Tube Riders, The by Chris Ward Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Ward
said, shepherding his brother away from the edge of the pavement. They had come too far out into the open; the mob only had to look up to see them. There was an alleyway across the street, but Paul knew they would have to run. ‘Be ready, Owen. When I say…’
Up ahead, he saw one man toss a glass bottle at the mini-mart window. There was a loud crash and then flames burst out through the shattered glass, spitting at the approaching men who flinched back, laughing and shouting. As the flames eased, they started forward again. Several covered their faces and rushed inside. Paul heard shouts and cries, and then some of the men reemerged, arms laden with canned food, bottled drinks, and over-the-counter medical supplies.
A gunshot sounded inside, followed by a cry, then another shot. Moments later two thugs dragged a man who could only be the shopkeeper out into the street. Another man was trying to wrestle something out of the shopkeeper’s hand when the gun went off again and the looter went down. He screamed as blood pooled around him.
Frozen to the spot, Paul said, ‘Owen, don’t look!’
‘They’re setting fire to him! We have to stop them!’
Paul watched as two looters held the struggling shopkeeper down while another splashed something out of a bottle over the man’s clothes. The same man pulled a small box from his pocket and lit a match.
‘No!’ Owen screamed as the man dropped the match and the shopkeeper’s clothes ignited, engulfing him in flames. The shopkeeper screamed. The two looters jumped out of the way as the body writhed, burned. One man laughed as he batted at a spark that had caught on his jeans.
‘Hey look!’ someone else shouted. ‘Gapers!’
The man who had shouted pointed towards them. He shouted something incomprehensible over the screams of the dying man.
‘Owen, let’s go. Quickly now.’ Paul grabbed his brother’s arm and together they dashed across the street and into the alley as several of the looters gave chase. With their pursuers drunk and laden with weapons and loot, Paul knew they had a good chance of escape, but there was no telling what they might find around the next corner, or the next.
‘Where are we going? Home is the other way!’
‘Exactly!’
Owen’s school bag was slowing them down. Paul tried to keep it over his shoulder while pulling his brother with the other hand, but it kept slipping off. He wanted to jettison it, but the cost of replacing Owen’s books was more than he could afford. If he didn’t have the money, Owen couldn’t go to school. Paul didn’t know what the future held for either of them, but he was convinced Owen had far more chance with a little education.
But he was huffing. What he did at night to keep them fed and clothed was most of the exercise he got, and mostly he just closed his eyes and tried to blank things out. ‘Owen, I can’t run anymore. We have to hide.’
‘Where?’
The alley intersected with another smaller one and Paul dragged Owen down it. ‘Down here, we can hide behind those bins.’
‘Paul, no, are you stupid?’ Owen tried to protest as Paul hauled him along, deeper into the dark concrete crevasse, past upturned dustbins and piles of old furniture.
It was too late. Paul had fallen into the old alley trap. He had hoped to be out of sight before the looters spotted them, but the junk in their way had made progress too slow. They heard a couple of men run past, but another stopped and turned to follow.
It was the one who had set the shopkeeper on fire. His age was difficult to determine, his face scarred and soiled as it was. He might have been fifty or fifteen. ‘Well, look what we have here,’ he snarled, giving them a sour grin. He swayed drunkenly, a piece of metal pipe in one hand.
‘Get behind me, Owen,’ Paul said, closing on the looter, not giving the other man time to think, to formulate a plan. He wished he had his clawboard with him to use as a weapon, because even though he
Up ahead, he saw one man toss a glass bottle at the mini-mart window. There was a loud crash and then flames burst out through the shattered glass, spitting at the approaching men who flinched back, laughing and shouting. As the flames eased, they started forward again. Several covered their faces and rushed inside. Paul heard shouts and cries, and then some of the men reemerged, arms laden with canned food, bottled drinks, and over-the-counter medical supplies.
A gunshot sounded inside, followed by a cry, then another shot. Moments later two thugs dragged a man who could only be the shopkeeper out into the street. Another man was trying to wrestle something out of the shopkeeper’s hand when the gun went off again and the looter went down. He screamed as blood pooled around him.
Frozen to the spot, Paul said, ‘Owen, don’t look!’
‘They’re setting fire to him! We have to stop them!’
Paul watched as two looters held the struggling shopkeeper down while another splashed something out of a bottle over the man’s clothes. The same man pulled a small box from his pocket and lit a match.
‘No!’ Owen screamed as the man dropped the match and the shopkeeper’s clothes ignited, engulfing him in flames. The shopkeeper screamed. The two looters jumped out of the way as the body writhed, burned. One man laughed as he batted at a spark that had caught on his jeans.
‘Hey look!’ someone else shouted. ‘Gapers!’
The man who had shouted pointed towards them. He shouted something incomprehensible over the screams of the dying man.
‘Owen, let’s go. Quickly now.’ Paul grabbed his brother’s arm and together they dashed across the street and into the alley as several of the looters gave chase. With their pursuers drunk and laden with weapons and loot, Paul knew they had a good chance of escape, but there was no telling what they might find around the next corner, or the next.
‘Where are we going? Home is the other way!’
‘Exactly!’
Owen’s school bag was slowing them down. Paul tried to keep it over his shoulder while pulling his brother with the other hand, but it kept slipping off. He wanted to jettison it, but the cost of replacing Owen’s books was more than he could afford. If he didn’t have the money, Owen couldn’t go to school. Paul didn’t know what the future held for either of them, but he was convinced Owen had far more chance with a little education.
But he was huffing. What he did at night to keep them fed and clothed was most of the exercise he got, and mostly he just closed his eyes and tried to blank things out. ‘Owen, I can’t run anymore. We have to hide.’
‘Where?’
The alley intersected with another smaller one and Paul dragged Owen down it. ‘Down here, we can hide behind those bins.’
‘Paul, no, are you stupid?’ Owen tried to protest as Paul hauled him along, deeper into the dark concrete crevasse, past upturned dustbins and piles of old furniture.
It was too late. Paul had fallen into the old alley trap. He had hoped to be out of sight before the looters spotted them, but the junk in their way had made progress too slow. They heard a couple of men run past, but another stopped and turned to follow.
It was the one who had set the shopkeeper on fire. His age was difficult to determine, his face scarred and soiled as it was. He might have been fifty or fifteen. ‘Well, look what we have here,’ he snarled, giving them a sour grin. He swayed drunkenly, a piece of metal pipe in one hand.
‘Get behind me, Owen,’ Paul said, closing on the looter, not giving the other man time to think, to formulate a plan. He wished he had his clawboard with him to use as a weapon, because even though he