Coldbrook(39)

The long-haired man stood, looking around the car park as if for help. And then behind him the cellphone man got to his feet, and Jayne could see the mess of his chin and throat.

‘In the f*cking car, now!’ Tommy hissed.

‘You too!’

‘Jayne—’

‘The police will be here! You too!’

‘Look out!’ someone shouted, and the rifle guy spun around. He brought the gun up, and this time Jayne knew he was going to use it. But the blood-covered man took him down again, and moments later the cellphone guy reached them, and together they bit and clawed while the big man screamed like a wounded pig.

‘We need to go!’ Jayne screamed, eyeing the girl in the bunny outfit as she raced into the far end of the car park. The one-armed man followed, scattering the crowd ahead of him, some diving for their cars, a couple more running in panic with no thought of direction. Jayne started shaking uncontrollably, each shiver prompting stabs of pain from her burning joints. Her vision swayed and swam, darkening briefly, and she thought, Oh no not now not now.

A car started somewhere, then another, and she heard the screech of tyres as they sped away. She staggered to the door that Tommy had opened for her and fell in, pressing her head back against the seat. She bit her lip. Her vision cleared a little, and she saw that Tommy had slammed the door. Tommy, you should be in here with—

He moved in front of the car and looked along the car park, and a Mazda Miata struck him and flipped him over its hood. He rolled over the windscreen and spun in the air as the vehicle passed beneath him, his head striking first trunk and then the ground as it sped away. That woman had blood in her ear, Jayne had time to think, a heart-stopping detail, and then she processed what had happened.

‘Tommy!’ she screamed. ‘Tommy!’

Someone fired a gun, three times in quick succession.

Jayne cracked the door open and put her right leg out, hanging on to the frame to lift herself up. The fainting spell had passed but she felt so pathetically weak, and now Tommy needed her and there was no way she could let him down. No way. She stood away from the car, and the gun fired again. Across the car park, a Prius had its windscreen shattered by a stray shot.

People screamed and ran. Car engines roared. Someone was on the ground not far away, a young teenage boy, and a man was chewing at one bare leg. The boy screamed and kicked, but even though his other foot struck the man’s head and neck and shoulder, the attacker seemed unconcerned. It was the rifle man, Jayne saw. His beard had gone from grey to red. Another gunshot, and Jayne moved around the open door and leaned against the car’s wing.

A huge crash came from her right. The Miata had struck a station wagon at the car park’s entrance, but she was only concerned for Tommy. Everything else was too much information, and her brain refused to process it. Keeping it for later, she thought, and that was fine, because instinct had already told her that this had to be just her and him.

‘Tommy,’ Jayne said. He was twisting on the ground like a toy winding down.

Another gunshot, and from the corner of her eye Jayne saw a shape fall to the ground.

She started forward just as Tommy pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Blood flowed from his nose as if from an open tap, and he kept his left hand inches above the ground. His wrist’s broken, Jayne thought, and she imagined his one-handed massages for the next few weeks.

‘Tommy!’

‘Fuck . . .’ he said, and she thought she’d never heard such a wonderful word. He knelt, then got one foot under himself.

‘Quickly!’

‘Yeah.’

Another gunshot, and for a second she could not understand what she had seen. Tommy slumped back to the ground – maybe he was ducking to dodge the bullets, making himself a smaller target. But his head had changed shape, and he’d lost part of himself on the gravel. Got to get that, Jayne thought, and then cold realisation froze her to the spot. She could not breathe. Tommy didn’t even twitch.

A man appeared in front of her, a little guy in shorts and a T-shirt that said I’m Spartacus. He was carrying a crying toddler under one arm and in his other hand he held a pistol. He was pointing it at Jayne.

‘Tommy?’ she said, and the man glanced at Tommy’s prone shape.

‘Get away from the car!’ the man said. He stepped past Tommy and came for her, the gun never wavering. ‘Get away from the f*cking—’

The running woman struck him and pushed him down, crushing the little boy beneath both of them. The gun discharged and Jayne felt no pain, no punch. The woman was wearing shorts, walking boots and a light jacket, and Jayne remembered seeing her up on the hillside. Gorgeous day, she’d said, and as she passed them Jayne had nudged Tommy in the ribs. But hey, look at that ass, he’d whispered. Like a sweet peach. Now she had what looked like a brutal bite mark on one shoulder, clothing torn away, skin ragged, and she attacked the man like a wild dog.

The boy was screaming, trapped beneath his struggling father and the woman – the thing – biting into him.

This is not happening, Jayne thought, but she was a new Jayne once again. The Jayne who’d been walking with her love ten minutes ago had changed into the one seeing a car crash, and its results. And now she was Jayne on her own. Because Tommy was dead, and there was no denying that.

The man’s struggles weakened – the woman had bitten clean though his throat. Jayne could not comprehend the blood. His son – if that was who the boy was – was coated in it, still struggling, and the woman shoved the dying man aside as she reached for the child.