Should Have Killed The Kid Read online

  It was kind of bitterly amusing how people, cut off from the usual 24 hour news streams automatically assumed the worst. At least it helped Dave sort of understand why, once upon a time, people had looked to the sky and sacrificed their fellow man to appease it.

  But sadly, although he tried not to think about it, Dave could also see truth in the rumours. It was all too easy to imagine it from the other countries’ point of view. To picture their finger hovering over the button. Their confusion and fear. After all, what right did the apocalypse have starting in Australia, let alone some piss-ant town on the border of Victoria and New South Wales? It really would have blindsided them. Surely New York or Shanghai would be more appropriate. So many better targets: Paris, Berlin, Rome. Surely one of them would have been the first to fall.

  And jogged by that train of thought, Monty’s voice was playing in Dave’s head again. There are gates everywhere and each one has its gatekeeper, and Dave knew exactly why the town of Hent had been the beachhead…

  Should have killed the fucking kid, he thought as he felt it all welling up inside him, bubbling and bubbling until he wasn’t sure he could push it down this time. Strangely, he found himself longing for Naomi even though she had been gone before this had all started.

  Just before it could overwhelm him though, he felt the presence behind him and the flood of anger that washed through him helped him clamp down again.

  He knew exactly who it was.

  ‘Two visits in one day, Monty. People will talk,’ he called as the split screen of Naomi disappeared from his mind. The one with her smiling so sweet and seductively on the left while on the right her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched. The book ends of their relationships. The very first morning when he’d woken from the pub night with her still beside him in bed and the very last night when she screamed at him that he was a poisonous person.

  It was almost like she’d known.

  ‘I really don’t see how you can joke about this.’ Monty’s voice was as serious as death as Dave leaned on the ledge and sucked in another mouthful of cigarette smoke. Despite his fervent hope that the man would just fuck off, he sensed him moving in closer until he stood right beside him. Dave deliberately didn’t look across. ‘This could be the last opportunity we have to set things right and you just want to sit here and smoke and ignore it all.’

  ‘Got it in one, Monty.’ Dave exhaled his smoke in a thin stream.

  ‘Well that’s a great attitude, isn’t it? Exactly what are you hoping that'll achieve?’

  ‘Well for a start, I’m hoping to achieve you fucking off.’ Dave deliberately kept his voice light but his grip on the ledge tightened.

  Monty, as if sensing it, held his tongue for a second.

  Unfortunately the second didn’t last very long.

  ‘I already know you’ve chosen a possible child. Why do you have to keep lying to yourself that you haven’t?’ Monty said softly and Dave whirled to face him.

  ‘And how the…’ Dave dropped his voice as he realised that the door to the stairwell had opened during their discussion. That now a soldier stood half-silhouetted, watching him. ‘How the hell could you possibly know that Monty?’ He turned back to the burning vista in front of him and murmured through clenched teeth. ‘Doesn’t exactly bode well for you not being a figment of my imagination now, does it.’

  'Do you really need to ask?' Monty scoffed. 'Magic? Ring any bells?'

  Dave held back a snarl.

  Another silence reigned and Dave risked a glance back to check on the soldier. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he hadn’t perked her interest enough to investigate. Instead she was heading across to the ledge at the far end of the roof, her eyes turned to where the two of her comrades allegedly on watch were really getting down to business now. Even though she looked quite young – Dave doubted she’d be far past twenty – she had that look about her that just screamed bitch and Dave was glad he managed to rein it in before he really let rip at Monty. With the soldiers getting twitchy, it would be best to err on the side of caution. The last thing he wanted was to attract any undue attention. He found that was the best way to get along in the skyscrapers. Keep under the radar.

  Still he couldn’t help thinking it was a bit of a shame. Maybe if she smiled a bit she’d be pretty, he thought. As he watched, she settled on the ledge and propped her gun next to her then fumbled in the pocket of her unbuttoned shirt. Dave could only wonder at the change that had overcome the soldiers during the course of the siege. The rumpled khakis and sweat-stained singlets on display now were a world away from the immaculately pressed and polished uniforms that had ferried him from his flat in Brunswick.

  ‘You know that’s not true. You know I am not just a figment of your imagination.’ Monty dragged his attention back.

  In lieu of words, Dave raised the smoke up to his lips but, during his musings, it had burnt down. He sucked back nothing except acrid filter which did little to improve his mood nor did the feeling of the soldier’s eyes on him during the coughing fit that ensued. Dave let the butt drop over the edge of the building and leant against the edge until he got his breath back, not really registering Monty’s words until the man repeated them a second time.

  ‘They’re coming Dave. I can feel it. They’re coming. You need to stop fucking around.’

  ‘What?’ Dave spluttered, his question directed at Monty but perversely his eyes drifting across to where the soldier now watched him with a cocked eyebrow and a lit cigarette of her own. He saw that he was right about the smiling bit, though he didn't get much of a chance to enjoy the transformation it wrought on her face. Not that it really mattered that much to him. Unlike a lot of his fellow refugees, Dave found it was kind of difficult to maintain an interest in sex. Once the realisation hits that you are responsible for triggering genocide, that sort of thing just takes a back seat.

  ‘They’re coming. The claws in the shadows. They’re coming soon, and we are not going to be able to hold them back much longer.’ Monty’s voice suddenly sounded taut to the point of snapping.

  Dave did an abrupt double take as he looked back and really took in Monty’s appearance this time. He didn’t look good. Even for Monty. His face was even more drawn and paler than ever. The manic gleam to his eyes shining like a beacon in a wasteland of decay. It could have just been Dave’s imagination but he could have sworn the man was dripping with sweat.

  He looked sick. Really, really sick and once again Dave had to force away sympathy for him. Had to remind himself that the man had systematically slaughtered more children that anyone would ever know.

  ‘And how the hell would you know that then, Monty? What… you on speaking terms with them now? The way you’ve explained it to me, I’d be thinking that you "Gate Keepers” would be the last people these critters would be going to with info.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how I know, Dave. I doubt you’d even begin to understand even if I told you. All that matters is that you need to stop fucking about and do what needs to be done before it is too fucking late and you doom everyone. EVERYONE, Dave. With the amount you’ve fucked around it might already be too late as it is.’

  ‘Oh yeah, cause it’s just so FUCKING SIMPLE ISN’T IT!’ Dave lost it for a quick second, snarling the last words before he remembered the soldier’s presence. He felt his fists bunching and nearly attacked again, just like the first time Monty had appeared. He reeled it in though and after a quick look confirmed that the soldier was enjoying the show immensely, shoved his hands into his pockets and started off toward the stairwell.

  ‘STOP!’ Monty’s voice abruptly rose to a roar and Dave instantly felt his gut clench. In a second he was transported back to the blue-stone room as Monty brandished the glittering blade. Once more locked in the old man's burning glare.

  But when he turned, instead of attacking him like he expected, Monty merely sounded exhausted. ‘They’re coming, Dave. We can’t hold them back,’ he murmured and then he was gone, leaving Dav
e standing there blinking, butterflies churning away in his stomach.

  He flinched when the soldier stepped into view. She had finished her cigarette and was moving toward him. The gun in her hands seemed huge and drew his eyes like a siren. She stopped about a foot away and looked him over for a second. Maybe it was the red hair peeking from beneath her cap or because the pair shared the same green eyes, Dave wasn't sure, but the smile splitting the soldier's face seemed so familiar that it momentarily triggered a flash of Naomi. He didn't know why. They didn't really look anything alike: Naomi's own red hair had been much longer, hanging down to near the middle of her back, and her figure had tended more toward the curvy than the lithe one the army had sculpted the soldier's into.

  Sadly, though, the shot of her smiling quickly morphed into another. One that reflected how Dave was frequently seeing Naomi now: her body torn and leaking, a victim of the shadows that had overrun the country, the only thing smiling at him was the wet glint of bone through her gashes.

  The visual hit like a fist to his guts and it took most of his willpower to avoid wilting. In front of him, the soldier cocked one eyebrow, another bit of body language that brought to mind Naomi – it was a gesture she always used – and looked as though she was about to speak. Dave sincerely hoped it wasn't to say, 'Please come with me,' or something else of that ilk. But the soldier stayed mute and after a second of smiling at Dave, she shook her head and headed back into the stairwell.

  Dave stayed where he was. Sucking down the ashy air as the grunts and groans of the other two soldiers up on the roof started to swell to a crescendo and Monty's last words looped through his head.

  They're coming, they're coming, they're coming...

  They were quickly joined by his usual lament that seemed to overlay the loop perfectly.

  Should have killed the kid. Should have killed the goddamn kid...

  3.

  My name is David Thomas and you don't know me from a bar of soap. But you don't need to. All you need to know is that I've taken your child. I don't know whether or not you would even care about that. Sorry if that sounds harsh but I've been watching you and wow that just sounds creepy. Forget it, I'm sorry. It's been a confusing day. I just saw a man get beaten to death in front of me and...

  Dave stopped his scribbling as he realised the tangent his thoughts had veered onto. A second later the sheet emblazoned with the Ciamantti’s header was off the pad, scrunched and on the floor next to his three previous efforts. Dave leant his head against the desk behind him and sighed. He felt completely drained of energy as he reached up to rub at his eyes. A side effect, he was certain, of spending all day, every day under the artificially bright glow of fluorescent lights. By mid morning it always seemed to have sapped his strength and today the effect had only been heightened by the events since Monty's warning on the roof.

  He didn't know why he was bothering with a note. He tried to tell himself it was for the mother's benefit. That it would make it easier if he could explain it all to her. Deep down, however, he knew that it was just delaying the decision that needed to be made.

  Like a little bit of paper's going to make her feel better, he mused bitterly as he stared vacantly across at the stack of swivel chairs in front of him, his eyes on the sheet of A4 laminated paper blu-tacked to the back of it. “Recommended Ergonomic Set-up” He had to grin as he took in the stenciled outline of a figure seated at a desk with the exact millimeter measurements to the array of office equipment that surrounded it. Though, it was a rueful grin that didn’t stay in position for very long.

  You’re wasting time…

  Dave knew it but he seemed powerless to stop. He couldn’t seem to decide one way or another and writing it down hadn’t helped like he’d hoped it would. On the one hand he wanted to just push it all away. Just dismiss Monty as the figment of his imagination that he wished he was. But on the other one, the man’s words kept echoing over and over in his head.

  They’re coming. They’re coming.

  This could be the last opportunity we have to set things right…

  Stirring both dread and hope in equal amounts.

  Maybe there is still a chance to make things right? The idea was also difficult to accept. Everything around him seemed so bleak that he was very wary of letting hope creep in.

  Or maybe I am just bonkers and Monty and his warnings are just something I dredged up from my subconscious to make myself feel better…

  Strangely Dave found himself hoping Monty would reappear. Just a short time ago he would’ve sworn that would be something he’d never longed for but now he thought it would help immensely. It was far easier to be flippant when the impossibility of the man being present was right before his eyes. Far easier to convince himself that he was just a nutcase. Far easier to stop the uncertainty that was swirling around his mind.

  The overwhelming confusion.

  It was a state he’d been in ever since Monty’s last words up on the roof.

  They’re coming…

  For the longest time after the soldier headed back down the stairwell, Dave had continued to stand frozen on the roof. He'd barely even noticed as the other two soldiers finished up, dressed and returned to their post. He'd been too focused on his gradually building panic as the import of Monty’s words continued to grow on him.

  They’re coming. They’re COMING. THEY’RE COMING.

  Growing until he’d felt paralysed. Unable to move as what he’d witnessed of the shadows in action played through his mind. All the deaths he'd seen, both up close and with the aid of his television screen. The inky blackness running them down, swamping them in its dark embrace. Then the glinting flash of the claws in motion and the spurting blood as the rent bodies toppled to the ground. Barely even recognisable as humans anymore.

  If it wasn’t for the fear of missing his water rations, Dave would have probably stayed frozen there even longer. As it was he’d still found it a nerve-wracking trip back down the stairwell. He’d started at every shadow. Kept catching glints out of the corner of his eye no matter how much he tried to tell himself that wasn’t possible. That the alarm would have been raised if the things had got into the building.

  And his nerves weren’t helped any by what he did witness when he finally made it back to his cubicle. He’d been frazzled and jumpy to start with and the last thing he’d needed upon turning the corner was the perfect view of Brendan Toohey’s skull being split apart by the butt of a soldier’s rifle.

  But that’s what he’d got.

  Just like that. Gruesomely perfect timing. He’d arrived just in time to see Brendan’s face cave in like an eggshell. See blood and other gloopy pulp leak out across the carpet. Frozen in shock, completely unprepared, Dave almost vomited at the sight of Brendan sprawled on the ground, twitching feebly as the soldier stood over him. His two comrades putting up a pretence of looking the other way as the soldier hit him again.

  And again.

  The head crumpling beneath the blows as the soldier put everything into them. His neck and arm muscles corded. His face twisted into a snarl as the first red flecks started to dot his face and Brendon’s body jerked in response to the impact.

  Over and over and over. Until Dave could see the moment stretching out forever in front of him. See the butt falling over and over in its metronome beat.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  ‘I think he’s learnt his lesson, mate,’ one of the other soldiers finally interceded. His voice didn’t show any real concern though. It was casually sardonic as he’d calmly studied the remnants of what had once been Brendan’s skull, now mashed into the carpet. ‘Guess that’ll be the last time he loses his head, huh?’

  The blood speckled soldier stared at the other one for a moment, his eyes still blazing as he panted heavily. For a second Dave thought he was going to take it even further and attack his comrade. A very long second it was as he imagined the bloodshed that a shooting spree between the two would cause with so many people cooped up
together.

  Then the soldier had flinched and a smile slowly split his spattered face as though he’d just got the other one’s joke. ‘Yeah, you’re right there.’ The grin turned to a chuckle as he slapped his comrade on the arm. ‘Come on let’s get this fucker out of here before corporal diligence starts giving us shit.’

  It had been a long, long breath he’d held for the few seconds it took the soldiers to drag Brendan past him. The pulped mess of his head had left a narrow streak of gore along the carpet behind them that Dave couldn't keep his eyes off – as if he could read it like tea leaves and yield some sort of explanation from the grisly mess.

  Although after a few more seconds had yielded nothing but nausea, Dave had admitted defeat. He'd headed to his mat in the cubicle to find that, at the very least, Brendan’s death had distracted the others long enough for him to claim the half-filled bottle that had been tossed on top of his blankets.

  He’d eventually got the gist of it from Sandra, the mousy blonde who was tucked into the corner of the cubicle opposite.

  ‘He wanted more,’ she said as Dave gulped down his meagre dose of water and tried to ignore the tics and spasms shock sent rippling through her face. ‘That was all. His bottle was short and he just asked for more and it was like the soldiers snapped. Just clubbed him and dragged him off. Then… they…’ Sandra had dissolved into sobs that had still continued as Dave had crept out of the cubicle after finishing his water. Although a small part of him had been thinking that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, most of him was just sick to the stomach.

  The sick feeling that had followed him to his current perch, nestled in amongst the jungle of office furniture that filled the stairwell – he hadn’t the energy for another trip up to the roof – and was still there, twisted into a knot in the pit of his stomach as he tapped his pen on the pad he’d found in a desk drawer and tried to think of what to do.