Plebs

by Jim Goforth

  The atmosphere in the room now abruptly soared from a frightened air of trepidation to an exhilarated amplified feeling of intense excitement.

  Corey couldn't help but feel the powerful energy coursing through the air like an electrical current.

  He was scared of what might happen tonight, but that fearful sensation was now buried deep beneath waves of rippling bravado as the unbeatable team mentality took over.

  Why should he be afraid? He had his best mates with him, he had his beautiful girl, he had Black Widow Justice and the Twilight Twins on his side.

  Tonight they were going to avenge Tim's needless death, they were going to avenge the mass murder of the women in the woods camp, hell they were even going to exact revenge on their old high school nemeses.

  "Fucking oath!" Corey roared, punching a great big hole in the air with a clenched fist. "Let's finish this for once and for all. For Tim!"

  "For Tim!" Chorused Lee, Pete, even Blaise and Desiree.

  "For Erica!" Tasha shouted, swiftly followed by all the other girls in agreement both speaking Erica's name and a multitude of other girls deceased in Raven's homicidal fire.

  "For me!" Dennis King piped up with a venomous look in Wesley Drake's direction. "All the shit I've had to put up with."

  "For Dennis!" The crowd roared and Dennis flushed red, a big grin encompassing his face as they all involved him in it rather than laughing at him.

  To Corey's surprise even Lee elected to join in the chorus for Dennis.

  "Alright people, lets fucking rock and roll!" Blaise yelled.

  Desiree snatched Corey into a big embrace and planted a huge kiss on him, her tongue snaking between his lips.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  "I love you!" Corey declared, his heart swelling so much it felt as if it were in danger of erupting out of his chest cavity.

  "We got everything?" Melissa asked.

  "Yep. Two bags full," Pete declared, indicating both the gun laden sports bag and the tool filled duffel bag. "Let's hit the fucking road!"

  CHAPTER 34

  Blaise stalked towards Wesley Drake, who now looked completely unnerved by the sheer violent energy humming in the room.

  "Get on your feet fucknuts!" Blaise ordered, sticking her pistol in his face.

  When he hesitated for the slightest of moments, Blaise took that temporary pause as a sign of disobedience and lashed a boot into his ribs.

  Groaning behind his electrical tape gag, Drake tried to curl his body around to protect his ribcage and chest area from further assaults.

  "Get up dickhead or I'll shoot you here. I don't really have a preference you know. I'm happy leaving you here. Dead, of course."

  This time Drake was not sluggish in scrambling awkwardly to his feet.

  Anger still lurked within his dark grey eyes, but fear was more prevalent.

  He'd realised that some of these people here in the Somerset lounge room were not to be toyed with.

  While the majority were really just average sorts whipped into a mass frenzy, the redheaded girl and her two black-haired companions were an altogether more dangerous breed.

  This trio weren't prone to whooping excitedly and jumping around like Jack Russell’s on amphetamines, they were quiet and cautious making them appear all the more sinister for their lack of emotions.

  Even Drakes former lifelong sidekick Dennis King deserted him, there he was hanging on like a parasite between the chubby girl and her thin curly haired friend.

  Wesley Drake had been doing a great deal of thinking as he watched the group goad each other into highly volatile levels of excitement and now he tried to speak to Blaise.

  "Can't hear you," she replied to the garbled gibberish he spoke into his tape gag. "You'll have to speak up."

  Again Drake attempted to speak, resulting in more indecipherable nonsense.

  Blaise took one corner of the tape and peeled it halfway back, being none too gentle with it.

  "What do you want?"

  "I've changed my mind!" Drake gasped out.

  Eyes in the room turned to Wesley Drake.

  "Changed your mind about what?"

  "I want to switch teams!"

  "Oh I see. You like boys now do you?" Blaise teased. "Or did you always like boys and now you want to like girls?"

  "No, no! I want to be on your side. Like Dennis."

  "No!" Dennis shouted. "You can't be! This is my thing Drake! See, I want to make up for all the things I've done to Lee and the guys and I want to get Haskell back for making me be a stooge and take all the blame for shit, but you...you can't make up for everything you've done."

  "Yes I can," Drake begged to differ. "I'm a changed man see? I want to help too."

  "Bullshit. You're just saying that Drake, you're a fucking liar. You can't make up for all the bad shit you've done." Dennis looked wildly around at the people he assumed were the heads of the congregation. "Guys...Corey...don't trust him, you can't trust him. He's not genuine like me."

  Corey didn't trust Wes Drake, not for a second and he knew neither Blaise, Desiree nor Melissa were likely to as well though they knew less about the deviate than he did.

  "You want to join our team do you?" Blaise asked Drake, her eyes steely and unreadable. "You don't want to kill your enemies and share their sluts with your buddies?"

  "No I don't."

  "Don't want to join or don't want to share the sluts?"

  "Share the sluts. I don't wanna do that. I'm not like that."

  "Bullfuckingshit!" Dennis King howled while derisive hoots of laughter echoed from Peter, Ryan and Corey.

  "Yeah and I'm the fucking Easter Bunny," Pete snorted.

  "Pipe down," Blaise held up a hand for silence, a request instantly adhered to. "Why should we trust you? How are you going to prove you're a changed man?"

  "Because I can get you closer to Errol than anybody."

  "That doesn't prove nothing!" Dennis wailed. "Don't trust him! Don't let him in, he'll fuck you over!"

  "Fuck off Dennis," Drake snarled. "They let you in, halfwit."

  "You know what?" Blaise said. "I don't think we can trust you. And I haven't forgotten that you like to hit women."

  "I was joking when I said that. Just joking."

  "You hit me didn't you? Or was that a joke too?"

  "Shit!" Wesley Drake cast despairing eyes around the room to find a friend, a voice to support his claim to join the group.

  There was nobody.

  Peter slowly extended a taunting middle finger and tipped it towards him.

  "I'm sorry! Look, I won't hit you again. Or any girl. Or anybody!"

  "I know." Blaise smiled and the expression was spookily malevolent. "You won't get the chance."

  "Ha!" Dennis whooped in triumph and punched the air. "You're fucked Drake! Fucking suffer!"

  "Fuck you motherfuckers! Fuck you all, you're all gonna..."

  The remainder of Drake's ranting outburst was rapidly stifled as Blaise slapped the tape back over his mouth and jabbed her gun at him.

  "Walk," she commanded.

  "Or we'll carry your ass out and throw you in," Pete added helpfully.

  Reluctantly Drake began to trudge, hatred, rage and fear all evident in his eyes.

  While this had been going on Corey and Lee ensured the house was securely locked with the alarm on.

  Now they were all set to hit the road.

  They assembled in the garage where the two vehicles borrowed from their enemies sat parked side by side.

  "Okay!" Melissa bellowed, receiving everybody's immediate attention. "Desi, Blaise, Corey, Pete, Dennis, Caroline, Serena you lot take the Rover. The rest of us in the van."

  "Done," Blaise nodded.

  As she did, the mobile phone she'd taken from Dennis blasted its annoying RnB ringtone again.

  Digging it out she saw the name 'Errol' onscreen and handed it to Dennis.

  "Hello, Errol?" He answered it with.

  "Dennis, that you? What
the fuck's going on now? Where the fuck are you idiots? Where's Wes?"

  "Ah...well..." Dennis stumbled and stammered then hit upon inspiration, "Wes is outside in the car. We're on the way; he just left the phone behind. I was just coming in to get it and then we're on the way. Should be half hour or so, no less. We'll be there."

  "See that you are, fuckknuckle. Hurry up."

  Haskell hung up without so much as a goodbye and doing likewise, Dennis returned the unit to Blaise.

  "That was very well done," Blaise commended him. "Thinking on your feet."

  "Thanks," Dennis accepted the compliment with a characteristic blush.

  "Alright, enough fucking around," Melissa ordered. "Let's do this. Desi, you got that map?"

  "Yeah."

  "Right. You guys in the Rover, you lead the way.”

  Corey looked at Pete.

  "You wanna drive?"

  "Sure. I've still got the keys anyway."

  "Okay, Dennis, you sit up front with Pete. That might fool them for a while if anybody happens to see along the way."

  "Alright," Dennis said reluctantly, though Corey wasn't certain if his reluctance stemmed from not being able to sit with the girls in the back or the fact that sitting up front made him first in the line of fire if bullets suddenly started flying at them.

  They piled in the Rover. Pete and Dennis up front, the rest into the back.

  Next to them, Melissa marshaled her troops into the van with Ryan behind the wheel and Jess seated beside him.

  "You right looking after that Neanderthal, babe?" Blaise called out to Melissa.

  Melissa winked the eye surrounded by the black ink of her star tattoo.

  "Too easy hun. He pisses me off and he'll be dead before the van's even outta the garage."

  'This is it,' Corey told himself as he shuffled across to the window seat behind Peter. 'The real deal. Let the games begin.'

  Desiree seated herself next to him, her thigh pressed against his, Blaise on the other side of her.

  Behind them sat Caroline and Serena.

  The sports bag laden with firearms lay on the floor between Desiree and Corey, the other bag was in the van.

  "You got the remote control Corey?" Peter asked.

  "Sure do."

  "Raise the door, let’s bail!"

  Melissa waved to them to indicate her crew was ready to depart and then jumped into the back of the van.

  As Jess stepped out to properly slam the sliding door of the van, Pete turned the key in the ignition of the Rover and BIGWES rumbled to life.

  Knowing it would be something of an irritant having people jump in and out of cars to open and close the garage door, Corey made sure he’d appropriated the remote control for it.

  He utilised it now as Pete requested and the door glided open.

  "Yeeha!" Whooped Peter, then slammed the Rover into reverse, screeching out of the garage.

  Once he was out and careering backwards down the back driveway, Ryan followed at a far more cautious pace.

  When the van was clear, Corey pushed the button to drop the door and then the two carloads were on their way.

  "Let's get some music cranking," Peter suggested, his love of loud heavy music-a love shared by most of his fellows-ever prevalent. "Dennis, find me something heavy."

  "Can do," Dennis obliged, switching on the radio.

  Since the radio was still set on the alternative rock/metal station they'd been blasting on the way back from Bodyworx and probably on the second trip there to obtain the made over van, it wasn't an entirely different mission for Dennis.

  "...Union Underground with 'Killing the Fly' from their 'Education in Rebellion' disc," came the voice of evening host Rick Skederis. "Haven't heard anything new from them in a while and unfortunately I don't think we will, pretty certain they are now defunct. Anyway, getting a bit heavier now, here's Norway's Chain Collector with 'Neverwhere'."

  "You heard any of their stuff Corey?" Pete asked.

  "No, I haven't," Corey admitted. "Crank it up; we'll see if it's any good."

  Peter did so and for a while they drove in silence while music filled the interior of the car, growling melodic death metal vocals snarling over an infectious driving guitar riff and solid rhythms.

  Dark had well and truly arrived to eclipse the daylight, streetlights shone bright along the road throwing lengthy shadows along sidewalks.

  As the Rover careened along the city streets Corey gazed out his window taking in the scenery.

  They'd left behind the affluent part of town-his neighbourhood-and with the central part of the CBD back behind them they were now driving through the middle class suburbs and residential areas.

  Here towering apartment blocks competed with villas and townhouses for position along the street before giving way to mainly houses, single story dwellings with well-manicured lawns and occasional gardens.

  Unlike their rick folk neighbours a couple of suburbs back, these residences boasted no massive four car garages and intricate security systems.

  For the most part they were immaculate, but simple buildings with the odd concession to grandeur being perhaps a second level on the house, or maybe a double garage. No such things as video security existed here. Perhaps the house was guarded by a basic alarm or a watch dog, but in most cases the best they could do was a plethora of locks on each window and door.

  Corey watched the houses fly by, most of them unmemorable and indistinguishable from their neighbouring fellows.

  They were simple houses for simple folk in the simple centre of town.

  Though Corey was well aware that he was wide awake, the whole atmosphere seemed to be buzzing with a hazy dreamlike quality.

  He could have been off for a cruisy drive with his friends if he didn't know better.

  It seemed so strange and incongruous that while normal people in these normal houses lining the street prepared for a normal evening, his group of gun toting people drove through their neighbourhoods prepared for a completely abnormal evening.

  Corey wondered whether perhaps this apparently bizarre situation was all preordained and predestined to happen.

  Suppose it was the intended purpose of his and all his slacker friends to seek out these deviant souls and their ungodly Pleb hordes, to smite them and restore some kind of otherworldly order.

  When he thought about it long and hard, in essence he and his friends did seem to serve no great purpose in the entire scheme of things. They were a group of motiveless reprobates with menial jobs if they possessed jobs at all, and no other reason to be living.

  Perhaps this night preparing to unfold before them was in fact a justification for their very existence and whatever way it was going to play out was the way fate had written it for them.

  If that was truly the case, then Corey hoped that whatever writings were scribbled in the book of fate had been kind to him.

  Done with deep cogitations Corey returned his attention to simpler things, like what was playing on the radio right now and how good Desiree's thigh felt pressed against his.

  He met her eyes in the dark interior of the vehicle and as if they'd both been entertaining the same thoughts they came together, lips meeting and interlocking.

  For brief beautiful moments Corey was lost in Desiree, her taste, her feel, her intoxicating womanly scent until the strident voice of Blaise violated his ears.

  "Hey you two, no fucking in the car. Unless I'm involved."

  "Nobody is fucking," Corey retorted. "But if you want to get the ball rolling, we'll join in."

  "Don't tempt her," Desiree warned. "She doesn't need much motivation."

  "What's that?" The interested ears of Dennis King pricked up like twin antennas. "Who's fucking? I wouldn't mind getting involved in that."

  "Eyes to the front Dennis," Desiree said. "Nobody is doing any fucking."

  "That's a pity," Dennis lamented.

  "Sure is," Blaise agreed.

  Corey also thought likewise, but with the
lion’s share of sex he and Desiree had indulged in over the course of the day he could hardly complain about not getting any right now.

  Outside, the houses lining the street were becoming more sparsely dotted along the road, becoming far and few between until essentially there were none, just thickets and stands of trees.

  Pretty soon the houses were nonexistent and thick woods bordered the road on either side.

  Bar the headlights of the van behind them traffic was also increasingly rare.

  Corey's butterflies of nervous tension began to flap and flutter their wings in the pit of his stomach once again as the further from town they got, the nearer to the hellish Spot they were.

  "Getting close now," Peter voiced his cogitations, turning the radio volume down to a barely audible hum. "You getting psyched up to wreak havoc on your ex friends Dennis?"

  "Yep," Dennis affirmed, slapping his thighs as if that was a suitable indication of his intentions.

  Before long they had driven past an aging weather-beaten sign stating 'St Agnes' with a faded arrow pointing right.

  In actual fact the arrow was pointing towards the ground, for the pole it should have been sitting atop was bent at a ninety degree angle as if some crazy out of control driver once slammed a motor vehicle solidly into it.

  Corey knew that the arrow was supposed to be indicating in a right direction for to the best of his knowledge, the ancient St Agnes church AKA the Spot was not located underground.

  "This is it," Peter maintained his poor tour guide voice and indicated right so the van following them wouldn't fly past and lose them.

  Pete pulled the Rover off the highway and onto a road which was barely more than a dirt track lined comprehensively with trees and thick scrub.

  The fact that Errol Haskell and his cordon of cronies obviously used this track as an access road to their hideout in their respective automobiles had kept the rough road from falling into too much of a state of disrepair, but all the same the ride was no smooth cruise on a multi-laned freeway.

  The scrawny track was riddled with pot holes, strewn with fallen branches and leaf litter and was even populated by sizable rocks.

  Pete navigated the thin strip with quite some skill and dexterity, but behind them Ryan fared much worse in the van.