Risk Assessment by James Goss Page A

‘I don’t think so, dear. I’m quite comfortable here. Just tell me what they’re up to.’
    ‘Cowering,’ said Janice, dismissively.
    ‘Oh,’ said Gran. ‘I expect they’ll die in a minute.’
    Anita looked at her in shock. ‘Nan!’ she wailed.
    Gran patted her hand. ‘Oh, hush,’ she said. ‘They’re clearly outclassed. They’ve just got guns. It’ll all be over quite quickly.’
    Jack joined Agnes underneath the burning remains of the train set.
    All around them the building was shuddering, giant corrugated sheets splintering down as the creature dripped in around them.
    ‘Retreat?’ suggested Agnes.
    ‘Oh yeah,’ agreed Jack.
    ‘Shall we join the others?’ Agnes loosed off the last rocket and threw aside the spent gun. She hoisted up her crinolines. ‘Let’s strike out!’
    ‘Yeah. They can make us a cup of tea,’ said Jack and raced after her.
    Behind them, the store shattered in a rain of concrete and steel.
    Agnes and Jack pelted through the door of the staff room, slamming it somewhat pointlessly behind them. They stood there, panting for a few seconds and then guiltily met the gazes of the other people in the room. Hope had been replaced by a look of fear and betrayal. They’d swept in, they’d assumed authority, and, as far as anyone could see, they hadn’t achieved much.
    Nina almost felt sorry for them. What could they really expect – two people up against a big devouring blob?
    Jack flashed a weak smile. ‘It’s honestly better than it looks, folks. Our top priority now is getting you out.’
    ‘Oh, really,’ said Gran. ‘And how are you going to manage that? You’re surrounded.’
    Jack’s smile didn’t even flicker. ‘Not completely surrounded, ma’am,’ he said.
    His confidence was undermined by the rattling, roaring devastation of the rest of the building falling in and tumbling towards them like a lost game of Jenga.
    ‘Down!’ roared Agnes, snatching Janice and Nina to the floor.
    Debris smashed in through the glass of the staff room door, spreading dust and splinters everywhere.
    For a few seconds there was silence, and then the crying began. Not, noticed Nina, from the kids. Anita and Scott were both tremblingly silent. But Janice had started to sob uncontrollably. One of her staff was trying to comfort her, with the ease of someone trying to pat a live electrical cable.
    Jack and Agnes stood up, dusting themselves off.
    ‘Not long now,’ said Gran. She’d retained her seat on the sofa, even though she was now coated with dust.
    Jack looked at her. ‘There’s still time,’ he said. ‘There’s still hope.’
    Gran shook her head, and smiled at him sadly. ‘No, there isn’t. And tell me, please, what happens next? After you, who will come? The army? And when that army is defeated, who will then arrive? Who then will come to die?’
    Jack’s gaze hardened. But it was Agnes who spoke. ‘People will come. And they will try. And they will die, if necessary. But they will try. Because that creature is evil. It is alien. It is wrong. It must be fought. If necessary to the last man, woman and child.’
    ‘I see,’ said Gran, nodding. ‘That’s nice to know. Thank you.’
    ‘But it’s not over yet,’ vowed Jack.
    ‘Yes it is, dear,’ said Gran. ‘This is the feast of the Vam. Goodbye.’
    And the Vam surged up and out of Gran, pouring through the air vent, the sofa, and streaming in wild tentacles through the little old lady’s ruptured body.
    At precisely the same time the outer walls of the staff room gave in, pouring bricks and concrete and steel and dust down into the tiny room.

X
    REAPING
    THE WHIRLWIND
    In which Mrs Cooper encounters the gentlemen of the press, and Miss Havisham prevails against the government of nations
    As the building fell in around them a very neat, very square hole snicked open in the floor.
    ‘Ianto!’ cried Jack with relief, scooping up a screaming Anita, and ushering everyone down the hole. As concrete bricks