Read Online Paradigm (9781909490406) by Ceri A. Lowe - Free Book Online Page B

the door, this time accompanied by a voice. The pain in her knee hadn’t quite registered.
    â€˜Is there anyone in there? Mrs Davenport, is that you? I know there’s someone in there. You must help me. I’m starving. Please.’
    Alice stared at the blood running down her leg and then out past the kitchen towards the hallway. The thumping on the door boomed across the floor and pounded into her knee. She wasn’t sure if it was the banging or just the pain from the glass isosceles in her leg.
    â€˜Mrs Davenport, please .’ The voice sounded desperate this time, whining almost. Alice bit down on her bottom lip and used two hands to pull the triangle out of her leg. Immediately, a red river gushed down her shin and, at the sight of the blood, she let out a scream.
    â€˜I can hear you,’ said the voice at the door that had changed from desperate to pleading whimper. ‘I know you’re there. I heard you going up onto the roof. You have to help me, Mrs Davenport. I’m an old man. I have a heart condition. Please. I know you’re a good woman underneath; I don’t care what you are.’
    Alice dragged herself to the kitchen using her hands, sliding on her backside, and grabbed a tea towel hanging on a nail near the sink. It had a few coffee stains on it but was almost clean. She tied it tightly around her knee until the fibres locked into the wound, stemming the flow of blood. The sweet, metallic taste lingered on her tongue and the inside of her mouth was tender to the touch—in steeling herself strong, Alice had taken a chunk out of the inside of her cheek.
    â€˜Keep your temper,’ she said, but the banging continued.
    â€˜I don’t want to break the door down, but I will,’ came the cry from outside the front door. ‘I have a hammer. I’ll use it. I just want to talk. Just a conversation. Please.’
    Alice steadied herself up against the counter. The voice sounded just like Mr Hutchinson. Exactly like Mr Hutchinson. She hobbled to the door, dragging her cut leg behind her, leaning against the walls for support. When she got to the door, she looked through the spyhole.
    â€˜Mr Hutchinson?’ she said. ‘Is that you?’ Outside there was silence for a second and then the voice again.
    â€˜Let me in, kid. I need to talk to your mother.’
    â€˜She’s not here,’ said Alice. ‘It’s just me.’
    â€˜Who’s looking after you?’
    â€˜No one,’ said Alice. ‘I’m looking after myself.’ The blood-damp tea towel loosened around her leg and dropped to the linoleum. A squirt of red leaked onto the wall. She bent down to pick it up and wrapped it around again. The bandage wet-slapped against her leg.
    â€˜Open the door, please,’ said Mr Hutchinson. ‘We need to talk. Now.’
    Alice sat on the sofa and watched as Mr Hutchinson gulped greedy mouthfuls from a can of soup like a baby bird gobbling worms. When he had finished, he opened and closed his mouth. He rested back in the chair he had claimed as his own and rubbed his stomach. The chair used to belong to Alice’s father.
    â€˜Do you have any more?’ he asked, looking around. ‘How much have you got?’
    â€˜Not much,’ said Alice. ‘What day is it?’
    â€˜Monday,’ said the old man, as if that meant something, and helped himself to a packet of biscuits. A dribble of tomato soup ran down his chin and he scraped it up with his fingers then licked them clean.
    â€˜Power went out about a week ago,’ he said. ‘There’s no one else left in the building. Where’s your mother?’
    Alice looked down at the floor.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she said. ‘She went out to work and she hasn’t come home yet.’
    A strange look came over Mr Hutchinson’s face.
    â€˜How long have you been all alone?’
    â€˜Since the Storms started.’
    After he had eaten, Mr