Squad

The old man reacted before he sat foot on the pavement. George supported him as he was stepping down. When he froze mid-step, it was obvious he had heard something. George let go of him and looked around frantically. Nothing.

“What is it?”, he whispered.

“They are coming! From over there.”

The old man nodded towards the street some fifty yards ahead. At that moment a group of porters and guards stepped into the alley from the pavement in front of the asylum, quickly capping the entrance completely.

“Holy crap! We are done for.”

George let go of the old man and turned around swiftly. The back of the alley had no exits. Only a long array of trash cans along the wall. To the rear, a high wall was rising above them. There was no way out.

“Lie down on the ground and stay calm. There is nothing to be frightened of. The operation will help you. Don’t you know that?”

A tall guard was walking towards them, ominously waving a baton in front of him. Behind him, two other guards lined up and flanked him. George was getting frantic, looking for an exit. They were in the middle of the alleyway, equal distance from the posse and the closed end. He looked up at the tall brick wall in the bottom. There didn’t appear to be any foothold or holes to grab at. They were not going to drill any holes in his skull, that much he knew. The old man would have to stand his own. Near the bins on his right, there was a glitter on the ground. Glass. George ran towards the bins and bend down for it. An empty wine bottle. He grabbed it by the neck and smashed it against the brick wall. The bottom fell out, leaving a serrated edge. At least he had a weapon. He ran out in the middle of the narrow space between the buildings and turned around himself one full circle. The guards had stopped. The leading man had turned his head and said something to the one on his right, looking behind him. No. Even if they were all looking away right now, there was no way he could reach them in time. The bottle would grant him some prowess but it would not win him this fight. Their vengeance would be grim once they overpowered him. That much was certain. He looked down on the broken bottle. He could cut his jugular and end it right there. He’d be clear of them poking in his brain. Would it hurt, though? He tightened his grip on the bottleneck.

“What the hell! What’s he...”

One of the guards was screaming. A high pitched shrill. George looked up. The old man had precariously jumped the front guard and was clenching him in a tight embrace. His face was buried behind the guard’s left ear. A perverted version of a lover’s kiss. But the embrace itself was not one of a lover. It was a predator. A spider. He was practically squeezing the air out of him now. The scream had died out and turned to a sob and the other guards were finally beginning to react. One started pulling at the old man’s arms and the other was beating at his back with a baton. It didn’t seem to faze him at all. Then the guard fell to his knees. Alessandro released his grip and turned to the one with the baton. The guard stepped back and tried to club him with the baton but the old man had already jumped over him and clasped his jaws around his jugular vein. His arms were flailing and he fell backwards onto the ground. The guard that was left, grasped at the old man while the porters bridging the entrance, were finally beginning to move. Some were backing out, ready to run. Others were looking at their colleagues for support. Two had cleared the ranks and began to move into the alley. One having an electric cattle prod in his left hand. George awoke. Bottle raised, he leapt forward and ran the ten yards between him and the guard in full sprint. The guard clasped helplessly at his fallen colleague and looked up the second George rammed the broken bottle into his face. As the guard fell with his hands covering his maimed face, George jumped over him and continued towards the approaching porters. The one carrying the cattle prod hesitated and stopped, while the one coming from behind him grabbed the sinister looking stick from him and walked with a firm gait towards the galloping inmate. As they were about to collide, George dropped on his side and rolled into the porter. The sudden obstacle confused him but not enough to stop him. He stood his ground and planted the cattle prod in George’s side and engaged it. The impact was profound. All muscle fibres in George’s body contracted immediately. Arms and legs struck out backwards as his back arched in convulsion. With an obscene grin, the porter twisted the prod in the quivering body.

“He is down, Hansson. You can stop now.”

The other porter was grabbing him by the elbow and nodded towards the downed man.

“It is okay. Stop. Stop it!”

He released the prod and looked down on the unconscious man. Saliva had foamed around his mouth and his fingers were trembling crows feet.

“Where is the other one?”

They both looked into the alley. The old man was gone.

“Shit. Did you see what he did?”

“Yeah. Was that the old guy from ward C?”

“I don’t know. It ain’t my wing. But he dropped them both like there was nothing to it. I can’t see him anywhere.”

“No, I can’t eith...”

The guard turned around himself as he felt his skin rupture. Strong, sinewy limbs had him firmly in his grip. His right elbow snapped as the foreign body squeezed him tighter. Teeth sunk deeper and deeper into his neck and blood rushed through his veins. Lips curled around the wound in his neck. Sucking. The strain on his neck was unbearable. It felt like it was about to break. As more wounds opened in his neck, blood gushed out and the pressure drop in his body was tangible. His life was leaving him. The thought paralysed him. He just wanted to do good. See to people who needed help. Now he died. Bled. A tremor went through his heart as it halted for a while, then it resumed its floundering beats only to halt completely a second later. Dear God I never wronged you. Void.

They were alone in the alleyway now. The remaining guards and porters had fled. In the distance sirens and alarm bells sounded like mad insects. The old man knelt down by his unconscious ally on the ground and put a hand on his brow. He was warm to the touch, almost febrile. Blind and blistered, he let his hands slide over the paving. After having moved a bit around, he found one of his mittens. That would not suffice. He needed the hood. He bent over; all but touching the ground with his nose, he sniffed. Blood and ozone covered his senses, obliterated them, but after moving around, he caught the faint scent of hemp far off to the right. There, near the brick wall he found his rag bag. Thus soothed by the shading, he returned his attention to George. He put the uncovered hand in his pocket and slid the other hand along the wall for guidance. When he located the body, he knelt down and grabbed him by one arm and hauled him up. With the other arm around his waist, he slowly manoeuvred George out towards the street. The younger man was utterly limp and offered no assistance. He just hung by the old man’s shoulders like a rag doll.

As they got free of the shade of the alley, the effect of the sun was considerable. Allessandro’s uncovered hand burned as if it was dipped in acid. He could feel blisters forming on the skin. The sound of the sirens was deafening by now. What now? The pavement ended abruptly. The unaccustomed dead weight played tricks and caused the old man to lose his footing and they fell over the curb into the street. There was nothing to help him orientate. Smells were abundant but in all directions. Sounds unfamiliar and the sirens ruined any sense of direction. He managed to get up again and moved as quickly as he could out into the street. Cars honked and screeched around them. No one stopped. No one yelled. Please let the other curb be near. A car screeched to a halt, barely missing them.

“Oh, dear! Are you hurt?!”

A woman’s voice. Frightened but sympathetic.

“I didn’t see you there. What are you doing out here on the street like that?”

An angry undertone in her voice now.

“But, dear me. You are hurt! Here, sit down at the curb here. I can hear fire engines coming. You are seriously burned. Sit here and wait a while.”

“We can’t...”

The old man’s voice was raspy.

“We need to get in the shade. The sun... burns.”

“Why, yes of course. Sit in my car. I can roll it over to the shade.”

She gently grabbed him by the elbow and lead him to the car. She opened the door and guided them into the rear seat. George fell long on the seat. Allessandro crawled into the seat beside him. Crouched.

“Please find shade. Darkness.”

“Yes, of course. I will. I will. Okay, listen. There is a hospital a few blocks from here. Is your head burned too?”

“Yes, it is. Some.”

“I will get you there. Sit tight.”

She hurried to the other side of the car and into the driver’s seat. The car slowly caught up speed and with an anxious look in her face, she turned at a corner, into a street shaded from the sun. Behind them, sirens resounded and as the woman turned at the next corner, keeping her eyes firmly on the road, police cars came to an abrupt halt in front of the asylum.

“What is your name?”

“Liza. You?”

She looked in the rearview mirror.

“Alex.”

“What happened back there?”

“The house caught fire. George here got me out but hit his head.”

“Oh, sweet lord. You have been lucky.”

“I don’t think we need a doctor. Just a bit of water and shade, is all.”

“But your burns need treatment. Your head.”

“My head is not near as bad. I keep on this bag because my eyes are very sensitive and... I lost my goggles. I am blind.”

“Oh, dear. Poor thing.”

“It is nothing. I went blind many, many years ago. My eyes don’t take to sunlight.”

“That is amazing. You carried your friend all that way, not being able to see. That is so brave of you.”

“I had to get away from the fire. It was the only way.”

“Okay, hang on. There is a chemist right here.”

She stopped the car and turned toward Allesandro.

“I will go in and buy some burn lotion to put on your hand. Wait for me here.”

She left the car and walked briskly into the shop. A doorbell rung as she opened the door.

“George, are you awake?”

The old man padded him on the cheek. He moved a little bit but didn’t awaken. He put a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was steady. He’d be okay.