Chase, page 1
CAFFEINE NIGHTS PUBLISHING
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chase
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEDICATION
PART ONE
THE CHILD | COLORADO, USA
ONE
TWO
THE GATHERING | COLORADO, USA
FOUR
THE HOUSE | COLORADO, USA
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
THE CHURCH | COLORADO, USA
EIGHT
THE INFECTION | COLORADO, USA
NINE
THE CAPTIVE | COLORADO, USA
TEN
ELEVEN
THE THEORY | COLORADO, USA
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
THE PRIEST | COLORADO, USA
FOURTEEN
ANOTHER SACRIFICE | COLORADO, USA
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEEN
THE CONVERSATION | COLORADO, USA
EIGHTEEN
THE CONFESSION | COLORADO, USA
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
THE AFTERMATH
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
THE MEETING | COLORADO, USA
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
PART TWO
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THE OFFERING
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THE RECKONING
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
THE PURSUERS
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
SIXTY-FIVE
SIXTY-SIX
SIXTY-SEVEN
SIXTY-EIGHT
SIXTY-NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY-ONE
SEVENTY-TWO
SEVENTY-THREE
SEVENTY-FOUR
THE HOUSE
SEVENTY-FIVE
SEVENTY-SIX
SEVENTY-SEVEN
SEVENTY-EIGHT
SEVENTY-NINE
EIGHTY
EIGHTY-ONE
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Also By Shaun Hutson
SHAUN HUTSON
CHASE
Fiction to die for...
Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing 2017
Copyright © Shaun Hutson 2017
Shaun Hutson has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work
CONDITIONS OF SALE
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher
This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental
Published in Great Britain by
Caffeine Nights Publishing
4 Eton Close
Walderslade
Chatham
Kent
ME5 9AT
www.caffeinenights.com
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-1-910720-80-6
Cover design by
Michael Knight
Massillusion.co.uk
Everything else by
Default, Luck and Accident
Also by Shaun Hutson:
ASSASSIN
BODY COUNT
BREEDING GROUND
CAPTIVES
COMPULSION
DEADHEAD
DEATHDAY
DYING WORDS
EPITAPH
EREBUS
EXIT WOUNDS
HEATHEN
HELL TO PAY
HYBRID
KNIFE EDGE
LAST RITES
LUCY'S CHILD
MONOLITH
NECESSARY EVIL
NEMESIS
PURITY
RELICS
RENEGADES
SHADOWS
SLUGS
SPAWN
STOLEN ANGELS
THE SKULL
TWISTED SOULS
UNMARKED GRAVES
VICTIMS
WARHOL'S PROPHECY
WHITE GHOST
Hammer Novelizations
TWINS OF EVIL
X THE UNKNOWN
THE REVENGE OF FRANKENSTEIN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEDICATION
PART ONE
THE CHILD
COLORADO, USA
ONE
TWO
THE GATHERING
COLORADO, USA
FOUR
THE HOUSE
COLORADO, USA
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
THE CHURCH
COLORADO, USA
EIGHT
THE INFECTION
COLORADO, USA
NINE
THE CAPTIVE
COLORADO, USA
TEN
ELEVEN
THE THEORY
COLORADO, USA
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
THE PRIEST
COLORADO, USA
FOURTEEN
ANOTHER SACRIFICE
COLORADO, USA
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEEN
THE CONVERSATION
COLORADO, USA
EIGHTEEN
THE CONFESSION
COLORADO, USA
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
THE AFTERMATH
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
THE MEETING
COLORADO, USA
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
PART TWO
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THE OFFERING
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THE RECKONING
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
THE PURSUERS
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
SIXTY-FIVE
SIXTY-SIX
SIXTY-SEVEN
SIXTY-EIGHT
SIXTY-NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY-ONE
SEVENTY-TWO
SEVENTY-THREE
SEVENTY-FOUR
THE HOUSE
SEVENTY-FIVE
SEVENTY-SIX
SEVENTY-SEVEN
SEVENTY-EIGHT
SEVENTY-NINE
EIGHTY
EIGHTY-ONE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks always seems too inadequate a word for some of the people who help, support or just have faith in me while I'm writing a book but, until someone comes up with a better word, that will have to suffice for the following individuals.
I'd like to thank my publisher, Mr Darren Laws for all his support and faith. Thanks, mate. Also, a huge thanks to everyone at Caffeine Nights. A special thank you to Michael Knight.
Many thanks to my agent, Meg Davies.
I'd also like to thank Jonathan Sothcott (whose knowledge of obscure horror films is breathtaking) and Damien Morley. Matt Shaw, Emma Dark, Graeme Sayer, Jo Roberts, Claire and anyone else I've forgotten.
I would also like to thank Cineworld Milton Keynes (where I seem to spend most of my spare time), particularly Elizabeth, Sonya, Alun, Phillip, James, Phil, Jake, Daniel, Ben, Alex, Charlotte, Nathan and anyone else I've forgotten or who's left by now.
And big thanks too for The Broadway Cinema in Letchworth.
My thanks to Gary Farrow as well (despite his taste in football teams).
My Mum and my daughter deserve far more than just a thank you but, for now, it'll have to do. They know I mean so much more.
And, as ever, a massive thanks to you lot. My readers. The most loyal, the most critical and the most valued.
Let's go.
Shaun Hutson.
DEDICATION
Everything I do and everything I write is for my daughter, Kelly.
This is no exception.
As always, it comes with all my love.
Even though I tell you, you'll never know how much you mean to me.
Chase
SHAUN HUTSON
‘There falls no shadow where there shines no sun.’
Hilaire Belloc
PART ONE
‘The Hawk swoops down on its prey. So does the Indian.’
Black Elk – Oglala Sioux Indian Chief (1863 - 1950)
THE CHILD
COLORADO, USA
The child had stopped crying half an hour earlier.
It had screamed, kicked and thrashed when he’d first taken it and in between mumbled entreaties to release it, it had cried almost incessantly. But now it was still and quiet as if all the fight had left it and all the tears had simply been used up.
They didn’t all scream and cry and fight back. Some seemed to accept their fate almost noiselessly while others struggled.
This one had struggled.
He was barely eight. Dressed in a pair of jeans, holed at the knees, a grey t-shirt and a pair of trainers that had seen better days. The T-shirt was soaked with sweat and one of the trainers had been torn as the boy had been dragged into the back of the van.
Now he sat silently, bound at the wrists with heavy rope that had cut into the flesh in places. His feet were bound too but now he just sat motionless, looking around, stretching his jaw to try and relieve the discomfort of the thick tape that had been dragged across his mouth to prevent him shouting. His cheeks were damp with tears and he looked around the room he was being held in with wide, fear filled eyes.
He had no idea where he was and no idea why he was there, and on both counts he was lucky, for had he realized the reason for his presence in this place then he would probably have started screaming and crying again.
He sniffed and continued to look around, both afraid and also puzzled by the bleakness of the room he found himself in.
The walls were bare brilliant white plaster. They were so white they were practically luminescent. There wasn’t a mark on any of them and the boy wondered if someone came in every day and re-painted them such was their perfectly pristine nature.
And covering these walls was transparent plastic that reminded him of the kind of food wrap his mother used to place around his sandwiches before she placed them in his lunch box on a school day.
The thought of his mother made the boy whimper again.
What he wouldn’t give to be with his mother now. What he wouldn’t give to be with anyone now as long as he was free of this white room and the ropes that held him prisoner.
She would come looking for him. His mother would come. So would his father and they would find him. He was sure of that.
He sniffed back more tears and shuffled uncomfortably on the bare wooden floor.
There was a single door to his left, but even that was covered by the same transparent plastic that hung on the walls like a second skin.
The boy pushed himself back against the wall and managed to straighten up. He felt uncomfortable. There was a horrible dampness around his groin where he’d wet himself earlier, the fear of being snatched having overcome him at that time. He felt uncomfortable but he felt ashamed too. Boys of his age weren’t supposed to wet themselves.
He looked down at the wet patch on his jeans and felt like crying once again.
Off to his left he heard movement and the door swung back on its hinges, causing the plastic sheeting to billow.
A man entered the room.
He was carrying a small holdall and the boy looked at him, shuffling backwards against the wall as though he was attempting to melt into the plaster itself.
He could feel the terror rising swiftly inside him once more.
The man unzipped the holdall he was carrying and dug his hand swiftly inside.
When the boy saw what he’d taken from within it, he began to shake uncontrollably.
ONE
David Carson closed the lid of the laptop and looked across at his wife.
‘Done,’ he said, smiling.
Amy Carson hit the mute button on the TV remote, jammed a piece of folded paper into the book she’d been reading and moved closer to him on the sofa. She leant over to kiss his cheek.
‘Thanks,’ David said, turning his face to kiss her on the lips. ‘I deserved that.’ He pulled her more tightly to him.
‘Is everything ok?’ Amy enquired.
‘I was just finalizing us picking up the RV with the company in the States.’
‘Ooh, the RV, get you,’ she said, prodding him with one index finger.
‘What do you want me to call it? A bloody camper van? It’s a bit more than that.’
‘A mobile caravan?’ She giggled.
David looked at her with mock disdain.
‘It’s a lot more than that, I can give you the exact specifications if you like,’ he said, trying to look stern but failing miserably.
‘No, don’t do that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t care how many bloody horsepower the engine is and all that shite.’
David smiled.
‘I just hope we’ll be able to manage driving on the other side of the road,’ Amy went on. ‘I mean over here if someone cuts you up the worst that happens is that they shout at you or stick two fingers up but they’ve all got guns in the States haven’t they?’
‘Well, I wasn’t planning on forcing anyone to pull a gun on me,’ David said. ‘And not everyone carries guns you know. We’re not going to a shooting range for our holidays. You’ve been watching too many films. And the easiest way to avoid accidents once we’re there is for me to drive.’
Amy jabbed him with her index finger again.
‘Cheeky,’ she said. ‘I’ll go on my own if you cast any more aspersions on my driving.’
‘I wasn’t casting aspersions I was just saying it might be easier for me to do the driving. You and Daisy can take pictures or play eye spy or something.’ He laughed.
‘I don’t think we’re going to have to resort to playing eye spy,’ Amy chuckled. ‘Daisy can’t wait. She talks about it every day. “When are we going Mum?” “How long do we have to fly for?” “Are we going to see any cowboys?”
‘We might see some cowboys,’ David mused. ‘If I take a wrong turning and drive through Texas by mistake.’
Amy moved closer to her husband, one hand resting on his thigh.
‘We need this holiday,’ she said, quietly.
‘Tell me about it,’ David smiled.
‘It’s taken long enough to save up for it.’
‘Well, things haven’t been easy have they?’
David opened his mouth to say something then contented himself with just a shake of the head. He didn’t particularly want to discuss what had made their lives less than idyllic during the past two or three years.
Some things were best left unsaid. Like any married couple in their early thirties they’d had problems to solve (some of which they’d managed and some they hadn’t) and obstacles to overcome both professionally and privately but all they wanted to do now was look forward. It had, David told himself, been too long since they were in a position to do that.
The thought of spending two weeks driving across America in an RV with just his wife and his seven-year-old daughter was the only thing he wanted to think about at this particular moment in time.
Until he heard the thud from the floor above.
TWO
David sighed and hauled himself to his feet.
‘Do you want me to go?’ Amy asked.
‘Finish your book,’ he said. ‘She’s probably dreaming. I’ll see to her.’
Amy nodded, glancing at her husband as he made his way from the room and out into the hall. Seconds later she heard his footfall on the stairs as he ascended.
Amy flipped open her book again, her gaze flickering over the words but as she glanced at the page nothing seemed to be registering. She turned back a couple of pages and realized that she’d have to re-read some of the book. Her mind hadn’t been on it from the time she’d started earlier that evening. She put the paperback down and turned her attention back to the TV, flicking channels.
