Chapter Twelve

Despite having people think otherwise, life for Cherie Reynolds had been a scenic walk in the park with seldom a pit to catch her costly heels.

To hear her speak one would think life had nothing to offer but rancid lemons and it was an excuse she used when airing the frequent torrents of complaints whether in person or over the phone.

That morning had gone from bad to worse. From waking to find she had been sent the wrong artisan loaf, to her coffee being too bitter and now this. Black insects gnawing at the door, blood staining the carpets from their many feet.

For once her mind was not on her décor although at the back of her mind she was concerned still about her new shoes.

It was strange, how inching out of the second storey window and seeing the congealing slurry below, how priorities changed.

Wisps of blonde hair clung to her frantic face, damp from tears she hadn't realised she'd shed as her hands trembled on the ledge, hearing the scurry of beetles become louder.

Her fingers were chafed from her haste and becoming numb from how tightly she gripped the frame.

"I just have to time it," she whispered to herself as her eyes fixed themselves on the undulating roof of the car nearest. "If I can drop myself down, I can work from there."

The idea of landing on the hard steel, sticky with gore, turned her stomach but looking behind her at the glistening rug of scarabs was enough to spur even the most cowardly heart.

She cast one more look back at the once immaculate apartment that was now overrun by the chattering beasts.

"Slowly, slowly..."

Normally the dulcet tones of her own voice would soothe her nerves but today they grated on them like nails on a chalkboard.

Biting down on her lip she tasted the coppery tang of blood as she lowered herself from the precarious position, her sickness swelling higher in her guts. Any longer and the remaining contents would reappear.

Pain crashed into her knees as she landed with a crash on the roof of the Skoda, the sunroof cracking at the impact, the shards denting her skin and pulling blood to the surface.

A soft cry escaped and instinctively she curled into a foetal position, breathing heavily as pain and relief flowed through her. The air seemed to blur and her eyes closed to seize a moment of uncertain tranquillity before she forced herself to move again and decide how to proceed.

All around the air was stagnant with the smell of blood. The screams had died, perhaps like the tongues that made them, but fear was heavy and deafening in the air.

Cherie had always hated the streets, always finding some flaw from a car parked an iota offside or a crack in the sidewalk. Even the people were irksome unless they had something decent to offer.

Now she would sell her soul to the Devil to see all that again and not the wasteland of gore and unknown. If indeed he was not the one causing it.

Unconsciously she reached to her neck, her fingers clutching for the invisible chain. Instead, they found the polished string of pearls, the cold, dead feel immediately causing her to recoil.

Of course, the crucifix had gone. She had torn it from her neck after a tempestuous argument with her mother, hurling it away never to be found.

"Why the hell did I lose that damned thing?" She pulled herself up, pulling her legs to her chest. "someone should have said that all that rapture stuff could happen!" She frowned. "Someone other than those insane TV preachers, no one ever made it sound real."

Looking around her now all those rambles had manifested, albeit in a different manner to what the books wrote of. So far, she didn't see any walking corpses or chariots in a flaming sky and long may that continue.

The sound of someone wading through the streets felt like a hallucination as it reached her ears. A fleeting ripple of hope in an otherwise calm abyss of unease.

When the shadow emerged ahead of the figure her heart gave a surge and she scrambled forward and opened her mouth to call out.

"Oh, you are kidding," she snapped her mouth shut as she recognised the lanky figure, unperturbed by the warm, sticky fluids. The incompetent barista was the last person she had expected to see and, after his bungling introduction, he was also the last person she perhaps wanted to see.

Her hand fluttered to her lips as she nervously chewed her thumbnail, something she hadn't done since she was a child scared of the darkness.

"H-hey!" Her voice cracked as she called out "over here! Will you be a gentleman and help me out this time?"

She froze as the dark, expressionless eyes lifted. In the light that shone from the bloody wash and the glare from about they flashed in a malevolent combination of black and crimson. Unlike the man she had met before this was someone else, a man ruled by his impulses, by his ego, by such strong desires that clouded his mind and would made him act without thinking twice.

A cold smirk twisted his lips as he waded over, slowly and purposefully. "It isn't boiling anymore; you could get down yourself." He stopped several paces away, twirling a lock of his dark hair that hung low like a frayed curtain. "So, why are you sat there crying, whimsical bitch? Or have you realised that treating people like dirt doesn't mean you get your own way all the time?"

A red flush of anger-stained Cherie's cheeks and she itched the hurl her shoe at the smug features. "I should have expected this from someone like you, taking advantage of me since I'm frustrated because all this mess!"

"Yeah, well, isn't everyone, lady?" Kyle rocked back on his heels "I mean look around you!" He threw an arm out. "You think you're the only one scared by this shit? What do you want? I'm not a knight in shining armour!"

"Quite so! You're an arrogant jerk!" Cherie retorted "but I need some help, I don't know what to do!"

As her tirade continued Kyle felt a coldness grip his shoulder and a hushed, gravelly voice filled his head. The air around him blurred as whatever presence arrived overshadowed reality.

'You see before you what I desire. Flesh for flesh, blood for the bull.'

Kyle suddenly smiled, waiting patiently for Cherie to pause and drag air into her decompressed lungs. With a shrug he ambled closer.

"I'm not going to carry you but for some reason the beetles haven't gone anywhere near my place, maybe it’s the mothballs I used to have. It isn't one of these fancy apartments you're used to but it's away from bugs, better than nothing, right? I suppose it's foolish to wage war with each other when survival is key."

Cherie arched an eyebrow as she shifted forward to slide down the hood of the car. The viscous smears pulled her skirt, hitching over her knees and fraying her stockings. She frowned but said nothing, keeping her eyes on Kyle and the gaze that wandered up her shapely legs to her thighs.

"Like what you see?" She said caustically and immediately his eyes dropped. "Can't you guys ever get your mind off your lower regions?"

"Who says I was thinking about that?" Kyle offered a hand, cringing as the fingers closed about his palm. "If you want to know the unhappy truth, you aren't actually my type. I don't like blondes much, nothing personal."

"Charming. And if you think that makes me feel any better, it doesn't. I'd actually have liked you to say you were gay or asexual, I'd have felt safer." She gave a dramatic sigh. "I suppose beggars can't be choosers but, bear in mind, I know where to aim if need be."

"Sorry I'm not Prince Charming," Kyle gave her arm a rough tug, smiling coldly as the small cry as she was yanked forward. "Sorry you're not the Queen of Sheba as well."

Cherie's ankle twisted as her feet planted themselves on the unseen paving, her heel sinking into the gutter, clogged and unable to cope with the debris forced down its throat. She had no time to dwell on it, the grip tightening to pull her forward again and feeling as if her arm was being wrenched from her socket.

"Shut up and stop snivelling," Kyle snapped as she began to protest "be glad I didn't walk right past you. I won't taint your already flawed purity and nor do I want you to spread your legs. I just want you to be quiet and be grateful for the help."

Cherie choked on a sob, not allowing her emotions to overflow even though the tears burned and blinded her sight. All her common sense screamed to shove him away and fend for herself but the lack of knowledge stopped her. If she stepped away now she might never find anyone else and being alone in this climate terrified her more than the blood that clung to her legs.

"Hurry up!" Kyle gave her another brutal pull as a shadow surfaced in the crimson several metres from them. "Save your insults for later, and keep 'em to yourself. Trust me, you're going to need to save your breath."

Cherie was silenced, blinking in bemusement as her feet moved unconsciously, not even feeling the congealed mess she was wading through.

A dark shadow was beginning to embrace her heart, beating rapidly in her chest but she felt powerless to respond to it.

Fortunately, she could not hear the sounds in Kyle's own head. The cruel and high laughter that sounded like the scream of an amused primate.