Blood Donors (9 page)

Bigger and most definitely badder.

When I pick three of the little ones off of Sabe’s belly fur and show him the culprits he try and eat the dead ones, but the taste too nasty even for him.

I hear a noise. I swear I hear a
pitter-pat
from Mum’s room. Smack my forehead. I am a fool. Ain’t checked on her for – how long? Pick up the fry pan. Tiptoe to her room. Only light, the light from my torch. I see shape of Mum beneath her duvet. No movement. I shine the torch across the floor. No sign of any Megas.

Mum?

She don’ say nothin’. She either asleep or dead.

I sniff the air, searchin’ for their musty stink.

Mum?

Damn, I left it too late. Sweatin’ now. What am I gonna do? If Mum is dead and Dad is gone away in prison, who gonna watch for me an’ Connor?

Me. I’ll watch Connor.

Who gonna watch for me?

Mum?

Listen. Listen deep. I can’t hear no breathin’. I can’t hear no bug
pitter-pat
.

Lean close. I can’t see no movin’ beneath the duvet where her chest be breathin’. She ain’t breathin’. Can’t see her face. She got the duvet pulled up. Like Soft Stuart on the stretcher to the meat wagon, just his toes stickin’ out.

Dead.

I hear rustlin’. Look down where her legs at, and the duvet has started movin’, all weird. Can’t breathe. Everythin’ caught in my throat, like trapped meat. Squeeze my swollen knuckle roun’ the handle of the fry pan. Slow, smooth, pull up the bottom of the duvet, revealin’ her toes, her ankles, now her knees.

No Megabug.

She shifts her leg, bends her knee.
Marsh?
Slappin’ her lips together like she half awake. She was jus’ changin’ position in her sleep.

Damn. She gonna kill me. I ease the duvet back over her feet. Listen close. Hear her breathe deep sleep-breath.

I hear the
pitter-pat
, comin’ now from mine and Con-Con’s room. Sabretooth givin’ a whimper.

This is it. We under attack. My heart hammerin’ like a house party in my chest. Legs won’t move. I look down, see if they been paralyzed by demon bug bites. But it fear gone and paralyzed them.
Move!

I almos’ barge into Mum’s dressin’ table dartin’ out from her room. I’m gonna club with my torch and splat with the fry pan. If I hit the Megas direct, one blow is all it’ll take. Stun ’em, give me time to go for the kill.
Boom boom
my heart.

Get to our room, nothin’ here. Sabretooth sittin’ tremblin’ like Scooby Dooby Doo, startled round-eyed look on his face. He wag his tail, slink towards me on his belly, like he thinkin’ it’s
him
I’m gonna clatter over the head like a baby seal.

Check the whole room again for Megas, cussin’ my dog. Sabre lookin’ shamefaced and cowardly. Dog that cried wolf.

I can’t be two places at once. Sabe got to stay awake too and keep guard. Drag him back through to Mum’s room, shut him in. If Megas goin’ to invade the room, they’ll suck at the dog first. He can howl the alarm before they start suckin’ on Mum.

Sorry, boy. Promise I’ll check on you.

5 a.m
. Connor snorin’ away. Quiet as a bug myself, I pull down his sheets so’s not to wake him. He wearin’ a T-shirt and boxers. His arms and legs are polka-dotted by bug bites. Five or six crawlin’ on him. Make me quietly go nuts, ’cos Connor’s blood be swellin’ their bodies.
Every night they suck my bruv’s blood, and mine, and Mum’s.

They also suckin’ at Mustaph, and Sis, and Big Auntie. All I know, they suckin’ at everyone in the whole block. No one able to stop them.

And now big bugs. Megabugs, to suck us good and dry.

Don’t nod off. Don’t close eyes. Do your duty.

6 a.m
. Guzzle the last can, Blufrog. Check on Mum. Sun risin’. Sweet. No Megas. Shinin’ torch in corners, patrollin’ posters and books, pillows, mattresses – check seams, check for holes, go through clothes drawer, shake out my gear, shake out Con-Con’s socks and boxers. No more bugs. No Megabugs. Don’t sleep. Don’t.

7 a.m
. Connor saying
Marsh?

Was I asleep? Am I bit?

Marsh?

I nodded out, but it OK. Check myself. No Megas. Check bruv.

Why you lookin’ at me like that, Marsh? You losin’ it, bruv
.

Maybe. But it be mornin’. We survived. We all right.

I take a shower, wake me up, wash off my warpath smell. When I come out, Mum makin’ Con-Con toast and I can tell she got the hump big time. Maybe she mad enough over Sleepy Lady, maybe for me bangin’ on about bugs, maybe for gettin’ me another suspension, but mostly ’cos big-mouth Connor tell her I sat up all night drinkin’ pop.

She keep glancin’ at the space on the wall where we had the picture of Dad, which I put up when we moved in. She took it down not long after. In her head the photo still there – ’cos when she’s stressed I see her lookin’ at it. At the empty space.

She don’ know I fished that photo out of the junk drawer. My own eyes get to rest on it whenever they please.

Con leaves the room, get ready for school. I’m butterin’ toast for me and my dog. Mum starin’ at me, dead-eyed. Sound of the knife spreadin’ marge across the toast scrapin’ across the silence, louder than it oughta, like a bug back inside my ear, scrunchin’ at my brains.

Mum, dead-eyed.

Like she doin’ her microwave countdown from ten so her temper don’ explode. Wait for the
ping
. There ain’t no
ping
. She get to zero. Minus one. Minus two.
Scrape scrape.
Minus three. Minus four. Bug chewin’ my ear. Minus five…

What?
I throw down the knife.

She stare down at the knife. Look up from the knife to my face. From the blade to my eyes.

What?

Marsh…
Her head still countin’. Minus six. Minus seven.
Marsh … what were you looking for in Mrs Lalwani’s flat?

Mrs Lalwani. Guess that’s Sleepy Lady.

What am I supposed to say?
I told you
.

Marshall
she say, fingerin’ a tea towel in her hand, fidgetin’ like worry beads,
did Mr Bush owe you money?

What?

She look away from me.
They say it sounded like you were hassling him. Was it – was it payment?

Mum, what are you talkin’ about?

She won’t look at me.
Can’t
look at me.

I see.
Is that what Compo said?

She reaches across the table, puts her hand over mine. Now she’s gazin’ at me proper deep.
Officer Cotton told me he’s concerned about you…

I pull away, jump to my feet.
Officer Cotton.
Compo don’t know jack!

Marshall, please…

This what I get? This my thanks? This what happens when I do what I got to do as eldest of the house?

Marshall, Officer Cotton couldn’t do anything for Mr Bush. He was already dead…

Already dead.
The words sink in. I failed. Did too little, too late.

It was overdose, Marshall. Bad drugs
.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear what are we goin’ to do? What? What?

Mum is goin’ on.
Why did you stay up all night?
And on.
If you’re on something, you can tell me – please?
And on.
Marsh, are you involved with dealers?

I ain’t hearin’ this. I’m outta the room.

In the livin’ room I’m throwin’ cushions.

I’m starin’ at nothin’.

Mum starin’ through me. She still holdin’ the tea towel, stop her hands doin’ what she don’ want them to.

I’m thinkin’ about Dad.

Connor comes through, dressed for school.
Hey, Mum
he say,
you ain’t goin’ to believe this. We got bullet holes all across our wall
.

Nice one, cheesebag
. Bro hates me and Mum diggin’ at each other. Play the joker, lighten the vibe.

Connor, I have serious dealings with your brother. Last thing I need is you adding your own nonsense
.

But my bruv got a twisted look. Remind me of the time he wet the bed, came in lookin’ all fearful, eyes like egg yolk.
It’s true
he say.
Come see
.

Mum toss down her tea towel and throw me a quick glance as if to say
Don’t think I’ve finished with you, boy
. I follow her into the bedroom.

Sure enough –
bullet holes
. A wobbly line of ’em near the ceilin’, like MechAssault 2 been played out for real, in our room.

Mum start tremblin’, real bad. I never seen this before. She start freakin’, soon as she seen the bullet holes, hand shakin’ like she been sittin’ in a deep freeze.
My handbag
she mutters, her voice all croaky.
Marshall, my handbag – now
. She don’ look at me as she gives her order – can’t take her eyes off the line of bullet holes on the wall.

I dash to the kitchen, get her bag, but somethin’ ain’t right. I seen these bullet holes before somewhere.

Why you need your handbag?

She fumblin’ round in a panic, spillin’ make-up and hairbrushes and tissues.
Emergency number
she says, almos’ to herself.
I warned them something like this would happen…

Emergency number? Bullet holes? I am in confusion. I pull up a chair and I stand on it, stretch an arm up towards the holes.

Behind me, Mum is sayin’
It’s why you pulled Connor in from the balcony, isn’t it? Because—

My heart stops.
These ain’t bullet holes
. I scratch at one of them. It’s like black paint, same size and shape as a bullet hole. But it scrapes away under my nail. I sniff it, wrinkle my nose.

What?
say Con.

Who are you mixed up with?
say Mum.

I know for sure Mum ain’t goin’ to take this well, but I say it anyway. What choice do I have?

Ain’t no bullet hole
.

What?
Con repeat.

It’s giant bug poo
.

I hold out my finger, so they can take a sniff.

Giant bugs paid us a night visit after all.

Mum says she’s goin’ to get me to see a
specialist
.

Did you
paint
these?
she say.

What, she think I am that twisted?

She say
How can I cope, bringing you up on half a wage, place as busted up as The Finger, worrying about your dad, and here you are with – what? With
deep psychological problems
.

She turn and look at Con-Con.
Please
she plead at him,
don’t follow your brother—

I go ape.
I ain’t got no deep psycho problems, I jus’ got eyes in my head, brain behind my eyes. You can’t admit evidence that in front of your face, you got the problem!

Con-Con place a pile of books on top of the chair, help him reach, scratchin’ away at the holes himself.
Bug poo
. Sniffin’ at his fingers.
Giant bug poo
. Can’t keep how impressed he is out of his voice.
How big are the bugs, Marsh? Are they as big as the TV? Bigger than Sabretooth?

In the centre of us all goin’ ape and bein’ struck awesome, I got a voice in my head, askin’ me over and over
Why’s she stressin’ about Dad right now? What’s she doin’ with a
emergency number
in her bag? Why’s she believe them was actual bullet holes?

I didn’t mean to do no tippin’ her over the edge.

I talk soft.
I’m tryin’ to do right, Ma. Watch out for us all
.

Before she can answer me, we hear the sirens.

Seems like the sirens comin’ straight out of her head, ’cos my own head is buzzin’ from the energy drinks and lack of sleep, and my mum is in a emergency situation. Riot squads blazin’ inside her.

But no. Sirens are from down below. Mum jolts like a bolt of electricity shot through her. We all rush to the balcony, see what’s happenin’.

Meat wagons
. My voice say the words all flat. Tricky to be pleased with yourself when dead people happenin’ all over your zone.

Go back inside, Connor
. Mum don’t want him to see this.

Uh-unh
. He ain’t goin’ nowhere. We’re peerin’ over the balcony, we got police, we got ambulance. I ain’t happy to be proven right.

Is it a dead person?
Con’s eyes fix on a stretcher bein’ carried over to a meat wagon.

It is a dead person.

Go inside
Mum insists. He pretends not to hear.

It gets worse.

Two more stretchers come out, followed by grievin’ grown-ups. Mr and Mrs Vertov. I know them, their kids go to Connor’s school. I notice the stretchers, each one carryin’ only half a load.

Get inside!
I snap at Connor.

I seen these littl’uns playin’ in the park when we gone taggin’. Leo and Lola, brother and sister. They don’t even half fill the space on the stretcher, jus’ skinny things.

Empties.

What, now?
I glare at Mum.
You goin’ to be sayin’ that they done hard-druggin’ also?

Ambulance men bring out yet another stretcher. This one give us the nastiest surprise. As they struggle to lift the stretcher into the back of the wagon after carryin’ the weight down all them stairs, one of the men slip and the stretcher tilts, almos’ drops. Death blanket falls away from the corpse’s face. Flat out on this stretcher is one Sleepy Lady. She havin’ a lot more than 40 winks. I look at Mum and she look at me, and we both thinkin’ the same thing. We thinkin’ about when we was in Sleepy Lady’s flat. Was we the last people to see her while blood still flowin’ through her veins?

This be anywhere else in the city, all these dead bodies gettin’ carried out the same building, place’d be crawlin’ with Papa Ratzis, takin’ gruesome pics and all. But ain’t no media raisin’ an interest in a bunch of dead scuzzies like us.

Meat wagon drive away. Sirens switched off.