Read Panic for Free Online Page B

Pushed the dark memories back into the gloom.
    The two men fell silent for several seconds, until Carl could bear it no more. The air felt heavy, claustrophobic. Today, the morning fog didn't appear to be going anywhere, and the thick grey morning was constricting his throat, making him feel like he was about to choke. Got to do something , he thought. Anything is better than standing here thinking .
    He stood, and made his way to the boot, popping it open with a click. Inside, buried under macintoshes and flashlights, he found a roll of police tape. It had been sitting there unused for years.
    He grabbed it, walked to the Cafe sign, and began to tie off one end. There was a tree opposite he could use to barricade the entrance.
    Michael smiled thinly, and gestured at the empty road.
    "Worried about the crowds getting in there, mate?"
    Carl shook his head.
    "No, it's just....keeping busy you know? Standing around waiting...feels like I'm going to lose my mind here."
    He kept his eyes focused intently on his work, tying off the tape securely, and began to stretch it out across the doorway to the café.
    After watching for a moment, Michael went to help.
     
    *
     
    The mist coiled around the crooked cobbled streets of St. Davids, settling at ground level, spreading across the city like a stain.
    On the coastal road, it wreathed the work of the two police officers, silent and grim-faced, as they set about cordoning off the horrors residing in Ralf's Cafe.
    On Broad Street, it filled the small, perfectly manicured garden of the Roberts house, hiding from view the small dog leashed to a garden post and muting his snarling rage at his sudden captivity.
    All across the town, as the good people of St. Davids emerged from their warm cocoons, blinking blearily and hunching against the cold, the mist roiled, pushed this way and that by the wind, but refusing to dissipate.
    To the people, a foggy morning was nothing unusual, though a few remarked on how thick the fog seemed that day, and drivers grimaced as they crawled along, barely able to see beyond their windscreens.
    At 9.17am Rachel Roberts shuddered as she stepped off the toy-like two-carriage train onto the tiny strip of concrete that served as the railway station for St. Davids.
    A few years in London had softened her up, clearly. She'd forgotten about the morning fog and the damn wind that whistled through the streets almost incessantly, making a mockery of all but the heaviest of coats.
    Rachel released her grip on the handle of her suitcase (trolley-style, thank God, given the weight of the thing) and fished around her pockets for her cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting up, she inhaled deeply, and allowed the hit of the nicotine to calm her down. Four hours on crowded trains with no chance to smoke had left her frazzled.
    For a few moments she savoured the smoke, banishing the freezing cold to the back of her mind. This may very well be her last chance t o have a cigarette for two days.
    Rachel's mother had no idea that her daughter had become addicted to what she called the 'foul weed' during her years at university and, for both their sakes, Rachel intended to keep it that way. As a result, trips home to visit the folks quickly became fraught affairs, as withdrawal made Rachel snappy and edgy. She'd often considered the various ways in which she might be able to slip away for a crafty smoke, but in the end had never tried.
    Her mother had eyes like a CCTV camera, and in St. Davids people talked. Even if there were some plausible excuse for Rachel to disappear for ten minutes, she knew in her heart that someone would see her, and the informat ion would find its way back to Mum. Information always did.
    She dropped the cigarette stub and crushed the life out of it under the heel of her boot, casting a glance around the pitiful excuse for a station. After a couple of years spent being carried along on a tide of people in cavernous hubs like Waterloo and Euston, the homely little