♠ Hellion ♠

He stormed up Louis Botha Avenue as quickly as he dared, swerving around the worst potholes. Most of the population was gone, but you were never far away from some idiot stepping out in front of you. The shops were boarded up. The once-bustling suburb was deserted. He saw no one.

That was good, but also unsettling.

Victory Theatre. He had no idea why, but instinct told him it would be a good place to hide out for a while. Being the only vehicle on deserted roads was far too conspicuous.

He rode up the ramp to the rooftop parking. The door hung off its hinges. He shouldered it open and pulled the bike in. Out of sight out of mind. He had been here before. A happy memory of Francina in the early days of dating, before she became the bitch ice-queen from the frozen wastes of hell. That was her full title. Bit of a mouthful, so it was mostly just shortened to bitch.

Wasn’t hell hot, he wondered. If she was the ice queen from hell, then surely it had to be cold. Was this hell? Had he died in the explosion at his house and gone to hell? If so, it beat the isolation of the last few years.

Gun drawn, he checked the building. The restaurant had long since been looted by starving locals, some of the chairs ripped out of the theatre itself, who knew what for? Otherwise no sign of anyone. Great. He sat in the car park, back against the wall to make the most of the light, and pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket.

He turned the key in his fingers. What was it for?

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