Crash III: There's No Place Like Home (18 page)

The boy in Ben’s group who’d stood up nudged his leader. “What shall we do? We definitely can’t leave this unpunished.”

Michael got to his feet, his body aching from the beating of the other day and sitting still to eat for the past few hours. Silence fell around him.
 

“Before you say anything, Ben, hear me out,” Michael said. “We aren’t enemies, and we have nothing to fight over. We’re all prisoners in here. Our fight should be with the guards, not one another.”

More silhouettes surrounding Ben got to their feet, and several boys offered their thoughts.

“Fuck off, you little cunt.”

“You would say that; you’re the ones who get a kicking when we fight.”

“Like we can do anything about the men.”

When Ben raised his hand, those around him fell silent. He moved as if in great discomfort. “You lost the right to negotiate with us when you escaped. The fact that you deserted us and never came back to let us out will stay with me until the day I die. I want to see you fucked up more than anything.”

“More than you want to escape?” Michael said.

The shadows may have hidden Ben’s face, but he was clearly staring straight at Michael. He didn’t reply.
 

Tim and the other boy had returned to their group, so Michael focused on Ben again. “Well, know this; there are more of us than there are of you. We don’t want to fight, but we won’t back down anymore. You’re behaving as bad as the guards, and we won’t put up with it.”

Michael looked at Tim and saw him shake his head as he bit his bottom lip.
 

Could Michael really give Tim’s group the confidence to fight when their leader didn’t have it?

Half of Ben’s group got to their feet, some of them throwing obscene gestures at Michael. Others focused on Tim’s group, the pack of smaller boys cowering in the face of the abuse. But none of them came any closer.
 

None of them.

Confidence

Surrounded by the stale reek of sweat, bad breath, and dirt, Michael sat in the middle of a huddle of boys with Tim to the right of him. A heave threatened to turn his entire body inside out, but Michael fought it. The breadsticks were an ordeal on the way down; if they came back up again, they’d probably tear his throat out with them.
 

Confident he could speak without vomiting, Michael kept his voice low, drawing the stink closer to him as the boys moved in to hear better. “If those boys attack, we need to fight dirty. If we hurt them, they’ll think twice about attacking us again. It’s all about front. If they know we won’t lie down, bullying us will be much harder for them.”

Some of the boys nodded, but many of them simply stared, wide-eyed and clearly lacking confidence.

“While I was away from the warehouse, I was taught how to fight like I did against Ben. You need to focus on their weak spots. Go for their eyes, throat, nuts, and shins. Fight dirty, and fight to injure them.”

It took a while for anyone to speak.
 

“But they’ll beat the shit out of us,” one boy finally said.

The boys surrounding him nodded in agreement; it was like being mobbed by bobble heads.
 

“Look, you may get hurt. That’s a very real possibility. But if you fight back, they’ll think twice about attacking you next time. Look at me; I’m younger than all of you, and I’ve done it. You need to do something to change your situation. They’ll give it lots of mouth like they did just a minute ago, but they never followed it up. They’re already losing their confidence.”
 

Michael glanced over at Ben’s group and said, “Look at them all. They’ve sat back down again.”

Most of the group looked over at them. Although no one spoke, they clearly got it.

“The more important question we should be asking is how the fuck do we get out of this place? I don’t know about you guys, but I ain’t waiting around for Julius to decide when he’s ready to see me.”

Some of the wide eyes around him dropped to the floor. Some narrowed. They hadn't had that choice.

“Do you want Julius to call on you again?”
 

The attention that he’d lost returned and heads shook.
 

“We need a plan then. The next time the guards come in, we need to watch them. I’ve only ever seen two guards come in at once, and there’s at least twenty-five of us. We can overpower two guards. They’re vulnerable because they think we’re scared.”

A boy not much bigger than Michael, his voice yet to break, said, “We
are
scared.”

Reaching over and grabbing one of the boy’s slim shoulders, Michael gave it a squeeze. “Well, it’s time to stop. We have to make a run for it when we get the chance.”

Hunched frames straightened. Dipped heads lifted.

Tim patted Michael on the back. “He’s right; we have to do something. Next time the guards come, watch exactly what they do so we can learn from it. If Michael’s done it, we can do it too. We’re going to get out of here, boys.”

More of the boys lifted, their posture tightening, their jaws setting. Watching the change around him spread hope through Michael’s heart. They were going to get out of there. There was no way Michael was being taken down to Julius.
 

No fucking way.

Plan B

When Michael woke, his eyes flew wide, and he drew a sharp breath. He was still in the warehouse. Sleep had convinced him he was somewhere else, somewhere he could feel safe. After a few seconds, his tired eyelids grew heavier as if the lethargy of the place had infected him, but he couldn’t sleep any longer.

Surrounded by Tim and his gang, all of them at different stages of dozing, Michael looked across at Ben’s group. None of them moved, but they somehow seemed more alert. Like they were more ready to fight than Tim and his lot ever would be. But maybe they could front it out. Maybe that would be enough to keep them safe.
 

The crack
of the bolt on the warehouse door disturbed the lazy atmosphere. Michael tapped Tim’s foot and leaned close to him. Tim reeked like a wet dog. “This is it. We need to watch everything they do so we can work out how to escape next time.”

After blinking several times, his eyes gaining focus, Tim nodded and relayed the message to the boy next to him. The instruction passed down the line of boys. Hopefully, the same message reached the end.

The door opened and a guard walked in. The shadows made it hard to see any clearer than to detect that he was dressed in many layers, had a beard, and shaggy hair.

The man walked over to the dead brothers in the middle of the room and grabbed the older one by his naked ankles. The whoosh of bare skin rubbed over rough concrete as he dragged him out. The corpse would be red raw when it arrived wherever it was being taken.

Shortly after the man disappeared, two slapping sounds of legs hitting the hard ground clapped in the corridor. Seconds later, the man reappeared and dragged the other brother out.

When the man returned for a third time, he flicked a flashlight on and waved it around the warehouse. The brightness of it made the boys recoil when the beam hit them.

When it swung past Michael, it burned his eyes, and he raised his forearm to block the shine.
 

The roving beam moved quicker, as if highlighting the man’s frustration. “Where is he?” the man shouted. “Where’s the one who escaped us before?”

Michael’s entire being sank and he said nothing.
 

No one else spoke either.
 

The man produced a baseball bat and waved it in the air. “I’m going to start cracking skulls if I don’t get answers.”

With his throat so dry he felt sick, Michael looked at the other boys. None of them talked, although Ben’s gang all stared his way.

When the guard walked toward one of Ben’s group, bat raised, Michael got to his feet.
 

“I’m here.” His voice echoed in the near silence, and everyone turned to look at him.
 

The guard stopped mid-step, and his back tensed before he turned around. “Aha. Wise choice, boy.”
 

The glare of his flashlight in Michael’s face, again, made it impossible to see anything as the man’s footsteps drew closer.
 

“So, Julius has heard about you now. He wasn’t happy to know that you’d escaped, and he was even more annoyed to hear of the beating you’ve received while in here.” When the guard lowered the light, Michael saw him stare over at Ben. “But he’s sought retribution for that already.”

He dazzled Michael with the beam again. “So I’ve been sent to see how you’re recovering. Julius is desperate to see you, but he wants you unspoiled.”

The mention of Julius made Michael’s buttocks clench, and bile rose in his throat.

The man brought the smell of alcohol forward with him when he stepped closer. “But the problem is you don’t look much better.”
 

Shaking where he stood, shivering from a mixture of cold, tiredness, and fear, Michael clamped his jaw tight and still didn’t respond. Nothing would improve his situation.

The man leaned closer still, so close Michael felt his body heat and coughed because of the man’s fetid musk.
 

“Julius is going to freak if he has to wait too long. He’s got a real hard on for you. A real fucking hard on, and he’s an impatient man. We can’t have you looking like the fucking elephant boy when you go to see him; now can we?”

The man grabbed Michael’s shoulder, spun him around, and pushed him toward the huge, steel door. “We’re going to have to do something about that fucking getup too. Julius ain’t into pink.”

Michael made eye contact with Tim as he passed him. If the group were going to act, it needed to be now, although there was no reason for them to do anything. The plan was to watch and learn what the guards did. There was no ‘Plan B.’

If Michael called out for the boys to fight at that point, he’d be ruining their chance of a more organized escape attempt later.
 

Snot ran from Michael’s cold nose, and he sniffed hard as he walked. He then looked away from his new friends and focused on the dark mouth that was the exit from the warehouse—the path to Julius’ room.

The loud slam of the door ran straight through Michael. There was another guard waiting outside.

In the few seconds that he stood there, one guard with his grip on the back of Michael’s neck, and the other one holding an ankle of each dead brother, Michael heard Ben on the other side of the door.
 

“There goes your inspiration, boys. Now what do you say we forget all the silliness and go back to how things were, yeah?”

Before he could hear the response, one of the guards shoved Michael away from the door.

Baton

Michael curled into a fetal position and shivered as he lay on his new bed. The bare concrete walls in his latest prison gave off a chill like a refrigerator, and within minutes, Michael's cold nose had started to run again.
 

The walls of the cell kept him contained, but didn't stop the cold draft from entering his room—or the sounds of suffering. The screams and shouts of the others in the building rang both louder and clearer than before. It wouldn’t be long before his screams added to the chaos.

The single bed had been positioned in the middle of a small room. There was just enough space to walk all the way around it. At first glance, it seemed like a better option than the dirty floor of the warehouse… then he lay down on it.
 

The springs in the lumpy mattress prodded his skinny body no matter how he positioned himself. And the smell… a heady mix of damp, piss, shit, rotting meat, and sweat. The toxicity of it made his head spin and for the first twenty minutes or so, it took all of Michael’s effort to stop himself vomiting. A large brown stain covered over seventy-five percent of the mattress. Not brown like mud or sweat, it was brown like old blood.

As Michael tried to get comfortable, he looked at the back of the door. Like all of the doors in the warehouse, it creaked and groaned whenever someone moved it. It served as an early warning system and prevented anyone getting the jump on him but did nothing to mute the cries of the people in other parts of the warehouse.

Above all of the suffering outside, Michael heard the children most clearly. Their sobs haunted the hallways. Pulling his knees to his chest, he clamped his hands over his ears and rocked where he lay. The children were young; much younger than him.

As he rolled onto his other side, the springs speared him at random points on his skinny body. Once he’d stopped moving, he pressed his fingertips into his ears again. All he wanted was to be out of there; just to be somewhere safe, somewhere where people would be able to look out for him.
Yeah right!
Lola had spoken the truth when she said safety didn't exist. No one could be trusted. Maybe his mum had the right idea. Maybe safety could only be found in death.

***

How long it took, Michael couldn’t even guess, but the crying outside finally stopped. He removed his fingers from his ears and rolled over onto his back.

Every surface in the room was exposed concrete. The ceiling, the walls, the floor…

After a series of small adjustments, each one to shift away from a particularly uncomfortable spring, Michael exhaled hard and his left arm slipped out of the bed. On the way down, it caught the frame, stinging his knuckles. Despite the throb on the back of his hand, it was the twanging sound that got Michael’s attention.
 

Michael leaned out of the bed. A lump of wood ran the length of the frame down one side—a decorative baton no thicker than a pool cue, and definitely not as strong. But maybe strong enough? When he tugged at it, it stretched away from the frame by a few inches. When he let it go, it snapped back against the bed with a loud crack.

He tugged it again, a little harder this time. The gradual sound of splintering wood made him tense and he watched the door. Could anyone hear him?

With one final sharp tug, the baton came free.