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

too long, I headed back to the first house, to where people had lived who I didn't know. I smashed my elbow through the glass in the front door; had the place open in no time at all.

Inside was decked out for Christmas. Long lines of decorations ran along the hall ceiling, tinsel wrapped around the phone just inside the door. I batted the stuffed Father Christmas to the floor and pulled up the receiver, pushing the three digits even though I hadn't registered the tone I needed to hear.

I let the phone drop as no one answered and stared out at the flames as the roof caved in on Mike's house. He'd lived there for five years. He’d bought the place with the girlfriend, but would have to sell; not anymore. It was someone else's problem.

It was warm in the house and I wandered around, trying to think of what I should do next. We lived in the middle of nowhere, all the cars gone. I would have to walk to find out what the hell this was all about.

The rest of the house was decorated the same. Not one corner had escaped the cheap, plastic-coated decorations. The tree sat in the corner of the front room; the presents gone from underneath; the lights washed out. Unlit, the switch not working.

I sat in a great armchair and dust flew up. I could smell the owners and stood. A shadow passed the window. There was someone in the road; someone had heard my calls and ambled down the street in awe of the fire.

Rushing out of the front door, I saw a young, twenty-something brunette, my eyebrows rising; things were looking up. Her clothes were a little ragged, jeans had some dark mark across the front and her top was ripped open, a white bra exposed. I could see her full cups. Things really were looking up.

She hadn't noticed me yet. Her eyes stared at the fire as her feet rose slow, one after the other, heading towards where my friend had died.

“You okay?” I said from the doorway and she turned to meet me.

Above her eyes shined a great bruise; blood had dried as it had rolled down from the injury. Her gaze latched onto mine. She was pale and seemed a little dazed. It was clear she'd been in a car accident and I looked down the road for the car but saw nothing.

Running inside, I pulled a coat from the hook and rushed back over, offering out the warmth. She couldn't take her eyes off me. Things were looking up, but first I needed to get her to the hospital.

59

Her hand reached out, batting the coat to the side. I took a step nearer, raising the best smile my banging head could manage but I drew back as I caught more than just the acrid smoke still burning inside my nostrils.

Turning on the spot, I searched again as I tried to figure out how I would get her to the hospital when I couldn't even get myself a ride.

I stepped around her, attempting again to push the coat to her shoulders, but she twisted and followed my turn in stiff, unnatural movements. I started to think maybe the head wound had done substantial damage.

Reaching her hands out, the smell of the acrid smoke intensified as she grabbed hold of the arm of my jacket. With a tremendous grip, she wouldn't let go, her mouth opening and closing, leaning to pull me closer.

I backed away, protecting my hand as she drew it to her mouth. She was in serious trouble, her brain damaged. I hoped the doctors could do something about it.

I pulled my arm clear and stepped back, over and again as she reached out, unrelenting. The neighbour's coat fell from her shoulders.

The roar of an engine broke the cycle. Finally, someone was coming who could help the injured woman to safety.

Stepping backwards, I carried on around in a circle, with her continuing to follow in the middle of the road as I kept an eye on the building rumble.

I expected to see one of those coaches from the night before, or a fire engine, an ambulance, police maybe; hope holding out they weren't a thing of the past.

I hadn't expected the Land Rover Defender rocking on its squealing tyres as it barely made the corner. I hadn't expected to see someone in the driver's seat I recognised more as he grew closer. Although still hopeful, the shine of his bald head and the snarling grin couldn't have been anyone else.

It was Damien Edwards. We'd gone to school together; we were at the same school, at least. He was a loner. He was someone who hung at the periphery of our large group, but no one would have called him a friend. He was troubled. Conflicted. One moment full of confidence, talking for hours about nothing at all, the next bullying some kid; whoever he'd picked out at random to break the boredom.

I'd rarely been his target, but I'd watched many others in his crosshairs. He'd done all the maturing he ever would long before he joined halfway through secondary school. He was the kid who'd pulled the legs from a spider, then ate the rest just to show you he could. When we laughed, he'd tell us to go fuck ourselves, punching out in a random direction. He'd been a skinhead ever since he'd joined; we had no idea if his hair could grow or if he shaved every day.

He'd left school at sixteen like the rest of us and got a job, but was fired more times than I could count. He didn't play nice with others. Each time I saw him, usually for an awkward conversation in the pub, he'd have another tattoo to show off. Now he drove down