The Dead Room Read online

  the DEAD ROOM

  By

  Luke Walker

  A HellBound Books LLC

  Publication

  Copyright © 2019 by HellBound Books Publishing LLC

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover and art design by HellBound Books Publishing LLC

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without written permission from the author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are entirely fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  www.hellboundbookspublishing.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Also by Luke Walker

  BOOKS:

  Die Laughing: January 2015.

  Hometown: July 2016.

  Dead Sun: June 2018.

  The Unredeemed: July 2018.

  The Mirror Of The Nameless: August 201

  Ascent: 2018.

  SELECTED SHORT STORIES:

  Serial Killers Tres Tria: Contains ‘Bear’: September 2013.

  Postscripts To Darkness Vol 4: Contains ‘Echidna’: November 2013.

  Wicked Words Quarterly: Contains ‘6/13’: September 2014.

  9Tales At the World's End 3: Contains ‘Rapture’: June 2016.

  Creepy Campfire Quarterly #4: Contains ‘All The Time In The World’: October 2016.

  9Chews (9Tales Dark): Contains ‘Hungry’: October 2016.

  9Tales Told in the Dark #20: Contains ‘The Sisters In The Green’: December 2016.

  WeirdBook Magazine: Contains ‘The Mouth At The Edge Of The World’: November 2018.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Once again, a big thank you to James, Xtina, Savannah and everyone at Hellbound for their work on my story. This is book number three, and as always, it's a pleasure to work with people who really get what makes a novel work. As always, thanks to family and friends for their constant support. For reading through various drafts, offering advice and opinions (all of which helped shape The Dead Room into the book it is) and generally being great, I'm indebted to a few good women: Julia Knight, Jennifer Hillier, Laura Mauro, Diane Dooley, Scarlett Parrish, and my wife Rebecca.

  This one is for Louise, Dave and Martha.

  the DEAD ROOM

  Chapter One

  N icola stabbed a finger on her phone, the impact hard enough to split a nail. “Work, for Christ’s sake. Work.”

  For the third time, Scott’s voicemail answered her.

  On the TV, the shot changed from Mishal Husain in the BBC studio to the scenes in Manchester, then to the shaky images from someone’s phone as they panned across the rubble and the wafting threads of smoke. Offscreen, shouts broke out, the words meaningless. Away to the side, a couple held each other, both weeping as blood streamed from jagged cuts on their faces. A non-stop howl of sirens whooped through the smoke, the sound like a terrified child’s screams in Nicola’s head. She pressed on Scott’s name again. The line refused to connect, let alone go to her husband’s voicemail.

  On the TV screen: BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION IN MANCHESTER CITY CENTRE. HUNDREDS INJURED AND MISSING. EVACUATION UNDERWAY.

  “Julia,” Nicola whispered. Her stomach clenched and her saliva became a thick, electric flood. Gagging, she ran to the kitchen and vomited into the sink. Spitting and attempting to breathe normally through the foul taste in her nose and mouth did no good.

  “Julia,” she croaked and spat again.

  Words from the TV flowed from the living room. She caught one.

  Bomb.

  Nicola dashed back to the TV, socks skidding over the flooring. On the screen, Mishal checked her papers before gazing at the camera. Her words made no sense. They were simply a noise put over the images of the sobbing, people stumbling across rubble, of the overturned cars, of the blown-out windows in shop fronts, of the blood stains on the ground and the smoke staining everything an ugly black.

  The paperwork Nicola had been going through until a few minutes before fell beside her discarded laptop as she collapsed to the sofa. Phone gripped tightly between both hands, she struggled to think through the panic and fear.

  Her mobile rang.

  Scott.

  Through Nicola’s terror, something hard and implacable in her head took over. Mouth bone dry, she answered the phone. “Scott? Can you hear me? Are you there?”

  “Nicola?”

  The line cut out for a moment, then cleared and he was there in her ear, in her mouth, in the fearful burning deep in her chest.

  “Nicola? I’m here. We’re here. Jesus Christ.”

  “Oh, my God, Scott. Julia? Is she—”

  “She’s fine. She’s fine.”

  Tears exploded. Nicola bent double. She pressed the phone against her ear and had to fight for each boiling breath. Pain all over, pain in her head from the phone pressing into her ear, pain in her other hand as she dug her nails into her palm.

  “Nicola? Are you there?”

  The rock in Nicola’s head grew, blocking the sting burning in her chest. “I’m here. I’m here. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

  “We’re fine. We’re all right. Calm down, okay? We’re all fine. We’re still with Nigel and Cate. We were going to drive into Manchester earlier but there was something wrong with the car. It wouldn’t start.” He broke off. The blustery breath of his sigh ran down the line. “Jesus, Nicola. This is unbelievable. They’re saying more than five hundred dead. They’re saying—”

  The signal dropped again and Scott’s voice fell in and out.

  “. . .Nicola?”

  “Scott? Can you hear me?”

  The line went dead.

  “Shit.” Nicola smacked the phone against her thigh and saw the images on the TV.

  York. The city centre.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  The historic city had become a bombed-out wreck. The camera, again amateur mobile phone footage, tracked over buildings and shops with missing windows and roofs, over blasted out chunks of brickwork, over the car wedged into the side of an overturned bus and the massive pieces of broken glass surrounding both vehicles.

  Mishal spoke again, telling the viewers the facts were thin on the ground, that reports suggested the explosion was down to a bomb detonating a few minutes before which put it twenty minutes after the one in Manchester.

  Gripping her phone with all of her strength, Nicola tried to speak, tried to find any words she could give herself.

  Mishal went on. She told Nicola there could be hundreds of deaths in York and Manchester with countless injured. She told Nicola the authorities were evacuating the centre of the city and the surrounding areas. She told Nicola other cities across the country were on high alert.

  Nicola managed a weak moan as the insanity of the scenes hit her. She could have been watching a report on Syria, not York on a Saturday afternoon. This wasn’t York: the old buildings with jagged mounds of exposed metal and masonry poking upwards or pavements buried under tons of brick or wickedly sharp daggers of window glass scattered across the roads. York was people and cars and jobs and old streets and history. Christmas shoppers drenched in blood or staggering out of buildings and crying at each other belonged in images of foreign countries, not in the middle of York, for God’s sake.

  Julia.

  The whisper rose from a deep place far below. It contained one basic command: to ensure her daughter was safe.

  Nicola tried Scott’s number again. No connection. Breathing fast, she stood and paced around the living room. On the TV, Mishal went through what little facts she had: massive explosions in Man
chester and York about twenty minutes apart had killed an unknown number of people out for their Christmas shopping; hundreds of injured filled local hospitals while the police and the authorities were working to rescue those trapped under rubble, and the PM had boarded a plane back from Switzerland and—

  The line connected. It rang once and Scott was right beside her.

  “Nicola?”

  “Jesus, the line went and I couldn’t get through again.”

  “I know. All of our phones have got the same problem. Everyone’s calling everyone else. The landline does nothing. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Are you all together?”

  “Yeah. Keep thinking I should put the kettle on. Make us all a nice cup of tea. We’re English and that’s what we do, isn’t it?” He laughed much too loudly.

  Nicola did the same and her gusting laugh made her shake. She sat. Now that she had him back again, the rock inside sealing away panic seemed to be shrinking. Nicola focused on her breathing for few seconds.

  “It’s York, as well,” Scott said. “Just seen it. Unbelievable.”

  “Me, too. It’s bombs, isn’t it? Terrorists?”

  “I think so. I—” He broke off. “Someone wants to say hello, Nicola. Hold on. Jules is coming.”

  Nicola smiled and wiped at her tears, barely aware she’d been crying. On the TV, a burst of rumbling noise blew out of the speakers. There was a second, no longer, of Mishal turning to her side, of what could have been shock on her face.

  Then static filled the screen.

  Then the line died in Nicola’s ear.

  Chapter Two

  C ate studied the thin grass of the slope, the ground growing darker as dusk closed in. Although the incline up to the bridge wasn’t particularly steep, it still appeared huge.

  “You can do this,” she whispered and licked her dry lips.

  Each step sent jagged slivers of pain running through her shins and calves. Clenching her jaw, Cate staggered up the slope to the bridge, leaned on the railings for a moment and took a few breaths.

  “Nice.”

  The bridge crossed a river. All around, greenery rustled in the breeze and bare tree branches shook There was only a slight wind and she had to be grateful for that. The day had been cold enough without a wind blowing at her off the water.

  “Day?”

  Cate sniggered despite barely having the energy to do so. Sod day. Weeks had passed since she’d been anything close to warm. For some reason, the brighter days seemed even frostier than the mornings and short afternoons of low clouds and the fierce wind, not to mention the steady threat of a blizzard.

  Cate tightened the straps of her backpack and checked behind again. Nothing there but the fields she’d crossed and the train tracks off in the distance. Night appeared to have already fallen out that way. The image of encroaching darkness chasing her while she stood on the bridge chilled the skin below her dirty clothes. Shaking it off, she crossed the bridge, followed a slope down to a cycleway and studied the pathway. Thorny branches hung over it and many of the bushes already grew out of control. Anything further than fifty feet away was lost in darkness. Shadows oozed down there and while she had no reason to think anyone lurked in the gloom, she still didn’t want to walk in that direction.

  Not for the first time, Cate wished for the map she’d been carrying until—

  “God knows. I’m too tired for this.”

  There was a town ahead. She knew that much. Back on the train tracks, she’d seen the top of a cathedral in the distance and the roofs of other buildings surrounding it, all framed by the bloody red of a bleak sunset. The lack of food in her bag and her one remaining bottle of water had decided her path in seconds: get into the city, find some shelter and food, get out again. Exactly as she’d been doing since everything went to hell.

  The grass to her side rose in a steep bank to trees. She took a second look behind to the river and the fields, telling herself there had to be another path close if not a road. Most of the fields and green were behind; the city lay ahead.

  She smiled, aware it felt more like a grimace. A big risk. If she was wrong and the bank led to trees and nothing but trees, night would be on her by the time she got back down here to head along the cycleway.

  “Yeah. So what?”

  Moving with a determination she didn’t come close to feeling, Cate crossed the grass to the bank and eyed it. Even without moving, she could imagine her leg muscles protesting.

  “Up here, to the road and to a house. A real, solid house.”

  As silently as she could, Cate lurched upwards, legs and feet hellishly sore. One foot in front of the other. That’s what it was all about. That’s what kept her going. Kept her moving. Kept her running.

  She wiped sweat out of her eyes and coughed. It burned in her throat and chest as it had been doing for the last day.

  So what?

  She made it to the top, fell against a tree and inhaled, tasting the winter and the smells of the trees. Through the brown of the trunks, a white line shone.

  A road.

  A road meant houses. And houses meant shelter.

  Pushing twiggy branches aside, Cate strode through the little woodland, ignoring the pain in her legs and the urge to look back. She reached the middle of the trees and a black, smoke-like shape darted by her side to vanish from sight straight ahead.

  She froze.

  No. Not here.

  A smell hit her nostrils. Something warm and cleansing. Something she knew.

  Bath time.

  Cate spoke aloud and her voice trembled in the gloom. “No.”

  The smell faded, leaving only the stink of her sweat.

  Her feet. She had to move them. Now. Or she’d stay where she was as proper night fell.

  Cold caressed her back and she shook at such a horrible thought. The road. She had to focus on that.

  Cate walked on, treading carefully to avoid breaking any twigs, and reached the end of the woodland. Ahead, the road revealed itself to be a parkway. It headed in both directions, becoming little more than a dark slash further on before disappearing around a curve. There were no houses in sight. Not yet, anyway.

  Cheered by the sight of the parkway, Cate left the trees and followed it. Within a few paces, her mind slipped into a neutral state. As much as she knew she should focus on her surroundings and route, doing so was too much of an effort. Keeping in a straight line was about as far as she could stretch.

  Minutes passed. The shadows grew. And the first she knew of the figure stumbling over the field on the other side of the parkway was when they shouted in the dark.

  Adrenaline dumped through her. Cate raised a hand, fingers tight against the handle of her knife. The figure drew closer, a shuffling shape heading to the opposite side of the road.

  Cate relaxed although barely a fraction. They were drunk. She could outrun them if need be.

  “Hey. . . you. . .hey. . .”

  It was a kid. Some pissed up teenager probably not old enough to buy alcohol a month ago and now here they were, smashed out of their head.

  Cate strode on, keeping the figure in sight for as long as she could. They called after her again but made no sign of following. She reached a curve and swore under her breath.

  She’d walked right into a pile up. Vehicle upon vehicle had smashed together, forming a shadowy mound of broken glass and crumpled metal.

  Behind, the drunk kid bawled something unintelligible.

  “Shit,” Cate said again. Forward or back? Neither was ideal. While she knew she could get away from the boy without much effort, she’d still be walking back in the dark; she’d still be no closer to the town, whatever it was called.

  “Forward, then.”

  She remained as close to the hard shoulder as possible and kept her focus straight ahead. There was no need to see the bodies littering the road and cars. Imagining them was easy enough.

  Blackened throats. Blood and snot coating their clothes. Burst b
uboes growing out of their skin. She’d seen enough since early December. No need to see it now.

  Moonlight shone; the other end of the smash was directly ahead. All she had to do was keep in a straight line, keep her eyes off all the broken metal, keep her nose away from the stink of the bodies and keep walking.

  The spinning movement at her side and the kid’s scream seemed to happen at exactly the same time.

  “Hey, what the fuck—” the boy yelled.

  Cate whirled around, staring back the way she’d walked.

  The boy screamed once more before falling silent.

  Unbidden, the previous few seconds played over in her head.

  A shifting by her side. Something terribly fast blurring as it raced back. The kid crying out a second later.

  And she stood beside dozens of bodies in the dark while a freshly dead body lay somewhere behind, the blood doubtless already cooling around it in the January chill.

  No. Cate tried to breathe slowly and failed. Her thoughts could have belonged to someone else. Not here. Not now.

  A section of the air skittered away as if a gust of wind had pushed it.

  Despite her aching legs, Cate found the strength to run.

  Chapter Three

  N icola shifted the weight of the carrier bag in one hand and knocked on the door with the other. Three quick raps and she reached to her jeans pocket and her phone. She pulled it free, desperately hoping.

  Nothing. Full battery. No signal.

  She swore as quietly as she could although there was no surprise. It’d be a miracle if she had a signal now for no good reason. Thirty-six hours of nothing. Why the hell would it start working now?

  Because I have to talk to them.

  Her desperation changed nothing. Nor did the ever-present threat of frustrated tears.

  A shadow approached the door on the other side, bobbing through the brightly lit hall. Nicola took a look back across the road. She’d left most of her lights on and made sure all the curtains were shut. While Stamford still seemed quiet, there was no need to make her house appear empty.