Panic by K.R. Griffiths Read Free Book Online Page B

yet."
    Carl looked confused for a moment, then brightened.
    "You think? I mean, I was pretty definite, and she said she'd get right on it."
    "What else could it be , Carl? You said it yourself: this is straight off Crimewatch . Hell, this is straight out of Silence of the bloody Lambs or something. What possible reason would they have not to come here, or at least call us?"
    Carl nodded slowly, and blew out a long breath that seemed to have been held in for a very long time.
    "You got the number for Haverfordwest on your phone?" Michael asked. "Probably better to call 'em direct than have Glenda try to explain this."
    Carl shook his head.
    "Nope. I can barely work the thing well enough to have my wife and kids' numbers on there."
    "Directory enquiries it is then. I'm damn sure not calling 999 . I don't think they'd ever stop laughing."
    Michael fished in his pocket and brought out the small silver phone that he carried everywhere, but rarely used. It was a good five years old. He tried a few months back, on a trip to Cardiff, to look into getting one of the smart phones that were everywhere now, but had in the end shied away from the idea. Just too confusing.
    He flipped open the screen and began to hit the buttons, then stopped with a frown.
    No signal.
    The cold, gnawing sensation in his gut returned.
    St. Davids was remote, but there was nowhere in the UK so remote that it didn't get mobile phone reception. Not anymore.
    "Uh, you got signal on your phone , mate?" He asked Carl. "Mine's playing up."
    Carl pulled out his phone, a distant ancestor even of Michael's, and stared at the screen, eyes narrowing.
    "Got a little 'X' where the signal thing usually is." He looked at Michael. "That's odd right, both of us not having signal? We're not even on the same network are we? Does that matter?"
    Michael grimaced. The tension in his stomach mounted, and he felt acidic burning rising up his throat. Stress. He knew the signs well.
    "It's probably nothing," he said, though his tone was not as reassuring as he'd hoped. "Just means we'll have to go through Glenda, that's all. Let’s hope she remembers how to use the radio."
    He turned back toward the car, only about thirty feet away yet almost obscured by the gathering fog.
    Before he could take a step toward it, a noise stopped him dead. A noise that froze his muscles and turned his blood to ice.
    Somewhere, somewhere very close, a man was screaming.
     
    *
     
    It was 10am by the time Rachel reached her parent's house, the exertions of the walk and heaving the suitcase through the streets leaving an uncomfortable sheen of sweat under her coat that only made her colder as the freezing morning air hit it.
    She had only seen a couple of people on the way, shuffling through the streets, huddled in heavy coats that looked warm and made her envious. She thought it odd that the town was so quiet – ordinarily you could rely on bumping into small groups of people nattering on street corners, curious as to who was out and about that day – but the cold and the fog had apparently proven uninviting to all but the hardiest souls.
    Rachel was grateful for that. The worst part of having to walk home from the station was the thought that she would encounter familiar faces, most of whom would no doubt greet her with a big plastic smile and probing questions about just why she had returned. She had been spared that, at least, though she knew the escape was only temporary. The questions would come.
    If anything the fog was getting heavier as morning meandered toward midday. Standing at the gate to her parent's driveway, Rachel couldn't remember ever seeing it so thick. From where she stood, the house wa s a barely discernible mass; a suggestion of a presence. Something to do with global warming, she supposed. The news had been full of odd weather phenomena over the past year, and one way or another the explanation was always the same: we are driving too much and recycling too little.
    Rachel