Meadowside by Marcus Blakeston

they’ll panic at the slightest sound. It’ll only take one to set them all off.”
    “Yeah well, maybe. But we’re still staying. You should, too. You’re not fucking Rambo, no matter how much you think you are.”
    “Fuck off, Mike, you know I’m right. If those cunts get through that door with you all inside you’ve got no chance. At least out here we can run. We’ve done okay so far.”
    “We were lucky, that’s all,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t mean a fucking thing.”
    “Britney?”
    Britney looked down, avoiding Tom’s questioning gaze.
    “Well there’s your answer,” Mike said. “You should stay too, Kylie. Go with Tom and he’ll just get you killed.”
    Tom looked at Kylie. Kylie looked away, torn between what to do. She knew what Tom was saying made a lot of sense, but she was tired of running. She looked to the play area entrance, watched people pushing their way through in a panic. The police woman tried to herd them through one at a time, but was fighting a losing battle as they all tried to squeeze through the narrow entrance together. The way they squabbled amongst themselves reminded her of the way the crazies all tried to crowd onto the escalator at once. She didn’t fancy the idea of being squashed up against that many people in a confined space for who knows how long, but was the alternative any better? Running for her life, with nowhere to run to, no hope of rescue?
    “We’re pretty much fucked either way, aren’t we?” Kylie said. She felt her eyes welling up, and blinked away the tears.
    “Kylie, I can keep you safe,” Tom said. “I promise.”
    Kylie sighed. She turned to Mike. “You’ll look after Britney, won’t you?”
    “You’re not fucking serious?” Mike said, his eyes wide.
    Kylie hugged Britney. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and turned and walked away before she could change her mind.
     

11
     
    Greg Thorndyke knew there were too many people in the lift already, but pressed up tight against the glass at the far side there was nothing he could do about it. He tried pushing them back, but the sheer weight of all the people trying to squeeze themselves into the already full to capacity space made it a pointless battle. He yelled at them to get out, to use one of the escalators instead, but nobody was prepared to listen to logic or reason.
    In their blind panic, all anyone cared about was securing their place inside at any cost. They punched and kicked those near the entrance, dragged them out onto the concourse, and took their place inside the lift; only to be attacked themselves by others trying to get in. Someone jabbed at the control buttons constantly, as if that could somehow magically bypass the door’s safety mechanism and force it to close. But with the baying crowd in the doorway, the door barely moved a few inches before it sprang back open.
    Greg’s breath came in wheezing gasps. He could feel an asthma attack coming on, but with his arms pinned by his sides he knew there was no way he could retrieve the inhaler from his pocket. The people crushed up against him were faring no better. One of them, an old woman in her sixties, looked like she was unconscious. Her head had flopped to one side, her eyes had rolled up in their sockets so only the whites were visible. Greg couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not, and knew there would be nothing he could do for her either way. All he could do was stand there, squashed up against the glass, and hope for the best.
    Greg turned his head and stared out, wishing he could be out there in all that free space. Wishing he was fit enough to take the stairs instead of relying on lifts. Wishing he could afford to heat his home so that he wouldn’t need to spend all day in the shopping centre just to stay warm. Wishing, more than anything, that he was somewhere else, away from all this madness.
    He could see the killers approaching from the distance, no doubt attracted by the commotion