Black eye.
Split lip.
Cigarette burn.
Crash!
Sheered nipple.
Broken ribs.
Blood.
Semen.
Lots of semen.
Rolling over onto his side, George snapped his knees up to his chest and rocked gently. "No." Swallowing back the painful lump, his dry throat tasting like the musty room, he continued rocking.
Crash!
"No."
Slap!
"No."
Smash!
Frowning hard, shaking with ragged breaths, George opened his mouth to scream at the ceiling. Then he stopped. Something was wrong.
Crash!
Something was missing.
Slap!
He couldn't hear her any more.
Smash!
He couldn't hear Liz anymore.
Fucked
After what could have been no more than half an hour of tossing and turning, George got out of bed and returned to his armchair.
Huddled in the threadbare piece of furniture, his knees to his chest, his duvet wrapped around him for warmth, he stared into the darkness. Having thought Liz's screams were torture, he was now listening to something much worse: her silence.
* * *
The watery blue hue of daylight pushed through the curtains. God was changing his palette for yet another day. Snorting a laugh, George sneered. "Fat fucking chance of there being a God."
Sleep deprivation doubling the weight of his exhausted body, George continued to sit in his chair and stare into space. Breathing through his mouth, the awakening day burning his dry eyes, George swallowed against the strong and bitter taste in his throat.
Frowning did nothing to relieve the headache that drove needles into his temples. Lifting a heavy arm, he massaged his face. It offered no relief.
The echo of voices in the hallway forced his eyes to the door. It was hard to hear the words but easy to identify the speakers.
Si.
Thud.
Ravi.
Thud.
Dean.
Thud.
Si again.
Thud.
Dean.
Thud.
Dean.
Thud.
Dean.
Thud.
Dean.
The thudding was accompanied by grunts and groans and went past his flat. They were dragging something down the stairs.
Pushing against his chair, his thick arms shaking under the strain of his own large body, George forced himself to stand.
As he walked to the door, his feet heavy on the cold ground, a wobble ran through him. Once he was halfway across the flat, his head spun, and he tilted to the side. Sticking his arms out for balance, he continued walking.
When he was close to the door, the diluted scent of bleach whispering through gap beneath it, he leant against the cold lump of wood.
"Hold up, Si."
"Fucking hell, Ravi. What's fucking wrong with you? I didn't realize how much of a pussy you were."
"Look at him." It was Dean's voice. "Are you really that surprised? I often wonder how that skinny body carries its own weight."
The cackles of laughter soon died down. The grunts of exertion returned.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Relief wasn't the word, but there was a mild easing of the anxious knot in George's stomach when he heard the front doors open and the three men leave the building. Every thud on every stair had run through him as if he were being dragged down them himself. What had they done to her last night?
Standing up and rolling his aching shoulders did nothing to alleviate the dull pain that sat deep in them.
Returning to his bedroom, he pulled the curtains open, a frigid blast jumping forwards and biting into his exposed skin. The single pane glistened with ice on the inside.
Watching the cage, he waited to see them appear with Liz.
Then he saw movement.
They weren't where he expected them to be.
His breath caught in his throat.
Si and Ravi were heading for the skip. They had a body wrapped in bin liners.
Grabbing the windowsill to steady himself, George watched on as they carried Liz up the metal stairs and tossed her into the large container like an old sofa. Close on their heels, petrol can in hand, Dean leant over and emptied the contents of it into the skip.
Lighting a piece of card as big as a dinner plate, Dean watched the flame grow.
Turning to look up at George's window, he then smiled as he let it drop.
Mirroring its descent, George fell to the floor again.
Fire exploded through his jaw when he caught it on the windowsill.
The metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth.
Then the lights went out.
Cooked
Opening and closing his aching jaw, George ran his swollen tongue around the inside of his mouth.
Not moving, his face pressed against the cold floor, he listened to the heavy thuds outside. It was the sound of post pounders driving poles into the ground.
Sitting up slowly, his world rocking and his stomach doing backflips, George took deep breaths and swallowed a metallic gulp of his own blood. Turning his tongue over on itself, he flinched, finding the slimy and tender hole that he'd bitten from it when he fell.
Grabbing the cold windowsill, he pulled himself up an inch at a time.
Once upright, he rested on the window and looked out. Over the past few weeks, he'd conditioned himself not to look into the skip. But today, with someone he cared for burning, he stared straight into its dark heart.
There was no trace of the blue paint on the inside. It was coal black. Liz's smoking body now looked the same as the bed of skeletons it lay on. Scorched flesh clung to white bones like mud stuck to the roots of a freshly-excavated tree.
Zach had looked exactly the same. Although he was smaller.
Much smaller.
* * *
Holding his breath and fighting the lethargy in his muscles, George tiptoed up behind Dean. Gritting his teeth, he shoved him hard, the arsehole's neck snapping back as he fell to his knees.
In two steps, George was over him, fists balled, shoulders pulled back. No one else existed at that moment other than him and Dean.
Scooting backwards, Dean sat up and laughed. "What was that for, Georgie?"
For the second time in as many days, George was yanked backwards. Fighting and squirming did nothing for his cause.
"Seems like you're outnumbered again. So now that I have your attention," Dean got to his feet and dusted himself down, "do you want to tell me what that was about?"
The sickly sweet smell of Liz's burning corpse filled George's sinuses. "You burned her, you cunt!"
The rictus grin on Dean's face grew.
"You sick fuck." Surging forwards, George was quickly overpowered again.
"Now now, Georgie. I think you need to calm down a bit, son. I don't think you're in any position to judge anyone about burning things."
Nausea balled in George's stomach. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Forgotten already, have ya?" Walking over, Dean leant in so close to George's ear that it tickled the bottom of his neck. "Zach. Your son. I'm not sure if you remember, but you set fire to the poor little bastard."
Roaring, George pulled again, fighting so hard that stars swam in his vision. It was difficult to tell how many, but more men jumped on his back. With his eyes streaming, George gritted his teeth as he shook and writhed.
Watching on, Dean picked his teeth with a fingernail that was grimy with dried blood. "I think you need to relax." Tapping his temple, his eyes widened. "You're losing the plot, mate. The only reason you're not lying in that skip is because I love Sally."
When Warren laughed, Dean turned on him. "You think that's funny, do you?"
"I ... I—"
&nbs
p; "Come on, retard, spit it out."
Dropping his head, Warren stared at the floor.
After watching him for a few more seconds, Dean turned back to George. "Now I suggest you go back upstairs and get some sleep. You seem a bit cranky—"
"A bit fucking cranky?" Spittle flew from George's mouth. "You've just burned the woman I cared for!"
"Aw, you cared for her? How fucking romantic." Moving close enough for George to inhale the usual reek of fleshy rot, Dean's black eyes darkened. "She was a fucking good ride." He shrugged. "But I guess you wouldn't know about that. Having only held her hands through the bars of the cage and all. I bet it felt right fucking romantic staring into her eyes as she stood in her own waste." Running his tongue around his lips, Dean then scratched his filthy beard. "I'll tell you what though, once she was cleaned up, she looked tidy. I love a feisty redhead. I could have ridden her all week."
There was no fight left in George's body as he watched Dean pick up his hammer.
"Now go and get some rest. You're on night duty for the next two weeks straight."
"Fuck you. I ain't pulling another night shift again."
Flicking a hand through the air, Dean scoffed. "Let him go."
When the men did as they were ordered, George stood and watched the back of his brother-in-law. There was no power left in his exhausted body. There was no fire left in his spirit.
On his route back to the block, George passed Ravi, who moved away a couple of paces and stared at the floor.
George grabbed the lapels of the boy's coat.
When Ravi looked up, his eyes were wide and his mouth moved like he was trying to speak.
Pulling him forwards with all his might, George drove his forehead into the boy's nose. An explosion of white light coincided with a wet and gritty squelch.
The boy crumpled, and George continued his walk back, his ears ringing from the impact.
* * *
Curled in the foetal position, the smell of burning flesh still in his nostrils, George stared at Sally's letter. How would he know if it was real? If she wrote it the other day? If she was still alive?
Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. Mold grew from the corners where it met the walls. Although it had started small at first, the rot was spreading, taking over George's life one centimeter at a time.
Melt
George's eyes flashed open.
His heart hammered.
What the fuck?
How long had he been asleep for?
It was nighttime again.
What was that light?
Jumping from his bed, George rushed to the window. Pulling the curtains open, he stumbled backwards, the bright glow of fire temporarily blinding him.
Rubbing his eyes, he regained his vision. The ice on the pane had melted.
Walking closer to the window again, he looked out. A huge fire roared next to the caged women. The petrol had caught alight. It was a stupid fucking idea having it there in the first place.
The truck shook with the women's panic as they fought to get away from the flames. Screaming, the weakest were getting trampled.
The fire was too close.
Too out of control.
"Someone free them." George banged on the window. The glass was warm, the ice had melted. "Someone free them!"
Bang!
Bang!
The back tires popped. The women screamed louder. It wouldn't be long before the entire truck went up like a keg of gunpowder.
"Save them!" Banging on the window again, George ran a hand over his head. "Somebody do something!" he screamed so loudly it hurt his throat.
Then he saw the front gate.
It was open.
Bodies were swarming in.
His heart sank.
"Fuck."
A bright flash.
The building shook.
His window popped, and he was showered with glass.
Covering his face, he fell back.
A sharp jolt ran up his spine when he hit the cold tile floor.
Pulling his stinging hands away, he turned them round. They glistened with blood and glass.
When he looked up, George saw the truck's huge bonnet flash past as it returned to Earth.
Crash!
Thick smoke filled the room, choking him almost instantly.
Pulling his jumper over his mouth, George got to his feet and looked outside.
All that was left was a burning shell.
No more screams.
The fire was growing.
Slipping his shoes on, gritting his teeth against the searing pain of forcing the glass deeper into his soles, George grabbed his things.
Rucksack. Picture of Zach. Truck keys. Baseball bat.
He opened the front door.
The smoke in the hallway was thicker than in George's flat. It tasted like coal. With streaming eyes, George raised his bat and made for Ravi's.
Bang bang bang! He hit the door so hard his hand stung.
No one answered.
"Open the fucking door, now!"
Nothing.
Bang!
Still nothing.
Gritting his teeth, George yelled as he kicked the door. There was a ripping of wood as it gave way. Storming into the flat, his teeth clenched, George rubbed his eyes. It didn't help. "Where are you?"
With his bat raised, he scanned the darkness. "Mr. and Mrs. Vadher, where the fuck are you?"
Jumping when the blurry image of Ravi's dad appeared in front of him, George stared at the man, a tight grip on his bat. "Come with me."
The man shook his head. "Ravi said we should stay here and wait for him. If anything happened, he said he would come and get us."
"Something's happening. The block's on fire. You need to come with me now."
Silence.
Looking over his shoulder, his eyes adjusting to the poor visibility, George saw that more smoke was coming in all the time. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he grabbed the man by a slim shoulder and shook him. "Come on."
"No. Ravi said wait."
Looking behind again, George threw a hand up in exasperation. He gave the man his bat. "Take this. You'll probably need it."
After Ravi's dad took it, his mum stepped forwards. Pulling the small woman to him, George hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay. You need to get out of here too." When he pulled away, he looked into her dark eyes. "You'll die if you don't."
When she didn't respond, he spun on his heel and ran from the flat, swallowing back his tears.
As he descended the stairs blind, the smoke tore at his lungs. His head spun. The cries of war sounded outside.
The closer George got to the ground, the denser the smoke. His eyes felt like they were melting. Holding onto the handrail, he squeezed them shut and continued down.
Another loud explosion shook the ground, and a bright light shone through George's eyelids. As he fell, he prayed it wasn't his truck that had just gone up in flames.
White-hot pain ripped through his shoulder when he hit the floor. The impact winded him. Gasping at the acrid air, coughing as he fought for breath, George got to his feet again and resumed his descent.
Every inhalation choked him more than the last.
His head spun.
The walls were closing in.
***
Hitting the swing doors with his sore shoulder, George yelped as he fell out into the forecourt. Landing hard on his knees, he vomited where he knelt.
Gasping for air, George puked several more times before he could breathe again. Looking up, eyes streaming more than ever, he could just about make out the bedlam of what looked like hundreds of people.
Then he saw the boy heading straight for him with a blade in one hand that was as long as his forearm.
Watching him raise it above his head, George rolled to the side just in time to avoid the decapitating swing. The machete rang as it hit the concrete.
J
umping to his feet, George drove a heavy fist into his attacker's gut.
The blade fell to the ground with a clang, and the boy folded. Driving a heavy boot into his guts, George moved on.
As his vision cleared, George suddenly realised the bright orange blur was Dean's truck. Searching the chaos, he saw his own vehicle was still fine, although it was currently being guarded by two boys with bats. Little cunts! Who do they fucking think they are?
Checking for any more attackers, George then stepped to the side and into the shadows.
Although the darkness along the perimeter fence wasn't complete, it was enough to hide him. Walking on tiptoes, the glass in his feet burning with every step, George circled around the back of his truck.
While holding his breath, he crept up on the first guard, every step a biting agony. Coiling his arm, he delivered a hard jab to the back of the boy's skull.
The yell of surprise before the boy crumpled was short-lived, but it still alerted the other guard. Turning around to face George, the boy opened his mouth to scream, but before he'd made a sound, George had driven his fist across his chin and dropped him too.
Pulling the keys from his pocket, George fought against his swollen knuckles and shaking hands.
After a clumsy twenty seconds or so, he finally unlocked the truck.
Blip!
The orange glow of its hazard lights were camouflaged by the commotion.
Yanking the door open, George got into the cab, shivering from a mixture of cold and adrenaline. The air was cleaner in the truck, so he took a second to pull a breath into his tight lungs.
Starting the engine, he locked the doors and took another breath before shifting it into drive.
George looked in his mirror. Fuck! The cage on the back of Si's truck was greasy with melted women. Fuck! Swallowing his dry and smoky saliva, he froze.
Bang!
Jumping, George looked at the passenger side window. It was Dean pressed up against the glass. "Let me in."
Staring at his brother-in-law, the smoke and flames behind him ever-increasing, George leant over to pop the door open. He needed to find his sister.
Crash II: Highrise Hell Page 17