At the end of the line, George poked his head around to see Ravi. The boy was dressed like he was going to a wedding, a new trench coat replacing the bloodied one from the previous day. He was talking to another boy. From where he was stood, George could only see the boy's back. He wasn't one of Dean's gang.
The boy had his hood up. He was tall – at least six feet two inches. There was no way he was any older than twenty. His long, skinny frame was that of a body yet to reach manhood.
"The middle of the night will be a perfect time to do it," Ravi said.
The boy had an urban twang to his words. "I think so too, bruv. Catch 'em while they're sleeping."
"Come when I'm on guard duty. Dean makes us do it on our own, so I'll be able to look the other way and leave the gate open for you."
A deep frown weighed heavy on George's face.
The hood nodded. "So there's plenty of food you say?"
"Yeah. An entire truck full. You'll need to hot-wire it though. The guy that has the keys doesn't let them out of his sight."
There was a metal bar next to George that had previously held a shelf up. Should he end this now? No one was getting his food. No one.
"I can get Brigsy on it. He used to joyride like a mother fucker."
A slimy grin spread across Ravi's face. It then dropped when he said, "Just make sure my mum and dad don't get hurt, yeah? We need to get them out safely. After that, you can do what you want with the block."
"Just your mum and dad? Everyone else is fair game?"
George's stomach lurched when Ravi said, "Yeah. Fuck everyone else up for all I care. Especially Dean." Ravi then added, "Oh, and there's a big black fella called George."
"Yeah?"
"Burn the cunt. He's a smug bastard that thinks I'm a fucking charity case. He's mugged me off one too many fucking times."
The world around George spun, and his guts sank. The bar next to him screamed to be used. The hoodie would drop with one swing. He could then pin Ravi to the floor and squeeze the air from the little cunt's throat. The lack of oxygen would burst the boy's eyeballs like boils.
With adrenaline swimming through his blood, George took calming breaths to pull everything back under control.
A strong, cold wind then carried the smoke of a nearby fire into the supermarket. It aggravated George's dry throat. When he swallowed, it was like drinking dust, and a squirming itch settled on his gag reflex. Holding his breath prevented it from coming out, but it didn't stop his body bucking with silent coughs. Why hadn't he found some water sooner?
"Do any of your crew know about the plan?"
The hood shook. "No. But it won't take much to persuade them to storm the block. Mal's been fucked up from his bike crash. They want blood, fam."
"Good. I can't afford for them to know who I am. If Dean finds out ..."
The tickle set George's tear ducts off, and he had to rub his eyes. He had to cough soon. Picking up a small bolt that was in the fridge, he launched it at a row of shelves that had children's toys on it. It was one of the only shelves in the supermarket that hadn't been ransacked.
The hood twisted towards the loud clang. George saw his face. He was a black kid with thick bags beneath his eyes and withdrawn cheeks. It was the face of an addict. Crack, scag, he wasn't sure, but this boy was a user.
"What the fuck was that?"
Shrugging, Ravi looked in the direction of the children's toys. "I haven't got a clue. We should get out of here. Are we done?"
The hoodie nodded. "Yeah, we're done."
Until that moment, George hadn't thought about which way the boy would go and quickly searched for somewhere to hide. Fortunately, he headed in the opposite direction.
After scooting back near to the entrance of the supermarket, George let his barking cough loose. It shot around the empty building. Once he'd recovered, he walked back up the aisle like he'd only just entered the place.
When he came to the end of the refrigerators, he turned the corner to find Ravi standing with a crowbar in his hands. Looking at it, George smirked. "That's the second time you've greeted me on the offensive. You expecting a rumble, boy?"
Before Ravi could reply, George looked at their surroundings. "What the fuck are you doing here?" His cough folded him in two again, his throat burning with every explosion. After heaving hard, he stood up and swallowed several times. It did nothing to dispel the taste of smoke on the back of his throat.
All of the blood had drained from Ravi's face. Lowering his weapon, he said, "Um, George. H... h... how are you?"
Clenching his jaw, George stared straight into Ravi's shifty eyes. "I'm looking for water. Have you seen any?"
The boy shook but didn't reply. Before George could ask any more questions, he started coughing again.
When he looked back up, Ravi was still shaking. "So, what are you doing here, boy?"
No response.
Maybe now wasn't the time. Maybe George could take advantage of the chaos if he knew when it was coming. Maybe it could help him get to Sally. Don't be too hasty, George. Giving the boy an out, he said, "Looking for food for your parents?"
Nodding, Ravi's tense frame relaxed a little and he forced a smile. "Yep. They're so hungry at the moment."
"They didn't look good last night."
Silence.
"And they're the only ones that matter to you, eh?"
Ravi's eyes pinched at the sides as if he were trying to understand the meaning behind George's words.
Speaking again before the boy could answer, George said, "So, have you seen anyone else around? This city's like a fucking ghost town."
Looking at the bank of smashed windows that ran along one side of the supermarket, Ravi pointed behind them. "It's getting dark soon, George. I need to go and see if I can find any food. If I stumble across any water, I'll bring you some, okay?"
Talking had irritated George's throat again, and before he could say anything else, another fierce coughing fit grabbed ahold of him. The hacking barks flipped his stomach several times.
By the time George had finished, Ravi had gone. Looking in the direction he'd headed, George muttered, "Slippery little fucker."
Dinner Date Two
Knocking hard against the door sent a sharp echo around the empty hallway. It was surprisingly quiet for early evening. Pulling his hand away, George could feel a slight buzz along his knuckles.
As he stood waiting, drawing shallow breaths to avoid the burn of the bleach, the frigid air surrounding him penetrated his layers of clothes. To try and distract himself from the shiver running through his body, he looked down at his hands, opening and closing them several times. It did nothing to warm them up, and the muscles in them ached from the movement. The absence of fresh food from his diet was making his entire body heavy with lethargy.
Cuddling himself for warmth, his eyes stinging, George considered knocking again before his corrosive environment reduced him to a pile of hair, teeth, and shoes.
The short breaths threw stars in front of George's eyes. Holding off for as long as he could, he eventually gasped to get more air into his body. When the bleach hit the back of his throat, tearing coughs exploded from him. Each one hurt more than the last, and each inhalation dragged more of the chemical air into his body. Bent over double, George spiralled into a choking paralysis.
When the door finally opened in front of him, he looked up at Ravi's slack face, lifted a carrier bag full of food, coughed several more times, and then said, "Surprise."
Turning back to look into his flat, Ravi moved out into the hallway and pulled the door after himself.
Craning his neck, George looked through the small gap that remained. "What's up, Rav? Got something in there you're trying to hide?"
A heavy frown sat on Ravi's face. "No. Why are you here, George? How can I help you?"
"I have some more food to share." Holding the bag up again, he forced a smile. "Your mum's cooking is the best."
Looking up and down the h
allway, Ravi winced and put his finger to his lips. "Shhh."
George didn't care. Ravi would be the one punished for this interaction, not him. All Dean wanted was the slightest excuse to fuck the boy up. However, before he could make any more noise, Mrs. Vadher had pulled the door open and pushed Ravi aside.
"George," she said as she stepped into the corridor and hugged him. She smelled of spice. It had been a long time since George had eaten a good curry.
"Mrs. Vadher, it's lovely to see you." Stepping back, he raised the bag again. "I've bought some more food. I've been craving one of your meals all day." The strong aftertaste of bleach sat in his throat when he swallowed.
Batting the comment away, Ravi's mum giggled and said, "You charmer, George. Come in."
"Do you think that's wise, Mum?" Ravi said. "I'm on the graveyard shift tonight, and I could do with resting up before it."
Staring at the boy, George said, "You've had a busy day today, haven't you, Ravi?"
Batting Ravi's protests away, Mrs. Vadher shook her head. "Nonsense. You're young and fit." She turned to George and winked. "I'm sure you can handle a night shift without having a sit down on the sofa beforehand."
Crossing the flat's threshold, George watched Ravi deflate. As he passed him, he patted the boy on the shoulder and flashed him a broad grin.
* * *
When George looked up from a mouthful of refried beans, he saw Ravi's mum was watching him.
"Sorry it's not better food."
The cold, spicy pulp sat on his tongue. It had the consistency of mashed potatoes, and he could feel a heave lifting up his throat. Trusting Mrs. Vadher's cooking, he swallowed. The delicate mix of spices surprised him. They brought what he assumed would be a bland taste to life. Wasn't that the point of curry? After finishing his mouthful, he smiled. "Don't be. This is lovely. It reminds me of Dahl."
Beaming at George, Mrs. Vadher clapped her hands together. "Very good, George. It is a Dahl recipe." She blushed, "Without the heat to cook it with of course."
Winking, George then shovelled another mouthful. "You've done a sterling job."
When Mrs. Vadher looked across at her son, George saw he was sat at an incredibly poorly-lit part of the table. With the evening settling in, it was hard to see him. There was no way that was a coincidence.
"Ravi," she said, "what's wrong with you tonight? You seem very quiet."
Glancing at his dad, as if to point out his stealthy approach to mealtimes, Ravi shrugged. "Just resting up, Mum." He then looked at the line of clocks on the mantelpiece – they all showed it was five o'clock in the evening. "I have a long night ahead of me."
While staring at the boy, George raised his eyebrows. "You've got to be extra vigilant on night duty, eh?" He looked at Ravi's mum. "If anyone was to overrun the block, they'd surely do it when everyone was sleeping." Looking back at the boy, he watched him drop his eyes to his dinner plate. "Don't you think, Ravi?"
Mrs. Vadher put her hand on her chest. "Oh, it doesn't bear thinking about. That would be horrible if we were attacked."
"Don't worry," leaning over, George clapped Ravi hard on the back. "We've got one of our best men on the job tonight." Sliding a candle across the table threw the flickering light on Ravi's face. "He'll make sure everyone's okay."
Eating another spoonful of Dahl, he watched the boy.
Ravi didn't look up.
The candlelight flickered and animated Ravi's still face as he stared at his plate and ate small dollops of food. Watching him, George saw the slight shift in his eyes every once in a while. He seemed painfully aware of George's scrutiny.
After Ravi put the last spoonful of dinner into his mouth, his mum spoke again. "So where did you go today, son?"
Releasing a booming laugh, George commanded the room's attention. "Didn't he tell you? We bumped into each other at the supermarket." He laughed again, "It sounds like the old days, doesn't it?"
Silence returned to the room.
After staring at George, Mrs. Vadher looked at her son. "He didn't say anything. Which supermarket?"
Before Ravi could reply, George cut him off. "The old Sainsbury's a few miles from here. The city looks like a ghost town now, doesn't it, Ravi?"
Swallowing like he was having difficulty with his food, Ravi nodded and gulped twice more. "Um. Yeah, it does."
"There's that many ghosts out there," George said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "that I was sure I heard Ravi talking to someone when I first walked in."
Mrs. Vadher's mouth hung open. "It's that bad?"
"Tell her, Ravi, I could have sworn I heard all kinds of things while I was out there. Proper conversations." Gripping his knife so tightly it shook in his grip, he looked at Ravi's throat.
Taking a sip of water, Ravi threw a sideways glance at the cutlery in George's hand. "Um. Yeah. It's crazy out there."
"Crazy?" Throwing his head back, George released another booming laugh.
Staring down at the space between them on the table, still not confident to look up at him, Ravi cleared his throat. "Look, George, I need to be getting ready for the night shift now."
Leaning across and slapping her boy on the arm, Mrs. Vadher pointed at George's plate. "Ravi, let George finish his meal."
Lifting his hands, George swallowed the cold and spicy mush in his mouth. "No, no, it's fine, honestly, I was just about to go anyway."
When Ravi stood up, his chair screeched across the floor. "Let me see you out."
Nodding at both of Ravi's parents, George smiled. "Thank you again for having me."
Smiling back, Mrs. Vadher turned her hands to the ceiling. "Anytime, George."
Ravi's dad didn't say anything. Instead, he looked up, his narrow eyes flicking between George and his son.
Once they were at the door, Ravi opened it, the smell of bleach snaking into the flat. "Thanks for coming over, George. We really appreciate the food."
Stepping outside, George then held his hand out to Ravi. "My pleasure. Anything for a mate."
Accepting the handshake, Ravi kept his head bowed. "My mum appreciates it too. Thank you."
Squeezing so hard that Ravi drew a sharp intake of breath, George refused to let go of the boy's hand. "Like I said, anytime. If we can't look out for one another in this hell hole, then why are we even here?"
"I totally agree, George." Yanking his hand away, Ravi then disappeared back into his flat.
Standing before the closed door in the dark hallway, George hawked up some phlegm and spat at it. "Cunt." His word echoed in the empty space.
Prisoner
The tome weighed heavy in George's hands, and the small words were hard to see in the candlelight. The sentences swam on the page in front of his tired eyes. Each blink lasted longer than the last. The story stopped making sense. His head dropped.
Snapping awake, George took a sharp intake of breath, and his eyes flashed open. He couldn't sleep tonight. Not while Ravi was on duty. Folding the corner down on the damp page, tiredness sending a wobble through his hand, he got to his feet.
While yawning, George stretched his arms to the ceiling. A series of pops and clicks sprang from his body. With his senses sharpened from the action, George walked over to his pile of books in a dark corner of the room. There were seven stacks, and each one came up to his chest.
Literature was about the only thing that Dean didn't want a piece of. It was the only thing George could enjoy without the control freak's intervention. It was probably years since the stupid bastard read anything that didn't have tits and sport in it.
The cover of a paperback on the top of the pile closest to him had curled upwards. The damp in the flat got to everything. Pushing a heavy hand down on it, George then looked out of the window. It was quiet. Ravi was standing on his own by the gate. Was he waiting for them?
Pulling his hand away, George sighed when the cover turned up again. These books had only been in the flat for a month, and they were already ruined.
Af
ter retrieving his candle, George hunkered down and shone it on the sides of the books. Waves ran through the pages of each and every one of them. The damp had even got into the first editions at the bottom, despite him stacking at least fifteen to thirty books on each. He'd hoped the pressure would prevent it from happening.
"At least it'll stop me having to carry them when I leave," he said to himself.
Standing up, George pressed his face to the window to look outside again. The frozen glass burned his skin, and he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
The book he was currently reading came from a big house they'd raided last week. Their library was everything he'd ever dreamed of. Shelved books from floor to ceiling. The smell of polished wood. A ladder on runners to access the top shelves. A leather-topped wooden desk with a brass reading light. Its green glass shade looked like something he'd expect to see in an antiquated New York library.
Once he'd entered that room, he became totally lost. Upon leaving it, he tripped over the naked and defiled corpse of a woman and her fully-clothed husband next to her. He should have stayed in the library forever.
Returning to his seat, he slumped down again. The smell of rotting upholstery surrounded him as he picked up his book. It was called The Stand by Stephen King. He'd nearly put it down several times because the post-apocalyptic subject matter was too close to reality. The Dark Man, Randall Flagg, bore a striking resemblance to their own dark man. He was evil personified. A knot sat in George's stomach as he considered the possibility of the devil walking the earth in the form of his brother-in-law.
Reading the next page sent palpitations of anxiety through his chest. But he couldn't stop. Maybe he persevered because of the ray of hope that sprang out of Boulder. Maybe it was the possibility that he would find happiness like Stu and Frannie Goldsmith. George and Liz? He almost laughed at the absurdity of that notion now.
The message that good was stronger than evil made sense. When George looked at the dried blood around the sides of his fingernails, a painful lump rose in his throat. Which was he?
Crash II: Highrise Hell Page 8
