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

Relaxing the screwdriver from my grip, I watched the village grow in the distance. To continue to call it a village was a big step; I could see four houses.

Each sat squat and close to the ground, much like where we'd just come from, but otherwise individual. A small post office sat nestled in the line as the road wound out of view. No corner shop yet, or one of those local supermarkets, but I hoped there would still be plenty of road to see when we got in close.

Cassie looked to the sky and along the horizon.

I followed, looking up and remembering the helicopters, bracing myself to run and hide as soon as we heard the first signs of their spinning rotors.

Cassie's gaze fixed on a valley, cutting between the shallow hills to the left.

“Might be a river,” she said, pointing in its direction. “If all else fails.”

I nodded, chancing another look back, pleased to be putting distance between us and the farmer.

Soon, the first of the cottages were on our right. Outside, lights hung around the edge of the low roof, their lamps drab and unlit, not unusual in the bright daylight. The curtains were drawn. The gate closed. No newspapers stuck half-out from the letter box. No candlelight came through the thin rounded panes of glass running up and down the door.

There were no sounds as I leaned in. The round, brass handle stung my hand with its cold, refusing to turn.

“We should…” Cassie said in a whisper, stopping as I held my palm high.

I'd heard something and she leaned in beside me, following the question in my expression. Her face drew in close and I could smell her perfume, not the kind which came from the bottle, but just as evocative.

Together we listened and I turned, concentrating through the mottled glass, but whatever was on the other side was obscured in darkness.

I turned again, Cassie looking to the door as our eyes met. Another sound brought my attention back. There was definitely someone moving around in there.

I chanced a look at Cassie, our faces so close. She drew back a pace, turning to look along the building.

“Hello,” I said in a whisper.

Cassie shook her head.

“We should try the other end of the village first,” she said, her voice even quieter.

“Hello,” I repeated, a little louder this time.

Cassie's hand touched the top of mine.

“We should…” she said but stopped as we heard a series of what sounded like footfalls.

My mouth opened to a smile, eyebrows flashing in her direction. I turned to the door and something hit the wood hard from the other side. A small pane of glass burst open, glancing shards across the side of my face.

A gaunt, grey hand launched out in a foul-smelling cloud and grabbed my coat, the force pounding against my ribs. I doubled forward, hitting my head and was face to face with sunken eyes, squashed against the semicircle of textured glass.

50

A thin, yellowing sleeve covered the arm. Cassie's iron bar crashed down across it with a great puff of effort, but still the grip held.

I looked down and saw the skin tight around the bones. I tried pulling back, pushing away from the door, but no matter how much I tried it wouldn't let up. My left hand grabbed around the wrist but let go, the skin so cold; unreal, like a life-size doll.

A two-handed swing from over Cassie's head cracked against the forearm, snapping it down the middle. The grip sprung wide like the release of a bear trap, but the arm stayed out, waving from the window, leaving the last half of the limb swinging from side to side.

Cassie pulled me back from the door with such force I nearly fell to the ground before I made any distance.

Stumbling, I somehow kept on my feet as she pulled me along. I stared back, the drooping hand waving to the constant bang of its head butting hard from the other side.

Regaining my composure, we ran in the centre of the road, keeping an even distance between each of the buildings.

Looking back, the farmer was nowhere. We then turned to watch the village open out and end. There was no supermarket, corner shop or pub, just the post office, looking no bigger than the size of a phone box.

Cassie slowed first and I matched her pace. Her hands reached into her pocket and she pulled out a cloth, beckoning me closer with her other hand.

I followed her request and stooped a little. The cloth came away with a light dapple of blood, but I felt little pain as she gently dabbed the wound.

“We need to be careful,” she said. “You need to be careful.”

A wide smile filled my face and she handed me the cloth.

“The Post Office is our best bet. Do you think?” I said, pushing the cloth to my pocket.

There were ten houses, each painted white, but all so different and similar at the same time. A thought came to mind and I turned around on the spot, taking in each of the houses for the second time.

“No cars,” Cassie said, before I had a chance to voice my findings.

“Evacuated themselves?”

She shrugged.

“We should find a map in the post office. We can walk to the next place, maybe find a car or at least somewhere with food.”

Nodding her reply, we walked but took our time to peer in each of the houses, stepping no closer than we needed too, not leaving the road.

Most were wrapped up tight, windows closed, curtains drawn, the occasional low-key Christmas decoration. All bar one.

A house, again much like the others, sat in the middle between two similar