by Wood, J N
Nobody takes my baseball bat away from me. Fucking nobody.
I’m gonna fucking kill them.
The footbridge was there in the distance. I must have travelled quite far down the road. That’s my first port of call. I’ll sit and wait for them to come back for the rest of my life if I have to.
I went to get my stuff from the car before remembering I had absolutely nothing.
‘Mother fuckers,’ I quietly said, not wanting them to hear me and know I’m still alive.
I can’t fucking believe that. They must have dragged me out of the car to steal my money and clothes.
I staggered and limped along the road, back towards the footbridge. The anger and frustration forcing the pain to recede.
I’ll no doubt be hurting soon.
As I walked I remembered the bags for life were also missing.
How desperate are these fuckers?
I’m gonna kill them, if it’s the last thing I ever do.
I crawled up the embankment under the bride, scrambling at the loose soil. Once I was at the top I could clearly see the footbridge was empty. The path next to me cut across a large field, away from the bridge. The embankment was topped with trees and bushes. I crawled into one of the bushes and waited.
I had no idea how long I’d been there. The hunger and the cold were starting to get the better of me. But the need for revenge was coursing through me, making me sit tight.
Fucking hell. What am I going to do? Nobody is coming back here tonight. How long can I realistically wait for them?
But then I heard a metallic clang. It happened every few seconds, sometimes longer. Occasionally a high pitched whoop would follow it. It took me a few minutes to realise what it probably was.
I crawled out of my little hole, disturbing all the insects that had decided to make a home on me. The noise was coming from the other side of the footbridge. My face, my knees and shins, everything hurt as I walked over the quiet motorway below. All the while arseholes were enjoying themselves playing with my baseball bat.
I walked through a tunnel carved into the trees on the other side, emerging into another field, almost identical to the one on the opposite side. It was so dark I couldn’t see more than six feet in front of me.
Where is the moonlight when you need it?
I crossed the field, following the sound, now convinced it was my baseball bat. There was a wall at other side of the field.
That wall was actually a hedge. I could hear a fire crackling on the other side. I parted the branches with my hands and forced myself further into it. Flames flickered from the top of a metal barrel in the clearing beyond, illuminating a man. He stood with my baseball bat, ready to take a swing at something. At the edge of the light given off by the flames, I could just make out another figure. He threw something. The man with my bat swung out and connected with it, showering them both with bits of soil.
‘I said throw a rock innit,’ the batter said, laughing hysterically.
The pitcher walked towards him, the light picking up his youthful features. He looked about eighteen.
‘There ain’t no more rocks,’ the pitcher told him. ‘I’m gonna sit and get warm.’
They both sat on boxes close to the fire. The pitcher picked up a bottle from the ground and downed a long mouthful, before passing it to his friend.
The pitcher is wearing my walking boots, and my fucking coat.
He had his back to me, but if I went for them now the batter would definitely see me. The bottle of whatever they were drinking looked almost full.
I’ll wait until they’ve drank some more of that.
I stood and waited in the darkness, listening to their inane chat. They spoke about what their dealer was up to nowadays. When the pitcher was going to see Kayleigh or Leanne next, and if they thought the two of them might be up for a threesome. The batter’s dad was trying to get him to go back to college after all this was over.
I tried to block it all out.
Most of the bottle’s contents had gone and they were starting to slur their words slightly. There were a lot more pauses in the conversation.
Now or never.
I backed out of the hedge and walked further up the field, looking for an opening to slip through. I managed to crawl through a small gap about thirty or forty feet from the two fuckers. I passed through a little copse of trees, trying to get a better angle of attack. In the middle of the trees I stumbled through the site of an old fire. A ring of house bricks circled the burnt pieces of wood within. I picked up one of the bricks and crept closer to the rock droppers.
The brick had three large holes in it. I gripped it in one hand, my fingers in one of the end holes, like an extension of my arm.
When I was about ten feet away, very conscious that I would be very visible if they turned my way, I ran at them.
The pitcher saw me when I was a couple of feet away, his eyes widened in alarm. He instinctively threw the bottle at me. There wasn’t much strength behind the throw so I barely noticed when it hit my head. It bounced off and fell to the ground.
‘What’s up with you?’ the batter asked his friend, just as I punched him in the back of his head with my brick. He didn’t say another word. He fell forwards to land on his face, the top of his head loudly banging against the burning barrel.
The pitcher sprung to his unsteady feet, The Smasher in his hand. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he cried, lifting my bat over his shoulder.
I pretended to run at him, stopping dead after one step. He backed away, swinging the bat at me. It parted the air inches from my face. I stepped forwards as he tried for another swing, and punched my brick into his mouth. His head rocketed back and he stumbled backwards. The sound of his teeth smashing filled the air, as a spray of blood exploded from his mouth. He dropped my bat and just stood there for a few seconds, the shock of it temporarily turning him to stone. Then he fell to his knees, his hands covering his destroyed mouth. He rocked back and forth on his knees, strangled groans escaping from his bloody and mangled mouth.
Burning hair filled my nostrils. The pitcher’s hair was beginning to sizzle from leaning against the barrel. I grabbed one of his legs and dragged him away from the fire.
I turned back to the whimpering and toothless batter. His hands were in his mouth, trying to find what was left of his teeth. He started choking on something. I stood and watched, waiting for him to finish. He eventually stopped, coughing and spitting up fractured pieces of teeth.
I dropped the brick to the ground and picked up The Smasher.
‘Give me my fucking boots you little cunt,’ I told him. ‘And my coat. And my fucking thirty five quid.’
He just looked back at me, like he didn’t understand what I was asking.
I hit him on the shoulder with my bat, making him flinch away from me. ‘My boots and my coat,’ I shouted. ‘Give me them back.’
He first took off my coat and handed it to me, blood dripping from his chin. I quickly threw it on. Then he fell back onto his arse and gave me back my boots.
‘Money and phone,’ I said. ‘Where are they?’
He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out a few notes. He passed them to me. There were two ten pound notes in my hand.
‘Where’s the rest?’ I asked him.
He nodded to the almost empty bottle, the same one he clunked off my head.
‘Motherfuckers.’ I put my hand out. ‘Phone?’
He leaned forwards and spat out more teeth and blood.
‘Where is my phone?’ I asked again.
He lunged for me, so slowly I almost felt sorry for him. Before he got anywhere close, I stepped sideways and brought the bat down onto the side of his head. He fell to the ground and curled up, his hands on his head.
‘Where is my fucking phone?’ I repeated.
He pointed past me into the darkness. ‘In my car,’ he spat.
I put my hand out to him again. ‘Keys.’
He started shaking his head.
I hit him four or five times in the ribs with The Smasher, all the while shouting, ‘Give me your fucking car keys.’
He moved one hand away from his head, trying to protect himself. I hit his arm twice. He cried out when the bat connected with his wrist.
‘Okay, okay,’ he pleaded with garbled words. He put a trembling hand into his jeans pocket and handed me his keys. ‘Here, just take them.’
‘Thanks very much. Where’s your car?’
He pointed behind me. ‘Down the path,’ groaned.
I shoved my feet into my boots and laced them up. ‘If I can’t find your car I’m coming back for you.’ I spun around and made my way down the path. Visibility was still terrible so I had no idea where it led, or if there was a car at the end of it.
After a couple of minutes the path turned into a dirt road. A small car was parked up where the path ended. It looked like a Fiat.
Thank you Toothless Twat.
I had a quick glance behind me, suddenly feeling nervous about them creeping up on me. The coast was clear. I opened the door, immediately spotting Jack’s phone on the dashboard, its white cable wrapped around it. I leaned into the back seats and grabbed my bag, dumping it on the passenger seat.
The car had a full tank of petrol, no doubt stolen. I didn’t actually need my petrol money.
I’ll eat something and find out where I am once I’m further away from here.
I turned on the engine and drove away, looking in the rear view mirror to see if they were following me. They weren’t there. I did however catch a glimpse of my face. I was covered in blood again. The white of my left eye was entirely red.
My face was on the fucking mend. I hoped it would be looking relatively normal by the time I got home. My nose is almost certainly broken from when that Spanish soldier hit me, but it doesn’t look too bad. Hopefully once I clean the blood off it’ll be okay.
No wonder that kid looked terrified when I was coming for him.
I picked up Jack’s phone and went to the map. I was in Abbots Langley. Estimated driving time was three hours and one minute. I’ll be home by four in the morning. That means I was unconscious for a few hours on the side of the road.
I should have killed those two. That other car I crashed into was definitely another that they dropped a rock onto. They’ll probably do it again. Hopefully having no teeth will make him think twice. The kid I hit with the brick could be dead. I hit him really hard.
Fuck it. Not my problem anymore.
Chapter 30: Stan the Man
Every foot bridge, or railway bridge, or flyover, every bridge basically filled me with dread. The thought of leaving the motorways for smaller roads with fewer bridges crossed my mind several times.
But I stuck with it. An hour and half later I was passing signs for Nottingham. My fear of bridges had lessened slightly.
There were lights up ahead, not headlights though. These looked like they were from fires. They were over by the hard shoulder, so I slowed down and got as close to the central reservation as I could.
It was a group of people, some carrying burning torches. They pushed shopping trolleys and pulled carts. There was a horse ahead of them pulling an old traditional looking caravan.
What the fuck are they doing? Why are they out at half two in the morning?
Before I got close, they quickly spread out across all three lanes, not leaving a space big enough for me to squeeze between them.
I don’t give a fuck anymore. I’ll run a couple of you over if I have to. They picked the wrong guy this time.
I stopped the car. A huge guy was shouting at me so I rolled down the window.
‘Drive here anymore,’ he shouted, his big round belly hanging over his belt.
I leaned my head out slightly. ‘Say that all again. I missed the beginning.’
‘I said you can’t be out at night, so you’re not allowed to drive here anymore.’
‘Well I obviously am driving here.’
‘Not anymore you aren’t,’ he told me.
‘If you lot get out of the fucking way I will be.’
There was a flash of movement in my wing mirror. The side window behind me exploded into the car. I put my foot down, aiming for the shouty fat bastard. Somebody threw themselves in through my broken window. They were half in. A hand gripped my shoulder. In my wing mirror I could see two legs dangling outside.
The line of people in front of me scattered. The shouty bastard wasn’t quick enough. With a sickening crunch, I clipped him. His right thigh slammed into my right headlight. I couldn’t tell if the noise was the headlight cracking, or if it was the sound of his femur bone disintegrating. His legs were thrown out from under him and his face caught the edge of my windscreen. Then he was gone.
I started to move closer to the big and very hard central reservation. The hand was still on my shoulder, trying to pull their legs into my car.
It’s lucky the Fiat’s back windows are small.
‘Get the fuck out or I’m gonna take your legs off,’ I screamed.
They didn’t get out or let go of me, so I swerved into the wall of concrete. The screams from behind me were louder than the car scraping along concrete. Yellow and orange glowing sparks shot past my open window. My wing mirror spun away into the night. Then the screaming stopped, and the person was no longer there, ripped out of my car.
I did say they picked the wrong guy this time.
I pulled back onto the road and continued on my way. That soldier wasn’t taking the piss when he said don’t be out at night.
My nerves were very close to breaking point. I kept thinking someone was gonna jump in through the broken window. I had to keep reminding myself that would be impossible with me driving at sixty miles per hour.
Thankfully, the rest of the journey was uneventful, just a very long, empty and dark road.
I was shitting myself the entire time.
Leeds city centre was very dark as I drove along the M621, but otherwise looked unchanged. I’m sure it will be a different story in daylight hours.
I turned onto the ring road, feeling emotional about being home. Apart from all the homeless people sleeping on the side of road, and no street lights being on, it looked like it did two months ago.
The sleeping homeless might be dead bodies actually.
I kept my eyes on the road as I drove around the city, not wanting to know if they were really dead.
The last roundabout before my house was just up ahead. Two miles to go and I’ll be back. I was absolutely terrified, the most scared I’ve ever been. I was finding it hard not to burst out crying.
How will I kill myself if I find out Joanne is dead?
Pills? Nope. Not efficient enough. Could easily go wrong. Drowning? Far too much effort. I imagine it’s very uncomfortable. Hanging? Probably the best option, but only if I dropped from a decent height. Shoot myself? Probably the most certain way but I don’t have a gun. Slit my wrists? No chance. The thought of doing that makes me feel queasy.
I’ll worry about it if it comes to that.
I turned onto my road, slowly driving down to number twelve, afraid of what I was going to find.
There was no car on the drive. The window in the front room was very dark, almost black. It looked like it might have been boarded up from the inside. I took a second to look around at my neighbour’s houses. Most windows looked the same as mine. In some cases the glass was broken or missing.
Stan next door had boarded up his front window.
Hopefully he’s doing okay.
Like I’d done a thousand times before, I reversed the car onto my drive. I picked up The Smasher and stepped outside.
The front door was locked. I crept around to the back, my heart threatening to explode. The back door was locked. The back windows had also been boarded up from the inside.
‘Hey you,’ a familiar voice called out. ‘I’ve called the police. Get out of here.’
I looked over to my neighbour’s
back door. It was open just a crack, a tiny bit of light escaped into the night.
A smile filled my face. ‘It’s only me Stan.’ I walked over to the fence that separated our two drives.
His door closed and I heard the rattle of the chain being removed. The door swung open and Stan stepped out. ‘Chris, is that you?’
‘Yeah it’s me. I’m back.’
‘Are you okay? You look hurt.’
‘I’m fine. Have you seen Joanne?’
‘Your Joanne? No. She went to her mum and dad’s place weeks ago.’
Well done Jo. That was probably the safest place.
‘That’s good, I think. How are you doing? Is Margaret okay?’
His eyes instantly teared up. ‘We lost her Chris. The virus got her.’
‘Oh I’m sorry Stan. I really am.’
He forced a smile, wiping his left eye. ‘I know you are Chris. I know you are. We had fifty three years together. Did you know we got married when we were both eighteen?’
‘I did yeah. You told me before.’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Hey Stan, would you mind calling the police and telling them you made a mistake?’
He looked confused for a second. ‘Oh I haven’t called them. It’s pointless nowadays. I say, can you not get in? I still have a spare key for your back door.’
I’d honestly forgotten about that.
‘Yeah I lost my keys. That would be brilliant. Thanks Stan.’
He waddled back into his house, his legs not being as mobile as they once were. He reappeared with my key in his hand, offering it to me. I tried to take it from him but he held on to it.
‘You get that Joanne of yours and never let her go. Do you hear me? Never let her go.’
‘Thanks Stan. I’m planning on doing that.’
He let go of the key and turned back to his house. ‘Glad to see you back. Where did you go on holiday? Was it Scotland?’
I spoke to him about my holiday plans at least three times before leaving.
‘No I went to America.’
‘Ooh very nice. I hope you had a lovely time. Goodnight Chris.’