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

A flash of light lit up the inside of the neighbour’s cottage, followed by a third boom which came louder than we'd yet heard. The guy’s body shook, but he hadn't been the target.

“Look,” Cassie said, and I turned, following her bloodied, outstretched finger in the direction their cars had first arrived.

Blinking away the drying blood, I rubbed my eyes, hoping when I opened them the first vision would have gone. As my view cleared, I saw twenty or more of what appeared to be old-age pensioners in gowns, jumpers and tweed jackets, each walking with a new lease of life; their posture hung over and their pace slow, but still they looked too pronounced, too put together for the age they'd been before they'd died.

“Where the hell are they all coming from?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

“We weren't the only ones left behind,” Cassie said, as another gunshot rattled the glass. As our heads turned the length of the window, we caught sight of the old guy I’d seen lifting the net curtain as we’d jumped from his garden, his hands rushing to reload a long shotgun.

Continuing the turn with speed, we twisted our heads in the same direction. We were both desperate to look past the buildings blocking our view, trying our best to reach out to know if our friends were okay. Could they hear the shots? Would they be ready if we couldn't protect them?

“We need to…,” I was saying when I turned, but Cassie was already moving, already grabbing the baseball bat from the floor. Already at the door.

I followed, holding my chest and limping on my knee, only stopping to pull the crowbar from the skinhead's eye whilst trying not to listen as it sucked out from the deep wound.

“Get to the cars,” I shouted, as I followed down the stairs, rushing as fast as I could to get to where she waited at the backdoor smashed to the side, weaving around the obstacle course of TVs, consoles, DVD players and plastic boxes overflowing with designer shoes.

Out of the door, Cassie looked left and right. Our eyes met only for a moment, hers dropping to my knee as I leaned heavy against the wall. She paused, offered me the baseball bat and I shook my head; I didn't need a walking stick.

Around the corner of the building I waited at her shoulder; I was about to edge my way out when another gunshot ripped through the air, followed by a searing howl of pain.

My search for the sources of both noises interrupted as Cassie was off, running fast between the houses and not looking back. She was out and across the tarmac and crouched down by the side of the pickup, its rear overflowing with boxes and gadgets and all before I had cleared the gap.

I waited at the front of the house, seeing the procession of the elderly impossibly close, almost at the rear of the Land Rover.

Cassie's gaze was darting everywhere, but she couldn't see another man backing away from the door of the looter's cottage. He dressed the same as the others with a long kitchen knife high in his right hand, the left held up empty. She couldn't see the body lying out on the path leading away from the house; it was the man we'd watched emerge, trailing blood.

I watched her flinch as another shot raced from the house; watched as the guy dropped the knife, collapsing to the floor and hoped the neighbour with the gun knew we weren’t part of the looter’s gang.

I watched the car knock her back as a shot slammed against the front of the pickup, exploding the front left tyre.

Cassie turned, saw me standing between the buildings. She held her palm out for me to stay put, but I looked away as I saw one of the tracksuits appear. He was running hard from the back of the vigilante’s cottage toward the Land Rover and its rumbling engine.

The group of dead elderly inmates of a forgotten nursing home all twisted in his direction in a uniform turn. Somehow, his speed had caught their collective attention and they ignored Cassie altogether as they changed their course, veering towards the passenger door.

He didn't make it. A flash came from the doorway and the gun lowered for the reload as the shot slammed against his tracksuit, his wails of pain confirming it wasn't a clean kill.

Still the creatures headed in his direction, his vocal agony seeming to urge them on.

I ran, or tried, hobbling and almost collapsing on my knee each time I put down weight.

Cassie had seen my move and made her own, leaping towards the Land Rover. The creatures saw her run and the group split down the middle, half changing their course.

Still, she made it to the door and pulled it wide. She was in, despite the wrinkled hands scrabbling and bones crunching as she slammed the heavy door hard. Grinding the gears, she kangarooed around the pickup.

I changed my course and headed for the passenger door. I was going to make it, but as I turned to the cottage I saw the old man in the doorway, his face wet with tears and both barrels of the shotgun pointed in my direction.

62

With the Land Rover bucking, Cassie struggled at the controls as I came around the passenger door with no shots fired and my limbs still attached.

We were making slow progress, even once I'd sat in the passenger seat, still only just drawing alongside the cottage. I couldn't help but tempt fate and, turning to stare at the door, I hoped he'd not just cleared a jam; hoped he wasn't reloading a shell and wouldn't be repointing both barrels before pulling the