In The End Box Set | Books 1-3 Stevens, GJ (story books to read TXT) 📖

and was by himself. Mummy was probably doing her make up or something or didn't want to come out in the cold. An image came into my head. We were all back on the coach. I sat behind Dad as he drove us away.

After every step he seemed to stumble. I'd seen those movements before, normally when he'd been out with his friends at night.

I was nearly at the coach when I first smelt something horrible. I turned to Tish and leaned in closer.

No, it wasn't her and it definitely wasn't me. It must have been Dad who'd pooped himself.

“Dad,” I said, trying to take the whine out of my voice, like he always told me.

He didn't speak, but for the first time he seemed to notice I was there, turning in my direction and speeding up. He was still quite slow.

I stopped walking, hearing a sound behind me. I turned; there were lights on the road. I'd seen no other cars since we'd left the house.

I kept staring forward then stepped to the side, realising I was in the middle of the road, right where I was told all the time to avoid. ‘Remember the Green Cross Code,’ my parents would say each time I left the house.

The smell was getting nearer and so were the lights. I had to turn away; they were on full.

I turned back to Dad, still squinting, the engine getting louder; they must have been going so fast.

As I turned, I let my breath out; it was Dad after all. I could see by his haircut and the blood on the side of the face. Then I looked behind him, my eyes wide as I thought it was Mum, but I soon saw it was someone else. Someone in a white coat with black, no, reddish mark on their chest and they stumbled as they took the last step before falling to the floor.

“Dad,” I said, pointing to her, but he didn't turn, didn't move. He just kept his eyes on me and Tish.

The engine noise was getting so loud I thought they would hit me. Dad looked like he was going in for a hug, but in slow motion. I was in arms reach, his face expressionless like he had bad news.

“It's Mum, isn't it? Just tell me,” I kept saying, but he stared back. Tears ran down my face and Tish moved. The stink was horrid. I had to hold my breath.

“Dad,” I said. “What's wrong with your eyes?”

I held my hand out, grabbing his outstretched arm, pushing myself against the coach while pulling him close.

What was wrong with him? Couldn't he see the car was about to run us both over?

Stumbling forward, his skin felt weird. He was cold and he smelt like meat when you unpacked it out of the supermarket bags, stinking like it had been out far too long.

As the headlights grew brighter than I thought they ever could, I felt his teeth bite down into my hand.

38

With the pain still building, Dad's mouth ripped away, but it wasn't Dad anymore. I knew as the car smashed into his side, sending him, arms loose, flying like a crash test dummy across the road.

I grabbed Tish tight, giving a shake. She groaned as if she was struggling to wake. I coughed as the air filled with smoke, tyres squealing against the road. The car had stopped just beyond the edge of the coach. A constant pound of a muffled drum beat rumbled towards me.

Fixed to the spot, I didn't want to move. The smoke gagging in the back of my throat and my hand pulsing with pain, blood dripping from what looked like a part missing between my thumb and finger. I had to look away, my head swimming as I'd watched the black blood stream down to the road.

As I looked up I saw the passenger door open; whoever was in the driver's seat leaned across. I couldn't see who it was, but they must have recognised me. Still, I didn't move from the spot, even when I saw someone, something, stumble down the stairs of the coach and tripping over the thing still struggling to get to their feet, one of its legs bent in the wrong place.

The bright white of the reversing light blinked on and the car sped backwards. The man who'd climbed from the coach was on his feet. It was the soldier, the gun no longer in his hand as he walked towards us in the headlights of the car stopping at my side.

I couldn't recognise the man in the car. He wasn't one of my friend's parents, not someone from school. I'd never seen him at the house, either.

A stranger. A teenager, too; a thin moustache over his lips which made him look younger, not older. He wore a tracksuit and heavy, thumping music pounded from the open door. He nodded towards the opening, then looked at my hand. Looked at Tish and nodded again, like he might have changed his mind, but changed it back again.

He turned to the soldier for just a second. I turned, too.

He was getting close. We looked at each other again. His eyebrows raised. Still he hadn't spoken.

My mum's words ran through my head.

“Never get in a car with a stranger, unless it's a policeman.”

I thought of asking him what his job was, but the words wouldn't come. The man still stared, raising his eyebrows. It was time to choose.

I looked down at Tish. I'd be okay on my own, but it wasn't just about me anymore. I had my sister to look after and I took a step towards the car, could feel the warmth rolling out and saw my Dad's blood streaked up the white paint of the car bonnet.

He spoke for