Eastgate by JD Kirk

Author:JD Kirk [Kirk, JD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ded Moroz had a Nigel problem. He couldn’t get the bastard off his boots.

He’d tried wiping the soles on the mat of the Toymaster store just around from the entrance he’d been guarding, but even after a full thirty seconds of shuffling around, he was leaving tacky red footprints on the floor behind him.

Nigel had got himself deep into the treads of the shoes like a big daud of dog shit. It was like a sort of low-level haunting, with the recently deceased doomed to follow his killer around until justice had been done.

Or until he walked through a puddle. Whichever came sooner.

The Russian schlacked his way across the food court, his gun cradled like a baby in his arms. He hummed as he walked, an old Christmas tune that reminded him of the homeland.

Not fondly. But then, he never thought fondly of anything.

The glass of the broken vending machine crunched under his feet. He stopped at it, took a moment to make his selection, then helped himself to a can of Irn Bru.

Cracking the ring pull, Ded Moroz tipped half the can down his throat in one big gulp, then let out a burp that echoed all the way along the corridor to the toilets.

“What is this shit?” he spat, and he scowled at the can like it had personally offended him. “Fucking rat piss.”

Despite his obvious distaste for the drink, he necked the rest of the can, grimaced at it, then crushed it in one hand, like Popeye with a can of spinach. It clattered loudly on the floor behind him, then he set off towards the doors where Pére Noel had last been seen.

He didn’t bother with caution or stealth. When you were his size, you rarely had to concern yourself with such things. Instead, he placed a hand on one of the doors, palm flat, fingers splayed, and pushed it open until it banged against the wall of the corridor on the other side.

“Coo-eee!” he called in a sing-song voice. He pursed his lips together, making a kissing sound that was presumably meant to be enticing. “Here, kitty kitty.”

He grinned into the darkness, like he was expecting it to laugh at his comedy genius. When it didn’t, he tried again.

“Heeeere, kitty kitty. Do not be afraid. Deddy’s here. Deddy will look after you.”

The Russian stepped into the corridor, and looked up just as the lights began to clunk on one by one. The shadows were driven back, like the dark itself was afraid of him, and of what he might do.

He let the door squeak closed behind him, then advanced along the corridor, his SMG held in one hand, ready to spray a hot, fiery death at anyone who got in his way. With his other hand, he walked two fingers along the wall—a tiny figure advancing menacingly across the rough masonry blocks.

“Here I come, ready or not. It is not my fault if you get caught!” he sang.

There was a thud behind him. He

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