♠ Out of hand ♠

He surprised himself by doing a brief dance step in the alley behind the neighbour’s house. Damn, it felt good to be out. Out of the house, out of cover. Out of his mind, probably, but that was nothing new. No more caution. No more holding back. He’d forgotten how much he missed it.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet. By the sound of things, every cop that ever there was, were gathered there together because –

Stop it. Get a grip.

He used to know people around the neighbourhood. There had been days, and nights – mostly nights – when he’d had to get out of the house, be somewhere else for a while. Before lockdown, when things were still normal.

Connor spat the taste of adrenaline onto a flattened cardboard box at the side of the alley. That had been his problem. He didn’t do normal.

But one of the neighbours… He trotted on tiptoes for a couple of steps, looking over the ramshackle wooden fence topped with rusted razor wire. Yip. That was the one.

He didn’t waste time climbing. With a kick and a shoulder, he was through the rotten planks and running towards the carport at the side of the house. There it was, exactly as he remembered it from last time he was there. An off-road scrambler, just waiting for him. He turned the key in the ignition and knew that someone up there was looking after him when the engine kicked into spluttering life.

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Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

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Join me on Sunday the 5th, from 9am to 3pm, at BookDealers, 40 Wessel Road, Rivonia, for their last Book Fair of 2021. Come stock up on pressies for those long load-shed nights after Squirrel closes the bottle stores.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ Clampdown ♠

It wouldn’t be long before the police extended their search. The houses next door would be first, followed by the whole neighbourhood. They would use it as a training exercise. Blood a few rookies. Failing that, an excuse to break things and kick people. They wouldn’t rest until they had him. Or a body approximately the same age and build they could pass off as him.

“Connaught! Lars Connaught! I know you’re in there.”

I’m not, Connor thought, but his grin was short-lived this time. When was the last time anyone called him Connaught? That was three fake names ago. Back when he was a little more ‘politically’ active than he was now.

“We tracked you down,” the voice continued. That nasal voice. The accent… A deep-buried memory stirred within him. Sergeant Noecker. A dick of note. Bad news and not someone Connor wanted to see right now.

You’re supposed to be dead. Reality or fabrication? Isolation really played with the senses. Was the letter real? And the girl? He hurriedly checked his jacket pocket and felt the envelope.

Yes and yes.

Probably.

No time to read the letter now. Escape was the only option. Can’t go through the front gate. Even now he heard the engine of the police support vehicle coming down the heavily potholed road.

Over the back wall and through the gardens. The overgrown trees would at least offer some cover from the drones if they came back.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ 22 Acacia Avenue ♠

He wasn’t a regular visitor to number twenty-two. The old couple that used to live there hadn’t been much company since they died two summers ago. Was it two or three? Did time ever have less meaning? Tick the days off until the day you die.

He had smelled them dead long before he saw them dead. Even at twenty metres. He watched their food parcels mount up, taking the best – least bad – for himself.

The government had promised that all bodies would be taken away within three days for screening and safe disposal. Another broken promise. At least Mr and Mrs van der Merwe weren’t likely to ever blab to anyone about Connor’s little digging project.

The house had remained empty ever since. Was there even anyone left to live there? A combination of isolation, bad food, lack of personal hygiene (soap was now a luxury few people had), no hope and good old Covid-19 had really put a dampener on population growth.

He popped his head up, meerkat-style, and looked around. Coming up underneath the van der Merwe’s Ford was a stroke of good fortune. Cover. He slid underneath the car, pulling his backpack behind him. Across the dusty floor, avoiding the oil slick. Ford. Crap then, worse now.

He held his breath and assessed his options.

From his house came the sounds of the police searching. Looking for him. The crunch of a boot on glass, hushed whispers, the rustling of bodies moving through the undergrowth and the rookie cop retching. He must have found what was left of his buddy. Connor couldn’t suppress a grin.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed it while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ You’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties ♠

The cop made a grab. For what, Connor wasn’t quite sure. He seemed to be going for Connor’s legs at first, changing direction when he saw a kitchen knife under the blackened remains of the Kelvinator double-door fridge-freezer Francina – the bitch – had insisted on buying during her first and only domestic goddess cooking phase.

Connor kicked the helpful police officer on the side of the head as he turned and sprinted back towards the door to the cellar. Said door clicked shut behind him two seconds before the gas grenades whooshed into the lounge, bringing their flash-bang friends along for the ride.

Down the rabbit hole. Thinking about a masked woman in tight black clothes. Curiouser and curiouser. He wasn’t used to people sneaking onto his property in the middle of the night. Not anymore. Not since the bad old days, before lockdown. The secret days. The violent days. The days he had walked away from, swearing that he would never go back. Before he changed his name. His face. His fingerprints, even.

The rickety wooden cupboard at the far end of the cellar swung open without a squeak and Connor pushed through the shirts and jackets he’d bought at a charity shop to reach the tunnel that ran from his house under the garden wall to the neighbour’s garage.

He’d been bored that month.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts. https://bit.ly/burningpodcast

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.