Crash II: Highrise Hell

by Michael Robertson

  "So you've finally got out of bed then?"

  "Yeah, thanks for that. The world's gone to shit, and I still end up with an arsehole boss giving me a fucking schedule." Blowing into his cupped hands, he then rubbed them together. It did nothing to counter the tingling bite of numbness that was currently working through them.

  After staring at him for a second, Dean pointed at the waiting Ravi. "You're with him."

  Great! George didn't respond.

  Nodding at a truck with sheets of plywood on it, Dean said, "I want one of those attached to each side of each fence panel. Tomorrow, we'll start digging holes so we can bury some upright poles to make them solid."

  Turning away from Dean before he'd finished his sentence, George looked at Ravi, who in turn looked at the floor.

  * * *

  Standing on one side of the fence, the heavy board cutting into his fingers, George tried to line up one of the pre-drilled holes. With his entire body shaking beneath its weight and sweat running down his face, he got it close several times before the other side moved. "Fucking hell, Ravi, are you really that fucking weak? All you need to do is hold the fucking thing in place while I line the fucking holes up."

  The only response the boy offered were grunts and groans, his board perpetually moving as he struggled with it. It was going to be a long fucking day.

  Standing with his back to the ruined city, the thick smell of smoke riding the wind, George tried to focus on the job at hand. The fires weren't getting any worse. It wasn't like the buildings were all thatched roofs and wooden beams. His silent assertions did little to ease the anxiety that sat in his stomach like broken glass.

  Finally lining up a hole, George slid a bolt through. Scooting across to the other side, he slipped the next one through. Stretching the pain from his lower back, he bolted the top two corners and stepped away. "Put the nuts on them, Ravi."

  Scanning the city, searching for signs of onlookers, all he saw was smashed windows, fallen signage and smoke—lots of fucking smoke. Despite the headache it brought with it, George would take the chemical smell of a burning modern building over charred flesh any day. Even if it did come with the threat of a runaway fire.

  Continuing to stare at the ruins, George shook his head. How did everything fall apart so fucking quickly? The people had stopped marching the second the drumbeat ceased. It was like they'd been waiting for it their entire lives. They'd been given the chance to return to simpler times. There was no more council tax or shitty jobs. No more interest payments on mortgages they couldn't afford. No more being a drone in a system designed to serve the most affluent. All that mattered now was food, defecation, and procreation. In the past few months, London had changed from a shining bastion of commerce to the arsehole of the world. Maybe that's all it ever was anyway.

  Snapping from his daze, George turned around to see Ravi looking at him. Tutting, he pointed at the boards. "Come on, boy, hurry up with that."

  * * *

  "Good work, lads."

  Standing by the trucks in a line with the other workers, George watched Dean march up and down in front of them. The letter had changed everything. The cunt had him over a barrel.

  Spinning full circle, Dean took in the entire perimeter fence, freshly boarded from the day's work. "All finished before dark. Ginge, Jason, and Ravi, you're on the nightshift tonight."

  When Ravi opened his mouth to reply, Dean stepped into his personal space, their noses close to touching. "Problem?"

  Closing it again, Ravi dropped his attention to his toes.

  Turning from the boy, Dean marched over to the truck with the women. "All I need now is some entertainment for the evening." The clanging rattle as he ran his hammer along the bars cut to the base of George's neck. It seemed to break through the daze of some of the more broken women.

  Licking his lips, which were surrounded with crusty blood, Dean then crashed his hammer into the cage, and the women withdrew. "Which one of you lovelies will be coming with me tonight?"

  Unable to calm his beating heart, George watched on. Is he looking at Liz? Every time Dean went anywhere near the cage, it looked like he'd pick her. It was like playing Russian roulette. The bullet would be in the chamber one day. Not that he was the one with the gun to his head. He wasn't that brave.

  Pointing his hammer at Liz, Dean's voice came out as a low rumble. "You."

  "No!" The word had left George's mouth before he'd even thought about it.

  Rather than the expected irritation, Dean was positively glowing when he turned to face George. With his head tilted to the side, he wore his usual grin. "No?"

  Balling his fists, George stepped forwards. "You fucking heard me. Leave her alone."

  "I didn't ask for your permission, Georgie."

  How did this cunt find out about Liz? When he glanced at Si, the man looked down. Fucking scum bag. It was inevitable that he was going to rat him out sooner or later. Stepping forward, George stared straight into Dean's dark eyes. With his pulse still rampaging and a wobble running through him, he kept glancing at the hammer. "I know you didn't ask for my permission, but you ain't fucking taking her." Before he could say anything else, a pain exploded across his chest as both of his arms were yanked back. He was then forced to the ground and caught in a headlock. Shaking and writhing did nothing to throw the men loose.

  After opening the cage, Dean clicked his fingers at Liz. "Come on, girl, it's your lucky night."

  Using up valuable air, George said, "Leave her alone, you horrible cunt."

  "Now that's not very nice, is it, Georgie?"

  "Stop calling me that, you obnoxious prick, and leave her the fuck alone."

  Darting forwards, Dean got so close that George felt the warmth of his fetid breath on his face. His soft voice crackled like thunder. "You don't tell me what to do."

  Stars swam in George's vision as he fought for air. "What about my sister?"

  "What about her?"

  Some of the men, including the one with a grip on George's neck, laughed.

  "You cunt! She's fucking pregnant!"

  "Exactly. I don't want to fuck a whale now, do I? I've got to get it somewhere."

  Liz, who had remained silent, lifted her bowed head. "Leave it, George."

  "See?" Delight illuminated Dean's face. "She wants it as much as I do."

  What little fight he had left drained out of George as he continued to struggle for breath. "Liz?"

  When Liz looked up, there were tears in her eyes. "There's no point in fighting it, George. I knew it would happen sooner or later."

  The accusation robbed George of the small amount of air left in his lungs.

  Clamping a grip around the back of Liz's neck, her shoulders rising up to her ears, Dean then licked her face. "Listen to your girlfriend, Georgie." Staring over at Ravi, he clicked his fingers. "Come here, boy."

  Without looking up, Ravi walked over to Dean's side.

  The guy who had George in a headlock had loosened his grip, but George barely noticed as he looked at the slimy Indian kid. "What the fuck?"

  Ravi avoided George's eye.

  "Ravi, what's going on?" It was pretty fucking obvious what was going on, but maybe George was wrong? It was only last week when George was feeding his family. Surely, Dean was winding him up.

  Snorting a laugh, Dean patted Ravi on the back. "You're coming with me, son. I don't think it'll be safe leaving you where George can get at you." Looking at Warren, he said, "You're on the graveyard shift now."

  All of George's power drained from him as he watched their suited leader drag Liz away with Si and Ravi. He could have done something to save her before now, but he didn't. Glancing at the cage, his body sank. He could have done something to save them all.

  Spinning around, Dean placed a hand on his own chest. "Oh, of course. Forgive me, George, where are my manners? I'm sure you've already guessed, but just for the sake of clarity, Ravi was the one who told me about your little love affair."

  S
taring at the Indian boy, adrenaline and fury galloping through him, George clenched his jaw. "Don't think your parents are safe now, boy. I'm going to gut them before morning."

  After blowing him a kiss, Dean winked. "Night, night, Georgie." As he turned to walk away, he paused. "And if you try to come up in the night, I'll kill your girlfriend and your sister too. Also, Ravi and Si will be guarding my door with shotguns. Just saying."

  The four of them walked into the block, Ravi glancing back at George.

  "What about my parents, Dean?"

  Stopping, Dean turned to the boy. "What about them?"

  Ravi's shoulders slumped.

  When the men loosened their grip, George spun around. The first person he saw was Ginge. Driving his fist across his chin, George watched him fold. The other two men fell into the pack. George couldn't take them all. Looking at the motley crew, he shook his head. "You fucking cowards." Turning his back on them, he walked towards the building, opening and closing his sore right hand as he went. It still hadn't been washed since he killed that man. It wouldn't be washed any time soon.

  Between a Rock …

  Looking up at the ceiling after another thud ran through it, George ground his jaw. They were three fucking floors above him, and it still shook his flat. What are they doing to her?

  Returning his attention to his book, the small font hard to read under the flickering candlelight, George squinted and persevered.

  Slap!

  Crack!

  Thud!

  Reading was tricky on a good night with no electricity. This was very fucking far from a good night. Rubbing his stinging eyes, George dragged his finger along the dry page to try and track the words as he read them.

  Mouthing the sentences still didn't keep them in his head, but what other choice did he have? With the two sycophants standing guard at Dean's door with shotguns, he didn't have a prayer rescuing Liz with just a baseball bat and some DIY tools.

  Sighing, he looked at the letter from Sally on his bedside table.

  Slapping his book shut, George put it down and got to his feet. Extreme tiredness sent his head spinning, and he had to pause to get his bearings.

  When a high-pitched scream shot down the stairwell, he sighed and looked at the floor.

  Slap!

  Crunch!

  Silence again.

  Walking to his front door, his fists clenched and his stomach tight, George bashed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Why did I trust that little cunt to keep his mouth shut? Why did I feed his fucking family? He ratted me out the first fucking chance he got."

  The baseball bat was where he'd left it in the kitchen. Lifting it up and wrapping his grip around the handle, he then rested it on his shoulder. Twisting the lock, he popped the front door open, the smell of bleach, albeit more diluted than usual, rushing in. He liked Ravi's parents, but the boy needed to understand there were consequences for what he'd done. There were always consequences.

  * * *

  Click.

  The lock on George's front door slid into place as he returned to his flat. Holding his bat to his chest, he squeezed it until his forearms shook and his fingers hurt. He couldn't do it. It wasn't their fault their son was a cunt.

  Another scream echoed through the stairwell, weakening George's legs. As he slid down the door, his lip bent out of shape. "I'm sorry, Liz. I'm truly fucking sorry."

  Sitting on the hard floor for a time had turned George's bottom numb. With his back still pressed to the icy door, he sat there shivering. The only light in his cold and gloomy flat came from the moon through the slit in his bedroom curtains.

  Crack!

  Bang!

  Crunch!

  Frowning so hard it had given him a headache, George rubbed his numbing face. When the smell of rot and dirt smothered him, he pulled his hands away.

  Within the next day or two, Ravi's mates would storm the building again. Surely they would do it better this time? To plan for anything less than that would be foolish. In the time he had left, he'd try to get to Sally. If that didn't happen, he'd have to make sure he took Dean with him. Even if he had to knock the cunt out to get him into the pickup. The rest of the gang could go fuck themselves. Dean was the key to Sally.

  When another throat-splitting scream shattered his nerves, George clenched his fists and released them. Repeating the process, he stared up at his ceiling. Once he'd been reunited with Sally, every bit of suffering dished out by Dean would come back to him tenfold.

  Retribution would be sweet.

  * * *

  Holding his breath, George twisted the creaking lock on his front door again. Dean's flat was three stories above him. It was just far enough away that he could sneak out without being seen. Just.

  Blinded by the darkness, he bent down and grasped fresh air once or twice before finding the holdall's handles.

  When he lifted it slowly from the ground, the tools settled and shifted in the bag, a noise of rubbing steel whispering through the flat. Saws, hammers, pliers, screwdrivers, George had the lot. If Dean was going to be made to pay for his actions, George was going to be sure to do it right. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open again.

  It was pitch black in the hallway, but it wasn't silent. The sound of Dean's filthy laugh came from above, accompanied by slapping flesh. Looking up, George couldn't see any further than a few inches in front of him.

  Reaching out into the inky black, George stepped forwards. Despite knowing this corridor, a falling sensation dropped in his stomach every time he shifted towards the stairs in case he misjudged it.

  When he finally found the railing, Ravi's loud voice filled the hallway, and he froze.

  "You still awake, Si?"

  "Yep."

  "What do you think George will do?"

  "Dunno."

  "Surely he's going to do something."

  "Dunno."

  "Do you think he'll go for us too?"

  "He might go for you. I ain't done nothing wrong."

  The conversation ended.

  It was a slow descent, but once George was at the bottom of the stairs, he pushed the door open a crack. Again, he heard Ravi's voice, and again, he froze.

  "What was that?"

  "What?" Si sounded like he'd just woken up.

  "Didn't you just feel that gust of wind?"

  A torch sprung to life at the top of the stairs and darted around.

  "Fucking hell, son, you're paranoid. There's no one there. Just chill the fuck out, yeah? You're stressing me out."

  The light went off.

  Having kept the door open, George looked up at the top of the stairs for a few more seconds before he poked his head outside. The frozen wind burned his exposed face. The moon helped him see shapes, but none of them were human. Where the fuck were Ginge, Jason, and Warren? Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the door open further and slipped through the gap.

  Shivering from the cold, George continued to scan the area, his heart pounding. Then he saw them. All three of them huddled together as one big shadow by the gate, steam rising into the air from their collective breaths.

  Stepping in the other direction, George headed for the truck with the women.

  In just three steps, he was behind it and hidden from view. As he walked along its side, he came face-to-face with the girls from the cul-de-sac. They stared at him through glassy eyes. George pushed his index finger across his lips. Their expressions remained unchanged. He would have got the same reaction from cattle.

  Crossing the gap between the women's truck and his own, George then placed the holdall on the floor and slid it just underneath the driver's side of the cab. Removing the keys with shaking hands, he pressed the button, the hazard lights flaring up in the darkness.

  "Oi," the inevitable call came out. "Who's there?"

  "It's George."

  "George?"

  When the man got closer he saw it was Ginge. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

  "Keep
your knickers on, I'm just getting another blanket from the truck."

  The moonlight illuminated the greasy guard, who had his tennis racquet raised. "Do we have a problem, George?"

  "I'm not the kid I used to be."

  "What the fuck does that mean?"

  "As a younger man, I would have taken what you did to me personally. I would have waited until you were sleeping and cut your fucking throat. I can't be bothered with that bullshit anymore. Don't get me wrong. I still have my limits, and I still think you're a cunt, but I don't plan on attacking you if that's what you mean. I've dropped you like a sack of shit already. It's done."

  Watching the thought process play out on the idiot's face, George opened the truck door and found the blanket that he knew to be in there. "Nice chat, Ginge."

  Turning his back on him, Ginge wandered off to the gate to return to the other two guards.

  Seizing his opportunity, George grabbed the holdall and slid it beneath the driver's seat.

  * * *

  Lying in his bed, an electric buzz of exhaustion running through his tired mind, George stared at the ceiling. Having pulled the gap in his curtains tight, the room was now darker than an ant's arsehole. With nothing to look at, his mind ran away with him. How would he find Sally? How could he rescue Liz? Could he free the other women? Would Sally's labour be okay? How would he get rid of Dean? How—

  Crash!

  Bang!

  Slap!

  George clamped his hands over his ears so hard it distorted his vision. The throb of his pulse ran through his eyeballs and turned everything blurry. Grinding his jaw, his blood boiling, tension locking his body tight, he continued to lie there.

  Crash!

  Bang!

  Slap!

  Letting his hands fall to his side, he listened to the dragging sound that was like someone being shifted around Dean's flat. When he closed his eyes, he saw an image of the infected bite marks on the girl in the cage. They grew in his mind's eye until the yellow, glistening puss covered her entire cheek. The girl's face then changed into Liz's, and the imagined abuse unfolded.