MONOLITH by Shaun Hutson

thought with a smile, the blind leading the blind or at least the blind being told what to buy by the blind. Amused at his own philosophical musings he moved towards the escalators at the rear of the shop and rode one into the Games department where he took some time looking at the new titles and then at the pre-owned section. He selected two games from the latter section and went to pay for them.
    A couple of assistants were chatting animatedly behind the counter and didn’t seem to see him so he coughed theatrically until the girl with dyed pink and black hair and a nose ring that would have graced a prize bull finally turned to serve him.
    He eased down the volume on his iPod so he could hear her monosyllabic grunts, paid and prepared to collect his purchases.
    ‘Do you want a bag?’ she asked flatly.
    ‘Yes, please,’ Paxton said.
    She looked at him as if he’d just proposed having anal sex in the middle of the shop.
    ‘I need a bag, please,’ Paxton insisted, amused by her reaction.
    ‘Couldn’t you just put them in your pocket?’ she said. ‘Bags are bad for the environment.’
    ‘Well, we’re all going to be dead in a hundred years aren’t we?’ said Paxton cheerfully. ‘I’ll have that bag, please.’
    The girl shoved the two games into a red and black plastic bag and pushed it across the counter to him. Paxton nodded and smiled and turned away, heading for escalators that would carry him back down to the ground floor.
    By the time he walked back out into the street it had begun to rain. Just light drizzle but enough to dampen the spirits even more. Paxton muttered something under his breath and strode off down the street now deciding that he wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He didn’t need to be wandering the streets in the rain. Besides, he wanted to check out the two games he’d just bought. He hurried across the street, ignoring the car that banged its hooter at him.
    The figure that had been following him since he left the pub also quickened its pace.

FIFTEEN
     
    Alan Reed stuck the forklift in reverse, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that none of his fellow workers were in the way as he guided the vehicle across the large expanse of open concrete behind.
    It moved smoothly across the vast open area beneath the Crystal Tower the sound of its electric engine reverberating within the tomb-like environs of the space. However, Reed needn’t to have troubled himself about the sound the small vehicle was making because it was eclipsed seconds later by the thunderous roar of a pneumatic drill. The deafening pounding filled the huge underground arena and drummed in the ears of all those working at this subterranean level. Reed had ear protectors to wear as did all his colleagues but he had resisted the need to slip them on so far during the day. After all he was hundreds of yards from the source of the pneumatic drill’s fury and loud noises had never bothered him much. But now the sound seemed to be intolerably loud, the constant slamming and hammering causing him to wince.
    Work on the lowest three levels of the Crystal Tower, including the underground garage and storerooms was near completion and Reed watched as electricians crawled about on scaffolding all around him putting the finishing touches to the lights that were buried in the thick concrete ceiling of the parking area. Even in this area, designed only for the parking of residents’ vehicles and for the storage of essential equipment for the building, the ambience had to be right. There was no bare cold concrete. Even the walls had been painted with soft pastel tones and some of them even sported murals by the youngest and hippest modern artists that this country had to offer. Reed guided his vehicle past one, pausing momentarily to glance at it. It was supposed, he assumed, to be some kind of country scene but the trees and plants looked as if they’d been painted by little kids not by some middle class art school