Crash III: There's No Place Like Home
Page 18
Will raised his gun to his shoulder and peered down the barrel at George. “What the fuck do you want?”
For a moment George didn’t reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and stood perfectly still.
Michael held his breath as he watched him.
When George opened his eyes again, he forced a smile at Will. “We’ve come to exchange some powdered milk for fresh bread.”
“And why should we give it to you?”
“Because it’s your dad’s intention that we start to trade with you.”
For the next few moments, Will continued to stare at George down the barrel of his shotgun. He then lowered it and disappeared behind the gate.
The snapping of three bolts sounded out, and the right-hand gate opened. Out came Will, Johnny, and the girl who made the exchange last time. She had a batch of bread in her arms.
Just seeing the food made Michael’s mouth water but before they moved any farther forward, Will raised his gun again.
“Arms in the air; we need to search you.”
Although George rolled his eyes, he did as he was ordered and raised his long arms in the air.
After Johnny had frisked Michael, he moved on to George. While he waited, Michael looked past him to see into the community. Children played and some helped the adults with the garden.
Once Johnny had frisked George, he turned back to Michael. “You wanna take a look inside?”
Michael nodded and checked with George.
Before George could reply, Keith came out of the gates and smiled. “He’ll be fine in there; it’s safe.”
Although George frowned, he didn’t say no. “You’re your own man, Michael. You need to make the decision, not me.”
George was right; he was his own man. Michael walked toward the gates.
***
As soon as he passed through the gates, Michael saw a red-haired woman on her knees by a patch of earth. She had a trowel in her hand and wore a serene smile.
Michael walked over to her and stood and watched. It felt rude to interrupt her.
When she noticed him, she turned around, and her smile broadened. She had a kind face.
Michael smiled back and nodded down at the hole she was digging. “What are you doing?”
She stabbed her trowel into the ground. “I’m making a trench for seeds. I’ve not seen you around before; are you new here?”
“No, we’re not from here. We’ve come to trade some powdered milk for bread with your community. The man said I could come and look inside if I liked. Do you like it here?”
The grin remained on her face as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I do. It’s much better than where I was before. I’m Liz, by the way.” She held her hand out to him.
She had rough hands from what must have been hours of gardening.
“I’m Michael.”
Silence sat between them for a moment before Michael spoke, the words coming out without him thinking about them. “I don’t want to go back with the man I’m staying with. I can’t live with George anymore.”
The warmth left her face, turning her features sharp. “George, you say?”
“Yeah, you know him?”
She shrugged. “I knew a George.” She then flapped her hand through the air as if batting a fly. “Ignore me; I’m sure it’s a different man. Why don’t you want to stay with him, honey?”
The last person to call Michael ‘honey’ was his mum. The image of her hanging crashed into his mind. “He killed my dad.”
Liz turned pale.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked.
“Yeah… fine. Sorry… I… wasn’t expecting you to say that. So you’re with the man who killed your dad?”
“It sounds weird, doesn’t it? He said he’d look after me and that he never wanted to kill him, but he felt like he had to.”
“Well, look,” Liz said, “if you don’t want to go back to him, you should stay with us.”
“But who will I stay with? Who’ll look after me? I believe that George will keep me safe like he’s promised to. I don’t think he wants to hurt me.”
After getting to her feet, Liz put her hands on Michael’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “I’ll look after you, Michael. You’re safe here.”
“How will I tell George?”
Liz wiped her hands on her grubby jeans before offering one to Michael. “Come with me.”
She led him back to the gates. They’d been locked again and Will stood guard.
Before he could open them, Liz pointed at Michael. “The kid wants to stay here with us.”
The slightest hint of a smirk lifted Will’s lips. “I’m not surprised. That George fella seems mental.”
Without another word, Will climbed the ladder on their side of the gates and pointed his gun over. “The kid says he wants to stay here with us.”
“No fucking way,” George said. “Where is he?”
When Michael looked at Liz, she nudged him in the direction of the ladder Will had just climbed.
Once at the top, Michael looked down at George. “It’s true. There’s a nice woman here who says she’ll take care of me. Thank you for all you’ve done, but I can’t live with you, George. I’m sorry.”
George pointed at Will, his frame tense. But before he spoke, the rage left him, and his entire body sagged. “You’d best look after the boy. I’m going to keep bringing food for him to make sure he’s okay. I made a promise that I’d look after him, and that’s what I’ll do.”
Will smiled as he kept his gun pointed at George.
It felt like a few minutes passed during which time George stared at Michael, a watery film covering his dark eyes. Then finally, George turned around and walked away.
The damp weight of sadness sat in Michael’s chest as he watched the slumped frame of his protector retreat. Despite what had happened with his dad, George really had wanted to look after him.
After George disappeared around the bend, Michael climbed down the ladder and walked over to where Liz was looking through a hole in the gate. When she pulled back, she had tears streaking down her face.
“Are you okay, Liz?”
She nodded. “I used to know George. He didn’t help me when I needed him most. I realized he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
She then batted the comment away and forced a smile. “But that doesn’t matter now.” She wrapped Michael in a tight hug. “Welcome to the community, honey. You’re going to be safe here.”
End.
***
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About the Author
Michael Robertson has been a writer for many years and has had poetry and short stories published, most notably with HarperCollins. He first discovered his desire to write as a skinny weed-smoking seventeen-year-old badman who thought he could spit bars over drum and bass. Fortunately, that venture never left his best mate’s bedroom and only a few people had to endure his musical embarrassment. He hasn’t so much as looked at a microphone since. What the experience taught him was that he liked to write. So that’s what he did.
After sending poetry to countless publications and receiving MANY rejection letters, he uttered the words, “That’s it, I give up.” The very next day, his first acceptance letter arrived in the post. He saw it as a sign that he would find his way in the world as a writer.
Over a decade and a half later, he now has a young family to inspire him and has decided to follow his joy with every ounce of his being. With the support of his amazing partner, Amy, he’s managed to find the time to take the first step of what promises to be an incredible journey. Love, hope, and the need to eat get him out of bed every morning to spend a precious few hou
rs pursuing his purpose.
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