Crash III: There's No Place Like Home (12 page)

With a final breath, Michael gripped the umbrella handle so tightly it hurt his palm. He exhaled hard and kicked the kitchen door open, yelling as he swung the umbrella through the air.

A cat stood frozen with fear in the middle of the kitchen and stared at him.
 

Michael laughed. “You’re just a cat.”

The creature’s yellow eyes stared back at him, wide as two full moons reflecting off a lake.

“Go on, get.” Flicking his head, Michael repeated, “Get.”

But the cat didn’t move.

The end of the umbrella shook when he pointed it at it, his limbs shaking as adrenalin rushed through him. “I said
get!
” He moved to his left to give the creature an escape route.

When it still didn’t move, he stepped to the left again and showed it a way through with his arm. “Get.”

All the while, the cat stared at him as if it were weighing its options.

Grabbing a white mug from the kitchen surface, Michael launched it at the mangy animal.
 

The mug shattered on the floor next to it—much louder than he'd anticipated—but it did the trick.
 

As he watched the cat run across the room and hop up onto the window ledge, he shook his head. Why did he just make such a racket? Besides, the shattering mug had made a terrible mess.

When he turned around, his heart leapt from his chest.
 

With all the noise he’d made, he hadn’t heard the person enter the room.

The Wanderer

“Lola?” He could see it was Lola, so why didn’t his damn heart stop pounding? He exhaled so hard his cheeks puffed out, and he continued to stare at her.
 

“What are you doing down here?” she asked.

With his breath leveling out, Michael gave himself a couple more seconds to calm down. “I heard something," he croaked; his throat was dry from fear. "So I came to see what it was.”

After looking past him into the kitchen, Lola's eyes fell to the umbrella still clutched in Michael’s hand. “Expecting rain?”

“Very funny.”

“So did you find anything?”

“It was a cat. It must have come in through the window. It was rummaging through the cupboards. It’s gone now.” To stop the snarky remark before she made it, he added, “Anyway, never mind that. Did you get anything from George’s truck?”

The moonlight that shone through the downstairs window caught both Lola’s beaming grin and the two cans of fruit salad she held aloft.
 

He barely stopped himself from hugging her. Instead, he took one of the cans and hugged that. “Amazing. Thank you, Lola.”

When she handed him a small bottle of water, Michael spread his arms wide and leapt on her. “Thank you, Lola. Thank you.”

Lola’s entire body stiffened and she didn’t reply.

***

Instead of eating in the kitchen, the pair returned to the bedroom.

Before he sat down on the bed, Michael walked over to the curtain.
 

"What are you doing?" Lola asked.

"Letting some light in."

"It's nighttime. There isn't any light."

When Michael pulled the curtain open, it made the room slightly lighter. He pointed at the window. "See. It's not much, but it's something."
 

He opened his can of fruit salad and drank the syrup. The sweet liquid soothed his dry throat. Bending the lid so it was a scoop, he shoveled pieces of cherry and peach into his mouth.

The fruit, pregnant with juice, sat on his tongue before he bit down. The saccharine explosion spread through his mouth. As he chewed, he said, “So did you see him? Did he see you?”

Lola swallowed before she replied. “No and no.”

“How did you manage to get the food?”

Again, Lola made him wait while she ate. She took her time with it too. “I put my hand through the gap in the gate and took it.”

“You’d think he would keep a tighter eye on the food.”

“I know, right?”

What did he say to that? She clearly didn’t want to talk while eating, but he hated silence. “Where did you go to school?”

Lola upended her can as she drank its contents before she tossed it on the floor. Michael still had over half of his left. She then leaned back and removed a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. Once she'd put it in her mouth, lit it up, and taken a deep drag, she said, “I’d left school by the time everything had gone to shit. I was at art college by then.”

“Did you have a boyfriend?”

“What’s with all the fucking questions, Nearly Eleven? You trying to chat me up or something?”

Thank god it was still dark. Lola constantly made him blush. “No! N… no, I was just making conversation. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Lola turned away from him and continued smoking. After several drags, she faced him again. “I did have a boyfriend. His name was Danny, and he was twenty-one.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died. He ran into one of the gangs soon after London fell. He didn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? Did you do it?”

Michael dropped his attention to the bed sheets. “And your mum and sister were killed by a gang too?”

The end of Lola’s cigarette glowed brighter in the dark room. “Yeah.” She exhaled. “Mum was run over, and Louisa was killed by a psychopath with a hammer.”

“My dad was killed by a man with a hammer. Do you think it was the same people?”

Lola didn’t respond.

“Lola?”

Michael heard a wet sniff. “I’m sorry," he said. "I’ve been asking too many questions, haven’t I? I didn't mean to upset you.”

Lola’s cigarette glowed. “It’s okay,” she said and sniffed again. “The man that ran my mum over was George.”

“What the fuck? Why didn’t you say before?”

“I dunno. I didn’t want to. I’m sure it was an accident.” Her cigarette glowed again. “But the others that ran her over afterwards meant to do it for sure. They got off their trucks and killed my sister just for fun.”

“So it really was the same people?”

“Obviously.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.”

She dragged on her cigarette again.

The Note

Despite the flashlight in his hand, Michael sat in the darkness of the bedroom and waited for Lola to return. They’d found the flashlight in a cupboard beneath the stairs, and although his finger hovered over the power button, he resisted the urge to press it. If he turned it on, people would be able to see him from a mile away. He'd promised Lola he'd only use it in an emergency.

It had been two days since they’d smashed the window and broken into the house. Because George hadn’t moved, they hadn’t either. Each night, Lola had gone out and taken a can or two from the back of his truck. It was sure to end at some point. George would move on and take their steady supply of food with him, but until then, they agreed to make the most it.
 

Michael listened to the front door open and close. They had keys now because Michael had found them in the cutlery drawer in the kitchen. His family hid their keys there too. Why did everyone use such obvious hiding places? It can’t have made it hard for burglars.
 

While listening to Lola walk up the stairs, Michael's stomach rumbled. The regular nightly feed seemed to make him hungrier, like his body expected it. There was also the fact that they couldn’t take much so he was never quite satisfied. If George noticed… well, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Reliving the memory of his dad falling limp beneath George’s hammer, Michael envisioned Lola falling to a similar deadly blow as she pushed her luck with the food stash.
 

When Lola walked into the room, she had something white in her hand and Michael flicked the flashlight on. “What’s that?”

Lola gave it to him.
 

It was a note. Michael read the scratchy writing aloud. “‘I know you’ve been taking food from me and watching me for the past few days.’” His blood ran cold. “‘I know you’re staying in number 362. You may want to keep the curtains open during the day; it makes it less obvious that there’s someone in there. If you want food and protection, you should come over and knock. Boy, I know you saw me kill your dad, but I had to do it. It doesn’t change what I did and it won’t bring your dad back. Dean knew there were people in the house because the dogs sniffed you out. By taking your dad and leaving you, I managed to save one of you. I couldn’t have saved you both.’” A lump rose in Michael’s throat and choked him. After clearing it, he continued, “‘Even after your dad had fallen, I had to persuade Dean that the house was empty.’”
 

Tears rose in Michael’s eyes, which he wiped away before reading the rest of the letter. “‘I don’t know who the girl is, but she’s more than welcome to come over too. There’s plenty of food to go around.’”

Michael folded the paper up and then pointed the light at Lola. When he shone it on her face, she shielded her eyes. “Will you turn that fucking thing off?”

Michael lowered the beam of light to the floor.

“I said turn it off. If George worked out we were here because the curtains were closed, it’s not going to take a genius to work it out if they see a fucking light.”

Michael clicked the rubber button and plunged the room into darkness.

“So what do you think?” Lola said.

“He killed my dad, Lola.”

“I know he did, but I get a different vibe from him. He doesn’t seem like the others. I don’t think he kills for fun.”

“He
ran your mum over.”

“I know that too, and that’s my point.”

“Huh?”

“If I can think about taking him up on his offer, with my mum and sister dead, then surely you can consider it too? I think he’s legit.”

Before he could reply, an engine roared outside. The pair of them rushed over to the window and peered out.

When he saw the truck, Michael started to shake. It was the truck from the bridge. The truck from the shop. The truck from the warehouse. Why did he turn the damn flashlight on?!

Stand Off

Instead of stopping, the truck rolled past and came to a halt by George’s house. They positioned so their headlights shone straight through the front gates.

Michael's heart jolted and he lost his breath for a second when George appeared. Once he'd regained his composure, he whispered, “There he is; the man who killed my dad.”

Lola didn’t respond; why should she? She’d lost people too.

Michael opened the window a crack and Lola glared at him.
 

"No one will see what I’m doing,” he whispered. "If there's anyone outside, I bet you they're watching what's going on up there." A cold breeze rushed in, bringing the words of the men with it.

George shone a spotlight on them. “What the fuck do you want?”

One of the men got out of the truck and walked toward the gates. Tall and slim, he had pale skin and greasy black hair that looked like he hadn’t washed it since before everything fell apart. “We’ve not come to start anything with you, brother.”
 

That voice!
Michael's stomach tightened. He'd recognize it anywhere. The man on the bridge. The man who summoned the boys and took them to see Julius.

“‘Brother’? Because I’m black you think you can call me ‘brother’? You need to wind your neck in, son.”

The man lowered his head. “I don’t mean any disrespect, man.”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut then.” George pointed the light in the man’s face. “What the fuck do you want?”

The man turned away from the strong beam and spoke to the ground. “We’re looking for two kids. The boy’s about nine, and the girl’s about sixteen. You seen them?”

The stirrings of a panic attack swelled in Michael’s chest, and his bowels threatened to let loose.

“Why do you want them?” George asked.

The man straightened his back and stared at George again. “Let us worry about that. You seen them?”

“What’s he doing?” Michael whispered as George walked closer to the gate.

Michael smiled when George spat at the man’s feet and said, “Fuck you, you fucking pervert.”

The man looked like he was going to retaliate until George pointed the barrel of his shotgun through the bars at him. “Don’t think I won’t use this. Now I suggest you turn around and head the fuck home.”

Although he continued to stare at George, the man backed toward the truck. “Don’t make an enemy of me,
brother
.”

When George shoved the barrel of the gun forward, it rattled against the gate. “Call me brother one more time; I dare ya.”

The two men stared at one another, but the one from the warehouse remained mute. George should end him where he stood. The vile man needed to be wiped from the face of the Earth.

But he didn’t say it again. Instead, he got back in the truck and they slowly pulled away.
 

When the truck was out of sight, Michael and Lola stared at one another. It was Lola who spoke first. “The enemy of my enemy…”

“Huh?”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Don’t worry. So what do you think? Can we trust him?”

Michael sighed. “I think we should go and see him in the morning. I think we’ll be safe with him. He’ll protect us.”

While stroking her chin, Lola nodded. “Agreed. I want you to promise me you won’t tell him about my mum and sister though.”
 

“I promise.”

“I’m being
serious, Nearly Eleven, I don’t want him to know who I am. It will only make things awkward.”

“All right, I promise.” And he meant it.
 

Looking back out of the window again, Michael frowned at George’s battered truck. Taking a deep breath did little to settle his churning stomach. Were they really going to see his dad’s killer in the morning?

Knock Knock

As ridiculous as they looked, the pink tracksuit and leggings kept Michael snug as they walked up to George's house. By comparison, the only exposed parts of his body—his hands and face—burned in the freezing air. "Are we doing the right thing, Lola?"

Lola stared straight ahead, her jaw set, her eyes narrowed. She didn't reply.