Skin by Liam Brown

Author:Liam Brown [Brown, Liam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781789550405
Published: 2019-08-08T11:30:38+00:00

As he turned, I saw the bulge in his back pocket had disappeared. He must have moved the camera when I wasn’t looking. Sure enough, when he faced me again I saw the silver rectangle poking from the front of his shirt pocket. My heart sank as I realised I’d missed my chance. I decided to call it a day.

‘You know, I really am going to have to head off now. It’s getting late. And also, if I don’t pee soon, I’m in serious danger of wetting myself.’

‘You need the toilet? You can just use…’ he paused. ‘Oh, right. The suit. You don’t think you could risk it? I mean, look at me. If there was something here to catch, I reckon I’d have caught it now.’

‘Unless you can’t catch it. Unless you’re immune.’

Jazz shrugged. ‘Who knows? It’s a mystery, huh?’

I decided to go for broke. ‘Yeah, but that’s the point. Don’t you want to know? You should be dead. But you’re not. You’re out here, surviving. Thriving, even. Have you ever stopped to consider how crazy that is? And you know if there is something special about you, well, you could be the key to stopping all this madness once and for all. Don’t you think you’ve got a, I don’t know, a duty to tell people about it?’

‘A duty?’ Jazz’s face darkened. ‘To what? Turn myself in to the government? To become a fucking lab rat?’

‘No. Wait. I just mean—’

‘I know what you mean. That’s why you were so bothered about the camera. That’s why you were filming me in the first place.’

‘All I was saying—’

‘You know what? You can have it if it means so much to you.’

With that, Jazz dug around in his shirt and held up the small silver camera. For a moment I thought he was going to throw it to me. I even put up my hands to catch it.

Instead, I watched in horror as he once again lifted the enormous lid off the saucepan.

And let the camera drop with a soft plop into the soup.

EIGHTEEN

I STARED AT the mysterious car that was parked in front of the cottage. It was a wreck. An old-fashioned, fossil-fuelled 4x4. Every panel dented or dinged. The paintwork scratched. The windows frosted with filth. This wasn’t a city car. No. This was a working vehicle, designed to drag logs from the road. To transport sick sheep to the vets. To plough its way across bogs and beaches. This car belonged to a local.

I tried to stay calm. To rationalise. To breathe. Perhaps this unexpected visitor might actually be there to help us? Maybe the car was owned by some kindly village doctor, who’d taken it on himself to check we were settling in okay? Or else an enterprising local farmer had called round to sell his wares.

Only, why would they kick the door down?

I started to run then, reaching for my handbag only to realise I’d left both it and the knife it contained in the car.

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