‘I’ve been to church. Me and the vicar are good mates. You know he was harboring a serial child killer, don’t you?’
‘Another story of yours.’ She took a sip of her wine.
‘I’ll get you another drink.’
‘No, thank you. I’m happy with this.’
‘Well, I need a drink.’ Ben stood with care, waited for the spasm to stop before taking the first step.
‘You’re hurt.’
‘Flesh wound.’ He laughed and held his hand up. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
He entered the Drunken Duck and found Wynona at the bar. She wore her leathers and two helmets sat on the bar beside her.
‘How we doing here?’
‘I could be wrong. The Punksters can’t see a threat, but they can’t be trusted. They are up to finding a copper, but when there is so much booty on display, their fingers get itchy.’
Ben ordered a shot and a mug of ale.
‘How is she?’
‘Same as. Prim and proper, wondering why I’m not fighting the good fight.’
‘You are.’
‘Maybe, but not on the right side. She still believes I should’ve joined the army.’
‘Conscription doesn’t mean joining. And fighting what? If we actually knew who we were fighting and why, we might all buy into this never-ending war on terror. Fuck terror. Being ruled by the Man is our own private terror.’
Ben threw back the shot and ordered another. ‘I met with me mum because I miss her. I met with her to explain what I was up to, maybe get her blessing, eh? She isn’t interested in hearing what I’ve been up to. I didn’t shave and that’s a major crime. An unshaven man doesn’t care about himself, so how’s he going to care about others. Jesus, they live and breathe army.’
‘Parents, you don’t get to choose them. Well, unless you’re adopted.’
‘That don’t make sense.’
‘Adopted children choose their parents. They don’t always get their choice first up, but they do eventually.’
‘Good for them. And those children at the mines?’
‘They won’t make adoption. They’re foreign and will get dumped back on the streets. They’ll all make their way to Old London Town or West, and hopefully for them, they don’t go north. Anyway, you need to get back out there. Say your goodbyes, give her a hug and get out of the square. It’s making me nervous the longer you stay out there. If it goes wrong the Punksters will drop a wallet on your table. Pick it up and pretend you’re trying to give it back and head in here. All right?’
Ben returned to the table and found his mother talking on her phone. To his right, beneath the large screen, a band played a tune with a piano accordion taking the lead. A young, dark-headed girl slapped at a tambourine and swayed with the music. The juggler had his blades flashing against the fairy lights strung high overhead. Sam the Snake Charmer clasped his arm, a trickle of blood at his elbow and the basket shut for the night.
Ben sat down and smiled at the state of his mother’s empty glass of wine. She rubbed at her arms ‘You cold?’
He started to remove his coat, but a spasm of pain stopped the gesture. His mother shook her head and smiled in thanks.
‘You know I didn’t kill those people.’
‘Oh Ben, please. Your best friend is dead and your blood is on the blade.’
‘He wasn’t stabbed, Mum.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. I didn’t kill Marvin. I didn’t kill the coppers in Tilly’s house. Oh sorry, you don’t know Tilly, but she was once the love of my life. You see, I moved on from Linda. I didn’t care that she chose Marvin over me.’
A wallet landed on the table, knocking his mother’s glass over. Ben caught it before it hit the dirt.
‘I’ll get you another glass,’ he said. He wanted to stay and convince his mother he was a good man, give her reason to believe in him. He wanted to hear about his father, but the trap was about to be sprung. His mother glanced behind her as he reached and offered her a half hug. She jerked back from him, a look of terror on her face.
‘Got to go, Mum,’ he said. ‘Punch Dad in the face for me, eh?’
He turned from the table as a hand reached for his shoulder. A jolt of pain radiated from the bullet wound. Ben grabbed the hand, twisted, forcing the man to the ground. He didn’t look like a copper, but Ben didn’t have time to ponder his provenance. He pushed him away as three Punksters jumped the roped area and attacked the man.
‘Ben,’ his mother called.
He looked back, but found his mother swamped by suits and army. ‘Don’t panic,’ he muttered to himself. He dodged a man carrying a tray of drinks as coppers and army flooded the bar. Wynona had her helmet on her head and was running for the back of the pub. Ben pulled stools and chairs to the floor as he followed her. Voices protested and bodies fell in his wake. He found Wynona outside, revving the bike, her head focused on the direction to be travelled. Ben pulled on his helmet as he took his seat. The clutch was released, rubber burnt as the back tire spun and the bike swerved before finding balance. Shouts sounded and shots spat off the dirt.
Ben screamed encouragement as Wynona powered along overgrown alleys and footpaths heading for the Camps. With a black top beneath her tires and no signs of pursuit Wynona opened the throttle and relaxed. Ben tried to wriggle his hands into her jacket pockets, but a backward head butt suggested he cease. After running crisscross sections of Ostere, Wynona pulled into a bus station.
‘We have two problems,’ she said. ‘You can’t stay in Ostere.’
Ben shrugged and shook his head. ‘It has to blow over. I mean, Ostere’s a big, old place. I’ll be okay.’
‘No, I’m telling you, it isn’t okay. But our second problem is Harry.’
‘Harry? Yeah, well, Tilly’s sorting that, isn’t she?’
A bus engine erupted with a roar and throbbed with a deep throated growl in the dark of the quiet night. Ben looked at the battered vehicle and wondered why a bus sat in the old derelict bus station. A crack of thunder sounded and lightning jagged across the sky. Rain fell with heavy drops splattering on the frozen ground.
‘That bus is going to get you into the East End.’
‘Fuck off. Why would I want to go into the East End?’
‘To get Harry back. He saved your life.’
‘Like fuck he did. When? Oh, Jesus, Wolf Girl, are you serious? Is there money in this mission?’
‘No.’
Ben climbed off the bike and stretched his back. ‘The bloody East End. The Black Hats are from the East End. Do you know how much they’re going to enjoy catching me in their patch?’
Thunder rumbled loud and angry and rain pounded on the metal bus shelter.
‘Forget the Black Hats. You did the Black Hats. It’s the Top Hats running the East End now and you need to keep out of their way. You just need to leave Ostere.’
‘Now?’
Wynona set the bike on its stand and climbed off. She held out her arms and Ben stepped into her embrace.
‘Bring Harry back. He’s a good little soldier. We care about our soldiers, so …’ Wynona pulled back and held his face in both hands. She kissed him hard and pushed him away. ‘So be the hero.’
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Heroes Don’t Cry
The third Heroes story
Available March 2017
Chapter One
Escape to the South
‘Rule 1-The bus don’t stop no matter what.’ She looked at me to gauge my interest in her point. I was nodding like a dick.
‘Rule 2-I’m in charge, that’s official and I’s not shittin’ here. I don’t want your thoughts about anything.’ I d
idn’t nod or show any sort of affirmation to rule two.
‘And Rule 3-Nobody opens that door, but me.
‘Are we clear?’
‘Just one point,’ I said. She wasn’t going to like my point but I felt I needed clarification. ‘What’s the plan when we hit the south?’
‘You’s questioning me Street Boy. It’s not a good start.’
I had a right to question this girl. No one entered the south unless they had a death wish. The area became poisonous when the Chelsea Nuclear plant suffered a breach from fracking in the eastern corner of the south. Chelsea Mining Corporation’s effort to suck the last drops of gas from the earth’s sorry arse rendered the area radioactive.
The Big G was in charge. She’d made that plain when she ordered me off Wynona’s bike and into the bus. She and the Wolf Girl shared a long hug and a big old kiss, before she jumped back behind the wheel and fired up the battered vehicle. She was dressed in a dark blue tight fitting canvas overall with a bright polka dot head band holding short wiry looking hair in place.
‘It’s closed isn’t it?’
‘Not tonight it isn’t.’ She threw a grubby paper mask at me. ‘You might need this later.’
‘Will it protect me?’
‘Fuck knows.’
***
I sat in the middle of the bus, my hood pulled over my head and my black coat wrapped tight. A group of children with blankets, pillows and hooded eyes occupied the back bench of the bus. They had hissed and spat as I ventured up the bus and thrown a load of litter at me when I sat down.
‘Don’t mind them,’ Gillian called out. ‘They come with the bus.’
A scruffy dog joined me on my seat as the lights of Ostere disappeared and the dark wasteland of the Southern Sector beckoned. I slumbered and mumbled and grumbled with the dog tight against my side.
I’m no dreamer. Serious I can’t ever remember dreams, and I sleep deep, so deep I struggle to wake most mornings. But the acrid fumes of the diesel and sour aroma of the South inspired my slumber. I shuddered at the image of a black endless void. Heads appeared. A big man with a hood and a vicar muttering words from this massive book, all gold leafed it was, and the big man kept trying to put the hood over my head. I woke with the sounds of a crowd laughing at my plight and rocks striking the bus.
Outside the window dark shapes crowded the road. Fires burnt in abandoned buildings. The odd figure ran at the bus and launched missiles of brick and mortar. The bus crawled in silence. The children and I watched the dark specters flitting between buildings. Figures surrounded the bus, scrabbling at the rubble and launching rocks at our windows.
‘Sticks and stones, eh babes,’ Gillian called out. ‘This bus ‘as been through bigger conflicts than what these ghouls can throw at us, that’s for sure.’
The bus groaned and the engine labored. The smell of diesel fought with the thick turgid scent of decay.
‘Remind me why we couldn’t cross through Old London Town?’
‘I’s not shitting here babes, but we’s all wanted by the Man and he don’t take to fugitives pissing in the capitol. And this vehicle is wanted, top of his list for crimes against the state. No shit babes. The bus is wanted.’
‘This is dire,’ I said. ‘These people look like the living dead.’
‘They’re close to it, babes. Radiation burns bad. I’s not shiting you these guys are good as dead.’
‘So why are they here?’
‘Fuck knows babes. It’s home I’m guessing. Is a shit hole to look at, for sure? But they’s still here. They’s livin’ and they’s don’t like visitors. Don’t be expecting tea and biscuits.’
‘What you doing here man,’ a voice asked.
A child stood at my shoulder and I ignored the question. The dog jumped off my seat and slunk to the back of the bus.
‘You fuckin deaf.’
He sat in the seat before me and leant against the next seat and pushed his tatty black top hat to the back of his head. Trousers sat bunched over dirty running shoes, a red scarf sat limp on his neck. A snarl rattled in the back of his throat, but he conjured up a smirk of distaste to ensure his authority. I didn’t bother with his threat, pulling my hood lower on my head and returned to the action outside.
‘Minding my own business,’ I muttered. ‘Perhaps you could do the same.’
‘Is our bus.’
‘How do you figure?’
‘Just is.’ He looked back to the dark eyes peering from beneath hoods and blankets. ‘We ride this bus all nights. You just need to know that.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I feel educated and never laid claim to your cold rickety bus anyway. It stinks.’
He offered me a final defiant glare before sauntering back to the mountain of blankets. A flap opened so he could bunker back into the warmth of the wooly cave. A girl’s arm reached out to cuddle him close.
I joined Gillian up front to get a better view of the bleak landscape. A grey cloud shrouded the headlights as Gillian struggled to pick out a path.
‘This isn’t what I expected,’ I said.
‘No shit, babes. Big old accident pissed on the south two years back, and some giant arse took a bat to it. I’s not shittin’ you.’ She pointed at the mist clouding our journey. ‘That’s coming from the ground, and it’s toxic. That fracking crap broke the crust of the earth and all kinds of shit is spewing out.’
‘Where’s the nuclear plant?’
‘We don’t go nowhere near the plant. It’s cordoned off, locked down and guarded by true zombies. It’s well poisonous, serious. I’m not shittin’ you but the area round here isn’t too clever either.
‘I used to ferry folk to the plant a year ago, but they seem to have given up on it.’
‘Why?’
‘It dropped big time in the too hard basket. I’s not shittin’ you. No money, wasted money, stolen money. Who cares babes. I’s not pissing about here, but they need to get back on board coz the whole town is running out of electric. Serious babe. The north is gone and the east offers nothing, and the projects keep blowing up the electric. Next winter is going to be tough. People are dying, serious babe, I’s not shittin’ you. People are freezing to death and that’s serious. Look at those wee tykes up the back of the bus. They’ve got nowhere, and nothing. I’s got blankets and a shitty smelling heater, and that’s cool with them.’
‘They’ve gone feral down here. The radiation has rewired their brains. Serious. They snarl and bite and kill and don’t ever touch their stuff. Serious they don’t like that.’
‘But we’re okay in this bus, eh?’
Another object struck the window the noise causing a stir up the back of the bus.
‘Just remember the rules,’ Gillian said. She pushed on the accelerator and the bus roared and lumbered forward.
Abandoned vehicles littered the gutters of the road. Fires danced and reflected off shattered glass. Bricks lay scattered about the broken tarmac causing the bus to bump and shudder. Time and again the plough at the front of the vehicle knocked metal scrap to the side. Shells of cars and dumpsters and rubbish bins turned the road into a slalom course.
‘They’s trying to stop us.’
‘Why?’
Gillian turned to me and shook her head. She reached for a fresh cigar and clamped her teeth about its end and puffed with menace at the flame. Smoke filled the cabin before the crack in her window sucked the smoke free. She sat back in her seat and uttered an expletive. I peered into the dark as a large dark shadow loomed up ahead. As we careered around another car the object covering the road grew in size and menace.
‘This is going to be bad, but we can’t stop,’ Gillian said. She turned to the back of the bus. ‘Hold onto something solid kids because this is going to hurt.’ She pointed to the seat behind her. ‘Crash position now.’
I jumped from my seat and sat in the seat and ducked with my arms over my head. ‘How soon,’ I said.
A fresh roar of the engine, then the grinding cr
ash of metal answered my query. The bus ploughed into the wall of metal and shuddered to a grinding halt. I peered out over the wire enforced window. Rocks and bricks struck the bus along both sides and rear. The child I’d spoken with earlier appeared at my side.
‘What’s going on Gillian?’
He received no reply from Gillian.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But we aren’t moving and we’re under attack big time, eh?’
I stood up in my seat and grabbed Gillian’s shoulder. Her head fell forward and her body slumped against the wheel.
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘Is she dead?’
Blood covered her face, her heavy body limp against the wheel. I peered at her chest and nodded as it rose with an inhalation. ‘No, she’s not dead, but she won’t be driving.’
‘We can’t stay here,’ he said. He removed his top hat and took a gun from the inside of his jacket. He checked the magazine before slotting it back in place. ‘My magazine’s half empty. Jacko’s got a weapon but it’s got less ammo than mine. We’re dead if they get inside this bus so you got to get the bus moving.’
I didn’t know who’d made him boss but I agreed with his assessment and kept quiet about the weapon in my backpack. The bus needed to leave the area, but I wasn’t sure I knew how to drive a bus. I knew I couldn’t drive a car for shit, but maybe a bus was easier.
The boy helped me move Gillian from the seat and drop her to the passage floor. A load of children grabbed her arms and dragged her body to the back of the bus. I sat in the seat and looked at the gear shift. It seemed simple enough, but my driving experience in any vehicle totaled little. Our immediate problem sat in front of us. Dumpsters and cars barred our path, but the crash had punched a hole and collapsed the wall of metal before us. With a slow considered effort I could see the bus ploughing through what remained.
A metal bar smacked against the door.
‘Don’t let them in.’
‘Yes I got told the rules. Don’t stop, don’t get out of the bus and something else.
Heroes Don't Travel Page 29
