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Authors: Michael Robertson
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already peeling away, while the car itself was covered in an ever-increasing barrage of plaster and falling masonry.
Remaining at the top of the driveway and shrouded in smoke, Dean howled at the sky. In the near silence of their surroundings, his howl was thrown back at him as if there were a hundred other Deans currently causing similar chaos throughout London. For all Chris knew, that's exactly what was happening beyond his gated community.
A gust of wind cleared the smoke at a point that coincided with Dean taking in his surroundings. It allowed Chris to see the sociopath's total detachment. A chill then flicked through Chris' body, and every muscle locked tight. He was scared because it was clear that there wasn't a rational thought in Dean's head. He seemed devoid of empathy. If he got hold of Chris, or, God forbid, Michael, there would be no mercy.
Although they were a few paces farther back to be away from the smoke, the rest of the looters stood around Dean in a semi-circle as if worshiping him. The only one who wasn't there was George; he was still in the cab of the truck with the food supplies in the back. He'd removed his thick gloves and placed them on the dashboard as he picked his nails, clearly distancing himself from the proceedings.
Feeling pressure against his legs made Chris jump. When he looked down, he saw Michael staring back at him. "I thought I told you to stay where you were." His voice was still low and croaky.
Looking up, his pale face slack with exhaustion and fear, Michael swallowed hard and said, "I just wanted to see what was happening."
Pulling a heavy sigh into his body stimulated another cough that Chris barked into his sleeve. Ducking away from the window, he let a couple more out and said, "If we're going to survive this, Michael, you need to listen to exactly what I'm telling you to do. I can't have you running around." Pointing at the window above them, he said, "What if they see you? What then?"
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to see what was happening."
The guilt of telling him off sent a pang through Chris' heart, so he pulled Michael in and hugged him, inhaling the now familiar dirty and wet smell of his son, before saying, "They've set fire to Frank's car."
"Frank's car? He'll go crazy if he finds..." Michael sighed and looked at the floor.
Lifting his boy's cold chin, Chris stared into his sad eyes and said, "Now stay put, okay? They're getting too close for us to be running around the house."
Michael stared at his dad.
Looking out of the window again, Chris watched Dean speak to his gang, "Right, boys, house number two. We're going to have some fun with this place."
Michael took a sharp intake of breath that was a little too loud, and Chris shot him a harsh glare as he said, "Shhh."
Oblivious to his dad's reprimand, Michael seemed like he was lost inside his own head. "We're number three, what will we do?"
Trying to keep his voice as even as possible in spite of his galloping heart, Chris said, "It's okay, mate, I have a plan. We just need some rope." He then added through gritted teeth, "And keep your voice down for Christ's sake!"
Looking around for inspiration, Michael then said in a whisper, "What about the garage, D--"
"There's nothing in the garage we need. The only thing in the garage is my car." Softening his voice, he then added, "Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to get cross. The problem with the garage is that they might see us if we go in there." He wondered if Michael saw the lie. "Just sit tight, and I'll think of something."
A shriek from outside suddenly cut through their conversation and made Chris' heart sink. He knew the looters had gone into the Gerrards' house, and he knew what he'd see. He'd just hoped it would have taken a little longer to find them. He looked out of the window again and swallowed against the thick chunk of dust still sat in his throat.
Leaning into his dad's legs again, Michael whispered, "What's happening? What are they
Remaining at the top of the driveway and shrouded in smoke, Dean howled at the sky. In the near silence of their surroundings, his howl was thrown back at him as if there were a hundred other Deans currently causing similar chaos throughout London. For all Chris knew, that's exactly what was happening beyond his gated community.
A gust of wind cleared the smoke at a point that coincided with Dean taking in his surroundings. It allowed Chris to see the sociopath's total detachment. A chill then flicked through Chris' body, and every muscle locked tight. He was scared because it was clear that there wasn't a rational thought in Dean's head. He seemed devoid of empathy. If he got hold of Chris, or, God forbid, Michael, there would be no mercy.
Although they were a few paces farther back to be away from the smoke, the rest of the looters stood around Dean in a semi-circle as if worshiping him. The only one who wasn't there was George; he was still in the cab of the truck with the food supplies in the back. He'd removed his thick gloves and placed them on the dashboard as he picked his nails, clearly distancing himself from the proceedings.
Feeling pressure against his legs made Chris jump. When he looked down, he saw Michael staring back at him. "I thought I told you to stay where you were." His voice was still low and croaky.
Looking up, his pale face slack with exhaustion and fear, Michael swallowed hard and said, "I just wanted to see what was happening."
Pulling a heavy sigh into his body stimulated another cough that Chris barked into his sleeve. Ducking away from the window, he let a couple more out and said, "If we're going to survive this, Michael, you need to listen to exactly what I'm telling you to do. I can't have you running around." Pointing at the window above them, he said, "What if they see you? What then?"
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to see what was happening."
The guilt of telling him off sent a pang through Chris' heart, so he pulled Michael in and hugged him, inhaling the now familiar dirty and wet smell of his son, before saying, "They've set fire to Frank's car."
"Frank's car? He'll go crazy if he finds..." Michael sighed and looked at the floor.
Lifting his boy's cold chin, Chris stared into his sad eyes and said, "Now stay put, okay? They're getting too close for us to be running around the house."
Michael stared at his dad.
Looking out of the window again, Chris watched Dean speak to his gang, "Right, boys, house number two. We're going to have some fun with this place."
Michael took a sharp intake of breath that was a little too loud, and Chris shot him a harsh glare as he said, "Shhh."
Oblivious to his dad's reprimand, Michael seemed like he was lost inside his own head. "We're number three, what will we do?"
Trying to keep his voice as even as possible in spite of his galloping heart, Chris said, "It's okay, mate, I have a plan. We just need some rope." He then added through gritted teeth, "And keep your voice down for Christ's sake!"
Looking around for inspiration, Michael then said in a whisper, "What about the garage, D--"
"There's nothing in the garage we need. The only thing in the garage is my car." Softening his voice, he then added, "Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to get cross. The problem with the garage is that they might see us if we go in there." He wondered if Michael saw the lie. "Just sit tight, and I'll think of something."
A shriek from outside suddenly cut through their conversation and made Chris' heart sink. He knew the looters had gone into the Gerrards' house, and he knew what he'd see. He'd just hoped it would have taken a little longer to find them. He looked out of the window again and swallowed against the thick chunk of dust still sat in his throat.
Leaning into his dad's legs again, Michael whispered, "What's happening? What are they
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