Page 107 of Knights Game

I sent a message to Roman full of items that are needed to treat acute dehydration, along with additional items for general first aid. Antibiotics, fluids, oral rehydration solutions, although I also told Roman how to make this if they had salt and sugar.

We’ve heard nothing from them since, even though Katy has messaged Roman and called him multiple times. I even bit the bullet and called Luca, but nothing.

I know deep down that regardless of what happened last night, Luca would not be bringing us into a situation that was dangerous.

So, it begs the question, what the hell has happened?

We are getting closer to the riverfront, broken windows dot the warehouses, the road’s full of potholes and everything seems to hold a light layer of dust and grime, making me feel dirty just looking at it.

The car hits a larger pothole and we both bounce awkwardly in the back, grabbing hold of the armrests.

“Jesus Christ, my arsehole,” Katy says, her legs bouncing up and down. “I’m nervous, are you nervous?”

“Yeah.” I move to the centre seat looking out the front window as the car pulls up to a stop. “Wait, did you do anal on a first encounter?”

“Fuck off,” she says, grinning at me.

We pull up to a warehouse that looks in better shape than the others, along with parked cars, one of which I’m assuming belongs to Luca.

To the right a flatbed lorry with a shipping container stands, its red faded paint and rusted sides sits imposing like a beached whale, alone, the back doors open.

“So, I guess we’re here then,” Katy says, glancing across.

“I guess so.” We open the car doors, both of us doing it slowly waiting for something to jump out at us.

I stand next to Katy, both of us looking up at the vastness of the building, the double doors open, the sounds from inside starting to become louder the closer we get.

“What is that smell?” Katy asks, but I already know.

I may not have been a qualified doctor, but the flesh of a decaying body is a smell unlike anything.

“Oh God,” I say, a ball of dread falling into my stomach, my heart rate increasing, muscles tensing for fight or flight. “I don’t know about this.”

“What do you mean?” Katy asks, looking at my face, which I’m sure is now devoid of any colour.

“Layla.” Isabella’s voice comes from inside, and she soon appears in the large double doors. Her usually immaculate self is dishevelled, her blonde hair falling out of the bun, the strands sticking to her face, which is grimy.

“Is that blood?” I ask.

“Fuck me, she looks feral,” Katy whispers, but I’m not thinking about that, I’m thinking about how her hands shake, and my eyes fall back to the blood.

“Whose blood is that?” I ask, my panic building.

Before Katy has even moved, I’m standing next to Isabella gripping her hands. “Whose blood is that?” I ask again.

Realisation dawns on her face as her eyes meet mine. “No. He’s fine. Come on, this way.”

I cross into the warehouse, the smell of body odour overwhelming followed swiftly by the sounds of people in distress.

The warehouse is vast, the main room double vaulted, with cranes and loading equipment along with machinery and towers of shelves. A staircase hugs the right side, which leads up to a bank of rooms.

It’s old, but along with the smell of bodies is the underlying scent of paint. Windows let a hazy light in, the sunshine trying to break through the clouds and my eyes fall to women. Around fifteen of them, some on chairs, others on the floor, all of them looking dishevelled, unwashed, and sick.

“Oh my God,” Katy exclaims, her hand over her mouth. “What happened to them?”

Roman looks up from where he stands in front of a table where all the items are laid out perfectly.

“They’re all dehydrated,” Isabella explains. “We followed your instructions, but some are really sick and can barely respond. We tried to make them as comfortable as possible.”

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