Chapter 15 - Broken Glass

It cracks, Ida’s foot lowering slowly onto a curved piece, before it crumbles under the weight. Charlotte is practically wrapped around her front, her face nestled into Ida’s neck and her arms interlocked. The room she is in strongly resembles the same kind of museum exhibit hall that she and Charlotte had passed through when they first started running together, except the far door is smashed inward and any cases that were on the stands are knocked off and shattered. The nest of glass grows denser deeper into this room, and even more so through the darkened doorway into the main hall. 

Someone is in a half-crouch, face pressed into the corner of one of the walls at the opposite end of the room from the two of them, barely twitching at the crunching of Ida’s movement. All of the pieces quake gently as thunder rumbles through the building again, causing a ruckus of rushed movement out beyond the wrecked doorway. The figure in this room, however, seems to scarcely react even to the deafening weather. Taking another few steps forward, Ida begins squinting at the figure, trying to make out some detail. It appears to be an elderly man, his white hair thinned to almost nothing on his head and his cream woollen jumper ripped mostly to shreds. Testing a theory, Ida carefully lowers just enough to pick up one of the pieces off the floor without tipping Charlotte off-balance, throwing it just to the right of the man. Nothing. He twitches in place but seems unfazed by the noise. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ida begins moving just a tiny bit faster, and as she approaches the next room, the noise of whistling wind and heavy rain gets louder and louder. She peeks in.

The reception hall is in shambles, a maze of cots and piles of belongings with a carpet of reflections that weaves between. The two great windows that flank the front door are shattered, the curtains shredded and flapping in the breeze that flows in from outside. Pressed against the far wall are countless silhouettes, standing shoulder to shoulder in the open air. 

Hiking Charlotte up a little higher, Ida grits her teeth as she takes the first few steps into the room. A blessing in disguise, the storm is drowning out any sound of her movement with the incessant roar of noise. A bolt of lightning highlights the figures, flashing off the many reflective discs that are in place of eyes. Ida sucks in a breath at the sight, hunkering down, bracing for the thunder. Just under five seconds later before the rumbling begins. The crowd scrambles at the open windows, cutting themselves on the frame as the first ones get pushed forward by the stampede. Once the thunder subsides, the frenzy dies with it.

Ida stands with a grunt of effort, scanning the side rooms, her eyes lingering on a door close to the front of the hall. It has a sign on it, although the details are elusive from this distance. Muttering a silent prayer, Ida presses on, directly toward it.

As the proximity to the crowd grows closer, her limbs start trembling and breath hitching, staggering with each crunch beneath her feet. She swings a leg forward, catching her shin on a cot hard enough to cause her to stumble onto her knees. 

The glass rips through the skin of her legs freely, Ida bites down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, her eyes watering and stifling a scream. Charlotte stiffens at the impact, her hands grabbing at Ida’s dress to stay up, more weight leveraging down and causing Ida to wheeze in shock. 

“Miss Ida?”

“It’s… fine, Charlotte. Don’t look.” Ida whispers back between strained breaths. 

She glances up at the crowd, expecting the worst, met by the sight of their unmoving forms. She draws her gaze away, bracing herself on the cot and pulling her damaged legs back under her. Blood streams down her shins, pooling against the tops of the socks that are pulled up just above the ankle. 

Just as she takes the next step toward the sign, hissing through her teeth, the far side of the room begins shedding a flickering glow. 

-

She resembles my wife, with shoulder-length wavy chestnut hair and a slight frame. Seeing her go through this whilst carrying my child, my Charlotte, feels like my heart is tearing in two. The fact Charlotte trusts her completely only makes it so much worse, I knew she thought it was her mother when she tugged on her dress. I can see them, just out of the corner of my eye, as the light sweeps over me again and the buzzing of pain feels like it strips the skin from my back. Nothing compared to the pain of watching my child in this place. 

It feels as if I’m wading through deep water, almost like a dream, but I slam my fist into the unseen wall in front of me. It’s the only thing I can think of to try and warn them of the encroaching light. The young woman, who looks so much like my Emma, flinches, her head flicking this way as my knuckles crack. They can hear me. She notices, turning away from the dawning and moving further out my line of sight. I may never see my girl again, but knowing I’ve done something to contribute is enough. The buzzing consumes me, unable to fight it any longer. My eyes are drawn away from the hazy images, the light in the distance dragging my weary self toward it. I feel the shadows of other people packed in next to me, our shoulders touching. I can’t fight it any more, my aching muscles finally relaxing as I let myself look.

It’s endless.

-

Her shoes grind into the floor, pieces of lightbulb cutting into the soles, as she pulls against the side door. The glow behind her grows stronger, the figures by the windows turning to almost follow it like they can see it through the backs of their heads. The door shifts, crunching loudly as it does, revealing a lit room with another door at the end. Ida notices the bare floor, shouting as the light draws the crowd toward them.

“Off! Now, Charlotte! Run!”

She doesn’t move.

 The growing sound of the storm and approaching cracking of limbs must be freezing her. Ida doesn’t waste time, heaving the door shut behind them just as one backward arm reaches through, liverspotted, bruised and in some places flayed. It catches Ida’s hip, tearing through the dress and leaving long red scratches as she screams out. The forearm snaps, the bone shunting out of place as the weight of the others slam into the door. Ida starts stepping away from it, prying at Charlotte’s arms as she does, the little girl crying into her ears. She manages to get her off, grabbing her hand and pulling her along behind her as she runs to the other end of the long corridor. Another brass sign grows in clarity as they approach, reading ‘Staff Entrance’. Ida heaves out a pained breath of relief as she pulls on the handle. It’s locked. She turns, just for a moment, seeing the door at the other end collapse under the weight and a mess of bodies of all types convulsing and clawing its way toward them. 

Her legs and hip bleeding, her shoulder already bruised from breaking through the doors before, she braces herself again for more pain. The first impact against this door is weak, her legs unable to gather the strength needed. She hacks out a cough, wind knocked out of her as one of the pile manages to break away, snapping upward into an awkward run. Charlotte is bawling now, the shock and fear too much. Every tiny bulb on the wall that the group passes glows brighter, one after another, dimming as it's left behind. 

“Please, Mummy, I’m so scared” Charlotte bawls between sobs. 

Ida screams out in pain as she lurches upward, kicking at the handle. It gives, just a little, but the wood splinters noticeably around the frame. She rams her shoulder against it again, wincing and gasping, and again. 

Another scrambles to its feet, joining the first only a few paces behind. They are getting closer, the closest over two thirds of the way down the corridor.  

Cold air and heavy rain hits her face. The door clatters open as the rapid wind catches it. Unable or unwilling to succumb to the exhaustion and pain, Ida grabs Charlotte round the waist, hoisting her and running out just moments before they close the gap. Lightning flashes through the dark clouds, and less than a second later a deafening roar of thunder rips through the atmosphere. 

There are a handful of others that crowd the front of the Estate as Ida passes them, distracted by the sound. She weaves between two that are flailing at the open air, out the open gate and into the dark streets. 

The light that had been close behind her fades, a faintly illuminated puddle between the cobbles left dark again.

-

The bookstore.

The front door swings in the breeze, damp air flowing through the gap, soaking the floor and causing the single candle to flicker desperately. Ida has bundled Charlotte up on the cot behind the reception desk, wrapping her in one of Andrew’s jumpers and a coarse blanket. She stands back from the quiet, sleeping child, placing a hand on the door and shoving it closed with a grunt. Her hands are trembling as she takes a seat, looking down at her legs. They’re practically dyed red. Several dark cuts stand out from the pale red skin, deep and visceral. A shiver rips through her uncontrollably, the stress, exhaustion and pain starting to set in. She wraps her arms around herself, sticking to the soaked dress, and squeezing as if to fight back the shivering.

A minute passes, her trembling just beginning to calm as she looks down at her hands, at the engagement band sitting on her finger. Bracing the table, she forces herself up, her eyes aglow with purpose.

 She takes a few minutes to borrow some more clothes from Irene, finishing by pulling one of Andrew’s thick copper coloured jumpers over the top of a smart blouse. She had taken the time to tear and tie some clean strips of cloth round her shins before pulling on some of Irene’s charcoal trousers. 

“Charlotte, dear?” 

Her eyes blink open, nodding into the warm wrappings.

“I need to go and find my brother. Can you promise me you’ll stay here? Don’t go anywhere and definitely do not open the door for any reason. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Miss Ida.”

“You’re the best, you know that? You’re so brave. I will be back as soon as I can. You just rest and remember not to open the door unless it's me or my brother.”

Ida makes a point of drawing the curtains fully, pushing a chair up against the bottom of each to pin it closed against the wall. She does a quick pass of the room, ensuring no other reflective surfaces are easily accessible before turning back to Charlotte, who is already drifting back off to sleep. She double checks the contents of the table, the destination marked on a map. 

“Thackery, Thackery..” She repeats under her breath, as well as recounting the street name and number a few times before turning to the door. 

“Thank god they didn’t lock it.” 

She closes it softly behind her as she steps with a limp back out onto the cobbles, her hands rolled tightly into fists. 

-

It’s pitch black, a cacophony of scratching and grinding echoing around. 

Strkkt.

Strkkt.

A tiny flame catches at the end of a match, casting a glow across Irene’s face as she shakily lights a cigarette. It's half-crumpled, hanging a little limp at the far end, but it catches. A deep breath. She exhales a thick cloud of smoke which nearly smothers the match. Her eyes linger on the dying flame for a moment, dropping it before it singes the tip of her fingers.

She starts fumbling with something at her waist, a rustle of fabric combining with the clattering of metal as the match dies. After a few seconds, Irene begins cranking her lantern. It flickers, revealing a cracked and bent frame, a tinge of red across the misshapen mess. It looks as if it was used to fend some of them off as she was running. She is sitting on a dirty, black and white tiled floor, her back leaning against a wooden kitchen counter. The origin of the scratching noise is coming from a serving hatch on the wall behind her, shuddering as something hits it from the other side. 

Her hair has fallen from its pony, sodden from the rain and resting in a tangle down to her chest. She runs a hand through it, catching in a knot and pulling it out. Her blouse clings to the moisture that’s soaked through it, the scars on her forearms glistening as she pulls the sleeves up to her elbows.

“That’s enough of a break now, Irene.” She stares at the ceiling as she takes another drag of her cigarette, savoring the inhale for a little longer.