Crash II: Highrise Hell (11 page)

"And they're the only ones that matter to you, eh?"

Ravi's eyes pinched at the sides as if he were trying to understand the meaning behind George's words.
 

Speaking again before the boy could answer, George said, "So, have you seen anyone else around? This city's like a fucking ghost town."

Looking at the bank of smashed windows that ran along one side of the supermarket, Ravi pointed behind them. "It's getting dark soon, George. I need to go and see if I can find any food. If I stumble across any water, I'll bring you some, okay?"

Talking had irritated George's throat again, and before he could say anything else, another fierce coughing fit grabbed ahold of him. The hacking barks flipped his stomach several times.
 

By the time George had finished, Ravi had gone. Looking in the direction he'd headed, George muttered, "Slippery little fucker."

Dinner Date Two

Knocking hard against the door sent a sharp echo around the empty hallway. It was surprisingly quiet for early evening. Pulling his hand away, George could feel a slight buzz along his knuckles.
 

As he stood waiting, drawing shallow breaths to avoid the burn of the bleach, the frigid air surrounding him penetrated his layers of clothes. To try and distract himself from the shiver running through his body, he looked down at his hands, opening and closing them several times. It did nothing to warm them up, and the muscles in them ached from the movement. The absence of fresh food from his diet was making his entire body heavy with lethargy.
 

Cuddling himself for warmth, his eyes stinging, George considered knocking again before his corrosive environment reduced him to a pile of hair, teeth, and shoes.
 

The short breaths threw stars in front of George's eyes. Holding off for as long as he could, he eventually gasped to get more air into his body. When the bleach hit the back of his throat, tearing coughs exploded from him. Each one hurt more than the last, and each inhalation dragged more of the chemical air into his body. Bent over double, George spiralled into a choking paralysis.
 

When the door finally opened in front of him, he looked up at Ravi's slack face, lifted a carrier bag full of food, coughed several more times, and then said, "Surprise."

Turning back to look into his flat, Ravi moved out into the hallway and pulled the door after himself.
 

Craning his neck, George looked through the small gap that remained. "What's up, Rav? Got something in there you're trying to hide?"
 

A heavy frown sat on Ravi's face. "No. Why are you here, George? How can I help you?"

"I have some more food to share." Holding the bag up again, he forced a smile. "Your mum's cooking is the best."

Looking up and down the hallway, Ravi winced and put his finger to his lips. "Shhh."

George didn't care. Ravi would be the one punished for this interaction, not him. All Dean wanted was the slightest excuse to fuck the boy up. However, before he could make any more noise, Mrs. Vadher had pulled the door open and pushed Ravi aside.
 

"George," she said as she stepped into the corridor and hugged him. She smelled of spice. It had been a long time since George had eaten a good curry.
 

"Mrs. Vadher, it's lovely to see you." Stepping back, he raised the bag again. "I've bought some more food. I've been craving one of your meals all day." The strong aftertaste of bleach sat in his throat when he swallowed.

Batting the comment away, Ravi's mum giggled and said, "You charmer, George. Come in."

"Do you think that's wise, Mum?" Ravi said. "I'm on the graveyard shift tonight, and I could do with resting up before it."

Staring at the boy, George said, "You've had a busy day today, haven't you, Ravi?"

Batting Ravi's protests away, Mrs. Vadher shook her head. "Nonsense. You're young and fit." She turned to George and winked. "I'm sure you can handle a night shift without having a sit down on the sofa beforehand."

Crossing the flat's threshold, George watched Ravi deflate. As he passed him, he patted the boy on the shoulder and flashed him a broad grin.

* * *

When George looked up from a mouthful of refried beans, he saw Ravi's mum was watching him.
 

"Sorry it's not better food."
 

The cold, spicy pulp sat on his tongue. It had the consistency of mashed potatoes, and he could feel a heave lifting up his throat. Trusting Mrs. Vadher's cooking, he swallowed. The delicate mix of spices surprised him. They brought what he assumed would be a bland taste to life. Wasn't that the point of curry? After finishing his mouthful, he smiled. "Don't be. This is lovely. It reminds me of Dahl."

Beaming at George, Mrs. Vadher clapped her hands together. "Very good, George. It is a Dahl recipe." She blushed, "Without the heat to cook it with of course."
 

Winking, George then shovelled another mouthful. "You've done a sterling job."

When Mrs. Vadher looked across at her son, George saw he was sat at an incredibly poorly-lit part of the table. With the evening settling in, it was hard to see him. There was no way that was a coincidence.
 

"Ravi," she said, "what's wrong with you tonight? You seem very quiet."

Glancing at his dad, as if to point out his stealthy approach to mealtimes, Ravi shrugged. "Just resting up, Mum." He then looked at the line of clocks on the mantelpiece – they all showed it was five o'clock in the evening. "I have a long night ahead of me."

While staring at the boy, George raised his eyebrows. "You've got to be extra vigilant on night duty, eh?" He looked at Ravi's mum. "If anyone was to overrun the block, they'd surely do it when everyone was sleeping." Looking back at the boy, he watched him drop his eyes to his dinner plate. "Don't you think, Ravi?"

Mrs. Vadher put her hand on her chest. "Oh, it doesn't bear thinking about. That would be horrible if we were attacked."

"Don't worry," leaning over, George clapped Ravi hard on the back. "We've got one of our best men on the job tonight." Sliding a candle across the table threw the flickering light on Ravi's face. "He'll make sure everyone's okay."

Eating another spoonful of Dahl, he watched the boy.
 

Ravi didn't look up.

The candlelight flickered and animated Ravi's still face as he stared at his plate and ate small dollops of food. Watching him, George saw the slight shift in his eyes every once in a while. He seemed painfully aware of George's scrutiny.
 

After Ravi put the last spoonful of dinner into his mouth, his mum spoke again. "So where did you go today, son?"

Releasing a booming laugh, George commanded the room's attention. "Didn't he tell you? We bumped into each other at the supermarket." He laughed again, "It sounds like the old days, doesn't it?"
 

Silence returned to the room.
 

After staring at George, Mrs. Vadher looked at her son. "He didn't say anything. Which supermarket?"

Before Ravi could reply, George cut him off. "The old Sainsbury's a few miles from here. The city looks like a ghost town now, doesn't it, Ravi?"

Swallowing like he was having difficulty with his food, Ravi nodded and gulped twice more. "Um. Yeah, it does."

"There's that many ghosts out there," George said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "that I was sure I heard Ravi talking to someone when I first walked in."

Mrs. Vadher's mouth hung open. "It's that bad?"

"Tell her, Ravi, I could have sworn I heard all kinds of things while I was out there. Proper conversations." Gripping his knife so tightly it shook in his grip, he looked at Ravi's throat.
 

Taking a sip of water, Ravi threw a sideways glance at the cutlery in George's hand. "Um. Yeah. It's crazy out there."

"Crazy?" Throwing his head back, George released another booming laugh.
 

Staring down at the space between them on the table, still not confident to look up at him, Ravi cleared his throat. "Look, George, I need to be getting ready for the night shift now."

Leaning across and slapping her boy on the arm, Mrs. Vadher pointed at George's plate. "Ravi, let George finish his meal."

Lifting his hands, George swallowed the cold and spicy mush in his mouth. "No, no, it's fine, honestly, I was just about to go anyway."

When Ravi stood up, his chair screeched across the floor. "Let me see you out."

Nodding at both of Ravi's parents, George smiled. "Thank you again for having me."

Smiling back, Mrs. Vadher turned her hands to the ceiling. "Anytime, George."
 

Ravi's dad didn't say anything. Instead, he looked up, his narrow eyes flicking between George and his son.
 

Once they were at the door, Ravi opened it, the smell of bleach snaking into the flat. "Thanks for coming over, George. We really appreciate the food."

Stepping outside, George then held his hand out to Ravi. "My pleasure. Anything for a mate."

Accepting the handshake, Ravi kept his head bowed. "My mum appreciates it too. Thank you."

Squeezing so hard that Ravi drew a sharp intake of breath, George refused to let go of the boy's hand. "Like I said, anytime. If we can't look out for one another in this hell hole, then why are we even here?"

"I totally agree, George." Yanking his hand away, Ravi then disappeared back into his flat.
 

Standing before the closed door in the dark hallway, George hawked up some phlegm and spat at it. "Cunt." His word echoed in the empty space.

Prisoner

The tome weighed heavy in George's hands, and the small words were hard to see in the candlelight. The sentences swam on the page in front of his tired eyes. Each blink lasted longer than the last. The story stopped making sense. His head dropped.
 

Snapping awake, George took a sharp intake of breath, and his eyes flashed open. He couldn't sleep tonight. Not while Ravi was on duty. Folding the corner down on the damp page, tiredness sending a wobble through his hand, he got to his feet.
 

While yawning, George stretched his arms to the ceiling. A series of pops and clicks sprang from his body. With his senses sharpened from the action, George walked over to his pile of books in a dark corner of the room. There were seven stacks, and each one came up to his chest.
 

Literature was about the only thing that Dean didn't want a piece of. It was the only thing George could enjoy without the control freak's intervention. It was probably years since the stupid bastard read anything that didn't have tits and sport in it.

The cover of a paperback on the top of the pile closest to him had curled upwards. The damp in the flat got to everything. Pushing a heavy hand down on it, George then looked out of the window. It was quiet. Ravi was standing on his own by the gate. Was he waiting for them?
 

Pulling his hand away, George sighed when the cover turned up again. These books had only been in the flat for a month, and they were already ruined.
 

After retrieving his candle, George hunkered down and shone it on the sides of the books. Waves ran through the pages of each and every one of them. The damp had even got into the first editions at the bottom, despite him stacking at least fifteen to thirty books on each. He'd hoped the pressure would prevent it from happening.
 

"At least it'll stop me having to carry them when I leave," he said to himself.
 

Standing up, George pressed his face to the window to look outside again. The frozen glass burned his skin, and he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
 

The book he was currently reading came from a big house they'd raided last week. Their library was everything he'd ever dreamed of. Shelved books from floor to ceiling. The smell of polished wood. A ladder on runners to access the top shelves. A leather-topped wooden desk with a brass reading light. Its green glass shade looked like something he'd expect to see in an antiquated New York library.
 

Once he'd entered that room, he became totally lost. Upon leaving it, he tripped over the naked and defiled corpse of a woman and her fully-clothed husband next to her. He should have stayed in the library forever.
 

Returning to his seat, he slumped down again. The smell of rotting upholstery surrounded him as he picked up his book. It was called
The Stand
by
Stephen King.
He'd nearly put it down several times because the post-apocalyptic subject matter was too close to reality. The Dark Man, Randall Flagg, bore a striking resemblance to their own dark man. He was evil personified. A knot sat in George's stomach as he considered the possibility of the devil walking the earth in the form of his brother-in-law.

Reading the next page sent palpitations of anxiety through his chest. But he couldn't stop. Maybe he persevered because of the ray of hope that sprang out of Boulder. Maybe it was the possibility that he would find happiness like Stu and Frannie Goldsmith. George and Liz? He almost laughed at the absurdity of that notion now.
 

The message that good was stronger than evil made sense. When George looked at the dried blood around the sides of his fingernails, a painful lump rose in his throat. Which was he?
 

Watching the shimmering shadows in the room, the poor light stinging his eyes, George returned to his book. He needed to know that everything would work out okay. He needed some hope.

* * *

When it became impossible to read for tiredness, George snapped the book shut and screwed his nose up at the damp smell that wafted from the pages. He then put it down on the little table next to him.
 

Standing up on shaky legs, he walked over to his bed and lifted the covers back. Just before he kicked his shoes off, he realized what he was doing. There was no way he could go to sleep now. Rubbing his face hard to try and banish his exhaustion, he turned around and walked over to the window.