The Bug: Complete Season One Read Online Free PDF Page B

there, flailing his arms and trying to catch his balance, his teeth still chomping furiously on the chunk of meat in his mouth.
    Leanne let out a sob as Owen seemed about to find his balance, but then he toppled past the point of no return, and fell screeching into the darkness.

MARTIN MARSHALL'S FLAT, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND
     
25 th MAY, 12:09 AM
     
    Marshall stared at the TV. He pressed the channel up button on the remote. Rarely had the phrase 'Two hundred channels and nothing on' been quite so accurate.
    The terrestrial stations were mostly showing test cards, with 'Please stand by' and variations thereof assuring him things would be back to normal shortly.
    He'd almost let himself believe that, too. Until he flicked over to Channel 4. That was when he knew things were a long fucking way from normal.
    Tom Frost, the Channel 4 news anchor, was dead. Marshall knew this because he was right there on the screen, half on a chair and half off, his white hair matted and pink with his own blood.
    There was no sound from the studio. Either the place was in silence or the audio had been cut. Marshall turned over to the ITV test card and back again, as if that would somehow force the image to refresh, but Tom Frost was still dead when he flicked back. Still lying there. Still alone. Still. Silent.
    Marshall pushed on through the other channels. Channel 5 and Sky 1 had more test cards. He thumbed the channel up button again and almost sobbed with relief when a face – a living one – filled the screen.
    The relief quickly faded when he recognized the face as a young David Jason. It was an Only Fools and Horses repeat. The one with the chandelier by the looks of things. Marshall watched for a few lingering moments, almost allowing himself to believe things were fine. If Del Boy and Rodney weren't worried, then why should he be?
    He shook his head and continued up through the channels. Those that were still broadcasting showed repeats. The others offered apologies for the break in service, and vowed to be back soon.
    Marshall returned to Channel 4. The station's logo now filled the screen. Below it were the words “We apologies for the break in programming.”
    “Fuck the break in programming,” Marshall mumbled. “What about the break in Tom Frost's napper?”
    He switched the TV off and the room went dark. The remote fell to the floor with a clunk and Marshall puffed out his cheeks.
    What now?
    The landline was still dead. The mobile was still doing… whatever it was doing. He'd eventually realized he could just switch it off, but when he'd switched it back on the screeching sound had started all over again, so he'd shut it down again sharpish.
    With the phone down the internet was dead. There was his police radio, but he'd left it in the car, and the car right now seemed an awfully long way away.
    He should go get it, he knew. More than that, he should go get in the car and head to the station to find out what was going on. Hoon would have his balls in a vice for missing all those calls, but Marshall didn't care. He'd gladly tighten the fucking thing himself if it meant not being sat there all alone in the dark with no idea what he should be—
    There was a knock at the door. Marshall froze, suddenly regretting that last thought. He liked being alone. He loved being alone.
    But the knocking continued, soft at first, but quickly becoming sharper and more insistent.
    He peeled himself off the couch. The door was locked and the chain was pulled across, but that didn't make him feel any safer. He picked up the chef's knife he'd taken from the block in the kitchen and held it low by his side, blade pointing forward ready to deliver a sudden upwards stab if required.
    The knocking continued.
    Softly, quietly, Marshall made for the door. Holding his breath, he slid the little brass cover away from the spy hole. It scratched against the wood and the knocking immediately stopped.
    Heart pounding, Marshall leaned closer, putting his eyes