Watts
“Anything?” asked Tony.
Sam shook her head. “It won’t work. It won’t connect.”
“How about emailing someone for help then? Can you Skype the police or something?”
The desperation in Tony’s voice was evident. He kept looking at his own phone as if that would suddenly make it work. Bashar knew he was thinking of his wife.
“No, I mean it won’t connect to the internet.” Sam continued playing with her phone, but it was useless. “It should be working, but—”
“It’s the fog,” said Bashar. “It’s stopping everything.”
“How does that work?” Sam looked sceptical. “It’s just fog. It can’t stop everything working.”
“My phone’s knackered too,” said Tony. “I’ve got power but that’s it. I was hoping there might be something on the news but I can’t even get onto the BBC website.”
Bashar ran his tongue around his teeth. The blue sky and sunshine were a distant memory. As he looked at the coffee shop’s frontage he wondered what had happened out there. He should be able to see The Strand bustling with life. There should be shops and cars and Charing Cross station over the road. There should be couriers and children, buskers and beggars, tourists and traffic wardens, and yet all he could see was a dark fog. It wasn’t the wispy, light cloudy sort either, but a thick grey soup-like concoction that blocked out the light and seemed to sit heavily in the air. Bashar walked over to the doorway stopping just short of the blood on the floor. In the pools of crimson life he saw tiny flecks of the fog, small pieces of it left behind when it had sought entry into the café. They were like pieces of ash, small and dark, and as Bashar bent down to examine them he noticed they were disintegrating as the blood sucked them up.
“This fog,” said Bashar, “is not fog. Right now I don’t have another name for it. But this is not your usual fog. This is something else.”
“It looks like fog to me.” Tony joined Bashar’s side. “It’s unusual, but it’s not the first time something like this happened. Back in 1952 we had the Great Smog. It could be something like that again I suppose. Fog and pollution combined to kill thousands back then. Of course, they didn’t really know what it was. There was a lack of wind, and lots of coal burning, so I suppose it’s possible it’s happened again. God knows London’s streets are polluted enough.”
“It’s not the same,” said Bashar standing up. “Fog doesn’t leave traces like that. It doesn’t linger in pools of blood. You can see this. You can touch it, taste it; this isn’t a natural occurrence or pollution.”
“So what then, a terrorist attack? A dirty bomb?”
“Oh my God.” Lulu had been listening the whole time and looked at Tony. “You think this was a bomb? It’s like fallout or something, right? This fog stuff is probably contaminated with all sorts of shit. Probably radioactive. Jesus.”
“I need to get home.” Sam brushed past Bashar to the door. She had put on a light denim jacket and attempted to wipe the make-up from her face. “My mum will be worried sick. I’m not staying here waiting to die from some nuclear bomb. I don’t care if the tube’s not working, I’ll walk.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Lulu. She looked directly at Bashar. “It’s not safe in here. Those terrorists could be anywhere. That’s what they do. They infiltrate society and hide in plain sight. I’ve seen it on the news.”
“Look, both of you, you are far safer inside than out. You saw what happened to Angie. You saw what happened to Mary. There are things out there in the fog, things that will hurt you if you go outside.” Bashar felt protective of the two girls. He had no children of his own, but these two were barely out of their teens and had already seen more death in the last few minutes than they probably had in their entire lives. He knew what effect it had, seeing death so raw and up close. He knew what it did to people. It was scary and he felt a need to protect them from anything more. He had already grown fond of Sam. She had shown herself to be more mature than her years and was dealing with things far better than her incompetent manager. Lulu still had some growing up to do and her tone was bordering on offensive, but he knew it was just her fear coming out. Her friend was dead and she had just seen two other people killed.
“Stay in here? Yeah, right with you? Why, is this the only safe place to be? How come? Maybe you know more about this than you’re letting on,” said Lulu as she pulled her black jacket on. “Maybe you and your friends planned all this.”
“Look, just settle down,” said Tony. “I very much doubt that Bashar has anything to do with this. Besides, they don’t know how to make dirty bombs yet. That’s all media talk.”
“Thanks,” muttered Bashar.
“No problem, mate,” replied Tony. “Look, everyone knows you guys use suicide bombs anyway, so you’re clearly not in on it.”
Bashar had no idea how to respond to that. Was it supposed to be a compliment? Tony didn’t appear to be trying to offend him, in fact he was arguing with Lulu. Bashar decided it was best to let things play out. They had enough problems to deal with without him getting into an argument with everyone else in the coffee shop.
“So we can’t call the police and we can’t go home. What do you suggest we do?” Sam looked at the doorway and the pools of blood she would have to walk through to get there.
“We need to sit tight and figure this out,” said Bashar, frustrated. More than ever he felt all alone and missed Nurtaj. The others weren’t like him. They all had their own ideas and opinions, and he was quite sure that most of them made him public enemy number one. He tried to ignore the fact that they were all suspicious of him, but having just killed a young girl he was feeling on edge. “This fog is hiding something. It’s covering up what is going on out there and if we go into it we’re going to end up like that poor woman over in the corner.”
As one they all looked at the woman in the white dress and her battered face. Her cold body lay where Tony had left it. Blood was still seeping from her and the stark reality of their situation seemed to hit Sam like a truck. She burst into tears and stepped away from the entrance.
Tony and Bashar looked at each other. It didn’t need saying. They both knew they had to take charge over the two girls before anyone else got hurt.
“Sam, come away.” Bashar beckoned the girl back and led her back to the counter where he pulled a sheaf of napkins out of a metal container and gave them to her. “We’ll just hang out here a while longer. I’m sure the police will be here soon.”
Tony and Lulu retreated as well, sinking back into the coffee shop well away from the dark streets. The shop fell into silence and Bashar wondered what other tools Tony had in his bag. If anyone else came into the shop to attack them he wanted to be better prepared. Bob was still sitting in the chair where they had left him, his bitten arm obviously painful. He was just going to have to suck it up for now.
As Bashar contemplated approaching Tony, he saw Sam’s manager get up slowly. The chair creaked as the overweight woman rose and Bashar tried to find reason in her face. He wanted to see some recognition that their new reality had sunk in. Her face was still like a blank canvass though and she moved slowly. Expecting her to come over to the counter and tell Sam to start cleaning the place up, he saw her turning away and heading slowly back to the kitchen.
“What’s your boss’s name?”
Sam had her head in her hands and was leaning over the counter, her elbows tucked in between a jar full of cookies and a stack of unused till rolls. She didn’t look up when she spoke. “Roza, but you won’t be able to talk to her. Lulu was right. She’s a bitch.”
“I’m just going to check on her. You’ll be okay here. Just make sure Bob stays put until we can get some proper medical help for him.”
Sam said nothing but quietly nodded, and Bashar circumnavigated the counter to approach Roza. She was already halfway across the shop floor to the back door.
“Is everything okay?” asked Bashar. He looked over to Tony and raised an eyebrow.
Tony understood the message and gently removed his arm from around Lulu to join Bashar.
Roza continued shuffling toward the door that led to the back area of the café. She didn’t respond to Bashar’s question, nor did she pause or give any indication she had registered he had even spoken.
“Hey, Roza, are you feeling all right? Is there anything I can do to…?”
Roza reached the door and as she pushed it open Bashar stepped up to her. He put his hand on the door to stop her from entering. Finally she stopped and looked up at him. Her eyes were glassy and her mouth slightly agape. She licked her lips and then blinked rapidly.
“Customers are not allowed in the staff area. Please return to your seat,” she said plainly. Roza swallowed, as if nervous. “Customers are not allowed in the staff area.”
As she tried to push the door open Bashar held it firmly and stopped her from going any further. It seemed to be bringing her back round. “Let me help,” said Bashar. “We can check out the kitchen together. Make sure it’s safe before you—”
“Customers are not allowed back here. This is off limits.” Roza turned her gaze to the door and began to push. Her huge size was an equal match for Bashar and she had the advantage of being able to get her weight behind herself as she began to lean into the door and nudge it open.
“All right, love, we heard you the first time,” said Tony. “We’re just going to make sure everything’s fine back here. Then we’ll go back to our seats, yeah?”
Bashar looked at Tony and the two men exchanged looks again. Roza was in shock and could be going into the staff area to grab a knife or start making scones. They just weren’t sure what she was going to do. Bashar also realised that there was the possibility there were more staff behind the door. He had been so preoccupied taking care of the front of the shop that he had forgotten about the back area. What if there was another door or the fog had gotten in? The two men seemed to understand each other. Roza couldn’t be trusted right now, but they trusted each other. They watched as Roza pushed the door fully open and walked into the kitchen.
“Roza? What the hell’s been going on out there?”
Bashar followed Roza into the kitchen reassured that Tony was right behind him, and was greeted by the smell of fresh baking. As pleasant as it was it jarred uncomfortably with the fact that there was a dead body in the front of the café. The kitchen had no windows and a simple green exit door to his right. Another door in the far corner had a sign stuck on it that read ‘Restroom – Staff & Cookies Only!’ Cool metal shelving lined another wall packed tightly with boxes, jars and tins of food. There were bottles in crates stacked underneath it and long metal counters in the centre of the room. It was cold, but far more pleasant than outside.
A thin man looked up from behind a metal worktop covered in trays of muffins and an assortment of condiments. He had greasy brown hair sticking out from underneath a blue cap and wore white overalls splashed with jam, butter and oil. An unlit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth and he eyed the newcomers suspiciously as Roza approached one of the large wall-mounted ovens. The man held a large knife and brandished it in front of him as he saw Bashar and Tony.
“Who are you? Customers aren’t allowed—”
“Yeah, we know, we’re not allowed in here,” said Tony. “Look there’s been some trouble out front. What are you doing back here?”
The thin man shrugged. “Doing my job, aren’t I? Baking shit. I’m not a security guard.” The man looked at Roza turning a dial on the oven and looked uncomfortable. “Figured I was best to wait here and keep cooking until Roza told me otherwise, you know?”
“Right. Well you can finish up,” said Bashar. “The shop’s going to be closed for the rest of the day.”
The man kept looking from Roza to Bashar. “I think I’ll talk to my boss, if that’s okay with you. Pardon my French, but I don’t know who the fuck you two are.” With the knife in his hand the thin man moved from behind the worktop and went to Roza’s side. He turned the dial back and looked at her. “Roza, what are you doing? Stop messing with that or you’re going to burn the caramel slice. And what are these blokes doing back here? You know customers aren’t allowed in the staff area. You’re always the first one to growl if we bring anyone back here.”
Bashar looked at Tony and sighed. “You want to head back out front. I don’t think we’re doing much back here.” Bashar leaned in closer to Tony and whispered. “Do you think we’re allowed in here?”
Tony replied in a whisper. “Maybe we should return to our seats. Customers aren’t allowed in the staff area. Something like that, mate.”
A smirk spread across Tony’s face. “Roza, you gonna be okay? You got it under control?”
Roza turned slowly and looked at Tony with her glassy eyes. She looked at Bashar and then the thin man before a frown spread across her face. “Wilf, how many times have I told you not to smoke in here? Outside, now.”
“It’s not even lit.”
Roza began to usher the protesting Wilf toward another door.
“Wilf? Your name’s Wilf?” asked Tony, his smirk turning into a large grin.
“Don’t call me Wilfred,” said the cook indignantly as Roza pushed him along.
“Come on, Bashar, let’s go,” said Tony. “There’s nothing happening back here. We need to make sure the girls are okay and check on Bob. I want to try my phone again and see if I can get hold of my wife.”
Bashar was about to follow Tony to the front of the shop, but as he watched Roza shove Wilf toward the emergency exit door it dawned on him what was happening. She was going to make him go outside. “Wait, Wilf, don’t open that door.”
Wilf pushed the bar in the middle of the green door. “What is with you? I’m just going to have a quick smoke.” As the door clicked open, he looked at Roza. “And make sure you leave that dial alone. You turn up the oven any higher and you’re going to be selling a lump of burnt flour.”
“Wilf, wait.” Bashar was too slow to react and watched as the door opened.
The fog outside appeared instantly, looking like an impenetrable wall. Wilf took half a step into it and tenderly reached an arm into the fog. “Where’s the alley gone?”
A shape outside moved swiftly and silently. Bashar couldn’t see through the fog any discernible shape exactly, but whatever it was, it moved fast. Wilf was yanked off his feet as something grabbed his arm.
“Jesus!” yelled Wilf, his cigarette dropping to the floor. He was dragged into the fog, his black shoes scraping on the floor as he kicked and struggled against the invisible force pulling him out of the kitchen. “Get it off me!” he shouted.
Roza stood immobile, her body unwilling or unable to respond to the threat. Bashar and Tony darted forward but were helpless to prevent Wilf from being pulled into the fog. His body was sucked not out, but up, high into the air. They saw his terrified face disappear, followed by his body and then lastly his legs that kicked nothing but air. They heard a scream and then nothing.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Tony. He was staring up at where he had last seen Wilf. There was a clatter as the knife Wilf had been holding suddenly dropped to the ground. Three single drops of blood followed it, splashing onto the ground next to it. “Bloody hell,” said Tony again, much quieter this time.
“Quick, we need to get this door shut,” said Bashar reaching for the horizontal bar. A clammy hand reached for his as he reached through the fog to grab the door. The fingers on the hand touching his skin felt icy cold. The skin was pale and when they wrapped around his forearm he felt like he was being grabbed by something that had died a long time ago. Bashar shuddered. If the thing was dead then it still possessed a lot of strength, and Bashar could feel himself being pulled into the alley.
“I need some help here,” said Bashar as he fought against whatever was trying to drag him outside. His hands were on the bar, but he couldn’t get the door closed and could feel himself being pulled after Wilf. Panic was threatening to ov
erwhelm him. He did not want to end up like Wilf or Angie, or the woman from the car who was lying in the front of the café with her skull bashed in.
“Seriously. Any time now would be great,” pleaded Bashar.
Roza picked up Wilf’s abandoned knife and looked at him. She began walking backward, the knife in her hands, the vacant look on her eyes gone and replaced with something approaching ambivalence. Did she really not get it? Could she not see what was happening? It was as if she had been possessed, as if something else was driving her body around and the real Roza had left the building.
“Move it.” Tony pushed Roza aside and pulled on Bashar’s arm. Together they managed to swing the door closed and the fingers around Bashar’s arm slipped off him. The door slammed shut as Bashar and Tony fell to the floor together. Tendrils of fog evaporated as the door shut and Bashar could feel the remnants of it around him. The sickly sweet smell reached his nose and he rolled over, away from the fog, from the door, from the place where Wilf had died and Bashar had so very nearly followed him.
“Thanks,” Bashar said to Tony.
“Forget it.” Tony got to his feet. “Did you see what happened to Wilf? What does that? What can pull him out like that, up into the air? This is freaking me out. I need to get hold of my wife and make sure she’s okay.”
Tony extended a hand to Bashar who gratefully took it and got to his feet. “Let’s go. Try the phones again and make sure the girls are okay. I don’t want to be in here. They were right. Customers shouldn’t be allowed back here.”
As the two men turned to go back to the front of the store they saw Roza at the ovens again. She turned the dials clockwise until they couldn’t go any further and then shuffled her feet around to face them. The knife in her hand was covered in blood. Deep welts ran across her face, running from one side to the other, and blood dripped down over her double chin. One of her ears was missing, apparently hacked off, and over her shoulder Bashar thought he could see bottles of bleach inside the ovens.