Plebs

by Jim Goforth

  "Everyone met Dennis?" Corey queried, gesturing at the nervous newcomer who managed to drum up a wan smile and a wave for the congregation. "Dennis is our newest member. He's formerly of Haskell's crew so he's now our insider. He's going to be a big help."

  "He's gonna be dead is what he's gonna be!" Bellowed Wesley Drake.

  He'd been feverishly working away at his gag with his tongue and it had fallen away enough at one side to allow him to yell his threat.

  Desiree walked up to him and slapped the tape back over his mouth.

  "One more stunt out of you numbnuts and I will shoot you in the balls," she said calmly, the expression on her face suggesting it wasn't an idle threat.

  "Dennis single is he?" Caroline asked.

  "Yes he is," Corey replied to a chorus of cheers from the unattached women.

  Dennis flushed bright scarlet, but the accompanying grin which traversed his face was priceless.

  The mobile telephone in Blaise's hand suddenly rang, a polyphonic ring tone sounding like some Puff Daddy number, Wesley Drake's preferred choice of music.

  Glancing down Blaise saw the name 'Errol' displayed onscreen.

  "Shit, it's Haskell ringing Drake!"

  Corey had a brainwave.

  "Pass it to Dennis. Dennis, here's your chance."

  "Fuck, what do I say?"

  "Tell him nobody is at Bodyworx. Improvise. Pump him for information."

  "Okay yeah. Okay, I'll try."

  With clumsy shaking hands Dennis caught the telephone Blaise flung to him.

  "Don't fuck up," Lee warned severely, then quieter. "Bet you do fuck up. Hope you do."

  "Hello? Errol?" Dennis answered the phone with.

  "Wes?" Errol Haskell barked. "That you?"

  "No man, it's me. Dennis."

  "Dennis? Where's Wes?"

  "Oh yeah, Wes. He's gone to take a piss. Bet he doesn't wash his hands either." This Dennis said with a malicious smile, gesticulating with an upraised middle finger at the fuming figure of Wesley Drake in the corner.

  "What the hell has that got to do with anything Dennis? Where the fuck are you jokers? What the hell is going on?"

  "Well we went out to Bodyworx, like you said," Dennis explained. "Nobody is there, the van ain't there."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah we went round back and all that, but didn't see nothing."

  "Did you break in? Check out inside?"

  "Well no we didn't do that. The joints got an alarm on it you know and it's one of those back to base ones so we figured that if..."

  "Never mind that," Haskell swiftly cut him off. "Where are you now? Still there?"

  "No, we're..." Dennis looked around wildly, searching for inspiration. "We're just having a feed."

  "What happened to calling me and letting me know what's going on?" Haskell blasted.

  "We figured we'd go have a feed first and then call you and let you know we couldn't find the van," Dennis sounded suitably whiny.

  "Idiots. Next time you call me first. Anyway forget all that. Looks like these fuckers have well and truly hidden my van so forget looking for it. What's happening now is you two clowns hurry up and finish eating and then both of you get your asses out to the Spot. Make sure you tell Wes. Reckon you can handle that?"

  "Sure, but what's happening at the Spot?"

  "Don't worry. You just fucking hurry up and get there. I'll tell you then. See you there."

  With that Haskell hung up leaving Dennis holding the phone to his ear.

  Hanging up himself, Dennis absentmindedly dropped the mobile phone into a coat pocket.

  "He hung up on me!" He exclaimed, though it wasn't as if everybody crammed into the room hadn't already come to that conclusion.

  Dennis stared around the circle of faces, waiting for some confirmation he had done well.

  Blaise provided it.

  "You did good Dennis," she said. "Only, just give me the phone back hey?"

  "Oh yeah. Sorry." Fishing the pocketed phone out, Dennis returned it to Blaise.

  Lee antagonistically stared across the room at Dennis.

  "What's the deal fuckknuckle?" He challenged aggressively. "What did your faggot mate have to say?"

  "He isn't my mate," Dennis retorted.

  "Sure he is," Lee taunted. "You're just playing pig in the middle until you can swing things back their way aren't you?"

  "No, I'm not!" Dennis raised his voice, clenching his fists at his sides.

  "I don't believe a word you say."

  "Leave it alone Lee!" Corey snapped at Lee, irritated by his friends’ constant need to bait Dennis. "Dennis is with us now. He just showed us that."

  "Only 'cause he woulda been shot if he fucked up," Lee seemingly didn't know when to quit.

  "Fucking shut it Lee!" Corey bellowed, and upon that note Lee had nothing further to add.

  With a final stern warning glare at Lee, Corey returned his attention to Dennis.

  "So he bought your story then? What else did he say? Something about the Spot?"

  "Yeah he bought it. Sounded convincing didn't I? Well he said to scrap the plans to find the van; he reckons you've got it too well hidden. He wants me and Drake to go meet him at the Spot once we've finished our 'feed'."

  "Where is the Spot?" Desiree asked, sounding intrigued.

  "Ah that's our hangout. Their hangout," Dennis corrected swiftly, eyeing Lee.

  Corey knew about the Spot.

  It was located on the opposite outskirts of town to the lake, a big sprawling area of land which housed an old abandoned church beyond which lay a massive cemetery.

  The church still stood on the plot, no longer in use and in desperate need of repairs.

  Once upon a time whilst still in use it had been earmarked for the wrecking ball, but a community petition saved its aging structure from a violent death.

  All the same, the people of the church were unable to drum up enough funds for the urgent repairs it required to remain a safe place of worship so the religious folk relocated to a more central placing in town, leaving the old church to wither away under the weather, forgotten by the council and all else.

  Except Errol Haskell and his band of unmerry men.

  They claimed the ancient building and its surrounding grounds as their own turf, safe in the knowledge that as the bordering cemetery had also fallen into disuse they would rarely be bothered.

  Over the years it had come to be known by the degenerates who frequented it as the Spot, though Corey had heard many adjectives such as 'Hot', 'Dead', 'Pussy' and most crudely 'Fucking' placed before the Spot.

  He was certain that any religious types would have considered it sacrilege or blasphemy that a heathen tribe of atheists were now running riot over the hallowed grounds, practising far more unsavoury things than prayers and holy communions.

  "So that's where they're going to be is it?" Desiree asked of Dennis. "The Spot?"

  "Yeah. That's what he said. For us to meet him there. I guess everyone is gonna be there."

  "Excellent work Dennis," Corey commended. "Was that where Haskell was before, at the Spot?"

  "Nope," Dennis shook his head. "When he rung us he said he was right across the street from your house."

  "I thought so," said Corey who had indeed, thought so.

  However Errol Haskell wasn't there any longer; he was either already at the Spot or on his way there for his rendezvous with his crew and possibly Raven's bunch of crazies.

  Maybe even the Plebs.

  There were plenty of places for them to lurk out there.

  Corey wondered why he hadn't considered the Spot previously.

  In actuality it was the perfect place for two sets of assorted lunatics and their posse of mutants to go.

  "You know where the Spot is Corey?" Desiree asked him.

  "Yep," Corey responded. "I know the Spot."

  Thinking about the Spot gave him the absolute creeps.

  There were thousands of places to hide in the cemeter
y alone with its ancient headstones overgrown with sprawling weeds, never mind the church itself and the wild thickets of scrub covering the vacant space outside.

  It was not a very pleasant place to be and though Corey hadn't ever been there once Haskell's tribe claimed the area as their own, he suspected it was twice as unpleasant now.

  A small ball of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach as he anticipated the next words to come from one of the three alpha girls.

  "That's where we're going then," Desiree it was who spoke them. "To the Spot."

  "Yeah!" Blaise enthused and slapped hands with Melissa in a high five. "It's on baby!"

  "Fuck," said Pete succinctly, voicing Corey's fears. "That place fucking freaks me out."

  "Get your guns and shit sorted out people!" Melissa announced to the congregation. "We have a date with some folks."

  An air of trepidation seemed to spread throughout the room, affecting all but Desiree, Blaise and Melissa.

  While these three seemed quite happy, in fact excited, to be making preparations for war, the remainder of the collective were touched by nervous anxiety.

  The miniscule butterflies fluttering around the ball of dread in Corey's stomach now felt as though they had the wingspans of an albatross.

  It was one thing to be here in his own home with the protection of numbers and a multitude of firearms, but quite another to be contemplating taking those numbers and guns right into the lion’s den that was Haskell's lair. Haskell's people now had guns themselves, never mind the dangerous breed that was Raven's gang, unbalanced psychotic killers and what of the Plebs themselves? Mutated humanoids who'd take a bullet and keep coming unless they were hit square in the head?

  Corey had a grim foreboding that whilst last night had been the most horrific of his entire life, it was going to be completely surpassed and eclipsed by tonight.

  It was too late to back out now. Way too late.

  He couldn't have even if he'd wanted to, his was the home which had become the base for the party of survivor girls; a residence which had afforded them food, sanctuary and perhaps most importantly, the means to gather up an awesome arsenal with which they could strike back at their enemies.

  What was more, Corey Somerset knew his name was on both the hit lists of Raven and Errol Haskell and running away or trying to hide wasn't going to take his name off either list.

  There was only one way his name was going to be scratched from those lists and that was if he himself was rubbed out of existence, by either one of the enemy factions or by the third party involved, the Plebs.

  There was no avoiding the inevitable, the enemies would be coming so grudgingly Corey had to accept that Melissa's ploy was the only feasible option.

  Take the fight into the stronghold of their foes before the fight was brought to them.

  Corey watched as the trio of alpha women moved throughout the room issuing weapons and instructions to their charges.

  Dennis too stood by as a spectator, his eyes boggling with awe at the firepower assembled in the room.

  Though certain people, identified as poor shooters, had been given only small calibre weapons -e.g. Serena had a .22 pistol- all were armed and the sheer amount of artillery available to the crew must have had Dennis thinking perhaps he’d selected the right team to play for after all.

  All the same, Corey knew that Raven's people, and now Haskell's, were also heavily armed and it wasn't necessarily going to be a case of whoever had the most guns would be the winner.

  Corey was smarter than that; he knew the winner would have to be strategic, cunning, fast, mercenary and always thinking.

  There could be no room for mistakes, no slip ups and no complacency.

  His insides tied themselves in complicated knots as he inwardly prayed that tonight wasn't to be the night his time on earth was finished.

  "What about me?" Dennis piped up as he saw that everybody bar him now brandished at least one gun of some description. "Don't I get a gun?"

  Corey exchanged looks with Desiree.

  "Not yet Dennis," Desiree told him. "It's not as if we don't completely trust you, but we can't be too careful. Besides if Haskell sees you with a gun he's going to wonder where you got it."

  "How's he gonna see me?" Dennis asked before it dawned on him that he was going to be used as some kind of bait. "Oh...I get it. We're letting him think I'm still on his side."

  "Yeah. Something like that."

  "Obviously there isn't room enough for all of us in the Rover," Melissa said. "So some of us need to go back and pick up one of the other vehicles, preferably the van. Who wants to do that?"

  Ryan and Peter both stuck up their hands for that duty, accompanied by Blaise and Jess.

  "No fucking around," Melissa ordered. "Go get the van and get back here as soon as possible. Time is of the essence."

  Once Corey saw off the foursome, for it was he who raised the garage door to enable them to be on their way, he wandered back into the hive of activity that was his own lounge room.

  He was struck by how haphazard the planning and preparations really were.

  Mulling over the decidedly dangerous festivities which were to unfold this evening, he was in fact somewhat alarmed by the particular band of people on his team.

  By no means were they a well drilled powerful fighting regiment.

  What they really were was a tribe of feral girls who'd been fortunate enough to run into some boys who happened to have a plethora of guns and extensive firearm knowledge and experience.

  Without the presence of him and his buds and the guns he owned, Corey wondered how the women might have fared.

  Perhaps it was of little consequence, for had he and his crew not been present then maybe Errol Haskell wouldn't have found himself involved.

  In that case it would have come down to a battle between the warring factions of girls, most likely a fight slugged out on their own turf.

  As it was the animosity between the survivors of the camp fire and the renegades managed to swallow up two other rival parties -his own and Haskell's- and now the stage was set for a joust of epic proportions.

  Leaving the main body of people behind, Melissa geeing them up, building their bravado, urging them to find the anger inside themselves at what Raven had done to their people, Corey jogged up the stairs to his bedroom.

  He felt shaky and jittery and they hadn't even departed his house en route to the Spot yet.

  He needed something to calm his hand, to still the tempest of nerves swirling uncontrollably inside him and figured a simple cigarette might do the trick.

  He would have vetoed that idea in favour of slugging down a series of straight bourbon shots, but he wanted his head to be totally clear, devoid of any alcohol fog no matter how miniscule.

  One tiny drink might mean one bad judgement and one bad judgement might mean one dead body or more on the wrong side.

  Sitting himself on his bed -the bed where hours ago he'd been gloriously entangled with the heavenly body of Desiree- he fumbled with his cigarettes, sticking one in the corner of his mouth.

  Christ, his nerves were playing up.

  He felt as if he was being made to stand butt naked on a polar ice cap, shivering and shaking until his teeth rattled like lunatic castanets.

  If he'd been Lee Hunter he would have been firing up a fat marijuana joint right about now.

  He suspected Lee was probably doing just that, either downstairs or somewhere less conspicuous. To Lee, marijuana was the nerve killer, the mind calmer, the hand steadier.

  While many would argue that pot was hardly the thing to do that, for Lee it was.

  He was the walking case study.

  As bizarre as it might seem Corey wouldn't have wanted to walk into this nightmare with Lee unless Lee had been smoking, for that was how Lee functioned.

  If he'd thought that it may have aided his situation Corey might have been inclined to join Lee in an illicit green smoking session, but he knew the effects wh
ich would be so calming to Lee would not do the same thing for him. In fact he was certain they would act in reverse, making him paranoid and even more jittery than he was right now, thus totally defeating the entire purpose.

  So he lit his normal tobacco cigarette, inhaled deeply and waited for his jumpy nerves to be pacified, even just a fraction.

  Pacification wasn't immediately forthcoming, but déjà vu was.

  "Hey hun, you want some company?" Came a soft female voice from the bedroom doorway.

  Looking up Corey saw Desiree framed in the doorway, an exquisite vision which really only enhanced his shakes.

  "When the company is you," he said. "I always want it."

  Desiree came in and sat beside him, her skirt riding up her thighs.

  She didn't look like some vigilante killer or some wild dame about to embark on a revenge mission of violence against her betrayers.

  She looked like she should be sashaying down a ritzy catwalk modeling top line fashion.

  She smiled at Corey, dragging heavily on his cigarette.

  "You nervous?" She asked the obvious.

  "Yep," Corey confirmed. "I can't stop the shakes and we haven't even left the house yet."

  "You'll be okay, I won't let nobody hurt you."

  'You can't promise that', Corey said to himself, but aloud he said nothing.

  Instead he merely nodded, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

  "You know what might help us both?" Desiree said.

  "A whole lot of alcohol?" Corey joked.

  "Nope. Better."

  CHAPTER 33

  Desiree stood up and promptly hitched her skirt up above her waist. Then she tugged her G-string down her thighs and bent over the bed, hands on the quilt, her bare ass raised in the air.

  "What are you doing?" Corey asked stupidly, smoke trailing out his nostrils.

  "What do you reckon Einstein? Get behind me and fuck me, nervous boy."

  That was the kind of invitation that Nervous Boy could not resist.

  He could hardly believe how brazenly she'd done it, standing there bent over the bed with her skirt way up over her waist, her naked buttocks on display, the bedroom door wide open.

  Corey copped a couple of serious lungful’s of smoke and almost swallowed his tongue.