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

  A particularly grimy house stood on their right. The paint on the front door peeled away in flakes, and the grass in the garden had grown to waist height. The place had, without a doubt, been abandoned a long time ago, long before London fell into ruin.

  Distracted by the house, Michael didn’t see it coming.

  But he sure as hell felt it when the plastic smothered his face and cut off his breathing.

  Watched

  For a few heart-hammering moments, Michael couldn’t see a thing. He flapped and batted at his face until he’d finally pulled the plastic bag off. As he watched it fly down the road, he released a heavy sigh.

  Lola smirked. “Bit jumpy?”

  “Whatever,” Michael said. On his next step, his ankle turned over and sent searing pain up his shin. He cried out.

  Lola watched him with her hands on her hips. She then turned her back to him and hunched over as if to show him her bottom.

  Michael didn’t move.

  “Jesus, Nearly Eleven, I’m not standing like this for my own fucking good. Get on my back; I’m sick of your moaning.”

  She didn’t need to tell him twice.

  Lola struggled and grunted as she carried Michael. It left little room for conversation.

  The houses were as abandoned on this street as on the last. Empty windows stared out at them, watching them pass and concealing the lurkers within.

  Pain continued to pulse through his ankle, but it helped to not walk on it. “It’s getting better, you know. I think I’ll be able to walk on it in a day or two.”

  “Good. I don’t want to have to carry you for weeks.”

  Michael sighed.

  “Fucking hell, Nearly Eleven, I’m only playing with ya. I’ll help you for as long as you need me to. Jesus, you need to be less sensitive, dude.”

  It was a good thing Lola couldn’t see his face because his eyes had started to water. She’d been so good to him—he was lucky to have found her. Maybe he should trust her more; she needed to understand where he’d been. He cleared his throat. “I recognized the voices of the men on the bridge, Lola. They were the men from the warehouse. They’re bad men. I hear their voices in my head every time I go to sleep.” Tears ran down his cheeks. “They did awful things to the boys. I was one of the lucky ones that managed to escape before anything horrible happened to me. I feel terrible for those I left behind. Everyone had a turn. That was how it worked, but I missed my turn…”

  Michael could tell she was listening by the way she tilted her head in his direction, but Lola didn’t reply.

  Clearing the lump in his throat, he spoke in barely a whisper. “I got away.”

  Chain Gang

  At a guess, Michael would have said they’d been walking for an hour or so. They made slow progress with Lola carrying him, but it sure beat walking. A jagged ache still ran from his ankle all the way up his leg, although he kept quiet about that. After carrying him for so long, Lola didn’t need to hear him complain.

  Lola stopped for the third time in what must have been the past ten minutes. “This is killing my back. I think we’re far enough away from the bridge now. What do you say we find somewhere to hide for the day?”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Michael said as he scanned the horizon. “It won’t be long before morning and I think with some more rest, I’ll be moving more freely.”

  Lola nodded across the road. “There?”

  Michael looked at the huge building and shivered. “Are you sure that’s where you want to stay?”

  “Do you think they’ll come looking for us in there?”

  After a deep gulp, Michael shook his head. “I don’t think anyone will go in there.”

  “Exactly. Come on.”

  ***

  When Lola twisted the huge metal handle, the front door swung open with little effort.

  Michael slid from Lola’s back and hobbled in behind her. He looked up as he walked; the height of the building made his head spin.

  The poor light didn’t stretch all the way to the ceiling. Anything could be up there. Most probably bats. A series of windows ran down either side of the building. About ten feet tall, all of them had stained glass at the tip.

  As they walked down the carpeted aisles and passed bookshelves on either side, Michael scanned the room. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here since the world collapsed.”

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Lola said. “Everything goes to shit, and the first thing to be abandoned is literature. Libraries were a dying resource before the crash, so I suppose it’s naïve to expect them to be anything but now. Who wants books when your basic human needs aren’t being met?”

  Michael used the bookshelves to lean on as he walked; his palms still stung from the rope burns. Every time he shifted his hand along, dust kicked up into the air.

  As Lola walked, she looked at the spines of each book, her lips moving as she read the titles.

  Michael nearly bumped into her when she suddenly stopped and pulled one of the books out. “Sweet, The Road by Cormac McCarthy; a hardcover too!” She waved it in Michael’s direction. “Have you read it?”

  Michael shook his head as he looked at the green book cover with no pictures on it. “What’s it about?”

  “A dad and his boy trying to survive in a world full of rapists and murderers. Quite a lot like what we’re trying to live through at the moment.”

  Although Lola smiled, her eyes didn’t.

  When they reached the end of the library, they found a colorful area full of children’s books and bright cushions. Michael recognized the titles on these shelves. He didn’t tell Lola that. She’d hardly want to talk Lemony Snicket and Harry Potter; even if the last few Harry Potters were really long like proper books.

  Lola set about arranging the cushions into a bed. “This is as good a place as any to get some rest. Make yourself comfortable, Nearly Eleven; we’re going to be here for a few hours.”

  The weight of the cushions made them hard to drag across the floor, especially with the pain in his ankle. While gritting his teeth, Michael pushed through it.

  When he’d finally positioned them next to Lola, he lay down and closed his eyes.

  The second he blocked the world out, he saw his dad’s death and heard the screams of the boys from the warehouse. He fought to keep his eyes shut, clamping them so hard it almost hurt. He kept them shut even when he started to see the images of skinny and dirty boys with hollow cheeks and bags beneath their eyes. Even when he smelled the acidic tang of piss and shit from the corner of the room they stayed in. Even when he tasted the blood in his mouth from the beating they gave him when he was first dragged in there. Opening his eyes would banish all of the memories, but he needed to rest.

  Michael turned his back on Lola and lay on his side. The warm trickle of tears ran over the bridge of his nose and across his right temple.

  ***

  When Michael opened his eyes and rolled over, Lola had gone. He sat bolt upright and searched the library. Darkness surrounded him. He called out with a trembling voice, “Lola?”

  Then he saw her by one of the windows and his heart lifted.

  When he stood up, the pain in his ankle had lost its bite and a dull ache had replaced the sharp sting. He hobbled over to her and said, “I thought you’d left me.”

  When he got close enough to see her, he froze. She glared at him with her finger pressed to her lips.

  Something had happened outside. Once again, Michael’s heart took on an irregular tempo. When he heard the scraping of chains over concrete, nausea boiled in his stomach. They’d been tied to his ankles just a few weeks ago. He limped over to Lola’s side and shook in anticipation of what he was about to see.

  A line of boys walked down the road in the fading light. Each one’s ankles were chained to the boy’s in front of him. They moved to the rhythm that each and every one of them called out. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

  A loud thump rang out as the boy
at the back of the line fell over. He looked exhausted. As Michael continued to watch, his stomach tensed and dread sank through him.

  The man at the back walked up behind the boy and kicked his arse. “Get up, you little piece of shit. If you think this walk is hard, wait until you see what we have in store for you. Wait until you meet Julius.”

  The name turned Michael’s blood cold.

  Instead of standing back up, the boy curled in a ball and sobbed. The rest of the line continued walking. When the chains in front of him snapped taut, his legs stretched out until the line dragged him across the pavement behind them.

  The man who’d told him to get up leaned over him, walking at the same pace that the boy was being dragged at. “Get up, now, you piece of shit. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  The boy stayed down. He cried and shook his head.

  The man shouted at the line, “Halt!”

  The line stopped.

  The boy snapped himself back into a ball and rocked on the pavement. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  Everyone had turned to the man at the back. While the boys watched him with wide eyes, the other guards watched him with wide grins.

  “Yes, you fucking little cunt. Yes,” the guard said to him.

  Some of the other guards laughed as the man pulled his leg back. They laughed even louder when he drove it into the skinny boy’s curled form.

  The boy yelped as the hollow sound of the boot connected with him.

  “Get up, boy.”

  Winded and writhing in pain, the boy stayed down.

  The man kicked him again and the cracking sound of breaking bones echoed in the air.

  Michael turned away from the window, but he still listened.

  Another heavy thud.

  Another dry crack.

  Another yelp from the boy.

  Michael cringed.

  Another heavy thud.

  Another dry crack.

  Another yelp from the boy.

  He still didn’t look but the sounds told him everything.

  Another heavy thud.

  Another dry crack.

  Another heavy thud.

  Another heavy thud.

  Another heavy thud.

  Silence.

  A single tear rolled down Michael’s cheek.

  “Well, he’s no fucking good to us now, is he?” It was another one of the men. “Cut the little cunt loose.”

  The chains rattled, and then the guard at the back shouted, “March, you little fuckers, unless you want some of what that stupid cunt got.”

  Chains dragged across the pavement again, and Michael counted with the boys. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

  Moving On

  Long after the sound of the chains had vanished, Michael got to his feet and peered out of the window. The body of the boy remained on the pavement, still curled defensively as if, even in death, he feared the men’s wrath.

  After watching him for a few more seconds, willing some movement from the limp form, he turned to Lola. “We need to get out of this city.”

  Lola looked out of the window too and her eyes settled on the boy. For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then she said, “How do you know it’s not just as bad outside of London? Maybe the entire country’s gone to shit. Maybe the entire world.”

  Had she not just seen what had happened to the boy outside? “Well, it can’t be any worse. Is it not worth looking at least? There must be somewhere safe out there.”

  When Lola turned on him, Michael flinched. Fire burned both in her green eyes and her cheeks. “When will you accept that nowhere is safe? Safe doesn’t exist. Even if you do end up feeling safe for a while, it’ll go. It always does. You fall in love with people, and they leave you or die. You have a home, and it gets burned down. You get a job, and then society collapses.” Her face contorted when she pointed at her own temple. “You need to get that childish fantasy out of your thick head. You need to live in the moment more. Right now, everything’s fine. All we can do is take pigeon steps and hope that each one is as comfortable as the last. To wish for anything more is naïve.”

  It didn’t help that his bottom lip started to tremble. It made him look like even more of a child. “Why do you have to take my hope away?”

  “Because hope is for fools. Hope left when society collapsed.”

  Unable to reply, Michael stared at the angry girl.

  Lola turned away from both Michael and the window. “Look, I’ll walk you to the edge of the city, and then you’re on your own, okay?”

  “But why, Lola? Why don’t you just come with me? What’s here for you?”

  “London’s my home; it’s where I belong.”

  Michael looked outside again at the dead boy. “How can you call this your home? London’s a home for child abuse, rape, and murder. You’re better than this, Lola.”

  Lola rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to do in the country, eh? Get a cottage and grow my own vegetables in the back garden?”

  “Why not?”

  “And then we could live happily ever after, right? Get a grip, Nearly Eleven.” She pointed to the ground. “This is where I belong.”

  Despite the angry lines gripping her tense face, Michael held eye contact with her. “What’s the real reason?”

  “What?”

  “London’s horrible now; so what’s the real reason for you wanting to stay here?”

  She rushed forward, stopping just inches from him. “Fuck off.”

  While wiping her spittle from his face, Michael said, “Why are you saying that?”

  “You’re ten—nearly eleven. When did you get all fucking insightful?”

  Michael remained quiet.

  The anger left Lola, and she looked at her feet, her voice softening. “I’ve already told you, I want to find my dad. Anyway, what’s with all the questions?”

  Michael wanted to ask her why she was allowed to hope to find her dad, while he had to accept his hope was for fools? He stared at her and didn’t say anything.

  “I know he never visited me after him and Mum split up.”

  “So why try and find him now?” Michael asked.

  “What are you trying to say? He didn’t give a shit about me then, so why should he give a shit about me now?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.”

  “Look, Nearly Eleven, this heart-to-heart has been nice and everything, but I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “I want you to come with me. We can survive this together.”

  “All I have left in this world is my dad—or at least the possibility that my dad is still alive. I need to try and find him.”

  “You have me now. We have each other.”

  “No offense, but I don’t want to be babysitting for the rest of my life.”

  Although her derision hit him like a gut punch, something outside caught Michael’s eye. He pushed down on Lola’s shoulder and dropped beneath the window next to her.

  When she looked at him, he pressed a finger across his lips and pointed a thumb at the wall.

  While staring at Lola, he listened. The windows may have been thick, but he could still hear people walking across the pavement. One of them spoke. A boy; his voice was deeper than Michael’s, but not quite a man yet. “What the fuck? How do you think this boy got here, Archie?”

  Another, deeper voice replied, “He was probably killed like every other dead body we’ve come across.”

  Although one voice was deeper than the other, they sounded exactly the same. They must be brothers.

  The deeper voice spoke again. “Come on now; let’s keep moving.”

  Even with the thick wall and window, Michael held his breath as he listened to the boys.

  “Wait,” the younger one said.

  Looking into Lola’s wide eyes, Michael heard the footsteps outside getting closer. He pushed himself flat against the cold, stone wall beneath the window and pulled Lola in next to him.

  A shado
w pressed up against the window above him, so Michael pushed farther into the hard wall. A nauseating throb ran through his ankle, but he couldn’t move. The boys could be working for Julius.

  “It’s a library, Archie. It looks empty. Why don’t we rest up for the night?”

  The younger boy’s breath steamed up the window above as he kept his face pressed to it. When the other one called to him, he moved away. “We’ve got to keep moving. Why the fuck would we want to camp out in a library?”

  “Because it’ll be safe.”

  “Getting out of this city will be safe. Come on, let’s go.”

  The shadow of the boy stepped back from the window, his footsteps moving away from them as he crossed the pavement. When it sounded like they were far enough away, Michael leaned close to Lola. “You don’t need to babysit me. You need me around. If it wasn’t for me, they would have just found us then. I’m a help.”

  Rolling her eyes, Lola shook her head and started to crawl away from the window. “Come on, Nearly Eleven, let’s go.”

  Disposal

  As they left the library, Michael looked toward the boy on the pavement. “It feels wrong to leave him here.”

  After looking at the dead kid, Lola searched their surroundings and threw a flippant shrug at him. “What do you suppose we do? Dig a hole in the pavement for him?”

  Her cruelty stung, but she was right.

  They moved on without another word, Michael giving the corpse such a wide berth he walked down the center of the road on the other side of the white line.

  Lola shook her head at him and stepped over the boy.

  Although he continued to glance back over his shoulder at the dead boy, Michael fell back into line with Lola.