Crash III: There's No Place Like Home (19 page)

Crack!

Michael held his breath and listened as he stared at the piece of wood. The baton was about the length of his arm. He looked at the back of the door again. Someone
had
to have heard him!

After waiting for a minute or so, no one came, so Michael turned the baton over and examined it. It was big enough to swing at a guard and give him the advantage when he needed it.
 

As he pulled it into his chest, he listened to the silence around him. It was big enough.

Attack

Michael woke up on full alert and looked at the door. The sounds of movement on the other side had roused him. He gripped the baton with both hands and pulled it back into his chest. His beating heart tapped against the back of his thumbs. If he could get away now, he’d be free. The next stop was Julius’ room, and he couldn’t end up there. No way!

When Michael rolled off the bed, the springs jabbed his skinny form, but he kept his attention on the door.

The dark wooden doorknob twitched as someone touched it on the other side. Then it twisted slowly, letting out a dry rasp as it turned. They obviously still thought they had the element of surprise on their side.

With few places to hide, Michael made his way over to the wall next to the door and pressed his back against it. He looked down to his right as the handle continued turning.

When the door popped free of the frame, Michael pushed himself harder into the wall and held his breath, his heart galloping.

The door opened into the room. A large hand still gripped the handle.

Michael shook. His throat dried.
 

The door then flew wide and the man darted in behind it, a baseball bat raised. He lowered his bat and stared at the empty bed. “Huh?”

Before he could say anything else, Michael lunged forward and brought the baton down on the back of the man’s head.
It connected with a hollow crack.

The vibration ran all the way up the baton and Michael’s arm went weak. It sounded like he’d hit a coconut.

Unable to move, he watched the guard stumble and fall to one knee. His large hand reached up and felt the point on his head where Michael had hit him.
 

Michael clenched his jaw and wound back for another blow. While yelling out, he swung at the man again, the baton connecting with his temple with another nauseating crack.

The guard sprawled sideways. As he fell, he dropped his baseball bat and by the time he’d hit the ground, the weapon had rolled away from him.

Michael hadn’t thought to check right away, but when he glanced through the open doorway, he saw the corridor was empty. Thank god he’d come alone. Although the guard barely moved, he was still breathing. Grief buckled Michael’s face as he looked down at the fallen man. “I’m not going to see Julius. I’m not.”

He swung for the guard again, the gruesome and bloody mess disappearing behind the haze of his tears. He cried as he brought the baton down again, and again, and again.

Each time, the guard’s skull gave a little bit more.
 

By the time he’d stopped, Michael’s entire body shook. The baton was painted red and the guard’s head was no more than a fleshy pulp on the floor. There was an occasional flash of white amongst the carnage… teeth, eyeball, bone? It was hard to tell.
 

Michael backed away and shook his head. “Oh, god, what have I done?”
 

The baton sang as it hit the concrete floor. When Michael leaned across the guard, he tensed up as if he’d come to life again. Pretty fucking stupid considering he didn’t have a fucking head.
 

Michael picked up the guard’s bat and stepped out into the corridor. It was still clear. The hinges on the door creaked as he pulled it closed. Then he took off.

Escape

As Michael ran down the corridor, the sound of his own clumsy footsteps echoed in the enclosed space. Breathing on the edge of a panic attack, his pulse raced and his head swam. If he’d gotten out once, he could do it again.

Lack of sleep and poor diet over the past few days had turned his legs weak, his ankles wobbling every time they hit the floor as if they would give out beneath him.

An explosion of light smashed into his vision as he ran headfirst into a wall. The bends in the dark rat run were both sharp and abrupt. He’d misjudged this one. A quick shake of his head cleared the daze and he took off again. He could deal with the headache later.
 

The funk surrounding him was so thick he could taste it. Every desperate breath satiated him less than the last and coated his tongue with the stale, meaty taste of his environment. But he kept going, sprinting into what felt like the bowels of the warehouse.

When Michael arrived at the warehouse door, stars swimming in his vision from his earlier collision, he looked down at the bolt. He had to do one thing before he left. The one thing he didn’t do last time. The fate of the other boys had played on his mind when he’d left them previously, and he wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—take that guilt with him again.
 

With sweating fingers, he gripped the large bolt in a tight pinch and wriggled it free. The rusty metal made the action sandy as he worked it up and down.

Even though he was the one who’d made the sound, the cracking bolt had the Pavlovian effect of running tension up his spine. He pulled the door wide and poked his head into the room.
 

The silhouettes of about fifty boys turned his way. At first, he couldn’t get his words past his short breaths. Then, he finally managed to speak. “If you want to escape, now’s the time.”

Some of the boys, the ones on Tim’s side of the room, got to their feet. Many of the others remained seated.
 

“What are you doing? Don’t you want to get out of here?”

No one moved. Even Tim’s group, although standing, remained still. Michael looked into the dark corridor behind him. Whatever happened now, it was their choice. “Fine. Well, I’m not waiting for you to decide. The door’s open; you can leave if you want to.”

Michael turned one hundred and eighty degrees and ran back into the dark maze of walkways. No footsteps followed him. What a fucking waste of time. Had he known they’d react in that way, he’d have headed straight for the exit. It wouldn’t be long before someone found the dead guard. Maybe they’d already found him. He couldn’t think like that. It wouldn’t do him any—

A blow hit Michael’s chest hard, and his legs kicked up as he fell backwards. When he hit the ground, it drove the air from his lungs. As he fought to regain his breath, he looked up at the four large men looming over him.
 

Only one of them spoke; the one who had clotheslined him. “Julius ain’t happy with you, boy. He’s seriously fucking pissed.”

Another man stepped forward with an open sack. He held it wide and threw Michael’s world into darkness.

Pretty in Pink

The sack stank of the warehouse and worse. A beefy mix of sweat, vomit, and blood merged with a stale reek of halitosis. Many heads had obviously been in it before Michael’s.

When someone tore it free, Michael blinked against the brightness of his surroundings. His eyes stung from the adjustment in light, but he couldn’t rub them because his hands were bound behind his back.

After several more blinks, everything came into focus. An old oil drum sat in the middle of the room with a fire raging inside it. The heat it gave off made Michael sweat beneath his pink tracksuit.

An armchair rested like a throne on a platform behind the oil drum. Michael wanted to cry when he looked at the man sitting in it. He may never have seen Julius before to recognize him, but he didn’t need to.
 

Contrary to the images in his mind, Julius didn’t have two heads or fire burning in his eyes. He didn’t have horns or sharp teeth. He was just a man; a man in his mid to late thirties with a square, balding head. If Michael had passed him in the street, he wouldn’t have thought twice about him. Maybe that was what made men like Julius so dangerous, what allowed them to get so close to the boys they preyed upon… they looked just like everyone else.

Then Michael looked into his eyes and his breath stopped for a moment. His dark irises bore a twisted mix of hatred and lust.

Michael looked away.
 

A stock sat in one corner of the room. They went on a school trip to a castle once, and there was one similar to it in the forecourt. Michael volunteered to put his neck and hands in it while his classmates pretended to throw rotten food at him.

A rack took up the space in another corner. Ropes rested limp on a tabletop. It had been configured for someone small.
 

A row of medieval weapons lined the far wall. From whips to chains to morning stars, all of them looked equally brutal.
 

Horrible Histories
had taught Michael a lot about medieval torture, and Julius looked like he would teach him a thing or two more.

Like the cell he’d left the dead guard in, the walls were made from bare concrete. Except in here, much of them, especially those parts close the floor, were covered in brown bloodstains.

When Michael looked back at Julius, his heart jolted. He’d been watching him take in the room. Although he smiled, his eyes didn’t.
 

“Like my lair, do you, boy?”

Michael didn’t reply; he twisted as sweat ran down his back.
 

Julius pouted at Michael and let his legs fall open. He wore skimpy shorts and was hairy from his thighs to his ankles. He looked like an ape. After looking Michael up and down, he said, “Nice outfit.”

Michael remained silent.
 

“So you’re the kid that’s been causing all the trouble, are you? You’re smaller than I expected.”

Again, Michael didn’t say anything, shaking as he stood in the center of the room.

“Well, I’m not ready for you yet, and the bruises on your face displease me. I like my boys to come to me blemish-free. Peach skin is so much more appealing than a coconut’s husk. But I think I need to make an exception for you in case you try to escape again. I need to make sure you’ve been taught your lessons. Naughty boys always need to learn their lessons.”

A shudder snapped through Michael as Julius picked his teeth with his little finger and tilted his head to one side. “Did you ever watch
Star Wars
before all this bullshit happened?”

Michael remained silent.
 

“Wow, tough crowd. Not even
Star Wars
can get you to talk. Well, you’re going to be my Slave Princess Leah. In that get up, I think the role will suit you. I’m going to keep you up here with me. You’ll be at my beck and call so I can use you whenever I like. I need to make an example of you. The other boys need to see what happens to naughty little boys like you.”

One of the weapons on the far wall had caught Michael’s attention and he looked at it again. It had a small handle at one end and a long chain running all the way down to a ball on the other. The ball had fine needle-like spikes packed so tightly together it looked fuzzy. Lumps of flesh clogged the spaces in between the pins.

“The other boys need to know I’m not to be messed with.”

Julius pointed at a large wooden chair that looked like it was used to electrocute people in. “Tie him to that.”

A strong grip wrapped around Michael’s bicep and dragged him toward the chair. The guard cut his bonds and threw him into it so hard the thing rocked backwards. A loud snap called out as the front feet crashed back down to the floor again before the men used the leather straps to bind first his ankles and then his wrists.
 

They tied each buckle so tightly Michael’s hands and feet tingled from where the circulation had been cut off.
 

Once the men had finished, they stood back and stared at him. Michael ignored them all, looking straight ahead as he spoke beneath his breath, “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four…”

Barbecue Sauce

Pins and needles buzzed through Michael’s hands and feet, and no amount of twitching eased the pain. If he stayed bound to the chair for too much longer, the damage would undoubtedly be irreparable. To make things worse, an itch tingled on his nose about an hour ago, and no matter how many times he wrinkled his face, he couldn’t satisfy it.

While sitting as still as possible, Michael tempered his breathing. The longer Julius stayed distracted for, the longer he left Michael alone. Anything could pique the lunatic's interest, so Michael remained as inconspicuous as possible.
 

Suddenly, a man's scream crashed through the stillness of the room, and Michael looked first at the door and then at Julius, his eyes wide on his square face.
 

The next scream was followed by a voice. The sound of it lifted hope in Michael’s chest.

“Where is he?” George shouted outside.

Julius sat up straight in his throne and continued staring at the door.
 

A loud thud was followed by the “oof” of someone taking a hit, and then a bang as someone fell to the floor.
 

Julius jumped down from his throne and ran to his wall of weapons.

When he picked up the chain with the spiked ball, Michael started to shake. With it hanging from his grip, he turned his attention on Michael.
 

“Oh fuck!”

As Julius ran at him, Michael called out, “George, I’m in here. Help me. There’s only one man in here, and he’s armed.”

Before Julius could get to Michael, George had kicked the door open. The large man filled the frame as he glared at the stinking pedophile.
 

Julius stopped dead.
 

With an axe hanging from his grip and other people’s blood streaked up his clothes, George ran at Julius.
 

The sound of the blunt side of George’s axe connected with Julius’ temple with a thick crack.
 

Julius’ legs folded beneath him, and he crumpled to the floor. The dirty medieval weapon fell from his grip.