Crash III: There's No Place Like Home (13 page)

As they got closer to the truck, Michael's fear intensified. While chewing the inside of his mouth, he stared at the battered vehicle still loaded with food. A lot of houses must have burned to the ground to stock it so well.
 

“I’m not sure we should be here, Lola.”

“You’ve been bitching since we woke up. If we wait too much longer, it’ll be dark again and we’ll be out on the streets for another night.”

“I’m just not sure we’re making the right choice. What if it’s a trap?”

Lola turned to Michael; her shoulders slumped, and she tilted her head to the side in exasperation. “Why would he want to trap us? We’ve already seen he wants nothing to do with those other guys.”

Flashbacks ran through Michael’s mind; the girls from next door screaming as their dog was beaten to death; Tommy having his head crushed as his mum and dad wailed; the hammer blow to his own dad’s head… trusting this man seemed pretty stupid. “What if he does have something to do with the lot from the warehouse? What if the standoff with them was a ruse to make us think he's friendly?”

Lola shook her head. “No, I don’t think it was. I don’t believe what we saw was faked. He was ready to shoot that man. Besides, if they wanted to, they could just come and take us. It's not like we'd put up much of a fight against them.”

It all made sense, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in Michael’s stomach.

When they arrived at the gates, Lola leaned forward and knocked against the hood of the truck. The loud boom called out in the quiet morning.

The saliva in Michael's dehydrated mouth had turned into a frothy paste, and when he swallowed, it only made his throat even drier. He debated the value of the bottled water George must have as he stepped back a pace and waited. Although, they could find more water… "We could still run?"

Before Lola could reply, George appeared.

There was a quiver in Lola’s voice when she said, “How long have you been there?”

So much for her saying it would be okay. She doesn’t sound very confident now.
 

George was bigger than he’d looked from afar—huge, in fact—and he wore a deep scowl.

For a moment, George looked from Lola to Michael.

Pulling at his collar, Michael’s face glowed hot as he looked back at his father’s murderer.
 

“I’ve been here for the past few minutes. If there’s someone sniffing around near my supplies, I like to keep an eye on them; which is how I saw you,” he pointed at Lola, “stealing from my truck the other night.”

“But I didn’t even realize you were there.”

“And therein lies the problem, young lady. You need to learn a thing or two about stealth. Now, if you two wait there, I’m going to move this truck so I can open the gates and let you in.”

The loud roar of the big engine made Michael jump again. He leaned close to Lola and said, "We can still run."

She acted like she hadn't heard him.

Having moved the truck out of the way, George left the engine running as he got out and opened the gates. Michael looked at Lola again.
 

When she nodded, they both walked forward and entered George’s domain.
 

Once inside, George closed the gates behind them and re-parked the truck. When he hopped out of the vehicle, he looked at Michael, his eyebrows pinching in the middle. “I’m sorry, son. I know sorry can’t bring your dad back, but I’m truly sorry. When the dogs sniffed you out, I had to bring someone down with me. Then your dad used my name in front of the group. I had to kill him after that. He was talking to me like he knew me. If I hadn’t taken him out, Dean and his band of fuckwits would have turned on me.”

The man turned into a large blur as tears ran warm tracks down Michael’s face. “He was hoping you’d save us.”

George dropped one of his large hands on Michael’s shoulder and squatted down to eye level. Compassion sat in his dark eyes and they were moist with regret. “I couldn’t do anything to help. Dean had my sister hostage and was using it against me. My sister’s pregnant. I had to do what was needed to make sure I’d see her again.”

Michael looked at the ground; what could he possibly say to George about that?

Without looking up, he saw George stand and walk back toward the house. “Why don’t you come inside with me? I have food and it’s warm in there.”

This was it. There was no escaping now. With his tears flowing and nausea tying knots in his stomach, Michael looked at Lola again before they both followed George into the house.

Guests

The rapid change in temperature spread prickly heat through Michael’s cheeks. He hadn’t felt this warm since the library. He couldn’t remember the last time before that. The heat came from a small, black woodstove in the center of the open room. The flames glowed through the soot-stained window on its front.

Without a word to anyone, Lola rushed over and sat cross-legged just inches away from it.
 

Michael showed a little more restraint. “Don’t you worry about the smoke being seen from far away?”

George shrugged. “If anyone wants to find me, I think the truck’s a dead giveaway. I don’t kid myself into thinking that I’m well hidden; the walls in this city have eyes now. What’s the point in trying to hide? I figure that the more open I am, the more people will leave me alone. When you show people you don’t fear them, they tend to back off.”

“And you’re not scared of them?” Michael asked.

George shook his head. “Not at all; they’re just little boys with big knives. You tell them to fuck off, and they generally do.”
 

His eyes went to the kitchen table and the shotgun lying across it. “Besides, a gun beats a knife every day of the week.”

Patting the floor next to her, Lola looked up at Michael. “Come on, Nearly Eleven, sit down.”

Confusion creased George’s face. “Nearly Eleven?”

“It’s his birthday soon. Ain’t that right, Nearly Eleven?”

“Oh? What date?”

Telling the man his birthday seemed too personal too soon
.
When he looked up at George’s expectant face, Michael blurted out, “February the twentieth.”

A quick glance at his watch and George said, “It’s March the third today.”

“Well, what do you know, Eleven?” Lola patted the floor again. “Now, sit down and get warm.”

Hardwood flooring ran from the front of the house to the back and Michael found it was surprisingly comfortable to sit on. He settled down in front of the fire and welcomed the warmth spreading across his chest and arms.
 

George turned and opened a cupboard behind him. “So what do I call you guys?”

“Lola,” Lola said, and because Michael didn’t reply, she spoke for him. “And Michael.”

 
“Nice to meet you; I’m George. I’m glad you guys took me up on my offer. I was saving these in the hope I’d have you as guests at some point.”
 

When he turned around, he had a pack of wooden sticks and a bag of marshmallows. “I haven’t taken many things off the truck, but after I’d sent the letter over, I wanted these ready. I really hoped you’d come.”

It was like Michael’s first night at Scouts when they’d toasted marshmallows and played in the woods. He had come home buzzing, telling his dad he wanted to go every night. But after that first time, he’d spent the next six months helping old women and tying knots. They’d lured him in under the pretense of fun and snatched it away the second his parents signed him up.
 

When George offered him both a stick and the open bag of marshmallows, Michael skewered one.
 

Lola opened the door to the woodstove, and a rush of heat leaped from it. The sudden increase in temperature dried Michael’s already stinging eyes. His skin tightened slightly as the warmth spread over his face. Michael leaned forward and held his marshmallow over the flame. The slight sting of being too close nipped at his hand holding the stick.

“Why do you keep all of the food on the truck out there?” Michael asked. “I mean, if you’re not scared of the other men in the city, why don’t you settle in?”

“I may not be scared of them,” George said, “but I want to be able to move at a moment’s notice should the need arise. This isn’t a permanent home. It’s best not to grow roots in this city.”

When Michael looked at Lola, she raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'See.'

Michael’s marshmallow caught fire and he pulled it from the woodstove. Laughing, George took the charred sweet from him, blew the flames out, and gave him the one he’d been toasting. “I’ve had a bit more practice than you. Be careful; it’s hot.”

Michael turned the perfectly toasted marshmallow, admiring the evenness of its brown outer edge. After blowing on it several times, he took a small bite. The light crust crunched slightly, and the inside had turned into hot, sugary goo. Michael took another bite, resisting the urge to eat the entire thing whole.

“The truth is,” George said, “I’ve been in this house longer than normal because I’ve always wanted to stay here. Before the world went to shit, I passed it every day. It was one of those places I looked at and imagined myself living in.” A smile lifted his large face. “Weird how things work out, isn’t it?”

Michael didn’t smile back. When he caught a glimpse of Lola, he saw her glaring at George.
 

George pulled his next marshmallow from the fire, spun it on the stick as he examined it, and then pushed it back in again. “I have to ask, Michael, what’s with the outfit?”

“My clothes got soaked, and this was all we could find in the house we were in.”

“That’s a rough deal, buddy.”

Despite the heat of it, Michael put the rest of his marshmallow in his mouth anyway, took a fresh one from the packet, and tried to copy George’s technique. The trick seemed to be to keep it constantly turning because they set alight too easily. “Where’s your sister now, George? You killed my dad so you could rescue her, so where is she?”

Although Michael felt Lola staring at him, he didn’t look back. Instead, he watched George balk at the question.
 

“I don’t know. The complex I was staying in was overrun, and I was the only one who got out. I have no idea where Dean kept her. She could be anywhere, and the chances are she’ll be dead before I find her.” Removing a piece of paper from his top pocket, he passed it to Michael. “All I have is this letter.”

It was George who was shaking now, the letter trembling at the end of his outstretched arm.
 

Michael unfolded it and stared at the blue writing on the white paper. Although she didn’t say anything, Lola watched him, so he cleared his throat and read it aloud. “‘To my Dearest George, I’m writing you this letter to let you know I’m okay. Mostly. I’m as big as a house and I have cankles, but I’m okay. I’m due to give birth any day now, and Dean has me in a safe place. I’ll be able to have your new niece or nephew without any problems. I have good people with me—Dean has seen to that. I’ve heard you’re doing well with getting food sorted out. I’m not surprised because you and Dean are both very resourceful. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine and will be fine. I’m so excited to be a mum and to introduce the little bean to its Uncle George. Take care. All my love and so much more, Sally’.”

Michael saw the dampness of grief glistening in George’s eyes. Not that it mattered. He didn’t care about George’s feelings. “We thought you’d save us from the rest of the men, but you didn’t.”

George took a deep breath, steeled himself, and nodded. “I’ll do anything I can to make that up to you. I promise.”

“I lost the last of my family because of you. It’s sad about your sister, but you did to me what Dean has done to you. You broke my family.”

“I can see why you’d think that, Michael, but Dean did it for pleasure. I got no joy from what happened with your dad. If you’ll just give me a chance, I promise I’ll do everything within my power to protect you.”

All he’d wanted to hear since he’d lost his dad was that someone would look out for him. He’d never expected to hear it from George though. “How can you protect me? You said there’s nowhere safe to be.”

“There isn’t; which is why I want to be the one to look out for you.”

“The one to look out for me? You put me in this situation. Besides, what do you know about looking out for someone? All I’ve seen you do is kill. How do I know you’re not lying to me? How do I know you’re not still in with them?”

“You don’t,” George said. “All I can do is swear to you on my dead son’s life that I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

“Dead son?”

George lifted his top up to show Michael the twisted scars that wrapped around his torso like the bark of a strange tree. It was like staring at melted wax, and the beginnings of a heave rose up Michael’s throat. “My son was two years old when he died. I fell asleep at home and left the oven on. By the time I’d woken up, he was burning in his bedroom. I killed him. It’s why I had to stay around with Dean’s gang. It was why I couldn’t give up on my sister before I had to. It’s why I don’t want there to be any more suffering. I’m tired of the suffering, Michael.”

Lola stood up, put an unlit cigarette in her mouth, and walked to the patio doors at the back of the room.

Michael turned back to George. “But all you’ve done is cause more suffering.”

“And I will spend the rest of my life paying you back for it. I can never
make it up to you, but I’ll make sure I look after you—even if you hate me forever.”

The click of the back door cut through their conversation, and they both watched Lola walk out into the back garden.
 

Flicking his head in her direction, George said, “Where’s she going?”

“Cigarette.”

“She shouldn’t be smoking.”

“You can’t tell her what to do, Mister.”

“Call me George. My dad’s Mister.”

“I’d rather call you Mister. I don’t trust you yet. I’m only here because I don’t have any other choice.”

With slumped shoulders, George nodded and sighed. “Okay. I understand.”

Combat