Meadowside (6 page)

Dan recoiled at the youth’s slimy touch. He pushed himself upright with a grunt and swung his walking stick up between the youth’s legs. The youth didn’t seem to feel any pain, he just stood there hissing. Dan thrust his hand out palm-first and drove it into the youth’s nose. The youth stumbled back with the impact, blood pouring down his face, but again he didn’t seem to react to the pain.

More people ran by. Dan watched them with disgust as he staggered back a few steps, pain shooting through his leg each time he put any weight on it.

“You fucking cowards,” Dan shouted after them.

The youth shuffled toward him again, fingers grasping. Dan glanced at the old woman. One of the youths crouched over her had his head buried in her chest, making loud slurping sounds. The other still glared at Dan with wide, staring, bloodshot eyes. He pushed himself upright and staggered toward Dan, his arms swinging like an ape.

“Come on then, you fucking cunts,” Dan growled.

He held his walking stick out before him in both hands and looked from one to the other of the two youths approaching him. As they got closer he jabbed at them with the rubber end of his walking stick. The youths hissed and snarled in response, and circled him with their arms outstretched. Dan raised the walking stick over his shoulder and thrust it into the first youth’s gaping mouth with all his weight behind it. He pulled it out with a wet smack, along with the youth’s front teeth, and swung it at the side of the second youth’s head when he lunged closer. It landed with a loud crack that sent the youth stumbling to one side.

The first youth let out a gurgling roar and pounced at Dan. Bloody fingers curled around Dan’s Harrington jacket and pulled him closer. The youth opened his mouth wide and bore down on him like a vampire about to bite. Dan thrust the walking stick’s hard resin bulldog handle back into the youth’s mouth, then pushed it down his throat. The youth’s already wide eyes bulged even further as he gurgled and choked. His arms flailed, trying to scratch at Dan’s face, then he grabbed the walking stick and tried to wrestle it away from him. Dan continued pushing as the youth’s bloody fingers slipped along the wooden shaft.

The second youth grabbed Dan’s throat from behind and dug his fingernails into his skin. Dan cried out and gave a final push on the walking stick that sent the first youth toppling onto his back. The bulldog handle was slick with blood when it wrenched free. Dan swung the walking stick up over his shoulder to strike the youth behind him. It took several blows before the youth’s grip loosened enough to allow Dan to tear himself free and turn toward his attacker. He swung the walking stick’s handle into the youth’s skull and watched him spin as he toppled to the ground.

Almost immediately the youth rolled over and started to push himself upright. Dan hobbled over to him, using his walking stick for support, wincing at the pain in his leg. The youth was on his hands and knees, looking up at Dan and hissing in anger. Dan slid his hands down the walking stick and raised it like a club.

“Fucking cunt,” he shouted, and smashed the bulldog handle down into the youth’s skull. “Fucking cunt, fucking cunt, fucking cunt,” he yelled again and again as he continued beating the youth until his hands buckled from beneath him. In his blind rage Dan didn’t care what damage he did, and struck the youth a few more times before he came to a panting rest.

He lowered his walking stick and leaned on it, his heart racing. He felt his chest constricting from the exertion, the pain intense. He gritted his teeth and held his breath while he reached into the pocket of his Harrington jacket. With shaking hands he pulled out his Nitrolingual pump and sprayed a couple of puffs onto his tongue, then tried to relax his muscles and took deep breaths while he waited for the drug to take affect.

With the worst of the attack over, Dan turned to where the old woman lay. The third youth was still crouched over her, tearing through bony flesh with his teeth and hands like a wild animal. Dan limped toward him and raised his walking stick. The youth continued his grisly meal, seemingly unaware of Dan’s presence. Dan slashed the walking stick down at the back of the youth’s head, slamming his face into the woman’s chest.

The youth pushed himself up. His head snapped to face Dan. Lumps of bloody flesh dropped from his mouth when he bared his teeth and snarled. Dan looked down at the eviscerated remains of the old woman. His face paled at what he saw.

“You fucking evil cunt!” he roared, and raised the walking stick.

The youth reared up, hissing. Dan struck him between the eyes with the bulldog handle and knocked him onto his back. He hobbled over and rammed the handle repeatedly into the youth’s face. Teeth crunched and were forced down the youth’s throat. Lips were pulverised, his jawbone broken, his nose shattered. Evil red eyes glared up at Dan the whole time. Hands grasped at the walking stick, but were too feeble to hold back the blows. Dan smashed the youth’s face into a bloody pulp, and continued striking him long after the hands fell away and the youth lost consciousness.

Dan leaned on his bloody walking stick and panted. He squirted another puff of Nitrolingual onto his tongue and looked around. People were still running by, none of them taking any notice of what Dan had been doing. He stepped in front of one to bar their way.

“What the fuck’s going on?” he asked.

The man skidded to a halt and skirted around Dan without replying. He looked terrified, as did all the others who followed him. Dan looked to where they were running from. He saw a large crowd in the distance, lumbering toward him with a stumbling gait, as if they had trouble walking.

Dan stood watching them carefully as they approached. As they got closer he could hear the low murmur of their moans and snarls, could see the blood dripping from their hands and faces.

With a final glance at the old woman’s corpse, Dan took off his Harrington jacket and laid it over her face. He turned and limped away, squirting more Nitrolingual onto his tongue.

7

Special Constable Helen Scott was enjoying her day off browsing in The Lanes, a market-style area on the ground floor of Meadowside set aside for small and local businesses to sell their wares, when she heard the shrill, piercing scream. It came from her left, near one of the entrances to The Lanes. She put down the hand-crafted wooden elephant she had been inspecting, and looked to see what was happening. Nearby shoppers had also stopped to see what the commotion was about, and she had to step around them to see clearly.

A bearded, long-haired, scruffily-dressed man in his mid-forties had a hand around the throat of a young girl from behind, choking her. The girl’s eyes bulged in their sockets. Her mouth gaped open as she struggled for breath. The man lifted her a few feet from the ground and seemed to sniff the back of her head. The girl’s legs kicked out wildly before her. Her hands flew to her neck and pawed at the fingers grasped around it.

Helen didn’t hesitate. “Out of the way, I’m a police officer!” she shouted, barging through the crowd that had gathered to watch.

Despite being only a part time volunteer with the police force – what the regular officers cynically referred to as a hobby bobby – Helen couldn’t stand by and do nothing while a child’s life was at stake, no matter what her training said the protocol was. She was supposed to call for backup in any cases of violent disorder, and then let the specialists take over. But if she did that, the girl would be dead long before any help arrived.

A youth in a hooded top was filming the attack with his phone, and Helen had to push him out of the way. He swore at her and resumed filming. Helen would deal with him later, and confiscate his phone for use as evidence.

“Put her down, right now! You’re under arrest!”

The bearded man bared his teeth and growled like a dog. He stared at Helen with wide, piercing bloodshot eyes and stepped toward her, still holding the girl before him in one hand like a grotesque, struggling puppet. Someone behind him, a woman from one of the nearby stalls Helen had been browsing earlier, grabbed the man’s hair and yanked his head back. The man stumbled back a few steps, the young girl’s body swinging in the air as he flailed his arms, before he righted himself and pulled back. He made an odd hissing sound through his teeth, like a vampire in an old movie.

Helen didn’t know what to make of it. The man was either deranged, or high on drugs. Maybe both. Either way, he was a threat not just to the young girl, but to everyone around him. While he was busy struggling against the woman from the market stall, Helen saw her chance and rushed forward. She seized the man’s wrist and dug her fingernails into it while she supported the girl’s weight with her other arm. Helen twisted and pulled, trying to get the man to release his grip around the girl’s neck. The girl’s face was turning blue, her tongue lolling from her mouth. Helen knew she didn’t have much time left to save her.

The man’s hair ripped from his scalp. The woman from the market stall cried out and fell back, still clutching a tuft of hair in her fist. The man surged forward into Helen and knocked her off her feet. She struggled back up, using her grip on the man’s wrist as a crutch, and jabbed him in the adam’s apple with her fingers. The man lashed out at Helen, his fingers held like claws, and batted her away. Helen stumbled back, clutching her cheek where he had struck her. She felt warm blood drip between her fingers.

Other shoppers tried to wrestle the man to the ground. One jumped on his back and grabbed him around the neck with both hands. Another wrenched the man’s free arm up his back. But with seemingly superhuman strength, the man refused to go down. He hissed and snarled, his head jerking in all directions, his teeth snapping like a feral dog at those who were trying to restrain him.

Helen struck the man’s face with the palm of her hand, and felt the cartilage of his nose crunch beneath it. She balled a fist and punched him in the forehead. He just stared at her and hissed, his wide, bloodshot eyes boring straight into her soul. His lips curled back into a snarl, and for a moment he looked like he was smiling at her. Helen stepped back when his head jerked forward, his teeth snapping together. She lunged forward again and punched him in the solar plexus, then jabbed him in the left kidney with her fingers straightened. The man roared and staggered forward a few steps, determined shoppers still clinging to him and trying to hold him back.

Someone, Helen didn’t see who, struck the man’s leg with a large bronze table lamp, shattering his kneecap. The man toppled to one side, spinning as he fell, his arms flailing, his fingers still squeezed around the girl’s neck. The young girl soared in a wide arc and crashed head first into the wooden flooring when the man landed face down with a loud thud.

The shopper who had been clinging to the man’s back fell heavily and rolled off, groaning. Others took his place and kneeled on the man to pin him to the ground. A few punched and kicked at him as he struggled beneath them. The hooded youth with the camera phone moved closer to get a shot of the man’s snarling face, providing a running commentary as he filmed.

Helen gripped the girl around the waist, stood on the man’s wrist, and tugged her free from his grasp. Blood poured from a wound in the girl’s scalp and matted into her hair, but Helen didn’t have time to worry about that. She lay the girl down gently, then checked her airways were clear, tilted her head back, and commenced resuscitation. The girl’s chest rose, then fell when Helen raised her head to look, willing her to breathe on her own. She glanced at the bearded man to check he was still firmly restrained and no longer a threat. Someone was securing his hands and feet with leather belts taken from a nearby stall. Helen carried on trying to revive the young girl. She looked up when she sensed someone crouched before her. It was the youth with the phone, holding it before him in his thumb and forefinger, pointing it at the lifeless young girl.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Helen shouted. “For fuck’s sake, put it away and do something useful instead.”

The youth shrugged, still filming. “Like what?” he asked with a sneer.

Helen shook her head and sighed. She blew air into the girl’s lungs, trying to ignore the voyeuristic youth and his camera phone. The girl still wasn’t responding, and Helen feared it might already be too late. She tried to calculate how long the girl had been deprived of oxygen, tried to remember how long the brain could survive without it before being permanently damaged.

“Has anyone phoned an ambulance?” Helen yelled, looking at the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“I tried to,” someone nearby said. It was a young man in casual dress, denim jeans and a white T-shirt. “But there was no answer.”

“What do you mean no answer?” Helen asked, taking out her own phone. Emergency Services always answered within the first few rings, and they had enough operators to handle even the worst of disasters.

Before the man could reply, more screams came from the entrance to The Lanes. Everyone turned to look. Helen looked down at the still lifeless young girl and sighed. She closed the girl’s eyelids and placed her arms by her sides, then stood up and faced the entrance.

Several people lurched into The Lanes, swinging their arms by their sides as if they had trouble balancing. They came from all walks of life – young, old, fat, thin, both smart and casually dressed. They lunged at shoppers and pulled them off their feet, lashed out with their hands, snapped with their teeth. Shoppers panicked and ran blindly in all directions, screaming in terror.