The End of the World Running Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

branches crumpled. Then the short, deep rumble again. Everyone stopped. Then screams and renewed hammering on the shutters of the shop. Three cars sped past and down the hill. Where the hell are they going? I thought.
    I was aware of people joining me at the door.  
    “Jabbar!” I shouted one last time. Hearing nothing, I stepped back.  
    Took a breath.  
    Kicked the door.
    A shock of pain in my ankle made me howl. The door had not shifted. I tried again closer to the lock. This time I heard a split of wood and I heard footsteps running from inside. On the third kick, the door swung in and I followed it into Jabbar’s hall, pushing his brother into a stack of boxes in the corner.
    I couldn’t remember the last time I had pushed or punched anyone. Primary school, maybe?
    “Get the fuck out of here!” shouted Jabbar as I rounded the corner onto a corridor with a red, floral carpet and cheaply framed pictures. The place was hot, dark and stank of old curry and babies. Jabbar’s wife was hiding in a doorway behind Jabbar, who was still sweating profusely.
    “I just want batteries and water, Jabbar,” I said, storming up the corridor to the door into the shop.
    “Not all of them, just enough for me and my family.”
    “No!” said Jabbar, stepping out and squashing me against the wall with his shoulder. “Get out of my house! Get out!”  
    His bulbous, wet stomach pressed into my chest as he tried to wrestle me back through the door. His breath was full of hot panic, his eyes wild. Jabbar’s brother had picked himself up behind me and was trying to hold back the growing throng at the broken door.
    Jabbar’s hand was on my face now. I could taste the salt of his rough skin in my mouth. With a surge of effort, I managed to swing back my leg and kicked it hard against his knee. He cried out and fell like lead on the stained carpet, clutching his leg.
    “Bastard!” he cried. “Bastard! Get out! Get out!”
    I ran past him and into the shop, grabbing packs of batteries from the shelves and picking up three crates of Highland Spring from a stack on the floor.
    Jabbar was still curled up on the floor in the corridor and his brother was now being pushed back by the crowd of people. Our next door neighbour Calum was the first through. He stared straight past me and elbowed me out of the way and into the shop. Behind him were an old couple I didn’t recognise. They walked past me too, the woman flashing me a nervous smile as if we were passing in the street.
    Jabbar’s brother was on the floor now. Two of the crowd were kicking him and pushing him into one of the rooms. With the batteries balanced on the crates, I marched back down the corridor.
    “Bloody bastard!” screamed Jabbar again as I stepped over his fat head. “You bloody bastard!”
    His wife was crouching next to him, holding his head and weeping.
    At the end of the corridor I avoided eye contact with any member of what was now a mob. Most ignored me too, but as I got to the door, a man I recognised from one of the houses opposite ours fixed me with a sharp stare.
    “Hey,” he said, blocking my path.
    He was in his early sixties, perhaps. His daughter had recently given birth and we used to see the whole family quite often having barbecues in the back garden. Beth and I would wave and talk about inviting them over for a play date with Arthur. Frank. I think his name was Frank.
    He nodded at the water.
    “I need that.”
    “There’s more in the shop,” I said. I moved towards him, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me back. He made a lunge for the water but I threw my weight into him and crushed him against the door frame. He made a sound I hadn’t heard before. It started with a huhh-uhh-uhh... as the air was pushed out of his lungs, but as I squeezed past him it turned into a comical childish squeal, his face crumpled as I pushed by. Perhaps, out of context, it would have sounded amusing. But this was a man I saw almost every day. I