The Survival of Molly Southbourne by Tade Thompson (Molly Southbourne #2)
English | 2019 | Horror | ePUB | 928 Kb
Who was Molly Southbourne? What did she leave behind?
The Survival of : A burnt-out basement. A name stained in blood. Bodies that remember murder, one of them left alive. A set of rules that no longer apply.
Molly Southbourne is alive. If she wants to survive, she’ll need to run, hide, and be ready to fight. There are people who remember her, who know what she is and what she’s done. Some want her alive, some want her dead, and all hold a piece to the puzzles in her head. Can Molly escape them, or will she confront the bloody history that made her?
“They are on me, hot sizzling flesh, choosing to grapple rather than strike because of the close quarters and abundant obstacles. There is pain, but I cannot shout because of the smoke. With this lack of oxygen, a lung full of the wrong stuff, all I can do is croak. How are they still active? What are they made of? I just want to give up and die.
They bring me down with a clumsy playground maneuver, pushing me over an extended leg, slamming the back of my head on the floor because I didn’t tuck my chin in. My left shoulder pops out of the joint, and my belly is on fire. I know I should smell the cooking flesh, but I don’t. A face rises, blackened and bald from the fire, and I punch it with my good arm just to keep the dance going. It has the desired effect and the mollys do not flag. They bite and they gouge and they hit me with furniture-derived improvised weapons. I am above it all now, as the fire spreads and the lack of oxygen narcotizes me. . . .
Then I wake and I open the window and remember who I am, and who I am not. There is always traffic in Acton, always a siren or a scream, or the songs of the amorous or drunk, and it reorients me.
The stories Molly told me are as seeds, each one a focal point for the budding and flowering of memory. The stories of Southbourne Farm, of Pile the dog, of Mykhaila and Connor, her parents, become real images and sequences in my mind. The love for her parents and affection for Professor James Down grow to fill some of the emptiness I have, and is counterbalanced with guilt and regret for being responsible for their demise. And death. So much death, a lifetime of it, from childhood. Killing mollys through the decades.”