Ghetto

by M L Sparrow

  “You okay?” he asks softly after a minute and I nod, but when he steps back, removing his hands, I grab for them with cold, numb fingers, not quite ready to sever the contact. For a moment his fingers hang limply in mine, his brows drawn in confusion, before his expression smooths over and his fingers enfold my own. Squeezing my hand, he pulls me into his side, tucking me beneath his shoulder as he half turns to address somebody.

  “Did you get him?”

  “‘Course we did,” someone drawls, “he didn’t get far on those stubby little legs.” Several people laugh, but Sin remains unamused.

  “Tie him up and put him somewhere outa the way. I want someone guardin’ him at all times. I’ll come…talk to him later.”

  Sighing, suddenly weary, I lean into Sin’s body, slipping my arms around his waist as I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as my eyes slide closed. There are sounds of assent in response to his decrees and the tramp of boots as people move to carry them out.

  “Sunny,” fingers tilt my chin up, but I keep my eyes closed, “I shoulda asked this first, but are you hurt?”

  Unwilling to abandon the shelter of his arms just yet, I shake my head no, but even as I do so I become aware of a blazing pain in my right side, where Ely kicked me, and the palms of my hands sting. As the pain registers, my fingers spasm open of their own accord, releasing the rough fabric of his shirt where it had been bunched in my fists. Pressing closer despite the daggers sinking into my ribs, I confess my wounds in a soft whisper. Taking one of my hands in his, Sin gently eases open my fingers, examining the torn skin in the watery torch light.

  “Looks nasty, you probably need stitches.” Glancing over his shoulder, he calls to someone, ordering them to, “Find a first aid box.”

  After that Sin slowly begins to steer me back towards the platform and everyone else disperses, going on ahead, except for Kit and Maya, who walk along beside us with Kit silently holding the torch and Maya filling the space with her nervous chatter. For the most part her words are meaningless, but then she screams, jolting me out of my haze.

  “Watch out!”

  Once more, I’m flung to the floor – it seems like I have spent most of the day sprawled in the dirt. The next few seconds pass in a blur. Presumably Kit drops the torch, because there is a clatter and the thin beam of light bounces off the walls, before forming a perfect circle on the ceiling. Grabbing my arm, Maya yanks me to my feet, almost pulling my arm from its socket in the process and making my injured ribs scream in protest. Pressing back against the wall, as out of the way as possible, we watch in dismay as the figures tussle. The tallest of the three, Sin, grabs what I guess is Kit and shoves him out of the way as he tackles the other person.

  On the ground, they wrestle for dominance, grunting and cursing as they trade blows. My hand flies up to my mouth to trap my scream as a knife slashes through the air, but I can’t see who wields it, or who it strikes. They roll across the floor, knocking into Kit as he struggles to his feet. And a second later it’s over.

  Pinning his opponent, Sin forces the knife from Elys’ fingers and puffs, “You’re strong for a runt.” Angry and indignant, struggling to get free, Ely starts to say something, but his words are driven back by Sins’ fist. And just to prove his point, he draws back and does it again. And again.

  “Er… Sin? I think he’s out.” Kit says nervously, though he makes no move to intervene as his foster brother pulls back his arm for another hit. Part of me likes the fact that Ely is getting the snot beaten out of him, but another part of me argues that two wrongs don’t make a right.

  Be that as it may, I still let him get in one more punch before moving forward to grab his arm as he levers it back. “Enough.” Immediately, instinctively, his elbow flies back and if I had been standing directly behind him, instead of to the side, Ely wouldn’t have been the only one with broken teeth.

  Turning his head, Sin surges to his feet, grabbing my shoulders to steady me as I stumble backwards. He looks just as shocked as I am as he stares at me for a long moment, before he rushes out, “Jesus! I’m sorry. Did I… did I hurt you?” The hesitation at the end makes him sound like an insecure child.

  “No,” I hurry to assure him, “you didn’t even touch me.” When he continues to study my face through the darkness, I add, “Promise.”

  Just then we are interrupted by the pounding of feet running towards us. Quickly, Kit scoops up the torch, shining it at the newcomers, a pair of gangly teenagers, both puffing and panting, one with a dark trickle of blood seeping from one nostril.

  “You got ‘im,” the boy with the bloody nose pants, doubling over to brace his hands on his knees.

  “Is it hard,” Sin snaps at him, “to tie someone up?” He doesn’t give the lads a chance to explain before laying into them, “He was bloody unconscious. Where the hell were you? You were supposed to be guardin’ him.”

  “Joe went ta get rope,” the explanation was said with great indignation by the same boy who had previously spoken, “and the little bastard woke up an’ hit me wiv a bloody rock. Knocked me out cold, he did. I’d like ta hit ‘im a few times meself, but looks like any more’d kill ‘im.”

  Grunting a grudging acknowledgment, but issuing no apology for being hasty, Sin nods at the prone body at his feet, his face covered in blood, “Have at him, I don’ give a damn if you kill him.”

  In the end, though the boy looks as if he’s seriously considering the offer, he doesn’t take Sin up on it. Instead the two young guards take Ely off, this time bound with a length of electrical cord they found somewhere, whilst the rest of us continue back towards the platform. It’s only once the firelight reaches us that I see the blood, a dark stain on the front of his shirt. The knife had cut an angry red line across his collarbone. A little further up and it would have split his throat open for his life’s blood to gush out.

  “Oh God, you’re bleeding!” Maya exclaims, just as Kit says, “He got you good.” Someone hurries over with a faded green box and hands it to Sin, but Kit quickly snatches it from him.

  “Sit,” he points to the floor, “I’ll patch you up.”

  “Sort her out first,” Sin nods firmly in my direction, but Kit shakes his head.

  “No, yours is worse.”

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Around us people begin to whisper and mutter among themselves as the two brothers argue; nobody else would dare speak to their leader like that, in fact, most of them barely spoke to him at all. Eyes narrowing momentarily, Sin glares at Kit, but then he makes a sound of reluctant defeat and sits down heavily, looking awkward and uncomfortable with his long legs folded beneath him.

  “Maya. Go get water and clean Sunny’s hand while Kit does this, the last thing we want is for it to get infected.” Which would be easily done, I think to myself, considering how filthy it is down here, not to mention the abundance of rats that call this place home.

  Since the fight, I had been transferred from his arms to Maya’s and now she gives my shoulder a squeeze and slips away. My legs are no longer shaking as badly as they were earlier, to the point that I could barely stand without assistance, but my hands are still trembling. I feel unbalanced and vulnerable, like a lost child, and even though I hate the feeling, instead of attempting to combat it myself, I simply ease closer to Sin, knowing it will go away with his mere presents. As twisted as it is, he made me feel safe.

  Sitting on the floor beside him, so close that our knees touch, I tuck my hands into my lap as he shifts to yank his shirt off over his head so that Kit can better inspect his wound. Returning promptly, Maya passes one of the two bottles of water in her hands over to Kit, who unscrews the cap with deft fingers and wets a clean-ish section of Sin’s scrunched up shirt, using it to wipe away the excess blood and dirt crusting the injury. Wincing, Sin scowls at his brother, but doesn’t utter a word of protest, despite the fact that he isn’t being particularly gentle.

  “E
ase up a little, Kit,” I frown, reaching out to clasp one of Sins’ big hands in mine, pressing them palm to palm and twinging our fingers together. Instead of pulling away, his fingers grip mine tightly. Taking my other hand, Maya washes the gash across my palm.

  “What do you think?” she asks once it’s clean, holding it up for the others to see, “Does it need stitches?” Kit pauses his ministrations to have a look and Sin tilts his head in consideration.

  “It don’t look so bad now it’s cleaned up,” he admits, “just put some anti-bac on it and wrap it up.”

  “Okay,” Maya sighs in relief, “good, I can do that. I was not looking forward to sticking a needle in your skin. Needles give me the heebie-jeebies.” She shudders delicately and Sin’s face pales, his fingers briefly tightening around mine.

  “Maya, why don’t we talk about something else?” I suggest, watching his face closely, noticing the tight set of his mouth and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  “Why?” she chirps, dragging the first aid kit closer and flipping open the lid, “Oh, do needles creep you out too?” Needles don’t bother me in the slightest, but I realize that Sin probably doesn’t want his phobia, if that is indeed what it is, advertised for his entire crew to hear; he probably sees it as a weakness that he needs to conceal, so instead I simply nod, mentally willing Maya to let the subject drop, which she does. Rifling through the box, Maya pulls out a small tube with the end rolled up almost all the way to the top.

  “Is this the only box you’ve got?” When Sin nods, she continues, “There’s only a little anti-bac left, if I use it there won’t be enough for you.”

  “That’s fine,” Sin shrugs, “use it.”

  “You need it more,” Kit protests immediately.

  I’m just opening my mouth to agree, when he shakes his head, expression mulish and determined, “No, use the cream on Sunny’s hand, if there’s only a little left there won’t be enough to cover my cut anyway. I’m sure we’ve got some moonshine around here that I could use.” Before he’s even finished speaking the call has gone out and a few minutes later, just as Maya is finishing smothering my palm in stinging white cream and is beginning to wrap it, someone leans over and hands Sin a scarred metal flask before retreating.

  As with the first aid box, Kit takes the flask from him and undoes the top, asking, “Ready?” Gritting his teeth, Sin nods jerkily. Not waiting for further encouragement, Kit sloshes a generous amount of the clear liquid over the seeping slash. It looks like water, but it clearly burns. Sins’ grip almost crushes my fingers and he hisses in a breath between his teeth. Several long seconds later the air comes back out in short, sharp pants.

  “You okay?” I lean in to whisper low. Lips pressed into a thin line, he nods jerkily.

  “Here, bro,” Kit hands him the dented flask, “take a swig before I start.” Hands shaking subtly, Sin lifts it to his lips and takes a hearty gulp, his eyes following Kit’s every move as he rummages in the box, withdrawing what he needs, takes it all out of the packaging and begins to thread the needle.

  Chapter 12

  After we’ve both been patched up, we all relocate to the back of the platform so that we can sit propped up against the wall. Suddenly sleepy, eyelids weighed down with lead, I rest my head on Sins’ shoulder and let myself drift off. At first my sleep is peaceful, but then the nightmare intrudes. It’s not a specific scene or image that plays out in my head, it’s more of a feeling. Blind fear, remembered pain. Helplessness. Surrounded by darkness. Alone, so alone.

  “Hey, wake up.” I’m not so lost in sleep that I can’t recognise the voice as belonging to the real world. Slowly, I force my eyes to peel themselves open. “You were havin’ a bad dream,” Sin states unnecessarily, peering down at me, “you wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.” I croak, noticing the relief that flashes across his face.

  “Do you… want a hug?”

  I hesitate, sniff, then nod, “Yes, please.” Without a word, he lifts his arm to drape it over my shoulders. We sit like that for a moment, uncomfortable and stiff, until I lean into him, replacing my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his torso so that I’m holding him in return. Beneath me, his body seems to relax muscle by individual muscle and several long minutes later he even dares to rest his cheek against the top of my head.

  “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, my hair catching on the blonde stubble covering his jaw when he turns his head slightly, “I’m gunna.”

  “You’re not going to stay up and protect me?” I ask, only half teasing.

  “I’ll wake up if anyone gets too close,” he assures me with a yawn, his warm breath skating over my skin making me shiver, “don’t worry.” And, surprisingly, I don’t.

  I can tell when Sin falls asleep, because his breathing regulates and deepens, and as I look around at the crowd filling the platform, I don’t think there’s any chance of me following suite, however, the next thing I know someone is shouting, “It’s all clear.”

  Sin jolts awake and is on his feet, looking around, bleary eyed but alert, before my mind has even registered that something is going on. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I peer at everyone clambering to their feet; a young boy is weaving through the mass of people yelling at the top of his lungs, “It’s clear to go up! Clear to go home.” Excited chatter follows the proclamation as people get ready to leave, some are even jumping off the platform already and slipping into the tunnels.

  Wide awake now, Sin collars the boy when he walks passed. “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” the boy pulls away and straightens his shirt, looking nervous as he says, “‘course I’m sure. Lee told me. He paid me to come tell ya. He gave me two chocolate bars. See?” He fishes one out of his pocket to show us, explaining, “I eated the other one, but I’m goin’ to share this one wiv me Mam. I might give me brother some, but he was mean to me this mornin’ so I might not. He pushed me down and took my ball,” his young face screws up in childish anger, “he said it was his, but it weren’t. I told him I found it in the junkyard, but he didn’t believe me…”

  Holding up both hands to forestall the tumble of words, Sin says with a hint of amusement, “Calm it, kid. You did good an’ if you come find me tomorrow I’ll give you some’it more than chocolate.”

  “Thanks, Sir!” The boy is thrilled, his face flushing bright red with excitement.

  This time Sin does laugh, a snorted half laugh as he shakes his head and reaches out to ruffle the kid’s messy hair, “I’m no sir, boy.”

  The journey back up to the surface doesn’t seem to take as long as it did coming down, but that probably has something to do with the noisy crowd that accompanies us; nobody even tries to be quiet as they tramp through the tunnels, with planks of burning wood from the fire to light the way, laughing, joking and good-naturedly ribbing anyone who trips. From what I gather there are several enter and exit sites and as we go further groups begin to splinter from the main host. However, when we reach the place where Sin and I first entered the subway there are still too many of us to leave all at once, therefore, we have to wait a while. Now that daylight is visible, a square of light that appears every few minutes as people slip out in twos and threes, I crave the feeling of the sun on my skin. It makes me fidgety and I begin to gnaw at my fingernails.

  Noticing my anxious state, Sin reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it away from my mouth, before saying aloud, “Mind if we cut ahead?” It isn’t really a question and no one is stupid enough to treat it as such. When no protests are forthcoming, he begins guiding me up the dark staircase, holding my hand now with a comfortable ease born of practice, leading me towards where the patch of light will soon appear. Someone pushes the slab up before we get there and pulls themselves up and out. A second later a face appears, a white grin slashing across the man’s face as he thrusts a hand back into the hole.

  “Pass her on up.”

  Standing directly beneath the square opening, Sin commands, “Get on my
shoulders.”

  “No,” I protest, “I’m too heavy, I’ll hurt you.”

  “You’re not that bloody heavy,” he snorts, rolling his eyes and turning to give me his back before crouching down on the step, reach out a hand to steady himself with the banister.

  “Someone almost slit your throat an hour ago.”

  “But he missed, so get on.”

  Just to punctuate his statement, the man above hisses down, “You guys comin’ or what?”

  “We’re comin’,” Sin calls back, then turns his head to look over his shoulder at me, “hurry the hell up. Hold my hands, put your feet on my shoulders, it’s not hard.” Is it bad that I want to poke his bandages just to see him flinch? Despite the urge, I bite my tongue and set my hands in his, letting him steady me as I clamber awkwardly up onto his shoulders. Once I’m up, he stands and I wobble precariously.

  The man, whose name I don’t know, wiggles his fingers at me, “Take me ‘and, love.” My entire body trembles as I force my fingers to release their death grip on Sin’s hand and reach upwards. The movement stretches the skin over my ribs and the sudden flash of pain makes the breath still in my lungs for a moment, before I force myself to keep going. Strong, calloused fingers curl around my wrists. I transfer my other hand from one male to the other.

  “Got her.” A second later, Sin gives me a boost and the other man yanks me upwards. Fresh air hits my face, the breeze ruffling my hair feels like a caress, but then my stomach slams into the lip of the opening. Pain blinds me for a minute and I can’t breathe as I’m dragged onto the street, the rough concrete scraping any exposed skin.

  A hand pats me firmly on the shoulder and the owner asks, “You okay?” The blockage in my throat makes it impossible to speak, so I just nod as I wriggle forward on my elbows to extract my legs from the hole so that Sin can come up.

  By the time he appears, several seconds later, red in the face and panting, I’m sitting cross legged on the ground, rubbing my stomach as I try to catch my breath. Accepting the hand that is offered to help him up, Sin thanks the other guy and helps him replace the pavement slab, then turns to me.