Crash III: There's No Place Like Home (22 page)

Instead of replying to Keith, George pulled on Michael’s shoulder as he walked away. “Come on, mate. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Ding Dong, the Witch Ain’t Dead

The crack
of the truck’s keys hit the kitchen table followed by a whoosh of them sliding across the varnished wooden surface. Michael watched them ride over the tabletop and stop just short of falling off the edge.
 

Without breaking stride, George walked over to some of his cooking things on the side and rearranged them. The pots and pans crashed and banged as he moved them around. “What did you think of the community?”

Michael’s throat dried. “I… um… I think it looks safe. It looks like they have everything sorted out and in place.”

As George prodded and poked around in his recently made fire pit, he shook his head. “I think it looks strict. They look fucking weird; like some strange cult. I don’t trust ’em.”

George washed his hands with some old water. As he rubbed them together, he shook his head. “I told myself that when I washed my hands, the killing would stop. How naïve was I? The killing’s not going to stop for a long fucking time; especially when there’s pricks like Will pointing his gun at me.”

After drying his hands, George held up the small bag of seeds they’d given them.
 

“Anyway, we need to find a growing bag for these. That’s if they even grow. I still think we’ve been mugged off.” He picked the keys back up from the kitchen table and nodded at the front door. “Come on, let’s go and find a garden center.”

***

Michael sat tense next to George. After the warehouse, he’d started to trust him. The trip to Keith’s community had ruined that. No matter how well George cared for him, he’d always be the person who killed his dad. When he got angry, the monster Michael had seen at his house came out. By not being able to keep his temper in check, George had put them both at risk with the men at the gates.
 

With his head turned away from the big man, he watched the deserted city out of the window. Smashed glass, litter, burned out cars… this wasn’t a place where he could feel safe.

“What the fuck?” George said and braked suddenly.
 

Michael’s pulse quickened. When Michael looked in front of them, his stomach sank. “What the hell is that?”

“Don’t you mean, ‘who’?”

Hanging from the lamppost was a man who looked no older than about twenty-five. From what Michael could tell, anyway.

“It’s Ravi,” George said.

“You know him?”

Without replying, George opened the door of his truck, scanned around outside, then turned back to Michael. “Stay there.”

The second George stepped outside, Michael followed him. A month or two ago, he wouldn’t have been able to look at this, but things had changed.

Michael matched George stride for stride as they walked over to the man hanging from the lamppost. Like his mother’s and sister’s had, the man’s tongue protruded from his mouth.
 

When he looked further up, Michael balked.
What the hell?
The man had no eyelids. Red scabs sat above his eyes from where they’d been cut off. There were no teeth left in his mouth, and his lips were split and swollen. It looked like a hammer had been used to remove them. He had a hole in the center of his face where his nose had once been. Again, it must have been a hammer blow that did it.

Writing covered his neck and arms. One word repeated over and over, carved into his skin with a knife or some other sharp object—“
CUNT.
” Michael shook as he read it at least fifteen times on his first glance. Was the man dead when it was carved into him?

Every one of the man’s fingers and toes had been cut off, leaving bloody stumps behind. But the hardest part to look at—the bit Michael couldn’t avoid any longer as his eyes ran the length of Ravi’s body—was the scaffolding pole. Without getting closer, Michael couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but it looked like it had been shoved up the man’s arse. Blood and brown sludge coated the pole and had dried on it. The bottom was splayed from where it had unmistakably been hammered into him.

Michael shook, but he didn’t look away.

George finally broke the silence. “Dean.”

A cold chill ran through Michael. For as much as he hated George for what happened to his dad, Dean was the one behind it all.
 

When George looked across to see Michael watching him, he quickly looked around.
 

“Dean isn’t dead,” he said as he glanced at the car. “Come on; let’s go.”

Shopping

The loud cracks rang out like gunshots on the deserted industrial estate. It seemed that no matter how many times George kicked the shit out of the huge building’s front doors, they wouldn’t budge.
 

Michael looked around them while George persisted. The place seemed abandoned, but who knew for sure? And with George not thinking straight, they could get jumped at any moment. His bad mood had gotten worse since seeing Ravi’s body. Not only had he had a gun pointed at him, but Dean wasn’t dead.

“Argh!” George said as he stared the mangled door. It lay across their way like a twisted stair gate. The glass that had been in it at one point littered the floor. They could get in by squeezing past it, but they wouldn’t get back out again with a stack of growing bags. Sure, it had to be moved, but doing so a little more quietly would have been nice.

George kicked it several more times, each hit louder than the last.

The final, heavy kick dislodged it, and the thing fell over with a clatter. George looked around quickly before heading into the store.
 

Michael looked around too. It seemed clear. He shrugged and followed George inside. Maybe they’d gotten lucky. Maybe no one had heard them.

Michael caught up with George and looked around. “They haven’t taken much.”

“What do you expect? Why would people want tins of paint and sofas? Who gives a shit about DIY nowadays?”
 

Michael didn’t reply. A line of vending machines by the tills had all been smashed open. The trays containing chocolates, sweets, and drinks all hung out of them like twisted mechanical entrails.
 

When George set off down one of the aisles, the large man’s heavy footsteps slapping against the hard floor, Michael followed.
 

Suddenly, Michael stopped dead. About forty different hammers hung on display. The one in the middle looked similar to the one used on his dad.

George stopped a second later and turned to Michael. “Come on, mate, what are you—”
 

When he saw the hammers, he heaved a deep sigh and looked at the floor.
 

Michael wanted to say something, anything, to make George feel better, but what could he say? It wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. He’d killed his dad.

With the silence hanging heavy in the air, George turned around and walked off again.
 

Michael watched his back for a few seconds before following him.

Trust

With the back of the truck full of food, they had to put the eight large growing bags in the cab with them. They reeked of earth, and the plastic bags creaked as they rubbed against one another with every slight lump and bump in the road. At least it broke the awkward silence.

Michael couldn’t see George, but he could feel him wanting to speak. Maybe it was the way he cleared his throat several times and took a breath but stopped short of saying anything.
 

He finally got it out. “I would give anything to be able to take back what I did to your dad. There isn’t a second that passes where I don’t regret it.”

Michael stared out of the window and nodded. It didn’t matter how many times George said it; it had happened and nothing could change that. Because George couldn’t see him, he said, “I know.”

Silence.
 

“But you did kill him, George. As much as I try, I can’t get that out of my head. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“I understand, mate, and you should be angry with me. I just hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive my actions. All I can do in the meantime is to make sure you don’t come to any harm in this life.”

The time he’d spent with George made forgiving him harder. He obviously wanted to do right by Michael, but he’d killed his dad.
 

“Did you ever work out who Lola was, George?”

The truck slowed down as George eased off on the gas.

“She said you ran her mother over; that you were there when her mum and little sister were killed. She didn’t blame you, but she said you were there. It was why she was odd when we came to live with you. She got cross with me for opening up to you because she couldn’t do it. She knew you didn’t hurt her family on purpose, but she hates you all the same. I think it was why she sold me out to the men from the warehouse. I think she’d already decided that she couldn’t stay with us.”

There was a pause before George finally said, “Fuck! She was the girl who managed to escape. I saw her running off and hoped she was okay.” After a pause, he added, “And is that how you feel when you’re around me? Like you can’t stand to be near me?”

“You make me nervous, George. I can see you’re trying, but I also still see the man who killed my dad—especially when you get angry like you did at the community.”

After a weary sigh, George’s voice deepened, and he said, “Okay, I hear ya. I’ll try harder. I felt threatened at the community and it makes me go on the offensive. I shouldn’t have lost my shit like I did though. I’m sorry.”

Michael looked out of the window again and said nothing.

Safe

The next few days passed without incident. Other than spending time in the garden and eating together, Michael and George had started to live quite separate existences. The conversation about his dad and Lola’s family had driven a wedge between them. Whenever he had spare time, Michael lost himself in a book, and George left him to it.

One of the few things that brought them together was the sprouting of a few green shoots from one of the growing bags. It was like the prospect of a new food—grown through the pair’s endeavors—offered some kind of hope to what felt like an utterly bleak situation. Something could grow in their toxic world.

But now they were heading back to the community together, and Michael was wound up tighter than a loaded crossbow. Although George had promised to keep a lid on his temper, Michael would have to see it to believe it.

When they walked around the corner on the dusty track and the large gates came into view, Michael’s heart missed a beat. Two men with guns stood behind that imposing barrier; guns they had no qualms about pointing straight at the pair.
 

As they pushed forward, the only sound came from the shifting of grit and rocks beneath their feet.

When they got closer, the two men from the other day appeared over the top of the gate. Both of them had their shotguns and they both aimed the weapons at Michael and George.
 

With a leering grin on his gaunt face, Will was the first to speak. “Well, look who it is. Look, Johnny, it’s that wide cunt who had a knife to my dad’s throat.”

When he glanced over at George, panic fluttered through Michael’s chest. His thick jaw locked tight and the big man looked like he could explode in rage at any moment. Without Will’s dad as a hostage, they wouldn’t last two seconds if George lost it.
 

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?”