15.5
When the night’s festivities became the morning’s festivities – the revellers involved were Grims after all – Solomon gently shook Davey awake.
‘What’s going on?’ Davey said, bleary-eyed.
Solomon shushed him with a flash of his ash-smeared finger to his lips.
‘They’re going to sell us down the river,’ the king said. ‘We need to move on.’
Davey sat up and looked around the alleyway.
The Grims were semi-comatose, strewn among the garbage bags, most of them snoring contentedly after the herculean quantities of hooch and steam they’d imbibed.
As Davey sat up, his bare arm creaked against one of the garbage bags.
Solomon winced and waved his hand at him to stop the noise.
Davey nodded, ‘Ok, ok,’ he mouthed.
The Grims were still snoring in their improvised sleeping bags, which seemed to simply be layered bin bags stuffed full of hair.
Davey pulled himself to his feet, the movement jingling some of the tins in the bags on which he stood.
One of the Grims stirred, turning to face them, muttering slurred obscenities.
Solomon readied himself to launch a haymaker at him, but his eyes only flickered open a sliver before he closed them again, rolled over and resumed snoring.
Solomon shook his head. ‘Keep it fucking down,’ he whispered.
‘I’m trying,’ Davey hissed.
Solomon again thrust his finger to his lips. Waved Davey forward, impatient now.
Davey moved again, every slight movement of his foot bringing more noise from the bin bags beneath him.
Solomon was a man on the edge. Davey had never been the bearer of his rage like this.
Finally, Solomon had had enough and grabbed Davey by the scruff of the neck – one handed, Davey noted – and hauled him clear of the noisy pile of trash.
Solomon gave Davey a swift clip round the ear, muttering curses all the while, then he shoved him down the alley.
He stopped only to search for Monique so he could tell her his suspicions.
It seemed she’d already figured this out as her and Josie were nowhere to be seen.
They glanced behind them a few times, leaving the sleeping Grims where they lay.
An armed Grim stood at the mouth of the passageway, but even he was steamed, leaning against the wall in a drugged slumber.
Solomon crept past him.
Davey was always amazed by how stealthy the big man was.
They crept past without waking him.
A quick glance around the street revealed that there were no cull crews around this area.
‘We seem to have lost them,’ Solomon muttered, relief palpable in his voice. ‘Man, I wish I hadn’t had so much steam. I’m seeing three fucking streets here.’
Davey laughed and shook his head.
They muddled through the streets, unaware of the figure slowly making their way through the shadows after them.
In the abandoned apartment block they found – even the Grims didn’t seem to want to inhabit this one for some reason – they locked the door, barricaded it shut and went up a few floors to find the beds.
The mattresses were mould-stained and still wet in places – the dubious red stains worried Davey but not enough to stop him falling asleep on it, with his cloak as a cover – but it was somewhere to sleep with a roof over their heads.
The sun was rising just as they settled down to sleep.
Davey woke with a start as he heard Solomon coughing. This was no rare occurrence of late, but this seemed a particularly bad bout.
Davey suddenly saw why; clouds of smoke were billowing across the room toward them.
Flames had begun to lick at the base of the door.
They had to get out of here.
He shook Solomon’s shoulder as smoke began to surround them.
Solomon murmured but didn’t wake up.
‘Fuck’s sake, King Solomon,’ he hissed, shaking harder. ‘We’re about to be fucking barbecued.’
‘Mmm,’ Solomon muttered, licking his lips and smiling.
Davey played rough now, grabbing a handful of his beard and pulling hard.
He was dismayed when thick clumps of the ginger beard came away in his hand.
Solomon was up like he’d been personally set on fire, which wouldn’t actually take that long, judging by the way the flames were racing across the room.
‘What’s going on?’ he muttered. ‘Who burnt dinner?’
Davey laughed in spite of the situation.
‘The fucking building’s on fire.’
Solomon jumped to his feet. He chanced a look out of the window and saw some of the Grims from Rick’s cloud.
Their faces were lit by the flames, showing them to be bloodthirsty.
The glass bottles they held in their hands were ablaze.
‘What the fuck are they doing?’ Davey said.
‘Showing us whose side they’re really on.’
Solomon’s eye was scanning around for an escape route.
There were shadows of booted feet outside the door; it seemed the Grims were holding onto the handle to stop them leaving.
He saw a large dent in the wall, clearly where something – a bomb maybe, set by the cull crew in a past cull – had damaged the structure.
The wooden innards of the walls were exposed beneath its plaster skin.
‘That’s our ticket out of here, Davey lad,’ Solomon said, pointing to the dent in the wall.
Davey looked at him like he was mad, but Solomon was already putting his foot through the wood.
Clouds of plaster dust were billowing all around them, mingling with the smoke as the floorboards incinerated.
Solomon was coughing but desperation seemed to be giving him the strength to move.
‘Fire cleanses all,’ shouted one of the Grims, sounding eerily like Reverend Cross.
Solomon was already through the hole in the wall into the next apartment.
‘The floor in here is iffy,’ Solomon said.
Davey took heed and moved slowly.
Solomon grinned as he pointed down at the broken floorboards.
‘Big enough to get down,’ he said.
Davey winced at the thought of more climbing.
Solomon was already climbing down, testing the wood with his hands.
He dropped out of sight.
Davey looked down into the next apartment – which was a carbon copy of the one he’d spent the latter half of his family life in – and saw Solomon’s beaming face.
His arms were held aloft, ready to catch Davey should he fall.
Davey pondered for a second how lucky he was to have found such a kind man to be his guardian.
Not to mention a badass.
He dropped into Solomon’s waiting arms.
Solomon was already shuffling though the hole in the floor towards the next floor down.
‘This goes down a good few floors,’ he grinned.
Everything was going well until they got to the next floor and they went right through the floorboards.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Solomon had tried to grab hold of the floorboards either side of them, but had merely succeeded in taking them with him too.
Davey followed him down, landing on the King’s chest with a thud.
The King was winded, possibly out cold, his eye rolled back in his head a little.
Davey slapped him hard round the face.
‘Just a minute, pet, I’ll be down in a minute.’
Solomon slumped back, snoring.
Davey cursed and began trying to shake him awake.
At least they’d moved from the apartment, but it wouldn’t be long before the Grims figured out where they’d gone.
Solomon finally staggered to his feet.
The door to the room flew open, a flurry of splinters stinging Davey’s skin as they sunk in.
Davey’s knife took out the throat of the first Grim through the door.
He went down, gurgling, his blood spraying the bare plasterboard and wooden walls.
It made the curve of a smile, forming a grinning face below two rivets which looked like malevolent eyes.
Solomon still seemed out of it.
Whether it was the hangover or the fall wasn’t clear, but Solomon was audibly lamenting his indulgences the previous night. ‘Every time I have a fucking drink, Davey lad,’ he muttered, furious.
A Grim burst round the corner, meeting Solomon’s fist hard enough to almost flip him upside down.
The back of his skull met the floorboards with a satisfying crunch.
‘Backstabbing bastard,’ Solomon hissed, stomping on the Grim’s throat hard enough to crack it.
A few Grims raced round the corner.
The floor above caved in, sending some of their friends falling onto them.
Solomon covered his face with his sleeve and dragged Davey through the resulting clouds of plaster dust.
‘If this is like my building there should be another stairwell down this corridor,’ Davey said. ‘Everything else seems the same.’
Solomon nodded, but said nothing.
They had a headstart, but the Grims were catching up on them.
The stairwell door was locked, but Solomon barrelled into it shoulder first, ripping the decrepit door off its hinges.
They found themselves looking down the stairwell, but the majority of stairs were missing.
‘Leap of faith time,’ Solomon said as the Grims began to race in behind them.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and jumped.
Davey followed a split-second later, again landing in Solomon’s strong arms.
They landed, far below, in a battered mess.
They checked their legs to make sure they were unharmed. They hurt so much it wasn’t clear whether they were damaged or not.
Gingerly, they stood.
Davey was amazed how the King had dealt with the exertion, but he was paying for it now. His breath was rasping in and out of his throat. His chest was heaving hard. He looked like he was drowning on dry land.
The Grims seemed reluctant to hurl themselves down like they had, but were already seeking another way down.
‘Are you going to make it out of here?’ Davey said, his concern writ large across his face.
Solomon was too busy coughing to answer. He was bent double, desperately trying to claw breath into his lungs.
Flames were already licking at the walls.
Smoke threatened to obscure their view of the escape route.
‘We’re so close,’ Davey said. ‘Just one last push.’
Solomon nodded, but Davey saw panic in his eye now.
Davey tried to drag him but the big man was too heavy.
Just as panic threatened to drown him, a strong pair of hands was pulling him out through the door.
‘Get your sorry arses down them stairs,’ a rough voice shouted.
Their saviour managed to drag the King to his feet and took his weight with an arm across his broad shoulders.
Davey idly glanced down and saw that they were almost on the ground floor.
A bunch of Grims suddenly appeared and Davey began swinging his fists at them.
‘Relax, we’re from the Freelands, Davey lad,’ the Grim said, pulling him into a bearhug until he stopped punching.
The Grims helped them out of the burning building.
They helped Solomon down the last few steps then began moving towards the alleys once more.
It was a painful run, but they made it to the mouth of another alleyway.
The cloud of Grims who had helped them out of the building were brawling with Rick’s cloud of Grims from District 7.
The street was a chaotic tangle of flailing limbs but the Grim bearing Solomon’s weight managed to avoid the fray and dragged him up a narrow alleyway.
This cloud of Grims locked arms across the entrance.
The good old rivalry between clouds had helped Davey and Solomon in the end.
The Grims fought brutally, as past grievances violently erupted in the present.
Solomon and Davey used the confusion to escape.
‘Fuck me, you’re a bloody jinx, lad,’ Solomon chuckled, scowling at Davey.
Davey burst into tears.
‘Oh, lad, I was just pissing about.’ Solomon’s arm wrapped around him and squeezed him in close. ‘I’m sorry, Davey lad.’
Davey couldn’t control his despair.
‘It’s gonna be ok,’ Solomon promised.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Davey said.
‘Keep your chin up. We’ll get through this, I swear.’
Davey looked up at him through tear-rimmed eyes.
He nodded, seeing the conviction in the King’s stare.
They kept running until some of these Grims – a few of them Davey recognised from the Freelands – ushered Solomon and Davey into a building.
They shut the door behind them.
Other Grims pulled them into the crowd like old friends.
‘King Solomon,’ one Grim said, bowing his head and kneeling before the King.
Solomon slapped him, tears rising in his eye. ‘Please don’t refer to me as that anymore. My recklessness killed many of our brothers and sisters from the Freelands.’
The Grim nodded, a huge red handprint on his face.
‘Pleasure to have you with us,’ one Grim said, throwing his arms around Solomon.
Davey was wary; they’d been here before with the last cloud of Grims.
‘Don’t fret, Davey lad, these lads are old friends,’ Solomon said. ‘I’d trust ’em with my life.’
‘How did you all get in here?’ Davey said.
‘City of Dogs too,’ the Grim – Solomon introduced him as Fisherman Jack for some reason clear only to Solomon and Jack – grinned.
‘Fucking grim ain’t it?’
‘Nowt grimmer, Solomon lad. Nowt grimmer.’
‘You lads are safe here. Get some food and rest. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like deep-fried dog shit.’
‘Thanks, Jack lad,’ Solomon grinned, smacking him on the arm. ‘You always did tell it like it is.’
‘Wouldya have me any other way?’
‘Course not, lad.’
They laid down.
Davey was uneasy, but too exhausted to resist sleep for long.
Davey and King Solomon spent the next few days in Fisherman Jack’s flat.
A few times there were gunshots, raised voices – which Davey knew well enough now to know wasn’t just steamtalk – outside the windows.
‘We haven’t learnt,’ Solomon pondered. ‘After all of this, we still haven’t fucking learnt.’
Davey didn’t like to see him in this contemplative mood.
‘The rich have dropped bombs on us, blown the shit out of us, but still the working man can’t put aside his petty differences and unite against a common foe,’ Fisherman Jack said.
Solomon turned and looked at him.
‘That’s what you said to me the first time I saw a flamebow,’ Fisherman Jack said. ‘I’ll never forget it.’
‘If we all stood together…’
‘I know,’ Fisherman Jack said. ‘But it’ll never happen.’
They slumped into a sombre silence.
‘These mistakes keep repeating themselves over and over,’ Solomon mused. ‘Maybe we’re better off erased from the face of the earth.’
‘Na,’ Davey said. ‘There’s still good in this world. Just look around. Look at what you did, Solomon. You took people in and fed them.’
‘With the flesh of innocent strangers.’
‘Some had to die for the rest to survive. For the greater good, as you used to say to me. You fed your people. You gave them a home. You helped them see the light in this world instead of the dark. You’re a hero to many. If you aren’t a King then I don’t know who is.’
‘He’s right,’ Fisherman Jack smiled sadly. ‘Weren’t for you and your Freelands I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘These times of disaster tore people away from each other,’ Davey continued. ‘But you brought people back together. There’s still good in this world, no matter what Craven and Cross and their kind would show you.’
Solomon suddenly got up and went out. He asked that no one follow him.
Out of respect, everyone agreed, but insisted that he not leave the District.
He nodded his assent to this.
When four hours had passed – Fisherman Jack and his cloud shared the king’s talent for storytelling – Davey realised how long the king had been gone.
‘I know, I’m a bit concerned too,’ Fisherman Jack said.
‘I think we should go look for him.’
‘Me too, lad. We’ll get a search party together.’
Davey went with Fisherman Jack and some of his cloud.
The haunted look in Solomon’s eye was something that Davey feared seeing. It was like staring into a mirror showing his own darkness and despair.
Something like that could drag you down and pull you under if you let it.
Best to shut the door on it and never ever take the latch off.
No matter how loud the knocking became.
He began getting grim images in his mind – like he was going to suddenly find Solomon hanging or laid in a puddle of his own viscera.
The King was upbeat, but Davey knew that he was doing the same trick with himself as he was with the world, showing the light in an attempt to obliterate the inner darkness.
It would be easy for him to get down on himself after seeing his beloved Freelands in ruins.
Davey saw footprints in the dirt outside a burnt out building.
He reckoned they were the King’s.
He bid everyone else to wait.
‘Davey lad? Is that you?’
Davey shouted that it was.
He was overjoyed to hear the King’s voice.
The King was slumped on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them in tight to his chest.
His eye was red and hot and swollen.
‘Heavy lies the crown?’ Davey said, putting a comforting hand on Solomon’s shoulder.
Solomon nodded and burst into tears again.
‘I got all those fucking people killed,’ he sobbed. ‘And I still don’t know where my beloved Tia is.’
When Solomon had calmed down, Davey led him back to Fisherman Jack’s place.
They put the King in his bed with a bottle of hooch, leaving him to sort himself out.
‘He’ll be right as rain after a good drink and a good sleep, I reckon,’ Fisherman Jack said.
Davey wasn’t so sure.
Davey left the King in his bed. The bottle he’d been given the previous night was drained. Not a single drop remained.
He’d be asleep a good while yet.
Davey helped Fisherman Jack’s cloud with their duties – washing, preparing food and guard detail.
He was manning the mouth of one of the narrow alleys that led to Fisherman Jack’s patch when there was a sudden uproar.
He steeled himself, readying the improvised weapon – a slightly bent length of curtain rail with a ragged chunk of masonry crudely jammed into the end of it – that Fisherman Jack had given him.
The Grims guarding the alley with him charged forwards.
Davey squinted through the crowd who were clamouring to be the first to attack the intruder.
Some of the Grims bore curtain rod spears like Davey’s. Some held actual knives. One Grim was even waving around an antique sword which was more rust than steel.
‘Wait, she’s with me, she’s from the Freelands,’ Davey said with disbelief.