Crash III: There's No Place Like Home Page 15

  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.

  Crack!

  Michael held his breath and listened as he stared at the piece of wood. The baton was about the length of his arm. He looked at the back of the door again. Someone had to have heard him!

  After waiting for a minute or so, no one came, so Michael turned the baton over and examined it. It was big enough to swing at a guard and give him the advantage when he needed it.

  As he pulled it into his chest, he listened to the silence around him. It was big enough.

  Attack

  Michael woke up on full alert and looked at the door. The sounds of movement on the other side had roused him. He gripped the baton with both hands and pulled it back into his chest. His beating heart tapped against the back of his thumbs. If he could get away now, he’d be free. The next stop was Julius’ room, and he couldn’t end up there. No way!

  When Michael rolled off the bed, the springs jabbed his skinny form, but he kept his attention on the door.

  The dark wooden doorknob twitched as someone touched it on the other side. Then it twisted slowly, letting out a dry rasp as it turned. They obviously still thought they had the element of surprise on their side.

  With few places to hide, Michael made his way over to the wall next to the door and pressed his back against it. He looked down to his right as the handle continued turning.

  When the door popped free of the frame, Michael pushed himself harder into the wall and held his breath, his heart galloping.

  The door opened into the room. A large hand still gripped the handle.

  Michael shook. His throat dried.

  The door then flew wide and the man darted in behind it, a baseball bat raised. He lowered his bat and stared at the empty bed. “Huh?”

  Before he could say anything else, Michael lunged forward and brought the baton down on the back of the man’s head. It connected with a hollow crack.

  The vibration ran all the way up the baton and Michael’s arm went weak. It sounded like he’d hit a coconut.

  Unable to move, he watched the guard stumble and fall to one knee. His large hand reached up and felt the point on his head where Michael had hit him.

  Michael clenched his jaw and wound back for another blow. While yelling out, he swung at the man again, the baton connecting with his temple with another nauseating crack.

  The guard sprawled sideways. As he fell, he dropped his baseball bat and by the time he’d hit the ground, the weapon had rolled away from him.

  Michael hadn’t thought to check right away, but when he glanced through the open doorway, he saw the corridor was empty. Thank god he’d come alone. Although the guard barely moved, he was still breathing. Grief buckled Michael’s face as he looked down at the fallen man. “I’m not going to see Julius. I’m not.”

  He swung for the guard again, the gruesome and bloody mess disappearing behind the haze of his tears. He cried as he brought the baton down again, and again, and again.

  Each time, the guard’s skull gave a little bit more.

  By the time he’d stopped, Michael’s entire body shook. The baton was painted red and the guard’s head was no more than a fleshy pulp on the floor. There was an occasional flash of white amongst the carnage… teeth, eyeball, bone? It was hard to tell.

  Michael backed away and shook his head. “Oh, god, what have I done?”

  The baton sang as it hit the concrete floor. When Michael leaned across the guard, he tensed up as if he’d come to life again. Pretty fucking stupid considering he didn’t have a fucking head.

  Michael picked up the guard’s bat and stepped out into the corridor. It was still clear. The hinges on the door creaked as he pulled it closed. Then he took off.

  Escape

  As Michael ran down the corridor, the sound of his own clumsy footsteps echoed in the enclosed space. Breathing on the edge of a panic attack, his pulse raced and his head swam. If he’d gotten out once, he could do it again.

  Lack of sleep and poor diet over the past few days had turned his legs weak, his ankles wobbling every time they hit the floor as if they would give out beneath him.

  An explosion of light smashed into his vision as he ran headfirst into a wall. The bends in the dark rat run were both sharp and abrupt. He’d misjudged this one. A quick shake of his head cleared the daze and he took off again. He could deal with the headache later.

  The funk surrounding him was so thick he could taste it. Every desperate breath satiated him less than the last and coated his tongue with the stale, meaty taste of his environment. But he kept going, sprinting into what felt like the bowels of the warehouse.

  When Michael arrived at the warehouse door, stars swimming in his vision from his earlier collision, he looked down at the bolt. He had to do one thing before he left. The one thing he didn’t do last time. The fate of the other boys had played on his mind when he’d left them previously, and he wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—take that guilt with him again.

  With sweating fingers, he gripped the large bolt in a tight pinch and wriggled it free. The rusty metal made the action sandy as he worked it up and down.

  Even though he was the one who’d made the sound, the cracking bolt had the Pavlovian effect of running tension up his spine. He pulled the door wide and poked his head into the room.

  The silhouettes of about fifty boys turned his way. At first, he couldn’t get his words past his short breaths. Then, he finally managed to speak. “If you want to escape, now’s the time.”

  Some of the boys, the ones on Tim’s side of the room, got to their feet. Many of the others remained seated.

  “What are you doing? Don’t you want to get out of here?”

  No one moved. Even Tim’s group, although standing, remained still. Michael looked into the dark corridor behind him. Whatever happened now, it was their choice. “Fine. Well, I’m not waiting for you to decide. The door’s open; you can leave if you want to.”

  Michael turned one hundred and eighty degrees and ran back into the dark maze of walkways. No footsteps followed him. What a fucking waste of time. Had he known they’d react in that way, he’d have headed straight for the exit. It wouldn’t be long before someone found the dead guard. Maybe they’d already found him. He couldn’t think like that. It wouldn’t do him any—

  A blow hit Michael’s chest hard, and his legs kicked up as he fell backwards. When he hit the ground, it drove the air from his lungs. As he fought to regain his breath, he looked up at the four large men looming over him.

  Only one of them spoke; the one who had clotheslined him. “Julius ain’t happy with you, boy. He’s seriously fucking pissed.”

  Another man stepped forward with an open sack. He held it wide and threw Michael’s world into darkness.

  Pretty in Pink

  The sack stank of the warehouse and worse. A beefy mix of sweat, vomit, and blood merged with a stale reek of halitosis. Many heads had obviously been in it before Michael’s.

  When someone tore it free, Michael blinked against the brightness of his surroundings. His eyes stung from the adjustment in light, but he couldn’t rub them because his hands were bound behind his back.

  After several more blinks, everything came into focus. An old oil drum sat in the middle of the room with a fire raging inside it. The heat it gave off made Michael sweat beneath his pink tracksuit.

  An armchair rested like a throne on a platform behind the oil drum. Michael wanted to cry when he looked at the man sitting in it. He may never have seen Julius befor
e to recognize him, but he didn’t need to.

  Contrary to the images in his mind, Julius didn’t have two heads or fire burning in his eyes. He didn’t have horns or sharp teeth. He was just a man; a man in his mid to late thirties with a square, balding head. If Michael had passed him in the street, he wouldn’t have thought twice about him. Maybe that was what made men like Julius so dangerous, what allowed them to get so close to the boys they preyed upon… they looked just like everyone else.

  Then Michael looked into his eyes and his breath stopped for a moment. His dark irises bore a twisted mix of hatred and lust.

  Michael looked away.

  A stock sat in one corner of the room. They went on a school trip to a castle once, and there was one similar to it in the forecourt. Michael volunteered to put his neck and hands in it while his classmates pretended to throw rotten food at him.

  A rack took up the space in another corner. Ropes rested limp on a tabletop. It had been configured for someone small.

  A row of medieval weapons lined the far wall. From whips to chains to morning stars, all of them looked equally brutal.

  Horrible Histories had taught Michael a lot about medieval torture, and Julius looked like he would teach him a thing or two more.

  Like the cell he’d left the dead guard in, the walls were made from bare concrete. Except in here, much of them, especially those parts close the floor, were covered in brown bloodstains.

  When Michael looked back at Julius, his heart jolted. He’d been watching him take in the room. Although he smiled, his eyes didn’t.

  “Like my lair, do you, boy?”

  Michael didn’t reply; he twisted as sweat ran down his back.

  Julius pouted at Michael and let his legs fall open. He wore skimpy shorts and was hairy from his thighs to his ankles. He looked like an ape. After looking Michael up and down, he said, “Nice outfit.”

  Michael remained silent.

  “So you’re the kid that’s been causing all the trouble, are you? You’re smaller than I expected.”

  Again, Michael didn’t say anything, shaking as he stood in the center of the room.

  “Well, I’m not ready for you yet, and the bruises on your face displease me. I like my boys to come to me blemish-free. Peach skin is so much more appealing than a coconut’s husk. But I think I need to make an exception for you in case you try to escape again. I need to make sure you’ve been taught your lessons. Naughty boys always need to learn their lessons.”

  A shudder snapped through Michael as Julius picked his teeth with his little finger and tilted his head to one side. “Did you ever watch Star Wars before all this bullshit happened?”

  Michael remained silent.

  “Wow, tough crowd. Not even Star Wars can get you to talk. Well, you’re going to be my Slave Princess Leah. In that get up, I think the role will suit you. I’m going to keep you up here with me. You’ll be at my beck and call so I can use you whenever I like. I need to make an example of you. The other boys need to see what happens to naughty little boys like you.”

  One of the weapons on the far wall had caught Michael’s attention and he looked at it again. It had a small handle at one end and a long chain running all the way down to a ball on the other. The ball had fine needle-like spikes packed so tightly together it looked fuzzy. Lumps of flesh clogged the spaces in between the pins.

  “The other boys need to know I’m not to be messed with.”

  Julius pointed at a large wooden chair that looked like it was used to electrocute people in. “Tie him to that.”

  A strong grip wrapped around Michael’s bicep and dragged him toward the chair. The guard cut his bonds and threw him into it so hard the thing rocked backwards. A loud snap called out as the front feet crashed back down to the floor again before the men used the leather straps to bind first his ankles and then his wrists.

  They tied each buckle so tightly Michael’s hands and feet tingled from where the circulation had been cut off.

  Once the men had finished, they stood back and stared at him. Michael ignored them all, looking straight ahead as he spoke beneath his breath, “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four…”

  Barbecue Sauce

  Pins and needles buzzed through Michael’s hands and feet, and no amount of twitching eased the pain. If he stayed bound to the chair for too much longer, the damage would undoubtedly be irreparable. To make things worse, an itch tingled on his nose about an hour ago, and no matter how many times he wrinkled his face, he couldn’t satisfy it.

  While sitting as still as possible, Michael tempered his breathing. The longer Julius stayed distracted for, the longer he left Michael alone. Anything could pique the lunatic's interest, so Michael remained as inconspicuous as possible.

  Suddenly, a man's scream crashed through the stillness of the room, and Michael looked first at the door and then at Julius, his eyes wide on his square face.

  The next scream was followed by a voice. The sound of it lifted hope in Michael’s chest.

  “Where is he?” George shouted outside.

  Julius sat up straight in his throne and continued staring at the door.

  A loud thud was followed by the “oof” of someone taking a hit, and then a bang as someone fell to the floor.

  Julius jumped down from his throne and ran to his wall of weapons.

  When he picked up the chain with the spiked ball, Michael started to shake. With it hanging from his grip, he turned his attention on Michael.

  “Oh fuck!”

  As Julius ran at him, Michael called out, “George, I’m in here. Help me. There’s only one man in here, and he’s armed.”

  Before Julius could get to Michael, George had kicked the door open. The large man filled the frame as he glared at the stinking pedophile.

  Julius stopped dead.

  With an axe hanging from his grip and other people’s blood streaked up his clothes, George ran at Julius.

  The sound of the blunt side of George’s axe connected with Julius’ temple with a thick crack.

  Julius’ legs folded beneath him, and he crumpled to the floor. The dirty medieval weapon fell from his grip.

  George loomed over him, his tense shoulders raised to his neck as he stared down at the man. “It would be easy to bury this axe in your head, you sick fuck. You don’t deserve that kind of luck though.”

  The metal head of the axe clanged against the floor when George dropped it. He then leaned over and gripped a handful of Julius’ vest. Like a mother puppy moving her young, he lifted him and dragged him across the room.

  When they were closer to the fire drum, Julius came to life, twisting and turning in an attempt to be free of George's grip. He shook his head and kicked his legs. “No. Not that… no… please…”

  Without breaking stride, George lifted Julius and pressed his face into the side of the scalding barrel.

  Julius screamed, but it did nothing to mask the hiss of his melting flesh.

  George grimaced as he pushed the man harder into it.

  The charred stink, both sweet and smoked like burned honey-roasted ham, left an acrid taste in the back of Michael’s throat.

  “This is what happens to perverts,” George said, shaking as he delivered his words. “You’re a sick fuck and deserve to pay the fucking price for it.”

  Julius screamed as he fought to get away.

  Surrounded by the strong and sweet reek of burning flesh, Michael watched with relief. The panic that had balled in his chest over the past few days eased. George was here. He was safe.

  ***

  The next ten minutes or so would stay with Michael forever, but he didn’t turn away. Someone like Julius deserved to leave the world minus his fingernails, toenails, then fingers and toes.

  When George finally lifted the thickset man and placed him over the oil drum, he was still breathing, but was delirious. The flames feasted on his clothes and stretched up toward the ceiling.

  As the smell of burned hair joined
the reek of melting skin, George stood back and wiped his glistening brow. The big man then walked over to Michael and undid his restraints. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. Are you okay?”

  Michael nodded, grief swelling as a painful lump in his throat.

  When Michael’s first hand was free, he scratched his nose and groaned. “Oh my god, that feels so good.”

  George paused and stared at him, his dark gaze heavy with concern.

  “My nose has been itching since they strapped me into this bloody seat,” Michael said.

  George nodded and continued freeing Michael from the rest of the straps.

  Michael jumped out of the chair and George dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay, mate?”

  A hot wave of grief rushed forward. Michael’s eyes burned, and his lip buckled as he nodded. “Yes, you got to me before anything happened.”

  George straightened a little and his scowl eased. “Really?”

  Michael nodded again and looked over at Julius' body as it popped and crackled on the fire. “Thanks for saving me, George.”

  “I owe you this a million times over. I promise you, son, I’ll do everything within my power to keep you safe in this world.”

  Silence hung between the pair before Michael finally broke it. “There’s something we need to do before we leave.”

  ***

  The lock snapped free, the hinges groaned, and Michael stepped into the warehouse with George behind him.

  The familiar lethargy of the room hit him as he looked at all of the dozing boys.

  “Listen,” he said, “I’m not hanging around this time, and you boys can do whatever the fuck you like, but Julius is dead, as are most of his guards. If you want to leave this place, I would suggest you do it now.”

  No one responded.