Life of Terror: Life of Terror Book One, page 17
“Oh, my God,” Theo shouted, clutching the hand railing and freezing in his seat. Dexter glanced back. The other car had crashed into the Thames bank. Turned out the bank was strong enough to withstand a car smashing into it. Dexter didn’t find out the hard way, though.
He’d done enough. Enough to get to safety, at least for now.
Dexter spied a figure get out of the car, limp and walk towards them. But Dexter’s car rounded the corner by the time the man moved even a metre. A sicko that worked for Jack. A madman Dexter prayed he never ran into again.
Dexter and Theo were in the clear. The streets were deserted, except for the odd wreckage blocking half the road. Dexter slowed a little, his heart coming down from its adrenaline-induced high.
“Good stuff,” Theo said, massaging his head.
“Not like you weren’t scared,” Dexter joked.
“We don’t talk about that,” Theo laughed. “Now we can get her. Drive on the A13, and I’ll tell you where to go.”
Dexter nodded, took another turn, and headed back into the east side of London, towards the stretches of road that comprised the British motorways.
He’d get to Lily. Whether Jack threw cars or chaos at him, Dexter would get her and survive till the end.
23
Graham
Graham’s legs pumped across the grass as he rushed towards the town. A gunshot sounded. Heat whizzed past Graham’s ear, lighting up the nerves inside him.
Shit, is that Claude?
Another shot flew past Graham’s shoulder as he ducked to his left. He darted towards the fence and clambered over. A glance back told him Brett was following close behind, fury etched on his face.
Another gunshot pierced the air and rattled the fence. Graham stumbled as he dropped onto his knees. He got back up and began sprinting again.
“Stop shooting,” Brett shouted. His voice was closer than Graham had expected. Too close.
Graham rushed into the town through a bush. The smell of blood hit Graham, and the stench of guts. Danger lurked in the air. Graham wouldn’t just have to worry about Brett getting to him, but any other survivors in the town as well. Survivors who would kill him in self-preservation.
Apprehension flooded Graham’s brain as he dashed to the corner of what looked like a convenience store. The windows had been smashed to pieces, with shards of glass littering the street. The remains crunched underfoot as Graham zipped through the road. His eyes scanned for anyone hiding in the town, and Brett’s footsteps rang out behind him,
“You aren’t going to get away,” Brett said, his voice weirdly calm for someone in the middle of a chase.
Graham turned the next corner. A wall faced him. A dead end.
Not another one.
He rushed towards the wall and jumped. His fingers latched onto the crumbling bricks, and he mustered as much force as he could. His body rose to the top as Brett shouted after him.
“Get back here,” Brett screamed, but Graham dropped to the other side. Pain shot up his legs, and his hamstrings tightened as he continued sprinting. Another field was on his right, a way out perhaps. He glanced up the hill and saw Felicity racing down after him.
Not two of them, goddamnit.
Getting to the heart of the town was key. Once there, he could hide and have a slim chance of survival.
Brett’s footsteps thundered the ground again, and Graham quickened his pace. A barbershop met him as he turned the next corner. If he could find a good building to hide inside, he might be able to wait it out.
Graham rushed through the front door and slammed it shut behind him. The glass cracked, the noise like bones breaking. Graham stalked to the back of the barbershop. All the doors were wide open, and he shut them one by one as he shuffled through.
He froze in the back room. Against the spare swivel chairs sat a dead body. Graham tore his gaze from the slack jaw and empty eyes. The stench of blood burrowed into his nostrils. He placed a hand over his nose and willed the scream back down his throat. After the last dead body he witnessed—the target in the mansion—Graham never wanted to see one again.
A bell’s jingle signalled the front door opening. Graham’s senses were piqued. Footsteps crunched across the floor, nearing the door he hid behind. Graham drew in a sharp breath. He gripped the hairdryer from the table and readied it in case Brett smashed through the door.
More footsteps, and shuffling in the other room. Graham’s arm locked with the hairs standing on end. Anticipation drummed through him. An exit was to his right. But he wanted to finish Brett. Right here, right now.
The door swung open.
A squeak across the floor.
Graham’s arm flew through the air. The hairdryer smacked into Brett’s forehead, sending him whirling back.
Brett’s skull smacked against the wall, and he clutched it with a hand. “You piece of shit,” Brett shouted.
But Graham was gone. He pulled open the exit door and hurried through. He slammed the door behind him, just as Brett’s fingers latched onto the handle.
“Get back here,” Brett shouted as Graham sprinted across the next road and turned. Felicity faced him, glaring as she edged forwards.
Graham crossed the road to his right and ducked into an alleyway, Felicity close on his tail. The town wasn’t large enough that Graham could run forever. Nor was his fitness. A place to hide had to present itself. Or Graham was dead like the body in the barbershop.
His breath waned as he forced air into his lungs. His tired legs pumped the pavement as he darted into another alleyway. The alleyway was covered by a small car, which Felicity jumped over as she neared Graham.
Arms in agony, Graham scaled another brick wall. On the other side sat a countless number of bins. He waded through the pile, the stench of trash clogging his nostrils, and emerged into a road.
“There,” someone shouted. Brett’s voice lacerated Graham as he dashed to the other end of the road.
“Grab him,” Felicity shouted.
But Graham had no intention of letting them.
He veered into another road and opened the door to a small bookstore. He ducked behind a shelf, heart racing, and waited.
Brett and Felicity stopped outside the bookstore. They glanced into the store, and Graham held his breath. But, after a moment’s thought, they passed by.
Graham looked back. Tons of shelves surrounded him, and he could hide behind them in case Brett and Felicity returned. Graham had no food or other supplies. But the bookstore was warm enough to camp for a day, maybe, until he needed more water to survive. If he stayed here, and then went back out once the coast was clear…
But what if they never stop searching for me?
“Hello,” a voice said.
Graham whirled around, nerves going haywire. A woman stood before him, one hand on her hip. She wore black clothing, and charcoal makeup all over her face. Even her lips were painted black.
“What are you doing here?” the woman said. “I didn’t know this was your bookstore.”
“Wh…who are you?” Graham stepped back, his back hitting the desk he hid behind. What if the woman was working for Brett and Felicity? Was she here to get him and take him back to the group that was tearing his soul away from him?
“That’s none of your business,” the woman said. “But you’re invading my bookstore. I want a reason.”
“I—the whole town’s empty. And you’re here selling books?”
“What’s it to you?”
Graham gulped. “Listen…I need to stay here for a while. Just for a day or two.”
“The other two are at the back of the store now,” the woman said, glancing beyond the shelves to a door at the far end. “I’m Tilly, by the way.”
Graham’s eyes widened. How could she be so calm as the world was disintegrating around her? How could she be selling books of all things as life descended into chaos across the country? Even her own town was empty, and she was still here, clinging onto the remains of an old life.
“Where are they?” Graham asked.
“They entered through the back door. Can you hear them? I’ll take you somewhere safe. But then, I’m gone.”
She opened the front door. The jingle no doubt made Brett and Felicity aware of where they were, but Graham didn’t care. Tilly knew what she was doing, and if that was the reason Graham got to safety, he would take it.
“Listen,” Tilly said as they crossed another road and headed through a narrow alley. “Just because I’m taking you here doesn’t mean I’m responsible, okay. I’m here to survive, and not babysit you all the time.”
“That’s not…” But Graham’s words died in his throat. Tilly rammed her shoulder into a door and managed to open it. They headed inside. It was the back of a butcher’s store, and the smell of pork—which Graham hated—filled the air. Chickens lay dead on the counter, and the rotten smell made Graham’s nose wrinkled.
“What the hell happened here?” Graham said, clawing his way through blurred eyes to the front entrance.
“I would’ve taken the meat to eat, but it’s all gone bad. Fridges aren’t working, you see.”
“You seem to know a lot,” Graham said, following her onto the street below.
“Yeah, you do when you’re on your own in the middle of nothing.” She turned back. “Why do you want to know so much about me? You’re running from those two, but that doesn’t mean I can trust you, does it?”
Graham raised his hands as she glared at him. “You can. I’m a good guy.”
“Really?” Tilly said, crossing her arms. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Listen, let’s just get out of here.”
Tilly huffed and jogged down another road. At the far end stood a tall building, which looked like either a block of flats or a hotel. She led Graham towards it and stepped through the front door. Which had a massive gaping hole in it from shattered glass.
Footsteps sounded behind Graham, and he hurried towards Tilly. They crept into the block of flats. A table blocked the stairs, but Graham jumped onto it and onto the next step.
“Why’s that there?” Graham asked.
“I put that there myself,” said Tilly. “Makes people think it’s been raided already.”
“You live here?”
“Have done for years.” Tilly grasped the railing and ran her finger along it. Strangely, She licked the dust off her skin. “This is my home. The place I love. Even if it does look like a mess.”
“So…where do I stay?” Graham asked.
“The whole thing’s empty, and no one locked their door on the way out. Take your pick. Just stay two floors below mine, at least.”
“And your floor is—”
“The top one, of course. Now, go away. We might see each other again, but don’t count on it. And don’t come knocking, or I’ll be the one knocking you out.”
“Thanks. Seriously.”
Tilly tipped an imaginary hat towards him, her black eyebrows wiggling. “No problem.”
Graham opened the door to a random flat and stepped inside. The dust wafted through his nose. He coughed from the stench, which smelled like someone had died. Closing the front door behind him, Graham crept to the kitchen.
The reason for the smell became apparent. No one had died, but the fridge did feature a lot of room-temperature chicken and beef. Graham looked for other signs of food. Cans of baked beans were in a drawer and he picked them out. Alongside them were stashes of water bottles. They were mostly empty, but a few still had liquid in them.
They might be dirty. Maybe even fatal. But the thirst gripping Graham was debilitating. He had to take the risk.
He crept towards the sitting room and slumped on the broken sofa. A creak went through the wood, but Graham settled himself into the corner. He opened the can of baked beans and gulped it down like liquid. Despite eating before with the group, the hunger gnawed at his stomach. It was never-ending, the same way as when he was homeless.
This is the life to live, isn’t it?
Graham looked at the TV which wouldn’t work, to the lights swinging on the ceiling. A few bangs shuddered the ceiling, raining dust onto Graham. No doubt the noise was Tilly trying to barricade her door from Graham. He wouldn’t ask her for help, though. She looked ten years younger than him, and his pride wouldn’t take another favour from her.
Graham ate the rest of the beans, and then took a swig of water. He found a bag on the kitchen table. A schoolbag, but a bag nonetheless. He threw a few more cans of beans and bottles of water inside, and zipped it up.
Then, he settled in the living room. A semblance of peace surrounded him, as if he hadn’t been running for his life minutes earlier. As if the world was normal, and this was his home.
He glanced down through the window.
Brett and Felicity marched through the streets.
Coming toward the block of flats.
As if they had seen him go inside, from so far below. If they came inside, Graham was trapped.
Damn.
Graham shouldered the bag and strapped it over his torso. His mind was wrought with worries, with thoughts of never being able to get out. With concerns over what torture Brett and Felicity would subject him to once they got hold of him.
A bang echoed through the stairwell. Brett and Felicity’s footsteps grew louder and more urgent. And they were coming to get him.
Graham was in a game of hide and seek. And if he was found, it would mean game over. For good this time.
24
Graham
Graham left the living room of the flat and crept to the front door. Voices floated through the silence and reached him. Brett and Felicity speaking in hushed whispers that echoed through the halls. They were coming for him. And he needed to leave, soon.
He inched the door open. The creak sounded through the stairwell, and the footsteps beneath him hammered up the stairs. He turned back.
What if I just hide inside?
But he couldn’t. Being in there would render him defenceless. He could grab a weapon and hide, which would work. Graham bit his lip and fiddled with the strap of his bag as he thought.
Graham shut the door and crept up the floor. Tilly was two floors above him, but there was no way he would put her in danger to save himself. Graham steeled the nerves twisting inside him and glanced down the centre of the stairs. Two figures, and he knew exactly who they were, looked back at him.
“There he is,” Brett shouted. Footsteps thundered the stairs, and Graham’s mind whirled.
Back inside. And hide.
He ran back into his flat and thumped the door behind him. The bang resounded through the block of flats, but maybe if Graham could grab a weapon to save himself. Thoughts of death, of ending it all, rushed through him. He’d wanted to kill himself a few days earlier, before Johnny had passed. Why hadn’t he just done it then, and saved all the pain he was going through now?
He ran to the kitchen and searched the drawers. Spatulas and spoon and forks spilt out. Graham shuffled through the stainless-steel cutlery before finding a knife at the back of a drawer. Long and sharp. He gripped his fingers around it.
Voices cut through the front door.
“I think he was on this floor,” Felicity said. Graham curled his fingers around the knife as fear spiked in his veins like a drug.
“Maybe a floor above,” Brett suggested.
“Let’s just search these houses first.”
Graham crossed to the other end of the kitchen and leaned against a tall chair. He let the knife sit on the table and clasped his hands together. He had to survive, to honour Johnny’s memory.
But what else did he have to live for?
Graham dried his hands by rubbing them on his jacket. The door swung open, and the creak rang ominously throughout the hall. He stood and gripped the knife once more. More footsteps attacked him as he leaned against the wall beside the closed kitchen door.
“I’m in,” Brett’s voice came from right next to Graham. Graham let a bead of sweat trickle down his face, before wiping it off with a swipe of his hand.
Brett instantly stopped.
He can’t have heard that, surely.
Brett shuffled in the hallway. His footsteps then receded to the front door.
Graham let out a sigh of relief. That Brett was finally gone. That Graham had reached freedom.
“Felicity, come in this one,” Brett said. “He’s in here somewhere. I’m positive.”
Terror wrenched Graham’s mind back to reality. He propped a shoulder against the wall and craned his head out. Brett’s back met him, and Graham flung his head back as Brett turned around. Footsteps sounded behind Graham, no doubt Felicity joining Brett in the flat.
“Look at the living room, there’s food on the floor. Cans. He’s been in here.” Brett stepped to Graham’s right. The creak of the living room floorboards stretched for hours in Graham’s head.
Graham grasped the knife harder, letting the hilt dig into the palm of his fist. Images of the target in the mansion flashed before him. To escape, he’d have to do the same to Brett and Felicity.
“Look at the ground,” Felicity said.
Graham glanced down, and realised what they were referring to. Despite being in the dark, clear footprints stained the floor. Graham’s footprints.
“He’s this way.”
Brett and Felicity neared Graham, their footsteps loudening. Graham steeled his arms and locked them out. One stab, that was all he had needed against the target. That was all he would need now against Felicity and Brett. Kill one of them, and let the other come to him for the second slaughter.
Brett stepped into the kitchen, and Graham’s arms flashed through the air.
The knife barely missed Brett’s face as he dodged backwards. Brett grabbed a hold of Graham’s arm and flung him at the kitchen counter. Graham’s head smacked into the marble surface, causing spots to line his eyes. Black patches twirled in his vision, and Graham’s eyes fluttered close, before they snapped open again.
A punch landed on his face, and then a kick to his stomach. Bile shot up Graham’s throat, and spilt from the corners of his mouth before he swallowed the rest in. His body lurched as a coughing fit took over him, the rest of the bile dripping to the floor along with threads of saliva.
