Survive The Darkness | Book 2 | Escape The Darkness Read online

  But it was Mum he worried about, most.

  He’d already seen what these people were capable of. He’d seen what they’d done to his dad.

  And it tore him apart inside to think of something similar happening to Mum.

  He thought about the happy memories from his childhood. The way he’d been brought up, by the book. The way Mum and Dad cared about him, mollycoddling him almost. Which was understandable, especially after what happened to his brother.

  And it frustrated him at the time. He felt like he didn’t have the same freedom as other kids his age when he was younger, and it got to him.

  But the older he got, the more grateful and close he became to his parents. They’d allowed him to stay at home after returning from university, saving for a better house deposit. He contributed to the bills, of course. He was a doctor, so it wasn’t like he was struggling at all.

  But truth be told, he actually liked living with his parents, out in the countryside. Even if he was in his thirties and moving out soon was probably something he should get looking at.

  Well. Looked like he had a reason to stay at home until the power came back on, at least.

  If ever it did come back.

  Either way, he wasn’t leaving Mum on her own. Not after this.

  He watched as they stepped inside the house, and as a few of the people from the rest of the mob turned around and walked away. A few of them stayed there. Shouting things. Throwing them at his home.

  And he saw a couple of the kids, too. The kids from the group.

  He couldn’t keep a low profile. They’d recognise him.

  He needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Obviously, he needed to get these medical supplies to Max. And obviously, he needed to help Mum in case anything happened.

  Because if they found any trace of what happened to Cody, they were in the shit.

  Deep, deep shit.

  Because Cody was still in the kitchen. He hadn’t taken the chance to go in there, to move him. Figured he’d get everything else done then see to him. And figured the kid’s body lying out here in the wild wasn’t the best idea, especially so close to where he came from.

  And then there was Aoife, too. Wherever she was, she wasn’t here, with these people.

  Was that a good sign?

  Or a bad sign?

  Wherever she was, he felt like she was in danger.

  But right now, standing out here, Nathan felt like he had something of an advantage over everyone else. Because at least he had a chance to make a decision. At least he had a chance to act if he needed to.

  At least he could just watch and wait.

  As much as he didn’t like what he saw down at his home, keeping a low profile felt like the best option right now.

  He gritted his teeth, and he realised that if there were one thing he needed, it was a weapon. Something to fight with.

  And he thought back to Max’s home and how there were so many things there he could use.

  He didn’t like turning around. Didn’t like walking away. Especially not when Mum was in danger.

  But this was what he needed to do right now.

  He ran back to Max’s. Ran as quickly as he could.

  Rushed inside.

  Went back down into the darkness of the basement.

  And then he looked around everywhere until he found it.

  Hunting rifle. Not something he was familiar with. Dad hunted sometimes, but it wasn’t something he was ever really interested in.

  At least it was something.

  Straightforward enough, seeing as he’d already used one earlier today.

  He turned around, ran back up the stairs, rifle in hand.

  Rushed back outside.

  Sped back to his vantage point from earlier.

  And then he stood there and watched.

  Stood there and waited.

  Rifle pointed at the small group of people gathered outside his home.

  He’d shoot if he needed to.

  He’d fire if he needed to.

  He’d…

  He heard a footstep right behind him.

  And he suddenly became aware that maybe he didn’t have the best vantage point of all.

  Maybe he wasn’t alone.

  Maybe someone was watching him.

  He turned around slowly.

  Not wanting to look.

  Not wanting to see.

  That’s when he saw the man standing there.

  Smile on his face.

  Hammer in his hand.

  He put a finger over his lips.

  Nathan lifted his rifle.

  The man lifted his hammer.

  And then, for one of them, there was darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Aoife heard the footsteps and the voices entering the house via the front door, and she only had one thought on her mind.

  Get the hell out of the back door. Right away.

  She ran through the kitchen, not wanting to look back under the cupboard under the stairs, not wanting to see what she was responsible for. She raced across the tiled kitchen floor, reached the back door, went to open it.

  And that’s when she saw them.

  Three people by the back gate.

  Blocking her route.

  They hadn’t noticed her yet, thank God. But they were there. And eventually, they would notice her.

  She had to do something.

  She had to get away.

  She turned back around, headed back towards the staircase.

  She had to be quick. Had to get there before anyone saw her. And had to get out of here before they found the woman’s body, whether she was alive or dead.

  She ran back past the cupboard under the stairs, went to turn up the stairs.

  Then she froze.

  The people.

  Two men.

  They were in the house.

  They were in the house, and they were walking through the lounge, and they were heading her way.

  She looked at the bottom of the staircase.

  She wanted to go up there.

  To run up there and then escape via one of the windows.

  But then she saw one of the men turning around, and already she knew she had no other choice.

  She launched herself back under the stairs.

  Closed the door.

  And she stumbled back into the darkness.

  She stood there a few seconds. Heart racing. Even though there was a body in here with her, dead at worst, unconscious at best, it felt like someone was watching her. Like she wasn’t alone at all.

  She heard footsteps coming her way, coming towards the cupboard door.

  And as much as she didn’t want to crouch to the floor, she knew she didn’t have a choice.

  As much as she didn’t want to come into contact with that body or the blood, there was only one option.

  She crouched down and sat back, hands behind her back.

  Right on top of the woman she’d pushed.

  The first thing she felt was the warm, damp blood seeping through her fingers and her clothes.

  The stiffness of the body.

  No heartbeat.

  No breathing.

  And as horrible as she felt, as sick as she felt, what made it worse was a weird sense of relief.

  Relief that the woman was dead.

  What kind of person was she turning into?

  What kind of world was she living in where relief was her overriding feeling now?

  She heard shuffling in front of the door. Talking, although she couldn’t make the voices out properly.

  And then the door opened, and light filled the cupboard.

  She crouched there. Hands behind her back. She was bigger than the woman, so she hoped her body covered her up.

  And she hoped it wasn’t bright enough that these men could see the blood.

  They stared in at her. One of them smiling.

  “You don’t have to worry, love,” he said.


  And for a second, Aoife realised there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and it threw her.

  “We’re gonna get you back to your place and get Cody back to our place. What went down was shitty. Really shitty. But we’re putting an end to this. Know you ain’t guilty by association, or whatever it is they say. Come on. Let’s get you back home.”

  They walked over to her.

  And Aoife wanted to stop them.

  She didn’t want them to step closer.

  She didn’t want them to see.

  Because if what they were saying was true…

  They reached her, and they stopped.

  Looked down at her.

  Wide-eyed.

  But not at her.

  Beyond her.

  At the woman behind her.

  “Shit,” the bloke on the right said.

  And Aoife knew she couldn’t stick around any longer.

  She dashed between them, barged past them.

  Flew through the door.

  “Stop! Come the fuck back here!”

  And then she turned up the stairs.

  Ran up, not wanting to risk the streets, not wanting to chance them in case anyone else was around.

  But at the same time, regretting her decision not to just make a break for it.

  “Stop! Come back here right now!”

  She ran up the stairs. Tumbled. Heard the men running up after her, just inches away from her.

  Just keep going. You can do this. You can get out of this.

  She got to the top of the stairs.

  Took a left.

  Ran into the bathroom.

  Slammed the door shut and locked it, even though it was only one of those little locks, so it definitely wouldn’t hold.

  But she had an opportunity now.

  She had a chance.

  She ran across the bathroom floor.

  Ran to the window.

  Thumped against it. Opened it with her shaking hands.

  “Stop her!” someone shouted. “Don’t let that murdering bitch anywhere!”

  She pulled the window open. Tried to climb up into it, out of it, but fully aware that the drop below was nasty.

  But shit.

  What choice did she have?

  What the hell else could she do?

  Banging at the door.

  Shit. She needed to go.

  Now.

  She tried to squeeze through the opening, but it was just too narrow.

  She tried to push her way out but to no avail.

  She tried, but there was no hope.

  She was going to have to smash it.

  She was going to have to break her way out.

  She turned. Looked around the bathroom.

  The door shaking on its hinges.

  On the verge of breaking in.

  “You’re not going anywhere, bitch. You’re gonna pay. You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done!”

  And as she looked around the bathroom, acting purely on instinct, she saw the only thing that might help her break out.

  The toilet tank cover.

  She ran over to it.

  Grabbed it.

  Dragged it off, almost dropping it in the process.

  She turned to the window.

  Threw it against it.

  The window smashed open.

  And then she ran over to the glass.

  But just as she did, the door to the bathroom smashed open.

  She turned around.

  Four men standing there.

  In the bathroom doorway.

  “Not another step,” the bloke who’d found her under the stairs said.

  And she was about to throw herself outside when she saw what he was holding.

  Who he was holding.

  Rex.

  Rex had a knife to his throat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Max stood at the door and watched Cody’s dad, James, make himself comfortable in Moira, Harold, and Nathan’s home.

  And he couldn’t help but keep noticing the trail of blood, right across the wooden floorboards, towards the kitchen door.

  He had to keep James’ attention away from that. He had to distract him and stop him going into that kitchen, no matter what.

  Because Nathan hadn’t had proper time to get rid of Cody’s body.

  James looked over at Max. He was stretched across the sofa, hands behind his head. There were two other people in here too. Two blokes, both bald, both covered in tattoos. Looked like the kind of guys you’d see in your local pub on a Friday night, ever-present. Friendly enough but wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of them.

  “Damn, fella,” James said. “You’ve really warmed this chair up for me, haven’t you?”

  Max stood there shivering. He was burning up, and he felt rough as hell. He wasn’t sure if the sickness was taking hold again, but he really needed to rest. He could definitely do without this bullshit right now.

  Something that would be simple, on paper.

  An exchange. A simple exchange of Aoife and Cody.

  Only it wasn’t going to go that way.

  James’ eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry. I… I almost forgot. You ain’t well at all, are you? Come over here. Sit down here next to me.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, I insist,” James said, patting his hand on the cushion beside him. “You look like shit. No need for us to be at each other’s necks, right? We’ve both got caught in a shitty situation. That’s the way I see it. And as horrible as it is… the people who were involved have both lost their lives. So I don’t see no reason for this to go on. No reason at all.”

  As Max stood there, not wanting to go and sit next to James or go anywhere near him, he noticed something odd.

  James didn’t seem concerned about Cody. His acceptance that Max was keeping him prisoner or holding him hostage. It just didn’t seem fatherly. Seemed to go against fatherly instincts.

  He remembered how he’d felt when he discovered David was in danger the night Seth broke into his home and murdered his family.

  Instinct taking over completely, clouding his judgement.

  He could’ve died for David.

  But James was just too calm.

  Just too composed.

  Just too…

  Nice.

  “Tell you what,” James said, suddenly standing. “If I can’t convince you to sit down here with me, I get it. No sweat. But the least I can do is grab you a drink of summat. Or a bite to eat. You folks look prepared enough. I’m guessing the kitchen’s through here?”

  “No,” Moira said, suddenly standing.

  James frowned as he approached the door. Literally hovering over the specks of blood on the wooden floor. “What?” he said. “Just trying to be kind.”

  “And we—we appreciate that,” Moira said, walking towards him. “But really. It’s my house. I’ll get us all some food and some water. We could all use some, I’m sure.”

  James looked at Moira closely.

  Then he looked over at Max. Smile on his face.

  And that’s what bothered Max, yet again. That’s what really got to him; got under his skin.

  James seemed to put across a front of composure. Of decency.

  But he was just too composed and just too decent considering a neighbour’s kid had just been killed.

  There was something off about this.

  Something so, so off.

  He nodded, then. “Sure. I mean, are you sure, miss? You’ve had quite a traumatic day, by the sounds of things. I think you should probably rest, too.”

  Moira shook her head. “Really. I insist.”

  “Not gonna try and poison us, are you?” James said, smirking.

  “No,” Moira said, looked at the floor. “I… I want this over just as much as you do.”

  But when she said those words, her voice cracked.

  Max knew why.

  This wasn’t going the way any of them wanted it to go.

  Bec
ause Cody—the key part of the exchange—was dead.

  He was dead, and he was lying on that kitchen table.

  But any small victory had to be savoured, right now. Any chance at delaying James just a little bit more had to be appreciated.

  So when he sighed, stepped away from the kitchen door, and started walking across the lounge floor again, Max felt a glimmer of relief.

  “If you say so,” he said. “But…”

  He stopped.

  And Max didn’t know what he was looking at.

  Not at first.

  Not until he followed James’ gaze.

  Not until he saw exactly what he was staring at.

  The blood on the wooden floor.

  Shit.

  He looked up at Max. The cockiness wiped from his face. The composure, gone.

  “Guys,” James said. “Stop her.”

  Both of the guys shot up from the sofa.

  Rushed towards Moira.

  Grabbed her, stopped her walking into the kitchen.

  Max didn’t move a muscle at first.

  Just stood there. Stared at James. Heart racing. Neither of them saying anything.

  “What are you hiding in there?” James said.

  “You don’t want to go in there,” Max said, stepping forward. Heart racing.

  James’ eyes narrowed. “I’ll ask you again. What are you hiding in there?”

  Max stood still.

  Moira stood there with the two men either side of her.

  And Max wanted to go over to James.

  He wanted to stop him.

  “No?” James said. “Then I’ll go look for myself.”

  “Don’t,” Max said.

  But James had already turned.

  He walked past Moira, who struggled against the two men, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “James, don’t go in there. Please.”

  But James didn’t look back.

  He didn’t stop.

  He just walked up to that kitchen door calmly and stepped inside.

  Time stood still.

  Everything was silent.

  There was no sound.

  There was nothing.

  Not at first.

  It was eleven long, silent, excruciating seconds before James let out an agonised cry.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Aoife saw Rex with the blade to his throat and the people standing with him, and immediately, she felt a sense of total dread.