Bayleigh – Thursday: Plague Day
It happened right outside. Of all the things she remembered from that day and all the dark ones that followed, the moment that it happened was stuck foremost in her memory. But seeing it happen to Layla was what woke her, for years afterward, from nightmares that remained when she opened her eyes.
Thursday morning and the early lunch time rush was in full swing. They were both worked off their feet, the easy back and forth of their morning conversation entirely absent. They’d been talking about dreams. Not the sleeping kind, but the things you looked forward to. She hadn’t talked about them to anyone, not for longer than she could remember.
It still felt like a betrayal of dad to even think about them, but she couldn’t help it. Every morning she woke up and set off for his room only to stop when she reached the landing and the open door. The room was empty, the bed no longer bearing bars and the corners bare of their rubber strips. And every morning she’d cry for a bit and go to breakfast with the biggest sense of confusion and a smile on her face.
But times like this were nice. This was why she’d opened the shop, for the easy banter over the counter and the methodical, caring making. Every sandwich was a miniature creation, put together with love and thought and every smile she received was payment that made it all worth while. She shook her head, handing over a mozzarella and tomato.
She thought too much. She always had. She needed to just enjoy herself, to relax and be in the moment. Layla nudged her in the back and nodded at the front door. Ali stood there, his flour-coated clothes absent. He strolled in, round the queue and to the end of the counter.
‘Morning.’
‘Hey, Ali.’ Layla’s bright, innuendo-ripe tones filled the shop and made Bayleigh wince.
‘Hi.’ She managed, blushing into a ploughmans with extra mayo. Ali gave her a grin and folded his arms, watching the coming and going like a local at a pub. He’d become a local now, appearing every day once his deliveries were done to chat and make his interest in her plain.
She loved it.
She handed over the ploughmans and glanced up. The queue was still out the door and she ran her eyes over the fresh stuff. They should have enough, but it always got close. It was the only way to turn a profit. She caught something out the corner of her eye and paused.
Two enormous trucks pulled up on the other side of the street, painted a uniform shade of slate grey and military-looking. They had stopped on the double yellows and were already causing chaos behind them. The back door of the rear one opened and a number of soldiers jumped out. She thought they were soldiers. They wore uniforms in the same dull colour of the trucks, but they had gas masks on and huge helmets covered in netting.
They were part-Vietnam war, part-Star Wars and they made her shiver. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms and her stomach turned over. Other people in the shop had noticed them as well and the entire queue turned to watch. She blinked and returned to her customer but his back was to her, staring with the rest.
She put her knife down and joined them, walking down the counter to peer out through the front window. Layla joined her.
‘What are they? Creep me out.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Without knowing why, she slipped her hand into Layla’s. More soldiers poured from the other truck until twenty of them stood in a circle. Another truck pulled up, smaller and bearing a cylinder the size of a washing machine. The soldiers surrounded it, facing outward. They carried guns and it was that, more than anything, that made her take a step back away from the window.
A man dressed in white, with a shaved head and sunglasses above his gas mask, stepped from the smaller truck. He strode around to the side of it and pressed buttons set into the cylinder. The hissing sound was audible inside the shop and she watched as thick dark smoke jetted up into the London sky. The man turned away from the truck, putting his hands behind his back as he joined the ranks of soldiers.
Bayleigh’s mouth filled with bile. She didn’t understand what she was watching, but still her stomach rebelled and her instinct screamed at her to run. Layla gripped her arm so hard she pulled it away, hissing.
‘Sorry, Bay, what are they doing?’
‘I don’t know. I think we should leave.’
‘Where we going?’
Bayleigh turned away from the window. ‘Don’t know, just away.’ She froze as the first scream reached her. She turned back to the window, not wanting to but unable to resist. A man had fallen over and lay face down on the ground before the soldiers. His body was tense, his arms holding him up as though he’d got rigour-mortis. But he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead.
She realised she’d picked up the knife again and dropped it. The clang as it bounced off the counter was loud in the shop and everyone jumped and turned. Then chaos erupted. Customers streamed into the street, shouting and shoving and in moments the place was empty save the two of them and Ali.
His face was pale, his usual confident grin very much absent. Bayleigh couldn’t take her eyes off the street. More people were dropping now. Some ran and just looked like they tripped. Others were standing and didn’t fall over immediately, just wobbled until someone else caught them. Then they went down like broken statues.
Every person who fell was rigid, hands curled up like claws and arms crooked as though they were pretending to be velociraptors. She saw one of her regulars approach the truck and start speaking to the man with his hands behind his back. One of the soldiers stepped out of line and smashed the butt of his gun into her customer’s face.
He dropped to one knee and she watched dumbfounded as blood streamed from his mouth onto the floor. It was almost scarier than the smoke billowing up; the casual violence with no cause and no comeback was so abrupt. What followed was just as shocking. The soldier drove his boot into the man’s throat and he fell to the floor, gripping his shattered windpipe as his life fled.
Bayleigh clapped a hand over her mouth. Finally, she was galvanised into action and headed out the back followed closely by the other two. The back door opened onto a dark alleyway empty of people. They ran out and headed to the end. The street was in pandemonium; tourists, office workers, students and everyone else running in all directions. She stopped short at the exit of the alley.
A Chinese man raced past, camera jiggling about in one hand. He stopped as he drew level with her and put his free hand to his throat. He coughed, once, and hit the pavement face down. She saw his hands curl, as though he got angry as he lay there. She knelt beside him and put her hand on his shoulder
She pulled it away, gasping at the heat. He was burning up and she took a step away, blowing on her hand. Ali came to stand beside her and nudged the body with his foot. It was stiff, moving as though he’d pushed a piece of wood. She looked up at him, but the sight of his pale face and flushed cheeks was too unnerving and she looked quickly away.
As her gaze wandered back across the street, she heard Ali cough. Her hands grabbed his as they turned to stare at one another. He coughed again and doubled over and she screamed as he dragged her to the floor. His hands curled within hers, the nails digging into her palms. Her knees struck the concrete and the scream cut off abruptly.
Then Ali fell face first to the concrete, hard and unyielding.
You may have noticed a new picture on this blog post. This is the current idea for the book cover when 13 Roses is released. What do you think? Do you like it? Would you change anything? Any comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks 🙂
Next Installment Thursday 21st August
