Crash II: Highrise Hell (10 page)

Last night's clothes were draped over the back of a threadbare chair, so George pulled them on. The cold and damp of the flat had bonded with the heavy fibres, and they sat against his skin like chain mail. They smelt as moldy as his curtains. That was unavoidable. Any longer than twenty minutes in this flat left everything smelling this way. Some men lit fires in their rooms to counter the damp. George would rather put up with the stink.
 

The thick tang of bleach hit George's tight throat, and he coughed several times. Dean had someone clean the floor about this time every morning. The sky blue tiles glistened with the vicious, undiluted alkaline. It was the worst time to leave his flat.
 

Once he'd recovered, and with his mouth tasting like he'd eaten soap, George grabbed the railing for support and took pigeon steps across the slimy floor. The descent was going to be slow, but rather that than end up broken at the bottom of the stairs.
 

After only two flights, his tired legs started to wobble. He'd not had enough sleep. Every time he hit the next step, his legs shook and threatened to speed up his descent.
 

Clinging onto the rail, he stopped to pull deep lungfuls of the chemical air into his body. It burned as he dragged it in, and within a few seconds he was coughing hard, every inhalation making the wet barks worse. The empty corridor amplified every sound. This was far from the stealthy exit he'd planned.
 

Once the coughing fit had passed, he spat blood on the floor. Looking at the lump of phlegm on the shiny, clean tiles, he grinned and muttered, "Fuck you, Dean. Who's going to clean that up you OCD fuck?" It wasn't the first time he'd done it and it wouldn't be the last. Sometimes it was the little things that made this life bearable. One day, he planned to get up early and take a shit on the floor.
 

Gripped by paranoia, he looked behind him to be sure that no one was watching. When he didn't see anyone, he moved on.
 

Stepping outside, George fumbled at his zip and did his jacket up to his neck. Winter seemed to have lasted an age this year, and it showed no sign of letting up.
 

With his shoulders tense and his jaw locked tight, he bit down as if the pressure of his bite would combat the effects of the wind.
 

When he caught the tang of charred pork in the air, he looked over at the cage and realised he'd been wrong earlier. There were fewer women on the back of Si's truck. The two women who were on the edge had obviously fallen over. Either that or Dean had pushed them. Looking around, George saw smoke rising from the blue industrial skip.
 

When he looked back at the women, he was met with Liz's fierce glare. After holding it for a second, he then dropped his head, turned his back on her and walked towards the gate.

Walking over to John on the gate, George nodded. "You okay?"

Staring at George, his eyes half closed, his jaw slack, John didn't reply.
 

"I thought you'd be with Ginge right now." It made George's skin crawl, but he said it anyway. "You two share everything, right?"

Squinting as if he were trying to locate the words, John sighed. "We did. Then he got that young bird last night." Hawking up a ball of phlegm, he spat it on the floor. "You find out who your mates are pretty fucking quickly when women are involved." Turning away from George, he stared into the distance. "I'd have loved a go on that little thing."

Suppressing his shudder, George changed the subject. "I'm going out to look for some water nearby."

John pointed out into the city. "Ravi's just gone for food. I'll tell you the same thing I told him: This area's been picked cleaner than a porn star's arsehole before a day on set."

It took great effort to smile at the crude joke. Some battles were worthwhile. Telling John he was a complete prick wasn't one of them. With his clear learning difficulties, the guy was a passenger in all of this. "Well, I'll have to find someone willing to share their supply then."
 

A wicked smile grew across John's stubbly face. He then opened the gate, the temporary hinges screeching in protest. "Good luck, George." With an expression as gormless as ever, he added, "Maybe you'll find some ladies out there to bring back."

Passing the man, George was hit with the thick stench of body odor. It was strong enough to overpower the smell of burning bodies. Because there was no one to tell him to do so, John probably hadn't washed since everything went to shit.

* * *

Two to three hours had passed, and George had yet to see another person, only hints of them. A stirring in the darkness of an abandoned building. Shadows in alleyways. The sound of breaking glass underfoot.
 

The smell of rotting food and human waste had been replaced with burning wood and molten plastic. Looking into the next building he passed, his chest tight, he scanned the dark and seemingly empty rooms for fire. People were easy to deal with—they yielded much quicker than flames.
 

When he saw it was okay, he allowed himself the briefest moment of relief before moving on to the next one. He then repeated the process all over again.
 

When would it get to the point where more buildings were burning than not? Would it be impossible to stop it spreading when that happened?
 

Tiredness saturated the large muscles in George's legs, and they threatened to seize as he walked. Breathing was also more difficult with his lack of sleep, his heart pounding twice as hard as it normally would. Regardless of this, George pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. He wouldn't be beaten by his own stupid body, and he wouldn't be beaten by his fear of fire.
 

Why had Ravi come out on his own? Why didn't he just tell George that he needed help?
Too fucking stubborn, that boy
. The streets were now a place for sharks and the brave. Ravi was neither.
 

Pulling his face down into his collar stopped the wind getting beneath his clothes. Looking across at one of the only shop windows on the street that wasn't smashed, he stared at his reflection. Barrel chest. Muscular legs. Thick neck. He looked at his dorsal fin. He was a fucking shark all right. Plunging his hands deep into his pockets, he dipped his head into the oncoming wind and continued on. Ravi best fucking appreciate the effort.
 

* * *

George had been walking for hours, and the threat of cramps twinged in his legs. About every ten steps, one or the other side slightly gave way, wobbling him momentarily. He was yet to fall, but he felt closer to it with every passing second.
 

Each blink stayed closed slightly longer than the previous one. His neck struggled to support his head. Two hours' sleep wasn't enough.
 

Swinging his arms as he walked may have drained more energy, but it kept him warm in the sub-zero conditions. If only he could heat up his cheeks in the same way, the icy gales having turned them numb hours ago.

The heavy veil of night was falling over the city as the sky turned a deep yellow. He had to get back soon.
 

Looking across at an abandoned supermarket, George felt a pulling towards it. The large hole where the automatic doors once were showed that the dark space was free of fire. Checking both ways, he crossed the road.

The frame of the old white doors lay sprawled on the floor amongst thousands of small pieces of glittering safety glass. Despite moving on tiptoes, the little pops and crunches were unavoidable as they crushed underfoot. Fortunately, the wind whistling through the shell of the building masked most of it.
 

The old refrigerators in what was previously the chilled section were on George's left. The absence of an electrical buzz was deafening. All that was left on their shelves were dark stains and unopened bottles of rancid milk. They provided the perfect screen to hide behind.
 

Once he'd moved in close and dropped into a defensive crouch, George heard a voice.
Ravi
? A second voice responded.
Who's he talking to
? With his pulse pounding in his ears, George slowed his breath. Once he felt calm enough, he moved along the line of fridges.
 

At the end of the line, George poked his head around to see Ravi. The boy was dressed like he was going to a wedding, a new trench coat replacing the bloodied one from the previous day. He was talking to another boy. From where he was stood, George could only see the boy's back. He wasn't one of Dean's gang.
 

The boy had his hood up. He was tall – at least six feet two inches. There was no way he was any older than twenty. His long, skinny frame was that of a body yet to reach manhood.
 

"The middle of the night will be a perfect time to do it," Ravi said.
 

The boy had an urban twang to his words. "I think so too, bruv. Catch 'em while they're sleeping."

"Come when I'm on guard duty. Dean makes us do it on our own, so I'll be able to look the other way and leave the gate open for you."

A deep frown weighed heavy on George's face.
 

The hood nodded. "So there's plenty of food you say?"

"Yeah. An entire truck full. You'll need to hot-wire it though. The guy that has the keys doesn't let them out of his sight."
 

There was a metal bar next to George that had previously held a shelf up. Should he end this now? No one was getting his food. No one.

"I can get Brigsy on it. He used to joyride like a mother fucker."
 

A slimy grin spread across Ravi's face. It then dropped when he said, "Just make sure my mum and dad don't get hurt, yeah? We need to get them out safely. After that, you can do what you want with the block."

"Just your mum and dad? Everyone else is fair game?"

George's stomach lurched when Ravi said, "Yeah. Fuck everyone else up for all I care. Especially Dean." Ravi then added, "Oh, and there's a big black fella called George."

"Yeah?"

"Burn the cunt. He's a smug bastard that thinks I'm a fucking charity case. He's mugged me off one too many fucking times."

The world around George spun, and his guts sank. The bar next to him screamed to be used. The hoodie would drop with one swing. He could then pin Ravi to the floor and squeeze the air from the little cunt's throat. The lack of oxygen would burst the boy's eyeballs like boils.

With adrenaline swimming through his blood, George took calming breaths to pull everything back under control.
 

A strong, cold wind then carried the smoke of a nearby fire into the supermarket. It aggravated George's dry throat. When he swallowed, it was like drinking dust, and a squirming itch settled on his gag reflex. Holding his breath prevented it from coming out, but it didn't stop his body bucking with silent coughs. Why hadn't he found some water sooner?
 

"Do any of your crew know about the plan?"

The hood shook. "No. But it won't take much to persuade them to storm the block. Mal's been fucked up from his bike crash. They want blood, fam."
 

"Good. I can't afford for them to know who I am. If Dean finds out ..."
 

The tickle set George's tear ducts off, and he had to rub his eyes. He had to cough soon. Picking up a small bolt that was in the fridge, he launched it at a row of shelves that had children's toys on it. It was one of the only shelves in the supermarket that hadn't been ransacked.
 

The hood twisted towards the loud clang. George saw his face. He was a black kid with thick bags beneath his eyes and withdrawn cheeks. It was the face of an addict. Crack, scag, he wasn't sure, but this boy was a user.
 

"What the fuck was that?"

Shrugging, Ravi looked in the direction of the children's toys. "I haven't got a clue. We should get out of here. Are we done?"

The hoodie nodded. "Yeah, we're done."
 

Until that moment, George hadn't thought about which way the boy would go and quickly searched for somewhere to hide. Fortunately, he headed in the opposite direction.
 

After scooting back near to the entrance of the supermarket, George let his barking cough loose. It shot around the empty building. Once he'd recovered, he walked back up the aisle like he'd only just entered the place.
 

When he came to the end of the refrigerators, he turned the corner to find Ravi standing with a crowbar in his hands. Looking at it, George smirked. "That's the second time you've greeted me on the offensive. You expecting a rumble, boy?"
 

Before Ravi could reply, George looked at their surroundings. "What the fuck are you doing here?" His cough folded him in two again, his throat burning with every explosion. After heaving hard, he stood up and swallowed several times. It did nothing to dispel the taste of smoke on the back of his throat.
 

All of the blood had drained from Ravi's face. Lowering his weapon, he said, "Um, George. H... h... how are you?"

Clenching his jaw, George stared straight into Ravi's shifty eyes. "I'm looking for water. Have you seen any?"
 

The boy shook but didn't reply. Before George could ask any more questions, he started coughing again.
 

When he looked back up, Ravi was still shaking. "So, what are you doing here, boy?"
 

No response.

Maybe now wasn't the time. Maybe George could take advantage of the chaos if he knew when it was coming. Maybe it could help him get to Sally.
Don't be too hasty, George.
Giving the boy an out, he said, "Looking for food for your parents?"
 

Nodding, Ravi's tense frame relaxed a little and he forced a smile. "Yep. They're so hungry at the moment."

"They didn't look good last night."

Silence.