It was as Chloe's arms raised and her mouth let go I acted.
With Lily's head falling to the red-soaked blankets and clamping anew on Toby's hand to his screams of terror, I knew I had to do something.
My hand ached. My knuckles were white with effort as I gripped the gun, pulling it loose from my pocket.
I pushed the weapon out, screaming for Toby to move the fuck away.
He looked toward me, his face in a deep, contorted shape and he winced before, with the help of Matt at his back, he managed to pull his arm away.
With teeth rending flesh, he was free and falling backwards on top of Matt as they tripped over each other to the tarmac.
I took a hard swallow and levelled the gun. As I did, the woman, the friend who could no longer be called Chloe, stood as if alive.
There she was with no awkwardness, bringing a flash of doubt into my mind. The flash passed and I pulled the trigger before the empty click reminded me I hadn’t pushed the bullet back in.
Stepping away with my view fixed on her blood-dripping face, she walked forward. Her eyes were open and milky white, fixed in an expression of interest sparking electricity up my spine.
I stepped back again, my pace much slower than hers, but I had the lead and my left hand had found the bullet as my right fumbled for how the hell to release the magazine.
She was closing too quickly.
I found the release and the magazine clattered to the floor, the sound deadened by asthmatic breath rasping from the thing's lungs.
I launched the gun, which struck its head, but despite the jolt it continued forward. With breath like a mortuary with a faulty AC, it was soon close enough to touch and I watched her fingers clawing out.
The bandage had fallen from her arm and I saw the deep bite marks were dry, her hands cold and waxy as they gripped around my throat.
I stumbled. Wheeling backwards, my senses overloaded with an explosion of red light.
18
Vision blanched red. My ears rang. I lay rasping for rancid breath as if a great weight clung to my chest, the last few moments erased from memory.
Nausea raced up from my stomach. Nerves rattled as if all lit in the same moment, my body invaded by an alien sense.
Reality flashed back and realisation took hold. I was back in the moment.
Despair sank into my bones until, without warning, the suffocating mass released.
My first thought was death, but my nerves seemed to calm and the nausea lifted. A peace surrounded me until I felt hands rushing over my shoulders and fingers tracing around my neck, forcing the turn of my head either side.
The bright red abated. Blinking as hands gripped the straps of my rucksack and words pushed through the bells in my ears, a shadow moved across my field of vision.
Before I could concentrate on the sounds, I was on my feet. They were his arms, Andrew’s, wrapped around me. Pulling me close.
“You're okay,” he repeated.
I wasn't sure if the words were just for my benefit.
Releasing his clutch he still held my arm, his fingers gripping my shoulder, the other on my hand.
We walked, his pace pulling me to a slow trot. By now the darkness had replaced the blinding red and I saw shapes on the horizon, blurred and unmoving, but they were shapes nonetheless. The cold took hold again. I could feel my face cooling.
About to turn and ask what the hell had happened, he dragged me to the side of the road, manhandling me through a hedgerow. My face scraped against thorns, his hand to my mouth as we came to rest.
All I heard was our fast breath and drawing down his hand I nodded, keeping my voice quiet.
As my lungs slowed I tried to tune out the constant tone and listened to the nothing in the air, the stench still hanging in my nostrils.
We waited. Listening to the rattle of the leaves with each gentle breeze. Listening for what I feared.
Spying out between the thick growth, all I could see were the stars more vibrant than I could have ever thought.
How much time past before I spoke wasn't clear, but it was long enough to know we were safer than we had been moments ago.
“What happened?” I asked, hoping he heard my voice. I could barely hear myself.
“What do you remember?” he replied, his words just as quiet, taking all my concentration to hear.
“Chloe,” I said with a pause, as I convinced myself I'd heard something I hadn't before. “Coming for me.” I watched as Andrew's silhouette gave a shallow nod. “The gun was empty.”
“I shot her with a firework,” he said and paused. “I thought you were toast,” he added, leaning in with a tight grip to my arm.
“You got the locker open?” I asked, remembering back to the store.
His weak silhouette nodded.
“What are we hiding from?” I said. “Toby?” I added, as his arm in her grip jumped into my head.
“No,” Andrew replied. “There were more of them.”
I let my breath settle and new fear spiked the blood in my veins, my hand diving for my pocket and finding the stiff cold of the bullet.
“The gun?” I said.
Andrew reached somewhere I couldn't see and rested the cold metal in my hands, the magazine home in the base.
I squeezed his hand in reply and closed my eyes and tried to envision films and cop programmes. Soon my fingers found the release once again.
By touch alone, pausing my breath with each loud click, I fed the lonely bullet into
