Dark Blood

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Run. Don’t stop. Keep moving…

The big, fat moon makes everything black and white. Frost and shadow. Life and death.

Steve stumbles. The churned-up mud’s solid-up and down like a roller-coaster. One foot catches the edge of a rock-hard peak, and he goes sprawling across the icy ground. Tries not to cry out as his arm screams sharp-edged pain.

Somewhere in the darkness a dog barks. Big dog. Fucking scary big dog. You know? Rottweiler, Doberman: some bastard like that. Big and black, with thousands of teeth. Coming after him.

‘Fuck…’ The word disappears into the night sky on a cloud of white breath.

Big dog.

He scrambles upright; stands there, trying to get his balance. Feeling sick. Far too much whisky. Makes everything blurry and warm, even though it’s so cold out here his fingers ache with it. Makes the world smell like it’s burning.

Steve lurches forward, arm clutched to his chest, hugging the shadows along the edge of the building site. Trees blocking the searchlight moon.

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