Dead Days (Book 2): Tess by Tom Hartill Page B

a man stumbles into the shop.  He is dressed in a business suit, about fifty years old, coughing violently, trying to cover his mouth with his sleeve.  He is sweating profusely and his skin has a waxy sheen that makes him look like he’s about to vomit.  He stumbles into a table and people turn to look. 
          Gerry says something but I don’t hear him.  The man gets to the counter, and tries to talk to the pleasant-faced waiter behind it.
     
    “Please….I need…I need….”
     
    He drops to his knees and collapses against the counter, breathing hard.  Several people stand up, myself included and the young waiter runs around from behind the till. 
          I go to move towards the fallen man but Gerry grabs my arm.  I turn and look at him.  His eyes are wide and he licks his lips nervously.  “Best not go near, he looks pretty sick-”
    I shake him off and kneel down by the man, the young waiter beside me.
    “Has somebody called an ambulance?”  I ask, and a couple of people start fumbling for their phones.  I put a hand to the man’s forehead, it’s like a furnace.
           The young waiter looks at me with panic in his eyes, but I have no idea what to say to him, I’m not a doctor. 
          The sick man on the floor gives one last laboured breath and goes limp.  I sit back on my heels.  I don’t know what to do!  Should I try CPR?  I don’t know how to do it properly and I could just make things worse.
     
    Worse than dead?
     
    I almost go to try anyway but then Gerry is grabbing me, trying to pull me upright.  He has my bag in his hand and he forces it into my arms.
    “Tess I think it’s best if we get out of here-”  He bleats.
    “Oh my God is he dead?!”  A young woman screeches behind me.
    “I don’t know-”  The waiter replies.
    “Check if he’s breathing.”  A balding guy with glasses says, joining the gathering of people around the stricken man.
     
    The waiter leans over the man’s mouth as Gerry tries to bundle me out of the door.
     
    The man’s foot twitches.
     
    “Gerry stop!  I think that guy’s still alive-”
     
    The man’s eyes flick open.  As soon as he sees the young waiter in front of him, he lunges his head forward-
     
    The waiter screams, a high pitched wail.  He sounds almost like a girl.
     
    Oh my God!  Is he-  Is he biting him?!
     
    The young waiter pulls back and there is an awful tearing sound, blood seems to be everywhere, and he paws frantically at a ragged hole in his neck.
          His eyes lock with mine and for an instant I see the look of bewildered terror in them before Gerry is dragging me out the door.
     
    I didn’t just see that, did I?
     
           Someone is screaming and my legs feel numb, like I might fall.  I am so stunned that I let Gerry pull me twenty yards down the street before I stop him.
    “Let me go!  We have to go back, we have to-”
    “Don’t be stupid!”  He snaps, “You saw what that guy did, he was crazed, dangerous, let the police deal with it!”
    “That boy needs help, we have to-”
    He pulls me hard, hurting my shoulder, and I suddenly see red.  I slap him hard across the cheek and he lets go of me, more in surprise than pain.  He touches his face, eyes wide.
    “You slapped me…”  He says in disbelief.  His looks so hurt that I have to stifle an urge to apologise, and then I remember who he is.
     
    What he is.
     
    “I may be your assistant Gerry but that does not give you the right to manhandle me in the street.  If you ever touch me like that again then I’ll-”
     
    I’ll what? 
     
    What would Mike say?
     
    “-I’ll rip your fucking balls off, are we clear?”
    He stares at me with what looks like fear.  He thinks I mean it and I suppose in that moment I do mean it, and it fills me with a savage joy.    
     
    “Fine.”  He says sulkily.  “Do what you want, I’m letting you go.”  He draws himself up haughtily.  “You can have a