Matt Hammond - Milkshake

Milkshake

by

Matt Hammond

Published by Night Publishing, Smashwords edition

Copyright 2011, Matt Hammond

ISBN 978-1-4661-8290-5

Thank you for downloading this e-book. You are welcome toshare it with people you know personally for non-commercialpurposes but it may not be shared over the Internet other than viathe network of e-book distributors supplied by Smashwords andaccording to Smashwords terms and conditions.

All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyoneliving or dead is accidental.

To discover other books by Matt Hammond, please go tohttp://www.nightpublishing.com/matt-hammond.

Chapter 1

Shredded paper lay on the restroom floor, still wet fromrecent mopping. A steady stream of scalding water misted the mirrorabove a hand basin. Standing at the urinal, David heard the creakof a stall door. A warm hand from behind pressed something firmlyover his mouth. As he inhaled and began to drift asleep, his mindreplayed the last conversation before David Turners lifepaused.

You bloody do this every time we fly. You get sucked intothe whole holiday mode thing, have to buy the largest cappuccinoyou can find, then spend the next three hours backwards andforwards to the loo.

I need a pee before we board the flight, Ill be back in aminute. Im sorry but once were on that plane it might be anotherhour before that seatbelt light goes off, so Im just making themost of every opportunity.

Twenty years of marriage to Katherine had taught David toleave it there. Anyway, this was different. It wasnt a holiday.They were emigrating. The events of the previous September hadunsettled millions of people. Thousands had investigated emigratingto safer, distant shores. The Turners had secured teaching posts inNew Zealand. This would be a one-way flight from London toAuckland, via Singapore.

* * *

David was sitting in the staffroom, eating a sandwich hecouldnt taste. A bloody planes only flown into the World TradeCenter.

A plane, straight into it, repeated the DeputyPrincipal.

How big was it?

A smallish one, I think, but the top of the building is onfire. People are trapped. Its live on the News.

The sandwich and staffroom were gone. Faceless people stood insilhouette against the glass and the open sky beyond it. He couldmake out the flat roofs of office blocks, cluttered with elevatormachinery, switchgear rooms and air conditioning units.

He walked towards the window, focusing on water running downthe glass. It was snowing. His eyes followed the flakes downwards,watching as they became caught in the violent updrafts whichswirled beneath him. A flashing blue light caught his eye. He wasup against the glass, looking straight down, past his feet, to theNew York street far below.

He stepped back, turned and was now looking around his ownliving room. He heard a television and his mind found the images ofa second plane being eaten alive by the South Tower.

The wing dipped, the plane gracefully turned and the Towertook the impact as if full in the chest. No time to dodge, itabsorbed the missile and was torn apart on the opposite side by theforce of the explosion within.

What film is this?

David turned to answer Katherine and found he was in bed,tightly holding her hand. Pixelated orange fire shimmered on theceiling above his head as fragmented shards of glass and masonrywafted down in slow motion towards him.

Are you awake?

Yes, she replied

I think we should go.

* * *

Somewhere deep in his unconscious brain, an electrical impulsetouched a neuron and David sparked back to life.

Blinking hard, trying to focus through the blackness, Davidfelt the cold solidity of unyielding concrete against his cheek andthe cool of the May evening. The drone of nearby aircraft and thesmell of their fuel re-awakened his other senses. He was lying facedown, looking underneath a row of parked cars. Head aching and eyesstinging, he tried to stand as he struggled to remember.

Swaying unsteadily in the vacant space between two cars, hisvision cleared, sharpening the bright yellow lights, aeroplanetails and shining paintwork of illuminated car bodies. Looking outacross the airport from the top floor of a car park, his mindreplayed.

Two hours ago they had checked in for their flight, watchingas their cases disappeared through a rubber flap. David had jokedabout the sum of his possessions: passport, ticket, walletcontaining a small amount of Singaporean cash for their shortstopover, a credit card and his British driving licence. Everythingelse they owned was either in a shipping container about to land inNew Zealand or in one of those cases.

Now the gentle tick, tick, tick of anidling car engine snapped him back to the present. Cars enclosedhim on three sides. The fourth enclosure was the low wall of thecar park. He crouched, feeling sick.

His foot brushed something. He looked down, the glare from thelights blinding him as he peered into a void, his head instantlyfilling with waves of disorientating vertigo. Moving his hand tomeet his foot, he could feel leather. It was soft, in folds, hardbeneath. Both hands felt a jacket and it was on someonesback.

Cigarette smoke seeped into his nostrils, clearing his head.Someone pushed him roughly from behind. He fell, turning to restthe back of his head against a car wheel, feigning confusion,looking up, through semiclosed lids, squinting for a clearerview.

The silhouette of a man gripped the leatherjacketed figureunder both arms and lifted, shuffling towards the low car park walluntil the limp body was against it, facing out into thenight.

The body slumped forward, torso resting on the wall, armsdangling over the edge. Davids throat tightened as he realisedwhat was about to occur. How long had he been there? Had he beendrugged?

As the questions ran through his head, there was agrunt.

The leather-jacketed body was gripped from behind by his beltand heaved off the ground. The rasp of a zip scraping against theconcrete wall broke into the conscious spaces between Davidsconfused thoughts.

The body was lifted until his knees were level with the top ofthe wall. It was clear his centre of gravity would inevitably sendhim over the edge.

The man released his grip. The victim instantly crumpledungainly to one side, half sitting, half kneeling, oblivious to hisfate, then toppled silently forward and was gone. The killerstepped back, no macabre curiosity to witness the fatal descent,watching as the limp flailing body collided with the roadbelow.

Davids incoherence flashed an image fromthe TV News last September. A faceless figure stepping from theedge of the smoking World Trade Center through the void left by themelted safety glass and out into the cool autumn air of the NewYork morning, leaving behind certain fiery death for one of theirown choosing.

He sat motionless. Someone who had just killed a man in frontof him carefully stepped over his outstretched legs and climbedinto the waiting car. The engine note rose, the door clicked shutand it glided slowly away.

The distant lights blurred as his focus disconnected. Theydboth left good teaching jobs, sold their house at a good profit,their cars, and had both gained New Zealand residency. Theyd saidgoodbye to friends and family, and shipped all their possessions onahead. There was nearly 200,000 waiting for them on the other sideof the world. He'd made his choice.

Breathing deeply, he pulled sweating palms slowly over hisface, trying to wipe any memory of the last fifteen minutes,erasing all questions from his mind. For now, he had to focus onacting normal, find his way back to Katherine and board theflight.

He peered at his watch. It was more than fifteen minutes sincehe had left Katherine waiting in the Terminal below. Where had thetime gone? Looking around the brightly lit rooftop, a few cars werehuddled together in small groups. Did one of them belong to thevictim? He tried the doors of the nearest car; both locked. Nothingto indicate its owner had just been wrenched from his seat andthrown over the side of the building.