Vicious Rumer

by Joshua Winning

  Red explodes in my vision and I’m not thinking as I throw myself on her. Lola makes a strangled sound as we crash to the ground. She tries to shake me off but I grab a fistful of her red hair and pull hard, the knuckles of my other hand blazing white.

  I barely hear the others yelling. Rufus yapping.

  ‘She’s lost it!’

  ‘Get her, Loo!’

  Something cracks me in the ribs. Lola’s fist, maybe. I release her and stagger back, unable to breathe. Troll gets between us, his hands raised.

  ‘This is all really arousing but do you really think it’s the best–’

  Lola’s fist cuffs his jaw. Troll staggers sideways and Lola goes for me, but Pearl seizes her arm.

  ‘My mum’ll flip if she comes home with a black eye.’ Lola grinds her teeth and I imagine steam snorting from her nostrils.

  ‘Yeah, Lola,’ I hear myself saying. ‘Some parents don’t like it when their kids come home with black eyes.’

  So that was a mistake. Lola lunges for me, then trips. Troll’s stuck his leg out and Lola lands on all fours.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I say, but the other girls are blocking the park exit. I tug Troll in the opposite direction and I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m thinking. We hurry for a knotted old tree by the wall. There’s a dump on the other side; we just have to climb the tree and hop over. We’ve done it a hundred times. There’s loads of cool stuff in the dump.

  ‘You’re dead, Tumour!’

  I shove Troll up before me – it’s not the time to be a gentleman, not that Troll ever was one. Rufus yaps hysterically behind us and I hear the girls all yelling at Lola to leave us freaks alone, but I can hear her panting close by and I clamber up after Troll. I always knew she had it in for me, but I had no idea she hates me this much. It’s like she’s been waiting for me to hand her a permission slip to beat the crap out of me and, now she has it, she’s going to damn well use it. I sort of respect that kind of dedication.

  ‘Rumer!’

  Troll’s made it onto the wall. He puts his hands out and drags me up just as Lola seizes my ankle and yanks. I manage to kick her away and scrabble up next to Troll, gasping for breath. My heart sinks as I peer down into the junkyard. They changed things around. Below us are thirty-foot containers filled with twisted metal, old bits of farming machinery. Spikes that used to be bed frames and warped pipes that used to be I-don’t-know-what.

  Lola’s on the wall now.

  ‘Run!’ Troll yells.

  ‘Wait!’ I cry, but Troll’s already taken off, running the length of the wall.

  He trips.

  He barely has time to cry out before he’s gone over the edge.

  A horrible, dull thunk rings out and his cry’s broken off.

  Lola’s right beside me, but she’s standing stock-still, her face pale, her hands clenching and unclenching.

  ‘Troll!’

  I hurry along the wall to where he fell. My insides are shuddering and, as the adrenaline washes away, I realise I’m going to cry. I can’t stop it. I know this feeling. The shuddering’s building towards an eruption and I collapse onto all fours, clinging to the wall.

  I peer over the edge.

  His breath rattles.

  He’s bent at an angle. The way he landed in the container has broken him. He’s been impaled and he’s looking at me, but he doesn’t see me any more.

  A screeching sound echoes across the park. I tear my eyes away from Troll’s twisted body.

  ‘RUFUS!’

  For a second I don’t know what’s going on, then I see Pearl dashing out the park exit, running into the road.

  ‘RUFUS!’

  I think I hear a high-pitched whine. I feel the wall tipping beneath me and I dig my nails into the bricks. Straining, I make out a shape in the road, squashed under the car’s wheel. There’s blood and fur and Pearl throwing herself onto the tarmac, shrieking and clawing at her hair.

  When I get home later, it’s dark. I stand shivering in the hall. The ambulance came and took Troll’s body away. At least, I assume it did. They hadn’t managed to get him out of the container before the police turned up and asked questions and we were all taken to the station. Lola didn’t look at me. Pearl sobbed into her shoulder. Rufus must’ve got away from the girls while Lola was chasing after me. Idiot dog.

  When the police were done with their questions, I left. The Trumans didn’t try to stop me. Pearl was hysterical and I don’t think they even noticed me slipping away from the station.

  I hid in my secret place for a few hours.

  From the hall, I hear Pearl crying in the lounge with her parents. They’re cooing and pawing her on either side of the sofa. I watch from the lounge door.

  Pearl sees me before they do and bolts to her feet. Her eyes are red raw and I’ve never seen her so ugly. It shocks me.

  ‘Are you happy now?!’ she yells. She’s holding something in her hand. A dog collar. ‘Now everybody’s as miserable as you?!’

  ‘Pearl,’ her dad begins, getting to his feet.

  ‘You always defend her,’ Pearl shouts, her gaze fixed on me. ‘But she’s a psycho. She killed them! She pushed him off the wall! And if it hadn’t been for her getting into that stupid fight, Rufus wouldn’t have run off–’

  ‘Pearl,’ her dad says again. She shoves off his hand.

  ‘Why don’t you just leave? Everything you touch turns to shit!’

  For once, she’s right.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  This is the truth I fear.

  That I was born cursed.

  I was born dead.

  And if anybody gets too close to me, they’ll die, too.

  I know, melodrama is alive and well in Rumer Cross but, honestly, stick with me. You’ll see why I’m right; why the curse has robbed me of every single person who ever meant anything to me; how they died screaming in a spray of agony.

  But right now I’m in a pit full of bodies and it’s time I start trying to piece together the broken fairground ride that is my life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TWO DAYS BEFORE THE HAMMER

  So it turns out the pit’s impenetrable. The rest of the search is a bust. No more nails, no more doors. It’s designed for one thing: death. But I’m damned if I’m going to die down here surrounded by half-rotting skeletons. I’m disgusted by them all over again. They gave up. They were weak. If they’d really wanted to get out, they would have.

  Exhaustion drains my resolve and I sag against the wall, sliding to the floor. I turn the rusty nail over in my hand, over and over, imagining the kind of damage it would do.

  I’ve never killed anybody, not on purpose, but if it’s between them and me, I know who I’d choose.

  A swift jab to the throat. Or the eye. Between the ribs. That’d hurt like hell.

  The thought of sinking the nail into tough flesh turns my stomach and I wonder if I really could go through with it. Killing somebody. Ending their life in a gush of red. You corner a rat, though, it’ll show you its teeth.

  My gaze drifts to Skinny in his corner. I could threaten him. Drag him into the light below the grate and press the nail to his jugular, start screaming my head off, that I’ll kill him unless I can talk to Mara. Tiny flaw in that plan: Skinny’s been left here to die. I’d be doing him a favour. No way Mara would let me out for threatening to finish the job he started.

  Shit.

  Shit shit shit.

  The girl in the flower dress. I’m drawn back to her toothy skull, the flesh hanging off in leathery pieces. The guards are used to seeing her lying there. She’s been there at least a month, by the look of her; her flesh cementing into the concrete. Would they notice if I moved her? Put on her dress? Took her place? I could lie there, waiting patiently, and when somebody eventually came into the pit, I’d jump up and throw myself at the open door. I’d be out of here before they could do anything about it.

  Ugh. I’ve watched The Silence of the Lambs too many times.

 
But… the bodies.

  I jerk upright, my fist crushing the nail until I think it might snap in two.

  There are ten bodies wasting away in the dark, including the grinning girl. I look from her to the grate directly above her, judging the distance, a germ of a plan splitting like a seed. It might work. The grate’s a good fifteen feet above the pit floor, too far to jump, but close enough to reach with a little help. Skinny’s too weak. He’d never make it. This is on me.

  I’m sweating with excitement, the idea smouldering as it takes root. This could actually work, but I can’t rush. If the guards catch me, it’s over. They’ll know what kind of rat I am and they’ll put me somewhere even worse; somewhere I really can’t escape, no matter how sharp my fangs.

  Standing, I slide the nail into my boot and stare up at the grate, listening. I’m met with a wall of silence. No boots scuffing the floor. No hushed voices. It’s as if the pit’s floating through space. Do they even bother patrolling this place? Or are the guards on the other side of the door? Nobody would be stupid enough to try to crawl back out through the grate.

  When I’m sure nobody’s up there watching, I get to work. I grab the nearest body. I think it used to be a man, but it’s pretty hard to tell by this point. I avoid the oozing flesh, seizing his boots and hauling him across the floor. He’s light as a sack of hay, but the stink that comes with disturbing the body nearly makes me black out.

  ‘What you doing?’ Skinny asks. He sounds even more feeble. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll grab him next.

  ‘Getting out of here.’

  ‘You’re nuts.’

  Let’s see if you think that when I’m out the grate and you’re still down here.

  I lay the body next to the grinning girl. My eyes water at the earthy reek of decay, but I have to keep going. If I stop for a second, I’ll start thinking about how the bodies feel – wet and brittle – and I’ll never do this. I grab the next carcass and throw it on top of the other two, then lay another beside it. Something oozes in my hands and vomit floods my mouth. I retch into my shoulder, swallow.

  ‘Jesus,’ Skinny mutters, curling up in his corner, throwing an arm over his face.

  Four down, six to go.

  The next body is little more than a skeleton and I’m glad. The one after that is the worst. Underneath, it’s become a squelchy mess of goo and muck. It smells ten times worse than the others and I really do black out for a moment as I drag it over the floor and throw it onto the pile.

  When I’m done, I lean against the wall, breathing through my mouth, my stomach foaming, threatening to empty itself. I stare at my masterpiece, a monstrous pile of limbs and heads and slippery wetness. It comes up to my waist. I won’t know if it’s high enough until I’ve climbed on top, a thought that makes me want to pull my hair out and scratch my skin to ribbons.

  It’s the only way. If I move quickly enough, I won’t have to think about it. What I’ve done to these people. Would they be glad they helped me escape? Or would they curse my name? They wouldn’t be the first.

  I edge over to the pile, peering up at the grate. Beyond it, I glimpse the warehouse ceiling, but no guards. No Mara. Silence crashes down on me and I have to do this. Now or never.

  Scowling at my creation, I clamber onto it, horror plucking at my nerves when I grab a stiff, wet hand. I release it with a grunt and seize something else, an arm maybe, I honestly don’t look, heaving myself up, watching the grate, only the grate as it bobs closer.

  At the top of the pile, I teeter and suddenly I’m afraid I’ll slip and crash to the floor, but I regain my balance, crouching there like a spider.

  ‘Shit,’ Skinny whispers, and I swear there’s admiration in his tone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him struggle to his feet, his legs trembling at first, then not trembling any more.

  The grate’s so close I could touch it. Not yet. I listen, straining to hear anything above me. It’s unnaturally quiet. Where are Mara’s men? I’ll just have to risk it. Gritting my teeth, I reach up and slip my fingers through the grate.

  Blinking through the sweat trickling into my eyes, I push it up.

  My belly somersaults. I keep waiting for a guard to appear and stamp down on the grate, but nobody comes. I ease the grate up even more, straining, the bodies shifting under my boots, pushing, pushing, until it swings up and creaks into its hinges, standing upright.

  The square above my head feels huge. A window to freedom.

  Drawing a few sharp breaths, I lunge for the hole, gripping the edge with both hands and flexing, trying to haul myself up. My shoulders feel like they’re being torn from their sockets but I kick and scrabble and dig my nails into the hole, then I’m up, halfway into the warehouse, panting. One last heave and I roll onto the floor.

  I want to lie there. My chest’s on fire and I’m sweating so much my clothes stick to me.

  Instead, I roll onto my feet, resting on one knee, drawing the nail from my boot and brandishing it in front of me.

  The warehouse is empty. This room, anyway. A massive cement space with stained floors and chains swaying from the ceiling.

  ‘Hey.’

  I check all around, but I’m alone.

  ‘Hey, my turn.’

  Skinny. I peer down into the pit and he stares up at me, balancing on the body pile, reaching a hand up. He looks so small. Broken. Looks can be deceiving, though. If I help him, he could turn on me in an instant. It’d be easier to escape without him slowing me down.

  I turn away and a spark spits up from the ground.

  Across the room, a masked guard points his gun at me.

  ‘Took you long enough,’ I hiss.

  The guard considers me for a moment, then three more appear, fanning out in front of me. Boots beat the floor behind me. I’m surrounded.

  I feign a lunge in one direction and sparks erupt around me.

  They’re goddamn shooting at me.

  Clenching the nail tight, I consider my options. Run. Bargain. Get caught. Die.

  Great.

  The guards don’t give me a choice. They rush at me, popping bullets at the floor, making it impossible for me to move, so I do the last thing I want to do, the one thing I definitely shouldn’t do.

  I dive back into the pit.

  Skinny’s still on the pile of bodies and I crash into him. We tumble to the floor, grunting, limbs flailing. As I scrabble to my feet, I see Skinny’s already up. He throws a bony arm around my neck and there’s something else pressing against my throat. Something sharp. And I realise I’m a total idiot.

  ‘HEY!’ Skinny shouts. I struggle and the sharp thing digs into my skin. The nail. I dropped it when I jumped back into the pit.

  I realise Skinny’s yelling up at the grate. He stinks of sweat and dirt.

  ‘Open the door, or Lucky here finds out what it’s like to be a kebab. OPEN IT NOW!’

  He’s so scrawny but he’s as tall as me. I had no idea he was this tall.

  ‘Get that thing away from my throat,’ I growl, but Skinny shakes me and hisses at me to shut up. His meaty breath stinks worse than the pit. I guess Mara doesn’t let his prisoners use a toothbrush.

  Agitated shapes swarm above our heads and their shadows flicker through the window in the pit’s ceiling, making it seem like the dead girl is moving. There’s the sound of metal, a lock, and then the door opens right next to us.

  A figure charges inside and Skinny shoves me away. As I grab the wall a gargling scream echoes around the pit. My cellmate has thrust his weapon – my weapon – into the jaw of one of the masked guards.

  Blood spurts all over the floor.

  Skinny removes the nail and the guard collapses. More are behind him.

  All I see is the open door.

  A gun fires deafeningly and a voice screams at me to run, to use the confusion to my advantage. What happens next probably only takes a couple of seconds but, in my head, we’re in slow motion, as if gravity’s given our strings a yank.

  Three figures tac
kle Skinny, wrestling with him and the nail-dagger.

  I stare at the open door.

  Nobody’s guarding it. They’re too busy trying to subdue Skinny, who slashes his weapon, gouging a red line across one guard’s face.

  I stick to the shadows. I slide along the wall, blood screaming in my ears.

  Skinny shrieks as a guard seizes his wrist. The one with the nail-dagger.

  The door’s so close I want to scrabble for it, but I know if I do the guards will see me. I inch closer, expecting them to spot me any minute, but I’m good at being invisible. I imagine I’m painted grey as the walls. My breath’s caught in my throat and I swear the roaring of blood in my ears will give me away.

  Skinny bites the guard’s hand and angry grunts roll around the pit.

  The door. It’s right there. All I have to do is–

  ‘You, stop!’

  One of the guards has seen me. We lock eyes. He begins to raise his gun and I know he’ll shoot me. Maybe not a kill shot, but definitely one to stop me, and that bullet will hurt like hell.

  I keep staring at him, willing him to see I shouldn’t be here. This is all a mistake. He should just let me go. Nobody needs to know he was the one who let me escape.

  The gun’s still being raised and it’s almost pointed at me.

  I run.

  A breeze block explodes somewhere by my legs, but I’m out.

  Out of the pit.

  I don’t have time to think about where I am. I hurtle down the corridor, which is so dark it’s like I’m in one of those funfair rides where monsters jump out at you, but they’re just guys in costumes and the real monsters are right behind me. I pass other doors which must lead to other pits, and I’m damned if I’m going back in.

  Bullets ricochet around my feet. The guard’s a bad shot or it’s too dark for him to aim properly. Either way, I’m not down yet. I crash through a door at the end of the corridor and collapse against a set of metal steps.

  Footsteps pound the floor behind me and I’m on my feet again, sweaty, panting, clambering up the stairs, trying to be quiet, but pretty sure I sound like a stampeding elephant. A single word pumps through me.