Crash II: Highrise Hell

by Michael Robertson

  Ravi didn't respond.

  "So how did you get into the gang? I wasn't around when you joined." Glancing across, George saw Ravi was staring out of the side window again, holding the point where his head had collided with it.

  "Through James."

  "The one who Dean accused of stealing food? The one that he ran—"

  "Yep. It was where he got the idea to run the kid over."

  The empty houses had given way to damaged shops. Most of the windows were smashed. Cables, clothes, and furniture spilled out of them like entrails. All of the goods that no one could find any use for littered the streets. Looking back at Ravi, George said, "And was he?"

  "Stealing? Yeah." A frown creased Ravi's face. "He was just trying to help my mum and dad out. They can't contribute to the group's survival because they're too old. Who wants shirts ironed or lawns mowed? To Dean, they're freeloaders and don't deserve feeding. He gave them food for the first week, but then he stopped caring if they lived or died."

  The sound of thick tires on tarmac buzzed through the car.

  "James was trying to help us out. We only came to the gang because he said it was safe. We were on our way out of the city. I think he felt responsible for getting us involved. He was a mate, he was trying to do us a favor. The way Dean punished him was off the charts. He was moody before, but he took it to a whole new level."

  "I agree. He lost the plot that day and hasn't come back since." Looking at Dean's truck at the front of the convoy, the men on the back desperately clinging on, George fantasized about a huge speed bump that would flip half of them off. The large wheels on Si's truck would chew them up and spit them out. Simply thinking about it settled George's pulse.

  When Ravi didn't say anything, George continued, "Dean went from being a cunt to being a horrible cunt pretty fucking quickly, eh? Not only has he fucked over the residents in the tower block in that time, but I think he's taken a pound of flesh from everyone in the gang in this last month."

  "What's he taken from you?"

  Clenching his right fist, George looked across at Ravi. "Watch your fucking tone, yeah?" Rolling the tension from his shoulders, George's neck clicked when he twisted it. "He's taking my humanity. Seeing people killed is a day-to-day activity now. I'm already desensitized, and I don't want to numb to it completely." George looked at his bloody hands. "I killed a man today." He jabbed his own temple. "This life is doing my fucking head in. I only murdered him because he used my name. Imagine what that gang of animals would have done to me if I hadn't killed him. Dean may put up with me giving him shit because we're family, but if he thought I was involved with the posh twats that he targets, I'd have to sleep with one eye open. As soon as I find my sister, I'm gone."

  "At least you can get out. I feel fucking trapped now. If I leave my flat with my mum and dad in tow, someone's going to know what's going on. What do you think Dean would do with a deserter?"

  Images flashed through George's mind, and he flinched with every one. The skip. The bin bags. The flames. Charred pork was the closest smell he could equate it to: acrid, yet sweet. The burned fat that he associated with smoking corpses came back to him and left the memory of a greasy aftertaste in his mouth.

  Turning to him, Ravi scratched his chin. "Um ... What if ... Um."

  "Just fucking say it, Ravi."

  "What if your sister's dead?"

  Dryness spread through George's throat, and it stuck together when he swallowed. "I've thought about that. Every day. But I don't think she is."

  "Why?"

  "Dunno. A feeling, I guess. Did I tell you she got pregnant just before everything went to shit? Her twelve-week scan was due a few weeks after the politicians left. That was the last time I saw her."

  "So she's due—"

  "Right around now. That's Dean's excuse for not bringing her to me. She's close to full term and is somewhere safe, having the baby. A few months ago it was, 'She's resting up somewhere away from here, George. We need to make sure the baby's healthy, George.' The cunt has been mugging me off for the entire fucking pregnancy.' George wrung the wheel as he gritted his teeth. "Once I know she's safe, I'm going to make sure he fucking pays."

  Crossroads

  The convoy of three trucks continued through the deserted streets. George looked up at the cloudy sky. Grey was fading to black as late afternoon turned into evening. Figures moved in the shadows. The city was coming to life. The beast was waking up.

  Remaining at the back of the convoy, George couldn't avoid looking at Si's truck. The women stared back. The next time he closed his eyes, they'd be there, regarding him with listless accusation.

  After twisting to look out of the back window, Ravi turned to George. "I tell you what though, I wouldn't mind getting hold of the key to the padlock for this truck. God knows my parents could do with the food."

  Raising an eyebrow, George kept his eyes on the road. "He fucked Jason up for leaving the lock unlocked. If you stole the key ..."

  "If I stole the key, I'd be gone in a flash, bruv."

  Tension gripped George's entire upper body, and he frowned at the boy. "Stop calling me 'bruv'. I fucking hate it."

  "Sorry, man."

  That was only mildly better. "But seriously, Dean would never let those keys out of his sight. Dean loves the control those keys give him. He can supply the gang with sex and food. Those stupid bastards don't need much more than that. He's their Pied Piper, although from the way that stupid cunt acts, I'm sure he thinks of himself as their god."

  "It wouldn't surprise me if he did." Lifting his fringe from his eyes, Ravi looked straight ahead. "But there must be a way."

  "Just don't expect me to help you out, boy."

  The silence hung in the car until Ravi broke it, as always. "I think there were families in the last two houses."

  "What?"

  "In the last two houses in that gated community. The ones that we set fire to."

  Even the mention of fire accelerated George's pulse. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

  "I was just thinking about it. Their gardens backed onto the road. They must have watched what was going on and left sharpish. I don't fucking blame them either."

  Scritch! Scritch! Scritch!

  George looked across to see Ravi scratch the little beard that ran along his jaw line. "Why don't you shave that stupid thing off? You're always fucking scratching it."

  Ignoring George's attack, Ravi continued, "Unless they were hidden in the house? Maybe they found a little cubbyhole, and they managed to hide out in it? Maybe they're barbecuing as we speak?"

  A wobble ran through George. Biting down on his bottom lip, he breathed heavily through his nose. There was no way that Ravi could understand what he was saying. It wasn't fair to get angry with him. But the little cunt never knew when to shut the fuck up. Exhaling hard, George looked at the ratty boy. "Do you know what it's like to burn in a house?"

  The smile dropped from Ravi's face, and he shook his head.

  "Well maybe you should think about that before you joke. Imagine seeing your mum and dad burn."

  "That would be fucking horrible. Why would you say that?"

  George didn't respond.

  "At what point do you think the pain stops? Or do you think you feel every second of it? Do you think you're fully conscious as you watch your skin bubble and pop like molten plastic, or do you think you pass out?"

  Scratching the scars on his aching ribs, the memory of charred pork returned to George's sinuses. "Do yourself a favor, Ravi. Learn when to shut the fuck up." When he looked across, he noticed that Ravi was staring at where he was scratching. His jumper had lifted up.

  "How did you get those scars on your ribs?"

  Quickly pulling his jumper down, George stared ahead. "Why do you dress like a cunt?"

  Looking down at himself, Ravi then looked back up with raised eyebrows. "What's wrong with the way I dress?"

  Scanning the streets, George's foot went for the brake when he sa
w the broken traffic lights. Then he eased off. There was no need to make sure the road was clear. It was always clear now. "You look like a prize cunt. That's what's wrong with it."

  "I could never afford nice threads before the world went to shit, so I wear them now." Pointing at his trench coat, Ravi continued, "This is Armani."

  "And?"

  "Armani, George. This is the proper shit. I loved this stuff before everything went to hell, so why can't I indulge a little now?"

  "Because it's January, and you're running around in loafers and a suit."

  "Not being rude or anything," Ravi said, raising the palm of his hand at George, "but your fashion advice doesn't hold much weight with me."

  "What you trying to say, boy?"

  "You look like you're about to go to work on a building site."

  "One word: practical."

  "That is a word, George, you're right."

  "Cheeky cunt."

  While patting George on the shoulder, Ravi laughed. "In all seriousness though, I'm having to watch kids get their fucking heads run over. If I can't wring a little pleasure out of this miserable life, then what's the fucking point?"

  It was painful to admit, but the boy made sense.

  * * *

  Frowning as he drove, George thought about Rory. The red of Si's brake lights suddenly filled his vision, and George stamped on the footbrake. The ABS rattled like an old machine gun, and Ravi slid from his seat.

  Crunch! He hit the window face first.

  Breathing hard, George looked at the explosion of blood on his windscreen. "You'd best fucking clean that up."

  The pathetic-looking Ravi stared up at him from the footwell.

  "And wear a fucking seatbelt next time."

  With blood spilling over the grip he had on his nose, Ravi's swollen eyes pissed water. "Danks!"

  Sitting back, George took deep breaths, his pulse rapid. Then he saw the reason for their stopping. "There's another gang down there."

  Unfolding himself from the floor, Ravi slid back into his seat. Continuing to hold his nose in a pinch, he leaned to the left to see past Si's truck. "Dat ain't good. Dere a bit do close to de dower block."

  The roar of motorbike engines was accompanied by Dean holding his horn. Winding the window down, George poked his head out, the cold biting into his face. There were a few cars, but the majority of the vehicles were motorbikes. There must have been about thirty of them at least.

  When Dean accelerated through the crossroads, which was still busy with traffic, George flinched. Seconds later, the hollow bang of metal connecting with metal went off like a gunshot. A motorcyclist was catapulted into the side of Dean's truck and then fell to the ground.

  Continuing on, Dean's truck crushed the bike. Seconds later, Si did the same.

  Pulling his head back in, the warm air in the truck setting fire to his cold face, George then did the window back up and drove on.

  On their left was a wall of brake lights. Most of the riders sat on their bikes looking behind them. Two of them were running towards their fallen friend. On their right was the lone rider, writhing on the floor and holding his hip. They made eye contact briefly before George continued forwards.

  Crunch!

  If his bike wasn't fucked already, it certainly was now.

  "It looks like dere's more of dem dan dere is of us. We need do get de fuck out of here."

  The convoy sped up, and George fell into line behind them. Checking his mirror, he saw no one was following them. Looking forward again at the caged women, it seemed that half of them were oblivious to what had just happened. Their own personal hell was much deeper and darker than a road accident.

  She was fully aware, however, her stark stare burning bright. Holding eye contact with her, George then looked away. The story behind his scarred ribs wasn't the only secret he was keeping from Ravi.

  Rations

  When George saw the tower block, his stomach sank.

  Twenty-five stories of grey brick.

  Twenty-five stories of misery and oppression.

  Twenty-five stories of memories that a lifetime would never forget.

  But what else could he do? He had to stay here. How else would he get reunited with his sister?

  Within a few minutes, they were smothered by the tower's heavy shadow. The stuffy air in the cab thickened. George's tense neck ached at the base of his skull. Opening the window a crack, he inhaled the rapidly-cooling air, and his throat loosened slightly.

  As the dread eased, George became more aware of the stench of decaying waste. With the passing of time, the gassy stink of decomposition had become a permanent feature of London. Bin bags had initially lined the pavements for weeks. Now, rubbish was simply discarded and flew through the streets like tumbleweeds. The smell was tinged with human excrement and always seemed worse by the tower block. It was almost as if the building's presence was curdling the earth.

  While stuffing tissue up his bloody nose, Ravi leant forwards to look at the sky. "It's always cloudy here."

  "I hadn't noticed that." Craning his neck, George looked up too. "But now that you mention it ... It's never sunny, is it?"

  Pulling the sun visor down, Ravi looked into the small mirror embedded in it and started to wipe the blood from his face. "Not even God smiles down on this place."

  "Ain't that the truth. It's no wonder people like Dean were so angry before the crash."

  Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Ravi stop what he was doing. "How so?"

  "The majority of the people in this shit hole were unemployed and living on the breadline. Our government then came in with a manifesto of hate and resentment. They needed to sort this country out, and 'benefit scum' were the problem. They painted a picture of paradise when they spoke about places like this. According to them, this building was a free ticket. It was an easy option for those too lazy to work. It was a holiday."

  "I'm guessing they'd never been to any of the high-rise blocks."

  George looked up at the building again. "Clearly not."

  "But there were a lot of people who could have gone out and got a job."

  "There were a lot of people who could have worked, sure. But could they have got a job?"

  "What's the difference?" Ravi asked.

  "You've got a quick tongue and a sharp mind."

  Clearly inflated by the comment, Ravi straightened in his seat.

  Smirking, George looked at him. "You also dress like a prize cunt."

  Ravi flipped him the bird.

  "But seriously, I'd imagine that worked in your favor in the old world. I'm sure you interviewed well and came across as a desirable employment prospect. Confidence and front used to go a long way." Lowering his voice, he added, "Although it's likely to get you killed now."

  The leather creaked as Ravi's posture deflated.

  "Most of the people living here wouldn't have even got through the front door of many privately-owned companies let alone had a chance to be interviewed. Getting a job relies on someone deciding you're employable."

  Continuing to clean himself, Ravi sighed. "I suppose I never saw it from that perspective."

  Looking at the block again, George shivered. "Whenever I came to visit my sister here, the feeling of the place stayed with me for days. It sunk into my pores like fried grease."

  "I can imagine it must have been pretty shit."

  "It was. They said living in poverty in this country took years off your life. I wouldn't mind betting that just tapping the postcode of this place into a sat nav gave five years to Satan."

  * * *

  Once they were close to the block, Ravi pointed out of the front window. "What do they hope that shitty fencing will do? A Ford Fiesta could blast a hole in it. Actually, a granny on a mobility scooter could probably knock it down."

  George laughed. "It's easy to put up."

  "It's easy to take down too. That's my point."

  "But it would make one hell of a noise. That and the fact the
re's always someone on guard."

  Sighing, Ravi looked out of the side window. "I fucking hate pulling night watch. Especially in winter."

  A shiver ran through George's body. "Tell me about it. No matter how many layers I put on, I always end up fucking freezing."

  Rolling to a stop behind Si as they waited to enter, George looked at the fences. They were a criss-cross of thin metal rods that gave the top a line of deadly, needle-like spikes. "They're also a fucking nightmare to climb over. Remember that kiddie a few weeks back?"

  "The one that Dean killed?"

  "Yeah, that's the one." Watching Ginge open the front gate, George tapped his impatience on the wheel and then glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of the motorbike gang yet. "That kiddie was Dean's first kill. He went fucking mental after that."

  Ravi pointed at the women in front. "Wasn't he looking for his sister? She's one of the women in there I think."

  "Was he? I don't know," George lied. Being black certainly made it easier to hide a flushing face. Liz stared at George from the cage.

  "Yeah, he was. Dean waited until morning and then caved his skull in right in front of her. He then set fire to him on the floor. That was when he got the idea for the skip."

  A weakness spread through George's muscles as he relived the memory. Liz screaming. The crunch of the hammer. The smell of charred pork.

  No matter how many bodies Dean burned, George would never get used to the experience. Chewing the sick back that lifted in his throat, he then drove through the gate, stopping on the other side so Ravi could get out and close it.

  * * *

  After parking his truck, George got out and lined up with the other men. It was something Dean liked them to do, and it wasn't worth the grief to fight it.

  Returning from closing the gate, Ravi strolled over and stood next to George.