After the slam and bolting of the warehouse door, the place fell deathly still. A heave lifted up in Michael’s throat as he stood there. The reek in the corridors had nothing on the funk in here. The cause of the stink was a pile of sludge festering in the corner of the room. The mound of human waste had fermented into a noxious bog.
The boys continued to stare at him, but Michael ignored them. If he kept his head down, the chance to escape would come like it had before.
When one of the boys spoke, Michael’s stomach—along with his plan—dropped.
“Look, it’s that posh kid. The one that escaped.”
Taking a long, deep breath, Michael closed his eyes. “Fuck!”
Rat
The silhouettes around Michael changed. Where they had all been watching him and getting ready to reel in the new fish, they now stood tense and silent. The circle around him closed slightly and his breathing grew short.
The boys, who had been sitting down, stood up. The ones already on their feet stepped forward again.
As they drew closer, their shadows swamped Michael. Most of the boys dwarfed him; some stood at least twice his size. Many of his peers were on their way to becoming young men. It wouldn’t be long before they no longer caught Julius’ fancy. Who knew what would happen to them then.
Voices came at him from every angle.
“Thought you were better than us, did you?”
Although he shook his head, Michael didn’t reply. They wouldn’t want to hear it. Pleading would just make him look weaker.
“Thought you deserved to get away from here while we stayed?”
“Well, at least he’s back.”
A deep laugh boomed behind Michael, and he jumped forward. “Looks like you’re fucked now though, don’t it, sunshine? Not only do you have the guards against you but you have us on your back too.”
“Do you think they’ve even twigged it’s him?”
Michael pulled at his collar, but it didn’t ease the feeling of his heart pounding in his throat. When he stepped back, he bumped into a restraining hand.
“You ain’t going nowhere, sweetheart.”
Another voice called out on his right. “What do you think they’ll do when they find out?”
Someone tugged Michael’s sleeve.
“What the fuck is he wearing? Is he a fucking pansy or something?”
A sharp sting exploded across the back of Michael’s skull, and white light flashed in his vision. A ringing noise rang through his head. Michael raised his hands for protection. Seconds later, he took another blow to his right cheek, his world tilting as he rocked on the balls of his feet.
When someone shoved him, Michael fell to the floor and the boys swarmed over him, a tattoo of blows clattering into his skinny body.
Curling into a ball and closing his eyes, Michael cried and took the beating.
***
When the boys backed away, Michael unfurled but remained on the floor. Then he heard the hinges of the warehouse door creak.
Two men walked in. Neither of them had a sack over their head.
With his entire body throbbing, Michael remained on the floor and watched the door. The concrete was cold against his cheek, but he couldn’t move.
As the men entered the warehouse, Michael looked past them. They’d left the door open, and the dark shadows were still enough to hide by. They clearly hadn’t learned from him escaping.
Michael looked up at the men.
One of them opened his mouth to speak but stopped when a boy said, “He escaped from here a week or two ago.”
The taller of the two men halted, looked down at Michael, and then at the boy who had ratted him out. “What the fuck are you talking about, boy?”
“A couple of weeks ago…”
Michael looked over at the boy to see him pointing down at him.
“He managed to escape from the warehouse a couple of weeks ago. It looks like you’ve caught him again.”
The guards shared a look before the tall man returned his attention to the rat. “And what the fuck do you expect us to do about it? Look at the state of him. We can’t take him to Julius looking like that. He’s the one that damages the boys, not anyone else. He likes them clean when they come to him. Fresh like a ripe peach.”
Although Michael couldn’t see the man’s face in the poor light, he saw just how thick his finger was when he jabbed it at the boy.
“Did you do this to him?”
The confidence left the boy as he shook his head and stepped back. “No. It was nothing to do with me.”
“Oh, so you don’t want any part of it now; is that what you’re saying? A second ago, you were ready to sell him up the river.” Turning to his friend, the man said, “I think he’s lying to us, Jason. What do you reckon?”
Jason stepped toward the boy and sniffed the air. “Yeah, I smell bullshit.”
The laugh of the taller man boomed around the open space. “Well, if for no other reason than for being a rat, you’re coming to see Julius today, sunshine.”
Poor boy. It didn’t matter that he’d been trying to rat Michael out; no one deserved a trip to see Julius. Anxiety tied Michael’s stomach in knots as he watched the boy back away from the guards. His voice turned shrill, and it pulled the knots tighter. “No. Not again. No.”
As the boy got closer to the others, they parted. Alone and backed into a corner, he pulled his arms into his chest, his voice getting loud enough to echo through the high-ceilinged room. “No, please. Not again. No.”
When the men marched forward as a pair, Michael saw a silhouette of a boy slip out of the open door. It was still possible!
A deep boom sounded out as the larger of the two men drove a heavy blow into the boy’s stomach.
The boy dropped to the floor and wheezed.
The guard loomed over him, a dark smile lifting his face. “We can punch you in the stomach as much as we like. As long as Julius can’t see it, we can do what the fuck we want to you. Remember that.”
The two men took a foot each and dragged the boy toward the warehouse’s exit… the open exit… the exit that would be Michael’s freedom again.
When they were close to the door, the tall man called out, “Let this be a lesson to you all. Nobody likes a rat.”
The door crashed shut and the bolt snapped across. Silence returned to the room and Michael curled into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest as he shivered on the cold and damp concrete.
Vultures
Time held very little meaning in the warehouse. The monotony of sitting in the cold, open space with poor light twenty-four hours a day both depressed and disorientated Michael. A good few hours had passed; Michael knew that at least. And the others had left him alone for that time.
Not enough time had passed to ease his injuries though. Bruises wrapped his body like a hot blanket as he sat in the corner of the room and hugged his knees to his chest. To be both cold because of his environment and hot from the beating left Michael in a strange limbo that added to his exhausted state.
The older boy had been in with Julius for a long time. A shiver whipped through Michael’s body. Fuck that!
Although nothing had happened since the older boy had been taken away, chaos sat beneath the room’s lethargic atmosphere. Everyone continued to watch Michael; they just hadn’t done anything about it… yet.
The snapping bolt made Michael jump and he pushed farther back into the wall.
The huge hinge groaned as it always did. It was like a slow laugh, mocking the boys inside the room before the men came in and exerted their will upon them. Michael held his breath as he waited.
But nothing happened.
Maybe the guards had set this up as a test. See if anyone runs and punish them if they do.
The door remained open and still nothing happened. Leaning forward did little to help Michael see any better, and squinting didn’t make the dark any more penetrable.
Something large flew through th
e door and hit the ground with a thud.
It was a body.
Thud!
Two bodies.
Floppy and lifeless, they lay on the floor, their limbs splayed out in directions that an active body couldn’t replicate.
A man’s voice called in after them. It was the man with the sack over his head. The memory of his strong grip returned to Michael’s bicep. “Let this be a reminder of what happens to those of you that step out of line. Keep your necks wound in and life will be much more viable for you.”
Though not sure what viable meant, Michael got the gist of it—toe the line or else.
The man shut and locked the door again.
For a moment, no one moved. Other than the occasional shifting shadow, it remained still. Surely the other boys were doing the same as Michael—watching the bodies in the middle of the room and waiting for something to happen.
***
A few minutes passed and nothing happened, although something was building beneath the surface. It turned the air almost static with repressed action.
When someone moved on the opposite side of the room, the place came to life. As one, the boys converged on the bodies, colliding in the middle as a mess of flailing limbs and yelps. Michael held back.
The wet cracks of punches sounded out along with the occasional expulsion of air from a winded diaphragm. Swearing, grunting, struggling.
With his mouth hanging open, Michael watched; whatever they were doing, he wanted no part in it.
***
In less than a minute it stopped, and the boys walked away, some more gingerly than others. Many of the bigger boys had items of the dead kids’ clothing; shirt, shoes, socks, trousers. Suddenly, it made sense. The warehouse was cold—bordering on freezing—and any extra layers had to make the stay a lot more comfortable.
When Michael looked at the bent, broken, and naked bodies in the center of the room, his breath left his lungs. One was larger than the other, older and with the chest hair of a man. A beard wrapped around the lower half of his face. Thick enough to cover his jowls, it looked soft like he’d never grown one before. The other one, the smaller one, had just wanted to find somewhere safe. Maybe they were safe now.
Michael bowed his head and muttered, “Rest in peace, boys.”
One Fucking Eye Open
Michael watched the brothers as if they’d move at any moment. The arrival of the two corpses had wound up the atmosphere in the warehouse tighter than before; to look at the wrong person could prove fatal. At least dead boys couldn't start fights with him.
The hard floor drove aches through his bum and up his back. Everything still hurt from the beating. Before he could dwell on it any further, the screams started up.
The warehouse contained many rooms, all of them connected by a maze of dark passageways. The cacophony of suffering reached such a crescendo at times, the place virtually vibrated with the sounds. Screams, cries, and moans from men, women, and children. All of them crashed into the door to the warehouse, the sound of desperation squeezing through the gaps beneath and around it.
Watching the huge, metal door, Michael shivered. If he didn't get away soon, he'd be the next one screaming.
The crack of the bolt sliding free broke through Michael's spiraling thoughts.
The door creaked open, and the tall form of a boy fell forward, shoved into the room by a strong hand in the back. The boy moved with a zombie-like gait.
Michael shifted closer to the door. He needed to get out, and maybe this was his chance. Maybe the guard would be too busy with the boy he’d just brought back. Maybe—
The door slammed shut and the bolt shifted across.
The light was poor, but not so poor that Michael didn’t recognize the newest arrival. It may have been a battered, bruised, and more fragile version of the boy, but the rat had returned, nonetheless.
The boy pointed at Michael. “You.”
The accusation seemed to stir something up in all of the boys. Although Michael remained focused on his lopsided accuser, his senses tingled from the attention awakening around him as many of the boys got to their feet.
The rat looked around and stood slightly straighter as if lifted by the support of his peers. When he moved toward Michael, he resumed his undead shuffle. He stopped a few feet away, panting as he spoke through labored breaths. “That… should have been… you tonight.”
The boys in the warehouse closed in, and Michael stood up. He couldn't take another kicking on the floor.
Spittle rode the rat’s words, his eyes watered, and he shook as he repeated, “That should have been you.”
As the crowed surrounding him closed in even tighter, Michael shook his head. “Fuck you.”
When two boys lurched forward, the leader put a restraining arm out. He laughed and stepped closer to Michael, looming over him. “Not this time, lads. He wants another kicking. Another kicking means he won’t be taken to Julius anytime soon. Regardless of how you feel about him, I expect each and every one of you to make sure he’s given the best care. We want him nursed back to health in record time. After all, Julius needs a new pet after Chaz was killed last week.”
Leaning so close to him that Michael could smell his rotten breath, the boy said, “You’d best sleep with one fucking eye open. The second you lower your guard, you’re fucked. We’re going to damage you in ways they won’t see when you’re fully clothed. You’re going to get the scars that we all carry. Sooner or later, everyone gets them. You may not be pretty enough for Julius yet, but you’ll do for us. No one gets to escape their fate in this place even if we’re the ones that have to deliver it.”
The stink of body odor added to that of the boy’s halitosis. When he pulled away, Michael started to breathe again. The rest of the room pulled back with their leader.
Michael remained on his feet and leaned against the wall, the cold brick penetrating his layers of clothing.
After a while, he sat down again and pulled his knees to his chest. One, two, three, four. Eyes, throat, nuts, shins.
The time for him to put into action what George had taught him was fast approaching. Whatever happened, these boys weren’t getting the jump on him.
Scrambles
It felt like days had passed, but how could Michael tell? Living in the permanent gloom of the warehouse and not even able to see the other side of the room, it could have stretched to weeks by now.
The lock snapped free with its usual loud crack and he looked over at it. The opening of the door provided the only measure of time… or consistency at least. He clung to it as some kind of signal for each passing day but had no idea how regularly they visited the boys.
The hinge groaned as it always did, and Michael squinted into the darkness to see what came in.
A large shadow shot into the room and landed on the floor with a thud. Another one followed it through seconds later.
Not again!
But instead of bodies, they were sacks.
The door slammed shut with a loud clang and the bolt snapped across.
Just looking at the two sacks gave claws to Michael’s hunger pains. The food would be stale, but it was still food. A rumble rolled through Michael’s guts, and he licked his dry and cracked lips.
Five tall boys on Michael’s right got to their feet and walked to the middle of the room. Everyone else held back. It played out the same way the last time Michael was here. The small and the weak only got fed what the bigger boys didn’t want. Often, the bigger boys wanted everything.
Another group of boys stood on Michael’s left. Larger in number, but smaller in stature, they waited. They knew their place.
Once the five tall boys got to the middle, the group of smaller boys on Michael’s left rushed forward. They screamed and whooped as they descended on the pack. This was new.
The first boy to reach the bullies in the middle took a hard whack to the jaw. The wet slap echoed around the cavernous room and it drove the boy backwards, dropping him to
the ground.
But that didn’t stop them.
Three of the smaller boys jumped on the one who’d thrown the first punch and chaos descended. Grunts, screams, and shouts came out of the tangle of bodies.
When both sacks split and the food spread out over the floor, half of the smaller boys rushed over and started gathering it up. They ran it back to their corner before coming in for more.
When a tube of breadsticks rolled out of the fight, Michael darted forward and picked them up. He pulled the small tube to his chest and drew back into the shadows.
***
No more than a minute had passed, and the group of smaller boys on Michael’s left had re-formed around their stash. A couple of them dragged the boy back who’d been knocked out at the beginning. Talk about taking one for the team.
The five hulking frames of the larger boys cleared up the rest of the food; but only four of them took their supplies back to their side of the warehouse. The one who had been to see Julius remained.
He stepped over the naked and broken corpses of the brothers and pointed at Michael. “You!”
Michael shook his head and hugged his tube of breadsticks. He didn’t reply.
“Don’t think I didn’t just see what you took, boy. Give the food back now!”
Michael got to his feet and put the tube of breadsticks in his hoodie’s pouch. He needed to front this out. George had said it was all about front. If he let them bully him now, it would set a precedent. He shook his head and stared at the boy. “No.”
The four big boys stopped mid way through carrying the food over to their side of the room. Once again, everyone’s attention fell on Michael.
Crash III: There's No Place Like Home Page 13