Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Liam
The squeaky wheels of my trolley are my only company as I make my way through the next aisle. They leave a trail of blood in their wake from where I foolishly steered them through the inconvenience I had bumped into earlier.
Back in the curtains section some mad guy decided to jump out from behind a perfectly good set of green curtains. He almost gave me a damned heart attack with all his screaming and flailing arms.
Now, I’m a reasonable man. I occasionally like to sit down with a good cuppa and chat things out but the second his grubby hands left a streak on my girls brand new blanket I’d saw red and beat the fucker to a pulp.
Was it my finest moment beating a guy to death over a wool blanket? Not really. But I’m sure fights over bedding happened all the time on those world sales days, so maybe I can put it down to entering a new era of my life.
The protector of my girl’s comforts.
Anyway. All that skull bashing made quite the mess, and now I look like something out of a Saw movie with all of this blood covering me. I bet Isla would find it hot though, she’s crazy like that.
The woman has been feral these past few weeks. It’s like she can’t get enough of me which I’m not complaining about because well, who could blame her? My skull mask isn’t the only one in the group with a crown on it for no reason.
I stop in front of the pillow section and inspect the different qualities.
But come to think of it I have no idea what she really likes, she usually uses my chest as her primary place to rest. That’s whenever she lets me convince her to stay with me.
Which, despite my shameless attempts, hasn’t been that often.
She’s worried about the redhead, who has apparently been acting stranger than normal, the fact that Isla can even notice that is a fucking mystery considering the girl rarely talks.
But hey ho I’m nothing but a supportive partner. So, with that in mind, I settle on throwing in one of each pillow. Nothing is too much for my princess and the logical solution is to present her with one of each for her varying comforts.
Squeezing down the aisle, blood trailing behind me, I come to a screeching stop as I set eyes on the holy grail of pillows.
The long, curved, feather-filled goodness looks almost as long as me as it stretches out before curving around at the top.
Above it in swirly writing, like something sent from the heavens itself, are the sweet words pregnancy pillow.
‘Fucking bingo!’ I hoot, turning to look at the puddle of blood by the other end of the aisle. ‘You seeing this shit. I am smashing this provider thing.’
Of course, he doesn’t respond, what with his jaw having been ripped off, but I imagine he’s proud of me from wherever he is in hell.
Let’s face it, no one who is left in this world is going to heaven.
Not that I think any of us would want to.
You don’t survive in such a brutal world, one filled with so much violence by being an angel.
Living like this changes something in you, it makes you crave the adrenaline rush and heaven just doesn’t sound like it would cut it.
Even if one of us, on some miracle made it up there, they would be instantly kicked out for starting a fight with an angel or some shit.
The soft, pillowy goodness compresses in my grip as I throw it in my trolley. Then I throw a second one in there for good measure.
Whistling down the shop, I ignore all the pointless crap that is on the dust-covered shelves.
Ironically, all of the useless stuff has a noticeably thicker layer engulfing it than the rest. The barrier for the till has so helpfully been left open for me and I breeze on through, stopping to deposit a few stones the pigeons collected for me as an offering to whatever spirits now rule this place on my way out.
I may be punch first, talk later man, who definitely thinks with his fists more times than his head, but I’m not an idiot.
I do not plan on pissing off whatever spiritual being has been protecting these goods, especially when I’m taking them to my girl.
I will have no bad juju following her back to the stadium, no sir.
The blood eventually wears off my wheels, but it appears to have made the squeaking one thousand times worse.
At this point, it sounds like it's trying to wake the dead. And although I may be a big guy, I’ve only got so many arms and looking at the contents of my trolley, I most definitely would not be able to carry all of this back.
So, instead of getting pissed off at the screaming metal, I join in and harmonise with it, matching its painful pitch with my own.
It doesn’t take long for the distinct noise of another set of footsteps to join the symphony. And I momentarily consider how badass an apocalyptic choir would sound.
Of course, I knew all this racket would catch the attention of some strays. I said I was crazy, not stupid and this crazy fucker over here wouldn’t mind some more of that adrenaline rush I felt when I was caving that guy’s skull in for touching my girl’s stuff.
The music gets louder, faster as the steps get more hurried.
Right until they reach my back and I turn, the trolley wheels suddenly halt as if waiting for the drop.
Paper-thin skin shifts under my grip as I use my strength to lift the fucker trying to destroy my peace.
His neck is fragile and he instantly starts clawing at my knuckles as he stays extended in the air.
He’s a relatively small guy, his bones protrude more than a healthy person's would, and I see the hunger shining in his eyes. It’s the only thing there, any fear long since replaced by desperation.
Maybe I'd feel sorry for the guy if the circumstances were different. But he saw the mask I wear and he still chose to try, although rather pathetically, to attack me from behind.
Calmly, I bring my other hand to his neck, gripping it tightly as he continues thrashing, and then I hear it, the beautiful addition to the symphony of the apocalypse.
The sound of a neck snapping.