Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

Knock knock knock !

Why didn’t he get the fucking hint ? Sitting up too fast, George closed his eyes and pinched his temples to ease the sharp headache galloping through him.

The quick knocks were like a woodpecker to his skull. Knock knock knock ! “Earth calling George. Come in, George.”

The usual layer of fur sat on George’s tongue. Swallowing the thick, muddy-tasting foam in his mouth, his dry throat pinched, tickling his gag reflex. Rubbing his face, he belched stale air and got to his feet.

Knock knock knock !

Walking towards the front door on shaky legs, George made a point to take his time. Dean could fucking wait until he was ready.

Knock knock knock ! “For fuck’s sake, George, hurry the fuck up, will ya?”

Staring at the closed door at the other end of the hallway, George stopped and started a countdown from one hundred in his head. Fuck you, Dean .

Before he’d got to ninety, the door shook in its frame. Bang ! Bang ! Bang ! There was also the sound of splintering wood as dust filled the murky air. “George!”

The front door was the only thing keeping the assholes in the building away from George. It wouldn’t stand up to many more hammer blows.

Rushing the last few steps, George ripped the door open.

The psychopath stood with his hammer raised. Dried blood matted his hair and stained the skin around his jowls. The dark stubble on his face had turned darker with the crusty claret.

“What do you want, Dean?”

A taught face stared back. Thin lips. Beady eyes. “How long does it take you to get out of bed?”

“What are you? My fucking mother or something?”

Dean stared.

“Where’s Sally? Please just take me to her.”

The hint of a smile tickled the sides of Dean’s mouth. “She’s fine. You don’t need to worry about her. I want you downstairs. Now.”

“I wants don’t get.” Staring at Dean, George remained rooted to the spot, his nose crinkling at the rancid tang coming from his bloodied leader. It was a thick and acrid smell. The man was walking rot. A slow roll turned George’s stomach.

“I said, I want you downstairs now.”

“I heard what you said.”

The silence held for about a minute, during which George refused to look away and barely blinked. Dean may have been holding a hammer, but George had the might, and he could see in Dean’s weasely eyes that he fucking knew it.

Exhaling, Dean softened his tone. “We need your help. We’re beefing up the perimeter fence just in case we get any other gangs thinking they can come in and steal our things.”

Turning his head into his flat to breathe the less toxic air, George looked back at the crusty man. “Okay. I need to get changed. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, George closed the door on him.

Coughing when he stepped outside, the reek of burning bodies assaulting him. George looked at the smoking skip. Poor Naps .

The place was alive with the buzz of construction. From what George could see, he was the last one out again. All of the steel fence panels had been separated so they could be sandwiched between large sheets of plywood.

Watching Dean parade around on a foreman power trip, his bloodied hammer hanging down, George’s top lip arced in a snarl. What a cunt . When Dean marched towards him, George’s back tensed, and his fingers twitched, desperate to be curled into fists.

“So you’ve finally got out of bed then?”

“Yeah, thanks for that. The world’s gone to shit, and I still end up with an arsehole boss giving me a fucking schedule.” Blowing into his cupped hands, he then rubbed them together. It did nothing to counter the tingling bite of numbness that was currently working through them.

After staring at him for a second, Dean pointed at the waiting Ravi. “You’re with him.”

Great ! George didn’t respond.

Nodding at a truck with sheets of plywood on it, Dean said, “I want one of those attached to each side of each fence panel. Tomorrow, we’ll start digging holes so we can bury some upright poles to make them solid.”

Turning away from Dean before he’d finished his sentence, George looked at Ravi, who in turn looked at the floor.

Standing on one side of the fence, the heavy board cutting into his fingers, George tried to line up one of the pre-drilled holes. With his entire body shaking beneath its weight and sweat running down his face, he got it close several times before the other side moved. “Fucking hell, Ravi, are you really that fucking weak? All you need to do is hold the fucking thing in place while I line the fucking holes up.”

The only response the boy offered were grunts and groans, his board perpetually moving as he struggled with it. It was going to be a long fucking day.

Standing with his back to the ruined city, the thick smell of smoke riding the wind, George tried to focus on the job at hand. The fires weren’t getting any worse. It wasn’t like the buildings were all thatched roofs and wooden beams. His silent assertions did little to ease the anxiety that sat in his stomach like broken glass.

Finally lining up a hole, George slid a bolt through. Scooting across to the other side, he slipped the next one through. Stretching the pain from his lower back, he bolted the top two corners and stepped away. “Put the nuts on them, Ravi.”

Scanning the city, searching for signs of onlookers, all he saw was smashed windows, fallen signage and smoke—lots of fucking smoke. Despite the headache it brought with it, George would take the chemical smell of a burning modern building over charred flesh any day. Even if it did come with the threat of a runaway fire.

Continuing to stare at the ruins, George shook his head. How did everything fall apart so fucking quickly ? The people had stopped marching the second the drumbeat ceased. It was like they’d been waiting for it their entire lives. They’d been given the chance to return to simpler times. There was no more council tax or shitty jobs. No more interest payments on mortgages they couldn’t afford. No more being a drone in a system designed to serve the most affluent. All that mattered now was food, defecation, and procreation. In the past few months, London had changed from a shining bastion of commerce to the arsehole of the world. Maybe that’s all it ever was anyway.

Snapping from his daze, George turned around to see Ravi looking at him. Tutting, he pointed at the boards. “Come on, boy, hurry up with that.”

“Good work, lads.”

Standing by the trucks in a line with the other workers, George watched Dean march up and down in front of them. The letter had changed everything. The cunt had him over a barrel.

Spinning full circle, Dean took in the entire perimeter fence, freshly boarded from the day’s work. “All finished before dark. Ginge, Jason, and Ravi, you’re on the nightshift tonight.”

When Ravi opened his mouth to reply, Dean stepped into his personal space, their noses close to touching. “Problem?”

Closing it again, Ravi dropped his attention to his toes.

Turning from the boy, Dean marched over to the truck with the women. “All I need now is some entertainment for the evening.” The clanging rattle as he ran his hammer along the bars cut to the base of George’s neck. It seemed to break through the daze of some of the more broken women.

Licking his lips, which were surrounded with crusty blood, Dean then crashed his hammer into the cage, and the women withdrew. “Which one of you lovelies will be coming with me tonight?”