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

At the moment, George is the sketchiest motherfucker around— Michael kept that thought to himself.

  With Keith turning purple again, Michael pulled on George’s sleeve. “You’re holding him too tightly, George. Give him some room to breathe, yeah?”

  George eased off, and Keith rubbed his neck then said, “It’ll be fine. They expect people to be a little on edge, and I told them I wouldn’t bring anyone here if they were a threat. It’s a tense time in the world at the moment. No one trusts anyone, so we expect emotions to be more on the surface.”

  When they rounded the next corner, Michael stared at the corrugated gates up ahead. They stood at least twelve feet tall and had a grassy mound just as high on either side. The natural wall stretched away from the gate.

  George turned to Michael. “Remind me why we’re here again?”

  Before Michael could reply, George had pulled Keith tighter than before. When he pressed the knife against his throat, a small amount of blood rolled down the blade.

  “George, you’re hurting him.”

  Before Michael could say anything else, he followed George’s line of sight. Two men had stood up from behind the gates. Each had a shotgun in their hand, and they pointed them straight at Michael and George.

  Although George addressed Keith, he raised his voice for the men to hear. “I thought you said this would be cool, Keith. This don’t look cool to me. This looks very fucking far from cool.”

  Fortunately, Michael didn’t need to tell George to let Keith talk this time.

  Keith held his hands up to the men with the guns at the gates. “Will, Johnny, lower your weapons. These people mean us no harm.”

  The tension left Michael’s shoulders as he watched one of the men lower his gun. It returned with interest when he saw the other one hadn’t.

  The man flicked the long barrel of his raised gun at George. “It doesn’t look like they don’t mean us any harm, Dad.”

  Now he’d mentioned it, Michael could see the family resemblance. He too had a well-built frame and a soft-featured face.

  When George pointed his knife at the man with the gun, Michael’s entire body sank. George needed to keep his cool.

  “You’d best put that gun down, boy,” George said. “Tell him, Keith. Tell him to drop his fucking weapon.”

  Instead of lowering it, Keith’s son lifted the stock to his shoulder and peered down the barrel at George.

  Before Michael could speak, Keith said, “Will, listen to me. This man doesn’t want to hurt me. You’re creating the problem by pointing that gun at us. Put your weapon down, and this silliness will stop. I brought them here, and I haven’t used any key words yet.”

  “You have key words?” George asked.

  “Of course, but I haven’t used them,” he said before turning his attention back to Will. “They aren’t a threat to me. You need to trust the system more.”

  Without moving his gun, Will shook his head. “He has a fucking knife to your throat.”

  “It’s insurance, you fucking idiot,” George said, keeping Keith between him and the shotgun. “What do you expect me to do? I’m approaching a strange community, and I now have a fucking gun pointing at me. We’re open to the idea of finding a new trading partner, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m not going to walk straight up here and trust that you’re legit. The reason I ain’t dead yet is because I take precautions.”

  Finally, Will lowered his shotgun. After a pause, George pulled his knife away from Keith’s throat.

  Michael let go of a deep breath and looked at Keith, his face now red with anger rather than lack of oxygen. “Have you two finished?” he said.

  Neither man responded.

  Keith pointed at Michael while looking at his son. “He has canned fruit in that carrier bag. He’s come to swap it for some bread and seeds.”

  The other man disappeared behind the wall, leaving just Will up there on his own.

  A few seconds later, the sound of bolts ran down the other side of the gates.

  When the gate opened, a girl walked out. No older than Lola, she held a loaf of bread and a clear, plastic bag. “Here’s the bread and seeds.”

  The same soft features of Will and Keith defined this girl’s face. She must be related to them too.

  The girl stopped moving when she was still a distance away from Michael. When Michael looked up at George, George nodded. “Go on, son.”

  Everyone watched Michael, and near silence hung in the air. Michael halved the distance between himself and the girl then stopped.

  The dusty track crunched beneath the girl’s large black boots as she walked the rest of the way forward.

  A gust of wind whipped the girl’s long, blond hair and threw the scent of soap at Michael. What he would give to take a bath. They made the exchange, and Michael nodded at the girl before she turned and walked away without responding.

  As Michael walked back, he saw George looking at the bread and seeds in his hands. “What seeds are these?” he asked.

  When she stopped and turned around, the girl pulled her fringe from her face and smiled. “Tomato seeds. They’re lovely when they’ve grown.”

  “You sure it ain’t magic fucking beans?”

  The girl laughed and shook her head.

  “Something funny, princess?”

  For a few seconds, the smile remained on the girl’s face as if she thought George was joking. When she realized he wasn’t, it fell, and she turned around and walked away again.

  Before the gates had closed completely, Michael caught a glimpse of the community. Camper trailers and mobile homes took up a lot of the space. It looked much like the traveler camps his dad would point out to him when they drove past them.

  Michael backed up until he was next to George. “We’re good to go now,” he said.

  Instead of letting Keith go, George raised his knife to Keith’s throat and dragged him backward with them.

  At the gates, Will raised his gun again. “What the fuck are you doing with my dad? You have what you came for; now let him go.”

  “Once I get around this corner,” George called back, “I’ll let him go.”

  “Bullshit!” Will’s gun shook as he pointed it down at them. “I don’t trust you one fucking bit.”

  “I’m not asking you to trust me, William; I’m telling you how it is.”

  As they backed away, Michael increased the distance between him and George.

  Once they rounded the corner, George let go of Keith.

  Keith dipped a bow in the pair’s direction. “Thank you for giving us a chance. If you come with peace in your hearts, you’re welcome any time. I’m confident we can work well together.”

  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.

&nbs
p; “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’l
l 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.