the last shelving unit, her legs tired now, collapsing under her as she landed, spinning her off the top. She gasped in momentary surprise and panic but managed to correct herself as she went over the edge, catching hold of the top shelf with her strong hands; but her own weight, combined with the momentum of her jump, started to pull the whole unit down, and she shouted at the people below her to get out of the way, riding the shelves down as the unit arced towards the floor and jumping clear as it crashed down into the aisle with a deafening noise.
She saw a group of people – an unruly, violent mob – moving across the broken shelves and bodies to get to her, and she turned for the door to the staff exit, just feet away now. Sprinting forwards, she barrelled a man out of the way who had decided to block her path, kicking through the door just as the first hands were starting to reach her.
Then she was through into a whitewashed concrete corridor, and she pivoted on her heel and slammed the door shut behind her, sliding the locking bolt home even as the door bulged inwards from the weight of the ferocious crowd behind it.
She turned and fled down the corridor to the fire exit at the far end. Pushing through it, she heard the inner door break behind her and the flood of people rushing down the corridor in pursuit of her – their mind operating as one now, their only desire to track down and kill the jumping woman. Why?
Why not?
As Alyssa gulped in the clean night air of the service alley, she knew she didn’t have much time before they would be upon her. She turned back to the minimart and looked up. The building was four storeys high.
She pulled off her shoes and threw them into a garbage bin opposite, then hauled herself up into a boarded-up window frame, her fingers and toes reaching for the ridges and depressions that would give her the purchase she need to climb.
Within seconds she was on top of the window frame, and then started on the harder part, her fingers and toes feeling for the gaps between the brickwork, using the tiny ridges to give her leverage to haul herself up the exterior of the old building.
By the time the first rioters broke out into the service alley, she was already two storeys up, but she didn’t stop, she just kept on climbing, her mind focused on nothing else. Adrenalin coursed through her body, sharpening every sense; she could see the brickwork in exquisite detail, her fingers and toes probing the tiny gaps and depressions as she hauled herself upwards.
She could hear the shouts far below –
Where’s she gone? – Where is the bitch? – Come on, down here! – Let’s get her!
– and realized that they had never looked up; and now she was so high, she would be almost invisible in the dark.
She kept on climbing, until finally she pulled herself over the parapet of the roof; drained, exhausted, the breath simply drained from her.
But she’d done it. She was alive.
Alyssa spent the next few hours on the rooftop, watching with increasing horror the scenes around her.
The fighting and looting continued, spreading out from the minimart to engulf other shops on the street. And then innocent bystanders were pulled in, beaten, robbed of their money and jewellery. Cars and vehicles were set on fire, and then the shops too. Mercifully not the minimart – Alyssa felt safe on the roof, and didn’t want to come down – but several other shops and business units on the street were set alight, some with people still inside.
And then the riot police descended on the scene and moved in with shields and batons, while water cannon and rubber bullets were used as suppressing fire from the rear.
The violence was terrifying, and surprisingly lengthy; the rioters held out for quite some time, despite the advantage of the police unit’s weapons and equipment.
But slowly and surely some semblance of order was restored; the street was cleared, and Alyssa counted fifty-four people being loaded
She saw a group of people – an unruly, violent mob – moving across the broken shelves and bodies to get to her, and she turned for the door to the staff exit, just feet away now. Sprinting forwards, she barrelled a man out of the way who had decided to block her path, kicking through the door just as the first hands were starting to reach her.
Then she was through into a whitewashed concrete corridor, and she pivoted on her heel and slammed the door shut behind her, sliding the locking bolt home even as the door bulged inwards from the weight of the ferocious crowd behind it.
She turned and fled down the corridor to the fire exit at the far end. Pushing through it, she heard the inner door break behind her and the flood of people rushing down the corridor in pursuit of her – their mind operating as one now, their only desire to track down and kill the jumping woman. Why?
Why not?
As Alyssa gulped in the clean night air of the service alley, she knew she didn’t have much time before they would be upon her. She turned back to the minimart and looked up. The building was four storeys high.
She pulled off her shoes and threw them into a garbage bin opposite, then hauled herself up into a boarded-up window frame, her fingers and toes reaching for the ridges and depressions that would give her the purchase she need to climb.
Within seconds she was on top of the window frame, and then started on the harder part, her fingers and toes feeling for the gaps between the brickwork, using the tiny ridges to give her leverage to haul herself up the exterior of the old building.
By the time the first rioters broke out into the service alley, she was already two storeys up, but she didn’t stop, she just kept on climbing, her mind focused on nothing else. Adrenalin coursed through her body, sharpening every sense; she could see the brickwork in exquisite detail, her fingers and toes probing the tiny gaps and depressions as she hauled herself upwards.
She could hear the shouts far below –
Where’s she gone? – Where is the bitch? – Come on, down here! – Let’s get her!
– and realized that they had never looked up; and now she was so high, she would be almost invisible in the dark.
She kept on climbing, until finally she pulled herself over the parapet of the roof; drained, exhausted, the breath simply drained from her.
But she’d done it. She was alive.
Alyssa spent the next few hours on the rooftop, watching with increasing horror the scenes around her.
The fighting and looting continued, spreading out from the minimart to engulf other shops on the street. And then innocent bystanders were pulled in, beaten, robbed of their money and jewellery. Cars and vehicles were set on fire, and then the shops too. Mercifully not the minimart – Alyssa felt safe on the roof, and didn’t want to come down – but several other shops and business units on the street were set alight, some with people still inside.
And then the riot police descended on the scene and moved in with shields and batons, while water cannon and rubber bullets were used as suppressing fire from the rear.
The violence was terrifying, and surprisingly lengthy; the rioters held out for quite some time, despite the advantage of the police unit’s weapons and equipment.
But slowly and surely some semblance of order was restored; the street was cleared, and Alyssa counted fifty-four people being loaded
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