“People is what happened. Blind panic and the realisation that there is nobody in charge.” He nodded toward the broken shelves behind what was left of the counter. Small green drawers where prescriptions were once kept were now pulled out and discarded. “The drugs and medicines will have gone first, followed by the baby food, toiletries; then anything else needed to survive. Luckily the makeup, care products and contact lenses are not essentials.”
Elora climbed over the mess and noticed a patch of dried blood, clinging to a tub of baby milk, the side dented and white powder spilling on the floor.
“But why the mess?”
“The primal will of survival will bring out the worst - or best in anyone. Who’s to say how you would react if you needed food, supplies, had a family to feed and no way of getting these things without fighting for it. Solarius knew what he was doing when he ordered those leviathans to sing.”
The people were turning on each other, becoming tribal in an effort to take supplies. Would she have been any different, would she be fighting hand, nail and tooth over things that she wouldn’t have thought twice about a couple of weeks ago? She didn’t want to think about that, luckily Bray brought her back to the here and now.
“Does this match?” He held a bottle of dye next to her lock of blonde hair, shook his head and took another one. Elora saw the smiling model on the front of the box, all teeth and makeup, hair a glossy sheen and wondered where she was now, if she was still smiling, if her hair was still shining. She doubted it.
Bray tossed it aside and took another one. “Got it,” he said, relief bringing a rare smile to his face. Then the smile faltered as several men stepped into the chemists with two snarling Staffordshire bull terriers pulling against leads, teeth bared and snapping.
“What do we have here, bruv?” said a tall youth wearing a baseball cap, the peak sticking out to the side.
“Think they’re stealing from my town, which means they’re stealing from me. Naughty, naughty,” said the youth beside him, Elora put him at an age with her, a thick gold chain around his neck, worn over the top of his hoody. The chain looked to be the heavy-set kind, worn by town mayors; large circles of enamelled gold with the town’s crest inlaid at its centre.
Bray stepped in front of her, his axe held in one hand, blade touching the floor.
“We don’t want trouble, friend. Just taking a couple of items is all. We can pay,” Bray said. Elora noticed his feet slowly stepping around the loose floor, axe subtly twisting as the man holding the dogs stepped closer while another stockier man, his hood fully up, face hidden, worked his way around the side of him; a baseball bat twisting in his hands.
The boy with the gold chain sucked in air between his teeth, a grin spreading on thick lips. “Pay with what, money?” He thumbed the chain about his neck. “Got me plenty of that. Got me just about everything I want. Big house, lots of food, lots of supplies. Anything else I’ll take. Isn’t that right bruv?” He high-fived the boy in the baseball cap.
“Yep, bruv. We want it, we take it. Aveton is ours,” said baseball cap, eyes drifting to her and hungrily devouring her body. “Think I know how you can pay.”
He stepped around the dogs, his stare never leaving hers until Bray raised the axe between them. “I wouldn’t do that,” Bray warned, ready to spring into action, muscles tensed for violence but was halted by the mayor, a shotgun appearing in his arms and levelled at his face.
“I’d think twice before swinging that tool of yours. This is our town now, this shop and everything in it is ours. She.” He nodded towards Elora. “Is ours.”
Elora could tell that Bray wanted to act but even he couldn’t out manoeuvre a shotgun, baseball bat and two dogs, not to mention what weapons the other thugs had.
“Your funeral,” said Bray and lowered the axe.
Baseball cap chuckled as he passed him. “What she gonna do blood, bite me?” He snapped his own teeth and laughed. “I like a feisty girl and this one’s got a goth thing going on. Nice eyes.”
Elora took a tentative pace back, her gaze set on the advancing youth’s face as she stepped into the shadows where the daylight couldn’t reach, where the darkness began and the whispers touched her ears...Kill.
A final glance to Bray, his eyes on her as she let the darkness engulf her, feeling heat pumping into her heart, her blood running hot with the tide of anger.
“Damn girl, your eyes are going red. What the hell?” Baseball’s voice came to her above the tortuous whispers, his face grinning with fascination. Elora grinned back, she was going to tear his face off, ram that cap down his throat.
Shadows spread out from her, enveloping the shop in blackness as she placed a hand over her would-be-attacker’s chest, her fingers itching to jab between ribs and spread fire into his lungs, searing his heart. But the boy kept grinning, his own hand grasping hers and pushing it down, over his stomach towards his groin, his face leaning closer, breath smelling of stale nicotine.
Elora held her own breath and steadied her hand, hovering above his navel.
“Come on girl, don’t be shy,” he laughed, eyes alight with excitement. His laugh died the moment he realized that the bones in his hands were snapping.
Knuckles crunched into cartilage, as Elora squeezed. She watched his face contort in pain, a scream leaving his lips as she twisted, the bones in his wrist popping before his elbow locked and she jerked him around...Kill.
Elora was enjoying this. She lifted his arm high as if it weighed nothing, feeling his elbow stiffen before it suddenly gave. The boy howled anew as his arm bent the wrong way, the noise filling Elora with excitement as she pushed his whimpering body into the floor and gently placed her foot behind his neck. She pushed his face into the broken glass; her smile widening as she increased the pressure.
“No!” screamed the would-be mayor, bringing the barrel of the shotgun towards her. “You’re killing him.” His face paled with shock, eyes wide with panic.
Elora winked at him, feeling a thrill pulse through her; the world shrinking to this moment, this place, her and them - chaos, darkness and pain. “That’s my intention,” she laughed, yanking on the ruined arm and dislocating the shoulder.
The boys pathetic whimpering quieted to a moan, his breath ragged, blood from his face mixing with the glass on the floor.
She drew her gaze away in time to see the gun explode. A blinding flash as the shot entered the ceiling, bringing white dust and plaster down. Bray had knocked the shotgun up with his axe and was now swinging the shaft around into the face of the man behind him.
In the confusion the dogs were released, drool flying from their wide vicious mouths as they ran at her.
Elora dropped the arm and bent low, meeting the dogs at face level and roared, barring her own teeth in a vicious snarl.
The dogs stopped, one running into the back of the other before scampering back, tails so far hidden beneath their legs they were tucked out of sight. They ran out of the door like whippets from a trap.
Elora heard laughing, deep and menacing and only realised it was coming from herself as Bray turned to face her, the two remaining thugs, unconscious at his feet.
Weak, he should have killed them - not to worry, more bloodletting for me. She stalked past him, and crouched down in front of the mayor, cocking her head to the side and wondering how much pain he would endure before dying.
The petrified youth scuttled back, dragging his legs behind him until his back hit the wall; eyes wide, frightened as she stepped closer, making a show of sliding her dagger from the smuggler’s pouch.
“Whoa, what the hell are you?” he stammered, hands held up before him as if they could somehow halt her advance.
“Hell’s, pretty close,” she laughed, as she gripped his tightly curled hair and tipped his head back. He didn’t struggle as she brought her blade a hair’s breadth from his bulging eye.
“Elora, No,” came Bray’s voice from behind her, staying her hand and irritating her. She felt his touch on her arm as she was about to skewer the boy’s watery eye and for a heartbeat had the impulse to reverse her grip on the weapon and drive it into Bray’s arm.
Instead she lay her finger over the cross piece and touched the blade itself, feeling an intense heat leave her fingertip and cause the metal to glow red then white.
