New sirens came, but they were different this time. Their high tones were soon dashed with gunfire, the sound of each shot rattling through my chest and sending my body into a shiver I thought would never stop.
Pushing myself deeper into the tight space, I tried not to think of the police with their guns, powerless to stop themselves being overwhelmed. But overwhelmed by what?
I tried not to replay the earlier scenes, but couldn’t stop the vision of my mother calling me to run as her blood dripped to the road. There had to be a rational cause.
Contaminated water. A chemical leak upstream of the river had somehow entered the taps. Mum would always say I didn’t drink enough. Perhaps it’s what saved my life. But what chemical could send someone, everyone, into a violent craze? It hadn’t been covered in the study for my exams.
A cloud of toxic dust, perhaps? I hadn’t been out in the open for a week, happy to play on the Xbox with the house empty of those at work.
Could either of those have sent my brother mad, filling him with such rage to become a psycho? But that wasn’t the Steve I knew coming around the corner with the same intent, the same hunger for violence clear in his narrowed eyes.
Perhaps they’d all drunk the water or breathed in the gas. What about Mum? Or me? How could I be the only one not affected?
Maybe I’d just seen what I’d wanted to. Maybe I’d been playing too many video games and this was what Mum meant when she said they were no good for me. Had I crossed out of the actual world and into some other? Perhaps locked away in a reality just in my head?
Opening my palm, I slapped myself on the cheek, but it barely stung. With a second shot, harder this time, I could only just hold back the yelp as the pain radiated across my cheek. I was awake. I couldn’t be surer.
The heat inside the cupboard had built and the walls seemed to close in. My elbow banged against something to the right, as if to emphasise my point. I couldn’t stay in there forever, but I had no idea what I would see the other side of the door, or what crazed lunatic would see me first.
And what would I do when I left the place?
I’d run. I’d head out of the village. I’d leave the newsagent, checking through the windows first. If the coast was clear I’d run left, out of the door, past the pub and leg it to the main road around two miles away. It would take half an hour if I could keep a good pace. After running across the fields, I’d flag someone down from the road and I could find the police and tell them everything. I’d tell them to prepare.
I tried not to think they’d already know. I tried not to think since arriving in Cowithick the dispatchers wouldn’t have heard from their officers. They’d send more help. They’d keep sending more people until they’d dealt with the mess. They’d send in the army if they had to.
Perhaps it was already okay. Perhaps I’d walk out to police officers searching for survivors. But why couldn’t I hear them calling out?
Pushing out my hand and wrapping my fingers around the cold handle, a vision of Steve’s arm jumped into my head. I remembered the way he’d held it when he came home, and in the morning too. But when we saw him outside, it was as if nothing had happened to it. He’d used both to hit and claw out at the guy on the ground.
Had he fallen at work or burnt himself on something caustic?
A dog barked in the distance. Perhaps something had bitten him? But what?
Whatever it was, I had to get away from this place. Light flooded in as I twisted the handle and pushed, peering past the shelves and out to the street, focusing on the police car with the driver’s door open and the blue lights strobing across the view.
4
Grabbing Snickers and other chocolates from the shelf as I passed, I stepped slowly through the aisles with the chill air from outside raising goosebumps on my arms. Not able to look away from the police car since I’d emerged, I realised the danger of staring and pulled myself from the trance to look left and right through the large window in search for who had driven the car.
There was no sign.
I looked further to the right and caught sight of a coat around the back of the chair at the till. I leaned over the counter, grabbing the black jacket. It smelt of old smoke. It smelt of Dan Spence and his thin, hand-rolled cigarettes. His short beard hairs scattered across the front, but it was warmer than my thin top and gave me a place to stash more chocolate and crisps.
Peering past the door, I looked to the left. Searching along the curve of the street, it was empty of people, either normal looking or deranged. Some driveways still had cars. Was that normal? It had been a few years since I’d been out this early in the holidays.
Front doors stood open. Every other one, at least. But there were no people around. No one rushing to my aid or calling out that everything had turned out okay.
To the right was much the same, although the curve was shallower. That way was the route to our house and somewhere I knew I’d regret going.
I didn’t know where I should head, but I knew I had to get away and find help.
Stepping back from leaning out, I
