Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

“Now go and get some rest. You’re on night duty for the next two weeks straight.”

“Fuck you. I ain’t pulling another night shift again.”

Flicking a hand through the air, Dean scoffed. “Let him go.”

When the men did as they were ordered, George stood and watched the back of his brother-in-law. There was no power left in his exhausted body. There was no fire left in his spirit.

On his route back to the block, George passed Ravi, who moved away a couple of paces and stared at the floor.

George grabbed the lapels of the boy’s coat.

When Ravi looked up, his eyes were wide and his mouth moved like he was trying to speak.

Pulling him forwards with all his might, George drove his forehead into the boy’s nose. An explosion of white light coincided with a wet and gritty squelch.

The boy crumpled, and George continued his walk back, his ears ringing from the impact.

Curled in the foetal position, the smell of burning flesh still in his nostrils, George stared at Sally’s letter. How would he know if it was real? If she wrote it the other day? If she was still alive?

Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. Mold grew from the corners where it met the walls. Although it had started small at first, the rot was spreading, taking over George’s life one centimeter at a time.

George’s eyes flashed open.

His heart hammered.

What the fuck ?

How long had he been asleep for?

It was nighttime again.

What was that light ?

Jumping from his bed, George rushed to the window. Pulling the curtains open, he stumbled backwards, the bright glow of fire temporarily blinding him.

Rubbing his eyes, he regained his vision. The ice on the pane had melted.

Walking closer to the window again, he looked out. A huge fire roared next to the caged women. The petrol had caught alight. It was a stupid fucking idea having it there in the first place.

The truck shook with the women’s panic as they fought to get away from the flames. Screaming, the weakest were getting trampled.

The fire was too close.

Too out of control.

“Someone free them.” George banged on the window. The glass was warm, the ice had melted. “Someone free them!”

Bang !

Bang !

The back tires popped. The women screamed louder. It wouldn’t be long before the entire truck went up like a keg of gunpowder.

“Save them!” Banging on the window again, George ran a hand over his head. “Somebody do something!” he screamed so loudly it hurt his throat.

Then he saw the front gate.

It was open.

Bodies were swarming in.

His heart sank.

“Fuck.”

A bright flash.

The building shook.

His window popped, and he was showered with glass.

Covering his face, he fell back.

A sharp jolt ran up his spine when he hit the cold tile floor.

Pulling his stinging hands away, he turned them round. They glistened with blood and glass.

When he looked up, George saw the truck’s huge bonnet flash past as it returned to Earth.

Crash !

Thick smoke filled the room, choking him almost instantly.

Pulling his jumper over his mouth, George got to his feet and looked outside.

All that was left was a burning shell.

No more screams.

The fire was growing.

Slipping his shoes on, gritting his teeth against the searing pain of forcing the glass deeper into his soles, George grabbed his things.

Rucksack. Picture of Zach. Truck keys. Baseball bat.

He opened the front door.

The smoke in the hallway was thicker than in George’s flat. It tasted like coal. With streaming eyes, George raised his bat and made for Ravi’s.

Bang bang bang ! He hit the door so hard his hand stung.

No one answered.

“Open the fucking door, now!”

Nothing.

Bang !

Still nothing.

Gritting his teeth, George yelled as he kicked the door. There was a ripping of wood as it gave way. Storming into the flat, his teeth clenched, George rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help. “Where are you?”

With his bat raised, he scanned the darkness. “Mr. and Mrs. Vadher, where the fuck are you?”

Jumping when the blurry image of Ravi’s dad appeared in front of him, George stared at the man, a tight grip on his bat. “Come with me.”

The man shook his head. “Ravi said we should stay here and wait for him. If anything happened, he said he would come and get us.”

“Something’s happening. The block’s on fire. You need to come with me now.”

Silence.

Looking over his shoulder, his eyes adjusting to the poor visibility, George saw that more smoke was coming in all the time. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he grabbed the man by a slim shoulder and shook him. “Come on.”

“No. Ravi said wait.”

Looking behind again, George threw a hand up in exasperation. He gave the man his bat. “Take this. You’ll probably need it.”

After Ravi’s dad took it, his mum stepped forwards. Pulling the small woman to him, George hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. You need to get out of here too.” When he pulled away, he looked into her dark eyes. “You’ll die if you don’t.”

When she didn’t respond, he spun on his heel and ran from the flat, swallowing back his tears.

As he descended the stairs blind, the smoke tore at his lungs. His head spun. The cries of war sounded outside.

The closer George got to the ground, the denser the smoke. His eyes felt like they were melting. Holding onto the handrail, he squeezed them shut and continued down.

Another loud explosion shook the ground, and a bright light shone through George’s eyelids. As he fell, he prayed it wasn’t his truck that had just gone up in flames.

White-hot pain ripped through his shoulder when he hit the floor. The impact winded him. Gasping at the acrid air, coughing as he fought for breath, George got to his feet again and resumed his descent.

Every inhalation choked him more than the last.

His head spun.

The walls were closing in.

Hitting the swing doors with his sore shoulder, George yelped as he fell out into the forecourt. Landing hard on his knees, he vomited where he knelt.

Gasping for air, George puked several more times before he could breathe again. Looking up, eyes streaming more than ever, he could just about make out the bedlam of what looked like hundreds of people.

Then he saw the boy heading straight for him with a blade in one hand that was as long as his forearm.

Watching him raise it above his head, George rolled to the side just in time to avoid the decapitating swing. The machete rang as it hit the concrete.

Jumping to his feet, George drove a heavy fist into his attacker’s gut.

The blade fell to the ground with a clang, and the boy folded. Driving a heavy boot into his guts, George moved on.

As his vision cleared, George suddenly realised the bright orange blur was Dean’s truck. Searching the chaos, he saw his own vehicle was still fine, although it was currently being guarded by two boys with bats. Little cunts! Who do they fucking think they are ?

Checking for any more attackers, George then stepped to the side and into the shadows.

Although the darkness along the perimeter fence wasn’t complete, it was enough to hide him. Walking on tiptoes, the glass in his feet burning with every step, George circled around the back of his truck.

While holding his breath, he crept up on the first guard, every step a biting agony. Coiling his arm, he delivered a hard jab to the back of the boy’s skull.