“Okay, they’re hardly the cavalry, but this group doesn’t pose us any kind of threat. They don’t look like they have anything worth stealing.”
It didn’t take the silence that met George’s comment to make him realize he was being hopeful. He knew Dean well enough. Better than most in fact. Looking behind again, he saw many of the group stood slack-jawed and silent. While grinding his teeth and with his stomach locked tight, George tapped the steering wheel. “Why aren’t they moving out of the way?”
When there was still no reply, he looked at Ravi to see him adjusting his slick side-parting and straightening his suit.
“Fucking hell, boy, you’re worried about what you look like at a time like this?”
“Huh.” Looking at himself as if he was seeing his actions for the first time, Ravi stopped what he was doing. “I was actually wondering who all of those kids belong to. Where are their parents?”
The ratio of children to adults was disproportionate. Flinching, George saw a flashback of the boy that he’d left in the burning house, staring out of an upstairs window, wide-eyed and with flames growing around him. How many of this group had been orphaned by men like him?
Shaking the thoughts from his mind, George looked back again. The man tending to the injured lady stood up in front of Dean’s truck and showed him his palm. Frowning, George scratched his face as he watched on. “What the fuck’s he doing?”
“Dunno. He’s acting like five-o the way he’s trying to control traffic though. That ain’t the brightest thing to do around Dean. Didn’t he get the memo? The police don’t run the streets no more.”
“What an idiot.” Rubbing his temples did nothing to stop the pounding headache stretching through George’s brain. The smell of blood and dirt was thick on his hands, so he lowered them. “All I know is this ain’t going to turn out well.”
“You’d think the huge battering ram welded to the front of the truck would be a big enough hint to get the fuck out of the way. That and the bloodthirsty mob on the back.”
Looking at the children again, George drew a deep sigh. “Look at those poor little bastards. They think he can protect them.”
When Dean continued moving forwards, the man in the road screamed at him. “Stop!”
Dean didn’t.
The man pointed at George. “That prick just ran my friend over. Stop! Please?”
The sun on Dean’s windscreen made it impossible to see the man inside. Then he leant forwards and George saw the deep frown on his face. A rich shot of bitter bile lifted into his throat and he shuddered. “They’re fucked.” Swallowing did nothing to dilute the taste.
“Proper fucked,” Ravi agreed.
A huge cloud passed across the sun, and the bare chill of winter blew into the car. Folding his arms for warmth did nothing to counter it.
The two diesel trucks continued forward. Their loud engines were thunder rolling up the high street. Hairs lifted on the back of George’s neck. The storm was inevitable. “Can’t that man sense what’s about to happen?”
Rubbing his face, Ravi shook his head. “I don’t wanna watch this.”
“No. I don’t either.”
Neither of them looked away.
The truck got closer, and the children continued to scream.
Tutting, Ravi threw a hand up in the air. “Even the kids can see what’s happening. Why doesn’t that idiot get the fuck out of the way?”
Despite the chaos increasing outside, a new word rose above the insanity. “Mummy!”
Poking his head out of the window, Dean stared at the man. Dead eyes behind a mask of dried blood.
Remaining rooted to the spot, the man still held his hand up.
The trucks didn’t stop.
When the man stepped aside, George puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled hard. “About fucking time.”
The man continued to stare at Dean.
Because he’d focused on the man, George hadn’t looked at the crossing. When he did, his testicles pulled tight. The injured woman was still in the middle of the road. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about her. When he grabbed the door handle, Ravi clamped a tight grip onto his forearm.
“What the fuck are you doing, boy?” George demanded.
“Don’t go out there, George.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Looking at the grip that the boy still had on him, George clenched his right fist. Then he let it ease. The boy was right. What could he do? Other than get himself killed. Who would save Sally then?
“The guy thinks Dean will stop.” When Dean blew a kiss out of the window, the man’s mouth fell loose, and Ravi added, “Maybe he’s just realized that he won’t.”
Unable to remove his eyes from the mirror, George gulped. “Leave them alone, Dean.”
But Dean kept going at the pace of the car ticking over. It was only a few miles per hour, but nothing was stopping him. He was as constant as a rising tide.
The girl’s voice came again, louder this time. “Mummy! Mummy!”
When Dean’s front tires caught the woman’s shoulder blades, George lost his breath. After a few thirsty gulps, he said, “Fuck!”
The thick tread pulled her arm. The woman flipped from the recovery position and ended up on her back. Her eyes and mouth flew wide as she screamed at the sky. “Arghhhh!”
Ravi shook his head. “My God.”
“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!”
The truck lifted.
Her shoulder popped.
The crowd screamed.
Lifting his knees up, Ravi curled in his seat.
“Mummy!”
The truck rose higher as it crossed her chest.
It wobbled.
The gang of looters on the back hollered.
The truck slipped.
Crack!
It looked like it broke her sternum.
The woman lay silent.
Holding his chest, George felt like his heart would burst free.
The front of the truck dropped off her.
Dean howled at the sky.
The looters howled back.
When Dean sped up, his engine roared. The back bucked as it passed over her.
Silence.
As Dean went past the man, the man screamed at him, “What’s wrong with you?!” He punched the driver’s side door.
Shaking his head, George sighed. “What’s up with you, mate? Look at his passengers. They ain’t fucking hitchhikers. He ain’t the local do-gooder.”
Pointing at his temple, the man’s features flared. “Are you fucking mental?!”
“He just don’t get it, does he?” Ravi said.
With his head swimming, George watched the little girl run to the dead woman’s side. Dressed in a pink ski suit, she wore pig tails and was no higher than George’s knee. Stroking the woman’s hair, she cried, “Mummy!” Grief twisted her face like it was made from clay.
Si, who was driving the truck behind George’s, sped up.
Before George could open the door, someone yanked the girl away. He let go of the handle.
The second truck made light work of the woman, bucking as it passed over her, shaking the caged prisoners on the back.
The girl’s shrill wail hit George at the base of his neck. Calling for Mummy wasn’t going to help anymore.
Ravi’s face twisted. “What’s fucking wrong with them? They need their fucking heads checked.”
Sitting back in his seat, George had no words.
The huge battering ram slowly rolled past. It was an ugly lump of metal lined with the scars of welding. Although it wasn’t as ugly as Dean’s leering grin, which then appeared next to George. His eyes sparkled. He was in his element. Sick fuck.