The Survival Game

by Stavro Yianni

  The demon bomber jacket bod pulsed the trigger of his gun. It exploded like Chinese firecrackers. John ducked down. Dread I’s head snapped round to the side and at first, John thought the malaka caught one right in the forehead. When he saw Dread I reach up, grab his cheek, and bend over, he realised it was just a flesh wound—at least by Dead I’s standards. But now with Dread I bent down and out of the picture, John was fully exposed to the gunfire.

  His instincts tweaked. He hurdled Dread I, put his head down, and steamed forwards, letting out a tiger-like roar. He didn’t give the demon bod a second to react. Instead, he slammed right into his chest like a human juggernaut, making it cave in. He used his momentum to carry on going for a few seconds, pushing the bod along the balcony with him, feeling the tendons in his neck strain. Before the bod could get a chance to try and fight back, John propelled his arms up and out to the side. The force was enough to push the bod over to the balcony railing and topple him over it. There was a last-ditch instinctive reaction as the bod managed to grab hold of John’s coat. He clung to it for dear life, stopping himself from going over the edge, almost taking John’s coat off his back in the process. John just wanted to get the malaka off him and send him over the edge, so he stiffened his back as hard as he could, getting his body to swing upwards. The back of his head caught the bod square on the chin so hard and true, John felt the bod’s teeth crunch together under the pressure. The blow stole the wind from the bod, the strength leaving his body for just a second, giving John the perfect opportunity to give him one final shove. He chopped the bod’s hands away Bruce Lee style, snapping their grip on his coat, and he gave him one final hard shoulder barge. The bod toppled again, his arms flailing. However, this time he couldn’t grab onto anything and as a result, he completely lost his balance. He fell backwards over the railing, going over head first, letting out a final yell for good measure. John grabbed onto the railing and watched bug-eyed as the bod landed into one of the tanks with a loud splash. He quickly came to the surface soon after, splashing around, shouting for help.

  Valeria raced over to the railing and stared down at him with terrified eyes. ‘Stefan!’ she shouted. ‘Stefan!’

  Stefan dropped below the surface of the chemicals like he was Augustsus Gloop. He didn’t come back.

  Valeria then crumpled in a heap, staring blankly at the air ahead of her like some kind of mental patient.

  John puffed his cheeks and turned his attention from the tank to Valeria. She was where exactly he wanted her and they needed to get out, pronto. He advanced on her. Her head snapped up and she stared at him with scared eyes. In the next instant, she jumped to her feet and got her leg over the railing. She was trying to jump over.

  ‘No you don’t!’ John said. He sprang forwards like a panther and managed to grab onto her ankle, which was now up on the railing. Valeria yelped. She tried to kick him off, but John gripped her ankle vice-like. With a grunt, he yanked hard. She fell backwards, landing onto the safety of the balcony. He darted over to where she lay and grabbed her under the arms, locking his own arms up like he was attempting to wrestle a bear. She squirmed like an eel, but his grip was too tight and he managed to keep hold of her. By then, Dread I had staggered over drunkenly, holding onto his cheek, blood oozing out between his fingers. But they had no time to bleed.

  ‘Grab her legs!’ John shouted to him.

  Dread I sprang into life. He jumped over and grabbed up her legs, a grimace on his bloody face.

  Valeria let out a scream. John muffled it with his hand.

  ‘Okay, bredda,’ Dread I said in between big long breaths. ‘Let’s go!’

  John started taking strides backwards, Dread I going forwards, Valeria held between them like they were removal men taking a coffee table out to the van. By then, intense fires were blazing all around them, and they were the last people left in the factory. Any surviving workers and bomber jackets had escaped, their own crew long gone. They reached the bottom of the steps, just as the fires next to them started roaring. The place was engulfed and if they stayed in there any longer, they’d be burnt to a crisp.

  John put his head down just as he got a lungful of smoke. He pumped his legs hard, racing for the parking bay, coughing and splurting like he’d just smoked a thousand cigarra at once, while dodging flames as best he could. The heat from the fire was suddenly unbearable, the smoke so thick, he thought for a grim second he wasn’t gonna make it.

  Just a little more, re! Hold it together!

  They made it to the garage partition door, triggering off the sensor through the smoke. It lifted painfully slow, but when it raised just enough, they finally burst out into the sanctity of the parking bay. The cool, wet outside air coming through the open garage door hit his face and it was heavenly. So fresh, so clean. He never thought Britain’s cold, wet climate could ever feel so fucking good.

  He coughed out the final smoke from his lungs and took a look around. It was carnage in the rain. Their crew were escaping the scene, running here and there like flies, shouting and shooting, cars starting up and skidding away. The place was hot. They had to get out of the area ASAP before any locals came along to see what was happening.

  Out of the corner of his eye, John clocked Sagat racing past ’em in his car. He instantly dropped Valeria and jumped into the road ahead of him, waving his arms around frantically. Sagat’s car skidded to an abrupt halt just ahead of him, the front bumper lightly clipping his legs. If Sagat hadn’t seen him in time and braked, they would’ve been sliced clean off.

  John smashed his hand on the roof. ‘Open up the boot!’ he shouted, coughing his lungs up. ‘Open up the fucking boot!’

  One of Sagat’s boys jumped out of the car and raced for the boot to open it up for him. Dread I had Valeria in a full nelson and was forcing her towards the car.

  When Dread I made it over, John bent down and grabbed her legs, getting a foot in the face for his trouble. ‘Fucking putana!’ he shouted as he flipped her legs up into his arms.

  They roughly stuffed Valeria into the waiting boot. She hit the boot floor with a yelp, instantly spinning her head round to face them. Just as her mouth opened up to scream, John slammed the boot shut and locked it, wiping sooty grime and rain from his forehead afterwards.

  Valeria began banging her fists on the roof of the boot.

  ‘Fucking shut it!’ John shouted and smashed his open palm down on top of it.

  She stopped her banging and it finally gave John a chance to take a breather. He turned and stared at Neocrema. Thick black smoke was billowing out from beneath the garage door. If they were still in there right then, they’d be barbequed.

  ‘Get in the fockin’ car, bredda!’ Dread I then shouted, making John’s head snap back round.

  Dread I was hanging out of the front passenger door, pointing at the back door, which then swung open. John dived straight in. The engine roared into life and Sagat wheel-spun away. He rapidly picked up speed, dodging any people loitering in the road. They zipped through the backstreets of Tottenham Hale away from the scene, all of them tense, paranoid, looking nervously around like crack fiends, expecting to see astinomia on their tail at any second.

  Sagat made it onto the High Road and quickly blended in with the other traffic, weaving in and out of it. Now, they could start to relax. Job done.

  The mission was a resounding success on all fronts—a decisive victory—and they’d made it out alive.

  John slapped his hand on his head and laughed hard to himself like he was some kind of madman.

  That was so fucking intense, gamota! So fucking crazy, so fucking surreal, so fucking… exciting…

  He began laughing louder, harder, and Dread I’s rusty blade cackle joined in. Soon after, they were all laughing.

  ‘Whoo, what a rush, huh, bredda?’ Dread I said, his laughter intensifying.

  John nodded his head in agreement. ‘You better fucking believe it, bruv!’ he said, slapping the back of Dread I’s seat.

&nbs
p; His chest then caved, relaxing for the first time that day and he fell back, puffing his cheeks in exasperation.

  They raced through the streets of north London, pumped up on adrenaline, drugs and violence, buzzing their nuts off, their prisoner in the boot, ready for questioning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They took her back to the weapons cache, where they strapped her into the dentist’s chair for interrogation.

  Dread I went over to the toolbox on a nearby shelf, gripping his left arm tightly as if it were about to fall off. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers and dribbling onto the floor. Now that the adrenaline rush of the previous hour had subsided, any sustained injuries began to make their presence known. John knew it wasn’t the first time Dread I had taken bullets during action (luckily for him this one was just an in-out, so it could’ve been stinging a helluva lot more), but he still felt the pain regardless, meaning he was human and not some kind of demon like those malakes back at Sagat’s were saying.

  John glanced at Valeria, who was trying her best to get a look over her shoulder at what Dread I was doing at the back of the garage. Her chest was heaving, John surmised through fear, and he could sense that she was more scared of the Yardie than the Greek. Much more scared.

  Dread I finally stopped sifting through the toolbox and turned around, something clutched in his hand, his snake dreads acting wild as if they’d each been given a fresh shot of adrenaline. He went and stood ahead of Valeria—who watched him all the way like a hawk—and next to John. Dread I stared at Valeria with his dead eyes. She stared back with her piercing, scared eyes. John could tell by the wideness of those eyes that she sensed something bad was about to happen. Something that she was powerless against.

  ‘Know what we do ’ere?’ Dread I asked her in an abrupt tone.

  Valeria didn’t answer; she just stared.

  Dread I lifted up what he was holding so she could see. It was a pair of pliers. ‘We play games. Mi favourite be dentistry. Ya get me?’

  Valeria just stared at him, unblinking. She probably couldn’t understand a word he was saying anyway, but most likely understood the pliers in his hand perfectly.

  ‘Now, the rule dem simple,’ Dread I continued. ‘We aks ya question; ya answer. Any wrong answer…’ He opened up the pliers and snapped them shut. ‘And out come a tooth. Ya unnerstand?’

  She just kept on staring, not uttering a word.

  ‘Where’s Marek?’ John then asked, and for the first time, her eyes left Dread I and focussed on him.

  ‘Nice to see you again, John Evangelou. I’m very pleased to see you made full recovery…’

  John flinched back. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘The police know it was you who killed my father,’ she replied with a gleam in her eye and a look of disgust on her face.

  John stared at her open-mouthed. ‘I killed your father?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied with an ironic chuckle. ‘You left your fingerprints all over his house like the idiot you are…’

  John glanced at Dread I, then back to Valeria, who was now staring at him with contempt tattooed all over her face.

  Astinomia are after me? he thought with mild alarm. Jesus, I’ve been a sitting duck, gamota!

  He looked around the cache as if trying to find answers. He was a wanted man. Wanted for a crime he didn’t commit. It suddenly dawned on him he’d have to find a way round that fact. Sharpish.

  Marek’s the key, re, a voice told him. He’s a wanted man too. You’ll have to bargain with him.

  First I gotta find him, gamota.

  He turned his attention back to Valeria. ‘I’m gonna ask you again,’ he said to her, putting astinomia on the back burner. ‘Where’s Marek?’

  ‘Come here,’ Valeria said. ‘Come…’

  John hesitated before leaning his head forwards.

  ‘Closer,’ she said.

  John leaned in closer.

  ‘Closer,’ she repeated.

  John tutted and leant in further, she was starting to get his back up.

  Now that his face was inches from hers, she craned her neck forwards. ‘Fuck you…’ she whispered in his ear and began to laugh.

  Something inside John snapped like a taut bowstring. His eyes became golf balls and his back straightened. He instantly reached out and grabbed her by the neck. He tensed his arm, wiping that grin off her mug. Valeria’s tongue popped out of her mouth and she began choking.

  ‘Fuck me? Fuck me?’ John shouted as he started throttling her. ‘How about I fuck you! Huh?’

  Valeria’s face began to redden and she struggled under her binds. John squeezed harder and he could feel the build up of blood in her blocked arteries as they tried their best to pump it up to her brain.

  ‘Like that?’ John asked, staring hard into her piercing eyes. ‘I’m finished playing fucking games, Valeria. Okay? So just tell me where Marek is? Where the fuck is he!’

  She went to speak but all that came out were guttural chokes. John threw her head back, letting go of her neck. She instantly began gasping for breath as if she’d just been held under water for ten minutes, her chest heaving.

  John just stared down at her without an ounce of pity inside him. ‘Where’s Marek?’ he asked in a calmer voice.

  Valeria lifted her head and looked him straight on, and John could virtually feel the hate injected into him by those eyes. They were full of poison. ‘Arranging my father’s funeral,’ she replied in a cold tone.

  John turned his head to the side and pushed his tongue firmly into his cheek. Is this putana taking the fucking piss out of me, or what?

  His response was to bring his fist back and thrust it forwards, connecting square on with Valeria’s nose. He felt it flatten under the force. And it felt good. Made up for her trying to mug him off. Valeria’s head snapped backwards and stayed there. John reached out and grabbed the back of her head. He pulled it forwards to meet her stare. Her eyes were now distant, glazed. The poison had vanished and now daydreams had taken over.

  He slapped her lightly on the cheek. ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Come back. Valeria. Come back!’ He kept on shaking her and lightly slapping her for a few seconds more. Slowly, slowly her eyes began to refocus. Blood was now seeping out of her right nostril like a leaky tap. She stared at him with half-closed eyes. John gave her a harder slap and they opened up fully. She was now staring right at him again and her eyes abruptly flushed with fear; she seemed to have underestimated the other bloke in the room. This one was just as dangerous, if not worse.

  ‘I want what Marek stole from me, Valeria,’ John told her, grabbing chunks of her lab coat with both hands. ‘Today! So, you’re gonna tell me where to find him. Okay?’

  Valeria gave him a half-sheepish, half-smug smile, her eyes half-closed once more. ‘He will never give back what he stole,’ she said. ‘Never.’

  ‘Why?’ John asked. ‘What does he want ’em for?’

  Valeria began laughing. It was a tired, mocking laugh. The sound of it wound John up proper and he grabbed her by the neck again.

  Her smile quickly faded and she stared at him with her cold eyes. ‘What do you see?’ she suddenly asked.

  John’s eyes began rolling around uncontrollably in their sockets. The question coming out of the blue like that made something inside him twitch. He suddenly felt as if he’d been stripped naked and his inner world was bare for all to see.

  ‘What things do you see?’ she asked again, and this time, her eyes were now glowing with excitement while she awaited an answer.

  ‘What are you on about?’ John asked, his grip on her neck loosening.

  ‘You see things, don’t you?’ Valeria then asked with a knowing look on her battered face. ‘Things that were not there before. Tell me, what do you see?’

  John licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. ‘What is it?’ he asked back, the hard man act suddenly deserting him. ‘What did you do to me?’

  Valeria smiled again. ‘Aaahhh, yes.
You do see things,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘Tell me what you see. I want to know.’

  John fully let go of her neck and narrowed his eyes. ‘I see good and bad,’ he told her straight up.

  ‘You see truth,’ she replied.

  John’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Truth? What do you mean ‘truth’?’

  ‘This is the reason Polish Government wanted my service, why I ran away from them. They wanted me to make drugs for them. Truth drugs. So they can see real world. To see real truth for when they interrogate people. Fucking communists!’ She turned her head to the side and spat on the ground before looking up at John again. ‘You are my test subject,’ she told him. ‘I injected you with the correct dosage, actually, maybe a little overdosed.’ She chuckled. ‘And now I can assess the results. I knew you would come back to me, the lab rat always does…

  So tell me, what do you see?’ She stared at him with the genuine eagerness of a deranged scientist witnessing the results of a twisted experiment. She’d given him something that night when she shot him with that tranquilliser dart. Something that made him see, as the bitch put it, the truth. He turned his head to see Dread I’s zombie face and snake dreads waving on the air. The expression planted on his mug was one of proper confusion. He had no idea what she was on about.

  Angels and demons is what she’s talking about, re Dread I. Angels and demons. Horns and haloes. We’ve all got one or the other. And some people like yourself… added extras.

  He took a backwards step away from her; she watched him with those eager eyes, blood trickling out of her mashed nose.

  ‘I see the world underneath the world we live in,’ he said to the air ahead of him, then he glanced at her.