I run, zipping through the tunnels, keeping to the far side and out of arm’s reach of the sleeping bundles.
My fears grow the closer I get to Olive Tower. An old green sign marks the exit. The words no longer read Olive Tower, having been drawn over so many times in the past. Now the O is a devil’s skull replete with horns and snaked tongue that flickers out and along the sign to where the R of tower used to be. Only, now, the R is a naked woman, her head thrown back with her arms in the air and the devil’s tongue pressing itself in between her splayed legs.
Things like that make me afraid to live here. It makes me afraid not only for myself but for Casey and the boys too. They’ll grow up in this place, surrounded by these things and they won’t know any better. But I do. I planned to get us out of the Vale once I graduated and got a decent job. My escape was never just about me.I was always going to take Mum and the kids with me. I wonder if that’ll remain a dream now?
I dash up the exit ramp and straight into the small parking lot at the front of the Tower. My eyes take it all in. I might hurtle towards my fate, but I’m fully aware that this could be the last time I see these sights. I’m certain he’s going to kill me or at least hurt me so badly that I’ll never be the same. The dread in my gut is a living, breathing thing and it’s never been wrong before.
The Tower shimmers blue in the dawn light. The light reflects off the glass windows, seeming to erase the world within the block. Gone are the ragged curtains, the dirty glass and faces that peer out across the world. Mostly faces of those who lost their jobs at the local factories. Tired faces and cruel faces.
Like the ones sitting on scooters and motorbikes outside the Tower entrance.
Gangs outside the building are nothing new. But a gang on bikes at six a.m. is suspicious. This is a complication I really don’t need. There’s no obvious way to the door, and I doubt they’ll let me pass without trying to mess with me. Fuck.
They haven’t spotted me, so I watch them, all eight of them, and from the way they mess around and circle the bikes, I suspect they’re bored. Yet, something about them rings untrue.
At first glance, they appear scruffy, laid back, a little grungy even. They all wear hoodies. All dark blue. One boy at the front, the only one with his hood pulled back, watches the bridge. Anyone driving or walking to the Tower has to come in that way or via the tunnels.
Four things feel wrong to me. First, they are all wearing blue hoodies and not in the way that says,‘‘Ooops we all dressed alike today to go marauding.’’ No, they all wear theexactsame hoodies. Same size, same brand, same colour. Vale gangs aren’t that organised or fashion conscious.
Second, the bikes are more like scooters and they, too, are all the same; impersonal and lacking any kind of customisation.They might as well have hired them all for the day. It’s actually a possibility.
Third, the way they speak immediately flags them as outsiders. These guys are not from Harrison Vale. They’re not as classy as Tom or Dax, but they sound clear, crisp, and precise. Even the words they use are unusual, far too formal and well-educated for the Vale.
Last, they each carry a long aluminium bat, and something tells me they aren’t here to play ball. I don’t know who they are waiting for, but I have no intention of witnessing it or getting beaten or killed for the trouble.
I’m stuck between a Tower and a dark place. They haven’t seen meyet,but I can’t get to the Tower without drawing their attention and I can’t make my way to the street for the same reason. There is a slim chance they’ll let me by with no issue, but it’s unlikely, which leaves me with the tunnels and going back the way I came.
Also, not an option. I need to get in there. Now.
I take a couple of steps backward, the slope of the ramp dipping behind me, just to give myself space to think. Except, as I move, I catch the eye of one lad hovering on the outskirts of the group. We both stop and stare at each other for a few unblinking moments.
I start to hope that he doesn’t care about my presence at all, but just as I blow out my breath, I hear him shout, “Over there!”
The others turn, training their watchful eyes on me. My feet lock in place. I’m certain, if I run, they’ll catch my fear like a scent on the breeze and hunt me down. It’ll only make me more interesting to them; something fun to play with.
“Are you just going to stand there, girl?” One of them shouts over. I can’t tell which.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of us? It’s okay, little lamb. We’re just hanging out. Nothing to fear here.” He laughs and the others laugh with him. Two bikers break from the pack and come at me on either side. Finding my feet responsive, I take another two steps forward and think of a route to the door where I’ll have an advantage over the bikes, but there isn’t one. They’ll get me whetheror not I run, but I’ve got to at least try. I slide one foot back to brace and push off, then tense my body, lowering and leaning forward.
“I wouldn’t run, if I were you,” the one sitting to my left says, reading the change in my posture too easily.
“We’ll only come after you if you run,” the one on the right confirms, realising what I’m doing. Up close, I notice they’re not as young as their clothing suggests, nor as grungy. They’re clean, shaved, muscular men. There’s an eagerness in their eyes that warns methey’ve been waiting for someone like me to come along.
“Not just someonelike you, Jules,” the one on the left sneers. My heart pummels my chest. I’m in deep shit. My mind is whirring, but I have the wherewithal to notice two things; I spoke my thoughts aloud and this fucker knows my name.
“We were waiting for you. Only you. Come on. Time to join the party.” He twists his hand and the bike shoots expertly down the side of the slope and around behind me. He corrals me forward with sharp little bursts of the throttle. The sound jolts my feet into motion. I get almost halfway across the parking lot when I realise I’m playing straight into their hands. I’m acting like a scared little girl, and they are getting off on it.
I straighten my back, fix a scowl on my face, and hold my head up high. My fists bunch at my sides ready to throw a punch or two if I need to. Not that I’ll get far with those baseball bats of theirs, but if I go down, I’ll go down swinging.
“Which of you Dickweeds is in charge?” I shout across the lot. The guys all laugh at me, but I scan each of them for some kind of answer. As the laughter dies down, the head guy pulls forward on his bike and leans against the handlebars.
“Me.”
“So, you’re the Dickhead, huh?”
“You think you’re a funny girl, I see? You won’t be laughing when I am done with you.”
“Sure, sure. So, what the fuck do you want, or are you just here to piss me off?”
