Monday, 25 July 2011

Here's the Deal.

I don't write enough these days.
I have a long steak of lazy that has me watching TV or reading other peoples films when I could be writing. I have other things that hold me back, but a lack of discipline is chief amongst them.

So here's the deal.

Once a week (minimum), weeks being Monday to Sunday, I will write a new entry here.
And what I'm writing is a story called It Comes.
I don't know what it's about yet, what type of story, horror, sci fi, romatic drama or who it's aimed at.
I'll guess there will be swearing and it probably won't be suitable for kids.

What I'm going to do is log in to this blog, go to the Create post page, and write. I will not spell check, save and come back, any of that.
I will write until I stop, and that will be the update.
Some will be very short, others quite long.
I will no doubt forget some details and misremember others, feel free to point out these mistakes.

Stick with me and see where it goes. Write me if I'm late. Write me if you hate. Write me if you like it.
But don't ask questions about it. Come on the journey with me and see where we go.

I've changed the date so this is always first. But the start of the story will not be the latest post, it will be the oldest. So start from there, called It Begins, you should be able to find it, no trouble.

Sunday, 23 September 2007

Beyond Boundaries.

Beyond the boundaries of the galaxy, it formed.
Tiny and irrelevant pieces of dust bonding together, forming their complex dance around each others tiny gravity to bring more complex forms together.
The time was endless and eternal.
An eon, an age, a generation, time itself, all these things meant nothing.
And then in the boiling fury of the new, a spark awoke and was aware.
And there was meaning in time.

Forever is an unnattainable concept to anything that is finite. No matter how you try you cannot comprehend.
Yet it felt like forever, an eternity of nothing, of growing ever larger, piece by piece. A voice that did not speak, a mind that did not think, a soul? All these things were of it and none.
Size was unknown, how can you know size when you are the only thing? And yet it grew, and more than that, it grew angry.
Across the gulf and vastness that was the universe another like it achieved more. There was more to it than rock, there were sparks that danced across it. And in the growing, a sound was made and the sound travelled. For millions of years it travelled.
At the fringe of all, the angry awaited. Now it knew it was not alone. But it was alone. How could another like it achieve what it could not?
Then it knew will. Then it knew purpose.
Then it planned.

And now, It Comes.

End of the Prologue

Sunday, 16 September 2007

Desert Down

Albert "Jolly" Trasbiis lightly touched the controls on the Black Hawk, turning the machine to the north. His co-pilot, Jacky Wilkes, stared out of the window at the desert - bored again. Albert couldn't understand how the man could be bored. He'd only just been shipped out to Afghanistan, a replacement for Albert's former co, who'd been killed by a snake - of all things.
It was only the second day of deplyment for Wilkes, and he should have still been interested at the landscape around them.
"What's up with you?"
"I fucking hate this country, it's hot, dry and I miss my wife."
"We all miss our wives man, don't sweat it."
"Easy for you to say. My wife is twenty two, body like a pornstar and the libido of a nymphomaniac. If I don't get home soon, she'll have fucked the entire male population of Chicago by the time I get home!"
Albert rolled his eyes, everybody had a reason to get back. A nympho wife was a good one, but other guys missed their kids, a couple were single parents who'd had to leave the rugrats with the grandparents. He couldn't feel that bad for the guy.
In the back were the rest of the crew, as his thoughts drifted to them, the alarm sounded. There was just enough time for him to hear Wilkes yell "Fuck. RPG, three-o-clock!" before something exploded at the tail rotor.
Alarms began to blare out like a crazed electronic concert as the helicopter began to spin. Wilkes was screaming and being no help, so Albert was forced to attempt the landing by himself. The ground came up to meet them at a hundred miles an hour and the world came to a stop by his nose in a screech of rending metal and the screams of mutilated men.

Albert awoke in enormous pain, he could see his legs were crushed and trapped uunder the weight of the console which had been slammed into them by the force of the crash.
Looking to his left he could see Wilkes' head had been damned near ripped from his shoulders, he couldn't make out anything behind him, but there was no movement from the crew, he thought they must all be dead.
All the moving about had exhausted him and he passed out.

When he woke again he could hear shouting from outside, Arabic, angry sounding and there was the familiar noise of an AK being cocked.
Albert was feeling weak, the slight warmth he had felt low down earlier was now cold and he realised that he was bleeding to death while he sat there. He felt very light-headed and was almost relieved when a bearded face peered through the smashed windscreen.
"How ya doing?"
The man spat at him then turned to look at Wilkes' body. Then he laughed.
"Funny fucker, ain't ya? I love a good joke. Told one so funny my buddy here laughed his head damn near clean off."
The man stared at him, then in clear English said "That was some joke. Here is another. We will burn this flying machine of hate, and cook you inside. How is that for funny, fucker?"
Albert stared for a moment then began to laugh wildly, insanely and unstoppably. The tears ran down his face and his cheeks hurt. Air could not get into his lungs and he thought he might actually die laughing.
The man stared at him and his expression of confusion spurred Albert to laugh even harder.
Then a noise from the left made him look. Wilkes' arms were patting about, as if looking for his head. When they found it they settled it back in place and grunted.
The Afghani man screamed in horror and emptied his clip into Wilkes' already ruined body.
"Would you stop that?" asked Wilkes "This day has been really shitty so far. You aren't helping."
The man screamed as Wilkes wormed his ruined body out of the harness and across the cockpit before ramming a piece of metal into the man's eye.
"He was really annoying. Stop laughing would you?"
Albert had continued to laugh the whole time, and Wilkes' hurt expression made it even worse. He could feel himself losing conciousness again, this time he suspected it would be his last time. The final sight he had in the world was of Wilkes' put-upon expression as the man said "You can't leave me here in the desert like this. I just died and I fucking hate the desert!"

Monday, 10 September 2007

Bubba's Bad Day

The water from the tap dribbled out over Bubba's huge hands. The blood was taking some time to come off. But that was fine, the rest of the crew would keep any guards from coming in until he was done. Sparing a glance for the corpse of the mouthy limey, he started to whistle as he scrubbed.
The guy had been a royal pain in the ass on his first day in. Damn psychopath had shredded his girl on a street or somesuch. Kept going on about how he wasn't meant to be in New York, how he'd been a London boy born and bred and never left. Well fuck that fool, anyone who doesn't respect Bubba's need to eat their food doesn't get to keep breathing. Prick had even been given two warnings, one more than normal on account of his being a limey, keeping up relations and all.
Then last night the stupid fuck had bumped into him on the stairs and not stopped to grovel his apologies. Somehow he still thought he was the big everything.
Well, a shiv through the ribs and into his measly little heart had put paid to that idea, and ended any others he might ever have had.
As he shut the water off, Bubba turned for a last look at the fool. His eyes widened in utter shock as the guy was stood there staring pure hatred in his direction.
"I get launched across the world. The best little cocksucker I ever found who also liked it up her arse explodes all over one of my best suits. You Yankee fucks put me in this shithole. And then a big bald, fat black fuckstick stabs me with a fucking sharpened toothbrush? Do you know what, I've fucking had it. First I'm going to kill you, you useless skin wearing lump of shit, then I'm leaving this fucking place and taking as many as want out with me. But not you. Because you'll be dead."
Bubba's mind raced, the guy was dead, he had been sure of it. How could he have missed, it's not like this was his first stop at the kill-all-you-can eat buffet.
"Hey man, how the fuck?" But Bubba never got an answer, instead he got his own weapon returned at speed through his right eyeball. And unlike Mike, he wasn't going to stand back up after it.

Ten minutes later, six more dead cons from Bubba's gang behind him, Mike led the rest of the prison towards the main gate. Most of the guards had fled after shooting him to pieces, only to see his grinning face staring out behind a mask of blood as his shredded skin flaps sewed themselves back together and then he pointed in their direction.

One hour later, two thousand of New York's most dangerous were loose on the streets and Mike was heading to JFK. Ten thousand dollars in cash in his pocket and a fresh suit, courtesy of a lawyer who had really been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I'm coming home." Mike muttered to himself, "I'm going to find out who sent me here and I'm going to fuck them up something chronic."
The reason behind his miraculous survival didn't bother him. He was alive, many other people weren't, that was all that counted.
Mike wasn't a nice guy before. But now immortal and angry, there wasn't a person on the planet you want to meet less in any circumstances.

Sunday, 26 August 2007

Growing in numbers

The others began to arrive fast and often in that deserted clearing. Within a week over one hundred people were living, fishing, hunting, running and planning there. Each had been involved in an incident, some minor collisions, others in collapsing building. All it seemed should have been at the very least injured when they had escaped without a scratch. All of the incidents had seemed to come from no-where. At least a third had had someone they knew killed and the same message Carol had recieved been given to them.
Beyond Carol another fifty had subsequently been in accidents that should have killed them, only to leave them alive. These fifty could also hear the beating, feel the pulsing that directed them to another who had survved two deaths.
There were people who had lived on the streets for years, others who were teachers, some had been in combat in Afghanistan and Iraq. Not one was under eighteen, and none older than fifty six. What significance this might have, they didn't know. As they talked amongst themselves, they could find nothing in common, no link to say why they had all survived as they had.
Each of the fifty with the radar sense knew there were more like them out there, most coming closer.

As the weeks passed and the numbers grew, a resentment began to build. Soon, something would have to give.

Sunday, 19 August 2007

Out in the Sticks

Carol shivered in the coldness of the thin tent. It was twenty days since the car crash, twenty days since the police station she had been interrogated in had exploded. Now death seemed to follow wherever she went. At first she had gone to a firend's house to stay the night and for company, in the morning she had awoken to find her friends eviscerated in the lounge, their blood used to paint strange and gruesome pictures of dogs tearing at small children on the wall. The house phone had rang soon after she awaoke and screamed herself hoarse - "They will think it was you. The crash, the bomb, this murder."
"What is going on?" she sobbed down the line.
"We tell you nothing but the truth. We give no answers, ask no questions. We command but one thing, get away from people. Get away from anyone and anything. You have a day."
As the line went dead Carol didn't spend more than a second in thought. Dressing quickly she gathered her things and fled.
She didn't know who was doing these things around her, but people were dying because of her. She took what money she had and went to the nearest outdoor supply shop. She bought a tent, a sleeping bag, several gas lamps and gas cookers, then drove her dead friend's car to the supermarket and stocked up on tinned food.

Now she was spending her eighteenth day in these woods. Alone, out of contact with anyone. She had no idea of what was occurring in the world and nor did she care. This day began as the other seventeen had, she awoke and dressed quickly. She had planned decently, but now all of the clothes she had brought were being worn for the third time and they started to smell. She had tried washing them in the small stream she had camped near, but the smell was beginning to linger in them.
Stepping out of the tent into the cool morning air, she limbered up and began to run. She had worked out five different routes to run already and this morning she wanted to find a sixth. Taking a left turn from where route three became route four she started to jog through overgrown and unknown parts of the forest.
Unfamilier tress flashed by on both sides, the sound of the stream, which she had started using to orient herself, had faded away so softly that it came as a shock when she realised she couldn't hear it any more. Slowing down, she began to think of how to get back to the camp. There was nothing else she could use to tell where she was, she didn't even know whether she was now North, South, East or West of her camp.
There was nothing for it but to try running back the way she had come, but she hadn't left much of a trail in her passing. Best as she tried, she could not find the route she had been running. Suddenly, while her eyes and mind were occupied searching for something recognisable, her fott slipped and she was tumbling down a steep slope. Head over heels, round and around she span until her head slammed into a large rock with enough force to leave part of her skull and brains on it. The world ended in her mind and her body tumbled on.

She never knew how many minutes, hours or days she spent in a black nothing at the bottom of the incline, but one day light exploded behind her eyes and she could see.
While she looked around, she still had no idea of where she was, in her mind it did not seem like long since she had started to fall. Then she felt a slight pulsing in her mind. As she turned her head the pulsing would increase or decrease depending on where she faced.
Turning so the pulsing was at it's most insistent she began to walk, changing her direction each time it started to fade away.
It took only ten minutes for her to reach a part of the forest she recognised, and now she could tell what was happening. Her mind was pulsing like a radar, directing her back to the camp.

When she finally stepped into the clearing, she saw another three tents had been set up next to hers.
A man stepped out of one of them, saw her and turned to yell "Hey guys, she's here!"

Sunday, 12 August 2007

Surrounded by a Blackened City.

Moving in the shadows at the water's edge, Steve and the others crept quietly, trying to avoid the sweeping arc lights that illuminated the stretch of beach. What had once been lit up by a million different coloured bulbs was now only shown up the huge lights from the military.
Blackpool was a charred and deserted ruin, meltaed and twisted metal forming strange shapes that seemed to be almost alien in nature, reflecting the powerful lights.
An engine could be heard out to sea, low and throaty, the powerful rumble of the Navy's shore patrol boat, not something anyone might have ever expected to see along the British coastline before the Incident.
A light appeared on the boat, sweeping along the shore. The group ducked down into a small groove and the light passed above them. The military were very stricty about people in the Disaster Zone, they had heard gunshots of several occasions now. Whether shooting to kill, woud or warn, they didn't know and weren't keen to find out.
Steve turned to the others "I don't think there's a way out this way either."
There was a shaking of heads, this had been their last plan. Eight of them had found each other in the ruins of the town. Calling out for help, they were each barely touched by the fire and none of them knew why. Steve had been playing on a fruit machine in one of the arcades. Jessica had actually been on the ground floor of the Tower, the focal point for the conflagration, and yet she had been unharmed. Trevor and Jacob had both been in their respective hotels, no-where near each other. Max had been getting a fish and chip dinner from one of the local chippies. The other three wouldn't speak, al in shock, they hadn't even told the others their names.

As they slipped back into the dark rubble that had once been Britain's premier sea side resort town, Max slipped on something in the dark. With a barely suppressed yell of surprise, he fell headlong into a crevice. The heat had cracked the ground in places and the whole area seemed to shift under their feet at times.
Putting his hand out to stop his headlong fall, he saw the jagged edge of something metal hutling towards him. The twisted metal spike puched straight through his hand and this time his cry was not held back. Ripping his hand off the spike as soon as he could he sat cradling the wounded appendage, feeling the blood run freely down his arm.
Steve and Trevor scrambled down after him.
"Let me see your hand." Trevor was a nurse.
Max held his blood covered hand out, thinking he must be heading into shock as the pain barely registered now.
Trevor wiped the blood away then gave Max a puzzled look. "Where did all the blood come from?"
"The big fucking hole in my hand. Where did you think?"
Trevor held Max's hand up in the light, there was no hole, no wound, no sign that a metal spike had just been slammed through it.
"What the hell? I put that spike there through my hand."
The three men shared a worried look.
"We'll talk about this later. Right now, we've got to get away from here, you shouted loud enough for others to hear." Steve hauled Max to his feet and they made their way out.

Half an hour later, the eight of them were hiding in the black ruins of what must have once been a hotel. Where most buildings had been reduced to nothing more than slag, occasional buildings had survived enough to leave a place where they could shelter comfortably. This place was their regular safety spot, it had a basement where canned food had been stored and they were able to eat decently there.
"I don't understand. How could you have put a spike through your hand and not have an injury?" Jessica asked.
"Dunno. How could we have all survived mostly unhurt in the largest fire in Britain since sixteen sixty six?"
"That kind of thing happens all the time." Jessica argued, "People are always escaping unscathed for accidents."
While they argued about the likelihood of survival against some sort of spontaneous healing, none of them noticed that one of the three mute people, a tall, sandy haired man, pick up a jagged pice of stone. He looked at it in a thoughtful manner, before shrugging his shoulders and plunging it into his neck and ripping it through, cutting his throat in a brutal fashion.
Steve just caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see blodd spraying out of the man's ruined neck towards him.
"Trevor! Help me!" He grabbed the man, who was now jerking and thrashing around as blood gushed from the ragged, gaping wound, and dragged him to the floor. He put his hands over the woud, but knew it had to be a lost cause. The man's head barely seemed to be on his shoulders, like he'd half severed it.
Tears welled up in Steve's eyes as he kept on the pressure and Trevor helped hold the man still. "You silly bastard! Why? You could have gone to the fence, they might not have shot you. There was no need for this!"
The jerking and gurgling slowed and then stopped. Steve pulled his hands away in horror and disgust.
Trevor straightened up from the body and helped Steve move away. Then they all moved away from the body, talking in hushed voices.
The other two mute people, a short, mildly attractive redheaded woman and a stocky man in work boots kept looking at the dead man, despite the oothers best efforts to distract them.
Suddenly the woman began to hoot, a strange high pitched sound, while she pointed towards the dead man. Jessica tried to comfort her, attempting to give her a hug. The woman shoved her off roughly, hooting more insistently and jabbing with her finger.
As Steve and Trevor looked, the dead man sat up and grinned at them. It was a gin full of excitement and amusement.
"By Christ," the dead man said, his voice hoarse and rough, "that hurt like buggery fuck."
Jessica fainted dead away as the others just stared at him.
"I think that proves a point." the man continued, "As far as I can tell, it seems like we are invincible or immortal. How fucking cool is that?"

Thursday, 2 August 2007

Mike, he's not a pleasant guy.

Mike watched Susie totter down the stairs on her riduculous heels. Long, sharp points that she was all too willing to use on his toes to make a point.
"Hurry up, you dumb cow." he snarled. The buzz from the coke was beginning to wear off and he wanted to get into the club before taking another hitm his supply was too low to waste another line on the journey.
"Sorry babe. It's these shoes."
Mike rolled his eyes. There was always some excuse, some reason for her to hold him back, hold him down. She never realised that things should just get done, minimum of fuss, maximum enjoyment. Leaving two hours after he'd planned because she wasn't sure her shoes matched her eyes or whatever stupid fucking reason she had this time, was not conducive to his plans.
He snatched at her arm and dragged her down the last few steps "We're late. Don't argue with me, don't whinge, don't say a fucking word until I have a glass of the good stuff in my hand and am sitting down. Understand."
Susie nodded, her eyes starting to wellup with tears from his tone.
"Fuck's sake Suze. No crying either, you ain't going back to redo your eyeliner. You fuck it all up and you get to go out looking like a melting panda. Now calm the fuck down."
She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. Dave rolled his, again, before stomping out of the front door.

Two hours later, everything was just that much better. He'd drunk and snorted his way to a happy place, was sat on a very comfortable sofa in the club and Susie was dancing in front of him. Her tight arse and pert tits wiggling just inches from him. Once again he reminded himself that she wasn't all that much trouble and the wild screaming monkey fucking she could perform was worth it.
Toby slid up next to him "Your bird's a bit tasty. How come I've never seen her before?"
Mike turned a glare on Toby "You've met her at least five tomes you doped out cunt. Now what the fuck do you think you are doing, disturbing me?"
Toby scratched at himself nervously "I was wondering if maybe I could nab a line or two off you. Just to keep me happy like."
"Why would I want to keep you happy?"
Toby looked at him confused "We're mates, ain't we? Mates share." At the last comment Toby's eyes slid back to Susie who just pirouetting in front of them.
Mike laughed out loud, Toby joined in, sycophantically, unsure as to why he was even laughing, Mike was sure of that. When he stopped and looked at the giggling prick beside him, Mike's eyes narrowed. He reached out and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking Toby's head back painfully.
"Now listen to me. I'm not your friend. You work with me and you still owe me money. So no, I don't have a line you can nab. And if you look at my girlfriend like that again, I'll pluck your eyes from their sockets and force feed them to you." Mike flung him forwards "Now get the fuck away from me."
Toby almost launched himself from the sofa and shoved his way through the dancing crowd before him. This time Mike roared with genuine amusement.
Susie slid on to his lap "What's so funny?"
He slid his hand along her thigh "Nothing honey. Just a bit of fun."

The DJ had begun the wind down when they got up to leave. Mike had his hand on Susie's tight arse and was whispering dirty things into her ear as they stepped through the door.

The bright light assailed his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Something wet dripped down his face. "Ah fuck. What cunt threw shit on me?"
He rubbed his eyes, trying to get better vision, wondering that they had stayed in the club past daylight when a voice yelled "Get your fuckin' hands up, buddy! Don't make me shoot ya!"
Mike rubbed his eyes again, that wasn't a London accent, that was a Yank. What the fuck was some Yankee twat doing trying to rob him on his own turf?
"Fuck off." He said.
"Jesus, it's a fucking Limey."
Mike blinked repeatedly, eyes starting to focus again. "Of course I'm a Limey. This is England you prick."
"Oh, a funny guy. Hands in the air, get them up."
Mike was beginning to be annoyed, both by the Yanks annoying voice and the wetness sliding down his cheek. "Susie, where the fuck are you girl?"
"That's it." Mike heard footsteps and a blue blur came before him. Sudden blows to his gut and the back of his knees dropped him to the floor.
"What the fuck?"
"Shut up. Just shut up, pal."
Strong hands yanked his arms behind his back and he felt handcuffs slipped around his wrists. "I'm being arrested by a Yank? What the hell is going on here?"
Finally his vision cleared from blurry to mostly clear. As he looked up, he saw a man in uniform pointing a gun at him. It wasn't an English cop uniform, he'd seen it before though, on various TV shows. "What are two New York cops doing arresting me?"
"For being a sick fuck."
Mike turned to look up at the officer putting the cuffs on him and then saw the city behind him. He wasn't in London. This wasn't the exit to Club Daiklo. He started to struggle before his eyes lit upon the shredded remains of Susie's dress, surrounded by red and purple lumps of flesh, it looked like she'd exploded. Suddenly he realised what all the damp and soft stuff clinging to him was, he was covered in Susie!
Mike screamed "What the fuck happened? Where the fuck? Why am I in New York?" He started thrashing around and the cop above him slammed the baton into his back, Mike screamed and stopped struggling.
"I don't know why you were here, but I know why you're gonna stay. Murder. Welcome to America, fuckstick."
The cops dragged the wheezing Mike to his feet. He tried to protest, to tell them it wasn't him, but they were having none of it.
They put him in their car and drove away. As they went, Mike slumped in the back seat. How had this happened? He hadn't been that out of it. Into New ork traffic they drove, and every passing meter scared and confused the London hard man more and more.

Friday, 27 July 2007

Blackpool Burns

The fire started at the point of the spire. Instataneous and unexplainable, it took a minute to crawl down to the observation deck. Within five the Blackpool Tower was completely engulfed in flames.
It was six in the evening and a fine July day, so the Tower was full of excited children and weary parents. Drunken teens and nostalgic OAP's, so full of life and hopes, memories.
Six minutes after the ifre started, they were all dead.
As the rest of Blackpool lit up light some lurid universe, families roasted alive in the famous landmark.
The fire crept down from the metal legs that it was warping and melting and began a slow crawl across the orad as if it were alive. A living thing with a malevolent mind that only wished to burn and consume.
The fire brigade were on scene within minutes. Minutes too late for the souls now cooked to a fine crisp inside. Their hoses blasted out water which was evaporated by the heat of this strange fire before it even got close.
As the Chief's tried to think of a solution, the first car exploded, the fuel in it's tanked heated and ignited by this unearthly fire.
In all, it took thirty seven minutes from the flames first appearance for all of Blackpool and the majority of it's citizens and vistors to be removed from the face of the Earth.

The next day, a charred and steaming hole was all that was left of the famous seaside resort. It was two days since the crash. One day since the explosion at the police station.
Investigators from around the globe began to fly in to this island that had shaped much of recent history. Experts in their field, fire investigators, crash analysts, bomb experts, all came, and all were clueless.
Soon after the cranks began to arrive. The UFO abductee believers, the paranormal investigators. The mediums and psychics, the spirit walkers. Even old wise men from various tribes across the globe.
They all came, and they were all useless.
Not a one could say for certain why any of the events had happened.
The explosion at the car crash was proved not to be a car. The detonation of the police station was not from a compound known to any of the bomb experts.
But it was Blackpool that scared the experts and the politicians the most.
Amateur footage of the burning tower ran on every news network across the world. People claimed they could see the face of Jesus, of Mary, of the alien that stuck the cold metal dildo with the words "Hug Me" up their arse. The flames crawled down and up the tower, as if seeking every potential scrap of flammable material, before snaking it's way to the nearest restaurants theatres and arcades.
All of the footage was taken by people in boats. Anyone with a camera in town was dead and their camera long since melted.
The screams of these filming sailors as the flames licked at the water's edge, raising a wall of steam that hid the majority of the carnage only added to the horror.
Then voices came through, claiming to see people with their skin melting away trying to get to the sea.

Horrific, devastating, unparralelled footage.
The DVD was available the next Monday and was an instant bestseller.

Wednesday, 25 July 2007


Carol Manning sat with the unnecessary blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She had told the police officer with the unamused face that she was quite fine and didn't need one, but he'd been adamant.
Sat in the interview room she watched the door with interest. It had been fifteen minutes since they had sat her down at the table and told her someone would be in shortly. Why she was here and not at the hospital with Jake, she couldn't imagine.
Not that Jake needed her any more. The raging fireball that had melted the skin right off of his face has seen to that. His scream would haunt her for a long time, she knew that. A gurgling screech of pain and as his eyes turned to her they begged for relief. But she'd been strapped in the passenger seat and could do nothing to help him.
They day had been going so well. A ride in his new Skyline, just delivered from Japan. He'd never been happier, except for when she did that special something he liked so much.
Now he was dead, along with at least sixty others they told her.
She knew they were puzzled, quite frankly, so was she. How come she didn't have a mark or scratch on her? With the car upside down, how had a fireball melted her boyfriends face like ice cream yet left her untouched?
She didn't know and was sure that was an answer the officers asking the questions weren't going to like.

It took another ten minutes before two men entered. Wearing suits and not uniforms, she knew they had to be detectives. If cop shows on TV had taught her anything, it was that.
"Now, Miss. We want you to tell us what happened."
Carol shrugged and told them. How Jake had taken her for a spin, then suddenly cars were swerving all over the road and something had flipped them onto the roof. They had skidded for a distance and then there had been the explosion and the fireball.
"Did you see what caused it?"
"And you say it came through your boyfriends car, but didn't touch you, not even a minor burn. Can you explain that?"
Sighing, Carol told them she could not. Nor could she say why there wasn't a single scratch on her and why she was the only survivor from that area of the pile up.
With a slight nod the detectives stopped the recorder and left Carol to her thoughts again.

They let her go two hours later. She'd done nothing as far as they could tell, beyond have a miraculous escape.
Taking their card, she left the station on foot. Home was ten miles away and she didn't want to get in another vehicle just now.

The young officer who saw her to the door watched her back get smaller as she walked away. He never saw the lithe figure dressed all in black slip past him into the station. Nor did he feel it three hours later when the bomb exploded, killing everyone inside and leaving a crater the size of a football pitch in the centre of town.