20 THE GREAT ESCAPE
Working under bright emergency lights, we load our bounty into the back of the Land Rover, the bagpipes echoing in the distance, getting fainter by the second.
Once we're done, Doyle calls, “Get in.” He’s been panning the area with his gun, just in case of an attack.
We told Kenny we’d wait ten minutes for him. After fifteen minutes, there’s no sign of him, and I can no longer hear the bagpipes. Surely, we should be able to hear them? Dread snakes its way up my back. Is he dead? Was he overrun?
Doyle starts the engine. But he doesn’t go; instead, he waits.
“A few more minutes,” he mutters, a bead of sweat trickling down from his normally cool brow. Kenny’s act of bravery has got to him, and like us, he wants him to survive.
There’s no murmur of protest from Mustafa, Scott, and me. So far, none of the freaks has lumbered through the door we’d left open. Kenny’s plan must have worked.
But at what price? In my mind, I see him on the deck, screaming as dead bastards tear him limb from limb, one of them digging inside his chest and bringing his still beating heart to their lips.
If Kenny survived, surely he'd be here by now.
They must have got him.
A sob rises in my throat, and I have to dig my nails into my palm to prevent a cry from escaping. Even with Scott alongside me, holding my hand, I feel alone in the back seat, and I have since we got in. There’s too much space because a massive presence is missing. I would give anything to see Kenny push his glasses up the bridge of his nose just one more time, a quirk that used to drive me crazy.
“He's not coming,” Scott says firmly.
I want to scream at him to shut up, but my insides contract because I know he's right. Still I lie to myself, saying Kenny's going to appear at any moment, pumped up with adrenaline, spouting his wacky theories. But even as that thought goes through my mind, I visualize his glasses smashed on the ground beside him as a gang of dead bastards crowd round and strip his body bare of skin and muscle, snapping off rib bones as though they’re cloakroom tickets, while his lips contort in pain.
He’s not even armed, for god’s sake. It’s not right that when the zombies came we were stuck in a country with so little guns.
Fifteen minutes gone.
Doyle switches the gear into reverse.
Mustafa who’s said nothing for minutes, throws open the door. “Nah, this isnae happening,” he roars and leaps from his seat, jumping out onto the tarmac. “I'm gonnae get him.”
“For fuck's sake,” Scott yells, “Muzz, get back in here,” and he clambers out the car and tries to manhandle his mate back in the motor.
Mustafa’s fighting him off. “I’m no leaving without him. I’d rather be eaten by those freaks.” He turns his anger on Doyle. “It should have been you who went. You could have used your bomb. You were gonnae blow yourself up anyway. You could have taken out loads of those bastards with you. Done something good. You’re nothing but a fucking coward.”
Doyle sits impassive in the driver’s seat. Then his gaze moves away from Mustafa, and he flashes a grin.
Mustafa makes a grab for Doyle through the car window, his fist clenched. “What are you grinning at, terrorist?”
“What's up, boys?”
It’s Kenny. He's ditched the bagpipes and is wheezing away like he’s chain-smoked a hundred cigarettes. His clothes are ripped, and he’s sweating and I can’t see any injuries.
“Thought you'd be away by now,” he says, hands on the side of the car, like he needs it to keep himself upright.
Before he can say another word, I’m out of the Rover, and I’ve wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into my chest. “You’ve not been bitten, have you? Or scratched?”
“Nah,” he says into my ear.
When I let go, he’s blushing.
“That’s some greeting.” He’s eyeing Scott as if he’s worried that he’ll banjo him for hugging his girl.
Scott and Mustafa grab him in a group bear hug, and together we help him into the back seat. “So you missed me?” Kenny asks as I cover him with a blanket and hand him the last can of Irn Bru from the shopping centre.
“Nah,” Mustafa says. “But, we did miss your spellbinding bagpipes playing. The ones at the Royal Tattoo have nothing on you, man.”
We all howl with laughter like it’s the funniest thing we’ve ever heard, until the tears are streaming down our faces because we’re so goddamn happy.
Doyle floors the gas.
As the Rover roars down the levels and smashes through the shuttered entrance into daylight, I'm filled with hope that we’re going to be okay.
21 LAURA AND CALLIE’S STORY
“Sssh, mum’s coming.”
Callie scowled at her sister and carried on applying her make up, her backside arched in the air because she was leaning forward rather than sitting in the chair at the dressing table. Laura stifled a giggle when she realised it was at perfect kicking height. Not that she’d do anything about it. Callie was pretty fierce and she didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. She could see her sister's thong, which was probably why Callie was wearing a teeny skirt that mum would have called a pelmet if she’d caught her wearing it. Callie always boasted that you should “show everything you’ve got” if you wanted guys to be interested in you.
“Laura, pass me the mascara. Need a second coat.”
She handed it to her with a groan. She knew she’d never see it again. Her sister was always borrowing her stuff and it'd go into a black hole, which annoyed her no end because surely it was meant to be wee sister’s who borrowed their big sister’s stuff and not the other way round.
Laura was thinking that when the door swung open and their mum’s prematurely grey head came into view as she popped her head round the door.
“Remember, I’m on late shift, tonight,” she reminded them. “You’ll have to make your own dinner.”
She didn’t come into the room or she’d have caught her youngest daughter posing in front of a mirror pouting away like Cheryl Cole in a skirt that only just covered her bum.
“See,” hissed Callie once their mother was gone, “she wouldn’t even notice if I was shagging Stevie Hamilton in here.”
Stevie was the guy everyone in our year fancied. He'd got into trouble with the law and had missed a year of school, but they'd let him back in. He had earrings in both ears, lush hair like Harry Styles and he had a motorbike.
It was gone six when their mum headed out, shouting up at them to eat the cheese and macaroni she’d left in the pot. But they didn’t have time for that. Not when they had a cool party in a warehouse in town to go to.
One of Callie’s pals had posted it on her Facebook page and all of their pals were going. But Laura wasn’t sure about it. Most of the folk there would be way older. Some girl called Mona was meant to be hiring it for her birthday and she was 18.
‘I’m not sure about this.” Laura stood there in her skinny jeans that hung off her hips and three quarter length top. ‘If mum finds out she’ll go mental.”
Callie raised her eyes in irritation, an expression Laura knew well because she frequently made that face to her elder but less cooler sister.
“She won’t find out because we’ll be back well before two, when her shift finishes.”
Callie went back to sifting through the puddles of clothes on the floor, because she’d changed her mind about what top to wear, again as Laura fretted over whether they should be going at all. She wasn’t sure about this party.
***
The place was heaving when they climbed out of a taxi. Callie blagged their way in by pretending they were the sisters of the party girl and flirting with one of the bouncers, a tall greasy looking guy who made Laura feel instantly uneasy. She didn’t like the way he looked Callie all over when she spoke to him, like he was imagining her naked. The sleazy creep was enjoying the view and he was ancient. At least 30.
“Mind and say goodbye to us when you leave girls,” he said to Callie’s chest as his mate stood and stared.
Her sister giggled.
It was a relief when they were finally in the door. The whole floor was reverberating in time to the music that blasted out from every corner of the room, and the strobe lighting made the place look like a movie star’s party.
After five minutes when they couldn’t find anyone they knew, she wanted to leave but Callie was having none of it. “We’re here to partee,” she’d squealed, wriggling her bum next to a group of much older guys on the dance floor.
Laura relaxed and danced. Once she surrendered to the beat, the music became part of her and she lost all her self-consciousness. It was going to be a great night. One they could boast about for weeks to come. All of their friends who hadn’t made it to the party would be so jealous.
When the screaming started, Laura thought it was someone getting rag dolled. She’d heard there were always plenty of fights at these parties. When she saw people at the other end of the warehouse running in her direction, she thought they’d spotted some rats. The warehouses by the Clyde were full of rats. At least that’s what her mum said.
Then a guy in a Ralph Lauren shirt careered into the group of people Laura and Callie had been dancing next to. There was a girl in a Lipsy dress on his shoulders with a vacant expression on her face like she was high. The guy was spinning round and round, trying to throw her off. At first, Laura thought they were larking around, that the girl was trying to kiss him, but when her mouth came away from his neck Laura realised she’d bitten a chunk out of him. There was blood and skin caught between her teeth that were dripping with blood.
“Fuck,” someone shrieked.
Before she could find out who’d spoken, she watched in horror as two guys pinned down another and ripped into his flesh with their teeth and hands, ripping away chunks that they wolfed down.
“Laura, we need to get out of here.”
She was so transfixed that if her sister hadn’t spoken she'd have still been standing there watching as someone was eaten alive.
Laura took Callie’s hand and they sprinted towards the exit. Reaching it wasn’t easy because people were scattering in all directions, barrelling into one another and trampling on anyone who fell in a desperate rush to escape. A girl in a polka dot dress and way too much eye make up, swiped at Callie as they pushed past but she wasn’t fast enough and they managed to get past.
“There’s too many people here. We’ll never get out,” gasped Callie as they hit another wall of folk desperate to escape. The tendons on one girl’s leg were visible as though all the skin had been stripped off, but she was still trying to run, tears streaming down her face with panic and pain. Another guy was holding his torn ear together with one hand, with a stunned expression on his face.
‘The fire exit,” she shouted, as she pushed her sister in the other direction.
They did their best to avoid bumping into people, especially the ones who looked like they were on something, but anyone who got in their way was shoved aside. There was no time for good manners. They had to get out of here. Everybody had gone crazy.
By the time they reached the fire doors, they were dizzy, exhausted, and about to collapse with the effort, but being so close to safety gave them strength and they summoned up their last reserves of energy to make it out.
When they stumbled out onto the snow-filled pavement, they saw people ahead of them moving down the street. Some of them were running and screaming, whilst others were just walking, dazed and confused.
“What the hell is happening?” she asked her sister.
Callie laughed and made a remark about them being punk’d.
Laura didn’t have time to ask her if she believed that because the two bouncers from earlier were getting into a navy blue van.
“They’ll give us a lift,” chirped Callie, sure of herself.
Laura wanted to keep going, to get to the main street where they could get a taxi or bus, rather than trust two strangers, one of whom was a slimy creep. But, before she could tell her sister what she was wanted to do, Callie had run over to the van.
The sleaze from earlier had his hand hanging out the window, the embers of his cigarette glowing in the dark.
Laura reached Callie in time to hear the man say,” Sure, I can give you a lift, sweetheart.”
She grabbed her sister’s arm and putting on a fake smile said,” Thanks, mister but our dad’s car’s over there.”
She was pointing to a silver BMW that was parked at the bottom of the road, when the van door slammed open and she heard the thud as someone’s boots landed on the tarmac. The other security man was advancing towards them, sneer at the edges of his lips that reminded Laura of a worm. He nodded to his pal and before Callie could react, he lifted her up and carried her towards the back of the van as she turned into a wild cat, screeching, clawing and kicking.
Laura wanted to go and help her, but Callie was screaming at her to go, to get help.
She’d made it past the van, when a high heel boot appeared out of nowhere, sending her sprawling. Laura stared up at her attacker; a woman with a weather beaten face and eyes hard and emotionless looked down at her.
“Now you’re a wee tease, hen. Running away wasn’t nice. Not when ma boys offered you a lift away from those freaks.”
With a flick of her head, she motioned back towards the warehouse where three people were chasing a man who was clutching his bleeding arm.
As the woman held her back, Laura was forced to watch helplessly as her sister was bundled into the back of the van by the two men. Laura wriggled free but the woman stuck out a foot and she tumbled onto the ground. She was trying to haul herself up off the ground, when a boot struck her jaw and sent her reeling. Pain screamed through her face.
As the whole world went black, she could hear herself asking her mum to close the blinds because her head hurt. Then nothingness…
***
When Laura came to, she was lying on a filthy mattress on the floor of a moving van. Her hands and feet were bound together with rope that would have burned her wrists and ankles if they hadn’t been so numb. Callie was huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth and hugging herself. Her skirt was ripped down one side and she was no longer wearing a top. She seemed to be in some kind of trance and when Laura called her name, she didn’t even look up.
It took a while and every movement was agony as the blood started to flow again, but sliding on her bum, Laura managed to shuffle over to Callie. Her sister started to sob uncontrollably when she tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. The ballsy sister was gone. Now Laura was the big sister.
She was telling Callie that they were going to get out of there, when the van stopped and the back door crashed open.
Her first thought was that the police had found them, until she saw the familiar face of the creep from earlier. Standing beside them, was the other security guard.
He grinned at them, exposing rotting teeth. “Hello girls, he said, “we’re gonna have some fun.”
It could have been hours, days or even weeks, time bled into one, but both girls were raped repeatedly and what made it worse was the way the woman watched what was happening with almost paternal pride. It didn’t surprise Laura when one of the men called the woman ‘mum.’
Once, when Laura screamed at the tall one to stop and asked him why he was doing this to them, he’d responded by marching over to Callie and stubbing out his cigarette on her arm, whooping when she’s cried out in pain and her skin sizzled. Then he’d marched over to Laura and punched her in the face. The blow knocked her off her feet but she refused to cry. No matter what they did to her, she wouldn’t cry.
When they’d stopped the van and ordered them to get out, she hoped they were letting them go, but instead they’d put chains on their hands and padlocked them to each other.
“If one of you tries to escape or yells, I’ll put a bullet in the other one,” the tall one told them. He was holding a gun.
The girls stumbled out of the van, the light reflected off the snow, blinding their eyes, as they'd been frog-marched down a road. There was an upturned bus and they were ordered to hide behind it with the men on either side of them and the “mother” watching from inside the van.
Five minutes later when they heard the car, a breath caught in Laura’s throat. Were they going to be rescued?
When their captors started talking about getting new transport and supplies, she realised what was happening…