Blood Donors

by Steve Tasane

  All right, all right, it’s not that funny. I’m trying to do my duty here! That’s why I decided to examine it more closely.

  I can see he actually tryin’ not to blush. Never seen Compo so embarrassed. After a mo’, he fix his gaze on Sis, try and give her his mos’ mature, responsible look. It killin’ me tryin’ not to laugh. Young lady he say. Sensible now. Please. Is this … is this or is this not a … proboscis?

  Pow. How long has it taken for us to get someone to finally believe what goin’ down? At last, a adult ready to accep’ the truth. Me and Sis are struck-dumb.

  Compo take that silence as a encouragin’ sign. He go on. Because, when I gave this opinion in my report, the Commander, well, he … he…

  It too much for me. I burst into uncontrollables. Man, I am creasin’ up. Sis starts up too. We are in hysterics. Floodin’ tears. Oh my daze.

  Compo. What a tool. Finally he see sense and what do he do? He present himself as the laughin’ stock of the Cop Shop. He is livid at our laughin’ but we cannot stop.

  A giant bug drops from the ceilin’ onto his head. Two front legs gouge into his cheeks, the proboscis tappin’ against his nose and his mouth tryin’ to find a angle to stab him, paralyze his head.

  Whoah. My hammer is lyin’ on the floor.

  Keep still say Sis.

  Comp is doin’ the Death Fandango. She raises her gun and shoots a nail right between the Mega’s eyes, sendin’ it flyin’ against the door, where it hangs, pinned like a exhibit in a bug display.

  Sabretooth throws me one look of absolute terror. It is his last straw, broke the mongrel’s back. He flip, bolt through the door, up the stairs, fast as he can.

  Sabe! I give Compo one last look. You call the real police, yeah? And you wait here for my mum. Tell her what really goin’ down. You owe me! And I race after my dog.

  I should consider the consequence of racin’ off after Sabre. I am so tired. I do not consider the consequence.

  Top of the Beanstalk

  Far as I’m concerned, ’part from Mum and Con, I got three more family, that Sis, Mus and Sabretooth. We is one and all, and I ain’t leavin’ my dog panicked and alone at the mercy of the Megas. He ain’t goin’ to survive two minutes. I got in my mind what they done to His Maj. Picturin’ the same with Sabes break my heart.

  We got to impose a conclusion to this madness. Finger is our territory, no way we lettin’ some six-leg, red-eye crew take it over. We have final showdown: friends, family against bloodsuckers.

  All we got to do is find where they gone. My mind is pushin’ me. Where are the bugs? If they ain’t hidin’ no more in the lift shaft? Think I know. They hidin’ everywhere now. Squeezin’ through windows, hidin’ ’neath folks’ mattresses, on top of their cupboards, snuggled in the air space between DVD players, Xbox games, sittin’ sneaky in pots and pans beneath the sink, waitin’ to creep out, attach themselves to unsuspecting legs.

  Boundin’ up, my mind pushin’ me, givin’ me grief like I surely deserve. I shoulda done this. I shoulda done that. Whole world gone apocalyptic from the moment I smashed Ashley in his brain-damaged mouth.

  Sabe! I call. Sabe! Heel, boy!

  Stupid dog. Up we race, eleventh, twelfth, past the thirteenth floor, a Empty’s flat cordoned off with police tape. Higher, past a panickin’ family on the fourteenth, brothers, sisters, mum and dad, all of ’em carryin’ bags and cases and lookin’ dazed. They scurry past, like frightened rats. Word got out at last.

  Go easy! I yell. Get as far as you can, yeah?

  One of the boys raise his eyebrows at me in response. Boy I know from school. I’ll text you I add, like a fool. Old habits.

  I speed up the next flight.

  Puff puff puff I’m goin’, exhaustion catchin’ up with me, puttin’ weights on my legs and a clamp on my chest. Puff puff like I smoke cigarettes 40 a day. Ears are wacko, playin’ havoc with my balance. Higher I go, higher, nowhere to go but up in the world. Bug bullet holes blurrin’ past my head, dirty suckers turnin’ whole block into a public toilet.

  Sabretooth! Here, boy! Heel! What Sabe goin’ to do when he get to the top, keep on boundin’ up into the clouds? Dogs never think things through.

  Seventeenth floor, big man on his knees with a axe, choppin’ up a pile of Megas. Mad Gaz, wearin’ only a vest and one sock, choppin’ away like he plannin’ on putting all them Megas in a pie, swivel-eyed and sweaty.

  Nice one, bro.

  Higher. And round. Higher. And round.

  Goin’ against the tide of more and more families packin’ their bags and hurryin’ down. Sis’s video makin’ its impression felt.

  Hearin’ my breath wheezing like I is enjoyin’ full-blown cardiac here on the steps, usin’ cuss words my mum banned from earshot.

  Sabretooth! I yell.

  I am thirteen miles high. I am leavin’ everythin’ behin’, what was my world, goin’ where I don’ know.

  I trip, dodgin’ some fool’s wheelie case.

  My messed-up head whack my balance. Don’t put my hands out in time to break my fall. Nose is coshed full-on by the edge of the stair. BAM!

  Damn if I ain’t now experiencin’ what they mean in books when they say you seein’ stars. My up seem to be down, and my in seem to be out. Ohhh…

  Pair of hands reachin’ round beneath my ribs and my pits, and I’m floatin’ up. Hands be like juggler’s hands, spinnin’ me round like I’m as light as a Empty mus’ be. Hands carryin’ me further up, not down where everyone fleein’. I don’ get it, ’cos as I turn in the air I see my old photograph of Dad that I keep beneath the mattress.

  But it ain’t the same. Face is thinner, hair is greyer. Eyes ain’t got that mischievous spark.

  Whump. My belly landin’ against the muscle of those same broad shoulders. His fingers on the small of my back, keepin’ me balanced. My eyes fuzzying a picture of his back and legs as we jig-jig up and up the final flights. I’m hearin’ his voice. Hello, boy. Hold on tight, ’cos we goin’ right to the top.

  After all these years, here I am, back on my dad’s shoulders. Only it ain’t how I remember it, nor how I imagined it. I ain’t King of the Castle no more. Blood rushin’ down to my head. All I’m seein’ is the end of everythin’. All I’m smellin’ is a sickness, runnin’ right through the block, my friends, my family and me.

  Up we go. My giant dad takin’ me up the top of the beanstalk.

  Intravenous

  Dad don’t smell the same way as I remember. He smell like rank sweat and stale tobacco. Fumin’ from his jacket and his pits, it is nauseous. My dad used to smell like summer mornin’. This is true, I swear.

  He ain’t carryin’ me straight. When I was little it was like we won the World Cup and I was raised on his shoulder, like a proper champ. Right now, he lurchin’ and uneven. Side of my head keep bangin’ against his back, which is feelin’ all knobbled, like somethin’ twisted his bones and they ain’t set straight. My busted nose throbbin’ against his roughness.

  Family pet runnin’ excitedly by our side, like a advert for supermarkets.

  Luckily, he ain’t got far to take me. How Dad know about the Attic Office, I don’t know. Maybe he got the same enquirin’ mind as me and my crew. But here we are, Dad pushin’ open the door and smell of old pee wafting out at us.

  Yap, yap! go the doggie. We be the picture of bliss.

  Dad shrug me off his shoulder onto a dirty old mattress. I’m thinkin’ this the safest place to be, ain’t no Megabug goin’ to be insane enough to hidey-hole in this stinky beddin’.

  Got to get my head straight. Defuzzify myself.

  Dad wedges the door shut behind us. Only my family got brains enough to spot the door behind the corner of the top flat. Just us havin’ fun playin’ hide-n-seek among the smashed-up furniture, away from the illness of the world.

  Dad slump down onto the office chair. I can see he’s knackered. Two flights he carried me up, and he’s done. He give me the appraisals. Look like a school teacher, reti
red due to ill-health. Plonked behind the desk, like he about to teach me a lesson I’ll never forget.

  I’m givin’ him appraisals also.

  He ain’t as gigantic as I remember, nor nowhere near as strong. He doesn’t have my dad’s eyes. He got somebody else’s eyes.

  He says You’ve changed.

  You too.

  He give a twisted smile. Couldn’t believe it when I hear your voice, callin’ out. Bugs after you too?

  Sabes is whinin’, locked out behind the wedged shut door.

  That my dog I say.

  Dad curls his lip. He snapped at me. He pauses. I hate dogs.

  Sabre is my pet.

  Dad don’t answer. We listen to Sabre scratchin’ to be let in. I try and stand, go to the door.

  Leave it.

  I’m exhausted. He safe enough for a minute. How long you been out? Of prison.

  He focuses on the wall behind me. Long enough to get myself sorted. He perk himself up for a moment. Hey, look like I arrive in the nick of time. Come here.

  He fishin’ aroun’ in his pockets and after a moment he bring out a tissue. It is stained. He wipes the blood off my nose. He holds my chin with the tips of his fingers. Inspectin’. He has dirt grimed in his nails. Open my mouth to invite him down to shower, freshen up, and he say:

  How’s your mother?

  His eyes got a gleam. I can’t tell if he’s lookin’ mean or hopeful. I ’member one afternoon, long time ago, sittin’ with Sis and she was tryin’ to explain to me the meanin’ of the word bitter. I couldn’t grasp it. Now I’m sittin’ wonderin’ if the look in my dad’s eye is a bitter look. Corner of his mouth wobble slightly, and I’m sorry for him.

  She got the hump with you I say.

  He don’t say nothin’.

  It is stressful times right now I say.

  Tell me about it.

  We got infestation I say.

  He shake his head. I am the fool. When he say tell me about it he mean you think you got it tough. He don’t mean me to tell him about it.

  So? he say. Bugs get bigger every day. These’re worse than I ever seen, but don’t you worry. We’re safe up here. And I got all I need. All we need.

  What’s he talkin’ about?

  I got a brother I say.

  He don’t say nothin’ to that.

  He’s called Connor.

  He rolls his eyes. Named after his mother.

  I’m wonderin’ if he goin’ to help us. We got a emergency situation down the stairs. Dad fishes around in his pockets. I’m achin’ he say. Too much bug-dodgin’. Bad business. He brings out a stick of chewin’ gum. Looks at me weird and say Want some?

  I shake my head. I wanna know where he been, what he been up to. What are we goin’ to do now that he’s back? We goin’ to fight those Megas side by side?

  I ask him How was it? and he shake his head, sad and slow. Ain’t so bad he say finally, but not like he mean it.

  He’s unwrappin’ his gum, and he shifts his weight and fishes in another pocket, brings out a bottle of water. I realize how thirsty I am and wait for him to offer me some, but he doesn’t. Instead, he unscrews the bottle top and balances it on his knee, pourin’ a tiny bit of water from the bottle into the upturned cap. Then he holds the silver wrap over the cap and taps it. It ain’t gum. I see a white powder sprinklin’ in with the water. It’s like I ain’t in the room no more.

  Mum says you sent letters I blurt, but I ain’t seen any of ’em. Jus’ the last one, the one you typed the address on.

  He don’t say nothin’. Fishes round in his pocket again, brings out a plastic packet. He tears open the end of the packet without even lookin’ at me. I say Are you goin’ to help us? We got a fight on our hands.

  He sighs impatiently and shoots me a cold look, like I’m the biggest disappointment he could ever have had, and my heart is back in my throat. Like when I looked over the ledge of the lift shaft, about to see Rachid and Andy get taken. I’m feelin’ all choked.

  Dad?

  He tosses the end of the packet aside, sticks his fingers in and brings out a syringe.

  My mouth won’t register what my eyes is seein’. You goin’ to help us, Dad? Join us?

  I look at his face, and I’m rememberin’ the photo that I hid under my mattress all this time, but it’s like my brain is takin’ a brand-new picture of him, here and now. Image burnin’ itself right into my retina. Cruel.

  Sabre is whinin’ behin’ the door, remindin’ me we got battle lines drawn. It is time to go.

  You goin’ to join me? Dad spits. I got the best protection you can get. Good stuff. Bug-proof.

  He has depressed the syringe so it’s sucked up all the water and the white powder and he bunches his fist, settin’ his jaw tight, like he psyching himself to punch somebody out. But there ain’t nobody around to punch, only me. He ain’t lookin’ at me though I ain’t there any more. He starin’ at the back of his fist like it the most amazin’ thing in the universe. Then he put the needle to the skin and he forces it in.

  Dad rolls his eyes over to a old wine bottle gatherin’ dust on the floor. He dips his other hand in his pocket and produces one of them multi-purpose knives, flicks up the corkscrew. He loses his grip. It slips from his fingers to the desktop. Least have a drink wi’ me…

  I’m laughin’. Wine bottle ain’t even got a cork or a top. It filled with a yellow liquid that don’ look like wine. I snatch up the pocket knife, wantin’ to cut somethin’. I hack at the tabletop. Pathetic.

  I think about the police. Compo burstin’ through right now, laughin’ his laugh and sayin’ Told you.

  Told you.

  Compo too much respectable to discover the Attic Office. Discoverin’ this den take a criminal mentality.

  I look back at Dad’s face. But his eyes ain’t focused on anythin’ in particular. I ain’t there. The room ain’t even there. And my dad ain’t there.

  My nose throbbin’ from when I bashed it on the stairs, my guts are all mushed up and my eyes are blurrin’.

  Forcin’ myself to focus, get real, but when I do, all I can see is the needle stickin’ out of the back of his hand. The rest of him is gone.

  Payback

  I sit and look at him for a while. My dad. First up, his eyes are still open, but unfocused, like he don’t even know, or care, where he is. Well blissed.

  You never answered my question. How long you been out of jail?

  He still ain’t answerin’, is he?

  How long, Dad? ’Nuff time for Mum to know you out. ’Nuff time for Sis to know. Compo too. ’Nuff time to track me down, score some gear and find yourself a shootin’ gallery. To show me your new face.

  His eyes are droopin’ now. I heard about this. Noddin’ out. Sleepy.

  Yo, Dad, you go sleep, let those bedbugs feast on your juice, before we know it we gon’ have block full of smackhead Megas. This your contribution, your solution?

  Still ain’t answerin’.

  Dad?

  I take out my phone. Shove it in his face. I snap him.

  I ain’t gonna need that crumpled old photo no more. I got this rebranded update version. Up to the minute, high def, all formats.

  Thin line of drool leakin’ out the corner of his mouth.

  Dad?

  Is that what you reckoned then? That all I’d want from you is a hit? That’s all I been missin’ all these years? Now we gonna bond over a shared needle? Happy days.

  Dad?

  His arm is restin’ on the desktop, needle still stickin’ out of his hand.

  I wanna hit the roof. Wanna climb out, stick my head in the clouds. Listen to the voice of The Finger. Howl along. To get to the roof hatch I got to stand on the desk. To stand on the desk I got to clamber over the needle stickin’ in Dad’s hand.

  I’ve had enough. Whole room smells of toxication.

  All the same, I check all the windows firmly closed. Keep the bugs at bay. Not that they gonna want to suck any of his polluted juice anyway. If th
ey did, they be Oh Dearin’ all over the place.

  I’m outta here.

  Stumblin’ down the stairwell like a total meth-head, zigzaggin’ from one wall to the next. With my mutt, my right-hand man. Good boy! Praisin’ him. Maybe he wasn’t jus’ runnin’ scared from the bugs. Maybe he was guidin’ me to see what I had to see. Give the dog a bone.

  Vision gone fuzzy like old-school, bent-aeriel TV. Goin’ down two steps at a time, three steps, back up one, fists knucklin’ the peelin’ paintwork.

  Movement out the corner of my eye, on the wall. One of Mr B’s old red cushions, for me rest my head for a minute.

  Hah.

  Give each other the evils. I see its antenna twitchin’, like it figurin’ whether or not we met before. Did we hang together back in the day?

  It turns, starts to pitter-pat away, slow and easy. Bug is full, had its dinner, not interested.

  Neither am I. We make our way down together, me and my mutt on the steps, bug on the wall. Companionable. Nobody about. All indoors, watchin’ Eastenders, eatin’ their grub. Sittin’ roun’ like a proper family.

  Dad’s knife is bashin’ against my butt, in my pocket, annoyin’ me, windin’ me up deliberately, down one floor, down another – bash bash on my bum, requestin’ trouble.

  I stop, take it out of my pocket and pull out the corkscrew. I slam the bug in the head. Starts tuggin’ backwards with its legs, strugglin’ to pull away. I twist it proper, roun’ and roun’ like it goin’ into a real cork. Screw you. I put my eyes up to the bug’s head, so’s I can gaze at its dyin’ eyes. I’m watchin’ its bloaty bodysack tryin’ to reverse out of trouble, nasty legs wigglin’ and scrattin’ against the paint. It ain’t goin’ nowhere. I keep twistin’ the corkscrew till the bug head screwed right to the wall. When it finally stop wigglin’ I tug the corkscrew straight out, see the sweet red wine spurtin’. The bug fall to the floor with a plop.

  How many more floors down? I keep seein’ Megas out the corner of my eye, but when I look proper they ain’t there.

  Dreamin’ up different ways to slay them Megas. More ways I can think of, the sweeter it gets.

  My phone buzzes. Sis. Yeah, wassup?

  Your mum’s back. She’s safe. Compo’s with her and your bro.