Crash III: There's No Place Like Home

by Michael Robertson

  Tears rose in Michael’s eyes, which he wiped away before reading the rest of the letter. “‘I don’t know who the girl is, but she’s more than welcome to come over too. There’s plenty of food to go around.’”

  Michael folded the paper up and then pointed the light at Lola. When he shone it on her face, she shielded her eyes. “Will you turn that fucking thing off?”

  Michael lowered the beam of light to the floor.

  “I said turn it off. If George worked out we were here because the curtains were closed, it’s not going to take a genius to work it out if they see a fucking light.”

  Michael clicked the rubber button and plunged the room into darkness.

  “So what do you think?” Lola said.

  “He killed my dad, Lola.”

  “I know he did, but I get a different vibe from him. He doesn’t seem like the others. I don’t think he kills for fun.”

  “He ran your mum over.”

  “I know that too, and that’s my point.”

  “Huh?”

  “If I can think about taking him up on his offer, with my mum and sister dead, then surely you can consider it too? I think he’s legit.”

  Before he could reply, an engine roared outside. The pair of them rushed over to the window and peered out.

  When he saw the truck, Michael started to shake. It was the truck from the bridge. The truck from the shop. The truck from the warehouse. Why did he turn the damn flashlight on?!

  Stand Off

  Instead of stopping, the truck rolled past and came to a halt by George’s house. They positioned so their headlights shone straight through the front gates.

  Michael's heart jolted and he lost his breath for a second when George appeared. Once he'd regained his composure, he whispered, “There he is; the man who killed my dad.”

  Lola didn’t respond; why should she? She’d lost people too.

  Michael opened the window a crack and Lola glared at him.

  "No one will see what I’m doing,” he whispered. "If there's anyone outside, I bet you they're watching what's going on up there." A cold breeze rushed in, bringing the words of the men with it.

  George shone a spotlight on them. “What the fuck do you want?”

  One of the men got out of the truck and walked toward the gates. Tall and slim, he had pale skin and greasy black hair that looked like he hadn’t washed it since before everything fell apart. “We’ve not come to start anything with you, brother.”

  That voice! Michael's stomach tightened. He'd recognize it anywhere. The man on the bridge. The man who summoned the boys and took them to see Julius.

  “‘Brother’? Because I’m black you think you can call me ‘brother’? You need to wind your neck in, son.”

  The man lowered his head. “I don’t mean any disrespect, man.”

  “Keep your fucking mouth shut then.” George pointed the light in the man’s face. “What the fuck do you want?”

  The man turned away from the strong beam and spoke to the ground. “We’re looking for two kids. The boy’s about nine, and the girl’s about sixteen. You seen them?”

  The stirrings of a panic attack swelled in Michael’s chest, and his bowels threatened to let loose.

  “Why do you want them?” George asked.

  The man straightened his back and stared at George again. “Let us worry about that. You seen them?”

  “What’s he doing?” Michael whispered as George walked closer to the gate.

  Michael smiled when George spat at the man’s feet and said, “Fuck you, you fucking pervert.”

  The man looked like he was going to retaliate until George pointed the barrel of his shotgun through the bars at him. “Don’t think I won’t use this. Now I suggest you turn around and head the fuck home.”

  Although he continued to stare at George, the man backed toward the truck. “Don’t make an enemy of me, brother.”

  When George shoved the barrel of the gun forward, it rattled against the gate. “Call me brother one more time; I dare ya.”

  The two men stared at one another, but the one from the warehouse remained mute. George should end him where he stood. The vile man needed to be wiped from the face of the Earth.

  But he didn’t say it again. Instead, he got back in the truck and they slowly pulled away.

  When the truck was out of sight, Michael and Lola stared at one another. It was Lola who spoke first. “The enemy of my enemy…”

  “Huh?”

  Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Don’t worry. So what do you think? Can we trust him?”

  Michael sighed. “I think we should go and see him in the morning. I think we’ll be safe with him. He’ll protect us.”

  While stroking her chin, Lola nodded. “Agreed. I want you to promise me you won’t tell him about my mum and sister though.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’m being serious, Nearly Eleven, I don’t want him to know who I am. It will only make things awkward.”

  “All right, I promise.” And he meant it.

  Looking back out of the window again, Michael frowned at George’s battered truck. Taking a deep breath did little to settle his churning stomach. Were they really going to see his dad’s killer in the morning?

  Knock Knock

  As ridiculous as they looked, the pink tracksuit and leggings kept Michael snug as they walked up to George's house. By comparison, the only exposed parts of his body—his hands and face—burned in the freezing air. "Are we doing the right thing, Lola?"

  Lola stared straight ahead, her jaw set, her eyes narrowed. She didn't reply.

  As they got closer to the truck, Michael's fear intensified. While chewing the inside of his mouth, he stared at the battered vehicle still loaded with food. A lot of houses must have burned to the ground to stock it so well.

  “I’m not sure we should be here, Lola.”

  “You’ve been bitching since we woke up. If we wait too much longer, it’ll be dark again and we’ll be out on the streets for another night.”

  “I’m just not sure we’re making the right choice. What if it’s a trap?”

  Lola turned to Michael; her shoulders slumped, and she tilted her head to the side in exasperation. “Why would he want to trap us? We’ve already seen he wants nothing to do with those other guys.”

  Flashbacks ran through Michael’s mind; the girls from next door screaming as their dog was beaten to death; Tommy having his head crushed as his mum and dad wailed; the hammer blow to his own dad’s head… trusting this man seemed pretty stupid. “What if he does have something to do with the lot from the warehouse? What if the standoff with them was a ruse to make us think he's friendly?”

  Lola shook her head. “No, I don’t think it was. I don’t believe what we saw was faked. He was ready to shoot that man. Besides, if they wanted to, they could just come and take us. It's not like we'd put up much of a fight against them.”

  It all made sense, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in Michael’s stomach.

  When they arrived at the gates, Lola leaned forward and knocked against the hood of the truck. The loud boom called out in the quiet morning.

  The saliva in Michael's dehydrated mouth had turned into a frothy paste, and when he swallowed, it only made his throat even drier. He debated the value of the bottled water George must have as he stepped back a pace and waited. Although, they could find more water… "We could still run?"

  Before Lola could reply, George appeared.

  There was a quiver in Lola’s voice when she said, “How long have you been there?”

  So much for her saying it would be okay. She doesn’t sound very confident now.

  George was bigger than he’d looked from afar—huge, in fact—and he wore a deep scowl.

  For a moment, George looked from Lola to Michael.

  Pulling at his collar, Michael’s face glowed hot as he looked back at his father’s murderer.

  “I’ve been here for the past few min
utes. If there’s someone sniffing around near my supplies, I like to keep an eye on them; which is how I saw you,” he pointed at Lola, “stealing from my truck the other night.”

  “But I didn’t even realize you were there.”

  “And therein lies the problem, young lady. You need to learn a thing or two about stealth. Now, if you two wait there, I’m going to move this truck so I can open the gates and let you in.”

  The loud roar of the big engine made Michael jump again. He leaned close to Lola and said, "We can still run."

  She acted like she hadn't heard him.

  Having moved the truck out of the way, George left the engine running as he got out and opened the gates. Michael looked at Lola again.

  When she nodded, they both walked forward and entered George’s domain.

  Once inside, George closed the gates behind them and re-parked the truck. When he hopped out of the vehicle, he looked at Michael, his eyebrows pinching in the middle. “I’m sorry, son. I know sorry can’t bring your dad back, but I’m truly sorry. When the dogs sniffed you out, I had to bring someone down with me. Then your dad used my name in front of the group. I had to kill him after that. He was talking to me like he knew me. If I hadn’t taken him out, Dean and his band of fuckwits would have turned on me.”

  The man turned into a large blur as tears ran warm tracks down Michael’s face. “He was hoping you’d save us.”

  George dropped one of his large hands on Michael’s shoulder and squatted down to eye level. Compassion sat in his dark eyes and they were moist with regret. “I couldn’t do anything to help. Dean had my sister hostage and was using it against me. My sister’s pregnant. I had to do what was needed to make sure I’d see her again.”

  Michael looked at the ground; what could he possibly say to George about that?

  Without looking up, he saw George stand and walk back toward the house. “Why don’t you come inside with me? I have food and it’s warm in there.”

  This was it. There was no escaping now. With his tears flowing and nausea tying knots in his stomach, Michael looked at Lola again before they both followed George into the house.

  Guests

  The rapid change in temperature spread prickly heat through Michael’s cheeks. He hadn’t felt this warm since the library. He couldn’t remember the last time before that. The heat came from a small, black woodstove in the center of the open room. The flames glowed through the soot-stained window on its front.

  Without a word to anyone, Lola rushed over and sat cross-legged just inches away from it.

  Michael showed a little more restraint. “Don’t you worry about the smoke being seen from far away?”

  George shrugged. “If anyone wants to find me, I think the truck’s a dead giveaway. I don’t kid myself into thinking that I’m well hidden; the walls in this city have eyes now. What’s the point in trying to hide? I figure that the more open I am, the more people will leave me alone. When you show people you don’t fear them, they tend to back off.”

  “And you’re not scared of them?” Michael asked.

  George shook his head. “Not at all; they’re just little boys with big knives. You tell them to fuck off, and they generally do.”

  His eyes went to the kitchen table and the shotgun lying across it. “Besides, a gun beats a knife every day of the week.”

  Patting the floor next to her, Lola looked up at Michael. “Come on, Nearly Eleven, sit down.”

  Confusion creased George’s face. “Nearly Eleven?”

  “It’s his birthday soon. Ain’t that right, Nearly Eleven?”

  “Oh? What date?”

  Telling the man his birthday seemed too personal too soon. When he looked up at George’s expectant face, Michael blurted out, “February the twentieth.”

  A quick glance at his watch and George said, “It’s March the third today.”

  “Well, what do you know, Eleven?” Lola patted the floor again. “Now, sit down and get warm.”

  Hardwood flooring ran from the front of the house to the back and Michael found it was surprisingly comfortable to sit on. He settled down in front of the fire and welcomed the warmth spreading across his chest and arms.

  George turned and opened a cupboard behind him. “So what do I call you guys?”

  “Lola,” Lola said, and because Michael didn’t reply, she spoke for him. “And Michael.”

  “Nice to meet you; I’m George. I’m glad you guys took me up on my offer. I was saving these in the hope I’d have you as guests at some point.”

  When he turned around, he had a pack of wooden sticks and a bag of marshmallows. “I haven’t taken many things off the truck, but after I’d sent the letter over, I wanted these ready. I really hoped you’d come.”

  It was like Michael’s first night at Scouts when they’d toasted marshmallows and played in the woods. He had come home buzzing, telling his dad he wanted to go every night. But after that first time, he’d spent the next six months helping old women and tying knots. They’d lured him in under the pretense of fun and snatched it away the second his parents signed him up.

  When George offered him both a stick and the open bag of marshmallows, Michael skewered one.

  Lola opened the door to the woodstove, and a rush of heat leaped from it. The sudden increase in temperature dried Michael’s already stinging eyes. His skin tightened slightly as the warmth spread over his face. Michael leaned forward and held his marshmallow over the flame. The slight sting of being too close nipped at his hand holding the stick.

  “Why do you keep all of the food on the truck out there?” Michael asked. “I mean, if you’re not scared of the other men in the city, why don’t you settle in?”

  “I may not be scared of them,” George said, “but I want to be able to move at a moment’s notice should the need arise. This isn’t a permanent home. It’s best not to grow roots in this city.”

  When Michael looked at Lola, she raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'See.'

  Michael’s marshmallow caught fire and he pulled it from the woodstove. Laughing, George took the charred sweet from him, blew the flames out, and gave him the one he’d been toasting. “I’ve had a bit more practice than you. Be careful; it’s hot.”

  Michael turned the perfectly toasted marshmallow, admiring the evenness of its brown outer edge. After blowing on it several times, he took a small bite. The light crust crunched slightly, and the inside had turned into hot, sugary goo. Michael took another bite, resisting the urge to eat the entire thing whole.

  “The truth is,” George said, “I’ve been in this house longer than normal because I’ve always wanted to stay here. Before the world went to shit, I passed it every day. It was one of those places I looked at and imagined myself living in.” A smile lifted his large face. “Weird how things work out, isn’t it?”

  Michael didn’t smile back. When he caught a glimpse of Lola, he saw her glaring at George.

  George pulled his next marshmallow from the fire, spun it on the stick as he examined it, and then pushed it back in again. “I have to ask, Michael, what’s with the outfit?”

  “My clothes got soaked, and this was all we could find in the house we were in.”

  “That’s a rough deal, buddy.”

  Despite the heat of it, Michael put the rest of his marshmallow in his mouth anyway, took a fresh one from the packet, and tried to copy George’s technique. The trick seemed to be to keep it constantly turning because they set alight too easily. “Where’s your sister now, George? You killed my dad so you could rescue her, so where is she?”

  Although Michael felt Lola staring at him, he didn’t look back. Instead, he watched George balk at the question.

  “I don’t know. The complex I was staying in was overrun, and I was the only one who got out. I have no idea where Dean kept her. She could be anywhere, and the chances are she’ll be dead before I find her.” Removing a piece of paper from his top pocket, he passed it to Michael. “All I have is this letter.”


  It was George who was shaking now, the letter trembling at the end of his outstretched arm.

  Michael unfolded it and stared at the blue writing on the white paper. Although she didn’t say anything, Lola watched him, so he cleared his throat and read it aloud. “‘To my Dearest George, I’m writing you this letter to let you know I’m okay. Mostly. I’m as big as a house and I have cankles, but I’m okay. I’m due to give birth any day now, and Dean has me in a safe place. I’ll be able to have your new niece or nephew without any problems. I have good people with me—Dean has seen to that. I’ve heard you’re doing well with getting food sorted out. I’m not surprised because you and Dean are both very resourceful. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine and will be fine. I’m so excited to be a mum and to introduce the little bean to its Uncle George. Take care. All my love and so much more, Sally’.”

  Michael saw the dampness of grief glistening in George’s eyes. Not that it mattered. He didn’t care about George’s feelings. “We thought you’d save us from the rest of the men, but you didn’t.”

  George took a deep breath, steeled himself, and nodded. “I’ll do anything I can to make that up to you. I promise.”

  “I lost the last of my family because of you. It’s sad about your sister, but you did to me what Dean has done to you. You broke my family.”

  “I can see why you’d think that, Michael, but Dean did it for pleasure. I got no joy from what happened with your dad. If you’ll just give me a chance, I promise I’ll do everything within my power to protect you.”