BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

A man tried to climb up into the cab as the engine roared into life. Liz screamed her rage at him – her dead sons, her traitorous bitch of a daughter, her dead daughter-in-law Keira, worth ten of Judas Jess – and smashed her fist into his eye like a hammer. He fell and hit the pavement with a crack; Liz hoped she’d killed him.

She rammed the tractor forward, still screaming. The people in the High Street scattered, screaming too. Fucking sheep. As she hit reverse Ellie fucking bastard bitch Cheetham came running out of the Assemblies church holding – insult of fucking insults – Liz’s own Ithaca shotgun. Liz screamed her rage at the pig over the bellowing engine and would’ve driven straight at her, run her down like roadkill, but she stopped herself. Even if she succeeded, she’d be dead seconds later, and she wouldn’t give them that victory. Besides, there were others she owed, like Judas fucking Jess for instance.

Liz turned the tractor about, the snowplough tearing open a shopfront, then floored the accelerator. She swerved to avoid the war memorial, then barrelled down Halliwell Way. No fucker followed her, and that was good. Wounded or not – the stab vest had saved her life but the shotgun blast had torn and punctured her in several places nonetheless – for her dead children she’d have killed anyone coming after her, bare-handed.

She only had vengeance left now. Ensure the Dance went on, the Sleepers woke, the old world was thrown over.

But with the hate Liz felt now – as vast and terrible as any love she’d known – that would be enough.

51.

51.

Liz Harper had got away, and there was nothing to be done about it. There’d be worse things to deal with soon enough. In the meantime Ellie’s exhaustion was still bone deep, so she turned and went back into the Assemblies church, creaking wearily up the staircase.

What time was it now? She’d forgotten to look at the wall clock, assuming it’d survived. Well, she only needed to glance at her phone – even without a signal it could give still her the time. But she didn’t bother. Hadn’t the energy. You’re a copper, not a social worker.

That was why she’d smiled. She’d tell Noel later. If she remembered.

Upstairs, she found a box room with no windows. She couldn’t believe how exhausted she felt. Reaction, maybe, to both the shootings and to last night. Ellie sat down and leant back against the wall. She just needed a few minutes’ rest –

The creature crawled towards her, lifting its tattered cowl. This one had a face, instead of a white eyeless muzzle. Or half a face, at least: Keira Lucas’, half-blown off and bloody. You’re a copper, not a social worker, it whispered, and reached for her. Its hand closed on her arm; Ellie yelled, lashing out.

“Whoa! Fucksake, Ellie.”