The Survival Game (35 page)

They’re trying to burn the fucking place down,
gamota
!

That was Dread I’s plan—send the amber factory to the ground, taking the competition with it. And suddenly he remembered something, something very important—Valeria. He looked up. She was still up there on the balcony, the two bods alongside her taking potshots at John/Dread I/Sagat’s crew. She was looking left and right for a way out. Either set of stairs led to danger, so for the moment she was safe, but the fire would eventually force her back down or she’d be burnt alive. And John couldn’t afford
that.

He looked back at the war zone ahead to assess the situation. His army were camped on three sides of the factory floor, with what was left of Marek’s crew pushed back against the right hand wall where they were sitting ducks. One set of stairs leading up to the balcony were on their occupied territory, the other were on the side with Marek’s crew, meaning that Valeria could well go down that way to join ’em. If she did that, there was a risk she could either get shot or escape, and John couldn’t afford that either. He had to block those stairs to keep her up there. And he had to do it fast.

An idea suddenly hit him. He jumped up and raced over to the Molotov cocktail brigade who were by the fire escape. He got there to see a slick little operation going on—they had a holdall full of empty bottles; one of the boys was filling ’em up from a huge canister of petrol; he then passed ’em onto another soldier who stuffed rags into their necks and lit ’em up before finally passing them on to the launcher.

‘Give me one of those,’ John ordered, eagerly curling his fingers inwards.

The horned boy stuffing in the rags held out a ready-made Molotov. John grabbed it and raced back the way he came. He dived behind the conveyor belt again and grabbed his lighter. He sparked it up and glanced over the belt. Marek’s boys were putting up a last stand and were inflicting a few casualties. But the truth was that they were fucked and sooner or later, they’d have to either try and leave the building or die ’cos the flames were getting more intense by the second. And that went for their side as well.

He set the rag alight and quickly threw it at the stairs in enemy territory. It hit the metal steps full on and exploded across them, sending flames up and all around the staircase. Very quickly, the middle section of steps was engulfed in flames, making it impassable. He licked his smiling lips and nodded his head in appreciation of his handiwork. Perfect. Now he could corner Valeria. All had to do was take care of her bodyguards…

His next move was to go and get some backup. He went straight for Dread I, who was lined up next to Sagat, firing through the flames at the bods beyond them.

‘We gotta get outa here now,
bredda
,’ Dread I shouted over his shoulder. ‘This place gonna blow, big style!’

John shook his head. ‘Valeria’s up there! We gotta get her!’

Dread I turned and gave him an incredulous stare for a second or two.

‘I need her!’ John added, giving him a serious look in return.

‘Okay,
bredda
,’ Dread I replied. ‘Let’s go!’

Dread I went ahead; John followed. John looked up the steps. The two bods had seen the other way was blocked by fire and as a result they were making a dash towards the other set of stairs. Valeria was just behind ’em, the back of her lab coat riding the air. John pointed his finger towards ’em, and Dread I stomped up the steps, pumping his shotgun on the way. He jumped up the last few with a grunt and aimed his gun, meeting them full on. The bod in the lead stopped dead, raised his gun and instinctively fired. There was a loud clang just behind Dread I, but he was unnerved. Didn’t even flinch. He replied with a shot of his own and caught the bod hard in the chest. He was sent backwards under the impact and crashed onto the metal balcony.

Valeria’s hands shot up to her mouth and her eyes widened. After a second, she let out a loud scream. Dread I stepped forwards, unfazed. John could see he was proper pissed, in Terminator mood. And it was bomber jacket bod season.

The second bod looked from his dead friend by his feet and up at Dread I with hate in his teary eyes. John watched on as his mug contorted in a surreal fashion. His eyes flushed red and his skin took on a sunburnt hue. He opened up his mouth to reveal rows upon rows of fangs; a forked tongue darted out between them. And with his horns already there and the place engulfed with flames, he instantly became a demon straight from Hell, brimful of rage. And John saw it in all its glory.

The demon bomber jacket bod pulsed the trigger of his gun. It exploded like Chinese firecrackers. John ducked down. Dread I’s head snapped round to the side and at first, John thought the
malaka
caught one right in the forehead. When he saw Dread I reach up, grab his cheek, and bend over, he realised it was just a flesh wound—at least by Dead I’s standards. But now with Dread I bent down and out of the picture, John was fully exposed to the gunfire.

His instincts tweaked. He hurdled Dread I, put his head down, and steamed forwards, letting out a tiger-like roar. He didn’t give the demon bod a second to react. Instead, he slammed right into his chest like a human juggernaut, making it cave in. He used his momentum to carry on going for a few seconds, pushing the bod along the balcony with him, feeling the tendons in his neck strain. Before the bod could get a chance to try and fight back, John propelled his arms up and out to the side. The force was enough to push the bod over to the balcony railing and topple him over it. There was a last-ditch instinctive reaction as the bod managed to grab hold of John’s coat. He clung to it for dear life, stopping himself from going over the edge, almost taking John’s coat off his back in the process. John just wanted to get the
malaka
off him and send him over the edge, so he stiffened his back as hard as he could, getting his body to swing upwards. The back of his head caught the bod square on the chin so hard and true, John felt the bod’s teeth crunch together under the pressure. The blow stole the wind from the bod, the strength leaving his body for just a second, giving John the perfect opportunity to give him one final shove. He chopped the bod’s hands away Bruce Lee style, snapping their grip on his coat, and he gave him one final hard shoulder barge. The bod toppled again, his arms flailing. However, this time he couldn’t grab onto anything and as a result, he completely lost his balance. He fell backwards over the railing, going over head first, letting out a final yell for good measure. John grabbed onto the railing and watched bug-eyed as the bod landed into one of the tanks with a loud splash. He quickly came to the surface soon after, splashing around, shouting for help.

Valeria raced over to the railing and stared down at him with terrified eyes. ‘Stefan!’ she shouted. ‘Stefan!’

Stefan dropped below the surface of the chemicals like he was Augustsus Gloop. He didn’t come back.

Valeria then crumpled in a heap, staring blankly at the air ahead of her like some kind of mental patient.

John puffed his cheeks and turned his attention from the tank to Valeria. She was where exactly he wanted her and they needed to get out, pronto. He advanced on her. Her head snapped up and she stared at him with scared eyes. In the next instant, she jumped to her feet and got her leg over the railing. She was trying to jump over.

‘No you don’t!’ John said. He sprang forwards like a panther and managed to grab onto her ankle, which was now up on the railing. Valeria yelped. She tried to kick him off, but John gripped her ankle vice-like. With a grunt, he yanked hard. She fell backwards, landing onto the safety of the balcony. He darted over to where she lay and grabbed her under the arms, locking his own arms up like he was attempting to wrestle a bear. She squirmed like an eel, but his grip was too tight and he managed to keep hold of her. By then, Dread I had staggered over drunkenly, holding onto his cheek, blood oozing out between his fingers. But they had no time to bleed.

‘Grab her legs!’ John shouted to him.

Dread I sprang into life. He jumped over and grabbed up her legs, a grimace on his bloody face.

Valeria let out a scream. John muffled it with his hand.

‘Okay,
bredda
,’ Dread I said in between big long breaths. ‘Let’s go!’

John started taking strides backwards, Dread I going forwards, Valeria held between them like they were removal men taking a coffee table out to the van. By then, intense fires were blazing all around them, and they were the last people left in the factory. Any surviving workers and bomber jackets had escaped, their own crew long gone. They reached the bottom of the steps, just as the fires next to them started roaring. The place was engulfed and if they stayed in there any longer, they’d be burnt to a crisp.

John put his head down just as he got a lungful of smoke. He pumped his legs hard, racing for the parking bay, coughing and splurting like he’d just smoked a thousand
cigarra
at once, while dodging flames as best he could. The heat from the fire was suddenly unbearable, the smoke so thick, he thought for a grim second he wasn’t gonna make it.

Just a little more,
re
! Hold it together!

They made it to the garage partition door, triggering off the sensor through the smoke. It lifted painfully slow, but when it raised just enough, they finally burst out into the sanctity of the parking bay. The cool, wet outside air coming through the open garage door hit his face and it was heavenly. So fresh, so clean. He never thought Britain’s cold, wet climate could ever feel so fucking good.

He coughed out the final smoke from his lungs and took a look around. It was carnage in the rain. Their crew were escaping the scene, running here and there like flies, shouting and shooting, cars starting up and skidding away. The place was hot. They had to get out of the area ASAP before any locals came along to see what was happening.

Out of the corner of his eye, John clocked Sagat racing past ’em in his car. He instantly dropped Valeria and jumped into the road ahead of him, waving his arms around frantically. Sagat’s car skidded to an abrupt halt just ahead of him, the front bumper lightly clipping his legs. If Sagat hadn’t seen him in time and braked, they would’ve been sliced clean off.

John smashed his hand on the roof. ‘Open up the boot!’ he shouted, coughing his lungs up. ‘Open up the fucking boot!’

One of Sagat’s boys jumped out of the car and raced for the boot to open it up for him. Dread I had Valeria in a full nelson and was forcing her towards the car.

When Dread I made it over, John bent down and grabbed her legs, getting a foot in the face for his trouble. ‘
Fucking
putana
!
’ he shouted as he flipped her legs up into his arms.

They roughly stuffed Valeria into the waiting boot. She hit the boot floor with a yelp, instantly spinning her head round to face them. Just as her mouth opened up to scream, John slammed the boot shut and locked it, wiping sooty grime and rain from his forehead afterwards.

Valeria began banging her fists on the roof of the boot.

‘Fucking shut it!’ John shouted and smashed his open palm down on top of it.

She stopped her banging and it finally gave John a chance to take a breather. He turned and stared at Neocrema. Thick black smoke was billowing out from beneath the garage door. If they were still in there right then, they’d be barbequed.

‘Get in the fockin’ car,
bredda
!’ Dread I then shouted, making John’s head snap back round.

Dread I was hanging out of the front passenger door, pointing at the back door, which then swung open. John dived straight in. The engine roared into life and Sagat wheel-spun away. He rapidly picked up speed, dodging any people loitering in the road. They zipped through the backstreets of Tottenham Hale away from the scene, all of them tense, paranoid, looking nervously around like crack fiends, expecting to see
astinomia
on their tail at any second.

Sagat made it onto the High Road and quickly blended in with the other traffic, weaving in and out of it. Now, they could start to relax. Job done.

The mission was a resounding success on all fronts—a decisive victory—and they’d made it out alive.

John slapped his hand on his head and laughed hard to himself like he was some kind of madman.

That was so fucking intense,
gamota
! So fucking crazy, so fucking surreal, so fucking… exciting…

He began laughing louder, harder, and Dread I’s rusty blade cackle joined in. Soon after, they were all laughing.

‘
Whoo
, what a rush, huh,
bredda
?’ Dread I said, his laughter intensifying.

John nodded his head in agreement. ‘You better fucking believe it, bruv!’ he said, slapping the back of Dread I’s seat.

His chest then caved, relaxing for the first time that day and he fell back, puffing his cheeks in exasperation.

They raced through the streets of north London, pumped up on adrenaline, drugs and violence, buzzing their nuts off, their prisoner in the boot, ready for questioning.

They took her back to the weapons cache, where they strapped her into the dentist’s chair for interrogation.

Dread I went over to the toolbox on a nearby shelf, gripping his left arm tightly as if it were about to fall off. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers and dribbling onto the floor. Now that the adrenaline rush of the previous hour had subsided, any sustained injuries began to make their presence known. John knew it wasn’t the first time Dread I had taken bullets during action (luckily for him this one was just an in-out, so it could’ve been stinging a helluva lot more), but he still felt the pain regardless, meaning he
was
human and not some kind of demon like those
malakes
back at Sagat’s were saying.

John glanced at Valeria, who was trying her best to get a look over her shoulder at what Dread I was doing at the back of the garage. Her chest was heaving, John surmised through fear, and he could sense that she was more scared of the Yardie than the Greek. Much more scared.