Something was up, I was almost sure of it. Change was coming fast, threatening to rip apart the fragile life I'd managed to salvage over the past few years. I wanted to run screaming, but I hesitated throughout my shift, trying to act normally though I doubted the questionable patrons at the bar would have noticed my odd behaviour, even If I'd decided to dance an Irish jig on their heads. I soothed my fears by assuring myself that if I ran out every time I felt a little anxious I'd never have enough money to put food on the table.
Towards the end of my shift I began to smell something. It was difficult to get an exact read due to the ever present stench of stale cigarette smoke and sour beer but it sent the little hairs on the back of my neck on edge.
I tried not to look too obvious as I scanned the bar looking for someone that didn't belong there. As far as I could tell it was full of the same group of desperate man and woman that usually graced the bar night after night. No one looked out of place. Hell, I could probably name every person there by their first names.
I'm being paranoid, I told myself irritably. They can't find me; they don't care enough to try.
Of course the paranoia was a familiar feeling, one that had been honed to a fine edge over the years. I lived it every day, cringing at shadows, running from unfamiliar scents. I deplored my own skittishness but it was so inbred in by now that it had become just another part of my life. Since my dad had disappeared a few years back my sister and I had stayed close to the smaller towns, trying to blend in as much as we could. There was less chance of running into one of our own kind in the towns; they preferred to stay in places where they could lose themselves in huge crowds.
It had worked so far and between us we had managed to get jobs and rent a crappy apartment in the town slums. It wasn't a great life, hell it wasn't even an okay kind of life, but we were surviving and at the moment that was the best either of us could hope for. We were just waiting for our dad to find us. When that happened things would get better again, I just knew they would.
My newest job was in a smoky run down pub in the outskirts of the town. I got minimum wage and a mouth full of abuse from my boss and customers alike. The patrons didn't tip and they sure as hell didn't give a shit that I was just a guy trying to earn an honest buck. I hated it there but the truth was I didn't even have a high school diploma. No one was going to employ me for anything better.
The shift was a long one. The smell went away eventually but I couldn't stop thinking about it. The paranoia part of my brain refused to let it go. I considered calling Rebecca but I didn't want to needlessly upset her. She was sensitive, so much so that even the slightest inkling of trouble would set her off and she'd insist we move again. I didn't have enough money to start over. Best to just let it go, I decided.
"Shifts over kid." My boss called near midnight. There were a few bums left slumped in their chairs but apparently Jim was feeling kind tonight because he wasn't trying to make me get rid of them. I peeled off the dirty white apron and hung it warily on the back of the bar door. I felt dog tired and wanted nothing more than to have a shower and fall into bed "What wouldn't I give for a car." I mumbled grumpily as I unhooked my crappy bike from the fence behind the bar.
It was a warm night, humid in the worse possible way. I pressed my sleeve against my forehead to try and mop up some of the sweat as I siked myself up for the long bike ride home. It was pitch black, even the half moon was mostly hidden by the clouds. I didn't want to go out there, I suddenly realised. I couldn't explain the feeling that made me retreat back inside the bar. It wasn't exactly a relaxing ride through the lightless back roads that led to my flat but I had never been frightened about it before.
"You forget something?" Jim barked when he saw me.
I felt really, really stupid as I started fumbling for the right words. I ran my hands through my hair as I fidgeted. "Could I err, get a lift home?"
He stared at me for a really long time. "Your wheels fall off?" He eventually asked.
No, I'm just a chicken shit. "Something like that. You mind?"
"Guess not. Just don't make it a habit," He rubbed his huge grimy hands on his huge grimy stomach and finished locking the bar.
In the end I did kick out the last of the drunks. I closed the door on them, a little worried that at least of few of them would be stumbling home on foot. Something told me that it was not a good night to be out alone.
Fisher, an old guy that pretty much lived at the bar was milling about aimlessly outside. Jim growled, making him sound like an old grisly. "One night I'm just gonna leave him out here till morning. Come on old timer." He caught Fisher and all but stuffed him in the back seat. "Get in," He told me as he turned on the roaring engine
It was pouring down with rain by the time we were on the road. Thunder boomed and lightening streaked through the skies, momentarily lighting up the thickly packed trees that lined the back highways. I was very glad I'd asked for a lift because the last thing I wanted was to be riding my crappy bike through a storm.
"Rain came out of nowhere." Jim complained, frowning as he turned the wipers on full. I peered out of the window, making myself small as possible as I tried to avoid being crushed by Fisher.
"Maybe you should slow down." I suggested softly.
"Maybe you should shut up."
"Okay then."
"What the fuck was that?" Jim suddenly boomed. I looked up but all I could see was road and rain and a freaked out boss.
"What-" I began to ask, but then I saw it too. A huge black shape, highlighted as another streak of lightening momentarily lit up the sky.
I didn't scream because I didn't get the chance. A thousand images ran through my head, none of them good and then I was flying through the air. I heard the sound of twisted metal and the brief cries of man before my world turned upside down and the only sound was the over exerted truck engine.
Fisher was dead. The dumb bastard hadn't bothered to wear a seatbelt and his delicate skull had hit the windscreen with enough force to split it like an egg. I let out a strong groan as those dead eyes stared back at me. I'd never seen a dead person before and I decided there and then that I never wanted to relive the experience.
I struggled with my own belt, trying to pull it free but unable to control my shaking hands. My head hurt and blood was pouring into my right eye. "Shit," I breathed, over and over. "Shit, shit, shit..."
I smelled them then, close and feral. A moment later the car door was ripped open and pulled neatly from it hinges. I shrank back as big hands ripped the belt free from my waist and grabbed my arm. I was yanked out without much ceremony and deposited on the floor like a sack of potatoes.
"Fuck me." One of them said with a chuckle. "You weren't kidding about his colouring."
I was still for a few seconds as I tried to calm my rapid breathing. Now was not the time for a panic attack. Before anyone could put their hands on me I looked up, found a clear path and bolted.
No one was ever going to call me a fighter. I was too small and too squeamish to intimidate anyone. One thing I was very good at though was running. I dashed past one of the big ones, avoided his grasping hands and hurtled into the woods.
