Dead Like You

97

Saturday 17 January

Suddenly, he could see her. She was coming around the corner at a steady jog, a slender green figure against the grey tones of the darkness, through his night vision binocular lenses.

He turned, all panicky now it was happening, shooting a quick glance up and down the street. Apart from Jessie, who was fast closing on him, it was deserted.

He slid open the side door, grabbed the fake fridge with both arms and staggered one step back on to the kerb, then screamed with pain. ‘Oh, my back, my back! Oh, God, help me!’

Jessie stopped in her tracks as she saw the back of a clumsy-looking figure in an anorak, jeans and baseball cap holding a fridge half in and half out of the Volkswagen camper van.

‘Oh, God!’ he screamed again.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘Oh, please, quick. I can’t hold it!’

She hurried over to assist him, but when she touched the fridge it felt strange, not like a fridge at all.

A hand grabbed the back of her neck, hurling her forward into the van. She slithered across the floor, cracking her head against something hard and unyielding. Before she had time to recover her senses, a heavy weight on her back pinned her down, crushing her, then something sickly sweet and damp was pressed over her face, stinging her nose and throat and blinding her with tears.

Terror seized her.

She tried to remember her moves. Still early days, she was just a novice, but she had learned one basic. Bend before kicking. You didn’t get enough power if you just kicked. You brought your knees towards you, then launched your legs. Coughing, spluttering, trying not to breathe the noxious stinging air, but already feeling muzzy, she clenched her elbows hard into her ribs and rolled sideways, her vision just a blur, trying to break free, bending her knees, then kicking out hard.

She felt them strike something. She heard a grunt of pain. Heard something clattering across the floor, kicked again, shook her head free, twisted, feeling dizzy now and weaker. The sickly sweet wetness pressed against her face again, stinging her eyes. She rolled sideways, breaking free of it, kicking hard with both feet together, feeling even dizzier now.

The weight lifted from her back. She heard sliding, then the slam of the door. She tried to get up. A hooded face was staring down at her, eyes peering through the slits. She attempted to scream, but her brain was working in slow motion now and disconnected from her mouth. No sound came out. She stared at the black hood, which was all blurry. Her brain was trying to make some sense of what was happening, but the inside of her head was swirling. She felt a deep, nauseous giddiness.

Then the sickly, stinging wetness again.

She went limp. Engulfed in a vortex of blackness. Falling deeper into it. Hurtling down a helter-skelter in a void.