Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

When George saw the tower block, his stomach sank.

Twenty-five stories of grey brick.

Twenty-five stories of misery and oppression.

Twenty-five stories of memories that a lifetime would never forget.

But what else could he do? He had to stay here. How else would he get reunited with his sister?

Within a few minutes, they were smothered by the tower’s heavy shadow. The stuffy air in the cab thickened. George’s tense neck ached at the base of his skull. Opening the window a crack, he inhaled the rapidly-cooling air, and his throat loosened slightly.

As the dread eased, George became more aware of the stench of decaying waste. With the passing of time, the gassy stink of decomposition had become a permanent feature of London. Bin bags had initially lined the pavements for weeks. Now, rubbish was simply discarded and flew through the streets like tumbleweeds. The smell was tinged with human excrement and always seemed worse by the tower block. It was almost as if the building’s presence was curdling the earth.

While stuffing tissue up his bloody nose, Ravi leant forwards to look at the sky. “It’s always cloudy here.”

“I hadn’t noticed that.” Craning his neck, George looked up too. “But now that you mention it… It’s never sunny, is it?”

Pulling the sun visor down, Ravi looked into the small mirror embedded in it and started to wipe the blood from his face. “Not even God smiles down on this place.”

“Ain’t that the truth. It’s no wonder people like Dean were so angry before the crash.”

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Ravi stop what he was doing. “How so?”

“The majority of the people in this shit hole were unemployed and living on the breadline. Our government then came in with a manifesto of hate and resentment. They needed to sort this country out, and ‘benefit scum’ were the problem. They painted a picture of paradise when they spoke about places like this. According to them, this building was a free ticket. It was an easy option for those too lazy to work. It was a holiday.”

“I’m guessing they’d never been to any of the high-rise blocks.”

George looked up at the building again. “Clearly not.”

“But there were a lot of people who could have gone out and got a job.”

“There were a lot of people who could have worked, sure. But could they have got a job?”

“What’s the difference?” Ravi asked.

“You’ve got a quick tongue and a sharp mind.”

Clearly inflated by the comment, Ravi straightened in his seat.

Smirking, George looked at him. “You also dress like a prize cunt.”

Ravi flipped him the bird.

“But seriously, I’d imagine that worked in your favor in the old world. I’m sure you interviewed well and came across as a desirable employment prospect. Confidence and front used to go a long way.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Although it’s likely to get you killed now.”

The leather creaked as Ravi’s posture deflated.

“Most of the people living here wouldn’t have even got through the front door of many privately-owned companies let alone had a chance to be interviewed. Getting a job relies on someone deciding you’re employable.”

Continuing to clean himself, Ravi sighed. “I suppose I never saw it from that perspective.”

Looking at the block again, George shivered. “Whenever I came to visit my sister here, the feeling of the place stayed with me for days. It sunk into my pores like fried grease.”

“I can imagine it must have been pretty shit.”

“It was. They said living in poverty in this country took years off your life. I wouldn’t mind betting that just tapping the postcode of this place into a sat nav gave five years to Satan.”

Once they were close to the block, Ravi pointed out of the front window. “What do they hope that shitty fencing will do? A Ford Fiesta could blast a hole in it. Actually, a granny on a mobility scooter could probably knock it down.”

George laughed. “It’s easy to put up.”

“It’s easy to take down too. That’s my point.”

“But it would make one hell of a noise. That and the fact there’s always someone on guard.”

Sighing, Ravi looked out of the side window. “I fucking hate pulling night watch. Especially in winter.”

A shiver ran through George’s body. “Tell me about it. No matter how many layers I put on, I always end up fucking freezing.”

Rolling to a stop behind Si as they waited to enter, George looked at the fences. They were a criss-cross of thin metal rods that gave the top a line of deadly, needle-like spikes. “They’re also a fucking nightmare to climb over. Remember that kiddie a few weeks back?”

“The one that Dean killed?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Watching Ginge open the front gate, George tapped his impatience on the wheel and then glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of the motorbike gang yet. “That kiddie was Dean’s first kill. He went fucking mental after that.”

Ravi pointed at the women in front. “Wasn’t he looking for his sister? She’s one of the women in there I think.”

“Was he? I don’t know,” George lied. Being black certainly made it easier to hide a flushing face. Liz stared at George from the cage.

“Yeah, he was. Dean waited until morning and then caved his skull in right in front of her. He then set fire to him on the floor. That was when he got the idea for the skip.”

A weakness spread through George’s muscles as he relived the memory. Liz screaming. The crunch of the hammer. The smell of charred pork.

No matter how many bodies Dean burned, George would never get used to the experience. Chewing the sick back that lifted in his throat, he then drove through the gate, stopping on the other side so Ravi could get out and close it.

After parking his truck, George got out and lined up with the other men. It was something Dean liked them to do, and it wasn’t worth the grief to fight it.

Returning from closing the gate, Ravi strolled over and stood next to George.

Doing his thick jacket up to his neck, George then buried his hands in his pockets and frowned against the biting cold as he waited for the inevitable bullshit.

Pacing up and down like a sergeant major, Dean called in a loud and tight-throated voice, “If you’re working for me, you have a right to stay here.” Condensation billowed from his mouth with every breath, and he waved his bloody hammer around. “If you have loved ones that you want to protect, then they have a right to stay here too. If they contribute, they get fed. If they don’t, they only get a bed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Ravi sag.

The pig squealed when Dean opened the cage on the back of George’s truck. It made the suited lunatic jump, and George nearly laughed until Dean punched it on the nose. It squealed again. Raising his hammer, Dean looked like he was considering using it. After a pause, he lowered his arm and shook his head. “Mother fucker.”

Staring at the scrawny bully, George then looked at the hammer in his grip. How easy would it be to take the cunt by surprise and relieve him of his weapon? Looking away from the man, he stared at the floor. It wasn’t worth fucking everything up for the sake of a pig. Be patient, George, your time will come .

Having retrieved a loaf of sliced bread, Dean walked down the line of men with it in his hands and a bounce in his step. “Two slices each, boys. It’s been a good day. Well done!”

When Dean got closer, George was hit with the stench of blood and rotting fabric. Breathing through his mouth, he tried to ignore his writhing stomach and looked at the slice of bread being offered to him.