Meadowside (7 page)

Helen tried to direct them to the far exit, but struggled to make herself heard over their screams. She knew she had to regain order, for their own safety as well as hers, but they were way beyond listening to reason. She found herself swept up by them, herded between market stalls that led nowhere, then back the way they had come when they reached a dead end. Eventually, either through luck or common sense on the part of the leaders, they found the exit and Helen was carried with them back into the shopping centre.

She looked around, gaping in shock at the dead bodies littering the concourse. While the panicked shoppers scattered, she took out her phone and dialled the emergency services, then stared at the screen in disbelief when she heard an engaged tone. She hung up and called her local police station. That too was engaged. She tried both numbers several times, but always got the same engaged tone. In desperation, and going against all protocol, she dialled her commanding officer’s direct line.

“Come on, come on,” she said as she listened to the dial tone. It rang out to voicemail. Helen swore. “Ma’am, it’s WPC Helen Scott. I’ve tried ringing the station but it’s engaged and I can’t get through. I’m in Meadowside, and there’s some sort of riot in progress. There are multiple fatalities, and I need urgent backup as well as medical assistance. I’m going to liaise with the security staff here, but you can reach me on this number for updates.”

Helen put the phone away and looked up. Pale faces stared down at her from the balcony above. “Where’s the security office?” she shouted. Nobody replied. “Does anyone know where the security office is?” Helen repeated.

A man raised his hand and pointed diagonally through the shopping centre. He pointed straight, not down. Helen took that to mean the security office was on the upper floor. She thanked the man and headed for a nearby escalator, planning what she would do once she got there.

8

“For fuck’s sake,” Mike shouted, banging his fist against the metal shutters covering the entrance to the chemist. Someone inside the shop screamed. Mike bent down to the letterbox slit and peered through it. “Open up, it’s an emergency,” he shouted.

“Go away, leave me alone,” a woman shouted back.

Mike straightened up and punched and kicked the shutters, making them rattle and shake in their frame. “Open this fucking door, right now!”

“Let me try,” Tom said. Mike punched the shutter again and stood to one side. Tom took his place and bent down to the letterbox. “Look, missus, our friend is sick. She’s been bitten, and now she’s unconscious and she’s gone a funny colour. We just need something to help her, that’s all, then we’ll be on our way.”

“How do I know you’re not one of them?” the woman yelled.

“We’re not, come and see for yourself.”

“No, you’re just trying to trick me. I’ve called the police, so you’d better get out of here or you’ll be in trouble.”

Tom sighed. “Look, we just need something for our friend, and then we’ll be on our way. You can look through the letterbox if you want, you don’t need to open the door. Please. I think she might be dying, you need to help us.”

An ice cold shiver ran down Kylie’s spine. She glanced quickly at Britney, then looked back at Tom. Was he right? She knew Britney was in a bad way, but could she be dying, like Tom said? She gulped down a lump in her throat. Inside the chemist, she heard the sound of hesitant footsteps walking toward the door.

“No, it’s just a trick,” the woman said, and the footsteps quickly receded. A door slammed somewhere inside the chemist.

“You fucking bitch,” Tom yelled, and punched the shutters. When he turned to Kylie she saw he was crying. “Kylie, I’m–” His eyes widened, staring at something behind her. Kylie spun around and gasped.

A man lumbered toward them, his lips curled back to show blood-stained teeth.

Mike grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it at a run across to the opposite side of the shopping concourse. The man stopped and turned to watch. He took a step toward Mike, then changed his mind and spun back to face Tom and Kylie. He snarled and staggered toward them with his hands outstretched.

“Come on,” Tom shouted. He took Kylie by the hand and dragged her along, making a wide berth around the man. The man tried to grab them as they passed, but was left grasping at empty air. Kylie heard him hiss in anger as they ran away. Mike ran past on the opposite side, pushing the wheelchair ahead of him, and veered toward Kylie and Tom once he had skirted around the man. They rounded a corner into another concourse, and slowed to a stunned walk when they saw what lay there.

Bodies littered the floor. One man lay on his back with his arms flayed out by his sides. His exposed ribcage glistened red, his internal organs strewn around him. Another had no eyes, and Kylie could see his jawbone showing through a large hole in his cheek.

A young girl, not much older than Kylie, gave out a faint moan as they passed. She clutched a ragged, gaping wound in her chest and looked up at them, pleadingly. Her intestines curled around her fingers as they tried to squeeze their way out of her body. Her face was pale, deathly white, her lips an odd bluish colour. Kylie knew there was nothing they could do for her, and hoped the girl wouldn’t suffer too much before she died.

Mothercare’s shop-front window was smashed, and muffled screams of agony came from somewhere inside. Kylie didn’t want to think about what might be happening in there. Dozens of crazies milled around inside the shop, knocking things over and fighting amongst themselves. A man locked eyes with Kylie and stumbled toward the broken window with a snarl. The others turned to see what had drawn his attention, then they hissed as one and followed him out of the shop.

Kylie didn’t need to wait for Tom to tell her to run. She ran blindly, screaming, desperate to get away from the things she knew would be in hot pursuit. Tom called after her, told her to wait, but she didn’t dare stop. She ran on, her heart hammering in her chest like it was trying to burst out.

“Kylie, wait,” Tom shouted again.

Kylie blinked back her tears and shook her head. She skidded to a halt when her mind registered dozens of crazies crowded around the base of the escalator she was running straight for. Terrified shoppers looked down from above. Someone screamed when one of the crazies stepped onto the escalator. The crazy’s arms flailed wildly as he lost his balance and fell forward on his face. Others climbed over him and lashed out at each other over the confined entrance to the escalator. Another stumbled onto the escalator and fell. Then another. They tumbled around together, the escalator’s downward motion rolling them over and over.

Kylie felt Tom tugging on her arm and allowed him to pull her away. She sobbed, knowing it was all pointless anyway. They were never going to get away, so they might as well just give in now and get it all over with. Her mother was dead, Britney was probably dying too. The only other person Kylie cared about was Tom, and he was stuck in the same nightmare as her, so why bother going on? Sooner or later the crazies would get them, so why fight it?

Tom pulled her toward a large department store. Kylie pulled back when she saw blood splashes on its windows, a mangled corpse near the doors. Why would they be any better off in there? She struggled in Tom’s grip, desperate to get away, but he held her tight.

“We need to get upstairs,” Tom said.

“What?” Kylie stopped struggling and looked into Tom’s eyes. “What for?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any of them up there yet, otherwise people wouldn’t be just staring down at them like that. You saw what they were like on the escalator, I don’t think they can work out how to get up there.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Kylie was close to tears again. She wanted Tom to reach out for her, to hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be okay. But Tom just shrugged and looked away.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Probably escaped from a fucking nut-house or something,” Mike said.

“What, all these?” Tom said, incredulously. “There’s fucking hundreds of them.”

“Yeah well, I don’t fucking know do I? I doubt anyone does. All I know is we’re well and truly fucked.”

“You’re not fucking helping with talk like that,” Tom said, shaking his head. “We just need to get upstairs, then we’ll be okay. The coppers will be here to sort it out soon, you’ll see.”

Mike laughed humourlessly, but didn’t say anything else. Tom bundled Kylie through the doors and held them open while Mike pushed Britney through. The department store was in disarray, with scattered garments littering the floor, along with tipped over mannequins wearing the latest fashions. But other than the body near the exit, which Kylie didn’t want to look at, there were no people. The shop was deserted, as if there had been a bomb scare and the place had been evacuated. Or everyone had simply vanished.

Tom closed the doors and pulled a belt from one of the mannequins, then tied it around the doors’ handles to fasten them together. He pulled one of the handles to test its strength, then nodded to Mike.

“Should be okay. Come on, this way,” he said, and led them to a lift in the centre of the department store. He pressed the lift’s call button, looking around anxiously.

Kylie knew how he felt. Her skin prickled with unease. The shop was too quiet, as if all the crazies were hiding somewhere and watching, waiting for their chance to leap out and pounce. The lift door pinged, making her jump, and slid open with a faint whir.

“Ground floor,” a woman’s disembodied voice said from the lift, “Ladies’ and gentlemen’s clothing and accessories.” Mike pushed Britney inside and pressed the first floor button as soon as Tom and Kylie joined him. “Lift going up,” the voice said as the door closed.

“First floor, death and destruction,” Mike said.

Tom wheeled on him. “For fuck’s sake Mike, pack it in! I mean it this time.”

The lift door opened. “First floor, fancy goods, kitchenware and electricals.”

Tom stepped out cautiously while Mike held the lift door to stop it closing. Tom looked around, then beckoned for the others to join him. Kylie squeezed past the wheelchair and hurried to his side. The upper level of the shop seemed normal. No dead bodies, no pools of blood, no disarray. Just neat rows of boxes on shelves, and a stack of televisions in the far corner all playing the same music video with the sound turned down low.

Tom walked over to the televisions and crouched down in front of one. He flipped open a panel at the side and changed the channel to BBC News. The screen changed to show shaky aerial footage of a large group of crazies laying siege to a town centre, above a banner reading LATEST: RIOTS BREAK OUT IN MAJOR YORKSHIRE CITIES, PM TO MAKE A STATEMENT SHORTLY. Tom turned up the volume. A news reporter shouted to be heard over the constant whir of helicopter blades accompanying the scene.

“… which is thought to be instigated by an anarchist group refused permission to carry out anti-austerity demonstrations in the area recently. Copycat riots have now spread to other major cities in Yorkshire. We’re looking at large scale looting in progress in Shefferham town centre, with the police seemingly unable or unwilling to contain it. We can see roadblocks on the outskirts of town, but as of yet no riot police have been deployed. There seem to be casualties, we can see several people lying injured, but as of yet there are no ambulance crews in sight.”

The video cut to the news room studio, with the scenes from Shefferham town centre continuing in silence on a screen to one side of the newsreader. “Tom Staples reporting live from the scene there,” the man said. “We’ll keep you updated on new developments as they happen, but right now we’re going to Downing Street, where we’re expecting a statement from the Prime Minister shortly.”

The image switched to a view of Number 10’s doorway, where two policemen brandishing semi-automatic rifles stood guard and glared at the camera. After a short pause, the door opened and the Prime Minister walked out to a strobe of camera flashes and a barrage of shouted questions from gathered news reporters. Several microphones were thrust at his face. He held up a hand and smiled, waiting for silence.

“We have all seen the sickening images relayed from Yorkshire today. There is no excuse for violent protests of this kind, and there will be no hiding place for those responsible. These anarchists will be apprehended, and they will feel the full weight of the law.”

“Prime Minister,” someone off-camera shouted, “can you comment on the report that South Yorkshire Police are not responding to calls for information?”

The Prime Minister raised a hand. “I would urge all law-abiding citizens to remain in their homes for their own safety until order is reinstated. Social media has been disabled until further notice under emergency regulations brought in by the last government, and IT specialists are searching Twitter and Facebook for the instigators of the copycat disturbances as we speak. I will be looking into whether charges of treason can be brought against those responsible, which carries a mandatory life sentence.”

“Prime Minister, what is your response to The Opposition’s claim that you have turned your back on the people of Yorkshire once too often, and that you yourself are responsible for these disturbances?”

“Parliament has been recalled from recess, and I will be tabling measures to declare a state of emergency in The Commons later today. It is the right thing to do, and my government will ensure it is done as quickly as possible. That is all, thank you.”