Out of Nowhere by Gerard Whelan Page B

here. We’ll meet in the middle.’
    They started filling the plastic sacks, working in silence. Stephen noticed that Kirsten examined each book before selecting or replacing it. He himself flitted from shelf to shelf, picking titles that caught his eye. As he rounded the free-standing stack furthest from the door, he noticed that the room wasn’t, as he’d thought, perfectly rectangular. There was a walk-in alcove at this end. A sign above it read Reference Section . At the back of the alcove was another door. Set in its top half was a window of cloudy frosted glass. As he looked at the glass, Stephen thought he saw a shadow behind it – a moving shadow.
    He stood stock-still, waiting. A shiver ran up his spine. There was no sound. He wasn’t even sure he’d really seen anything. He looked back at Kirsten, but she was still busy selecting books. Should he say something, and risk looking likean idiot when the room turned out to be empty?
    He looked back at the door, licking lips that were suddenly very dry. There was no sign of movement. Stephen cursed himself for a panicky fool. The eyes play tricks when things are tense. The hairs were tingling on his neck, but he’d heard nothing and seen … what? A movement that might have been anything or nothing. The shadow of a window-blind blowing in the breeze.
    But there was no breeze.
    ‘Get a hold of yourself,’ he told himself.
    He walked boldly over to the door in the alcove and put his hand on the knob. It turned easily and the door opened inwards. But before he could open it fully the knob was yanked from his hand, and something hit him very hard in the face.
    Stephen toppled backwards, and as he fell he was hit again, hard, in the shoulder, by what felt like a boot. Someone flung himself on top of him. Blows were aimed at his head, and he had just enough sense to throw his arms up in front of his face. Several pairs of running feet went by him. His arms took the worst of the heavy blows, but some of them landed. He was dazed. Little stars sparked and died in front of his eyes. His attacker was growling, a savage sound that didn’t sound human at all. Stephen felt sick to his stomach with fear. He thought of the body in the field. He felt he was going to pass out.
    Then Kirsten screamed.
    The sound seemed to trip a strange switch inside Stephen. There was a very peculiar feeling in his head, a sudden twisting, pulling sensation, as though his mind itself was tryingto escape from his body. For a moment he had a feeling that was very hard to describe: it was almost as though he – not his body, but he – was somewhere else entirely. Then his mind seemed to snap back into his body like a piece of overstretched elastic suddenly released.
    He was instantly very alert and very aware. Everything seemed very, very clear. His body moved as though with a will of its own. His hands caught his attacker’s wrists, his speed surprising both of them. Stephen saw the other’s face for the first time. It was the face of a boy not much older than himself, a dirty face twisted into a look of utter hatred. The youth’s teeth were bared in a doglike snarl, and Stephen shuddered as he saw that they were sharp, as though they’d been filed. Thick spit was drooling from his mouth. The boy’s eyes were dark and burning. He was very strong, but Stephen didn’t feel weak now at all. He held the youth’s hands easily, then bucked his hips so that the bigger boy was thrown off him. Stephen let go of his wrists and his attacker flew helplessly through the air and slammed into the wall with an explosive grunt. He fell on the ground with a cascade of displaced library books raining down on him.
    Stephen was already on his feet, reaching for the little pistol he’d put in his back pocket. Hearing footsteps behind him, he pulled the pistol, swung round and used the gun to clout another youth who’d almost reached him. The gun hit his skull with a hollow pop. The youth gave an animal yelp