The Ones Above Us, Chapter 3
Date:- November 6th, 2008, 38 days after initial discovery.
Time:- 02:12 am
Location:- Greater London, Hackney
To be homeless in Hackney was a dangerous task. Crime was rampant, deaths abundant, and being innocent meant nothing when stray bullets or knives were ready to stick into any target they could find. Sticking to underpasses was one of the only ways to avoid gangs and the truly vile among us. Some grouped together in private communities, finding safety and shelter in numbers. Others went off alone. Brave, or perhaps foolish lost souls with only what they could carry lumbered onto their backs.
Simon was one such lost soul, a relic veteran of the Falklands war that never truly found his footing in ‘proper society’ again. PTSD made living on the streets feel almost homely, for what was London at night if not a domestic active war zone? To stay alive and keep warm, staying awake at night wandering the streets was the only form of survival. Anything less and you’d freeze to death, an alabaster corpse come daylight. Years of Active service made the self torture that much easier on the shaggy, greyed man, legs standing firm as the 50 year old man wandered further than he normally would. All the way to the underpass near the Olympic park. Parks were particularly viscous, so who could say what drew the man so close, perhaps the need for a hit of the buzz called danger. One thing for sure though, the thick growth of plant life under the huge pillars around the underpass made for great cover. He could stay here and wander aimlessly with little threat to contend with.
The A12 duel carriageway hummed above, the odd car or lorry passing by. This was as close to peace as the man was going to get for the night no doubt. Lugging the heavy backpack from his shoulders, his essentials of lion bars and cigs sat at the top. He’d kicked the habit a couple months ago for quite some time, but the itch is never truly, fully scratched. Inevitably, when the months became sour, the call made itself known, and in the last couple weeks the habit was once again picked up. Ducking down to get out of the wind tunnel produced by the bridge, a lighter was pulled forth from a pocket, and a small flame beacons forth. Cig in mouth, the light burnt the end. The dry spell left the effects much stronger than Simon could remember, a chesty cough and a dizzy spell flaring in his eyes. Were they always this strong before?
Thump.
God. Blinking back the waves blurring the land from the sky around him, Simon realised he’d dropped the thing from his mouth in the confusion and began patting the ground for his lost nicotine.
Thump.
No luck. Pulling the lighter out as a last ditch attempt, the orange glow gave off just enough light to see a small halo on the floor. Dancing around, the ache was beginning to set in on his aged knees. The veteran needed to find it soon.
Thump.
The white and tan roll sat in a wet patch of grass, luckily not too damp to be relit. Snatching it back up, end stuck back in his mouth, another hit was drawn before the full effects of the last drag wore off.
“Screeeeeeeeech!”
Thump.
“What the fuck-.”
A van came from nowhere, smashing into the ground like a stepped on coke can. Crumpled.
The poor man threw himself back, lying down to escape getting caught in any debris. It must’ve fallen off the highway above. There’s no chance anyone could be alive falling from that height, the bride was meters up above. Didn’t mean no one was alive though, the van fell from a carriageway after all. Perhaps a phone was accessible inside the vehicle to call the police or ambulance service from. Quickly getting to his feet, the collapsed metal sat just out from the underside of the bridge. There was only so much time, the electric could create a fire-
Thump.
Squash. What little remains of the crash site was left was sickeningly crushed suddenly under something. A chorus of screeching metal folding under immense weight and bone being snapped, popping out from splattered flesh squelching. In its place sat a pillar of solid black, etched out from the sky.
“Wha….what the FUCK-.”
A flame burst forth. Viscous. Some loose sparks had finally managed to find fuel and came alight in a haze of nightmarish glory. The pillar became illuminated in a raging bonfire, sparks bursting forth.
No…that wasn’t a pillar at all.
It was a leg.
A huge. Fucking. Leg.
“HOLY SHIT!”
Turning tail and running in a mad panic, all previous military training turned to dust under the terrifying grip of basic animal instinct. He HAD to get away, no matter what nor where. Ducking further under the bridge, Simon ran for the other side, desperate to go in any direction that pale white foot, splattered by gore and fire, wasn’t.
This couldn’t be real, right?! This was a bad trip. Something must’ve been laced in those cigarettes. IT HAD TO BE THAT!
Turning back to assess the situation, the veteran stopped in his tracks just beyond the other side of the bridge, mouth gaping as sweat dribbled down from his forehead, from the heat or pure adrenaline rush who knew. Didn’t matter though, something was wrong. The leg. It was gone.
Where.did.it.go?! Was it really all a trip? Was he going mad!
Thump.
Suddenly, airborne. Just for a second. Then a collision with the ground. Something popped, his shoulder? Leg? Who knew, either way he was in a world of pain. Looking everywhere, the world was a blanket of black, even the navy sky didn’t shine through. No streetlights. Just solid black. All except for one thing starting down at him, piercing his soul and holding him down to the ground.
Eyes.
Huge, neon blue eyes.
️.