Chapter 1
The rain battered the windscreen harder now than at any previous point in the journey, each drop sounding like a tiny hammer striking glass. Oddly, he felt a little more at ease. As they ascended to higher elevations, the rain transformed into sleet, teetering on the edge of becoming full-blown snow, but not quite. The temperature gauge hovered at exactly zero degrees Celsius, placing them in that unpredictable weather zone where almost anything could happen. The last thing he wanted was to get trapped in a snowstorm—not with only 12 miles of charge remaining. The motorway traffic had thinned; they hadn't seen another car for miles, making it feel like they were the only souls braving the desolate road. It was 3 a.m., high above the Lakes, in the dead of winter... He began to question his decision to embark on this journey, especially in this car.
“Why did I ever choose this car?” he muttered under his breath, his words swallowed by the relentless drumming of sleet on the roof. He glanced over at the Sleeping Beauty beside him. She looked so peaceful, nestled beneath her thick woollen cardigan pulled up to her neck, her dark hair cascading over the seat. She wasn't going to be happy when she woke up.
“Kate,” he whispered softly, attempting to rouse her.
She didn't stir. He hesitated, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the cardigan—the familiar rhythm she had when in deep sleep. It always felt cruel to disturb her, especially when she looked so serene, oblivious to the mounting troubles outside.
He gently touched her arm. “Kate, love, we need to stop again.”
As he expected, she stirred, her face contorting into that familiar annoyed expression she always wore when disturbed from sleep. She was a kind-hearted soul—except when awakened against her will. As she began to grasp her surroundings, she raised her head, first gazing out of her side window at the swirling darkness, then through the windscreen at the empty road ahead.
“We haven't made it off the motorway?” she asked, her voice tinged with grogginess.
“No,” he replied softly. “We're still north of the Lakes.”
“Steven, why did you wake me?” she asked, a hint of accusation in her tone.
He turned to her and offered a faint smile. “We need to stop again—to recharge the car.”
She looked confused, pushing the cardigan down to her knees and sitting more upright. “I thought we had enough charge to make it home?”
He grimaced. “Yeah, so did I. It looks like the predicted range was a bit optimistic. It's the cold... the dark... and the relentless rain and sleet. We've been burning through those electrons excessively quickly.”
“Remind me again why we bought an electric car?” she said, rolling her eyes.
He sighed, loudly. “Again, it's a lease deal, so we haven't actually bought it. And like I've said every day this entire holiday, it seemed like a good deal, and electric is supposed to be the future.” His irritation at this familiar argument was clear. “How was I supposed to know that the stated range only applied on a sunny day, traveling downhill, with a strong tailwind?”
She tutted. She was rarely annoyed and almost never took it out on him, but ever since he had swapped his diesel estate car for the electric SUV, it had been a continual cross for him to bear. “How far have we actually gotten? Go on, surprise me.”
When he turned to look at her, he was relieved to see she was smiling. Clearly, this was going to be light ribbing rather than a demand that he 'get rid of it and get a proper car,' which had been the peak of their arguments on holiday. They'd found themselves in the Highlands, almost out of battery, no onboard data signal to use the system to locate a fast charger, both their phones firmly stuck in a calls only mode, and him having forgotten to pack the booklet with the number to call for roadside assistance if they completely ran out of charge. What followed was an hour of stress, searching for a charger, a moment of relief when they found one at a supermarket in Fort William, and then over six hours of waiting to charge to just 60% on what turned out to be a rather low-power charger commissioned in the early 2010’s. This was the first and last electric car he would be leasing!
“Estimated range when we left the services just north of Glasgow was 265 miles—more than enough to get home. We've travelled 142 miles, and it's now saying we have 12 miles of range left and that we should stop and recharge immediately. Just 10 miles ago, it suggested we had 50 miles of range, so I've got no idea what our actual range is now.”
“So, a little more than half, then?” she grumbled.
“Well, closer to two-thirds, but yeah, not exactly as advertised, is it! We'll need another 30-minute charge, possibly more if we can't find one of the ultra-fast chargers. I guess up to an hour to be on the safe side.”
“An hour,” she complained. “Your old car could go all day on a single tank of diesel. Refuelling took five minutes. If this is the future...” She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. He was thinking the exact same thing.
“The good news is there are services in just a few miles. We can get out and stretch our legs. I could do with a coffee.”
“They never mention the amount of money you end up spending on coffee and snacks in the brochure, do they? Our entire holiday has been punctuated with hours of coffee and fast food at expensive roadside services. But at least it's far cheaper than the diesel!” she said, rolling her eyes again.
When they had added up all the charging costs for the holiday, it had worked out significantly more expensive than what he would have spent on diesel in his old car. The fact that the car also drove like a tank due to the weight of the batteries meant there really wasn't much to love about the thing. Unable to come up with anything insightful to say, he just stared ahead into the murky darkness, searching for the sign for the services. The road seemed to stretch endlessly into the night, shadows dancing at the edges of his vision.
He was relieved to find that the services were directly on the motorway rather than miles off the beaten track. This would cut down the time they needed to spend there, and that was as good news as he could hope for. The sat-nav indicated another 98 miles until they got home—a distance that felt insurmountable at this point. He figured that anything above a 75% charge should be enough, regardless of the weather.
As they pulled into an empty bay, he noticed something odd. Several cars were parked in other charging bays, but none were connected to the chargers. The vehicles sat there, silent and dark, like abandoned shells. It was strange; drivers could get fined for parking in these bays without charging, and the rest of the car park was near empty. The bad weather had kept most people off the roads, so why were these cars here?
“You stay warm, love. I'll get us connected,” he said, grabbing his rain jacket from the back seat and opening his door into the cold and wet. As he quickly put on the jacket, he thought again about how charging stations were always open to the elements, whereas when he filled his old diesel, the forecourt was always under cover. Yet another vast improvement over the future of motoring.
The wind whipped around him, cold needles of rain stinging his face as he retrieved the heavy cable from the charger and plugged it into the car. He returned to the charger to read the instructions; fingers numb from the cold. At least this charger accepted either a credit card as well as the company's app. He was so tired of the myriad apps cluttering his phone, each demanding his credit card information. Just being able to pay with his card felt like a small mercy. He retrieved his credit card and pressed the button for card payment. The screen blanked, then a single word appeared: 'Waiting.' He waited, the cold seeping into his bones. A couple of minutes later, he was still waiting. He looked back at her peering out at him through the windscreen. She rolled her eyes, and he heard her shout, “Really... Again!”
Five minutes crawled by, and still no update on the screen. She had given up watching him, settling back into her seat and pulling the cardigan tight around her. He stood there, shivering, the cold and wet seeping through his jacket. Could he feel any more miserable? Just as he was about to hit the screen in frustration, the charger emitted a loud beep. The message changed: 'Card Payment Not Available.' It then returned to the initial screen, offering the same, now futile option of Card Payment, or Pay by App.
He swore under his breath, climbed back into the car, and slammed the door shut against the howling wind. The warmth was a welcome relief. He grabbed his phone from the centre console. There was a small feeling of relief when he realised that he did at least already have this companies’ app installed. Opening it, he groaned; it had updated and now required him to re-enter all his details, including his credit card information. His fingers were numb, making the process even more tedious. Fifteen minutes crawled by, punctuated by occasional tutting from the seat next to him.
“Finally,” he exclaimed, causing her to jolt upright. “Now I just need the code off the side of the charger, and we should be good to go.”
She sighed. “No, we won't be going anywhere. This is just the queue to start waiting. You know we would be home by now in the old car.”
He didn't respond. She was right; they would be home by now, warm and comfortable, not stranded at some desolate service station in the middle of nowhere. He got out, slamming the door harder than necessary. The wind seemed to have picked up, whipping around him as he stormed to the charger. He read the code from the side, his eyes straining in the dim light, and entered it into the app. The app responded with a single word: 'Waiting.' “Ah, for fuck's sake,” he yelled into the empty night.
He paced up and down, the rain soaking through his shoes, his frustration mounting. After what felt like an eternity, his phone beeped with an update. “Finally,” he muttered, looking at the screen. But instead of the usual green light and charging information, the message simply read, “Charger is currently out of service.”
He pressed his hand against his forehead, resisting the urge to scream into the abyss. Looking around at the other cars parked silently in the charging bays, an unsettling thought crossed his mind. That's why none of them were plugged in. They must have all experienced the same issue. But where were the drivers? Resigned to his fate, he realized there wasn't much more he could do until the chargers became operational again.
Opening his door, he leaned in—not wanting this conversation but knowing it was about to happen anyway, so there was no point in putting it off. “The chargers are out of order.”
“You are kidding me?” she shot back, furious.
“Nope. Nearly half an hour in the cold and the pissing rain, to be told that the chargers are not currently available. So, we either go inside for a coffee and wait for them to come back online, or we sit in the car and use whatever's left in the battery to keep the heater going.”
She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Who knew that a car could completely ruin an entire holiday? Oh well, I guess it's time for a coffee then!”
She proceeded to grab her jacket from the back seat and spent the next couple of minutes putting it on while still in the car. He watched through the window as she struggled to get her arms in. It would be a ten-second job outside the car, but then she'd be getting wet while she put it on. There was logic in that, although it was hard for him to award any medals for the ingenuity when he was standing there in the cold and the rain, simply watching this reverse escapology act in the passenger seat of his disappointing car.
As she opened the door, a gust of icy wind rushed in. “Oh my God, it's freezing,” she exclaimed, grabbing her handbag and storming past him toward the main building of the services. He stood there for a moment, a strange unease settling over him. In all the time he'd been wrestling with the charger, he hadn't seen another soul—no cars arriving, no one leaving the building. The other vehicles sat motionless; their interiors dark. That was odd. Very odd, in fact. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he hurried to catch up with her.
Chapter 2
At least it was warm inside.
The interior of the building felt circular, like the inside of a pie—a strange sensation after walking through the boxy, unwelcoming entrance. Shops, restaurants, and the obligatory toilets each occupied their own slice along the back wall, while large, open-plan seating areas filled the centre. Of course, there was also the mini-Vegas—a dark sliver of pie reserved for the gambling traveller. The lights from the slot machines blinked incessantly, twenty-four hours a day, calling to those who liked to take a daily risk, like sirens luring unwary sailors to their doom. The result was often equally destructive.
He felt a sense of relief upon seeing people sitting, drinking, and eating. Staff stood guard by their tills or busied themselves with mundane tasks, trying to fill the quiet hours of the night. The thought of working a graveyard shift here, miles from anywhere, sent a shiver down his spine, making him thankful for his own job at the university. It could be stressful at times, but the holidays were good, and the pay was competitive with his previous job in industry—especially when you factored in the pension.
"Hey, dreamer," she said, nudging his arm with her elbow. "Where have you disappeared to?"
He smiled. "Oh, just thinking about how good my job looks about now. Could you imagine working the graveyard shift here every night?"
"Well, they've clearly exhausted all conversation. I've never seen a place like this so quiet."
She was right. The people in the seating area were almost all alone—one person per table—sitting quietly, either staring blankly at a device in their hands or becoming lost in the swirling depths of their beverages. There was one couple sitting together, but both seemed barely able to keep themselves awake.
"I'll pop into the shop and see if they can direct me to anyone who runs this place. They might have more information about the chargers."
"Sure," she replied, her gaze drifting toward the Costa Coffee on the far side of the area. "You want a coffee?"
"Yeah, I really do," he smiled. "Make it a large latte, and with an extra shot."
"Skimmed?"
"Of course, I'm not a madman," he chuckled. She shook some of the rain from her jacket and headed off. He went left towards the shop.
As he approached the shop, the fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting odd shadows over the displays—a mixture of tacky tourist souvenirs, discounted books, and cheap children's toys. Who bought this stuff? The woman at the till was thickset, with shoulder-length curly hair. She sat motionless on a raised stool, watching him with a confused look as he approached. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes tracking him while the rest of her remained eerily still.
"Hi. I'm having trouble with the electric car chargers outside. Do you know if there's anyone around who might be able to help me?" he asked, keeping his tone genial and polite.
"We don't have anything to do with that," she replied flatly.
Not exactly the welcome he was hoping for. "No, I can see that. I was hoping you could direct me to someone who could help me. Perhaps someone responsible for the running of the site?"
She didn't move a muscle, except for her eyes and mouth. It was like talking to a lizard on a cold morning before the sun had warmed its blood. For a moment, he wondered if she was even real. Then, her hand shot up to her mouth. She was holding a radio. He hadn't even seen where she had retrieved it from.
"Phil, are you around?" she said into the radio.
"Yeah, it's Phil here," the disembodied voice crackled in response.
"I've got a customer here that says he's having trouble with the electric car chargers."
"Yeah, they're all offline."
She looked at him, tilting her head slightly to one side. "He says they're offline."
He forced a smile. "Yes, I know that. Does he know when they might be back online?"
She let out a long sigh. "Phil, he's asking when they'll be back online."
"How would I know? They're nothing to do with me. Has he rung them?"
She sighed again, locking eyes with him. "He doesn't know. He's asking..."
He cut in. "Yeah, I heard. I think I'll just give them a call. Thanks for your help."
She gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You're welcome."
As he stepped outside the shop, a gust of cold air hit him. He navigated the charger app on his phone and found the "Contact Us" option. Presented with the choice to "Chat Online" or "Talk to a Member of our Customer Services Team," he opted for the call, knowing that chatting with a limited chatbot would be a futile exercise. After a few seconds, the line connected.
"Hello, you are through to Samuel from the Customer Services Team. How can I help you today?" The voice had a heavy Indian accent but was clear and upbeat. A promising start.
"Hi. I'm at Chatterton Services, on the M6. I'm trying to charge my car, but it appears that neither your app nor the card payment options are working."
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. May I ask who I'm speaking with, please?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. My name is Steven Marshall."
"And do you have your account number, sir?"
He put the phone on speaker mode and switched back to the charger app. After navigating through several menus, he found his customer profile.
"Yeah, here we go. My account number is MARS0028755."
"Thank you, sir. I'm just retrieving your details now."
"Sure."
"I see that you last logged into the application today and updated your credit card details. We thank you for that, sir. I also see that you tried to activate charger BL0654 at Chatterton Services approximately 15 minutes ago."
He rolled his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Yes, that sounds about right. However, the charger says it is offline. It appears that all of your chargers here are offline."
"Thank you, sir. I will check the status of our chargers at your location."
He let out a long breath. "Thank you, that would be great."
An unsettling silence followed, broken only by the faint sound of keys clicking in the background. The pause stretched on for what felt like an eternity before the agent returned.
"Hello, sir?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"I have checked our system regarding the chargers at Chatterton Services, and I can confirm that they are offline."
"Okay. Yes, I know that... I just told you that. I need to know when they will be online, as I need to charge my car."
"Sorry, sir. I have no other information on my system."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Is there nobody I can speak to who can give me information regarding when the chargers will be working again?"
"Yes, sir. You can get additional information from our UK call centre."
"Great. Can you put me through, or give me their number?"
"You contact them through the app, using the 'Talk to a Member of our Customer Services Team' option."
He stared at his phone, confusion and frustration mounting.
"That's what I just did. That's how I'm talking to you."
"Please hold, sir."
More keys rattled in the background.
"Hello, sir?"
"Yes, I'm still here."
"I apologize. I see the error. The UK call centre is open between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. daily. At all other times, calls are handled by ourselves."
A tightness gripped his chest. "Are you saying that I'll have to wait until 7 a.m. before I can get anyone to help me?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but yes. If you use the 'Talk to a Member of our Customer Services Team' option after 7 a.m., they should be able to help you further. Is there anything else I can assist you with, sir?"
He felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. "I guess not. It seems I'll be waiting here for a few hours then."
"Thank you, sir. Before I end the call, may I inform you that you will receive a message through the app. The message will ask about your experience speaking with me and how effectively I have handled your query."
"But you haven't been able to handle my query."
Silence.
"I understand, sir. Perhaps you would be willing to score my performance based on what I was able to help you with today, rather than what was out of my control?"
"What? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be difficult, but you weren't able to help me at all. I'm not saying that it's your fault, as it seems the information I require isn't available to you."
"Thank you for understanding, sir." And the call ended.
"What the actual..." he muttered, shaking his head. The next conversation with Kate was not going to go well. He needed that latte like he'd never needed a latte before.
Chapter 3
She stood across the room, balancing a tray and subtly nodding toward a secluded booth bathed in dim light. Even from a distance, he could tell she looked exhausted—the kind of weariness that seeped into one's bones. His phone pinged in his hand, drawing his attention to the glowing screen.
"How did we do today? Smiley face... smiley face!" he muttered angrily before swiping the message away. "I think in this instance, Samuel, no review would be better than a bad one."
As he navigated through the eerily quiet seating area, the silence pressed in around him like a heavy blanket. Customers sat alone with familiar Costa cups and saucers before them. Some had remnants of snacks, raising his hopes that perhaps she had bought him something too—a muffin, maybe? Yet, the patrons seemed unusually still, their faces pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. A few even had their eyes closed, appearing more like statues than weary travellers. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.
He wondered which of these people owned the electric cars outside, stranded like him. Then, a more unsettling thought crossed his mind: exactly how long had they been here, waiting, unable to move on with their journeys? Trapped with dead batteries in the cold and rain, just like him. A chill ran down his spine.
Troubled by his thoughts, he realized he was frowning by the time he reached the booth. She had already set out the cups—a large latte for him and a medium americano for herself. No muffins. So much for small comforts.
"That face tells me that not all is well in the state of Denmark," she said, her eyes searching his, awaiting answers. Whichever way this conversation went, it was unlikely to end with a celebratory pastry.
"No, the news isn't great," he admitted, sliding into the seat opposite her. The faux leather felt cold and uninviting, sending a slight shiver through him despite the supposed warmth inside.
"I figured as much. I've never known these places to give out free coffee, so I knew it must be serious."
"Free coffee?" he echoed, surprised. "Did they say why?"
"Inconvenience. So, how inconvenient is it?" she asked, her tone edged with concern.
He sighed deeply, bracing himself. "The chargers are down. I spoke to their call centre—somewhere overseas—and they said they couldn't do anything. Couldn't tell me anything about the issue from their end. We'll need to talk to the UK-based call centre."
"And what do they say? Have you reached them yet?" she inquired, lifting her coffee to her lips.
"They don't open until 7 a.m."
She set her cup down abruptly, the clatter echoing in the quiet space. Some liquid spilled over the rim, pooling on the tabletop. "So, you're saying we're stuck here?"
He glanced around, frustration and anger simmering beneath the surface, but he didn't want to make a scene. Not that anyone would notice; the other patrons remained absorbed in their own worlds. "Yes... we are stuck here. Yes... the old car was better. Yes... I regret leasing an EV. And yes... I'm sorry. Okay?"
A heavy silence settled between them. She avoided his gaze, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. Minutes passed as they sipped their coffees without a word. When their eyes finally met, he saw a mixture of annoyance and disappointment in hers; she saw the weariness in his.
This was a battle he knew he couldn't win. He didn't want to, anyway. He had leased the car; it was his responsibility. He exhaled slowly. "When we get home, I'll contact the leasing company and see what I can do about exchanging the car."
"It'll cost us a fortune to break the lease. That's if they even let you," she replied, her hands pressed flat on the table.
"Then I'll buy a cheap diesel. I'll use the EV for commuting to work and local trips, and when we go away, we'll use the diesel. You've mentioned you don't like taking the bus in the winter months for work, so maybe it's time we became a two-car family again. You always said you liked the Vauxhall Corsa. It would be big enough for longer trips, and if we can't get a diesel, the petrol models are still quite economical."
She didn't respond immediately, her gaze drifting toward the window where rain streaked down the glass, distorting the darkness outside. "Can we afford it? The tax, insurance, upkeep?"
He reached across the table, taking her hand gently. Her skin felt cool to the touch. "I think we can. We'll need to budget, but it's doable. Older cars, five to ten years old, often have low taxes—some as little as £20, and many with smaller engines are free altogether. Insurance would be a fraction of what we're paying for the EV. We could even get one of those multi-car policies they advertise. And honestly, what's the price of our leisure time? I think we can agree our holiday would've been considerably less stressful in a white Corsa with a black roof."
A faint smile touched her lips. "I've always liked the white ones with the black roof and black wing mirrors."
He chuckled softly. "I like those too. I might have to borrow it occasionally," he teased, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Oh no you don't, you monkey. That's my car. You can pootle from charger to charger in your milk float, buddy."
They shared a subdued laugh, the tension easing slightly. They finished their coffees. They used the facilities. They settled into their wait, the hours stretching ahead of them like an unbroken road. Yet, as the minutes ticked by, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off—the unnerving stillness of the place, the way the shadows seemed to creep closer. But for now, all they could do was wait.
Chapter 4
He could barely keep his eyes open. Exhaustion weighed on him like a heavy blanket. Across from him, she was already fast asleep, somehow contorting her body to fit the cramped confines of the booth. With her feet tucked beneath her and her head resting awkwardly on her handbag, she looked more like she was enduring torture than finding comfort.
The extra shot of coffee had clearly not worked its magic. So, when he saw the young man from the Costa Coffee counter approaching with a trolley offering free drinks, relief washed over him. The man poured two cups of filter coffee into their familiar dark red takeaway cups—one black for her, the other with milk for him.
"Thanks, I'm struggling to stay awake. This is just what I need," he told the man.
The young man, perhaps in his early twenties, had eyes that were unsettlingly dark—so dark they seemed almost devoid of light. He simply smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. There was something off about him, as if his emotions and facial expressions were out of sync. Working nights in a motorway service station miles from the nearest town must require a certain type of personality—or, in the case of the lady in the shop, perhaps the absence of one.
Thinking about the shop assistant, he turned to see if she was still there. Maybe he could pop over and pick up some snacks. Eating something sweet might help him stay awake, even if the coffee didn't. Yes, she was still there, perched on her stool. She too had availed herself of the free coffee, taking slow sips from the cup in her left hand while her right hand busily scrolled through whatever social media feed held her mesmerized.
Knowing that Kate wouldn't be happy to let her coffee go cold, he reached over and gently tapped her hand. "Kate," he said softly. He was surprised when it took a few attempts to rouse her. Instead of showing irritation at being woken, she looked at him with a distant, almost vacant gaze, as if she couldn't quite process what she was seeing.
"Kate. He's brought you another coffee. Do you want it while it's hot?"
She didn't reply. She simply lowered her head and closed her eyes again.
"Okay, I'll take that as a no then," he whispered to himself, a subtle unease creeping in.
Glancing around, he noticed that everyone else had decided to get a little sleep. Devices had been put away, and each person had found their own peculiar way of getting comfortable. One man a few tables away had folded his arms on the table and rested his head, face down on them—a posture he hadn't seen since primary school. The room was enveloped in an eerie quiet, broken only by the soft hum of the ventilation system and the distant patter of rain against the windows in the roof.
As he sipped his coffee, he couldn't shake a growing feeling of unease. The faces of the other customers appeared pale, almost waxen, and what staff had previously been busying themselves were now either absent, or slumped in corners. The fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting unsettling shadows that danced at the edge of his vision.
Thinking he might feel better after a short nap himself, he finished his drink and tried to relax. He adjusted his position, attempting to find comfort on the stiff seating. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost oppressive, but fatigue was winning the battle for his thoughts. He closed his eyes, and a short time later, sleep claimed him.
Chapter 5
Was that an altercation? It sounded like someone shouting behind him—a drunk, perhaps. The muffled commotion tugged at the edges of his foggy mind. Why was he so tired? He struggled to turn his head enough to see what was happening. Yes, there were two men in bright silver suits talking to the man who had been sleeping with his head down on folded arms.
What were the silver men saying to him? The man seemed upset at being woken. He couldn't focus on the two figures properly; they appeared blurred, as if they lacked clear edges. Were they bald? Were those metal beanie hats? Was that even a thing?
Fighting to keep his eyes open, he watched as one of the silver men pressed a device to the side of the man's head. Instantly, the man stopped shouting, a vacant expression settling over his face. His eyes suddenly met the drunken man's, but there was no recognition from the other man—no focus. The silver men lifted the man from his seat and placed him onto a trolley. Why hadn't he noticed the trolley before? As they began to wheel the man away, they suddenly stopped. They turned in unison, their movements locked in perfect unison, with their gaze locking onto him. Something visceral gripped him—a deep-seated dread.
"Kate." His voice sounded wrong, slurred—he sounded drunk. Why couldn't he speak properly? "Kate," he said more forcefully, "we need to go." But she didn't move. She didn't stir. Her chest rose and fell steadily as she breathed deeply in her sleep. "No!" he shouted.
Confusion engulfed him. What was wrong? Something was off, but he couldn't remember what it was. All he could think about was how tired he felt. Sleep pulled at him again, an irresistible force dragging him under. He thrust his hand forward, knocking his empty coffee cup off of the table.
Chapter 6
"He'll need more time. However, this one's ready."
Was it the voices or the movement on the opposite side of the booth that finally pulled him from the depths of sleep? Did he hear correctly? Who needed more time? Summoning all his effort, he wrenched his heavy eyelids open. What he saw made no sense.
Two men in shimmering silver suits stood at the front of the booth. One was pulling at Kate’s arm, dragging her out of her seat. Did he remember them? They seemed eerily familiar. Their tight-fitting silver caps clung to their heads, reflecting the dim lights. What did they want? Why was he pulling her out of the booth?
"Kate?" he croaked.
He watched helplessly as they lifted her limp form onto a trolley and wheeled her away. Tears streamed down his face, but he couldn't comprehend why. What was happening? His vision blurred, and his eyes closed again, too heavy to keep open.
The next time he opened them, he felt weightless—as if he were floating. The world drifted by in a hazy blur. But where was everyone? Jackets, bags, and electronic devices lay abandoned on tables, but the people were gone. Where was he? Oh yes, the services. He needed to charge the car.
"What...?" He struggled to speak, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"He's awake again," a voice stated flatly.
"Who..." he managed to utter, but his mind refused to process any more words. Was that the sound of small wheels turning?
His vision swirled, shadows blending with light. A silver outline filled his view, and then a face appeared inches from his own. The features were all wrong—distorted, uncanny. It was as if someone had described a human face to an artist who had never seen one, and the artist had tried to recreate it from that flawed description. He tried to scream, but only a hoarse whisper escaped his lips. The unsettling face withdrew, replaced by a hand holding a black box with small, flashing yellow lights. As the device touched his temple, his thoughts dissolved, and consciousness faded into nothingness.
Chapter 7
Detective Inspector MJ Tonor maneuvered her car around the parked ambulance, pulling up alongside two police vehicles whose blue lights cast eerie flashes across the deserted forecourt. She turned off the engine and stepped out into the chilly morning air, the crispness biting at her cheeks. As she surveyed the scene, she noticed a dozen or so cars scattered in the main car park and about half a dozen electric vehicles stationed near the chargers. Oddly, none of them were connected to the charging stations; they were simply abandoned in the bays. Dispatch had woken her at 6 a.m. with reports of missing people. A great start to the day, she thought wryly. She hoped to grab a coffee from the services before diving into whatever awaited her here.
A young constable hurried out to meet her, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and confusion. "Ma'am, I think we may need additional support," he blurted out.
"That's an interesting way to start the morning," she replied dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should come inside and see what we're dealing with before we start calling in the cavalry, don't you think?"
"I didn't mean... Yes, Ma'am. Please, follow me," he stammered, his cheeks flushing red.
As they entered the dimly lit service station, the constable led her toward two men standing anxiously in the deserted seating area. Detective Tonor's gaze swept over the eerily silent space: jackets draped over chairs, bags slumped on the floor, half-finished snacks abandoned on tables. It was as if everyone had vanished mid-action. Her first thought was that there had been a fire or an emergency evacuation, but there were no alarms, no signs of distress.
"Ma'am, this is Sajid Karesh, the manager on duty today, and Jerry Hampton, who was first on the scene," the constable explained. "Mr. Hampton is one of the contracted drivers. He came to drop off the early day shift and pick up the night shift."
She noticed that both men looked deeply shaken, possibly in shock. "Right, let's start with you then, Mr. Hampton. Can you tell me what's happened here?" she asked calmly.
He stared at her, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. "They weren't there," he began haltingly. "They usually wait around back. The staff I dropped off went into the changing rooms, and I came inside to look for them."
"And you couldn't find some of them?" she prompted gently when he faltered.
"No. You don't understand. I couldn't find anyone. Nobody. The staff, customers—the place was empty. The front doors were locked, and people were standing outside waiting to come in," he said, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but what my colleague is trying to explain," Sajid interjected, "is that we have 23 members of staff missing, and we don't know how many customers. We've closed the entrance now, and all of the customers who were on-site when we arrived have left. Based on the cars in the car park, we think we could have upwards of 40 customers also missing."
A chill ran down Detective Tonor's spine. "So, you're telling me we currently have over 50 people unaccounted for?" she asked, her tone serious.
"Yes, Ma'am," the constable confirmed.
"And have we checked the CCTV?" she inquired.
The constable's face paled, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth. "That's another problem, Ma'am."
"What do you mean? We don't have CCTV?" she pressed.
"No, Ma'am, we have CCTV," he replied hesitantly.
"So, what's the issue?"
He swallowed hard. "The CCTV shows that they are all still here." He pointed up at the cameras mounted on the ceiling. "What these cameras are recording doesn't match what's happening on the ground. And from what we can tell, nobody has tampered with the system."
She stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I think I need to make some calls," she said quietly.