The Bug - Episode 2 Read Online Free

building.
    “Coast’s clear. This way,” Marshall said. He began walking quickly towards the car park on the right. There were five or six other cars parked a little closer, but he always made a point of parking his under the street lights in an attempt to dissuade any random pricks who might otherwise think about breaking into it. Right now, though, he wished he’d just parked the bloody thing closer and taken the risk.
    Leanne glanced around anxiously as they took a shortcut across the patch of grass – Dog Shit Field, she always used to call it – between the car park and the flats. Outside, the sounds of sirens and alarms and distant shouting were much more in-your-face, and the longer they were exposed to it all, the faster her pulse began to race.
    “What one is it?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
    “There,” said Marshall, pointing ahead to a dull grey Renault that looked mostly orange in the glow from the street light hanging above it. “Not much further. Don’t worry.”
    “Martin,” Leanne hissed. She caught him by the back of his jacket and tugged hard. “Look.”
    Marshall turned in the direction Leanne was staring. They were level with the rear side of the flats now, and in the gloom Marshall could make out a group of people all huddled together.
    “Come here,” he whispered to Leanne, and they both ducked down next to the first car in the car park. They watched the group for several long seconds in silence, before Leanne finally spoke.
    “What should we do?”
    Marshall looked around them, then back at the group. It was hard to tell for sure, but there seemed to be around eight or nine of them there. He thought he could just make out the old woman from downstairs – God, what was her name? – standing there in a dressing gown.
    “They don’t seem violent or anything,” Marshall said. “We should talk to them.”
    Leanne’s eyes went wide. “Are you fucking nuts?” she whispered.
    Marshall frowned. “What? Of course I’m not, but look at them. They’re not doing anything. Look, that’s the woman from downstairs. What’s her name? In the dressing gown. She’s, I don’t know, in her eighties. I hardly think she’s going to cause us any trouble.”
    Despite Leanne’s hissed protests, Marshall straightened up. He glanced around again, then began walking quickly towards the group.
    “Martin,” Leanne whispered, keeping low. “Martin, come back.”
    “Hello, there,” Martin called, as he drew closer to the crowd. Almost at once, he realized his mistake. Every head snapped towards him as one, and in the faint orange glow of the street lights, he could make out their faces. Twisted. Snarling. Wrong.
    The crowd moved together, lurching from stationary to sprinting in a split second. Marshall hesitated, transfixed by the jerky movements of the old woman from downstairs as she powered towards him on her bare feet.
    From behind him, Marshall heard Leanne shout his name, and at last he began to run. The air at his back was filled with a chorus of frenzied screeches and screams as he hurled himself across the grass and raced towards his car.
    Leanne was running ahead of him, head down, her knife flashing in the light as her arms pumped the air.
    The car was close now, but the screaming and the gnashing and the thudding of running footsteps sounded closer still. Leanne slammed up against the passenger door and yanked on the handle. Locked.
    “Open the door!” she shrieked, and Marshall fumbled in his pockets for his keys. His heart leapt into his throat. No keys.
    Frantically, he swapped the knife to his other hand and checked the pocket on the other side. His fingers brushed against metal and he let out a high-pitched sob of relief.
    Yanking the keys free, he pushed down on the remote. The lights blinked and Leanne dived inside.
    Marshall chanced a look back over his shoulder, and his body went tight from the arse upwards. The mob was right at his heels, hissing and spitting and