Surviving the Fall: How England Died (26 page)

Abdul squeezed her hand.

“You’ll be safe in the base, ma’am,” said the tall soldier.

“You not taking them to holding?” said Crowe.

“You can vouch for them, Crowe? Am I right?”

“Yeah, I guess. These two are good.”

“That’s settled.” The tall shoulder looked at Sarah in the rear view mirror again. “We’ll have you in a warm bed tonight, receiving medical attention. You’ll have food, and protection. That’s the most anyone can hope for today. It may be all anyone can hope for, for a while. You understand?”

Sarah nodded, but she didn’t know if it was enough.

But it had to be if she ever wanted to see her family again.

Tower Block of the Dead

Chapter 1

A crow circled and drifted towards the window. It landed on the ledge, balancing precariously. Its dark eyes stared at Chris.

Crows shouldn’t be up this high, thought Chris.

He sat on a couch by the window, on the nineteenth floor. He could see all the way to Liverpool city centre. Simeon sat on the couch opposite, a thin man with dark hair and dark eyes. Darker than the crow’s, thought Chris.

A large man sat next to Simeon. He had a game console controller in his hand, and was staring into a 76 inch flat screen that hung on the wall. Chris bet that no-one else in the tower block had a 76 inch screen.

The crow took off into the blue sky. Chris watched it turn into a speck in the distance.

“Have a cigarette mate,” said Simeon pointing to the packet of Benson and Hedges on the coffee table.

Chris shrugged, “I’m trying to give up mate.”

“Don’t be soft lad. Have a smoke,” Simeon again motioned to the cigarettes.

Chris picked up the packet and took one out. He lit it with the zippo that sat next to the packet. He inhaled. It felt good. It helped him relax.

“That’s better,” said Simeon.

Another large man appeared at the doorway with a cup of coffee. He was older. He had greying hair. He wore a white T-shirt tucked into black jeans. He fixed his eyes on Chris and sipped from his coffee.

“Why you giving up the smokes?” asked Simeon.

“Me Nan’s going on about it.”

Simeon let out a small laugh. “Good that. You hear that fellas? Cares what his Nan thinks. Good woman your Nan.”

Simeon stood up and walked to the window. He lit his own cigarette. He stood in silence and smoked.

Chris took a number of large drags on his cigarette, trying to push the nerves back. It was unusual for Simeon to call him when there was no deal on, even more so to be invited up to the flat.

Simeon finally spoke. “Nice when it’s sunny, ain’t it?”

Chris nodded, “Yeah, I reckon so.”

“Yeah me too.” Simeon sat again and frowned.  “I’ve got a problem mate.”

Chris felt nervous. Simeon scared him. Maybe it was the scar, the cold black eyes, the way his top lip would curl every time he smiled, like he was watching a small animal die and enjoying it.

“Oh, right,” said Chris, searching for neutral words, fighting to put a neutral expression on his face. “Nothing serious I hope?”

“I’m not sure. That all depends.”

“On what?” Chris put the cigarette down to stop it revealing the obvious shaking in his fingers.

“On a few things.” Simeon turned to the man standing at the doorway, who was still fixing a glare on Chris. “Tony, can you get me a cuppa?”

“Yeah boss.” Tony disappeared into the kitchen, Chris felt slight relief at not having the man staring at him anymore.

Simeon pointed at Chris with his cigarette. “You know about this business, don’t you? You know that reputation is very important, don’t you?”

“Yeah, defo,” said Chris.

“You know what they’re like out there,” said Simeon, he motioned out the window. “Fucking animals the lot of them. Can’t trust one fucker from the next. Kill you as soon as look at you, know what I mean mate?”

Chris nodded, his mouth dry, unable to speak.

“It’s important I know who I can trust. Because if I want things to work around here, I need to know what’s what and who’s who, you get me?”

Simeon smiled and Chris tried not to flinch.

“People been talking about the gear,” said Simeon. He leaned forward. “Been saying that I’ve been cutting it. Some fucker down the dock last night was mouthing off, saying Simeon’s gear was gash, saying that I was having everyone off.”

Simeon leaned back, staring at Chris.

Chris had his head down. He tried to look up, but only managed a glance. “That’s not right, is it, people saying that?” said Chris.

“No, it fucking ain’t.”

Tony brought Simeon his cup of tea.

“Cheers mate,” Simeon took a sip, “Good that. Nice one.” He put the cup down on the table.

Tony resumed his position at the door of the room, his glare fixated on Chris again.

“So, I told that fella to shut the fuck up, know what I mean? He won’t be talking much to anyone for a good while,” said Simeon. “But I have a problem.”

Chris was sure that Simeon must be able to hear his heart beat, or at least see it. The sounds from the games console, some football game, played like a strange soundtrack in the background.

Simeon continued, “I checked some of the stuff. Cut to fuck.”

Simeon stood up and threw his cigarette at Chris, “CUT to FUCK!” He jumped forward and rained blow after blow on Chris’ head.

Chris raised his arms and tried to protect his head, but Simeon pulled his arms away.

“It wasn’t me, I haven’t done nothing!” Chris managed to shout, before a fist hit his mouth and he felt blood and fragments of teeth in his mouth.

The man on the couch threw down the controller and pulled Chris off the couch by his feet. He then dragged him up so he was standing facing Simeon.

Simeon was breathing fast and deep, he sounded like a race horse. Spittle hung out of his mouth. His black eyes bored into Chris’ bruised eyes. Chris had to look away.

“Look at me, fucking look at me,” shouted Simeon.

Tony grabbed Chris’ head and pointed it at Simeon.

“I didn’t do nothing,” said Chris again, blood and fragments of teeth spiting out of his mouth. “I haven’t cut nothing.”

This is it, he thought, this is it. He’s going to finish me. Out the window, and no one will see nothing, even if they do.

Chris’ arms were pinned behind him. His legs felt weak.

Simeon motioned to Tony, “Give him a few settlers.”

Without a word, Tony took a hefty swing with his right fist and connected hard with Chris’ jaw. The world went black for a few moments. Then stars and dizzy vision. Shooting, throbbing pain.

Tony took another swing, with his left this time. His fists like bludgeons of concrete. Chris felt something tear in his neck.

Tony may have hit him again, but Chris didn’t know. He passed out.

When Chris came too, he was lying on a bed. There was ice on his jaw.

“He’s awake,” said Tony, who was standing at the door of the room.

Chris felt the pain all at once. His head, face, cheeks, neck. Especially his nose and jaw.

He was still alive though. Simeon hadn’t killed him.

Chris allowed himself some cautious anger. He’d had enough. He was going to get out. Simeon was a fucking maniac.

Simeon appeared at the doorway. “You alright?”

Chris nodded best he could.

“No hard feelings, eh? Just business?”

Chris nodded again, struggling to see through his swelling left eye.

“I know it weren’t you, but the docks is your territory,” said Simeon. “Sort your fucking crew out. This ain’t going to happen again.”

Chris had a good idea who had cut the gear. He was going to pay the fuckers a visit. Once he could walk.

“Ok mate, see you here next week,” said Simeon. “Got another load for you. Come on then lad, on your way.”

Chris got out of the bed. His head throbbed. He kept his head down. Simeon guided him out into the dark corridor. The door closed behind him.

He would have to go and see Nan.

Chapter 2

Nan lived a few floors below on the fourteenth. The lifts broke at least once a month. An old woman shouldn’t have to live this high, in a shit flat with shit lifts. But the council didn’t care, those fuckers didn’t care about anything.

The stairwell smelt of piss and cigarettes.

Number 1434, halfway along a paint peeled corridor. He knocked on Nan’s door.

“What the bloody hell has happened to you lad?” said Nan when she opened the door.

“Got mugged didn’t I.”

“Get in here you silly bugger.” She hustled him into her flat and into the lounge. The sun beamed in the window and he had to squint after the darkness of the corridor. “Sit down, I’ll get you a cuppa.”

He eased himself onto the couch, his head throbbing.

His Nan went into the kitchen, and set the kettle boiling. Chris heard her mumbling.

He noticed blood spots on his white Adidas trainers. “Bollocks,” he said. He’d only got them last week.

The lounge was decorated with trinkets. His Nan loved to go to Stanley Dock market. She went nearly every Sunday and always came home with a new ornament, picture, plant or some other crap. It then joined the rest of the crap in the small lounge.

The TV was on full blast, as usual. The news. Something about riots in London, and a virus. Who gave a fuck about London? Telly was always going on about bloody London.

His Nan came back in carrying two cups of tea, walking slowly, shaking her head. “I don’t know, always bloody trouble. Look at the state of you, we need to get you to hospital my boy.”

“No hospitals, Nan, don’t worry about it, I’m alright.”

She sat down beside him, looked at him again, and pulled her hands to her mouth with a big intake of breath. “Oh, look at my boy.” She started to cry.

“Aw, don’t cry Nan, I’m ok,” he hugged her. “I’m alright Nan, I promise.”

“I know you are this time, but what about next time? You’re only nineteen, you shouldn’t be getting this trouble.”

He held on to his Nan. It felt nice. He knew it was stupid, but he felt sort of safe when he hugged her.

Soft lad. He pulled away from the embrace.

“There won’t be a next time Nan, just some kids messing about.”

She gently touched his swollen left eye. He flinched.

“You don’t look alright.” She went to the kitchen again and returned with her medicine box. She’d had that little metal tin for years, ever since he could remember.

“Have two of these,” she passed him two ibuprofen. She took out a TCP bottle and sprinkled it liberally over a cotton ball. “This is going to sting.”

She rubbed it around his face, and she was right, it did sting.

“Nan, bloody hell!”

“Who’s the tough lad now then eh?” she said, laughing.

After a few minutes of tidying him up, she rested her hands on his. “Now then, Chris. You going to tell me what really happened?”

“Nan, I told you, I was mugged, a few lads down by the chippy this morning.”

Nan’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t that Simeon was it? He’s bad news him.”

“No it wasn’t, I told you, why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I know what you’re like! You forget, I’m your Nan, I brought you up my boy. That Simeon, his whole family, a lot of badduns.”

“Look, Nan, I told you I’m not hanging round with him any more. Learnt me lesson last time didn’t I?”

His Nan shook her head. “I just worry about you, you know I do. After what happened to your mum…” Nan’s eyes teared up.

She always cried when she talked about mum. Couldn’t blame her. He missed Mum too.

He gave his Nan another big hug.

“It’s alright Nan. I’ll be ok.”

“Oh, I hope so. I really hope so.”

They finished their embrace and Nan wiped away the mascara from her eyes. She stood up, straightening her dress.

“Now, how about a nice big dinner tonight? I was saving that chicken for Sunday, but I reckon you could do it with tonight. Will need your strength up.”

Chris smiled, his Nan was great.

“Now, you want to watch one of your films?”

“Nah, I’ve got to go out for a bit.”

“You should be resting,” said Nan.

“I know, but I’ve got to sign on, haven’t I? Or they’ll sanction me.”

“Won’t they let you off, what with you getting mugged and that?”

“You’re joking aren’t you? Bunch of bloody fascists.”

Nan shrugged, looking deflated. “Ok, off you go again I guess.”

“Don’t worry, Nan, I’ll be back for dinner.”