Because of the dust, Chris sounded particularly gruff when he ordered, “Stay here.” He waited for a nod of recognition before adding, “I’ll call you up when it’s safe.”
Michael responded to his order by cowering away farther and shaking like a scared mouse.
Before moving off, Chris looked out of the window. From where he was, he could see the pick-up with the food in the back. He could also see George, although, if he kept low, he was confident George couldn’t see him.
“We need to be careful now that we’re downstairs.” Nodding in the direction of the large man and his truck, he added, “We need to make sure no one sees us.”
Regarding his father through glazed eyes, it seemed like Michael had lost the power of speech. However, he did nod after every instruction, so Chris had to assume that he’d taken everything in. Patting his fragile shoulder, Chris then climbed halfway up the stairs in two strides. Upon reaching the window, he carefully pulled the heavy curtain aside, felt the chill emanating from the cold pane of glass, and looked out at the looters.
The front of Frank and Marie’s house had a huge hole in it and fire was hungrily consuming everything it touched. Thick black smoke spread outwards, filling the cool air with poisonous fumes. Some of the men coughed and stepped back. Dean, however, stood in the cloud, breathing it in as if it were pure oxygen.
Material possessions were now meaningless in this world, but to see the destruction of a friend’s home made it hard to ignore just how wild this new existence was. On closer inspection, he saw that Frank’s Maserati was the cause of the chaos. They’d obviously set it on fire and rolled it into the house. The red paint was blistering and already peeling away, while the car itself was covered in an ever-increasing barrage of plaster and falling masonry.
Remaining at the top of the driveway and shrouded in smoke, Dean howled at the sky. In the near silence of their surroundings, his howl was thrown back at him as if there were a hundred other Deans currently causing similar chaos throughout London. For all Chris knew, that’s exactly what was happening beyond his gated community.
A gust of wind cleared the smoke at a point that coincided with Dean taking in his surroundings. It allowed Chris to see the sociopath’s total detachment. A chill then flicked through Chris’ body, and every muscle locked tight. He was scared because it was clear that there wasn’t a rational thought in Dean’s head. He seemed devoid of empathy. If he got hold of Chris, or, God forbid, Michael, there would be no mercy.
Although they were a few paces farther back to be away from the smoke, the rest of the looters stood around Dean in a semi-circle as if worshiping him. The only one who wasn’t there was George; he was still in the cab of the truck with the food supplies in the back. He’d removed his thick gloves and placed them on the dashboard as he picked his nails, clearly distancing himself from the proceedings.
Feeling pressure against his legs made Chris jump. When he looked down, he saw Michael staring back at him. “I thought I told you to stay where you were.” His voice was still low and croaky.
Looking up, his pale face slack with exhaustion and fear, Michael swallowed hard and said, “I just wanted to see what was happening.”
Pulling a heavy sigh into his body stimulated another cough that Chris barked into his sleeve. Ducking away from the window, he let a couple more out and said, “If we’re going to survive this, Michael, you need to listen to exactly what I’m telling you to do. I can’t have you running around.” Pointing at the window above them, he said, “What if they see you? What then?”
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to see what was happening.”
The guilt of telling him off sent a pang through Chris’ heart, so he pulled Michael in and hugged him, inhaling the now familiar dirty and wet smell of his son, before saying, “They’ve set fire to Frank’s car.”
“Frank’s car? He’ll go crazy if he finds…” Michael sighed and looked at the floor.
Lifting his boy’s cold chin, Chris stared into his sad eyes and said, “Now stay put, okay? They’re getting too close for us to be running around the house.”
Michael stared at his dad.
Looking out of the window again, Chris watched Dean speak to his gang, “Right, boys, house number two. We’re going to have some fun with this place.”
Michael took a sharp intake of breath that was a little too loud, and Chris shot him a harsh glare as he said, “Shhh.”
Oblivious to his dad’s reprimand, Michael seemed like he was lost inside his own head. “We’re number three, what will we do?”
Trying to keep his voice as even as possible in spite of his galloping heart, Chris said, “It’s okay, mate, I have a plan. We just need some rope.” He then added through gritted teeth, “And keep your voice down for Christ’s sake!”
Looking around for inspiration, Michael then said in a whisper, “What about the garage, D—”
“There’s nothing in the garage we need. The only thing in the garage is my car.” Softening his voice, he then added, “Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to get cross. The problem with the garage is that they might see us if we go in there.” He wondered if Michael saw the lie. “Just sit tight, and I’ll think of something.”
A shriek from outside suddenly cut through their conversation and made Chris’ heart sink. He knew the looters had gone into the Gerrards’ house, and he knew what he’d see. He’d just hoped it would have taken a little longer to find them. He looked out of the window again and swallowed against the thick chunk of dust still sat in his throat.
Leaning into his dad’s legs again, Michael whispered, “What’s happening? What are they doing?”
Looking at the young blonde girl, the baby of the family at seventeen, currently being led from the house by her ponytail, Chris said, “They have Daisy.” He then added, “The whole family are out there.”
Chris was too slow to react, so all he could do was watch Michael run to the window at the bottom of the stairs to see what was happening to his babysitter. The little boy was just about small enough to remain hidden where he was, but if Chris followed him down, he’d definitely be seen. Staring at his boy in the hope of getting his attention, he soon gave up and looked outside again at their neighbors.
Stood on the driveway and shivering were John, Mel, Sarah, Daisy, and all of the looters save George. The Gerrards had lost a lot of weight since Chris had last seen them, and they all had thick bags beneath their sunken eyes. Sarah, the eldest daughter, was nineteen and had filled out more than her skinny sister, stepping into the body of a woman over the last year or so. Chris would often watch her when she washed her car on the weekends and think thoughts a man over twice her age shouldn’t. Despite the clear weight loss, she’d still managed to hold on to her curves, and when he saw the way the looters’ eyes stood on stalks, it seemed he wasn’t the only one to appreciate her maturing. Looking at the cage full of ravaged women and then back to the slathering men closing in around the girl like hyenas on a wounded zebra, he had to swallow to stop himself from crying. He could do nothing to prevent the gruesome images in his mind from showing him a slideshow of rape and torture.
Running back up the stairs, his tiny feet making more noise than Chris was comfortable with, Michael pushed into his legs again and said, “They look really skinny, Dad. We should have given them some of our food when they asked for it.”