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

Dom slunk out with the bowl of bloody water; refastening her bra, Liz studied herself in the bathroom mirror. Gauze and surgical tape criss-crossed her torso, marking where the pellets had hit. Only seven, all told, including those in her left arm and right leg. She’d hardly call it a lucky number, but she’d been surprised it had been so few. It’d certainly felt worse. She picked up her tweezers and nudged the pellets: they lay on an old sideplate, stale toast crumbs sticking to the blood on them.

The wounds still hurt like hell, despite the co-codamol and ibuprofen she’d taken – they had proper codeine pills but those always knocked Liz out, and she couldn’t afford that now.

She went into the bedroom in her grimy underwear and rummaged through a chest of drawers. Corduroy trousers, a cleanish shirt, new sweater. Her old clothes and the shredded stab vest lay in a heap in the corner. Burn them later. For now, she’d work to do.

Downstairs, she donned a new coat and inspected the remaining guns. There was a pump-action shotgun, but one of the legal ones that only held three rounds, even with one in the chamber. She took it nonetheless, and a sawn-off, then stuffed her jacket pockets with cartridges. She took a waterproof ground sheet and a foil blanket from a cubby-hole and tucked them, folded tight, under one arm, then found her walking stick and went through to the kitchen.

Dom was huddled there with two of his dogs. “Lock up after me,” said Liz. “And keep the lights on.”

“Yes, Mum.”

Liz crunched across the farmyard, breath billowing in the air. It would be dark soon, and They’d be out again – and God help Ellie bloody Cheetham, Milly Emmanuel, the Caddicks and all the other scum then. God help Jess, too – that treacherous little whore, that fucking Judas. But for now, she’d one last service to perform.

She’d no idea what They could give her now that she’d want. Her kids were all gone except worthless Dom and Judas Jess, and she was too old for more. But she’d see, afterwards, if whatever life she still had could be made worth the living. If not, she could end it easily enough. That didn’t matter now. What mattered was ensuring the Dance took place, and the Sleepers woke. That’d be her revenge on Jess, on Cheetham and the others, on the bastard world. Anything else would be a bonus.

So she’d make her way out to Barrow Woods – but by a longer, different route that wouldn’t leave an obvious trail. She’d watch till it was nearly dark, before she got her arse home and locked up for the night. And then she’d see what the new day – if there was one – brought.

53.

53.