Crash II: Highrise Hell (3 page)

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 stark 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."

Ravi didn't respond.

"So how did you get into the gang? I wasn't around when you joined." Glancing across, George saw Ravi was staring out of the side window again, holding the point where his head had collided with it.
 

"Through James."

"The one who Dean accused of stealing food? The one that he ran—"

"Yep. It was where he got the idea to run the kid over."

The empty houses had given way to damaged shops. Most of the windows were smashed. Cables, clothes, and furniture spilled out of them like entrails. All of the goods that no one could find any use for littered the streets. Looking back at Ravi, George said, "And was he?"

"Stealing? Yeah." A frown creased Ravi's face. "He was just trying to help my mum and dad out. They can't contribute to the group's survival because they're too old. Who wants shirts ironed or lawns mowed? To Dean, they're freeloaders and don't deserve feeding. He gave them food for the first week, but then he stopped caring if they lived or died."
 

The sound of thick tires on tarmac buzzed through the car.
 

"James was trying to help us out. We only came to the gang because he said it was safe. We were on our way out of the city. I think he felt responsible for getting us involved. He was a mate, he was trying to do us a favor. The way Dean punished him was off the charts. He was moody before, but he took it to a whole new level."

"I agree. He lost the plot that day and hasn't come back since." Looking at Dean's truck at the front of the convoy, the men on the back desperately clinging on, George fantasized about a huge speed bump that would flip half of them off. The large wheels on Si's truck would chew them up and spit them out. Simply thinking about it settled George's pulse.
 

When Ravi didn't say anything, George continued, "Dean went from being a cunt to being a horrible cunt pretty fucking quickly, eh? Not only has he fucked over the residents in the tower block in that time, but I think he's taken a pound of flesh from everyone in the gang in this last month."