Crash III: There's No Place Like Home Read online

  What else could he say? Lola wanted nothing to do with him, and he had to accept that.

  When Lola popped the door open and slipped out of the truck, Michael followed her. He caught up with her and said, “Lola, wait. Shouldn’t we stay together?”

  “No.”

  When she turned to walk off, Michael ran after her again. George may make him feel safe but not safe enough to stay with him on his own. He grabbed Lola’s shoulder. “We should stick together. George can look after us. He’ll protect us.”

  “We did all right without him before.”

  “We did, but I don’t want to be without him now. Please, Lola, give it a try. Please?”

  Stepping back when Lola jabbed her finger at his face, Michael watched the angry girl speak to him through gritted teeth. “You can come with me, but if you do, you’d best be fucking quiet. You got that?”

  Keeping his mouth firmly closed, Michael nodded.

  After watching him for a second as if she was waiting for a reason to bitch at him again, Lola turned around and walked off.

  ***

  The convenience store had been as looted as the rest of the city. Instead of pointing this out to Lola, Michael followed her in and kept his mouth shut.

  As soon as they entered the shop, Michael stumbled backwards and grabbed his nose in a tight pinch. An acrid and sickly sweet smell hung in the air. “What the hell is that stink?”

  A couple of steps ahead of him, Lola pointed down at the floor.

  Michael balked when he rounded the next corner and saw what she was pointing at. The rotting body of an old woman lay in the aisle. Skinny and wrinkly, the woman’s mouth hung wide, and the skin on her face had sunk into every crevice of her skull. Blood had stopped pumping through her veins a long time ago.

  Although Lola stepped over her, Michael held back and continued to stare. This store didn’t seem like the best place to be; it had nothing worth taking. When he opened his mouth to suggest they leave, the sound of footsteps entered the shop and stopped him dead.

  Both Lola and Michael stared at one another as they listened.

  “Why are we checking here again?” a man said, his voice both rough and deep.

  Another man replied. “Would you rather be hanging around at the warehouse all day every day?”

  Michael froze.

  Sell Out

  Michael pushed himself harder against the wall in the dark corner. For what good it did. If someone came far enough into the shop, it didn’t matter how hard he pressed himself against a wall; they’d see him.

  Gruff voices accompanied by heavy footsteps moved toward them.

  “Stop bloody sulking, will ya? At least we’re out in the city. We have an excuse to get out of the warehouse every day. Imagine being one of the poor bastards who has to ask Julius’ permission every time they want to leave. Fuck that! I’d rather search the same shop a thousand times than have to go begging to that prick.”

  “Yeah, I know; it just seems like the city has been picked pretty clean. How long will it be before he gets fed up with us coming back empty-handed?”

  “We’ll just have to work harder at finding him some more boys.”

  With the looters getting closer, Michael’s heart beat as if trying to punch free of his chest.

  When he caught a glimpse of the men just an aisle down from them, he pushed against the wall again, his feet slipping on the gritty floor.

  Three heads of dirty hair bobbed with their steps. Three men against a girl and a little boy—a little boy who was worth their daily freedom. A little boy who was even more of a catch than most because he was a deserter.

  One of the men kicked over a shelving unit. A loud crash followed the groan of it passing its tipping point.

  It took everything Michael had not to yell out.

  They kicked a second shelving unit over with another loud crash. Hopefully, George would hear it.

  Dirty laughs bubbled from the men’s throats, and one of them spoke again. “At least we get to kick the shit out of things while we’re out here. I often pretend I’m kicking Julius.”

  When Lola wrapped her arms around him, a hot lump of grief stuck in Michael’s throat. Despite her moods, she wouldn’t let any harm come to him. He shouldn’t have thought otherwise—not after everything they’ve been through. Michael settled into her hug.

  The dirty heads got closer, seemingly determined to check out the entire shop. Lola started to shake too.

  Another crash sounded out, but this time it came from outside.

  “What was that?” one of the men said.

  “Fucked if I know.”

  “Should we check it out?”

  The pause seemed to last an age and all Michael could hear was his own pulse.

  “Yeah.”

  Two of the men walked back toward the entrance, but one of them remained. Not only did he remain, but he continued searching the shop. Michael’s mouth dried, and Lola’s grip tightened around him. The man continued forward.

  When he rounded the corner, the man stopped and stared down at the pair. He grinned, his dirty mouth surrounded by a scraggly ginger beard and pasty white skin. “Well, well, look what we have here then.”

  When Lola stood up, Michael got to his feet with her.

  The other two men came at their colleague’s call. One of them was a skinny black man and the other one, an older white man with gray hair. All three of them wore the same predatory smile as they took the pair in. In this new world, they were the law. They were the judge, jury, and executioners, and without the need of a single word between them, they’d decided the pair’s fate.

  The black man said, “Two for the price of one.” Holding a lingering glare on Lola, he licked his lips. “Although you may not be of any use to the boss, I know a few of the lads will be pleased to see you.”

  Michael pissed himself a little and before he could do anything about it, Lola shoved him forward. With his head snapping back, he stumbled toward the men. The redheaded man grabbed him in a bear hug. He stank of oil and dirt.

  The man spun Michael around and held him in a headlock. As he fought to breathe, Michael watched Lola run out of the shop.

  When one of the men gave chase, the man who had a hold of Michael called after him. “Leave it; she ain’t worth it. It’s this one here that we need. This is what Julius wants.”

  The rest of Michael’s bladder emptied down his leg. He tried to call out, but the man gripped his neck too tight. His words came out as no more than a weak wheeze. “George. George.”

  The older man drove the rest of the air from Michael’s body with a gut punch. Michael bent double around his fist and hit the floor hard.

  There was a tearing sound of tape and then one of the men yanked Michael’s hands behind his back. They pulled so hard the muscles in his chest burned as they bound him. They then taped up his ankles.

  One of the men grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Michael cried out at the sharp pain on his scalp. They then taped his mouth.

  Bound and gagged, one of the men lifted Michael’s ankles and dragged him out of the shop. With streaming eyes and in the poor light, Michael couldn’t see which man. Not that it mattered; they all had the same intention. They all wanted to hand him to Julius on a plate.

  The gritty linoleum floor burned Michael’s skin, his sweatshirt riding up and exposing his back to the rough ground.

  When he got to the back of the van, one of the other men lifted his shoulders. Between the two of them, they held him like a hammock.

  The men swung him and counted down. “Three… two…”

  On one, they launched him into the back of the truck.

  A sharp sting ran from his shoulder to his core, the pain of crashing down on the hard surface bringing him close to vomiting.

  Heavy footsteps walked around both sides of the truck. The two doors at the front of the truck clicked open, and the truck shook as the men got in. The doors slammed shut one after the other before
the engine roared to life and the truck shot forward.

  Michael rolled down the truck bed and crashed into the tailgate headfirst. His world rocked and stars swam in his vision. His ears rang and he tasted the metallic funk of his own blood. He swallowed it down and fought to breathe through his nose.

  After a few more seconds, he passed out.

  The Warehouse

  “Argh!” Michael yelled as they tore the tape from his mouth. It left behind a throbbing sting like it had taken his skin with it. Tears blurred his view of the room. He’d cried the entire way to the warehouse. It felt worse this time around. The first time, he didn’t have a clue what to expect, and he’d had a sliver of hope in his heart.

  The room may have been gloomy, but he still caught the glint of the long blade in the man’s hand. Michael lifted his bound wrists away from the bottom of his back to make his job easier. It was one of the men who’d thrown him on the truck; the oldest man of the three. Although Michael glared at him, the man didn’t return his stare. With one tug of the long knife, he cut Michael’s wrists free.

  Despite the throb in his hands from having the circulation cut off, Michael grabbed his burning face first. Touching it sent a sharp sting tingling across his jowls.

  Without looking at Michael, the man left the room, and Michael watched the large steel door slam shut.

  He listened as three heavy bolts cracked home on the other side of the door. Michael pulled the rest of the tape from his wrists and ankles and blinked in the gloom. The locking door may have sounded final, but he’d been in the holding room before. It was nothing compared to the warehouse.

  Michael stood up and rolled his shoulders in large circles. It did little to relieve the aches in his battered body. Being tossed onto the back of the truck stung, but the journey to the warehouse gave him a kicking. It seemed like the driver aimed for every pothole he could find.

  The room was small, but Michael still paced it, counting as he went, “One, two, three, four. One.” He stopped when he reached the wall.

  When he turned around, he yelled out and slapped his right hand over his heart. “Jesus.”

  Two boys watched him from the shadows.

  Squinting did little to help him see better, so he waited until they stepped forward. Both of the boys were older than him; maybe eighteen and fifteen.

  The older of the two spoke first. “Why the fuck are you dressed like that?”

  “Um…” Michael said. “My other clothes got wet, and these were the only dry ones I could find at the time.”

  With another step forward, the older boy became much more visible. He had a light beard; it must have been the first one he’d ever grown. The boy looked him up and down. “Are you some kind of pervert or something? I bet you’re wearing little girl panties beneath that too, aren’t you?”

  The boy would think the tights were little girl panties for sure. Michael didn’t reply.

  Calling the other boy over, the older one waited for him to come to his side. Although one had dark hair and one light, they looked like brothers. The older boy pointed at Michael. “What do you think, Josh? Do we have ourselves a weird little pervert here?”

  Although Josh replied, Michael didn’t hear his response. Clicking his fingers, he pointed at the boys. “I knew I recognized your voices.”

  Pulling his shoulders back, the older boy then tilted his head to one side. “What the fuck are you talking about? How do you know our voices?”

  “Were you two out in London a few nights back by a library near London Bridge?”

  After sharing a look with one another, the boys looked back at Michael, but neither spoke.

  “There was a dead boy on the pavement.”

  Although Josh’s demeanor softened, the older boy’s wound up tighter. “What the fuck? How do you know that?”

  “I was in the library. A frie—” He paused and took a deep breath. “I was with someone, and we were hiding out in there when we heard people outside. Now that I’ve heard your voices, I recognize it as you two.”

  The older boy hit Michael in the chest as he grabbed him and lifted him from the ground by his shirt. He slammed him into the wall, knocking the wind from him. Although Michael clawed at the boy’s wrist, he didn’t ease off.

  The older boy stared hatred at him, his face twisting. “You’re lying. You set us up, didn’t you? You’re the reason we’re here, you little cunt.”

  As he struggled, George’s words came back. Go for the boy’s eyes and throat. Maybe he could lift his knee and get him in the nuts. The shins maybe. But it wasn’t right to fight the other boys. When Michael dug his thumb into the boy’s wrist, he finally let go. Michael fell into a hunch and pulled heavy breaths into his body.

  “Start talking, before I break your fucking neck.”

  Both boys loomed over him when he looked up at them. Still holding his throat, he stole breaths in between his words. “If I’d have… been a rat, don’t… you think… they would have had me… in here… already? I came in after you. You just saw… I was tied up when I came in here. If I… was working for them… do you think they would have… tied me up?”

  Before either boy could respond, Michael said, “This isn’t a good place.”

  “No shit.” The older boy shook his head at him.

  The younger boy, Josh, stepped forward. “Sorry about my brother. He’s really protective of me. All of our family is gone. We’ve been trying to find somewhere to go; somewhere safe. I don’t know why they’ve brought us here.”

  To tell them the truth of the warehouse would be to reveal he’d been there before.

  “Someone told me safety is an illusion,” Michael said. “I didn’t want to believe her, but the more I see of this new world, the more it seems true. Survival is the best we can hope for.”

  Lola would have been proud of that statement, not that he gave a shit what Lola thought anymore. Bitch!

  The boys stared down at him for a moment, then the older boy opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of the bolt locks cut him off.

  After the three loud cracks, a man Michael hadn’t seen before stepped into the room and grabbed Josh by the top of his arm. “You’re coming with me, boy.”

  Forcing his body between them, the older boy shook his head. “He ain’t going anywhere without me.”

  The thick-framed man ground his jaw and silence held for a few seconds before his stony expression lifted. He spoke with a level tone. “Just so you know, boy, we do what the fuck we like here. I’m going to let you come with him, but know that I’m letting you. It’s nothing to do with your little tantrum; it’s because I’m a super fucking nice guy. Got it?”

  The older brother didn’t reply.

  The guard and Michael stared at one another. Deep bags hung beneath the man’s eyes and his glare was stone cold. When he continued to lead Josh from the room, his older brother followed behind.

  Just before closing the door, the guard looked at Michael again. “Someone will be over for you soon to take you to the warehouse.”

  Cocking an eyebrow at him, the older boy said, “The warehouse doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Michael said. What else could he say?

  Once the boys were taken out and the door bolted again, he added, “Although it’s a damn sight better than where you’re going.”

  Escapee

  If anything, the corridors were dirtier than before. In the few weeks that he’d been away, the funk of the place had increased, grime coating not only the floors but the walls too. The smell of sweat and farts hung thick in the air. Another shove in his back spurred Michael forward as he made his way down the dimly lit passageway.

  They’d said he'd be heading to the warehouse. Please let that be true. The warehouse was grim, but he’d escaped it once before, so he could do it again—especially if no one recognized him.

  Searing pain ran through Michael’s left bicep when one of the men grabbed him and steered him through several sharp t
wists and turns. Wincing, he tensed up but tried not to overreact. Annoying the guards never turned out well. If he could get to the warehouse, he could wait with the other boys and plan to get out. If he got under the guard’s skin, he’d stand out as a nuisance and they'd target him. Maybe they didn’t have any say over who Julius picked, but there seemed no point in risking it. Whatever happened, he had to avoid Julius.

  Several empty beer cans clattered at Michael’s feet, their aluminum rattle amplified by the enclosed space. The guard pushed him on.

  The closer they got to the warehouse, the worse the smell. The tang of sweat had as good as vanished. Now, it reeked of shit. Beneath the predominant stink were undertones of urine, alcohol, and vomit.

  Just before he stepped on her, Michael noticed the naked woman on the floor. She lay across the narrow corridor, bent like a discarded rag doll.

  When he passed over her, Michael glanced down. Her chin glistened with vomit, a needle hung from one of her skinny arms, and her eyes had rolled back in her head. Her mouth hung wide, and she twitched occasionally.

  They stopped in front of the large, steel door to the warehouse. The guard pulled a jingling ring full of keys from his pocket and unlocked the padlock. There was just one bolt on this door; it was huge and took a lot of wiggling to get it free. After a few seconds of the dry scratching of metal on metal, there was a loud thunk and the guard pulled the door wide with a yawning creak.

  Michael gasped when the guard grabbed him harder than before. When he spoke, his gravelly voice ran icicles down Michael’s spine. It was the man who usually wore the sack over his head but it was too dark to get a proper look at him. Whatever the devil looked like, Michael always imagined it would be the same as this man.

  “Welcome to the warehouse,” he said and shoved Michael forward.

  After several stumbling steps, Michael stopped and looked around the room. Nothing had changed from before. The poor light made it hard to tell how many, but between thirty and fifty filthy boys stared at him. Hopefully, they wouldn’t remember him.