Josh’s balls pulled tight, and it took all of his concentration to hold onto his bladder. His heart pounded.
Dropping the tooth into his pocket, the Tooth Fairy continued staring. It was easy to see the filthy man’s face now. Stubbly. Stained with blood. Hooked nose. Dark eyes. Really dark eyes. Sticking his thumb out, he sneered as he drew it across his throat like an imaginary knife. Staring for another minute or so, he then walked away. The tingle of hundreds of teeth accompanied his footsteps.
Once he was out of sight, Josh felt an explosion of pain in his right arm. “You fucking idiot!”
Rubbing it, Josh scowled at his brother. “Ow!”
“What were you fucking doing? You were right in the fucking light. He’s seen you now!”
Stepping from the shadows and bringing the smell of dirt with him, the leader of the gang said, “You know what that means, don’t you?”
Gulping dry air, Josh shook his head.
“He’s marked you, bruv.”
Stepping into the boy’s personal space, Archie said, “Don’t be fucking stupid.”
The boy shrugged. “You don’t have to take my word for it, but I’ve seen it before. You’ve been marked. The next time you close your eyes to sleep, you’ll hear the jingle-jangle of the Tooth Fairy.”
“Look, mate—”
“I ain’t your mate.” He pointed at Josh. “Especially now the Tooth Fairy’s seen him.”
“Whatever. Just fuck off, yeah?”
“You’re in my home.”
Their conversation stopped making sense to Josh as his world spun. He only realised what they were doing when Archie grabbed his arm and said, “Come on. We’re going.”
Allowing his brother to lead him down the escalator, Josh heard the boys shouting down to them, “Sweet dreams!”
As they walked across the ground floor of the shop, chased out of the building by laughter, Josh dug his heels in, making Archie stop. “Wasn’t he the man that burned our house down?”
Archie nodded. “Yeah, he was. Now let’s go before the lunatic comes back and burns this place down.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t safe to walk the streets at night.”
Turning to face his brother, Archie grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me. Nowhere’s safe, Josh. Dad said something to me before he left. He said that everything’s changing now—that we couldn’t trust anyone or anything. All we can do is love one another. Make sure that the other one’s all right, and expect change. He said he loves us—they both do.”
Pouting, Josh said, “He also said they’d be back.”
“Maybe they have gone back. Maybe we’ve just missed them.”
“Don’t say that, Archie.”
“What could we have done? Stayed in a burning house? The point is, he said we need to adapt. Nothing stays the same; it just happens to be moving quicker now than ever. Dad said as long as we love each other, then we’ll be okay. Love is constant.”
“I miss Mum and Dad.”
It was the first time in a long while Josh had seen Archie cry. Wiping his eyes, his big brother said, “I miss them too. I love you, Josh. Now let’s go before that lunatic comes back. All we can do is focus on getting to Nana’s.”
With the sting of tears spreading across his eyeballs, Josh followed his brother out of the building.
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Crash (Book One)
(Chapter One)
By
Michael Robertson
And Finally, It Begins…
No matter how old Michael got, when he cried in Chris’ arms, he became that red-faced screaming baby in the delivery ward again, and Chris’ instinct to protect him burned as brightly as it ever had.
Shivering by the slightly ajar window, the heating having been cut off months before, the eight-year-old boy looked at his father. He wore a mask of grief that twisted his dirty face. “Why, Dad?” He mewled. “Why did they do it? Why did they leave us?”
After running a hand through his thick and, at forty-two, prematurely white hair, Chris pulled his son closer, not only to comfort Michael but also himself. “I don’t know why your mum chose to leave with your sister. Things are quite a mess at the moment, and maybe she was worried that they wouldn’t get any better.”
Big innocent blue eyes stared up at Chris, searching for the truth as the boy asked, “But things will get better, won’t they? They have to.”
Chris swallowed and looked around the room. They were in the guest bedroom. They’d chosen it because it was small and therefore easier to keep warm. With no gas and electricity, they had to resort to smothering themselves with as much bedding and blankets as they could find. They had so many dirty sheets on the floor that it was impossible to see the blue carpet beneath. The thick red velvet curtains were permanently drawn to combat the chill emanating from the windows, but they blocked out most of the light, making the gloomy room a breeding ground for depression. The entire wardrobe of each family member sat in the corner in one huge pile like a compost heap. When Chris drew a deep breath that reeked of mildew, he told his son what he believed to be a lie. “Yes, Michael, they will.”
“What if they don’t?”
Chris knew that Michael could see straight through him. He’d have given every drop of blood and his final breath to give his son a guarantee that things would get better. But he couldn’t. They currently existed in a world without precedent. Life was now a desperate struggle. Looking at the small, dirty boy in his arms, he had to swallow the lump rising in his throat and blink away his tears. “All I can really promise you…” he coughed to clear his throat, “…is that I will do my best to look after you. I will do everything in my power to…” Before he could finish, a loud crash exploded outside.
In the past, Chris would have rushed to the window if he’d heard such a disturbance. Now he was much more cautious because ‘get off my land’ didn’t quite cut it anymore. He pulled the curtain back slightly and peered out.
The cold breeze hit him, and he flinched. Although it was winter, they left the window slightly ajar to try and let the smell of four dirty bodies out of their living space. As a result, there was more ice on the inside of the glass than the outside.
Their home was one of six large and detached red brick houses in a gated community. The houses horseshoed around a road that was wide enough to u-turn a bus in. Even looking at it now, with the overturned bins and abandoned toys, Chris could still see Michael and Matilda playing outside with their friends. The gates were made of iron, painted black, and did an effective job of keeping people out when everyone was living under the previous, if tenuously balanced, capitalist society. Back then, a gate meant keep out and was effective at enforcing its will. Things were different now. All that was left of the old social structures were memories. New rules were being established, and to survive you had to evolve. Failure to do so invariably resulted in death. With this in mind, Chris’ plan to hide away like a scared fox in a hole didn’t seem like such a good idea. Especially now the hounds had arrived.
“What is it?” Michael asked as he stood on tiptoes to peer through a gap in the heavy curtain.
A black and battered Ford F-150 had rolled through the gates. In spite of the superficial damage, it still looked relatively new. Chris assumed the huge truck must have been taken from the forecourt no more than six months ago because the angry and pockmarked paintwork showed no signs of rust. It didn’t have licence plates, so he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of its age, but he felt like it was a good hunch. He wondered for a moment where in London one would get such a car until he remembered the American car importer a few miles south. He assumed the driver was local.