Hands still over his head, Whistler ran for the door, garish jumper flapping around him.
“No!” Nat cried, watching her vain hope vanish through the door and into the night.
Coward! she thought.
More birds joined the swirling mass above. The number of cries increased with each clang from the hatch.
“Simon, he’s almost here, and when he gets…”
“I know,” snapped Simon and jerked Nat’s hair.
She cried out and stood on her toes, trying to relieve the tight agony across her head.
Max? her mind screamed. God, Max, where are you?
She scanned the room, searching around every box, within every shadow for any sign of him.
He’s… gone.
Realisation hit her harder than any of the blows dealt by Simon. Her heart seemed to tug in her chest. She felt sick.
He’s escaped, just like his chicken shit of a brother.
She sniffed.
It’s all about the family. As long as the family’s safe…
Another noise echoed from the hatch, louder than before.
Alcazar!
Simon jammed the splintered spike under her chin. The point broke the skin. Nat swallowed, and her throat strained against the point for a moment.
“Come on,” Simon shouted to Johan. He dragged Nat back and manoeuvred her around the platform. Their feet clopped on the wooden ramp leading up to it. “In here.”
Johan stood at the centre of the room, following the circling birds with the gun.
“You can’t shoot them all,” cried Simon and pulled Nat further along the platform. They reached the entrance to the dark corridor.
If we enter the rest of the building, thought Nat, we could be hidden for days before anyone finds us.
She kicked Simon in the injured leg.
He yowled and thrust the wooden spike even higher.
Nat feared that if she so much as swallowed, the stick might plunge up into her mouth. She remained on her toes and tried to force her head away.
Two gloved hands emerged from the open hatch, followed by a thin face dominated by a sharp nose. Alcazar looked around and soon found Johan. He proceeded to climb out.
“Johan! He’s here!”
Averting his eyes from the birds, Johan glanced down and saw the approaching figure.
Alcazar paused, taking a second to study the white-haired boy that stood between him and the platform. “You…”
In the doorway that led to the street, Jenkins whimpered and circled on the spot.
“Run,” called Simon as he ducked into the shadows of the corridor. He pulled the struggling Nat along. “Get in here!”
Johan raised the gun and levelled it at Alcazar’s chest.
“Fucking freak,” he said.
One of the birds, which had been flying in a slow and graceful circuit, dove down. It struck the outstretched gun and swept back up into the air.
Johan pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out.
Still, Alcazar stood watching him.
“Shit,” cried Johan and lined up a second shot. Before he had chance to aim, more birds dropped from the rafters and flew into him, pummelling his body. The second shot missed. He beat the attacking birds off with the gun.
Alcazar watched him like a statue, his face a porcelain mask.
“Johan!” Simon screamed.
Nat continued to pull away, but the movement dug the spike in deeper. The underside of her chin and her throat grew warm and sticky with blood.
Again and again the birds smashed into Johan. He bled from various small nicks and cuts caused by beaks and claws. The crimson stood out stark against his pale skin. He whipped around on the spot, assaulted from all directions.
Despite the onslaught, Johan managed to lift his arm holding the gun and fired. He missed Alcazar by a good distance, his aim towards the exit. The large light switch by the door exploded in a shower of burning bright sparks.
Jenkins barked and fled in the opposite direction.
The warehouse fell into darkness.
“Fuck,” muttered Simon and dragged Nat even further back. They stood on the inside of the corridor. “Johan?”
The sound of beating wings and the raucous cries of the birds replied.
“Fuck,” he said again. He quickly moved behind Nat and, with one arm around her waist, dragged her deeper down the corridor.
“What are you doing?” she asked, each word pressing her throat against the wood.
“Getting away from all this,” he said. “Place seems big enough. They might give up looking for us after a while.”
“I’ll scream,” she said, quivering voice not helping her threat. “I’ll scream and scream until Alcazar can—”
“Alcazar?” said Simon, almost with a laugh. “You really have gotten to know these weirdos, haven’t you? I take it Alcazar is ol’ bird fucker out there. You bang him too? Just like that other bastard?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said, hoping that playing dumb might buy her a few more moments. If they stayed close to the main area, Alcazar had a chance to—
“I bet you did,” sneered Simon.
It dragged her back from her thoughts.
Simon huffed, the effort of dragging her taking its toll.
“Why?” he asked. He sounded more upset than angry.
“Why, what? Why did I kiss Max?”
He took a moment to answer. “Yes.”
“I don’t know, okay? I hadn’t planned this. I didn’t want to be taken down to the sewers and put in a cage! It was all because of you! You and your screwed up friends did this. But I’m glad it happened. Now I know all about you!”
He responded by pushing the wood further up. Nat winced.
“Now I know what you really are.” He took a deep breath. “Johan!”
Deep inside the corridor, even the doorway had been swallowed by the darkness. With no sight or sound of Johan, Simon continued back with his reluctant companion.
“In here,” he ordered and shoved her into a room to the side.
On the far wall, a window—the glass smeared with dirt and mapped with spidery cracks—let in a meagre amount of light from the street.
Simon threw her down. She landed in a pile of soiled newspaper pages and empty beer cans. They clattered around on the floor. Simon tried to close the door. The wood was green with paint or rot. The bottom edge scraped along the floor, and Simon forced it with his shoulder. Almost closed, it refused to move any further.
“You don’t think they’ll find you in here?”
“Not if you keep your mouth shut,” said Simon. He pointed the wooden spike at her.
Nat rubbed her throat. Blood still seeped from her skin.
“And what do you mean, find me? We’re in the same boat.”
Fearing a laugh might bring more pain, Nat forced it back and calmly asked, “What do you mean?”
“They’re crazy! Psychotic! If they find us, we’re both dead.”
“Oh no,” said Nat. “We’re not. It’s you they want, you and Johan. You were the ones who killed their mother, the ones that slaughtered their defenseless brothers…”
“Defenseless? After what they did?” He tried to close the door again. “Johan was right. They’re freaks and they need to be exterminated.” He smiled. “Thank you for leading us to them. Maybe you’re not completely useless.”
Nat stared up from the floor, mouth hanging open. Her hand fell from her bleeding throat.
Was he right? If she hadn’t searched for Agnes, she wouldn’t have found the brothers. Simon and his boys would not have searched for her and never come across Herman and baby Edgar.
She dipped her head.
“You didn’t realise, did you? If it wasn’t for you going missing, we’d probably be in your flat now… happy…”
“We could never be happy,” she spat. “How long until you felt the urge again, Simon? The urge to go out and hunt with the boys?”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nat stood, kicking cans out of the way.
“You know exactly what I mean. Being a killer isn’t something you can put aside because you think you found the right girl. How long, huh? How long until we had an argument and you decided to put me in my place?”
Simon swallowed. “No, I would never…”
“Looks like it,” she said and jabbed a finger at her blood-slicked throat. “You know, like you, I thought that monsters lived down here but turns out I was wrong. You’re the monster, you and that white-haired fuck out there. I hope he’s dead, Simon. I hope Alcazar’s birds ripped him to shreds and Jenkins is lapping up the blood.”
“That’s enough!” said Simon and pounced on her. He lifted the spike high over her head and grabbed her with his other hand.
Nat screamed and grasped his wrist. Her muscles strained trying to keep the spike in the air.
Simon drove it down hard.
“No…” said Nat.
The pointed wood hung inches from her face. Nat gazed up at its tip. Exhaustion built in her arms.
The trembling spike drew closer.
“Bitch,” Simon growled. His spittle flecked Nat’s face, and she blinked it away.
He pressed the spike further still. Its tip poked her in the forehead.
Nat cried out and twisted her head away.
“You’re just like… the rest of them,” Simon strained. A manic grin splashed across his face. The light from the window glinted in his dark eyes. “Nothing special. Just another… walking fuck! All you’re good for is spreading your legs…” He pressed even harder, and the spike stabbed her again.
Over Simon’s shoulder, the door opened a couple of inches.
Nat closed her eyes waiting for the wood to stab through her skin. Her arms burned and felt like weights had been hung from her wrists. She knew to fight him had been a mistake. She should have kept him talking. The brothers would have found her eventually and—
A snarling filled the room as Simon thrashed against her.
Nat let go and fell back into the littered cans on the floor. She kicked out, moving backwards until she thumped against the wall.
Simon raged, hopping on one leg and waving his arms in the air.
Jenkins, teeth embedded in Simon’s ankle, growled and snorted. His tiny legs slid on the floor, seeking purchase. Fabric ripped.
Simon bellowed and managed to grab the door and stay upright. The wooden stake fell from his hand. It hit the ground and rolled into the shadows.
“Get off me!”
Simon kicked higher, but the tenacious Jenkins held on. For a second, the dog hung freely from Simon’s leg, kicking feet inches from the floor. Jenkins made a strange noise, halfway between a snarl and a high-pitched whine.
“Jenkins!” Nat jumped to her feet.
“Little shit…!” cried Simon as Jenkins, all four feet back on the floor, reaffirmed his grip.
Simon kicked out, but the dog held on.
The green door swung open revealing a rectangle of darkness. The sounds of the birds still resonated down the corridor.
Screaming, Nat ran at Simon, shoulder barging him.
Jenkins let go and trotted back.
Simon tumbled through the doorway on one leg, grabbing the frame before he fell. He stood straight and glared at Nat.
Jenkins growled and barred his teeth again but stayed put.
“I’m going to snap that dog’s neck and then choke the shit out of you.” Simon wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, like he’d been drooling.
Nat searched for anything she could use for a weapon. The room appeared empty as a prison cell.
“Shame the boys aren’t here to enjoy this,” Simon continued. “Johan showed me the fun in being a team player again…”
Out of the doorway, two hands clamped down on Simon’s shoulders.
Max leaned in before Simon had the chance to turn and brought his beaten face down to Simon’s neck. Gripping him hard, Max opened his mouth wide and plunged his teeth into the throbbing flesh.
Simon screamed.
With a noise like a choke, Max jerked his head. From between his lips blood dribbled. From Simon’s skin, it gushed.
“M-Max?”
Max lifted his head. A clump of dripping flesh poked from between his teeth, thin strands of sinew still joining it to the gaping hole in Simon’s neck. Within the ragged gash, blood washed over the pulsing tissue.
Simon’s wailing rose to a crescendo.
Max whipped his head to the side and snapped the connecting threads. He spat out the red glob and dove in for a second mouthful. He violently shook his head from side to side, working his teeth in deeper.
Nat raised a hand to her face and held it over her mouth.
Another rip and Max tore his head free, chewing on the meat.
Blood spilled down Simon’s neck and covered his shoulder and right arm. He flopped to the side, released from Max’s hold, and landed on his back.
Max spat out the chunk of flesh and slowly raised his gaze to Nat. His lips and chin glistened red in the light from the dirty window.
“I’m… sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” asked Nat.
Simon fell still. “Help… me!” he gasped. Tears meandered down his cheeks. “Please…”
“You shouldn’t have seen that,” said Max, ignoring him. “But when I saw him touching you, hitting you...”
Nat ran to him. He enveloped her in his arms.
“Please!” Simon wailed. His body trembled and his eyes rolled up to show all white. Blood pumped from his neck anew and his hand slid down to lie palm up on the floor.
Jenkins, tail beating a frantic tattoo in the air, licked at the gathering pool.
Nat hugged Max, breathing in his scent. She felt his fingers in her hair.
“Are you okay? What did he do to you?”
Nat shook her head. “It’s fine. He didn’t get the chance to do much. Jenkins got here just in time.”
Max squeezed her harder. “Hear that, fella?”
Jenkins continued lapping at the blood.
They broke their embrace. Max pulled up his t-shirt and used it to wipe his mouth.
“You’re not disgusted? I mean, this isn’t normal…”
“I’ve never wanted normal.” Nat looked down at Simon’s body. His eyes and mouth were open. “Looks like I never had it.”
A figure stepped through the doorway, slamming a hand onto Max’s shoulder.
Nat screamed.
The hand pulled Max from his embrace, and a figure stepped between them.
“Jesus!” said Nat. “Alcazar.”
He glanced at Simon’s body with little interest.
“We still have the other one out there,” he said quietly. “The one with the white hair. The one with the gun. Whistler seeks redemption, but I don’t think he can do it alone!”
36.
Huddled between two of the large boxes, Johan opened his eyes. In the dark it made no difference. Eyes open or eyes closed, he saw nothing. He concentrated, listening hard.
Overhead, the birds had returned to their moderately passive circling. Johan listened to them flap their wings. Those who’d returned to their perches chirped and cooed, like they discussed the recent events and the parts they played.
As long as they stay up there, he thought.
His forehead stung in a patch over his left eye. A particularly vicious bird had gone to work with its claws and had taken a heavy punch to remove it from his face. He patted the skin and winced. His body complained where the feathered missiles had pummelled him. He wondered if they had the speed to crack a rib. It felt that way.
Can a bird carry rabies? I bet they can. I need to clean.
He cautiously stood up, ready to duck back down between the boxes at the first sign of attack.
He squinted and peered around the room.
Johan crept around
one of the boxes. Nothing stood between him, the open door, and the street beyond.
Fuck him, thought Johan and ventured forwards. Home first, clean, come back…
He scratched his arms, his neck and his face. The dirt had accumulated, grown inches thick and seeped into his pores. It flowed in his veins and swam higher, higher up into his brain.
“Shut up,” he told himself and scratched with increased vigour.
Half way across the warehouse he glanced upwards, expecting a winged bullet to swoop down. Satisfied that the birds hadn’t yet noticed him, Johan quickened his pace.
Lots of soap with a thick lather, his mind continued, wash it all up and scrub until you bleed.
He reached the doorway. The night outside had grown chillier still; Johan’s breath steamed and drifted away. He zipped up his coat, no longer needing quick access to the inside pocket. The gun still poked into his side, now empty of bullets. He had used what ammo he had shooting at the birdman. The rest of the bullets bought from Alan had been in the bag with Spence, blown to pieces.
Johan breathed deep. The clean, crisp air still smelled of the sewers. He hoped a good, hot shower would rectify the problem.
He scanned the warehouse one last time.
No sign of Simon. I bet he’s holed up with the girl somewhere, lucky bastard. I hope he makes her really suffer.
He turned and stepped through the doorway and onto the street.
A fist smashed into his nose, knocking him back inside.
Hands clamped to his nose, Johan staggered and blinked away the sudden tears from his eyes.
A figure stood on the other side of the doorway, silhouetted against the yellow streetlight.
“We should have done this earlier,” Johan said, “and done a proper job too. I wouldn’t have this shit to deal with now.”
Whistler stepped inside.
Johan struggled to see him in the gloom. He’d removed his striped jumper, revealing a dirty white vest beneath. His arms, surprisingly solid and muscular, rose into a fighter’s stance.
Johan laughed. “So now you want to fight? You never have before. Maybe now that I’m alone you fancy your chances? You piece of fucking chicken shit. Get out of my way.”
Mother's Boys Page 29