Chapter 1 #2
And it wasn’t just the weird buzzing that was getting louder, there was a smell that went with it. That sour, manky, slithery stench swelled with every step. Till it was strong enough to make his chin pull in and his eyes blink, like he’d walked into something solid.
‘Urgh . . . Bloody hell . . .’
‘IT’S ONLY PEE!’
He turned. ‘No, it’s not that, it’s—’
‘Hoy!’ Alice tapped an invisible watch. ‘Twenty minutes, you said!’
‘All right, all right, I’m sorry. Coming.’
He reached out with his other hand. Took a deep breath – which was a mistake, given the smell – and slid a single fingertip in beneath one of the handles on the bin’s lid.
Because it was probably crawling with bacteria and viruses and mould and all sorts.
Every bit as germ-laden as the piddle-wipe napkins, if not worse.
Out on the road, what had to be a tractor growled past. Slow-moving and huge, with spotlights on the roof that made the fog glow a bright alien-abduction white.
OK.
Scott flipped the lid open and dropped the soggy napkins inside.
They landed with a slap, and a cloud of thrumming bluebottles erupted from the wheelie bin, riding a tidal wave of stench so foul that even a dozen feet away, Alice gagged.
The two crows flapped into the air, cawing, spiralling away from the smell.
And Scott ran – getting away from the stinking bin, knees high, back hunched, waving his hands over his head to ward off the flies. Eyes screwed shut, shrieking like a startled child.
Alice retched. Coughed. ‘CLOSE THE LID! CLOSE THE LID!’
He staggered to a halt, and turned.
The tractor’s lights and howling engine faded away into the fog, leaving the lay-by shrouded in gloom and silence once more. Well, except for the flies.
Alice had one hand clamped over her nose, the other waving at the bins. ‘CLOSE THE BLOODY LID!’
Scott bit his bottom lip, clenched his shaking hands, and crept back to the bin, holding his breath till his lungs burned. Grabbed the lid and whacked it shut. Eyes watering as his stomach clenched and roiled.
He backed away, blotting the tears with the back of his sleeves. Blinking at the buzzing bin. Grimacing.
Wait . . . Was that . . .?
The crows settled onto the other wheelie bin.
No. Couldn’t be.
One black-feathered fiend hopped onto the stinking bin, cocking its head at Scott, then rapping its beak on the now-closed lid. As if trying to explain something horrible to a very stupid child.
He must’ve imagined it.
Scott’s insides curdled.
But what if he hadn’t?
Alice escaped to the other side of the car, putting the thing between her and the rancid stink. Still covering her mouth and nose, even though she hadn’t washed her hands.
What if he’d seen what really lurked deep inside that bin’s putrid plastic depths?
Oh God . . .
He wiped his palms on his trouser legs.
The wheelie bins loomed in the fog like twin tombstones, topped with carrion crows – all set to a theme tune of trapped buzzing.
Some weird ping-pyong-twanging noises joined in. Getting louder. And louder.
Alice peered at him. ‘What?’
Only one way to be sure.
Scott crept forward again, holding his breath as he lifted the lid to peek inside – properly this time.
Without the tractor’s spotlights, it was hard to see anything. What with the fog shutting out the morning sun and everything. Now all that remained were some vague rounded shapes lying deep within, wrapped in that putrid stench.
And that’s when the pinging twanging noises turned into a diesel roar as a blue-white-and-yellow train rattled past in the fog, heading north. Lights blazed from the carriage windows – sweeping the lay-by with their greasy tallow glow.
The beams flickered through the line of trees that stood guard between the fireweed and the tracks, sending shadows to whirl around Scott and Alice like dancing monsters.
Casting more than enough light to make out what stared back at Scott from deep inside the bin.
He screamed, jerking back from the horrible sight, but his collection of shabby friendship bracelets caught on the lid’s handle – binding him to the stinking black-plastic nightmare.
Scott yanked and tugged, wrenching his wrist from side to side, struggling to free himself as the smell grew fangs.
‘SHUT THE BLOODY LID, YOU MORON!’
He heaved his whole body sideways, pulling the bin with him hard enough to snap one sidebar from the rusty metal frame.
The bin timbered down, booonnnnging against the gritty tarmac, and almost taking him with it.
When it hit the deck, the contents burst free in a stinking clatter of yuck and explosion of foetid bin juice.
The last bar of carriage-window light streaked across the potholed tarmac, illuminating the slimy jumble of bones and sludge. Making the jawless skull glimmer.
Which is when Scott’s legs gave up, depositing him on his backside in the dew-damp grass, staring back at those empty sockets as reeking bin juice spread out like a wave on the beach, leaving a high-tide mark of maggots to wriggle and flail.
The train thundered away into the fog, taking its light and snarling engine with it, leaving the lay-by smothered in gloom and silence once more. Until Alice produced her phone and, calm as you like, called 999.
And Scott had a damn good go at vomiting out every single one of his internal organs.