Blood Memory: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5) (26 page)

“Wait,” Jordan said. “The last thing we need is for the alarms to go off.”

Stan looked up at the lights. “The power’s off.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Jordan pushed the trolley around the security gates. “I never understood why they didn’t build these things flush against the wall. You can just walk around them.”

They emerged out into the street. Their field of view had widened to include lampposts and burnt-out cars across the way. Amongst the near-demolished remains, a small picturesque boutique with English tourist souvenirs looked remarkably untouched, the way some buildings somehow avoided the bombs during the Blitz, yet the houses around it were all direct hits.

“The mist…” Selena said.

“It’s thinning,” Anne completed, looking up at the sky. “It’s the sun. We’d better hurry.”

The trolleys clattered across the cobbled streets, making
a terrible racket. They stopped.

“We can’t take our trolleys like this,” Anne said. “They’ll alert every Lurcher within half a mile
.”

Jordan
threw up his hands. “Now what do we do?”

“We can carry them to the boat,” Selena said.

Jordan shook his head. “Too many trips.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Anne
said.

There was a pause.

Stan looked up. “Edith Winklemann.”

Anne frowned.
“What?”

“Edith Winklemann.”

“Repeating it doesn’t make it any clearer, Stan.”

“There was this crazy old homeless lady on our estate who used to push a pram around. We all thought she had a baby. One day I walked past, peeked inside and saw it was full of food she stole from bins. She used it as a trolley because it was quieter and she could thieve at night without waking anyone.”

Jordan smiled. “God bless you, Edith. Let’s split into groups and look for prams. Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes – whether we find what we’re looking for or not. Don’t wander too far.”

Selena and Stan crept down the street, heading f
arther into town. The mist seemed to amplify their footsteps on the tarmac. Despite the moisture in the air, Stan’s throat felt dry.

“Where can we find a pram?” Selena
said.

“Mother care shops, day care centres. Places like that
, I suppose. On the way to our boat a few days ago I thought I saw one.”

Mummy & Me was a small local mother care
store. The windows had been whitewashed. Stan leaned up against it, cupping his hands over his eyes. He couldn’t make anything out. The security gate was in place, a latticework of steel rings. Stan moved in close and bent down to lift it up, but they had been bolted to the floor.

“We’ll have to f
ind another way in,” Stan said.

Between Mummy & Me and the one pound store there was an alley. I
t was dark, deep and foreboding. There was a glimmer of light at the end like the glint off an onyx stone. It beckoned them.

A spring coiled tight in Selena
’s stomach. “We can find another way.”

Stan looked at his watch. “We don’t have time.” He
tightened his grip on the stick he carried, which now seemed woefully inadequate, and took a deep calming breath. “Stay close.”

He stepped into the darkness. With only a moment’s hesitation, Selena followed.

The brick walls seemed to press in on them from both sides. Stan’s breath sounded fuzzy in the darkness. He felt his way along a wall, hugging it close with his body. It was damp and slimy to the touch. He shuffled his feet along the ground so as not to trip on anything he could not see. The light at the end never seemed to get closer, only farther and farther away. Stan’s heart thumped so loud in his ears he was surprised Selena couldn’t hear it.

Stan’s feet met something
, and he almost fell. It was soft and, feeling with his foot, he realized it stood about six inches off the ground.

“Selena,
there’s something on the floor here. Try not to disturb it.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

Stan
stepped over it and immediately came to another object. It was easier this time. The object was smaller. Stan’s body shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold. He could see the floor of the alley as the light permeated the darkness. The light grew brighter. He could see his arms, legs, hands. He emerged into the light. He had the impulse to brush himself off, as if that would remove the evil he’d felt in the alley. When he took his hands off his shirt, he saw he had made red-handprints. He looked at his palms.

They
were covered in a thick black-red goo. His shoes were smeared with it too. Selena had red on her cheeks from where she had scratched. They cleaned themselves up with the condensation on the glass of the delivery trucks and lorries, never uttering a word to one another. Stan peered around at their location.

They were
on the shop back lot. There were oil stains on the concrete. The refuse bins were spilling over with baby clothes and broken items. They approached the back door that had Mummy & Me written across it in bright yellow plastic letters.

Stan tried the door. It was locked.
He shook his head. “What makes people lock everything up the moment of the apocalypse?”

He went over to
a skip and rummaged amongst the bent coat hangers and chipped table legs. He came out with a long metal rod that looked like it had once been part of a clothing rack. He jammed it between the door and the doorframe and leaned his weight on it. The door buckled and popped open.

“Old jimmy locks. Never did work well.” He tossed the
pole aside, took up his stick, and stepped inside.

The shelves were lined up in perfect rows, fully stocked.
Placards advertised two-for-one offers on selected baby food flavours. Muzak played over the speaker system. The floors were clean. The checkouts were arranged in organised rows, the chairs tucked neatly under their desks.

Stan and Selena exchanged a disconcerted look.

“How much longer do we have?” Selena asked.

Stan checked his watch. “
Twelve minutes, minus five minutes to get back to the supermarket.”

“We’d better hurry.”

They walked down the aisles, following the location marker for strollers and prams. There was a small selection, but enough for their needs.

“
You grab one,” Stan said. “I’ll take another.”

“Can I help you?”

A man in his late thirties, balding, with wire rim glasses and wearing a suit stood at the end of the aisle. He had a welcoming smile on his face.

“Uh, yes,” Stan said. “We need to borrow some of these
prams.”

“Borrow? I’m afraid we don’t offer that service. You can buy them
, try them and if they don’t meet your specifications, you can bring them back.”

“Buy them?”

“Yes. If you have a Mummy & Me store card, we can give you a five per cent discount.”

“Store card?”

“Yes, we offer a number of deals and offers every week.”

Stan
looked the man over. He did not blink, his coat hanger smile never faltering. He looked at his name tag. “Mr Griffith.”

“
Store manager.”

“Yes.
Mr Griffith, are you aware of the events taking place outside?”

“Events?”

“Yes. Strange goings-on, perhaps?”

“
Oh, yes. Of course. You’re referring to the fog. It is particularly thick today.”

“
No, Mr Griffith. I’m not referring to the fog.”

There was a pause.

“Where are your employees, Mr Griffith?”

“They’re running late. It’s this mist. Plays havoc with the
traffic.”

“And the customers?”

“Likewise.”

Stan and Selena exchanged a look.

Mr Griffith stepped closer. “If you like, I could show you the best models.”

“That’s okay,” Stan said, taking a step back. “We were just leaving.”

“You’re no longer interested in our prams or strollers?”

“I just remembered we saw some earlier we liked.”

“That’s a shame.” Mr Griffith stood still. “If you change your mind, you know where we are.” He made no move to leave.

Stan backed away
. They hurried to the door.

“What about the prams?” Selena asked,
struggling to keep up with Stan.

“Not worth losing our heads over.”

“What do you mean?”

“He kept his hand in his pocket the whole time, and never blinked once. He’s a few shy of the full dozen
, if you ask me. If there’s one thing more dangerous than a pack of Lurchers, it’s a mentalist with a knife who’d do anything to protect his little sphere of denial.”

Stan and Selena returned to the
local supermarket to find Jordan, Anne and Jessie awaiting them. They had found three prams, each stained with splatters of claret. They had already transferred the items over. The prams weren’t as big as the trolleys, so now they needed three of them.

“Glad you could make it,” Jordan said. “We were about to come looking for you. No luck?”

Stan gave him a look and said, “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

It was the first ti
me Jordan had heard Stan curse. Before they took another step, footfalls echoed and bounced off cobblestones from somewhere in the mist. A patch of fog darkened with the shadowy figure of a man.

The gun came first, held rock steady in gloved hands, US flags of ownership stitched on the uniform’s s
houlders, the jungle combat camouflage worse than useless in the misty surroundings.

The soldier was tall and held himself with the bearing of a man who’d had years of being obeyed. The sight of the prams made his sneer deepen. “Out doing a little early-morning thievery, are we?”

Jordan took an instant dislike to the man’s tone. “Hardly thievery if no one owns it anymore, is it? Half the stuff we’ve got here is past its sell-by-date anyway.”

“Then it’s a safety hazard.”

Stan smiled and stepped between the two young men, attempting civility. “We’re not doing any harm. Let us pass,” he read the name on the soldier’s uniform, “Baxter.”

“Corporal Baxter,” Baxter said, eyes returning to Jordan. “Ever been to the army camp to the north?”

Jordan shook his head. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Baxter’s eyes drifted over the others and caught on Jessie.
“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing,” Anne said, drifting over to stand beside her. “She hasn’t been bitten.”

Baxter smirked. “Bitten? Who said anything about getting bitten? She don’t look the whole nine yards to me. Mind if I take a look?”

Jordan stepped forward, blocking him. “Yes, we mind.”

The muzzle of Baxter’s gun edged ever so slightly in Jordan’s direction. “Stand aside.”

Jordan eyed Baxter. He held the gun to the side like an action hero. He was over-confident.
Jordan’s body tensed, ready for action.

Stan stepped forward, eyes beseeching. “Please, Corporal. Just let us pass. I promise you won’t see us ever again.”

Baxter shook his head. “I can’t take the risk. I have the security of over five thousand people to consider.”

The gun barrel drifted to
one side… One inch… Two inches…

“So if you
’ll just stand aside…” Baxter said.

Jordan
shifted his weight.

“Baxter!”
a voice barked from the mist.

Baxter paled, and turned as if expecting Cerberus itself to be standing there. It wasn’t Cerberus, but two more soldiers.
One man – presumably the one who’d spoken – looked twice the age of the others. He was a solid tree trunk of a man. Short powerful arms and legs made him stout and immovable. The relenting skills of a rock. He looked over the assembled with stark blue eyes before finally settling on Jordan.

“Sarge,” Baxter said. “I just found these survivors-”

The sergeant spoke over him. “Did you welcome them?”

Baxter flushed. “I was just about to, sir, but-”

“You’ll have to excuse Corporal Baxter,” the sergeant said, turning to the assembled. “He’s somewhat prickly by nature. I’m Sergeant Marsh, US Marine Corp. To my left is Corporal Nasser.” Nasser was a tall man with an attractive Middle Eastern appearance. “On my right, Corporal Baxter – who you’ve already had the misfortune of meeting. We come from a well-defended, well-stocked compound about one mile to the north by the name of Burgh Castle. We can provide you with food, warm beds and safety.”