Shelter for the night

   The building I'd found was abandoned and rotting, but it would shelter us for the night. The rain was falling around us already, fat and heavy, soaking into our clothes and spreading cold across our skin. We stumbled across the street, looking about for other people on the road who might see us, but despite it being only early evening, the area was deserted.
   Streetlights were flicking on down the road, bathing the pavement in a pale orange glow. I moved into the shadows, pulling her with me, careful to avoid the open spaces as much as possible. I paused slightly down the road from the house, grabbing her arm to stop her wandering forwards. I put a finger to my lips as she looked up at my face, a fuzzy look in her eyes. I shouldn't have let her drink so much, she wouldn't be much help for a while. I moved slowly along the walls, trying desperately not to look like I was acting inconspicuous.
   "Don't feel good," she sputtered, leaning on me heavily.
   "Not surprised," I whispered back, still trying to be quiet.
   I paused at the entrance to the building's small front garden. A battered gate hung on one hinge, flaking green paint and a cracked ceramic plate with the number six on it. I leaned her against the wall.
   "Wait here," I said quietly.
   She groaned in response, her wet hair hanging over most of her face, rain splashing on her skin and running down her neck. I leaned around the corner, pushing the gate open and walking quickly past the garden. The small patch of grass and surrounding flower beds were overgrown and covered in rubbish. A half finished kebab was spread across the foliage from where it had been thrown, the sauce running in the rain like blood. Next to it uncooked chips rotted on top of a collapsed pizza box, refuse from the weekend as drunken revelers made their way home.
   I paused at the door and looked in quickly, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I couldn't hear anything in the house over the sound of the rain and my pulse, but there were no lights and the corridor was filled with leaves and debris from the street. The door to the house was covered in posters, advertising hot new bands and an illegal rave that had been weeks ago.
   I rushed back down the path, pushing the gate open again. I leaned around the corner to motion her to follow me. She was slumped against the wall, asleep in the rain. I pulled her to her feet and leaned her against the wall.
   "You OK?" I asked, concerned for her.
   She moaned and pointed at the floor. A pool of dark orange vomit was already being washed away into the gutter.
   "That's nice," I said, pulling her towards me and leaning her on my shoulder.
   I hurried her down the path towards our shelter, she stumbled and swayed as we went, her eyes closed the whole time. Once we reached the house I sat her on the stairs and shut the door. I tried to lock it but saw splintering on the frame where the door had been kicked in.
   The house was older than I had thought, it looked like it had been abandoned for a while. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, exposing the plaster board and in places the red bricks underneath. The stairs of the house were just to the left of the front door, she was laid over the bottom four steps, snoring quietly. The hallway ran away from the entrance, beside the stairs, leading off into the darkness. A few doorways led off from the main hallway, the first seemed to be a fair sized living room, empty except for an ancient chair in a far corner. The second doorway at the far end of the hall appeared to be a kitchen, but the light was too faint to make too much out.
   I thought it would be safer to sleep upstairs, given the unsecured door and the lack of anything downstairs. I woke her gently, she moaned into my shoulder as I pulled her to her feet. Her clothes felt cold and wet, her loose jeans heavy from the puddle she'd been slumped in outside. We took the stairs painfully slowly, she stumbled at almost every step, using her hands on the steps and wall to push herself along. I supported her as best I could, but all I could do was stop her falling backwards down the stairs.
   Once we reached the top and my eyes had adjusted to the darkness I saw three doorways leading off the landing. I took the first one which appeared to be a bedroom. There were a few bags of old clothes in the corner, apparently left behind by the previous owners. I laid her down on them and then pulled one out and ripped it open. Dusty blankets fell across the floor. I smiled for the first time in what seemed like days, finally our luck could be changing. I removed her jacket and jeans, receiving only mild protests. I laid them on the floor to dry and covered her in some of the blankets, it was cold in the house, even though most of the windows seemed intact.
   I sat with her for a bit in the dark, on the floor, with my back against the wall, listening to her heavy breathing. The afternoon had been our final party, we didn't have much money left so we had spent it on cheap cider. Leaving home had seemed like such a good idea, we were old enough that we could take care of ourselves, our parents didn't understand. It was fun at first, we had stayed at friends' houses, sleeping in spare beds while their parents weren't at home, or sharing a couch for a few hours then leaving before anyone knew we were there. We drank most of our money, as food had been readily available.
   Soon our friends weren't as helpful, they told us our parents were looking for us and we should go home before we got into trouble. We were already in trouble, I was 16, she was 14, even if she had consented it was still rape, I would be arrested if we went back, her parents would see to that.
   I'd tried to get a job, but my age was always a problem, and getting to work clean was hard work now our friends weren't helping us. She was too young to work, so it was my fault, I had to provide for both of us. One friend had offered me money to borrow her for a weekend, I had beaten him to the floor and we both ran, with him yelling after us that he was going to call the police.
   Now the last of our money was gone on the alcohol we'd have to start stealing food. Chris who worked in the market could help, he'd gotten us the cider, but it was only a matter of time before he stopped being so sympathetic as well.
   My thoughts drifted to the kitchen as my stomach began to rumble. I'd been drinking since I was 13, so the cider hadn't effected me that much, I just felt a little dizzy and then hungry. I needed something to drink as well, my throat felt dry and she would need something to drink once she came round.
   I stood up and walked to the door, taking a last look at her before walking out to the landing and then quietly down the stairs. The kitchen was brighter than the bedroom, the orange glow from the street just making it down the corridor. I ventured around the corner to check in the cupboards.
   I heard a noise from outside, a creaking and then a wet wooden slap. I realised just in time that it was the garden gate and ducked back into the kitchen, away from the corridor. I heard the front door creak open and then hushed voices. I heard a plastic clicking.
   "Lights don't work," came a deep male voice.
   "Looks great," another male voice replied, grating and drunkenly slurring, "why don't we crash here?"
   My heart jumped into my throat and panic seized my stomach. I backed away from the doorway slowly, I began to sweat coldly, my head pounded as a million thoughts flashed through my mind. I tried to breath slowly and quietly, I didn't want them to know we were here, maybe we could sneak out when they went to sleep.
   "Let's take a look around," said the first man, the deep bass of his voice echoing in the hall.
   "'Kay," came the reply, "I'll be right here."
   I heard one of them sag to the stairs, then a dismissive snort from one of them. Footsteps began to approach down the hall. I could see the light from the street shining on the door, and a long shadow growing larger as it blocked out the orange glow. I backed up again, my breath catching in my throat as my back pressed up against a cabinet. The shadow continued to grow and the steps got closer. I sank to the floor, unable to think, unable to move, my mind blank of ideas.
   "What'sat?" said the grating voice from the hall.
   The footsteps stopped.
   "What's what?" replied the deep voice, which sounded like it was being shouted into my ears.
   "Listen," whispered the other voice, "I heard somethin'"
   I held my breath and put my hand over my mouth, trying not to make any noise. The silence roared in my ears as we all listened intently for the smallest sound. My heart beat insanely fast, I was worried they would here it and find me. The rain continued to beat against the windows and a gust of wind blew past the front door, causing it to creak as it swung open.
   Then from upstairs, as loud as if it were in the same room, came the rustling of bags, and a loud moan. I stared at the shadow on the floor, screaming in my head, praying that they hadn't heard her, begging them to leave.
   "It's upstairs," the deep voice said, "sounds like a girl," I could tell there was a smile on his face, and my blood froze.
   The person on the stairs stood up and began to make his way quietly upstairs, each step creaking loudly. His companion turned away from the kitchen and walked slowly back towards the staircase. I cowered in the kitchen, I felt like an iron band hand been clamped across my chest, I couldn't breath, or move, or think. My head pounded in time with my pulse, and black spots swam in front of my eyes. What could I do? I felt helpless and weak, huddled in the corner.
   I heard them reach the top of the stairs, and the slow creak of the bedroom door. Their footsteps entered the room above my head. I heard muffled whispers and some rustling of the bags, then they spoke clearly.
   "She's wasted," said deep voice.
   "She's mine," argued grating voice.
   "Your wasted too, you wouldn't be able to do anything to her if I paid you," snorted deep voice derisively, "Keep a look out."
   I had to do something and fast. I dragged myself to my feet, forcing myself to move, using every ounce of will power I possessed to keep going. I would need a weapon, there's no way I could do anything if I wasn't armed. I started to search the kitchen. All of the cupboards were empty, a few ancient tins of food were in the back of one cupboard. I picked one up and judged the weight, there must be something better around.
   I heard sliding noises from upstairs as I slid open a draw, muttering and groaning, I'd have to be quicker. The draw had 5 packets of disposable chopsticks, and underneath them, two kebab skewers. I pulled them out and examined them. They were about eight inches long, with a flat cross of metal at one end, and a viciously sharp point at the other. They would have to do.
   I took one stick in each hand, resting the crosses in the palm of my hand, the sticks sliding through the fingers of my clenched fists. I headed quietly out of the kitchen, looking up the stairs as I walked down the corridor. If one of them was stood by the door to the bedroom he would see me coming. They must both be in the room, I couldn't see either of them.
   I began my slow ascent, treading close to the wall to try and prevent any creaks from the old wood. My back was to the wall and I crouched low, as exposed as I was I still tried to hide. I could feel sweat running down my back, even though I could see my breath in the cold air. I kept my breathing shallow, afraid they might hear me, my breath shaking it's way in and out of my lungs, as my heart pumped adrenaline through me.
   Once I reached the top of the stairs I could just see into the room. I heard mumbling, it sounded like her, like she was still asleep, moaning small protests. I heard deep voice talking quietly, whispering quickly, but I couldn't make out anything he was saying, and with it all the rustling of the bags. Then everything went quiet, I heard some dull thudding, like something moving along the floor, then the rustling of the bags resumed, but in a constant rhythm this time.
   Images ran through my mind, none of them pleasant and all of them rising anger in my chest. My face burned and stomach felt empty. My fear nearly forgotten I walked quickly across the landing to the door and looked inside.
   By the door was a short, thin man, dressed in dark clothes and a green jacket, his long, scraggly hair protruding from under a woolen cap pulled low over his head. I could see the side of his face and it looked gaunt and unhealthy, deep dark eye sockets and sharp cheek bones gave him a skeletal appearance. He was facing away from the door, looking into the room, at the far corner where I had left her.
   His companion was much bigger, he had dark skin, and short dark curly hair covered his large head. His jacket had been discarded in the middle of the floor and his dark jeans were pulled down by his boots, he was on his knees, leaning over her, her legs thrown over his thighs. His muscled buttocks flexed over and over as he pumped into her. She was underneath him, still seemingly asleep, her eyes half open, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth as she rocked back and forth as her attacker fucked her.
   I crept closer to the man in green, raising both my skewers. Just then a scream came from the end of the room. She was awake. She thrashed underneath the dark skinned assailant, screaming and wailing, crying out my name and battering him with her fists. The man in the green jumped in shock, turning towards the door to check if anyone was there. His eyes widened in fear as he saw me. I lashed out with my left hand, sticking the skewer into his right side. I meet little resistance and slid the whole bar into his body, I felt a jerk as it hit his spine. My fingers were suddenly wet as warm blood poured over my hand.
   He cried in pain, his right hand clamping onto my arm, holding it in place, his left reaching behind him. I swung with my right, but he leaned back and the point scratched across cheek. I wiggled the skewer in the man's side, cocking back my arm for another swing. The man screamed into my face, doubling over, his left arm swinging free, whatever he was reaching for forgotten. I whipped my right arm forward again, this time finding my target. A crunch like a dropped egg sounded and the metal spike slide into the man's skull, just above and behind his ear.
   The screaming stopped and he spasmed in front of me, jerking then leaning forward. I pulled on the skewers, but they seemed to be stuck. I released them and the body fell to the floor with a loud thud. Blood ran quickly from the man's side, the wound in his head surprisingly clean.
   I looked up and saw the other man had gotten off her, he sat on his bare ass, scrabbling at the clothing around his ankles, looking for something. She cowered on top of the bags, horror and shock in her eyes, the blanket pulled tightly around her. Her eyes flicked from me, to the body on the floor, to her attacker and back again, not sure what was happening or who these men were.
   I realised quickly that the remaining man must be searching for a weapon, and panic rose through my adrenaline as I grasped the fact I was no longer armed. It seemed to dawn on the man as well as he struggled to his feet, his search forgotten or fruitless, but he was at least a foot taller than me, and stocky like a heavyweight boxer. He wouldn't need a weapon. He bent down and grabbed his jeans, pulling them up his muscular legs, over his huge thighs, and over his thick penis, shiny and glistening with her juices.
   He stared me in the eyes as he buckled his jeans, daring me to try something, fully aware there was little I could do. My hope began to fade under his blazing gaze, my energy drained and my muscles felt small and tired. I sagged and my gaze dropped from him, the rush I'd felt earlier disappearing and leaving me only a comedown as hard as a thousand foot drop. Then my eyes rested on the body at my feet. As it had fallen the green jacket had rode up, revealing the top of the man's trousers, and the black handle of a pistol tucked into the waistband.
   I dropped to my knees and reached for the gun, more adrenaline rushing through me as I seized it and pulled it out, fumbling with the handle. A weight hit me in the chest and I was launched backwards as the attacker lunged across the room and dived at me. I landed on my back, the gun skidded away across the floor. My breath left my lungs as the man's weight crushed down on me. I struggled beneath him but he was stronger than me and held me down.
   He sat up, swinging at my face, I tried to move my head but he caught me just below my eye. My head hit the floor from the force of the blow, black fog closed around the edges of my vision, dark lights blinking across my eyes. The pain was excruciating, sudden and blinding. I cried out loud, but it came out as a high pitched grunt, the weight on my chest prevented me from shouting too loud.
   "You like that?" the man asked, his deep voice filling my ears as he swung at my face again.
   This time he caught my jaw, I felt a crack, the pain seemed dull and far away.
   "This is for Chiggy" he said, swinging with his left this time, "and this is for bustin' in."
   I felt weak and beaten. I had nothing left to give, the man sat on my chest may as well have been a mountain, I had no chance of moving. My arms were limp and sore, his knees were resting on my elbows driving them into the wooden boards. My ribcage felt like it would collapse at any moment, but the rest of my body could wait, as yet another blow landed on my cheekbone. I felt like I could feel my skull splitting apart under the barrage, I couldn't think, I couldn't move.
   "When I'm finished with you, I'm gonna go fuck your girl," he gloated, his deep voice sounded far away to me, and distorted like a chewed up cassette, "she loves it, she was begging me for some mo-"
   I heard a dull thump, and thought he'd hit me again. I was terrified I couldn't feel it anymore, I hadn't seen his fist coming at me, but my vision was hazy and clouded. Then I saw a part of his face come away, and chunks of bone and brain sprayed the wall behind me. His mouth hung open where he'd been talking and blood dribbled off his lip. I couldn't make out anything of his head above his nose, his dark hair and skin blended into a red mess. I decided I was glad I couldn't see, the mess looked vague and blurred, much better than it must look to clear eyes.
   Two more dull thumps followed, and a red plume erupted from his chest, quickly followed by another, like a water fountain display. It felt warm and heavy as it hit my face, mixing with my blood and pooling behind my head. The body rocked above me, like it was being beaten, then it fell quickly to one side, leaking red across the room.
   Then she was there, leaning on my chest, wrapping her arms around me and crying into my shirt. I could feel something she was holding digging into my side. She released me and sat up, then cupped my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. I could feel something hard and metallic in her hand, pushing into my cheek. She was speaking quickly, babbling about something, her face was shiny with tears, I could barely hear her. She was saying my name over and over. I moved my eye, and tried to sit up, but she was still leaning on me, I tried to wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, but only succeeded in flinging my left arm over her back.
   She seemed pleased by this, and I was glad she wasn't sad anymore. She told me everything would be fine now, we were safe and the men had gone. I'd forgotten about the men, they'd been bad, but I forget why. I also knew we were in trouble, but couldn't think of anything I'd done, surely we couldn't be in that much trouble. I closed my eyes, my head hurt and I was very tired.
   She was crying again, shaking me. I moaned at her, trying to tell her I wanted to sleep, but I couldn't move my broken jaw. She was safe now, I'd saved her from whatever evil had been here. We could go home when I woke up, I'm sure our parents would forgive us, I'd be a hero, and we could live together somewhere warm.
   It was so cold in this room. Where were we? My house didn't have floorboards. I wanted to see her again before I went to sleep. I cracked open my eyes, the large bruises and broken bones making it difficult to focus. She was leaning over my face, her eyes wide and scared, but she smiled when she saw my open eyes, and said something I couldn't hear. She looked like an angel, her hair was bright and a light behind her shone down, glinting off the tears on her cheeks.
   I tried to tell her I loved her, but my jaw was locked shut. I tried to touch her but my arm flopped loosely across my chest. She picked up my hand and laid my palm against her face. I felt a tear run down the back of my fingers, to the ring she'd given me. We'd called it a starter marriage, a practice for when we were older. I smiled to myself and a new wave of tiredness swept over me. I took a last look at her eyes, sparkling and bright. I would see her again after I woke up, I was the hero after all, and the hero always gets the fair maiden he's saved. I closed my eyes and laid my head back, letting sleep wash over me. She'd be fine on her own for a while, I had already saved her once.

Accidents Happen

The rain spat in his face, even under the peak of his cap, he couldn't escape the downpour. He moved across the street, red sneakers splashing through puddles and ripped jeans soaking up freezing water. He paused to let a car pass, windscreen wipers a blur, a futile gesture, trying to remove the river pouring down the glass. He got caught by a splash from the windscreen, but didn't notice, his attention was pulled to his legs as a sheet of water sprayed across them, sprouting from the cars front wheels. He took a deep breath, anger stirring inside him, which was quickly cooled by the second wave, as the cars rear wheels passed. He lashed out with his foot at the cars behind, his sneaker connecting with the indicator. He felt a satisfying crunch as the plastic gave way beneath his foot, then a clammy reminder of the rain as his soaking jeans wrapped their denim around his leg.

He shook the jeans loose again and jogged across the road, looking at the cars damaged light and willing the driver to stop. The person in the car ignored him and drove on, oblivious to the damage. Once again heat rose in his stomach, but he calmed quickly, that wasn't why he was here. He took cover in a shop doorway, sheltering against the cold. He kicked aside some rubbish to get further towards the door. The boxes slid across the pavement, coming to a stop against a parked car. Where the boxes had been was a worn black boot, tied with thick purple laces, there was a crude picture of a penguin painted above the heel.

He sighed, brushing the water from his ragged goatee and scratched his stubbly neck.

"Johns," He drawled, his accent thick and slow, like he'd been in the sun too long, "That chu?"

The boot stirred, the rubbish pile bulged and moved, collapsing over his red sneakers. An arm appeared, wrapped in black leather.

"Gimme a hand" The voice was deep, but clear, with a slight trace of an english accent.

He grasped the man's forearm, balancing himself against the wall and bending his legs. Then heaving the man erupted from the garbage, showering the area in paper and cans, sending empty food wrappers spilling into the street.

"Thanks, Rigsby" Said Johns, brushing the remains of the pile from his clothes and brushing down his long leather jacket. "What are you doing here?"

"Yew know damn well wa'am doin' here" Muttered Rigsby, looking at Johns from the corner of his eye, concentrating on the passing traffic.

He reached into his dark coat's deep pocket, rustling through various items till he extracted a packet of cigarettes. He flicked it open, jamming his thick rough fingers inside. The cigarettes bent under his indelicate touch, crumbling and bending to the edges of the box. Finally he trapped a lone cigarette and extracted it, slotting it between his broken and bent teeth, wrapping his dry lips around the filter. He offered the pack to Johns.

"Those things'll kill you" Johns joked, shaking his head at the offer.

Rigsby snorted a short laugh, chuckling to himself. He pulled a black lighter from his other pocket, flicking the cap off and striking the flint with a gnarled thumb. The lighter sparked to life eventually, flame flickering in the wind as it was held up to the bent and crumbled cigarette. Rigsby sucked the flame towards the tip, igniting the tobacco and sucking up a stream of smoke. Rigsby exhaled slowly, feeling the thick air leaving his lungs.

"You don't have to do it y'know" said Johns quietly, flicking his wrist out and taking a look at his watch.

Rigsby snorted again, seemingly more amused than last time. "Wha? Yew boys gonna take me back? Welcome ma'in wit open arms, like am your long lost brother?" He held his arms out mockingly, laughing to himself.

"You only have to ask" muttered Johns.

Rigsby's eyes burned with sudden rage. Bile rose in his throat and his belly exploded with a fury not often roused from him. He clenched the cigarette between his fingers and flicked it into the middle of the street, then turned his head and glared at Johns. His face twisted with hate and the scar down the left side of his face caught fire, his ear to his lip feeling scorched and raw. He curled back his lips and spat onto Rigsby's chest.

"I shudn't have to" Rigsby managed, barely containing himself from boiling over. He stood for a few seconds, the pain in his skin subsiding.

He turned away from Johns's cowering form, pulled another cigarette from the packet and lit it. He took a long drag and blew the smoke out across the street. Johns straightened in the corner, he took a shuffled step closer to Rigsby.

"Sorry" He muttered, "I shouldn't interrupt your business. We've been friends a long time, this shouldn't matter."

"Yew always was a pussy" said Rigsby quietly, "Gettin' in folks affairs."

They stood together for a few minutes, neither speaking. Johns wiped the thick spit of his jacket, Rigsby watched the traffic. A blue saloon came into view at the end of the road, it pulled into their road and sped up once it was round the corner. It looked like many other cars that had already passed. Johns stiffened as he noticed Rigsby's intense gaze fixed on the driver.

"This's him" said Rigsby, "Yew don't be causin no scene here, see?"

Johns nodded quickly glancing at the car approaching down the street. Rigsby took a last quick drag from his cigarette and flicked it across the wet pavement into a puddle. He concentrated on the driver, wary of any action Johns might take.

The car drew nearer, gaining speed as it roared down the street towards them. Rigsby looked on, motionless as it closed the distance. Johns glanced back and forth from the car to the man stood next to him, a look of slight confusion across his face at Rigsby's lack of action. The car drew level with them, speeding through the rain, splashing water across the surrounding cars. Rigsby glared at the driver, then as it flashed past a gap between two parked cars his gaze flicked to the wheel.

The tyre bulged, the rubber straining to contain a sudden build up of pressure. As the car carried on, taking the tyre out of sight, there was a load pop, and the car swirved wildly across the road, slamming into a parked car and ricocheting off it's panels. The driver span the wheel and the car flew to the other side of the road. It hit the back end of a parked SUV, crumpling the front of the car like a crisp packet. The windscreen exploded across the street, fragments of broken glass peppering the back of the SUV shortly before the driver followed. The driver struck the SUV with a sickening crack, blood splattering the black paintwork. The body slumped down across the remains of the cars hood, leaving a trail of blood across the back of the SUV, it came to a rest hanging half off the car, blood trickling to the road.

A second later the SUV's alarm went off, followed a screech of tyres as a car further down the road stopped to see what had happened. Somewhere a woman screamed.

Rigsby turned to Johns, "Now tell me yew didden enjoy that?" he said with a lopsided grin, "The darnest thing, his seatbelt failin' like that."

Johns looked at him, sadness and horror in his eyes and across his face. He walked past Rigsby towards the crash, hoping there was something he could do to help. Rigsby watched him go, knowing that the driver's chances had run out when he hit the SUV. He watched Johns for a while, then turned away, walking out onto the street and away from the crash, the rain began to soak him again, spitting in his face like it was his fault. He hunched his shoulders and walked on, he had other jobs to do tonight.