The Rot (Book 1): They Rot Page 9

  “Not getting emotional are we?” he grinned, taking the cigarette from his mouth and passing it to Colin.

  “You know I can light my own cigarette,” Colin replied, sticking it in his mouth.

  Darren shook his head and proceeded to light his own.

  It was a Marlboro Red and the smoke was strong enough to get Colin coughing. Just a little, before he leant his back up against the windowsill of the restaurant. On a table on the other side of the glass, Colin spied a young couple with their hands locked and their eyes all gooey with love. He began to laugh. The thought of what it must look like to the couple to have a stranger’s backside pressed against the window, only inches from their own faces made him chuckle so hard that he coughed again. Darren shot a quizzical look before realising and doubling over.

  “It’s been a nice evening eh, Bolton?”

  “Yeah, it really has.”

  Colin tried again with another puff of the cigarette. He sucked the harsh smoke through. Hot embers flew up and scattered in the wind as the smoke filled his lungs. He held it in his chest for a few seconds before allowing the smoke to rise up and filter out through his nostrils. It was pleasant. Perhaps the first truly quiet moment he’d found for a while. As if this one inhalation of smoke was all he needed to find spiritual peace.

  That’s the real thing he missed about smoking. It was an excuse to step outside and enjoy being alone with nothing but his thoughts for five minutes. A short break before plunging back into the real world.

  Colin took one final drag, held it in and blew it up in the air.

  And now back to the real world, he thought. Time to plug back into the matrix.

  Colin took a breath. “I know about the buyout.”

  There was no reply. Instead, Darren looked over the river, savouring the last few mouthfuls of his own cigarette.

  “Jag Limited?” Colin prompted. “I know they’re buying us up, and I think you know why I really invited you out for dinner.”

  Darren flicked his cigarette into the nothing in front of them and wasted no time in offering a second from the pack in his jacket pocket to Colin.

  “You mean it wasn’t for the splendid company of me and my family?” he said with a dry smile.

  Colin threw a half smile, then waited for a response. But Darren fell quiet again, either thinking over what he wanted to say or simply refusing to acknowledge that a question had been asked. That was the frustrating thing about Darren sometimes, it was hard to know what he was thinking. Colin waited patiently, though he could feel himself growing warm. He needed an answer. He needed to know if the sale would leave him with enough money left to lavish over his family, or whether it would be back to the drawing board in his crappy apartment. Where was his answer?

  Darren chuckled suddenly as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. “I knew this was why you asked me here. Of course I did, I’m not stupid, Colin. And I know you ain’t either. I know you might not think it sometimes, but we’re the same in a lot of ways. We both came from working-class London. We both did our best to build ourselves up, to make something of ourselves in the city. And Candle IT is just as much a product of me as it is you. It wouldn’t be where it is without your late nights and back-breaking hours. I know that. We all do. You know I can’t say much of anything as I’m under a tonne of non-disclosures, but just relax. We’re making sure you do well out of the sale. We all should be. Maybe next year we’ll go on a big family holiday to the villa in Nice and piss it all away at the bar.”

  Colin’s stomach unclenched and he blew his worry away with an exhalation of smoke. He wasn’t sure what to say now, the relief of possible financial security filtering through him. After a moment he managed a simple “Good”.

  “Good?” Darren said. “It’s fucking amazing, mate. It’s not just good.”

  They stood out in the frosty air for a while longer as Colin thought to the future barely concealing his smile. He thought of Rachel walking through the door laden with shopping bags from designer outlets, Fletch diving into a heap of toys as Scrooge McDuck had once done to his piles of gold.

  Maybe it won’t be so bad after all? The future was wide open.

  A blue flashing light passed on the far side of the Thames, quickly followed by an ambulance siren. Neither of them made note of it. It was a common sight in the city. Until, only a minute or two later, a second siren wailed from somewhere nearby.

  “Saturday night init?” Darren said. “Drunks plus London equals ‘999’.”

  Colin nodded as the cold winds picked up. He shivered, looked around and saw a black button beneath what looked like a sort of parasol. He thumbed the button and the umbrella glowed a bright red, instantly emitting warmth.

  “God praise heat lamps.”

  “Oh yes,” Darren said as he rubbed his hands together. “My nipples were ready to pierce my shirt! Few more minutes and head back in?”

  “Sure thing. Celebratory whisky?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  In the dark corner behind them, the drunk man coughed and spluttered. He sat up straight, looking silently around in alarm as a strange clicking noise forced its way from his throat.

  ~ 15 ~

  A dull ache thumped around Colin’s forehead and nose. The area Rachel used to refer to as the problematic ‘T-Zone’. And she wasn’t wrong. It sure felt problematic. He also felt his mouth turning dry and sour and wondered how long it would be until his next drink. How long until this strange new generation of scavvies cut him loose, or worse…

  He lifted his head. The factory was as filthy as Colin had imagined it to be from the outside. The concrete floor barely visible through the layers of dirt and dust. There were old rusty steel drums, some burnt out after being used as makeshift fireplaces, and one recently set ablaze after being stuffed with sticks and newspapers and doused in something that smelled like petrol. Networks of copper tubing and pipes ran along the walls and crisscrossed along the concrete pillars of the factory. From there they jutted upwards and into the ceiling. Just above where Colin was sat was one of many ragged holes barely concealing what looked to be the second floor of the factory. A few sparse boards of wood remained, like skeletal memories left behind where time had melted the skin and gristle away. Mouldy green plant-life dotted the warehouse in moist clumps, adding more colour to the rusty puddles.

  From the outside, it looked as though there were four or five similarly large warehouses sitting adjacent to one another. But from where Colin sat he could only really see the inside of one. He thought of Fletch, thinking how excited he would get playing hide-and-seek in a place like this, and automatically reached for his chain, wanting the comfort of the golden band. But his hands wouldn’t come. They’d been tied behind his back with gaffer tape and cable ties. He jerked his wrists but the sharp plastic nibbled into his already broken skin. The bite wound from the pit bull now swollen and dangerously close to infection.

  That had seemed hours ago now, but for all Colin knew it could have been ten minutes. They hadn’t been gentle, grabbing him by the back of his hair and forcing him inside where they navigated him to an open area of the former factory before pushing him to the stone floor. Stephen and Dutchman had left with the shotgun woman, assigning one of the younger of their group to keep an eye on Colin. Acne-ridden skin and a ratty moustache gave away the boy’s youth but the wide bat poxed with industrial nails at his side ensured he shouldn’t be taken lightly.

  The only solace Colin could find at that moment was that they had at least left the wedding band around his neck. And, for some unknown reason, they’d placed Wheat next to him. A length of rope tied around his collar and to a small hook on the wall behind. He didn’t look great, nor overly enthusiastic to be there with Colin. But at least he was alive.

  He heard talking, but couldn’t make out the words. He could only count a handful of this little cadre of scavvies. If there were more, he was clueless to them. They didn’t look like the usual sort that he w
as used to, but still dressed in the attire of the old times, with homemade weapons and steely expressions that looked like they lacked any of the patience to deal with people outside their own group. Where the scavvies Colin had encountered had mostly taken to scribbling on their skin to show solidarity with their group and make themselves appear more fierce, these looked a lot more careful and cunning. And that scared Colin. Only the biggest of them, the one who’d pounded the side of Colin’s head a few hours prior, had tattoos gouged into the skin of his face. Words that didn’t mean much to him but may mean a lot to these strangers.

  He’d seen people with stupid tattoos over the years. Shapes and foreign letters and badly drawn Looney Toon characters, designed to mark them as a kind of tribe. In the early days, a year or so after the quarantine came into effect, one particular group had taken to slicing off their own earlobes and drawing inky-black diamond shapes that reached over their eyes and around their faces. They called themselves the ‘null’ and spent their days hunting folks to skin and boil. They were the type that had taken to the rot the worst. The ones who had resorted to cannibalism.

  Colin let his head rest against the wall behind him as he heard voices raise.

  The three who had brought him here were further up the long corridor, inside the foreman’s office built into the corner of the warehouse. They were deep in a discussion that didn’t sound too friendly.

  It was then that Colin saw, sat in the stretch of no man’s land between himself and the scavvie leaders, was what looked like more prisoners. An alabaster-skinned woman with strawberry blonde hair, and a little boy with pale skin and thick, dark hair. Emerald eyes shining in the dark. The woman looked up for a moment and caught Colin’s eyes before snapping back to the floor with a look of fear. The boy seemed oddly calm, having found a spot on the wall across from him to focus on, his eyes unblinking.

  The voices in the foreman’s court raised again. The shotgun woman became animated and Colin craned his neck to try and see more.

  The boy guarding him shuffled the bat in his hand and looked down at Colin.

  “You ever have to use that?” Colin asked.

  The kid remained silent. The redhead looked up with curiosity.

  “Hey. I asked you a question.”

  The kid gave a nasty grin and held the bat higher. “You really think you’re in a position to be asking questions?”

  Colin looked back at the woman who dropped her head once more, her lips moving silently.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Colin studied his surroundings for a while longer, the early-evening sun streaming through the gaps on the brickwork and the broken windows of the warehouse. Unbidden, he thought of sleepy evenings with the LeShards, sat in their living room with a drink in one hand, maybe a book in another as the sun made its way to the horizon. Only, in this daydream he could see Rachel out the corner of his eye, busying herself with helping Kitty in the kitchen. Fletch running around the living room with arms out wide – much to the playful annoyance of Jerry. He could hear their voices as though they were next to him and let a small smile play on his face before he felt Wheat shift next to him and bring himself back to reality.

  Oh, Colin. What a fine mess you’ve got yourself into this time…

  ~ 16 ~

  “What the hell were you thinking?” She was terrifying when she was angry. Dark skin and curly brown hair held back by a blue handkerchief. A rusty machete tucked into her belt. “Which one of you thought this would be a good idea?”

  Dutchman held her steely gaze. “Tells us. What were we’s supposed to do, Ria?”

  “You were supposed to be showing the new guy the ropes, not finding him a fucking pet.” Each word hissed from her lips, growing louder as she worked herself up. “We can’t just bring every good-for-nothing straggler along with us and put them to work. That’s not how the world works.”

  Stephen held his arms crossed and his feet a shoulder’s width apart, a little back from the duel. He was interested in the outcome but not the politics. Occasionally he sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Well, whats about those two you’ve brought in. I don’t see yous having any qualms with them.”

  Ria paused for a moment and rubbed her eyes as if in pain. Dutchman felt himself already regretting his words.

  “We’ll answer this in three parts, shall we? One: Chicory and Lee brought these stragglers along, and I have bollocked them accordingly,” she glared at Lee, busy guarding the bearded hostage. “Two: At least they have control of their pets and don’t leave them to steal a goddamn car.” Dutchman glowed a violent red. “And three: and this one, I think is most important – do as you’re fucking told!”

  Dutchman had no response. She was right, of course. The appointed leader of the pack. But dammit if it didn’t sting receiving a mouthful in front of the new guy, Stephen. Especially when that guy could eat you for breakfast in one mouthful. He’d started to form a mutual respect with the giant and hoped a dressing down from Ria wouldn’t spoil that. He looked at Stephen who seemed not to care, only to be curious by the conversation.

  Ria looked ready to start again when there came a throaty cough from behind. Dutchman turned to see an elder gentleman with a balding head and a chequered shirt. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Only, you asked—”

  “Go ahead, Chicory,” said Ria.

  The man fumbled for his words. “By the sun it looks to be coming close to curfew, and there’s still no sign of him.”

  Dutchman’s ears pricked up and he turned in surprise. “David’s not back yets? But I thought he left—”

  “Yesterday, yes. You know as well as I do that he can handle himself, he might just have found himself waylaid.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Stephen, you helped him load the vehicle before he set off. Did he seem alright to you?”

  “Seemed fine. Maybe a bit worse for wear with some of the heavier cargo, perhaps.”

  “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen…”

  The plan was simple. As punishment for bringing back unwanted guests, Dutchman and Chicory were to take the hours before sundown to head out in search of David. They sat for a while longer studying an old, weathered map of the area to familiarise themselves with the land, with Ria assigning a vehicle that they could use to explore faster. By the time everyone was happy with how far they’d be able to travel, they had maybe an hour at best to hunt.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious at all. We already know that there are stragglers in this area, so don’t take anything for granted,” Ria instructed, handing a small rucksack packed with basic rations and ammunition as a precautionary measure. “And remember, no one gets in or out after curfew. And I’m not saying that for the fuck of it. You don’t make it back before sun-down, you’re out for the night.”

  “I’m coming too,” Stephen said as they all stood, ready to go.

  “No no no, big guy. We need your muscle around here with most of our fleet outside. You’re staying put.”

  Stephen didn’t argue. He simply took a step back, eyes darting to Ria’s machete.

  “Besides,” Chicory chipped in, “Someone needs to keep an eye on our guests. Who knows if they’ll behave with us all—” He stopped suddenly as if remembering something. “Shit,” he said, turning to Dutchman, then looking at a small shelving unit that housed a single cardboard box with bright blue colouring on the side.

  Ria noticed, her face contorting with rage. “You mean to tell me—”

  Dutchman grabbed the box of bleach and quickly disappeared with Chicory out the room.

  ~ 17 ~

  They hadn’t unbound his hands when they poured the bleach powder. Just tilted him forward until he was doubled over with his nose scraping the ground. If he had to guess Colin’d say that they hadn’t exactly been careful rubbing it off either, the areas where the ties dug into his skin burned like wildfire.

  He hadn’t given them the satisfaction of letting
them know, though. Just gently closed his eyes and waited for the moment to pass. He was the first of the four to be tested (even Wheat must have his turn) and the young boy stared at him with wide eyes as Dutchman and the kid with the bat did their thing.

  “No… no…” the redhead had whimpered as Dutchman approached. And when the bleach touched her skin…

  But even then, after the scream’s echoes had faded, and it was the boy’s turn, he seemed to not at all be phased. If a single muscle twitched on his face, Colin couldn’t see. No sound left his lips. He watched with growing fascination, studying the boy, so pale he looked to be made of china. He felt a pang of anger watching as Dutchman waited for the right time to remove the bleach, knowing that afterwards there would be a little red scar where the bleach had burned the skin. It seemed a crime to do such a thing to someone who looked so pure and innocent…

  To ruin what little beauty was left in the world.

  *

  Colin blinked stupidly, trying to duck his head out of the setting sun’s rays. There was a gap somewhere high along the far wall that let the light shoot through without resistance, and as much as he enjoyed the warmth, it made it trickier to keep an eye on what was happening. He heard the voices in the foreman’s court again before he saw the outlines of Dutchman and an older, balding figure disappearing through a door out of sight.

  For a while after, there was quiet.

  Just as Colin found a comfortable beam of shade, Stephen approached, his footsteps heavy on the dusty floor. He turned to the kid with the bat, “Get the other two. The boss wants a word.”

  The kid darted to the others and helped them to their feet. Stephen was less kind, picking Colin up and slinging him once more across his shoulder. They left Wheat alone, ears low and breathing shallow. A quiet whimper escaping his tired body as Colin was taken away.