Watching the shimmering shadows in the room, the poor light stinging his eyes, George returned to his book. He needed to know that everything would work out okay. He needed some hope.
* * *
When it became impossible to read for tiredness, George snapped the book shut and screwed his nose up at the damp smell that wafted from the pages. He then put it down on the little table next to him.
Standing up on shaky legs, he walked over to his bed and lifted the covers back. Just before he kicked his shoes off, he realized what he was doing. There was no way he could go to sleep now. Rubbing his face hard to try and banish his exhaustion, he turned around and walked over to the window.
When he pressed his head to the cold glass, his breath caught in his throat. Watching Ravi tease the gate open, he saw ten or so figures, dressed from head to toe in black, slip into the complex.
With his heart pounding, George swallowed hard and shook his head. "Fuck."
The candle barely stayed lit as George rushed to the kitchen. Dropping it on the side a little too heavily, he flinched, expecting the glass container to break. When it didn't, he turned around and lifted his baseball bat, wrapped his grip around the handle, and drew a deep breath. Unlatching the front door, he then blew the candle out.
The stench of bleach momentarily knocked George backwards. Coughing a couple of times, he then reached out into the darkness. His hand found the cold handrail. Taking a moment to compose himself, he then started his hasty descent.
As he moved down the stairs, George dragged his bat along the railings. The vibration buzzed all the way up the handle, an ache nestling in his elbow. An image of Zach doing the same with a stick along fences sprung into his mind. Shaking his head cleared his thoughts, and he continued on.
The clanging rattle rang out in the cavernous hallway like a football clacker. The sound was jarring and cut right through him. If that didn't wake everyone up ...
With his confidence growing, George started taking the stairs two at a time, his weak legs one stumble away from total collapse. "Wake up!" he shouted. "We're being attacked!" The empty hallway threw his call back at him from every angle.
Taking a moment to look up, he saw candles above as people came out into the hallway. Help wouldn't be far behind.
When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he imagined one of the invading gang on the other side of the front doors. Kicking so hard it stung the ball of his foot, George rushed outside with his bat raised.
The outside air set fire to his sinuses, fingers, and ears. Why did he leave his jacket in the flat?
Despite the gang having only just entered the complex, there was already chaos outside. There were men on cars and trucks, bouncing with frenzied excitement like monkeys in a safari park. George's head spun as he struggled to get his bearings, and he nearly tripped over John, who was lying on the ground and clutching his throat.
Leaning over the fallen man, George stared at him. "What's wrong?"
Looking up, John opened and closed his mouth. Spluttering, he kept a grip on his neck.
George could see the light leaving John's bulging eyes. Leaning closer, George saw a dark liquid belching through the gaps in his fingers. The reek of iron hung in the air and George's stomach lurched. There was blood everywhere. "Sorry, mate. There's nothing I can do."
When George looked up, he saw one of the invading gang members running directly at him. Putting the momentum of standing up into his swing, he drove the bat into the stomach of his attacker. The impact ran up his arms and stung his shoulders. The man folded over the bat like a ragdoll, his fingers and toes touching as he bent around the weapon. He then fell to the floor, gasping.
Forgetting the person on the floor, George saw the truck with the women was fine. The food truck wasn't. There were two men going at the padlock while another stood guard.
Shaking his head, George shouted, "No fucking way!"
Charging at the truck with his bat raised, George saw the one standing guard was the guy who'd been talking to Ravi in the supermarket. A quick scan showed him that all of their attackers had the slim builds of boys. There wasn't a fully-grown man among them. It now made sense why the one he hit folded so easily.
As he closed in on the hoodie, the boy raised his chin and pulled his shoulders back. When George got close enough for the boy to see him, his frame sagged. Peter Pan had suddenly realized that he was out of his depth. The crowbar in his hand lowered.
Wringing the bat's handle like he was trying to draw sweat from it, George gritted his teeth and continued on. Fury coiled in his shoulders, and a heavy frown squashed his view of the boy.
However, before he could drive a full-bodied swing at him, Dean and most of the other men burst from the block.
Looking past George, the whites of his eyes catching the moonlight, the hoodie shouted, "We've got to go, lads! This ain't happening tonight!"
Before George got to them, the three of them ran.
Looking around, George saw all of the hoodie's gang heading for the gap in the gate. All except the boy he'd winded. He wasn't going anywhere.
* * *
It was hard with only the moonlight to guide him, but George performed a thorough investigation of the cage. He couldn't see any damage around the padlock, and running his fingers across the cold bars suggested all the welded joints had held. Shaking his head, he laughed to himself. "Useless pricks."
When he looked up, he saw the boy that he'd hit was still lying on the floor. With his hood over his head, he had Ravi sat on his back, pushing his face into the concrete like an over-zealous police officer.
Shivering, the cold wind reminding George again that he should have worn a coat, the big man watched Dean walk over to them. What the fuck was he wearing?
Before he addressed the intruder, Dean pointed at Ginge. "Secure the perimeter, and close the gate." He then pointed at Jason. "You help him."
Leaning down, Dean pulled the boy's hood free.
When he caught sight of the prisoner, George sighed. He wasn't any older than about seventeen. What a waste of a life!
Looking at Ravi, who continued to ride the back of their resistant captive, Dean pointed at him. "Lift him up."
It looked even worse when they got him to his feet. At about five feet nine, he couldn't have weighed any more than ten stone. What was he doing getting mixed up in this bullshit?
Shaking his dishevelled, mousy-brown hair from his eyes, the kid stared at Ravi.
Hooking the boy's chin with his hammer, Dean pulled his head round. "Look at me, not him."
Moving closer, George watched Dean step into the kid's personal space. Standing close enough so a cigarette paper wouldn't pass between them, Dean ground his jaw and looked straight into the boy's eyes.
Having been caught up in his concern for the kid, George then had a proper look at what Dean was wearing. How was he not freezing? He stood in nothing but a large pair of white boxer shorts and his suit jacket. Dean didn't even seem to notice the cold. On closer inspection, George saw the boxer shorts had a Millwall F.C. logo on the leg.
Breathing steam, the psychopath tilted his head to one side. "I was sleeping, you little fucker."
The boy flinched from the words.
"I was having a nice dream until you and your band of fuckwits came in and ruined it."
The boy didn't reply. Instead, he looked at Ravi, who looked away.
"What's your name, son?" Dean asked.
The boy still didn't reply.
Lifting his hammer, Dean pushed the metal head into the boy's face. "You've stretched my patience to breaking already, so you'd best fucking answer my questions before I bury this into your fucking skull." Pointing his hammer at himself, he added, "Do I look like the kind of person that you want to upset?"
The boy slurred his word. "No."
Returning his hammer to the kid's face, Dean pushed so hard the boy had to bend backwards. "What's your name?"
"F... F... Freddie."
> "Well, F... F... Freddie, we've established that I don't look like the kind of person you want to upset. So let me ask you something else. Do I look the kind of person you should rob?"
The butterflies in George's stomach made him nauseous as he watched the boy shake his head so vigorously it looked like he was having a seizure. Why had the boy tried to attack him? He'd given him no other choice but to put him down. Stupid little prick.
Rage seemed to crawl beneath Dean's red skin. "So why did you?" The wobble in his voice suggested that holding himself back was causing him great discomfort.
"Food," Freddie replied, still shaking. "W... we need food."
Turning to George, Dean threw him the keys. "Bring me a chocolate bar."
The large bunch stung as George caught them in his cold hands. He then looked at Dean for a moment; he wasn't his bitch. But if he didn't do it, the boy would surely pay the price.
Returning from the cage, George held the chocolate bar out for Dean. When the semi-naked sociopath grabbed it, George held on longer than he needed to. They stared at one another. Whispering so only Dean could hear, George said, "I ain't your bitch. Next time, go and get it yourself."
After snatching the bar away, Dean glared at George before turning his attention to John on the floor.
Despite not liking the man, a heavy darkness swelled in George's chest as he watched the last few twitches of life slip through him. There had been too many deaths, and there would be too many more.
Silence filled the space, and everyone watched Dean, waiting for him to say something.
When it had gone on for a few minutes, George drew a breath to speak. However, before he could get the words out, Dean shook his head to jolt himself from his daydream and looked up at Freddie. Smiling as if he were high, he asked, "Do you like Snickers bars?"
Narrowing his eyes, Freddie studied the lunatic.
"Well?"
Freddie looked at the corpse and started sobbing.
While holding it out to him, Dean spoke in a soft voice, "Here, take it." It was the voice he'd used on the dog in the cul-de-sac.
Swallowing back the musty taste of damp that was permanently in his throat, George watched on. What was Dean doing?
Reaching out a shaking hand, Freddie took the offered bar.
Wincing, George looked down at Dean's hammer. At any minute now, it was going to end up buried in the side of Freddie's head.
Without taking his attention off Freddie, Dean held his hand out behind him.
Continuing to watch the hammer and the tight grip that Dean had on it, George placed the keys in his open palm.
Whilst still looking at the boy, Dean flicked a key free with one hand and held the bunch in Ravi's direction. "This opens the cage on the truck that we haven't used. Put him in it." He then added, "Oh, and give him a blanket."
"Give him what?"
Flashing a glare at Ravi, Dean lifted his top lip in a snarl. "A blanket. Are you fucking deaf or something?"
With his guts sinking, George watched Ravi grab Freddie and lead him to the truck. Freddie was now crying freely. What the fuck was going on? Why was he playing with him? "He's just a kid, Dean. Just put him out of his misery, will ya?"
Dean's back tensed, but he didn't reply.
Watching Ravi, George wondered when it would come out that he knew the boy. Had Dean already twigged?
When Ravi looked up, he realized George was watching him. Physically sinking, he then looked away. How long would it be before everything unravelled? George needed to make sure he'd found Sally by then.
Waiting around, George saw Ravi lock his friend up and return the keys to Dean. At that same moment, Ginge and Jason returned.
"Anything?" Dean asked.
Shaking his head, Ginge shrugged. "They've all gone."
While scratching his chin, Dean looked around them. "Good. I need you and Jason to stay out here tonight with Ravi. We can't have one person on guard anymore."
Ginge nodded. He was a good soldier. Jason frowned at Ravi.
Looking over at the cage with the women in it, Dean chewed his bottom lip. Rubbing his crotch, his usual filthy smile returned. "All of this drama has made me restless. I need someone to lift my spirits now."
The women withdrew as one.
The smile slid from Dean's face at their reaction. Searching the women in the cage, he pointed. "You."
George's stomach lurched when Liz put her hand on her chest. "Me?"
Before George could speak, Dean shook his head. "No, not you. The new woman. The one with the huge titties."
It was the woman who had told George of the girl's experience at the hands of Dean's gang. It was only now that he noticed the younger of the two sisters was back in the cage. She looked worse than her sibling with her dishevelled hair, cut lips and distant eyes. Glancing at Ginge, George balled his hands into fists. Nasty cunt.
Wagging a finger at Dean, the curvy woman said, "No. No fucking way."
"It ain't a question. If it takes four of us to drag you up there and strap you to the bed, then that's what we'll do, but you're coming. I can be kind if you can be compliant."
George watched on as as her lip bent out of shape.
Walking over to the cage, Dean unlocked the door and clicked his fingers at her. "Come on, love."
Looking at the two girls, the woman got off the truck, gasping when Dean pushed the hammer between her legs. "I can be nice, or I can be nasty." Leaning closer, he spoke in a breathy drawl that made her recoil. "Real fucking nasty. How I am depends entirely on you."
One sharp yank could liberate the hammer, and George could cave Dean's skull in before he'd blinked. But that wasn't the problem. Ending Dean would be easy, but what about Sally?
The woman's head dropped, and her shoulders bounced with the sobs that rippled through her.
After locking the cage, Dean led her to the tower block and spat on John's corpse as he passed him. "Fucking pussy."
The woman shrieked when she looked down at the dead man. Now his hands had fallen away, the long wound on his neck was much easier to see. The moonlight lit the dark, glistening gash, and the horror of his death was evident on his stretched face.
There were just four men left outside, five if you included John. Ravi, Ginge, Jason, and George. The silence was suffocating.
For a moment, George didn't move. He stood staring at Ravi until the boy looked up. They held each other's glares for about thirty seconds before George shook his head. He then followed Dean into the block, stepping over the maimed corpse on the way in.
Burn Baby Burn
George's eyes flashed open and he gasped for breath. With his pulse pounding and his vision swimming, he tried to look around his room. Everything was as it should be. So why did he feel like it wasn't?
The cold had turned his nose and ears numb. Pulling his covers close, he groaned, his heavy limbs willing him to remain in bed.
Frothy saliva had built up in his mouth overnight. When he swallowed, he could taste tar. Sniffing did nothing to stop his nose from running.
The strong winter sun pierced the gap in his curtains, hitting the wall just above his head with the certainty of a laser beam. When he rubbed his face, everything ached.
The odd feeling he'd woken with suddenly made sense. It was morning, and he couldn't hear a thing. There were that many people in the block that someone was usually walking up and down the stairs at any one point. But there was nothing.
Had they gone on a raid without him?
No, not without the food truck.
But where were the keys?
Sitting up so quickly his head spun, George grabbed his jeans from the floor and fished the keys from the pocket.
Staring at them, he shrugged. Where the fuck is everyone?
With aching muscles, a sour taste in his mouth, stinging eyes, and the thick damp of his room clogging his sinuses, George decided to stand up. Anything would make him feel better than he currently did.
Wh
en his bare feet hit the cold, tiled floor, all of the muscles in his body tensed, and he drew a sharp breath. No matter how many times he got out of bed in this place, he was always surprised by just how icy the floor got.
Placing a hand on his chest, his heart thumping against his palm, he took several breaths, the cold air biting into his lungs.
Lifting his hands to rub his face, he noticed the slight traces of dried blood still there.
Taken from his thoughts by a loud knock on the door, George jumped and looked up. The shot of adrenaline quickened his breath, so he allowed it to settle as he stared.
It came again, the sharp crack pulling George's neck tight. The words popped from his dry throat, "Who is it?"
"Si."
Si was Dean's best mate. For this reason, George avoided him at all costs. It was a shame because of all the members in the gang, he was the one that George liked the most. But how could he trust someone so close to that psychopath? "What do you want?"
"Dean wants everyone outside." There was the slight whine of apology to his tone.
Lifting his shoulders in a huge shrug, George then raised his middle finger at the back of the door.
An expectant silence hung in the air.
Mouthing 'fuck off' served no purpose, so he sighed, "Okay, give me five minutes."
Listening to Si's footsteps as he descended the stairs, George stared at the door for a moment longer before muttering, "Cunt," and falling back onto his bed.
* * *
Kicking the swing door open pulled the freezing wind into the building. Shivering, George stepped out into the forecourt. Everyone was outside and staring at him.
Studying the scene, George saw they were all gathered around John's corpse. They'd wrapped him in white blankets, and Dean stood over him, ready to perform whatever fucked up service he thought was appropriate. The first person he looked at was Ravi.
The boy stared back.
Holding his glare, George waited until he looked away.
When Dean clapped his hands together, it cut through George's trance. Clearing his throat, the suited lunatic began. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sign of God, and in the face of this company ..." Looking down at the swaddled John, he paused to compose himself. Tears stood in his dark eyes.
Crash II: Highrise Hell Page 9
