AFTER (Book #3)

Chapter Eight

Dawson skulked through the mid-afternoon shadows, clinging to the walls like a baby sloth to its mother. The darkness was her armour, and the light an ever-shining siren for any predator lurking nearby. Her body ached with acidic fear, not for her own survival, her days were all but numbered, no, it was the fear of Karl being alone that dragged her onwards.   

It hadn't been an emotional goodbye at Novus, in fact, Dawson had forbidden any notion of farewell. It all felt far too final for her liking, she still had some life in her weary bones after all. Max, Lizzie and Rodney had wanted to join her on the hunt, but again, she simply would not allow it. Her legacy would be about saving lives, not watching more vanish before her eyes.

It was too dangerous on the streets, especially since they had entered the city. Get into bother here and you leave behind a cleanly plucked skeleton, human to bone in mere seconds. Although, it somehow seemed preferable to the other option. Turning into one of... them, it was an insult to an entire life that had been led. Every good deed and pleasant memory replaced by an unquenchable hunger for death and murder.

Dawson didn't want to go down like that, but if it was what she had to become to find Karl, then so be it.

A faint whistle carried through the soft breeze, beckoning Dawson's attention to the rooftop across the street. GiGi had his fist raised, urging her to halt her movements to avoid passing clickers.

The charming Italian had insisted on joining her on her search in order to repay his debt, something that he was quite insistent on. After some time arguing, Dawson finally allowed him to tag along, so long as he stuck to the rooftops, providing directional and sniper support when needed. He was under strict instructions to abort at the slightest sign of trouble.

Dawson held her position, waiting for GiGi's palm to open once more, which would send her on her way. The wait felt like an eternity, and Dawson could feel a strange sense of angry impatience bubbling up from within. She was well aware that GiGi was just doing his job, and keeping her alive at that, but it was frustrating her.

She shook away the anger, like a dog emerging from a puddle, and continued along her path as soon as GiGi gave the all clear. It wasn't a particularly hot day, and although Dawson was restricted to the cooler shadows, she could feel her brow sweltering, like a weight pressing down into her skull.

Another whistle, this time GiGi signalled that there were two clickers, just around the next corner to her right. Fist clenched, spare hand flat against the wrist, proceed with caution.

Dawson slowly drew her trusty knife, twirling it delicately in her hand as she crept up to the very edge of the corner. She could hear the clicking, no more than a foot or two around the other side of the bricked wall. Composing herself for a second or two, she weaved around the corner, tugging the first clicker back by a clump of its hair, and sliding her knife into its temple. Dropping the first like a sack of potatoes, she proceeded to expertly sweep the second's legs away, immediately leaping down onto its prone body as she drove the blade into the centre of its face.

She glanced back towards GiGi for further instruction, the signal that he made this time around was a love heart. Dawson sighed and moved on.

They were close now, no matter how much she wished that she didn't, she recognised these streets. They would forever be ingrained into her psyche for the rest of her days, and still scorched onto her soul long after she was gone.

She almost couldn't bring herself to look at the battered carcass of the van that had once been her floating lifesaver. Although she was technically still walking, this was the place that killed her, this was where she died.

The street was eerily quiet, a painful contrast from her last visit, and a loud reminder that an ambush could be waiting around any corner or lurking on any rooftop. She just hoped that GiGi would be safe high up on his perch.

Dawson traced her steps back to where they had first found the vehicle. The spot was still littered with thick congealed blood and assorted body parts from the barrage they had received. A metallic taste hung in the air, paired up with the smell of rot and decay. It was like being in the centre of a mass grave.

Dawson couldn't help but look at the remnants of past lives around her, now amounting to nothing more than a stain on the pavement. Thirty odd years of life, and then countless more in death. It was as if she had been given the drivers seat for the first portion of her life but was now being asked to relinquish control.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of her mind, if it even was her mind anymore, Dawson crossed the street, heading around the side of the cinema complex. Max and Lizzie had described the twins' route to her, how they saw them crash through the fire exit door, and how Karl had just about clambered to safety over the chain link fence.

Dawson refused to even glimpse down beside the dumpsters, she knew what she might find there, and it was a sight couldn't bring herself to witness. Instead she scampered down the alleyway, towards the final known location of the surviving twin. She paused only for GiGi to catch up.

Once they reached the end of the ally, there was no one obvious way to go, no way of telling which direction Karl would have fled in. It had been days since they last saw him, he could have covered half the city in that time. Dawson just had to hope and pray that if he was still out there, he would be trying desperately to find Novus, and his friends.

Just as Dawson was about to look towards GiGi for guidance, an ear-piercing scream drilled through the air. It certainly didn't belong to Karl, it was far too childlike, but that didn't mean that Dawson could ignore it. Without a second's thought, or the presence of mind to wait for her rooftop companion, she darted into the daylight, sprinting in the direction of the kid.

The screams continued, each more petrified than the last, but they were getting louder, which meant that Dawson was close. If the child was able to scream for this long without being halted, they were clearly safe for the time being. There was still a chance to save them.

Dawson rattled down the centre of the street, her neck snapping from side to side, frantically trying to locate the source of the shrill cries, before settling on a house to her left. She bounded over to the front windows, but through a mixture of dust and darkness, she could see little through the murky glass. The child was in there though, that was for certain. Now that only wood and brick was separating Dawson from the screams, she was certain that there was a little girl trapped inside.

She ran over to the front door, grappling with the handle, which eventually clicked open, and she was able to barge the door ajar. Slipping inside, the screams were now deafening, as if the child had taken up residence within Dawson's eardrums.

The living room was empty, the hallway too, with the screams seemingly coming from the rear of the house. Dawson's mind was racing, she pictured little George in the place of the child, screaming, crying, in danger. She had to save them.

After checking every other room, Dawson finally came crashing through the kitchen door, and there she was. A girl no older than ten stood in the centre of the room, eyes wide and bulging, mouth gaping, still emitting piercing cry after piercing cry.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Dawson yelled. "It's okay! I'm here! I can help!"

It was only as Dawson got a little closer that she noticed the red glint in the girl's eyes, and the slightly yellow shade of her skin. Then, just for a second, she stopped screaming, and smiled.

Every single tooth was on display as her mouth was painted with the manic smile of a nightmarish clown. Her bulging eyes switched from fear to glee, and her hand rose up to shoulder height, before waving ever so slowly.

The next scream tore Dawson's skin from her bones. The girl hunched over, head down low, with her eyes still somehow fixed on Dawson. This cry was different, it wasn't high pitched and childlike anymore. It was low. Deep. Demonic. Like the spine-chilling scream of a howler monkey.

Right on cue, as if waiting for the change of pitch, footsteps echoed above Dawson's head, and nails scratched at the upstairs floorboards.

By the time she locked eyes with the little girl again, Dawson was on her back, with the child on top, her chattering teeth inches from their goal. The girl's eyes were now feral, angry, hungry, all composure had vanished and been replaced by a sheer need to feed.

The footsteps were now pounding down the staircase, intent on joining in the feast, as Dawson held the freakishly strong child back by the neck.

Crack! Smash!

A ferocious bang followed almost instantly by the smashing of glass. The child's head exploded in Dawson's hands, showering her with blood, bone, and who knows what else. She stumbled onto her knees, retching up the liquid that had shot into her mouth.

More shots fired through the broken window, sending bodies tumbling down the remaining stairs.

GiGi clambered through the empty window frame, never taking his finger off the trigger for a second, until the chamber cried out for a new clip. The bodies had formed a three-foot high barricade at the base of the steps, leaving the clickers trapped behind as mere target practice for GiGi.

After five more bodies thumped down the hollow steps, the house fell silent.

"Even?" GiGi asked.