Contents
Title
Copyright
Zombies, Vampires, Aliens, and Oddities - FREE
Cookies
Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo Lola
Shelter
The Darkness
Hanging Out
Tassels
Hang On
Waiting Game
Greasy Pole
Snap
Wind Chime
No Rest for the Rich Kid
Run, Lola, Run
Morning
Watched
Chain Gang
Moving On
Disposal
Stay With Me
Secret Stash
If Your Name's Not Down
House Guests
Welcome to the Neighborhood
Supply Run
Visitors
The Wanderer
The Note
Stand Off
Knock Knock
Guests
Combat
A Good Night's Sleep
Looting
Sell Out
The Warehouse
Escapee
Rat
Vultures
One Fucking Eye Open
Scrambles
Power Shift
Confidence
Plan B
Baton
Attack
Escape
Pretty in Pink
Barbecue Sauce
Breakfast
Sowing
Trade
Community
Ding Dong, the Witch Ain't Dead
Shopping
Trust
Safe
About The Author
Crash III
There’s No Place Like Home
By
Michael Robertson
Website and Newsletter:
http://michaelrobertson.co.uk
Email: [email protected]
Edited by:
Terri King - http://terri-king.wix.com/editing
Sara Jones - www.torchbeareredits.com
And
Amanda Shore of By The Shore Editing
Cover Design by James at GoOnWrite.com
Crash III: There’s No Place Like Home
Michael Robertson
© 2015 Michael Robertson
Crash III: There’s No Place Like Home is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places or things.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Cookies
Michael shivered as another frigid gust of wind tore up the abandoned street, cutting through his many layers. He wouldn’t be able to move if he put any more clothes on, but if the temperature dropped any further, he’d freeze to death.
With his head dropped to avoid the cold blast hitting his face, Michael clenched his jaw and continued doing what he’d being doing for weeks now… he walked. One foot in front of the other—just keep going and things would change… they had to.
The moon hung as a sliver in the sky—a fingernail his dad often called it—surrounded by pinpricks of light in the vast expanse of darkness above. For the first few weeks after electricity had stopped working, Michael would go outside each evening and look up at the stars. The light pollution in London before the crash made stargazing impossible.
It wasn’t long, however, before he gave up on that. Knowledge of every constellation visible to the naked eye didn’t have much use in this world.
As Michael walked, he distracted himself by counting his steps. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four… It didn’t take his mind off the surrounding buildings though. Burned out and abandoned, anything could be inside them, watching him as he passed, lying in wait for the right time to pounce. The monsters and murderers used to live under the bed; now, they lived everywhere.
Before he’d heard the engine, Michael caught the glint of headlights behind him. A quick glance and he saw the truck in the distance. “Damn it.”
If he ran, it would look like he had something worth taking. Instead, Michael looked at the ground as he walked. His back wound tight as the approaching sound of the big engine reverberated off the derelict shop fronts.
With his shadow stretching out before him, he continued counting, adrenalin adding a wobble to his already shivering form. One, two, three, four…
The tension in Michael’s back drove a sharp pain up to the base of his skull.
With the vehicle getting closer, the need to run twitched through every muscle in his body. It was them. It had to be them. Should he just run? But what if it was someone else? The last thing they’d care about was a random kid wandering the streets.
When the truck slowed down next to him, Michael fought the urge to look across. They didn’t need to see his face.
The truck got so close he could touch it if he’d wanted to. It slowed to Michael’s walking pace, and the smell of exhaust fumes caused him to scrunch his nose up.
One, two, three, four…
The scrutiny of the truck driver burned into the side of Michael’s head. If they stopped, he would run. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going back there. Now that he’d escaped, they’d never take him again.
Michael saw a park to his left and shook as he glanced into it. The inky blackness seemed impenetrable, but if it meant avoiding the warehouse again, he’d damn well try…
The loud revving of the big block engine made him jump, his heart damn near exploding, but he kept his eyes lowered. As long as they didn’t recognize him as the escapee from a few weeks ago, maybe they’d leave him alone. What would they do to him if they did realize who he was? What would Julius do?
Seconds later, the driver sped up and the truck peeled off. Enough tension fell from Michael’s back that he heaved a heavy sigh. Thank god.
Although the cold burned his face, Michael kept his head lifted as he watched the red lights of the truck disappear. It can’t have been them. They would have stopped and tried to take him. Sharp panic ran through his chest. Could it be an ambush? No, of course not. Why would they need to ambush a ten-year-old?
Michael cast another glance into the park and bit his bottom lip.
The lights on the back of the truck suddenly glowed bright red. They lit up the street, highlighting the litter skittering across it in the frigid wind. With his breath catching in his throat, Michael shook his head. No way! Not this time. No damn way!
A white light on the back of the truck punched through the thick fog. Didn’t that mean reverse?
The whine of the reversing engine calling out in the still night made his pulse rage. He looked into the park for escape again.
When the truck stopped next to him, Michael fought the urge to look at it. The sound of the electric window on the side closest to him caused him to lift his tense shoulders to his ears.
“Hey, kid.”
The voice was deep—an adult for sure—but it didn’t sound mean like the men he’d escaped from.
Ignoring the man, Michael continued on.
“Kid, what are you doing out t
his late?”
What was he going to do next, ask him where his parents were? His mum was hanging from the banister at home, and his dad was a frozen corpse on his driveway. What did this man want from him? Why didn’t he go away and leave him alone? Wasn’t it obvious that he didn’t want to talk?
“Hey, boy, do you want some food? I have cookies.”
Shaking as he walked, Michael still didn’t look up. The others used the same trick except they offered cake; a large slice of sickly sweet chocolate cake to entice you into their car—the perfect bait for a hungry and lonely boy. Cake was the only pleasure they offered; one sugary treat got you locked in Hell with the others. The memories of the boys’ screams spun through his mind.
Michael jumped when the man sounded the horn. With his hand on his chest, he felt his heart pounding through his many layers of clothes as he turned to the driver of the truck. The man’s lips moved, but the words didn’t register with Michael. George?
The man didn’t seem to recognize him. “That got your attention then? Good! Who are you? What are you doing out this late?”
Michael panted as he stared into the truck, his breath turning to fog in the cold air. Warm urine ran down the inside of both of his thighs and the cold turned it frigid in an instant.
The man’s face changed, and he pointed at him. “Fuck! You’re the boy; the boy in the burning house. The boy whose dad…”
When George popped his door open, Michael bolted into the dark veil of the park next to him.
As he ran, tearing through the darkness at a flat-out sprint, the sound of his own ragged breaths drowned everything else out.
As he risked a look over his shoulder, something snagged his foot. It was like falling with his eyes closed, and all he could do was throw his arms out in front of him.
Fire tore through the palms of his bare hands, and a jolt ran up his arms into both shoulders when he hit the frozen ground.
Despite the pain, Michael crawled forward through the long frozen grass and found a large bush to hide next to. He sat up and gathered his knees into his chest as he watched the entrance to the park.
The light from George’s truck made it easy for Michael to see the man’s silhouette. George threw his hands up and called into the darkness, “Hey, kid, there’s some food on the grass for you.”
The chocolate cake trick all over again. They wouldn’t get him a second time. Fool him once… Michael held his breath as best as he could, his heart aching from the effort, and watched George walk back to his truck.
Michael’s eyes stung as he continued to stare.
The echoed slam of the truck’s door made Michael jump. Seconds later, the engine revved, and the truck pulled away.
Alone and surrounded by darkness, Michael listened to the night. When a fox screamed, he pulled himself into a tighter ball. No matter how many times he heard the chilling sound, he’d never get used to it. It reminded him of a woman being tortured; although foxes seemed to have a better life than most other living creatures now. London had been turned into a place for scavengers—scavengers and abusers.
***
Michael sat on the grass long enough for the frost to melt and soak through his clothes, turning his skin to ice. The sting of pee had left his legs, but he shivered harder now than before.
The cold had wormed into Michael’s joints, sending deep aches into his fingers and knees. If he didn’t get up soon, the sub-zero atmosphere would encase him in its rusty grip.
Even craning his neck hurt, but Michael did it anyway as he looked at the dark exit from the park. Had George really left some food? He certainly got something from his truck and bent down to put it on the ground.
He had to move. If he stayed there much longer, he’d be a frozen corpse by morning. He could go farther into the park and see where he ended up. A shiver snapped through him when he looked behind into the darkness. The utter absence of light pushed against his eyeballs as if trying to take even the concept of visibility from them.
If he went back to the road, he could be a few streets away in no time. No one would find him then; London was a big place. Besides, there might be some food out there.
Michael got to his feet and stretched the aches from his tired body, his bones popping as he reached to the sky.
Despite the combination of tiredness and the fierce wind stinging his eyes, Michael kept them open as he walked. If he blinked, he might miss something. If he missed something, he could be back in the warehouse before he knew it.
Surrounded by shadows, and with the moon too dark to reveal the details of each shrouded form, Michael continued scanning around in case any of them moved. As he walked, the long grass brushed against his legs. It felt like slim fingers grabbing at his ankles.
***
When he got to the edge of the park, Michael looked down at the packet of unopened cookies. A loud gurgle rolled through his stomach, and his mouth watered. He could almost taste the sugar on his tongue.
He heard the footsteps too late. Before he had time to look up, someone crashed into his side, the sting of the impact exploding through his right shoulder.
The cookies slipped from Michael’s hand as he fell. Pain shot through his left side when he landed on the ground, and the weight of the person who’d run into him fell hard on top of him.
Michael’s world went dark.
Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo Lola
A diet of sugar and fizzy pop had left Michael with a permanent headache. It was at its worst when he woke. When he opened one of his eyes, a sharp pain stung his eyeball like he had a metal spike wedged into it.
The first signs of morning lightened the dark sky. Disorientated and freezing, Michael stared up and tried to find his bearings.
When he looked to his right, he saw a girl standing next to him. His entire body snapped tight. Suddenly, the night before came flooding back—the truck, the cookies, the person crashing into him…
Weeks had passed since he’d last seen a girl. Julius didn’t have any at the warehouse. She looked about eighteen years old, but she had her back to him so he couldn’t be sure. A long, brown ponytail rested between her shoulder blades, and she seemed anxious as she watched the road. If he got up now, could he get away from her?
The pain of keeping both eyes open was too much, so Michael closed one. It eased his headache but his heart beat a staccato as he looked up at the tall girl.
The girl brushed her hair back from her forehead and held it there. She turned far enough around for Michael to see her side profile. She was chewing the inside of her mouth.
When she turned to face him, Michael snapped his eyes shut. He pressed them closed so tightly, it had to be obvious he wasn’t still passed out.
The coldness of the ground gripped him and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that forced his breath out with a shudder. When Michael opened his eyes again, he found the girl staring down at him.
The side of her mouth had lifted in a sneer. “I thought you were awake, you little fucker. Nice try though.”
Everything he’d been holding back rushed forward and he shook violently; his voice wavered as he whispered, “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
The sneer turned into a broad grin, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. She then lifted her leg up and pressed her foot against his throat. The grit on her boot tread stung his cold skin.
After another quick look around, she returned her attention to him and the smile slid from her face. “A boy like you, out all alone in the city, could fetch me a pretty penny; don’t you know?”
Michael looked up the girl’s long leg to her face then focused on her standing foot.
“I reckon if I found the right people, you could earn me a fortune. The world’s a very different place now, boy. If I were to guess, I’d say I could trade a month’s worth of food for you. I’ve seen the men in their trucks; you’re fresh meat to them.”
Michael shook his head and the dirt on the bottom of her boot scratched like sandpaper on his ski
n. He looked at her standing leg again.
The girl laughed without smiling. “You were so easy to catch too. You’re the best meal ticket I’ve found in months.”
In one fluid movement, Michael caught the ankle of her standing leg and yanked hard. The pressure lifted from his throat, and she shrieked as she fell backward, hitting the ground with a wheeze.
When Michael scooted away and tried to jump up, his foot slipped on the frozen grass, and he fell to the ground again.
She grabbed his foot in a tight grip. Her face was red, and she grimaced as she kept ahold of him. Kicking out did nothing. If anything, it enraged her further, and she squeezed harder.
The girl flipped him over onto his back and jumped on top of him.
She landed on his chest; the force cut his breath off completely and Michael’s headache returned with a vengeance. The thick throbbing pulse made it feel like his skull would pop.
The weight of her on top of him also drove pain through his shoulder blades. What little energy he had in his body vanished as he tried to buck and writhe to throw her off. “I’m not going back. I’m not,” he cried out.
The girl tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. “Feisty little fucker, ain’t ya?” Fury replaced her sarcasm. “Although clearly not feisty enough.”
His view of the girl above him blurred as he screamed through clenched teeth. “I’m not going back. No way!”
The girl scoffed and shook her head. “What’s wrong with you, boy? You need to toughen up. There ain’t no room for tears in this life.”
Powerless to his buckling lip, Michael’s voice cracked. “I’m not crying.”
When she got off his chest, he wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.
Throwing the packet of cookies down at him, she said, “Here’s your share.”
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