To Dwell in Darkness Read Free Page B

bright as a flaring match. And in its center was a human form.

  CHAPTER TWO  
    St. Pancras Old Church is a Church of England parish church in Somers Town, central London. It is dedicated to the Roman martyr Saint Pancras, and is believed by many to be one of the oldest sites of Christian worship in England.
    â€”Wikipedia, St. Pancras Old Church
    Blinded by the flare of light, Melody instinctively threw her arm up to protect her eyes. Then, even as she was blinking and trying to focus, her training kicked in. She yanked her phone from her coat pocket and punched the preprogrammed direct number to Emergency Services Control. The 999 lines would be lighting up like Christmas trees and she couldn’t afford to be put on hold. When the dispatcher answered, Melody shouted to make herself heard over the rising clamor in the concourse. “Detective Sergeant Melody Talbot. Emergency. St. Pancras International. Main concourse. A man on fire—possibly a bomb.” The music shuddered to a stop and suddenly she could hear herself shouting. “All services on the doub—”
    Then, before her eyes, the figure inside the ball of fire collapsed. A wave of hot, chemical smell singed her nose. She realized that the screams weren’t only from panic—there were other people on fire, batting frantically at themselves. “Make that multiple victims,” she said to Control. “All services. Hurry.”
    â€œStay on the line, Sergeant,” said the female dispatcher. “You’ll need to keep us updat—”
    â€œI’ve got to help. Look, I’ll put you on speaker.” Before the dispatcher could argue, she dropped the phone back in her pocket and fumbled her warrant card out, holding it aloft. Looking round, she couldn’t spot the British Transport Police officer she’d glimpsed earlier. She was on her own.
    The screams grew louder. Smoke began to billow through the concourse. Andy and Poppy were still on the makeshift stage and Andy’s voice reverberated over the sound system. “What the—”
    â€œAndy,” she shouted, and saw him searching the crowd for her. She waved her arms, then cupped her hands into a megaphone to make herself heard over the chaos. “Andy! Use the mic. Tell everybody to get out. Then go!”
    She saw the relief on his face as he spotted her; then he hesitated. “But you—”
    Melody shook her head. “Do it! Get everyone out.”
    Moving on, she heard Andy an instant later, shouting into the mic, “Get out! Everybody evacuate! Find the nearest exit! Out, now!”
    Melody kept on towards the burned figure, still holding her ID up, an ineffective shield. The smoke turned to white fog. People she couldn’t see clearly banged into her, making her stagger. Disembodied voices cried and swore. Her foot slipped on something. Looking down, she saw a spilled cup of AMT Coffee, the brown liquid seeping into a trampled supermarket bouquet of pink carnations.
    Poppy’s voice now echoed Andy’s over the sound system, repeating Andy’s exhortations. They both sounded impossibly distant. Then she heard Andy growl a response to some unseen punter, “No, it’s not a fucking joke, you moron.”
    The smoke grew thicker. Her nose and eyes were streaming and she began to cough. She caught glimpses of people smacking at blobs of fire on their clothes, in their hair. “Roll!” she shouted. “Smother it. Use your coats, anything.” Coughing, she tripped over an abandoned suitcase, banging her shin, fell, then got up again. Her throat burned.
    Then, even through the chemical blanket of smoke, the smell hit her. Burned hair. Fat. Meat. Human flesh.
    Suddenly there was a man beside her, shouting hoarsely, “Get back! Everybody get back! Don’t breathe the smoke!” He pushed at her, a hard shove out of the fog. “I said get the fuck back!”
    She grabbed at him,