Crash II: Highrise Hell Read online

  Staring forwards, George ground his jaw. "I didn't ask for your help. Don't do anything on my behalf." There was no fucking way Dean was getting him in his pocket. No way.

  Looking like he was preparing a counterargument, Dean opened his mouth to reply but stopped when the man behind shouted, "You're a fucking arsehole."

  Looking at the angry man in the crowd, George's entire frame sagged. How could he help him if the stupid prick didn't help himself? Popping his door open, he looked across at Dean. "I'll go and talk to him."

  But Dean didn't reply. Lost behind a glazed look, the lunatic had gone to that place that George never wanted to visit. The glimpses he got of it were more than enough.

  Swallowing the sticky saliva in his ever-drying mouth, George shook his head. "They're just kids, Dean. Why don't we leave them and move on?"

  Whether he heard George or not was hard to tell. What was perfectly clear was that he didn't reply. After he lifted the hammer from the passenger seat, he opened his door, a flash of clarity returning to his distant eyes. "Here we go again, George. It looks like it's party time."

  Dread as thick as tar crawled over George's skin, smothering him as he watched Dean walk towards the group. Whistling Jingle Bells, he moved with a skip in his step like he was off to fix a bent nail.

  Once Dean was out of earshot, Ravi leant in and whispered, "We've got to get away from that cunt as soon as possible."

  The stink of the boy's aftershave kicked George in the face. Clamping his nose, George remained silent.

  "Remind me, George, why did your sister marry him?"

  Keeping his eyes on the lunatic in his mirror, all George could offer was a weak shrug.

  Red Rag

  Watching the mirror and seeing Dean stride ahead of his crew, George sighed. "What's fucking wrong with them?"

  The line of thugs spread across the road behind their leader. It was their usual dramatic formation. Some let their weapons hang by their side. Others swung them at imaginary foes.

  The leather seat creaked when George turned to look over his shoulder. "Do they really need to intimidate a group of children?" Lifting his hands, he stopped just before rubbing his face. Flipping them over, he saw the blood had already turned brown and was gathered around his fingernails. Who was he to judge anyone?

  Still sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, Ravi watched through the wing mirror.

  The boy wasn't cut out for this life. Far fucking from it. Shoving him to get his attention, George pointed back. "We could intervene?"

  Ravi's eyes widened. "We wouldn't last two minutes."

  "No. You're right." You wouldn't last two seconds.

  Resting his hand on the dashboard above the blowers, George let the warm air funnel up his sleeve. "I used to think I was a strong man." Heat spread across his eyeballs as he looked back again. "This new world has taught me I'm no better than those spineless fucks following Dean. I never would have thought I'd let shit like this happen."

  Turning his palms to the sky, Ravi raised his eyebrows. "But what can we do? Really? Other than die protecting people who'll die anyway."

  "Don't justify it, Ravi. We're cowards no matter which way you slice it. We have a choice, and we're choosing to do nothing. Simple." As George watched the gang stride forward, what little pride and self-worth he had left shrivelled like plastic too close to a flame.

  Then Dean started singing. "Swing lo, sweet chariot."

  The booming reply from the other men bounced off the shop fronts lining the high street. "Coming forth to carry me home."

  Turning so he was looking out of the back window too, Ravi said, "What the fuck? That's a new one. What are they, rugby boys on tour or something?"

  Looking at the children, their innocent faces blurred by his tears, George cleared his throat. "Run, you fools."

  They didn't.

  Shaking from his rasping squall, Dean sang again, "Swing lo, sweet chariot."

  "Coming forth to carry me home."

  The little girl in the ski suit was back at her mother's side, stroking her hair. It looked like she was whispering something to her. It was impossible to tell what.

  Shaking his head, Ravi sighed. "She's tiny."

  "She looks about the same age as ..." George lost his words to the lump in his throat. He couldn't say his boy's name. "She looks like an angel."

  Sitting up, her face long with grief, she looked at the men approaching. "Mummy, Mummy, Mummy."

  When Dean's shadow smothered her, she fell silent, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Then she started again. "Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mum—"

  Crack!

  The hammer protruded from her skull.

  Heat rushed through George's bowels.

  Her hands fell limp. Her jaw dropped. Beauty turned to horror. Claret ran down her pale face. She hung from Dean's weapon like a coat on a peg.

  When George put his hand against his chest, the frantic thud swelled against his palm. Shaking where he sat, his throat tightened. Why hadn't he done something? The choice to stay in the cab had killed the girl.

  Turning away from the tiny corpse, George looked down at the key in the ignition. When he looked back up, he saw Ravi was staring at him.

  Reading his intention, Ravi said, "You wanna go? Okay. I'd need to get my parents from the tower block first though. I can't leave them."

  Looking behind them again, George returned his attention to the key. What about Sally? All of the muscles in his body sagged, and he stared at his lap. "I can't lose another family member."

  There was no reply from Ravi.

  "Besides, there's no way we'd get to the tower block, get your parents and be gone before Dean caught up with us."

  When Ravi dropped his head, George looked in the mirror again. Although people were screaming and crying, no one had moved.

  When Dean shook his weapon, the dead girl slipped off and hit the floor like a damp towel.

  Bile burned George's throat.

  There was a loud roar, and the men rushed forwards. They were outnumbered at least four to one, but that didn't matter. Most of their opponents were kids, and they were armed with both medieval weapons and a deep passion for violence.

  "Why do they keep on killing?" Ravi asked.

  "I wouldn't like to guess what goes on in the minds of those degenerates." Craning his neck to see the group as they moved further up the road, George's lip lifted into a sneer. "Run, you fucking idiots."

  They remained still. Tears stained many cheeks. Mouths hung wide. The children screamed. No one ran.

  When the men were on top of them, some of the adults found their spines and moved in front of the children to protect them.

  Crunch!

  Crack!

  They fell without resistance.

  Heaving, Ravi went off like an alarm. "What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?" Each question coincided with another deadly blow.

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Skulls were shattered like plates at a Greek wedding. Another member of the choir was silenced with every swing. Blood stained the road.

  Hawking up bilious phlegm, George then spat it out of the window.

  Turning back around, he saw a boy of no more than fourteen fall to his knees and raise his arms. Lifting his sharp tennis racquet, Ginge went to work on him. It cut straight to the bone, opening dark wounds that oozed thick blood.

  In the insanity of the massacre, George saw Dean hone in on the man that had told him to stop. It was impossible to hear what the man was saying over the noise, but he clearly hadn't learned to shut up yet.

  Crack! The hammer came down. Gavel on block. Order!

  The man turned pale and then crumpled like the rest of them.

  Screaming, Dean rained blows down on his corpse.

  Crunch!

  Crunch!

  Each one sent up a shot of blood. Each one turned his already crusty suit darker. Each one broadened his grin, his white teeth standing in st
ark contrast to his dripping red face.

  A girl had separated from the crowd. She was aged between eighteen and twenty-two. She was a pretty girl. Brown hair. Fit body. George looked around. Had anyone else noticed her? She darted down an alleyway. Get as far away as possible, girl. There's nothing here for you anymore.

  Fire burned in George's guts as Dean walked towards him with condensation forming from his ragged breaths. He was a little boy inflated from bullying the weaker kids in the playground.

  When he got close enough, George saw the teardrop of blood swelling on his hooked nose. It grew pregnant and fell to the floor.

  After running his sleeve across his mouth, Dean licked the blood from his lips and shuddered as if an orgasm had just shimmied through him.

  Leaning forwards, Ravi then turned to George. "Did he just—"

  "Yep. What a sick fuck." Hot saliva ran down the back of George's throat.

  When Dean was next to the truck, George lowered the window and was hit with the rancid tang of his suit. It was both metallic and rotten. In the past few weeks of bloodshed, he hadn't washed it once.

  "I ain't having no do-gooder cunt talk to me, or any of my boys, like that. Fuck no." Grinning, Dean then jumped into his truck and started the engine. It let out a throaty roar that suited its battered appearance.

  The gang, who were as blood-soaked as their leader, hopped on the back.

  Once all of the men were on board, Dean howled again and floored the truck, its wheels spinning as it snaked away.

  Watching Si follow behind, George then lifted his heavy arm and turned the key. The truck shook to life. He looked at Ravi.

  Ravi looked at his own lap.

  Driving Home

  Staring straight ahead, George looked at the sad faces of the caged women in the back of Si's truck. Lethargy ran through his veins, and the vibrations from the wheel shook his tired arms. The hum of the road was the only sound he heard. That and the cage in front rattling whenever they hit a pothole.

  Over the past few weeks, Dean's behavior had become much worse, and George had done nothing to challenge it. If anything, he'd condoned it by not standing up to him. And for what? To hopefully get reunited with his sister?

  A classroom's worth of children had died. The truck in front of them was full to bursting with women that were destined for abuse and most likely death. Houses had gone up in flames with people still inside. Reliving the memory of the little boy at the window of the burning house, the image of his petrified face etched in his mind's eye, George wondered if the impact of it would ever diminish.

  Throwing Ravi a sideways glance, George looked at the women in front again. "Did you ever think it would come to this, boy?"

  Shaking his head, Ravi stared ahead. "Dean's off the fucking hook, man. He's fucking mental. His behavior was extreme when he was attacking the rich, but who feels sorry for the wealthy, right?"

  Turning the heaters down, George then opened his window a crack. The frigid breeze cut through the stuffy air.

  "But kids?" Ravi said. "Innocent kids. The only crime they've committed was to be sad when someone they loved was run over."

  The comment took the air from George's lungs.

  Slapping his hand over his mouth, Ravi looked across at him. "Sorry." His eyes were wide. "I wasn't suggesting—"

  "It's fine. You're right. All of this happened because I wasn't looking where I was fucking going!"

  Ravi didn't reply.

  George's mind slipped into a loop. Bang! Wing mirror. Spinning woman. Children crying. Dead kids. Fire. Bang! Wing mirror ...

  When Ravi spoke, George broke out of it. "I thought everything would return to normal after the initial panic. An economic crash was bound to send ripples through society, but I thought we'd be okay after that died down. They were an elected government. You have to put your faith in that, don't you?"

  "Do you? I had zero faith in our government. They did whatever the fuck they wanted to." Lifting his bloody fingers one at a time, George counted, "A war against the Muslim faith. Helping bankers destroy the economy. Making sure their mates were always kept rich regardless of the economic climate. Devastating the welfare state. Don't get me wrong, the welfare budget was too fucking big, but cutting the money from people dying of cancer and the disabled ..." Looking out of the truck, George tried to see into the dark windows of what appeared to be empty houses on either side of the street. "They were cold bastards no matter which fucking color you voted for. It's a shame that Dean's never had a chance to pay them a visit."

  Ravi laughed.

  "What's funny, boy?"

  "Politics! It still gets people's backs up. Even after all of the politicians have gone."

  "Nuts, isn't it?" Returning his attention to the deserted streets, George barely recognized his city now. The mass exodus of London had taken less than a month. It was now an empty town full of whispers, haunted by reprobates and murderers.

  The seat creaked as Ravi sat upright. "What I mean about having faith in the government is more to do with control though, bruv. They employed a police force and army. They kept order on the streets, or at least an illusion of order. That used to be enough to make people compliant. I didn't expect that to go so easily."

  Looking forwards again, the broken faces in front staring back, her broken face staring back, George shrugged. "Well, they proved that citizen safety was yet another one of their shallow promises. Gutless fucks." Fire stirred in George's bowels. "Although it is crazy that it's only taken six months for everything to collapse. Do you remember the news reports?"

  "Of course," Ravi said. "We were all looking for that smarmy cunt to come out of Downing Street with an answer to our problems. He promised to deliver his new plan for how we'd cope."

  "How he'd cope more like."

  "That horrible bastard certainly made the most of electricity being cut. With no twenty-four-hour news cycle, he had the chance he needed to get the fuck out. He was gone for at least two days before anyone knew he'd deserted his post."

  "He wasn't the only one." Slowly grinding his teeth, George snarled. "Fucking politicians! Rats! The lot of them."

  When Ravi didn't speak, George looked across and saw he was looking at a pub on their left that was crawling in flames. They ate into the building like it was made from paper.

  The boy finally found his words. "I'll never get used to seeing buildings on fire with no one making any effort to put them out. It's amazing that the entire city isn't ablaze by now."

  "That won't happen!"

  Flinching, his usual childish confidence abandoning him, Ravi looked at George again. "Why not?"

  "Don't be a fucking idiot, Ravi. The utility companies cut the gas. It's the middle of winter, and the fires are too isolated." The scar tissue on George's ribs ached, and he heard the imagined screams of his son. The screams he should have heard at the time.

  Feeling Ravi's eyes on him, George's face flushed hot and he shook his head. "Not gonna happen. Not gonna fucking happen." Wiping his sweating palms on his jeans, he ground his jaw and continued staring straight ahead.

  It wasn't long before Ravi broke the silence. He always broke the fucking silence. "I still can't believe how many people abandoned London. And how many of them were connected either through wealth or politics. I keep hoping I'll wake up."

  "You ain't dreaming, boy. With all of them leaving at the same time, anyone would have thought they'd planned it." George raised his eyebrows. "If there was ever a sign that we were fucked, that was it."

  "Where do you think they've all gone?"

  "All of them have second homes. I reckon most of them have gone west."

  "West?"

  "Cornwall. Half of the houses in that county belong to people in the Southeast. The locals couldn't afford to buy there because house prices had been disproportionally raised by the wealthy holiday crowd."

  "Wow. The locals must hate them." When the boy scratched his armpit, it sent a waft of his aftershave George's way
.

  "That cologne tastes like fucking fly spray." Sticking his tongue out, George bit down on it and ran it along his top row of teeth. It did nothing to remove the taste. "Put less on the next time you come out with me. This ain't a fucking date."

  Ignoring the comments, Ravi nodded out of the window. "No wonder Dean has a hard-on for them."

  "Maybe we should suggest he move down to Cornwall next. He could start his war there. Although I wouldn't be surprised if the locals have already lynched them. I don't expect they were welcomed with open arms."

  "Maybe it's even crazier there than it is here?" Looking out of the window again, Ravi sighed, "Although what baffles me more is that some chose to stay in London. Don't they get what's going on? London ain't their home anymore. The once wealthy ain't welcome. You think they would have got the hint by now, eh? I know shit went down quickly, but the fact that some of them still haven't left is insane. They're sitting ducks in their big, well-stocked houses."

  "How did you stay alive, Ravi?"

  With half of his fist in his mouth, Ravi then removed it and inspected his index finger. "Huh?"

  "How did you survive on the streets with your mum and dad in tow?"

  "Dunno. We had to, really."

  When George swerved to avoid a pothole, Ravi slid across the leather seat. The hollow crack of his head against the window reminded George of a mallet on a coconut. It was hard to conceal the smirk. "But you only moved into the tower block a few weeks ago, right?"

  "Yeah, the last few weeks on the streets were mental. It was like the lunatics had been freed from the asylum. When people realized there was no punishment for crime, all bets were off. London turned into hell on earth."

  Looking at the women in front of them made George shiver. It was freezing, and most of them didn't even have coats on. They looked like livestock heading for the slaughterhouse. An emptiness swelled in George's chest. The slaughterhouse was paradise in comparison to where they were going.

  George made eye contact with her again. Looking away, he swallowed and then cleared his throat. "You can hardly blame the filth for abandoning their jobs though. Fuck being a pig in the first place, but with no pay and with everything spiralling out of control?" He shook his head. "Fuck that."