clearly drunk a little too much petrol. "I've been out siphoning today."
"Really," George said, "I never would have guessed." Rolling his eyes, he looked around them. "With you already telling me and all."
The high-pitched cackle turned into a hacking cough. After spitting on the floor, Ginge looked up, his eyes spinning. "Isn't it obvious?"
George sighed.
Moving so close that George could smell his halitosis, Ginge lifted his top lip up and his bottom lip down. His words came out as a muffled slur.
Pulling his head back, George frowned at the man. "What are you trying to tell me?"
Letting go of his lips, Ginge pointed at his face. "This is why I hate siphoning." Spreading his lips again, he then leaned forwards.
Holding his breath, George saw what the problem was and nearly vomited. Running along the inside of both of Ginge's lips were so many ulcers that they looked like insect eggs on the bottom of a leaf. Barking another deep heave, George stepped back. "Fucking hell, that's disgusting." With his hand over his mouth, his stomach tensed again. "Does it hurt?"
"Like hell."
It was a good job that dry crackers were the only things George had eaten. Anything else would be on his boots by now. "You need to get that looked at. It won't be long before it's septic."
Shrugging, Ginge lifted the Jerry Can, walked past the women's truck and placed it next to the wall of them that were already there. Whenever George was outside, he always had half an eye on their supplies. They had enough petrol to last them weeks. They had enough petrol to set half of London on fire. Regardless of this, Dean still sent people out for more.
When Ginge walked back past the cage, he banged his fist against it, sending out a loud rattle. He then blew the women a kiss and thrust his crotch forwards. "Maybe one of you lucky ladies will get to ride this soon." The ring of his laugh bounced off the walls outside and then up the corridor as he disappeared into the block.
Staring at the door Ginge had just disappeared through, George couldn't help but imagine the filthy looter kissing one of the women. The cluster of ulcers would no doubt pop like tiny bath pearls. Thick, yellow puss would ooze from his mouth.
When his stomach rolled again, he shook his head.
He needed to get away from this place.
Help
Standing in the tower's heavy shadow, George looked up at the bright moon. When the cold's skinny fingers found the gaps in his clothes, he hugged himself in a futile attempt to stay warm.
Looking up at the line of windows along the side of the tower, George saw they were all dark except for Dean's. Each window was an opportunity for one of Dean's little minions to watch what was going on below and report it back to him. The building was rammed full of sycophants who would cut their own arm off to gain favor with their master. Although many things had disappeared because of the crash, Big Brother was as strong as ever.
In his previous life as a bouncer, George had spent every shift checking his watch to see when his night would end. The night shift felt much the same except he didn't have, or care for, a watch. You were done when you were done. That was usually when the sun rose. If Dean liked you, that was. Ravi would always have to do an hour or two more than everyone else. Dean once sent a message around that he should be left until lunch time. As a 'fuck you' to Dean, George nearly went down to relieve the boy. Nearly. As always, he chose the coward's path.
There were at least four hours left before George was relieved of his duty. It would more likely be six. Bouncing on the spot for warmth, he then rubbed his freezing face and turned full circle to see what was happening.
The bright moon allowed him to see as far as the perimeter fence, but beyond that, it was inky black. It was hard to get used to the lack of light in a city where light pollution used to almost banish the moon.
As he stood there, he
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