by G G Garcia
He kept his eyes closed, and wondered if this contamination had spread beyond the West Midlands and further afield like London or Edinburgh. He was sure it wasn’t a global thing, as the media were convinced that the incident had taken place in or over the West Midlands. The UK was a large island, so there was a strong chance, even if it did spread, that the problem would never be a worldwide epidemic.
It wasn’t an apocalyptic situation he was in, but because they were in the middle of it, with no power and no help, it certainly felt like it. According to Demi, the army would more than likely shoot anyone trying to escape from the cordoned off area of the country. Even if that wasn’t true, who in their right mind would travel fifty or so miles to a place like Leek or Burton upon Trent to get away from the area?
Maxwell had no idea how the army had somehow surrounded the area, if they did. They didn’t have the personnel. Was it a mixture of the British army, armed police, and outside forces that were securing the area?
He wondered how many personnel it would take to secure a place the size of the West Midlands that had a population of around six million. They would have to close off motorways, close airports, and guard places like Whitchurch, Newcastle-Under-Lyme, Uttoxeter, Nuneaton, Rugby, and many other places.
It was impossible, wasn’t it? It must have been just a rumour.
Even if the army were called up, surely most of these men and women had decided to abscond and be with their own families during these crazy days.
Maxwell released a sigh and tried to envisage the future. It was going to be a dog eat dog world from now on. He was sure of it.
He had a bigger advantage than most folk.
He had a place full of food and drink, he was armed, and he had people to watch his back. He then thought about Henry and Demi. And then he deliberated about the food and the drink. It was great that they had all of that stuff, but with three mouths to feed, it wasn’t going to last. Henry was his friend, his only friend, but he had no affiliation with Demi Mason. She was someone he would see once in a while. She was someone who Henry would fuck now and again, depending if he had the time for it or he wasn’t seeing anybody else.
With Demi on the scene, Maxwell was pretty sure he was down on Henry’s pecking order. Demi was somebody he could make love to, she was a nice looking girl, and she was best friends with his sister. For whatever reason, if he had to choose between Maxwell and Demi, Maxwell was pretty sure that Henry would choose Demi. Maxwell was a friend, and more importantly a business partner, but with the world the way it was, their business was now gone anyway.
The dealers that worked for them, and the suppliers they obtained their gear from were either dead, hidden somewhere, or on the run. And in the drugs game they also needed customers, and they were more than likely in the same position as the dealers and suppliers.
Things were looking grim. But what if Henry and Demi disappeared, and the only mouth to feed was Maxwell? All that food and drink could keep him going for ages. He wouldn’t have to leave the place for a couple of months.
He stood up and a wry smile stretched across his features. He took out his gun and chambered a round. He crept along the living room carpet and opened the door that led out into the small hallway that had the three bedrooms situated along the left side. He gulped and questioned his own sanity, before he made slow steps towards Henry’s room.
He held his breath and gently placed his ear against the bedroom door and couldn’t hear a thing. There were no moans of a couple having sex, no talking, and no sounds of snoring or heavy breathing. It was as if there was nobody in the room. He thought about the scenario of going in there and gunning them down in the bed as they lay. It was brutal and cruel, but it could keep him alive for longer. He certainly didn’t want to spend his time going out there every time supplies were running low.
Killing Henry and Demi would also mean that he’d be the owner of an Audi. But would his conscience be able to handle what he may do in order to survive longer? He had used the gun before, but on a friend? An innocent young woman?
The very few pricks that had been shot over the years by Maxwell were scum taking the piss, scum owing them money and being disrespectful. The first one was difficult, but wounding someone with his Glock was something he started to enjoy when people owed him money.
He took in a deep breath and took a hold of the door handle with his left hand. He raised the gun in his right and pulled the handle down, gently pushing the door open. He was beginning to shake with nerves, unsure if this was something he should be doing, and popped his head around the door and took a gawp inside. There was little light and the evening was drawing in, but he could see the outline of the two bodies on the bed. He could hear the breathing coming from the pair of them and knew they were in dreamland.
He took two steps inside the room and raised the Glock, pointing at the nearest body, which he knew was Henry. His finger was against the trigger and the gun shook as his nervousness intensified. He blew a breath out, trying to get his nerves under control, and continued to point the gun.
For six long seconds the barrel was facing Henry Brown, but the gun was quickly lowered and Maxwell left the room, closing the door behind him. He had lost his nerve.
He leaned against the wall of the hallway and hit himself twice on his forehead. “Idiot,” he snapped at himself. “Fuckin’ idiot. What are you thinking?”
He placed his hands on his head, still holding the gun and was almost in tears about what he nearly did. He couldn't give a fuck about Demi, but contemplating on killing his friend for a few more days or weeks of survival was unforgivable. He was ashamed, but it was something that he would have to keep to himself.
Maxwell made the short walk down the hallway and re-entered the living room. He walked across the dusky room and plonked himself back into the armchair.
He was close. He was so close. He could have taken them out.
Maxwell placed the gun on the arm of the chair and wiped his brow with the palm of his hand. He smiled and shook his head, mentally reprimanding himself. If only Henry knew how close he was from dying, he thought.
Maxwell was glad he never did it, and promised himself that he would never do such a thing again.
He closed his eyes and tried some breathing exercises to calm down his elevated heart.
It worked.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Paul bravely galloped down the stairs on his own. Rab was a big man, but the man was injured and Paul had a hold of his steak knife. He quickly searched around the pub and then headed outside, without checking the toilets. He didn’t need to. He looked around the car park through the window and could see Rab limping away, with his hand on his wounded thigh. Paul stepped out into the fresh air and could see the Glaswegian now on the Wolseley Road, turning right into Stafford Road. He wasn’t coming back.
Happy that he wouldn’t be returning, Paul ran upstairs and asked Mel for the keys so he could lock the door downstairs. Paul informed them all that Rab wouldn’t be coming back, and was given the keys. He ran downstairs, locked the door, and then returned to the first floor and helped them tie up Mitch.
The bouncer’s ankles were tied with sheets, and his hands were tied behind his back with wire from a phone charger.
They all stopped for a break and had a drink. Mel then suggested that they should move the body now before the man woke up and made things difficult.
This unusual pub had two cellars. There was one at the side of the toilets where there was an incline. This was where John Jameson kept the barrels. Spirits and other bottles were kept in the cellar or basement that was situated behind the bar, where a trap door was. It was the basement where Mel wanted to put the man. Obviously they wouldn’t be able to climb down, carrying the man, so he was going to lower him down somehow. Paul went along with the plan, but deep down he would have been happy to stick a knife through the man’s heart and dump him by the riverbank.
“We’ll drag him downstairs,” Mel
suggested. “Then we’ll wrap a sheet around him and lower him down.”
“Tony told me that it’s quite a drop, Mel,” said Paul. “From the trap door to the basement floor, ya talkin’ about fifteen ... twenty feet.”
Mel went to the cupboard, near the bathroom, and pulled out two large white sheets. He returned, gave them to Lisa to hold, and told her that he’d tie them together once they got Mitch downstairs. Mel bent down, but Tony told the man that he and the other two young men would take the body downstairs.
“You’ve done enough, mate,” Craig said.
Tony grabbed the legs of Mitch, and Paul and Craig grabbed an arm each.
Lisa watched in silence as the three men struggled to move the two hundred and fifty two pound man. They reached as far as the landing and Craig lowered the legs and had to stop. He straightened his back and groaned.
“My back is breaking,” he said. “Give me a minute and we’ll drag him to the bottom of the stairs.”
“This is madness.” Paul turned to Mel and shook his head.
“We’re not killing him,” snapped Mel.
“It’d be a hell of a lot easier.”
“I don’t care.”
Tony and Paul rubbed their hands together and asked Craig if he was ready to try again. Mel was about to announce that he’d give them a hand, but groaning and then a growling from a conscious Mitch made the males step back in fright.
They watched on in horror as the bouncer struggled on the floor, like a snake on fire, and managed to free his legs with every last ounce of strength that he had. He struggled to get to his feet, hands still tied behind his back, and Mel knew that the man’s strength would be able to free himself. Mitch was standing on the landing, unsteady on his feet, and with the stairs behind him. Lisa was the quickest to react and stormed over to the soused looking man and threw a punch, striking the side of his cheek. Still with his hands behind his back, Mitch fell backwards and toppled down the stairs like a rolled dice, banging his head off of the wall at the bottom, stopping whatever momentum he had.
Like Rab before him, Mitch lay motionless at the bottom of the stairs and all four looked down, neither brave enough to go down to check if he was okay or not.
Mel turned to his wife and asked her, “What the fuck was that?”
“I had to do something,” Lisa protested. “You four were just standing there like a couple of wet fannies.”
“You might have killed him, man,” sighed Tony.
“And?” Lisa huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “If I had to wait any longer for you twats to grow a set of balls, then that twat would have freed himself by now. Then we’d be in the shit.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Mel snapped. “Just gonna shut your mouth for once.”
“Piss off, dickhead.”
“Keep calling me names,” Mel huffed, “and you’ll be getting a kick in the growler.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you—”
“Cool it, guys.” Paul stepped in.
“Anyway,” Mel gazed at his housemates. “Who’s gonna check on him?”
“Fuck it,” said Paul. “I’ll do it. His hands are tied behind his back anyway. If he tries anythin’, I’ll just stab the bastard.”
Paul pulled out his steak knife and made slow steps down to the large figure of Mitch. He crouched down by his body and felt for a pulse in his neck. He looked up at the four faces staring down at him.
“Well?” Lisa bellowed. “What’s the outcome?”
“He’s dead. He must have broken his neck ... or somethin’.”
“Now what?” Mel called down.
“Ya lot can give me a hand with him.”
“What?”
Paul sighed, “We’ll dump him in the river.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Maxwell sat in the armchair, plagued by guilt, and couldn’t believe he was close to killing his friend and an innocent young woman. He couldn’t believe how close he came. He had wounded people before, back in the old world, and had killed people since this catastrophe blew up, but never did he think he would get to the point of killing his friend and a young woman in their beds to prolong his own life. What was he thinking? He was convinced that his mind had been clouded by madness and paranoia, and was sure that he would never do anything like that again.
He gasped when he heard the sound of movement coming from the bedroom, and wondered who was getting up. The door opened and in walked Henry Brown. He had got dressed and was wearing the clothes he had on before going to bed, and he raised his hand at his friend once his eyes clocked him sitting in the armchair.
“Can’t sleep?” Maxwell called over.
“And what makes you think that?” Henry laughed.
Maxwell gazed down at the gun on his lap and then looked over to his friend.
“What is it?” Henry asked him. “You look like you have something on your mind.”
“I’m okay.”
“Come on,” Henry snickered. “Out with it.”
“Okay,” Maxwell sighed. “But you ain’t gonna like it.”
Henry took in a deep breath. Going by Maxwell’s tone he knew he wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but was desperate to find out what it was anyway.
“Try me,” Henry said, wearing a false smile, eager for his friend to hurry the fuck up and spill the beans.
“Okay.” Maxwell shuffled in his seat, looking uncomfortable, and began. “I had a selfish moment.” He paused, forcing Henry to open his mouth.
Henry urged, “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I just wondered what it’d be like to have the place to myself, to have all the food to myself.”
“And how would that situation arise?” Henry asked, intrigued what his friend had to say.
“Well...” Maxwell cleared his throat. “If you guys somehow decided to leave—”
“We would at least take half the supplies with us, in my car.” Henry’s face looked devoid of emotion and placed his hands on his lap, his gun poking out of his shirt that had been tucked into the front of his jeans. “What other situation could arise where there was no me and Demi and you’d be left with this place and all the food, even the car?”
“Look, it was just a mad thought.” Maxwell was certain that Henry knew where the conversation was going. The last thing Maxwell wanted was a lack of trust between the pair of them.
“Remember when we were just starting out?” Henry began. “In the days before we got other guys to do our dirty work?”
“Of course.”
“Remember the two drug dealers from Birmingham?” Henry spoke and added, “They decided that they wanted to rip us off and give us a doing. I had a feeling something wasn’t right, and saw one of them reach for the inside of their jacket when you shook the hand of the other guy.”
“Of course I remember,” Maxwell said. “He had a gun.”
“So what did I do?”
Maxwell didn’t know why Henry was asking about things they both knew, but decided to humour his friend anyway. “You stabbed him, took the gun out of the inside of his jacket and shot the pair of them both in the legs.”
“That’s right. I saved your life ... maybe. So why would you have daydreams of Demi and I being out of the picture, especially when she helped you out earlier with that Sav.”
Maxwell couldn’t give him an answer, and decided it was for the best that he didn't reveal that he had been in his room only minutes before and had a gun pointing at the pair of them. It was a moment of madness. But thankfully it was something he never went through with.
“Look, let’s just forget I said anything.” Maxwell chewed on his top lip, still torn between telling Henry the whole truth.
“Okay.” Henry nodded. “I think it’s best not to mention this to Demi. I don’t think she’s your biggest fan at this moment in time. I don’t want her paranoid.”
Maxwell nodded, and lowered his head in shame, like a child that had just been reprimanded by his teacher.
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If only Henry knew the whole truth.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Paul had made his way back to the top of the stairs after checking on Mitch, and was joined by the rest of the people dwelling in the place.
“Right,” Melvin Leslie groaned. “Now that my sweet little wife has killed him, who’s going to help me dump Mitch in the river? I’m gonna have trouble getting him up on my own.”
“You’ve always had trouble getting him up on your own,” Lisa laughed, making Mel blush.
“You weren’t complaining before.” Mel couldn’t help himself. “Back in that bedroom.”
“What’re you talking about, you daft sod?” Lisa smiled, shook her head, and proceeded to embarrass her husband further. “You went all flaccid after five minutes. You had to finish me off with a good finger blasting.”
“No wonder.” Mel huffed. “It’s like sticking one in a stinking hippo.”
“That’s enough,” said Paul. “Jesus.”
“Look, man,” Tony spoke up, looking at Mel. “Let’s just sort out that guy and stop fannying about.”
“The one my wife killed?” Mel snickered falsely.
“I didn’t kill him, shit for brains,” Lisa said angrily. “It was the fall that killed him.”
“Of course it was, sweet cheeks.” Mel turned to the young men; all of them were standing on the landing. “Anyway, any offers to move him?”
Paul and Tony nodded.
“Right,” said Mel, now pointing at Craig. “You may as well come with us.”
The four of them descended to the ground floor, and Mel said to Paul, “We’ll just drag him. He’s too heavy to lift.”
Mel took the arms, Tony took the legs, and Paul and Craig went either side of the man’s body, ready once they were given the all clear by Mel.
“Make sure he goes in that river,” Lisa shouted from the top of the stairs. “Don’t want that twat rotting in the car park.”
