But would you choose right this time? Dave deliberately didn't answer that question.
When he heard the first bellows echo down the nearby stairwell and then the sound of scuffling that followed, he quickly latched onto the welcome distraction – he'd just started to ponder why Monty wasn't reappearing. And what that might mean in combination with his final words up on the roof.
He dropped his hands and turned to see an older guy in a bedraggled suit being dragged from the stairwell by a couple of soldiers, stripped bare to their waists. A giggling teenage girl followed hot on their heels. Bile washed away his relief as he watched the soldiers drag the screaming man into the corridor leading to the toilets. In its place, the sickness doubled as he briefly imagined what might be awaiting the man when he reached his destination.
Burbling laughter from the teenager rang in his ears as he pushed through the frosted glass doors and trudged slowly back to his cubicle. His passing glimpses showed the same shell-shocked faces that had greeted him when he'd exited in the wake of Brendan's bashing. The few people that were moving around the floor did so in desultory manner. Eyes downcast with a shuffling step. Dave scanned across the floor and halted when he saw the group of soldiers congregated around the entrance to his cubicle. Although their huddled bodies blocked their actions, Dave had no desire to be any nearer than was absolutely necessary.
He paused and immediately regretted it when it dawned on him where he stood. Just outside the cubicle where the kid always stared up at him. He risked a glance and sure enough there he was, in place next to his sick mother, the pair surrounded by a moat of carpet as the other inhabitants of the cubicle hugged the walls, seeking as much distance from her illness as possible. Staring up at Dave with those wide, saucer eyes just like the one in the bluestone room had as Monty held out the knife...
Dave's breath hitched in his throat as he briefly imagined accepting the blade from the old man. Imagined what it might have been like if he'd just let the sharp edge slice through the soft skin of the child's throat...
The spray of blood was only in his mind but he still gagged as he pictured the sound of it pattering across the bluestone floor.
He quickly turned his attention to the child's mother. She looked worse than ever. The thick sheen of sweat glittered on her pasty skin. Her face little more than a skull, the skin pulled taut. The thinning black hair patchier than ever. The rise and fall of her chest so slight as to be almost imperceptible.
Dave had no idea what was wrong with her. She been in the same position ever since he transferred to the floor, but he had to admit it was kind of bitterly amusing that he'd wasted so much time drafting her letter. As if she would be in any condition to read it, he thought which in turn got the little voice piping up again.
So really what are you worried about? It's not like the kid has anything worth living for here. Shit, his mum will be dead soon and it's not like he's going to last very long in the skyscraper on his own... Really, you'd be doing him a favour... And maybe saving everyone to boot.
Dave felt all jittery as he stared back at the young boy holding his mother's hand. Could I..? Could I really..? To save everything. Now that I know, would I still be unable?
Dave didn't think it possible to feel any worse but the thought made him feel even sicker. He swayed dizzily and lent against the cubicle's partition for support, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing from the very depth of his being that he had never set foot in Hent. Had never laid eyes on the Gallo's Hotel and never met the crazy old man at the bar who kept his coins in a sock.
You know it has to be done. Monty's voice sounded so clear in his ear that Dave's eyes sprang open, brief hope surging through him. It was the first time he'd been disappointed to find the haunting glare missing when he opened his eyes.
Instead of Monty, the soldiers headed his way. They drew nearer and he saw the cart they pushed was mounded with buckets and bloody rags. He looked back at the staring kid and opened his mouth to speak but absolutely no words came to mind so he swiftly closed it again. He'd never been the best at talking to children. Even under far more optimal conditions.
Dave quickly scurried away as the soldiers neared, ducking past with his head down and blood thumping in his ears. He felt certain they knew exactly what he was thinking. Exactly what he'd been considering and while their paths crossed it felt like every single one of their eyes focused in on him. He was just waiting for one to cry, 'You sick fuck!' and then to look up and find he was staring down the large black barrels of their guns.
But he passed them by without incident and arrived at his cubicle to find the red patches that were all that remained of Brendan Toohey covered with the white dust of carpet cleaner. No one inside the cubicle was making eye contact. That suited Dave fine though he couldn't help noticing that the space Toohey had occupied had already been subsumed by the other occupants. Now you'd only know someone was missing from the cubicle if you'd known he'd been there to begin with.
The bang of a door and then the squeak of wheels let him know the meal cart was on its way. Its trek always started from the opposite stairwell that had been cordoned off strictly for military use. Dave snuck a peek and almost giggled at the absurdity of the sight that greeted him. Six heavily armed soldiers, their uniforms in various states of undress huddled protectively around the meal cart like overzealous flight attendants – as though a bloodthirsty mob circled them rather than the sad bunch of people sitting around and doing everything in their power to avoid eye contact. It made him wonder why they went through the ordeal of having separate water and meal runs. Rumour-mill had various reasons, most bordering on the absurd. The only time he'd worked up the courage to ask one of the soldiers about it he'd just got a stern, 'What? You got something better to do?' in return. He'd left it at that.
Dave looked back to his waiting blankets but then decided against it. Picking his way through the others just seemed like too much effort at the moment. Instead he moved over to the window while he waited for the meal cart to make its indeterminable journey and peered out at the destruction.
He noticed the blood stains across the window of the opposite building immediately and felt something form in his throat that made it very difficult to swallow. Running across the panes were large splatters that made it look like someone had exploded in close proximity.
Staring at the stained window, Dave had to once more wonder what was stopping him. Why he wasn’t just grabbing the kid and doing what Monty suggested. I mean what am I gonna lose? Leave all this behind? Dave scoffed at the idea.
Yeah, because what Monty wants is just so simple, isn’t it? Piece of piss, really. Just steal a kid, head across Victoria – never mind that it's teeming with those creatures – head right on back to where the bloody things came from in the first place. Step right into their stronghold and then…
'...You know what to do.’ Dave’s voice sounded exhausted as he murmured it under his breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the cool glass for a second. He could hear the squeak of the trolley drawing near and knew he’d have to head for his mattress soon. But before he did, he took one last look down to where the little ant bodies were splattered across the blood stained roads.
Old debt– Monty’s words started to circle in his head once more but cut off with a sharp intake of Dave’s breath. Down in the street a shadow eased its silky way between two of the army buses still parked out front.
Shifting light? Or something else? Dave felt a jittery burst of adrenaline as his eyes bore into it, trying to pick up the telltale glint.
It was impossible to see though and as the heavily guarded trolley arrived, Dave had no option but to drag himself away. It was that or miss his meal entirely.
He winced as he darted past the soldiers and into his cubicle. A quick glimpse of their wide eyes and the nervous way they kept swiveling their guns let him know that sudden movement near them might have been a mistake. He kept his head down as he felt the congregated gun barr
els dart up. But at least the fear of a bullet in his back managed to momentarily clear away the swirling mess of thoughts in his head.
He dove for his mattress and lay there face down until he heard someone mutter, ‘Fucking idiot,’ and something thunked down beside him. Then the squeaking trolley continued on its way down the stretch of cubicles. Even as the soldiers moved on he stayed down, cursing his stupidity while someone – it sounded like the moustachioed man from the adjoining cubicle – started to protest but obviously thought better of it and lapsed into silence again.
‘But this isn’t even half…’
Only when he heard the rustle of movement did Dave look up. Quick as a flash, his hand darted out to latch onto the tin that had landed by his head. Just as quickly he saw the man across from him dart back onto his own mattress, hands held up as if to say, ‘Yep, you got me.’
Dave glared at him but didn’t have the energy or inclination to take it further. He was more relieved than anything that the man hadn’t wanted to press the matter. In his current state, Dave doubted he’d be in very good condition to resist.
Yeah, but if he’d gotten a hand on it, I bet it’d have been a different story, he thought and looked at the label-less tin. Its shape told him it was more than likely sardines and for a second he almost burst into tears as he wondered how many fights were currently erupting across the various skyscrapers over something similar.
He didn’t though. His stomach, roused by the prospect of food, instead took over and he quickly set to work fumbling with the key glued to the underside of the tin, everything else forgotten until he'd finished his meal.
While the trolley squeaked on down the floor, the only other sound to fill the air was the hungry slurping it left in its wake.
14.
The smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the cubicles, triggering Dave’s own cravings and forcing him to move from where he’d spent the hour or two since food rations slumped on his thin mattress. It was his only option. Even with Toohey gone, there was no way he was going to risk lighting up where he currently was. Whoever had clearly possessed far more balls than he would ever muster.
He licked at his dry lips, shook his head to clear away the semi-daze and carefully eased his way through the sprawled bodies. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of their oblivion. Quite a few of the others had taken the opportunity for a post meal nap but Dave had been unable to sleep. Whenever he’d closed his eyes, it had been the same repeating loop: Hent, Monty’s eyes, Bruno’s brains on the bar, then the mounds in the bluestone room.
You’d think repetition would breed immunity, Dave thought, but it wasn’t the case. Each and every time it flashed through his mind, it seemed even more horrendous than the last. Building and building until Dave felt the first stirring of something he thought had gone when the first news bulletin had aired.
Could murder a beer, he thought and immediately felt bile race into his throat as Naomi's disapproving face flashed before him and her voice echoed through his head: That's right, when things get a little bit rough go and turn to the bottle...
He stumbled out of the cubicle trying to escape her words. But he only made it two steps before he realised a soldier was standing by the patches of powder covering Toohey’s blood stains, casually smoking as she stared out the window. Immediately his eyes darted to the gun slung over her shoulder and he swallowed nervously, the taste of his meal still heavy in his throat – the tin had indeed contained sardines and each breath now exhaled the horrid stench of fish up and into his nose.
Dave wanted to head straight back to his mattress but the soldier turned before he got a chance.
‘You,’ she said and Dave’s heart started hammering. Dave took in the short red hair beneath the cap and the stern face and recognised her as the soldier from the roof. The one who’d had the smile like Naomi’s. She wasn’t smiling now though and Dave nearly wilted beneath her summons. She’d seen him talking to Monty up on the roof. Maybe she thought he was a nutcase? Maybe she’d just been following him ever since to see what he did. Probably found the scrunched up bits of paper in the stairwell; saw him watching the kid; put two and two together…
Whoa, way to get carried away, Dave thought as he saw the clipboard in her hand.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Dave.’
‘Full name thank you, sir.’
‘Oh… David Thomas.’
The soldier scrabbled through a few sheets of paper then unclipped the pen from the end of the board.
‘David Joel Thomas?’ she asked.
‘Yep,’ he replied as his panic started to die down into confusion and he really looked at the soldier. The red-rims around her eyes hinted that she’d recently cried. Though there was no hint of tears now.
‘Good.’ The soldier scribbled something and recapped the pen then took a long draw on her cigarette and turned to the window once more. The moment stretched out as Dave nervously fidgeted, trying to work up the courage to ask why she wanted his name. An explanation didn't seem forthcoming from the soldier. The longer Dave stood waiting, the more his eyes drifted across her sweat stained singlet to rest upon the gun.
He was about to accept that he’d never know exactly why she’d wanted his name and head on his way when she abruptly turned to face him again.
‘Want a smoke?’ She rummaged in her pocket and held a rumpled pack of Winfield Golds out to Dave. An offer he couldn’t refuse. Immediately his mind raced to the five stale smokes left in his packet. There’d be no more once they were done.
‘Sure.’ Dave tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, the irrational fear rising that others might hear the excitement in his voice. He could picture them stalking like jackals, edging their way out from the cubicles to surround them. When he felt the heft of the pack and realised it was nearly full, it became harder and harder to maintain an even tone. He had to resist the urge to sprint off with his new found booty.
The gun helped there.
It also gave him the confidence to slip a cigarette from the pack and join the soldier for a smoke right there and then. If he'd been on his own there wouldn't have been a chance in hell.
The flame touched the tip and Dave knew the smokes were a lot fresher than his. It was blissful. Even with his dry mouth, he sucked it down greedily, ignoring the faint edge of sardine that came along with it.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured while exhaling.
‘Keep it,’ the soldier told him when he tried to hand the pack back and, for a second, Dave stared in disbelief between the pack and her. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend such a grandiose gesture. The soldier must have worked as much out from the shock on his face. She snorted and said, ‘Keep it. I have more. Much more.’
He struggled for a better way to express his gratitude but only managed another, 'Thank you,' before he quickly tucked the packet away into his pocket, still half thinking she was going to snap at him, what the hell are you doing, those are fucking worth a mint now.
'It's not a problem.' A ghost of the so familiar smile twitched around the edges of her mouth as she turned back to stare out the window. She took another drag on her smoke then tapped the glass. 'See that building there?' Dave nodded as he glanced at the building she pointed to. One that had been ablaze for days now, the flames clearly visible above the shorter block that stood between it and their skyscraper. Dave looked to his cigarette to keep calm. It had been a strange encounter so far and Dave couldn't help thinking at some point that would shift. That strange would turn to scary.
No one just gives someone a pack of smokes anymore, the little voice returned, niggling away at him. It only made him fidget worse.
'That's where my fiancée used to work.' She coughed a humourless laugh.
'Oh...' Dave stumbled for words as the soldier's brow furrowed and once more he was struck by her similarities to Naomi. It was the same sort of scrunched up look she'd used to get when something confused her.
'He always s
aid it deserved to be burned to the ground.'
Dave unleashed a strange high pitched choking noise at her words. His reaction getting all mixed up when a second into his chuckle it clicked that laughing might not be a suitable response. Remembering the red rimmed eyes, Dave wondered if maybe he'd just made a really bad mistake. It was difficult to read the lady's expression as she looked to her clipboard once more.
Again, he resisted the urge to sprint away.
He kept working on his smoke, though he almost choked when the soldier finally did look back up. The hint of a smile was gone and the intimidating scowl she'd worn on the roof was back in place.
'So tell me, David Thomas, what exactly happened here.' An incline of her head sent Dave's eyes drifting to the circles of carpet cleaner on the floor.
He wilted beneath her steady glare while his mind raced for a suitable response. One that wouldn't implicate him as a witness. For all he knew, she might be in on it.
Some sort of test, trying to weed out the ones who saw what the other soldiers did, Dave thought even though the idea seemed a little paranoid. They're trying to stop word getting out, don't want a full scale panic on their hands.
'Umm... I didn't really see what happened.' Dave paused as the soldier sucked down the last mouthful of her cigarette, tucked the clipboard under her arm, then licked the tips of her fingers and extinguished the smoldering butt in a pinch. 'I was... was having a smoke and it was sort of all over when I came back...' The soldier's brow wrinkled again and Dave faltered as she lobbed the filter to the ground at her feet. 'I heard someone attacked one of your guys or something. Sounded horrible...' The soldier started nodding and his words petered out again. At first he thought he'd chosen the right approach. Then the soldier turned back to stare out the window and the way her jaw muscles clenched as she kept nodding told him he might have misjudged.
'Yeah, thought that might be the case,' the soldier finally sighed and her jaw unclenched. There was genuine sadness in her voice as she continued and Dave started to feel a little bad for his lie. He finished his smoke and tried to repeat the soldiers trick for putting it out but only succeeded in scalding his fingers.
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