Blood Donors

by Steve Tasane

  Wait in the stairwell, while Sis drag out Muskrat, grumblin’ – she disturbed his meditations. Voices fuzzy in my ears, like I ain’t shaken out all of them bugs from the rubbish chute.

  Down and roun’, down and roun’. Bug bullet holes in the walls aroun’ us. Ain’t nothin’ else but the helter-skelterin’ of our footsteps, Sabretooth’s unclipped claws, clickety-clackin’ roun’ the stairwell, like we an army of hundreds, ready to do battlin’ with the invaders. Who goin’ to try snatch our territory off of us?

  From behind a MISSING DOG poster pinned to a wall, a Megabug suddenly bolt out, waggle its feelers at us, and make a run for it, like it jus’ toyin’ with us.

  Down on the ground floor we see two clowns in boilersuits. They from the council, carryin’ a big toolbox full of crowbars, screwdrivers and spanners.

  Yo say Muskrat.

  Yo answer one of the boilersuits sarcastically. We’re here for the lift?

  Meat men finally got tired of strugglin’ with them bodies up and down the stairs. Persuaded the council come and do somethin’ about it.

  Step this way say Sis, and waves them in.

  The Gates of Hell

  Don’t look like these jokers know how to fix a light bulb in a light fittin’, nor step on no stool to do it, never mind no tower-block lift that ain’t even lifted a finger in months. Still, we lean back against the concrete pillar, fold our arms and watch ’em.

  Boilersuit Number One, sportin’ a ’ceedingly helpful nametag ANDY, frown at us like he thinkin’ What, are we a circus act now, entertainment for the youth?

  Boilersuit Number Two, nametagged RACHID, says Last job of the day, had to be the lousiest. He throws us a filthy look, like we responsible for bustin’ our own lift. He open up his box of tricks, bring out two crowbars and what look like a mega drill. Instead of a point, this tool got extendible metal grips, all snuggled tight like – well, bugs in a rug.

  Sis got a look of great interest on her face as Andy and Rachid huffle and puffle and sweat and grunt, each tryin’ to wedge his crowbar into the middle of the lift doors, get themselves a good grip, persuade them doors to part. Rachid manages to thrust his magical metal wedge into the incey gap between the doors, with a satisfactory smirk. He begins pumpin’ the handles like Edward Scissorhands cuttin’ down a hedge. As he does, the gap in the lift doors gettin’ wider and wider. Andy is leanin’ in, gettin’ all Vin Diesel and Uurghin’ them doors further open with bare hands.

  Suddenly, the doors open fully, ’zackly as they should. Andy and Rachid fall back, as a foulness billows out. They drop their tools, turn and tumble towards us. The foulness overtakes them, reaches us leanin’ comfy ’gainst our pillar. The stink is like the bins behind the butcher’s shop, if you had your head stuffed in ’em, face first. Bug smell.

  Andy pulls himself together first, feeds us a look of disgust. You bloody animals. You don’ deserve housin’. You should be locked in a zoo.

  What? He think this is the smell of the citizens of The Finger havin’ done their business in the lift for six months? Man out of his mind.

  Rachid got himself more together than his workmate. Always the same he mutters, reachin’ into his toolbag, pullin’ out disposable breathin’ mask, and plastic gloves, like they are used to findin’ people’s doin’s when they fixin’ up lifts.

  Hey, Rachid say Sis.

  He stop, turn to look at her.

  You don’ wanna go back there.

  She right say Mus. Bad business.

  Is that so? Andy cuts in. Why don’t you kids do us a favour, go off and loot Argos or something, yeah?

  Listen say Sis, and listen good. We got a big nest of giant bugs somewhere in the building, and smells to me like you might of found it. She puttin’ on her most authoritative voice, doin’ her best to be convincin’. They got any brains, they be convinced. Why don’ one of you fellas get on your radio and call back-up, yeah?

  Do one says Andy. Rachid jus’ grunts, walks towards the lift shaft.

  No Sis shakin’ her head. You do not want to do that.

  You youth tryin’ to give us orders? asks Andy. Why exactly shouldn’t we want to look in the lift shaft?

  The bugs will eat you alive.

  Andy sneers. This level of disbelief been our problem from the minute the bugs first appeared. You a youth, adults jus’ won’ believe you. You a youth from The Finger, you lyin’ with malice.

  I repeat Sis’s words. The bugs will eat you alive.

  Andy shoots razor-blade glare at me, like he thinks I’m darin’ him.

  Watch me he says, walks forward. Rachid steps forward with him.

  Rachid Sis say, they goin’ to eat you alive.

  But he don’ even turn around. They walk slowly forward towards the lip of the lift shaft. Peer in. I admit, I’m grimacin’. They lean in and look down. Now I know what is meant in books when they go on about my heart was in my mouth.

  They squintin’ in, adjustin’ their eyes to the dark. I’m waitin’ for the worst. Andy says Oh, Jesus. Christ.

  What is it? says Rachid.

  It’s…

  Sis catches my eye. She’s ready for everythin’. Got her mobile primed.

  …absolutely disgusting. He take a big step back.

  A nymph, not much past egg stage, crawlin’ out of the shadows. ’Bout four inches long, mostly consistin’ of bloodsack. Little legs ain’t yet fully formed. Sorta wigglin’ more than crawlin’.

  Rachid strides forward. Filth! He stamps his boot down on the nymph, and it disintegrates with a bloody squelch. This whole place is sick he say. You need fumigators. The lot of you.

  I hear a rumble from overhead. Step back. Rumble gettin’ louder. Take two steps back. Andy and Rachid peer upwards into the shaft. Sis starts filming. I run back.

  A big shadow tumbles down from the lift shaft, coverin’ the council men in gloom.

  The shadow is bugs. The shadow is a mass of starvin’ Megas, pourin’ down the lift shaft like baked beans from a tin. Andy and Rachid don’t even get to cuss, jus’ gasp in ’mazement as a ton of Megas fall onto their shoulders, pile around their feet, beginnin’ to climb and bite.

  This is where they been hidin’ all this time, cosyin’ up in the lift shaft. Bidin’.

  Never seen so many bugs. They are a army. They keep droppin’, wave after wave, from the shaft of the lift. A invadin’ force.

  Andy straight away tumble like a slap-sticked clown, pulled in towards the lift. Swallowed.

  Rachid drop to his knees. A bug is crawlin’ over his face, its underbelly mufflin’ his scream. It gouges its claws into his ears, its own face hoverin’ for a second, focusing on his eyes, before plungin’ its proboscis right through, deep into his brain. It sucks.

  Sis stops filming.

  The mass come swarmin’ towards us, crawlin’ along the walls, sweepin’ across the floor, unstoppable as a tsunami tide.

  Ruuuun! yells Sis.

  Sabretooth is way ahead of us.

  Self-Defence Technique Number Four

  We run.

  Past the council van, left with its light blinkin’ like it in a perpetual state of confusion.

  Past the smashed-up fence surroundin’ the smashed-up swings and slides.

  Past the rundown corner shop with its emptied tubs of choc chip.

  Past the scrubby hedge decorated with dog-poo bags. The hedge is officially the end of Finger territory.

  We run towards the local school before Sis look back behind her, and grab a hold of my shoulder. Wait up.

  We stop. Puff and pant and sweat. Eyes dartin’ all around us. Hackles up.

  Whole view eerily quiet. No sign of any Megabugs. Just empty kebab cartons clatterin’ along like tumbleweed. Late-day sun dippin’ down behind distant estates. Gloom descendin’.

  Can’t help it, keep lookin’ down at my feet, sure those beasties be crawlin’ their way up my ankles.

  Mus jabberin’ and shiverin’ like a boy possessed.

  Stop i
t, you two Sis order us. You gettin’ me at it too.

  Fair point. There ain’t no Megas to be seen. Not a single one come pitter-pattin’ after us. Like they not ready yet to show themselves outside the block.

  We catch our breath.

  What we done is: we run away.

  I am yellow.

  Sis starin’ at me with a fierce look on her face. I swear sometimes we can read each other’s brains. Sis ain’t no coward, no more than me. Our families are over there, in The Finger, with the bugs.

  ’Stead of comin’ chasin’ out after us, they gone up. Up towards our homes. Our people.

  Come she say.

  We start runnin’ back, all the while keepin’ our eyes out, scannin’ the territory for the enemy. When we get near to the blinkin’ council van, Sis grab my arm, stop me. She gimme a wink.

  Before I can stop her, she climbs in. Mus leaps in after her. I’m keepin’ lookout, listenin’ to them rummagin’ round inside. Mostly porno mags and beer bottles in here, Marsh say Mus.

  Sis say Here we are. Catch!

  Sis type of girl who throw things at you without checkin’ first that you ready to do some catchin’. I’m used to it, throwin’ my arms up front just in time to receive a Thor-sized claw hammer. I weigh it up in my hands. This could smash a lot of Megas. Safe. Sis climb back out, herself clutchin’ what looks like the baddest-assed nail gun.

  Mustaph clamber after her wearin’ a hard hat and wieldin’ a … Fast Foam Big One?

  Sis fire a practice shot of her nail gun without warnin’, damn near give me a ear piercin’ that I ain’t paid for. Nail appear dead centre of a council notice board, ten feet behind me: NO BALL GAMES. NO CYCLING. NO SKATEBOARDING. NO BARBECUES et cet. Don’t say nothin’ about no nail guns.

  Mustaph squirt his Fast Foam Big One gun at the nail. Foam squirt over it, instantly expandin’ and hardenin’. He grins.

  Sis tuck whole box full of nails inside her hoodie. Gesturin’ back at The Finger, she gimme that look.

  Mus throwin’ Steven Seagal poses with his Foam Gun.

  Sis grins at me. Dare ya?

  Oh yeah, I’m darin’.

  We ain’t runnin’ out on our people, see? Them bugs want a turf war, they goin’ to get a turf war.

  I ain’t gonna let these suckers get anywhere near Mum and Connor.

  I’m a hundred per cent pysched, anticipatin’ diggin’ the claw end of this hammer into a Mega shell, like a old-school oil prospector. Sploosh.

  My head itchin’, itchin’ like I been bit all inside my ears, across the top, round behind my eyes. Scratch it. Scratch it. I got littl’uns tryin’ to escape through my nose, feet ticklin’ me. I push a finger up, squish it against my nostril.

  Listen up. They crawled in my ears. Listen now. Scritch-scritch. Chewin’ and clawin’ through my earwax, burrowin’ in, scritchin’ towards my brains.

  They got inside. They invaded. Scritch scritch. Through our windows and between our sheets and and behind the sink, bitin’ and suckin’ and pooin’ scattershot bullet holes. Blam. Blam. In my head.

  We are bug fodder. Junk.

  Marsh?

  Sis is pullin’ my arms offa my head. I’m scratchin’—

  Marsh!

  We never goin’ to be rid. So we fight…

  Marshall! She squeezin’ my wrists.

  …to the death.

  She pick up the mallet I dropped and she place it back in my hands.

  Swing it she say. Feel.

  I ain’t gonna itch and scratch. I’m gonna swing and smash and shatter and splat.

  Self-Defence Technique Number Four: Total Onslaught.

  We swing open the doors and charge in, tools raised, war cries whoopin’.

  There ain’t zero to see. No Megas. No Andy. No Rachid. Lift doors still wide open, black hole within. Who gonna take a peek inside?

  Mus? I say.

  Uh-unh. No way.

  We all go together say Sis. Have our weapons set. Be ready to strike the second you seen one of ’em. If one of us strikes, we all strike, get me?

  We getcha.

  Step by step, inch by inch. Silence is eerie. Closer. Closer.

  Only thing repellin’ us is the stench. I’m wishin’ we’d grabbed some masks while we was busy toolin’ ourselves up. Too late now. Tryin’ not to breath – tricky, when your heart beatin’ 140 bpm.

  Lift is empty.

  There ain’t nothin’ to hear. No ominous rumblin’ nor creepy pitter-pats.

  They gone.

  Whooh. Mustaph breathe out, long and deep.

  See what else gone too? I say. Our friends Andy and Rachid. Sly Megas gone and hidden their bodies somewhere, so as not to raise the alarm.

  We the ones goin’ to raise the alarm say Sis.

  A lone Megabug dashes out from behind a pillar, makin’ a break for it. Must have been lef’ behind by its mates. Maybe it lef’ behind as a spy.

  SPLOTT!

  Swear I never seen Muskrat move so fast. He like a highly trained assassin. Blob of foam spit straight out the end of his foam gun, hit that Mega directly on its back. Whole thing blow up like a air bag in a car. Nex’ second, there ain’t no bug to see, just one foamy mess. Look like a accident at a bubblegum factory.

  He ain’t got nothin’ to report say Mus, blowin’ imaginary smoke away from the barrel of his gun.

  We movin’ around in small circles, checkin’ all the space around us. It too quiet.

  They gonna pounce?

  Sis hold her hand up for total silence. We listen and we watch. Where they gone? I got my hammer raised, ready for ’em.

  Woof! say Sabe. I know for certain the area is now free of Megas. Sabe only ever barks at enemies once they gone away.

  They gone up. Up into The Finger. Into position.

  It beginning to get dark I say.

  Makin’ their battle formations.

  We runnin’ out of time.

  We race up the stairwell, keepin’ eyes peeled and weapons raised. Don’ see no giant bugs. See plenty of bullet-hole poo. They been here. Maybe they makin’ their way to the outside walls, wait outside all the open windows, pounce as one when darkness falls.

  We reach the seventh floor, still no sign of where they hidin’ out. Mus say I’m goin’ to try and persuade my folks to leave. Figure somewhere for ’em to go.

  Sis say Wait up. She bring out her phone. I send you the film of the lift men, so your family more easy to persuade.

  Ain’t got no phone, have I? shrug Mus.

  How many times I told you you need a phone? I tusk.

  He shrug again.

  Sis I say, you gonna send that film to your whole address book? Ain’t no one gonna doubt us now.

  She press a button. Is done.

  Now we in business. I put a hand on Mustaph’s shoulder. Good luck, yeah? And thanks, Mus. Maybe we’ll meet up tomorrow, when everyone safe.

  What you talkin’ about? He give me his affronted look. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Get my folks out is all. You think I’m goin’ to bail on you now? We got work to do.

  Thought you hated work, Musky? Sis say.

  Certainly. But – he blow a big raspberry – sometimes there just ain’t no dodgin’ it. Meet you in Sis’s place, yeah?

  That my boy.

  We all slippin’ skin. Bugs ain’t goin’ to beat us. Ain’t got no chance.

  Come say Sis, and me, her and the dog run on up.

  It is time to bring Mum on side.

  Laughing Stock of the Cop Shop

  She ain’t in.

  Where is she? She always in. Con-Con ain’t here either. Where are they? Me and Sis search the flat from top to bottom, Sabre sniffin’ for ’em also.

  I phone her. Her phone rings on the kitchen table. Why ain’t she taken it with her, wherever she gone?

  I don’ like it, Sis. I don’ like it at all.

  Sis try and sound all reassurin’. She probably jus’ down the corner shop, is all, taken your bro with her so she know he saf
e.

  She plonk herself down on the sofa. Let’s jus’ sit and wait a while. I’ll see if I can get through to Big Auntie, yeah? Make sure she got the video.

  But before Sis gets chance to call Big Auntie, there’s a hammerin’ at the door. I almos’ leap out of my skin.

  I pick up the hammer and I’m ready to use it.

  I pull open the door.

  Wish I had a thinkin’ brain as well as a battlin’ one. Before I even realize my name ain’t Clever Trevor, my hammer is lyin’ on the floor and I got hands on my collar shovin’ me up agains’ the door.

  Compo. He was expectin’ me.

  Maybe he was too quick for me, but I should have anticipated it, yeah? Gonna end up gettin’ my blood slurped by Megas if I don’t sharpen myself up, leave Con-Con as a only child. Punch my own head if I had a hand free.

  Found you he say. He got the bug schnozzle in his hand from before, and wavin’ it furiously in front of my face, like I am the fool and not him. You let me make a right berk of myself, didn’t you! he yells.

  Easy, Officer Cotton. Sis raise her nail gun, and set Compo in her sights. Nice and easy, you don’ want to see me display my DIY skills, do you now?

  I do. I could happily picture old Compo gettin’ nailed to the wall, like a certificate of top neighbourliness.

  Easy girl echo Compo, nice and careful, like he an expert on this type of negotiable situation.

  No Sis insist. You take it easy. We got two more men been taken by the giant bugs, and now they lyin’ in wait for the rest of us. That’s why we armed. That’s why we on the same side as you. Get me? You want the video evidence?

  No need says Compo. That’s why I’ve been seeking you out.

  What you mean? say Sis.

  Put down the gun and I’ll tell you.

  Put down my friend and I’ll put down my gun.

  Compo show he a man of perfec’ manners. He even straighten my shirt for me. Then he wave the bug schnozzle in front of our noses. You two know how much humiliation you’ve caused me with this?

  I laugh. Told you it wasn’t no drug pipe.

  So I was told, after I handed it over to the drug squad. Imagine that?

  Me and Sis can’t help but share a giggle. Boy, is Compo in a fluster. He stamp his feet, he so agitated.