by Robin Jarvis
Emma was so engrossed in relishing that thought that she didn’t notice the car crawling along the road beside her.
“Oi! Oi!” called a voice as a hand reached out and flicked up her short skirt.
Emma swerved aside and yelled abuse as she fell into a hedge.
Kevin Stipe was leaning out of the passenger window of an old Fiesta, snorting like a delirious pig. Behind him, two more lads she recognised from school were hooting on the back seat.
“Morons!” she bawled.
“Where you going on your own?” Kevin asked. “Where’s the rest of your posse?”
“Same place you’re heading I expect!” she replied.
“Ha ha!” the boys laughed. “Get in, we’ll give you a lift.”
“No way, losers!” she refused.
“Take you forty minutes to walk there from here, Lemon Face,” Kevin said. “You’ll miss the best bits. Everyone’s gonna be there.”
Emma considered the offer quickly. She knew they were right, but she didn’t want to be seen dead with any of them. They were spotty lads in hoodies and fleeces. But how else was she to get to the end of the peninsula, down the long View Point Road, on time? No chance in these heels. Besides, there was every likelihood the police would be out looking for her once they discovered she was not at home.
“Go on then,” she said. “But I’m ditching you soon as we get there – understood? So don’t get any ambitious ideas.”
The rear door opened. “Get in, Sexy Legs.”
“Err, in your dreams, mentals!” she snarled. “I’m not getting in the back of no car with you, Brian Eastland, and as for you, B.O. Humphries…”
“Shame!” they booed.
“Come on then,” Kevin relented, getting out of the front seat and squeezing alongside the boys in the back. Emma didn’t thank him, but clambered into his vacant place and slammed the door.
“What is that stink?” she complained, turning to the driver whose hood was pulled up over his head. “You lot drinking meths or something?”
“Here!” she cried in sudden recognition. “Danny Marlow! What you doing?”
“That’s our Baz’s overalls,” he told her, meaning the smell. “He does decoratin’. I bunged them and the turps rags under the seat. Don’t worry, you won’t get paint on you.”
“That’s not what I meant!” she said. “What you doing in this motor?”
Behind her, Kevin tapped her on the head and leaned into the gap between them. “’S all right,” he said. “It’s his brother’s car, innit. It’s not nicked or nothing.”
“But he’s like, in our year – so that makes him the same age as us!”
Kevin guffawed. “See!” he laughed. “You are good at numbers – Sarky Baxter would be proud!”
Fifteen-year-old Danny revved the engine and, even as Emma hastily fastened her seat belt, the Fiesta roared away.
Conor Westlake had left the house as soon as he received the email from 7734. A mad night out would do him the world of good after today. The haunting image of Sandra Dixon’s pale face glaring up at him was a memory he wanted to wash away, or at least dilute. The fridge at home was empty though so he hoped to bump into some of his mates down at the Landguard. None of them were answering their phones right now, but he was certain they’d be there.
A cold wind was blowing in from the North Sea and the darkening sky looked threatening. He pulled his hood up and continued walking. When he joined View Point Road, he saw that there were many other young people heading down the peninsula, like a great herd of thirsty beasts seeking a watering hole. Most were on foot, but there were also some cars driving past and groups of cyclists. Two figures were even weaving in and out on Rollerblades. The skateboarders who usually hung out near the cinema were here as well.
The road was long and, apart from a kink at the beginning and end, ran a tediously straight course. On the right, behind its high perimeter fence, was the container port. To the left, a caravan park that gave way to a stretch of sandhills and the sea.
Casting around, Connor guessed many of his fellow eager pilgrims were older than him, but he saw a few who couldn’t have been more than ten years old, dragging their older brothers or sisters forward. Here and there the odd parent stood out like a watchful pillar of negativity and disapproval and he hoped they would have the good taste to merge into the background at the Landguard. Tonight was no place for the olds.
He could feel a buzz of anticipation and excitement in the air. It was a carnival-like atmosphere. Some had brought torches and were waving them about, making patterns of light in front of them. Once the caravan park had been passed, they shone into the dark desolation that stretched between the sandhills and the road – startling the rabbits. Those sandhills formed a high, humpy spine all the way to the fort and Conor could see figures silhouetted against the sky on the ridge path, making their way along them. They were approaching the Landguard from the other side, to loop around it and join the rest of them in front of the gatehouse.
Everyone was hoping for something special that night, a new experience – a new thrill. There was a tremendous feeling of not knowing what was going to happen. It was almost quarter to nine and around the last bend in the road, the squat, solid bulk of the pentagonal fortress appeared in the distance. Conor half expected to see searchlights fanning the sky and sweeping dazzling discs over the fort’s brickwork, but there was nothing, just the steady march of the people river heading towards it and the glittering expanse of the port next door.
The present fortress on Landguard Point is a hybrid spanning the centuries. The five-sided structure, with its bastions at every corner, was built in 1744, but heavily modified and refurbished in 1871. Yet there had been some type of fortification there since the days of Henry VIII, for the harbour is the deepest water between the Thames and the Humber and of strategic significance. If an enemy could land troops there, they would be dangerously close to London. In 1667 the last opposed invasion of England took place when the Dutch attacked the fort. Their aim was to burn the ships in the harbour. But the garrison stationed in the Landguard defended it brilliantly, despite being vastly outnumbered, and the Dutch forces were successfully repelled.
That night a new invasion looked to be taking place. As Conor drew closer to the fort, he was amazed at the numbers. There were thousands of people gathering there. They filled the small car park, stood on the mounded verges and pressed against the railings of the empty moat. Conor had only seen such crowds at football matches or gigs before and he clapped his hands appreciatively. It was going to be an unforgettable night.
Martin Baxter and Paul were also making their way down to the fort. They too were astonished at the volume of human traffic and Martin began to grow concerned. There didn’t appear to be any safety measures in place, no crowd-control stewards anywhere. People were drifting across the road. There was no pavement, just a narrow strip of scrappy grass on one side. When cars beeped to get through, the pedestrians shouted and banged on the car bonnets before getting out of the way.
What Conor had found so exhilarating, Martin felt intimidated – even threatened – by.
“You know,” he said to Paul. “I’m not sure this was such a good idea.”
The boy couldn’t disagree more. “It’s brilliant!” he said. “We’re almost there now – almost at the fort. We’ll be able to see who it is!”
But Martin wasn’t certain there was anything or anyone to see. There were no vans, no swanky cars and certainly no cameras. The Landguard looked the same as it always did at night – blank and brooding and more than a little sinister.
Martin pulled out his mobile and made a worried call to the police.
It was five to nine and the crowds who had got there early were getting shunted against the fences and railings by the relentless influx of people pouring down the road and up from the beach. Many of them were drinking.
Somewhere in there, Ashleigh and Keeley were bitching about Emma and peering up a
t the fort doubtfully.
“Why’s it so dark though?” Ashleigh asked. “Where’s the lights and stuff? Where’s the music?”
“Must be inside,” Keeley answered. “There’ll probably be a big blast of sound and them big doors’ll open and it’ll all start.”
“Hey – who you pushing!” Ashleigh yelled as someone stumbled into her.
“This is literally crammed and I mean it,” Keeley grumbled.
At two minutes to nine, Martin pulled Paul to the very edge of the road and refused to go any further. People jostled and shoved by them. It was getting alarming now.
“But Martin!” the boy cried. “We’re so close!”
“No,” he said firmly. “This is madness. We’re going back.”
Paul stared at him beseechingly, but Martin would not be persuaded. The eleven-year-old caught himself about to whine and stopped it immediately. Carol had raised him not to be one of those people who pestered and sulked to get their own way. He didn’t like Martin’s decision, but he had to accept it.
Trying to walk against the oncoming flow was almost impossible though. The best they could do was stand by the edge and let people pass until the numbers began to thin.
Conor checked the time on his phone. It was dead on nine.
The assembled multitude halted and every face was trained on the Landguard Fort’s stout walls. It felt like the countdown to New Year. They held their breath and expected a fanfare, fireworks, an explosion of light and sound and colour. Flashes sparkled from phone cameras and they waited.
Nothing.
Murmurs of discontent began to ripple through the massive crowd. Someone began a slow handclap and others joined in. Voices chanted, “Why are we waiting…?”
Still nothing.
“This is so wrong!” Ashleigh moaned.
“Where’s the celeb and paps?” Keeley griped. “I am sincerely freezing my legs off here.”
There was a rumble of thunder overhead.
The people still on the beach who could not see that nothing was happening around the front of the fort were getting restless and resentful. They started pushing and trying to get on to the path. Others played their own music from their phones. Tempers began to flare. The expectation and excitement had completely gone, replaced by a sense of being cheated, and people were now feeling angry.
Conor turned around and thrust himself back through the crush. This was a washout, a hoax – someone’s lame idea of a joke. He wasn’t going to waste another minute of his precious Friday night squashed here. He barged through, none too gently, standing on heels and kicking ankles. Someone roared in his ear and he felt a thump in his back. The fighting began.
It spread through the vast crowd in a violent wave and panic took over.
Ashleigh was slammed against Keeley as a lad blundered into her, felled by a headbutt. The girl kicked him then swung her elbow into his stunned face and broke his nose.
“I’m leavin’!” Keeley cried above the riot. She took her perfume from her handbag and held it in front of her, like a vampire hunter with a bottle of holy water, and sprayed it in the eyes of anyone who came too close or whoever she didn’t like the look of.
Fists and bottles were flung in every direction.
Walking back along the road, Martin and Paul heard the fierce shouts and screams behind and they turned to see the furious mob that the crowd had become.
“Hell!” Martin said as it spilled back on to the road and a bottle came sailing through the air to explode into white dust on the tarmac. “We’ve got to get out of here, fast.” Taking Paul’s hand, the two ran into the nature reserve and across to the sandhills.
Chaos and aggression raged behind them. He could hear children crying in that seething rabble, but the parents and older siblings who came with them managed to get them out of the brawl and they too came fleeing on to the dark sands.
Conor Westlake dodged the punches aimed at his head, but when he felt a kick to the back of his thigh, he whirled round and retaliated. The gangs were here tonight. He had seen them with their hoods pulled up and saw the bottles of golden liquid in their hands. He battled his way through the thickest heart of that thronging sea, wrenching at coats and smacking hands away from his face.
Ashleigh and Keeley were locked in the very middle of it. Ashleigh had lost a shoe. The perfume bottle had been dashed from Keeley’s grasp and her bag had been ripped from her shoulder. It was impossible to move unless it was by the current of the crowd. Then Ashleigh felt something wet and heavy on her head. At first she thought the storm had broken, but then she heard the braying laughter and another bottle was tipped over her. The two girls suddenly saw they were hemmed in by one of the gangs and litres of vegetable oil were being chucked and squirted at them.
Ashleigh screeched and the stuff splashed into her open mouth. She choked then lashed out and clawed the lad in front of her. Seeing a gap, she ploughed through it, retching and dragging Keeley after her.
A dozen plastic bottles went spinning after them, spilling their contents as they flew through the air. People began to slither on the oily road and when other idiots saw that, they lobbed their bottles as well.
Danny Marlow’s foot was down on the accelerator and the Fiesta left curves of rubber behind as they turned the corner into View Point Road.
“Slow down,” Emma told him. “I want to get there in one piece.”
“I’m built for speed, baby!” Danny bragged, turning the radio on and switching to fourth gear.
“So I’ve heard,” she said witheringly.
Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ came on and Kevin reached through sharply to turn it right up.
“Do the Wayne’s World thing! Do the Wayne’s World thing!” he shouted, wagging his head up and down far too early in the song.
Brian and B.O. joined in. Emma mouthed a string of expletives as she pressed her forehead against the passenger window and took a cigarette from her bag. She lit it and blew a stream of smoke from the side of her mouth.
“I’m stuck in a car with the Muppets,” she muttered. “I like a woman who smokes,” Danny said. “It’s dead sophis.” He’s just a poor boy, from a poor family…
He took his left hand off the wheel and clumsily placed his clammy palm on Emma’s thigh.
“OFF!” she demanded instantly.
“Don’t be like that,” he said.
“If you don’t move your sweaty mitt, right now, I swear…!”
Danny didn’t hear her. He was staring ahead. There were countless people swarming around the Landguard. He had never imagined it would be so engulfed with them. But something wasn’t right. It didn’t look like the fantastic happening the email had promised.
“What’s going…?”
Emma didn’t let him finish the question. With a vindictive smile, she touched the back of his hand with the glowing cigarette.
“OWWW!!!” he yelled, snatching the hand away.
The cigarette was knocked from her fingers. It disappeared between the seats. The car lurched across the road.
“Watch where you’re going!” she shouted.
The boys in the back had stopped headbanging and Kevin was peering forward. “That’s a fight!” he hooted. “There’s thousands of them!”
Suddenly a siren began to blare and blue lights were bouncing in the rear-view mirror.
“It’s the fuzz!” Kevin laughed. “Are they coming for you, Danny, or to stop the barney? Ha ha ha ha!”
Emma wondered if they were coming for her.
And then it happened. The turpentine-soaked rags under the seat burst into flames and the boys in the back yelled in fear. Emma thrashed her legs wildly and scrabbled with her seat belt.
“Let me out!” she screamed.
“Stop the car!” the boys bawled.
…No! We will not let you go!
Danny was flustered, confused and petrified. He didn’t know what to do. The police lights panicked him. The flames terrified him and the voices
of his passengers were deafening. The blaring song seemed to be mocking him. Instead of pressing the brake, he reached for the gear stick, but a ribbon of flame scorched his fingers and he threw his weight against the wheel. His foot slammed the accelerator to the floor.
The Fiesta’s headlights came bleaching along the peninsula.
Martin Baxter and Paul were standing on the high path of the sandhills. It commanded an excellent view. The port at night looked like a gritty space dock from one of Martin’s sci-fi movies and he had always thought those cranes resembled Martian war machines from War of the Worlds. On the road below them, they saw the car go streaking by, its occupants screaming, smoke flooding from the open windows, and that too seemed part of a film – with a rock soundtrack by Queen. It was so unreal.
Dripping and sodden with vegetable oil, Keeley and Ashleigh came staggering and slipping from the thuggish riot as the headlights raced toward them. Caught in the glare, the crowd turned and saw the car hurtling straight on. Anger turned to fear and they fell back like a tide down the shingle, but not all were quick enough.
“Stop the car!” Kevin was shouting, shaking Danny’s shoulder.
Danny saw the blanched faces of the horror-stricken people ahead and he finally found the brake. He stamped on it hard.
But the car did not stop. Its tyres had crunched over half empty plastic bottles and they were skating over the spilled oil.
The Fiesta spun in the road. Danny heaved the steering wheel to the right, but it was no good. The vehicle went careering into the people-skittles.
Stark faces flashed by the windows. There were thuds and other, more dreadful noises. Freddie Mercury was raging out the lyrics and the headbanging truly began.