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Amber dug a thumb into the stitch in her side, panting from her run. At least her mum’s florist store was already closed. That saved her from trying to get her mother to lock up and run, and from having to explain that the stories she hated about the Bay just might be true. And possibly worse than anything she’d heard.
Nearing Bliss, Amber registered how few cars there had been along Marine Parade and the side streets she had passed. Whatever the heck was happening, the virtually empty streets were a good thing. She hoped. She’d tried Morgan’s number as she ran, with no reply. If Morgan was working, that wasn’t unusual. But despite her attempts at her self-pep-talk, she was starting to fear she’d find an empty cafe. Or worse, one filled with sea zombies. Her blurt of laughter felt like a sob.
She reached the café. The small outdoor tables were empty, but figures moved with reassuring familiarity inside. Pushing through the heavy glass doors she stepped into the comforting ambiance of Bliss, inhaling the aromas of fresh brewed coffee and delicious food, her eyes stinging with relief. Despite the small crowd, the soft hum of conversation and clinking of cutlery and crockery was relaxed and happy. But she knew what she’d seen, and the terror that surged up inside her again made the normality around her painful.
From the counter Rowena noticed her across the room and waved, but her friendly smile dissolved in concern as Amber crossed quickly to her. “Amber, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her eyes widened. “It’s bad news isn’t it? It’s Morgan. Is she all right?”
“She’s not here? I was hoping to...” Amber’s voice died away. What was she supposed to do now? She’d not been able to think beyond telling Morgan, trusting her to know what to do. “Do you know where she is?”
“She and Skye are on the beach.” Rowena looked alarmed as Amber took a panicked step back. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” Amber shook her head, her stomach plummeting. “No, no. No, it’s not.”
“Amber,” Rowena came out from behind the counter, “you’re scaring me. What is –” they both jumped and spun around as someone cried out in alarm.
“I need help here,” a lady called, trying to prop up her companion who slumped seemingly unconscious on her seat. Amber had expected to see a horror like the undead pressed wetly against the windows. Someone fainting seemed anticlimactic. Until the lady holding her fell across her lolling friend and slid to the floor, eyes open but unseeing.
“Call an ambulance,” Rowena shouted, hurrying to the two women.
“On it,” Annie called from the counter, dialling the telephone beside the cash register.
Other patrons were already helping to prop up the two prone women, chaffing their hands, trying to get them to hear.
“It can’t be the food,” Rowena muttered, bending over the plates on the table.
The face of one helper became ashen as she felt first one woman’s wrist, then the other, then each neck. “There’s no pulse. Not for either of them. No pulse.” Rowena stared at her. Amber’s heart began to thud. This wasn’t right.
“You’re not doing it properly,” a man said. “They’d have to be dead –” He yelped, rising and backing away as the woman he was correcting toppled sideways from where she knelt to lie prone on the wooden floor. Others who were kneeling close by to help scrambled backwards. Then like a disconnected wave of dominoes that didn’t know the rules, a handful of other customers around the cafe watching the excitement wavered, the eyes of some rolling up as they fell, while others gazed blindly from where they lay.
Amber whimpered, backing towards the counter. Rowena backed with her. “Annie,” she called, “Have you got the ambulance?”
Annie didn’t answer from where she lay behind the counter, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
