DARK COUNTY (3 page)

‘Still with us, Miss?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Good, good. We’ll have some fun later, but there’s something I have to do first.’ With that, he climbed out of the dyke leaving her where she lay.

She heard the sound of the engine very close, then the screech of brakes and the thump of a boy against metal.

She heard voices. She tried to cry out, but she could not. Her lungs had started to fill with blood.

‘Oh fuck!’ A woman said hysterically. ‘Is he dead? Did I kill him?’

‘I don’t know,’ a man said.

After a pause, she heard a familiar voice.

‘Sorry,’ Smash said. ‘I weren’t looking where I were going.’

Tears filled Kelly’s eyes as the lights began to fade.

The nighttime Streets of Darton were bathed in the sickly, orange glow of the street lamps. Benton roamed the streets with the gang, all of them dressed in their jogging bottoms, baseball caps and hoodies. They wandered around like a pack of sneering jackals, taunting those who crossed their path. They lived for the fear they instilled in the hearts of others. Like so many youths from the wrong estates, it was the only power they would ever feel.

Tonight was the first time that Benton had been included in the gang. Before tonight, he had always been well behaved and hardworking at school, but to what end? To his teachers he was invisible just because of the geography of his home. It seemed like his postcode had determined his destiny. He was to be at best overlooked his entire life, at worst judged as a thug. So why not follow the path that society seemed determined for him to take?

When he was a young child, his best friend had been Steve Murphy, the boy next door. As they had grown older, though, Steve had set off on the road to villainy. He became a bully and a troublemaker. His family had a reputation as thugs and criminals, and it was one that Steve was happy to live up to. Though the same age as Benton, Steve had already left school, not officially, just in the sense that he never turned up and the teachers and school board were happy to have him gone.

Now Benton was hanging out with Steve and his cronies. He had to admit he felt excited, his heart thumping with the prospect of what might happen. Whenever they saw someone that they took exception to, they would shout abuse. The victims of these tirades would just hang their heads and quicken their pace. Benton had never felt so empowered.

As they headed into the market place, Joe, the youngest boy in the gang, jumped up and knocked the pay and display sign off its stand. This got cheers from the other boys. Steve rubbed Joe’s hood roughly as a show of acceptance. Benton longed to feel that, he wanted to see that his peers were proud of him. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. Adopting the monkey swagger they all seemed to walk with, he sauntered across the market place to St Leonard’s church. There, he turned his back on the gang, who were all watching with curious gazes, and began to piss over the church wall.

This gained him not only a cheer, but also a round of rapturous applause.

‘Oi!’ came a shout from the main road, making Benton freeze in fear midstream. ‘What are you doing?’

Benton turned to see a policeman approaching. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide. He looked to the others who were just stood giggling across the market place. As the policeman got closer Benton could see that he wasn’t an actual copper, he was one of those Police Community Support Officers. That was bad enough, though. He walked right up to Benton.

‘This is a church, you little shit,’ the P.C.S.O. said, ‘not a bloody urinal.’

‘Well, uh, I...’ Benton panicked, trying to find the words. He was suddenly aware of Steve walking towards them.

‘I can take you in to the station for this,’ the P.C.S.O continued, unaware of Steve approaching. ‘It’s a fine and an A.S.B.O. for you, my son.’

‘You can’t take him in,’ Steve said, bumping into the officer. ‘You’d have to call a real pig for that.’

Suddenly the P.C.S.O looked a little concerned. It was clear that he recognised Steve, but then, what police round here didn’t?

‘Well I can call them to come and get him.’

‘You gonna get them to take us all in are ya?’ Steve asked, smiling. ‘Cos the second you call them on my mate here, we’re gonna kick the living shit out of you till they get here. What you reckon their response time will be?’

‘A few minutes,’ the P.C.S.O. said sheepishly; he knew full well that on a Monday night it would take them far longer than that to get there.

‘How much of a beating do you think we could give him in that time?’ Steve asked Benton.

‘A bad one,’ Benton said, trying to hide the fear he was feeling.

‘Too right, kidder,’ Steve said. ‘So why don’t you get back in your car and fuck off ya plastic plod bastard.’

The P.C.S.O stood there looking like he wanted to say something, but the look in Steve’s eyes told him it was not worth it. He tutted loudly then walked away. The gang began to laugh and jeer him loudly as he walked back to his car.

‘Wanker!’ Benton shouted. All at once he felt invincible.

Steve put his arm round his shoulders and led him back to the pack.

The next couple of hours were spent wandering the streets, drinking cheap cider and smoking roll ups. They trashed a bus shelter, cracking the perspex cover and graffitiing it with spray paint. Benton had never felt so alive, so full of adrenaline. When they came across another gang of youths, they scared them off, Benton right at the front, threatening to smash one of their faces in. In truth, Benton had never been in so much as a play fight in his whole life. The thought of actual violence terrified him. He knew, though, that with Steve on their side, the other gang wouldn’t dare let it turn to actual violence. A year or so back Steve had actually put a kid in a coma in a fight; to this day the kid was a little brain-damaged. Steve had got away with it, though, not enough witnesses, people were too scared of reprisals from the rest of the Murphy clan to testify.

After that, they had gone to the park and messed about on the kids’ play area. Benton was, for the first time he could really remember, truly happy. He felt a part of something, something that mattered. He looked at the other guys in the gang. Steve, the leader, bigger than everyone else by about a foot. Joe, the little annoying shit, who made everyone roar with laughter. Tom, Steve’s right-hand man, next biggest and toughest. The twins, Jason and Sam, they were the most devious; they were the ones who came up with the best ideas. Then there was Walker, the quiet one. Benton hadn’t heard him speak all night, but Steve said he was vicious in a fight. They were the gang, the gang he was now officially part of. They were his friends, and his brothers in arms; together they would tear down the whole fucking town.

‘Right,’ Steve said.

At the sound of his voice everyone stopped what they were doing and listened intently; he was like a general calling his troops to attention.

‘What are we gonna do now?’ he said.

There was a quiet mutter, as though no one could think of anything.

‘Well,’ said Jason, ‘I think Bingo will be kicking out on the old people’s estate up the road. We could go and rob some grannies for their winnings.’

Benton was appalled by this idea; he had no desire to steal from old ladies. He kept quiet, however, not wanting to lose the respect of his peers. He should have, though, he really should have.

‘Not a bad idea,’ Steve said. ‘I’m a bit short of cash at the minute. Take it easy on them, though, they’re only old biddies, no need to rough them up. Threats should be enough.’

And with that they headed up Boston road towards the old people’s estate on the edge of town.

At first, it seemed like an utter waste of time. Sure enough, the bingo had finished and the old ladies were walking home, but in big groups. There was no way they’d be able to control that many of them at once, even if they were just old biddies. Not only that, but the estate was small and well lit. One shout from one of the old women and all of the curtains would twitch, and the police would be called. They had escaped a brush with a P.C.S.O. earlier, but Benton doubted they would be able to get out of a brush with a whole squad of coppers.

‘Well this was a fucking waste of time,’ Sam said, slapping his twin round the head. ‘You really are thick as shit sometimes.’

Jason, taking exceptions to the slap, punched Sam in the arm.

‘Fuck off, twat!’ he yelled. ‘It’s not like you had any ideas.’

Benton was relieved that the plan had failed, hopefully they would head back to the town centre soon, and that would be the end of this.

‘Wait a minute,’ Steve said. ‘Let’s see if there are any stragglers or if any of them look like they’re heading off the estate.’

Damn, Benton prayed that none of these things happened. Earlier he had felt elated to be part of the gang, now he was beginning to think he had made a terrible decision. He had always been brought up to respect his elders. His mother had been a home help for years. When he was little and off school she would take him with her. The old dears would fuss over him and give him money or sweets. It had been like having countless grandmothers, all treating him on a daily basis. He wanted no part of this plan.

‘I better be getting off home,’ he said.

He felt all of their eyes burning into him. They were judging him, seeing that he was not fit to be part of their gang, and if he was not part of the gang, he was a target. He couldn’t stand it.

‘Only joking,’ he said.

The other laughed.

‘Good one, kid,’ Steve said.

It seemed as if Benton’s prayers had been answered, when after ten minutes they hadn’t seen a single viable target. He was sure that the others would get bored of waiting soon, and then they could go and do something else. Then he saw him.

Walking down the street away from the community centre was an old man on his own. He was tall, but very thin, and looked incredibly frail. Benton hoped that the others hadn’t seen him, then he saw Sam nudge Steve and nod towards the old man. To make matters worse, the potential victim was wandering towards the path that led alongside the riverbank. There were no streetlights down there and, often, not many people at this time of night. It was too tempting for Steve and the others. Steve nodded.

‘Let’s follow him,’ he commanded, and they set off.

Benton felt sick; it was like there was a washing machine churning away in the pit of his stomach. As they stepped out of the well-lit street and onto the secluded riverside path, it took a while for his eyes to adjust. All he could see up ahead was blackness. He could not see the old man at all. For a few moments his heart raised, perhaps the old man had managed to escape his fate by turning off the path somewhere. Perhaps he had spotted them following him and had decided to hide off the beaten track. Then, as Benton’s eyes grew accustomed to the dim lighting, he saw the tall, frail man walking up ahead.

Steve led the way as they headed down the path. Joe followed, yapping at his masters heels like a Jack Russell. Tom and the twins walked together in a line. Benton took up the rear with the still silent Walker. He wanted to do something that would alert the old man to the danger, shout out or give him some kind of signal, but what good would it do? The old man would not be fast enough to get away, and all it would do was make them turn on him, too.

As they neared the old man, he looked back at them. Benton could see he was nervous as he turned his head back around quickly and sped up his pace a little. Steve nodded to Joe, who nodded back and then picked up his pace, running ahead of them after the old man.

‘Oi, Mate!’ Joe shouted as he closed the gap between him and the poor old man. ‘Oi, mate, you dropped this!’ Joe was holding up his hand, as if to show the old man something, though Benton knew full well his hand was empty.

The old man took the bait. He turned round and looked at Joe, stopping as he did. At that point, Steve and the rest of the gang charged ahead, leaving only Benton hanging back as much as he could.

The old man saw what was coming and turned and tried to start moving, but it was too late. Little Joe was already upon him and holding his arm. The old man looked terrified.

‘Get off me!’ he yelled, and then shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘Help! Help me!’

He tried to pull away from Joe’s grip, but was too frail. He lifted his walking stick as if he was going to hit his assailant with it, but before he could, the others arrived. Tom grabbed the raised walking stick and yanked it out of the old man’s hand. For a terrifying moment, Benton thought Tom would use the stick as a weapon against the old man. To his relief, Tom threw the stick into the bushes on the riverbank.

Walker took the old man’s free arm. The twins stood off to the side, and then Steve stepped right up to the old man. Benton, as slowly as he was moving, had caught up with them. He just stood off to the side, not wanting to be involved, but too scared to try and stop it.

‘Give us your money,’ Steve said, his face mere inches away from the old man’s.

‘Piss off, you hooligan!’ the old man said.

Steve smiled and nodded. He turned to look at the rest of the gang. Benton could see the eyes of the others egging him on. Not wanting to be part of it, he looked to the ground. He couldn’t stop this from happening, but he was damned if he was going to give Steve his support.

Once he was satisfied that the others were game, Steve turned back to the old man. He pulled back his fist and struck the pensioner, hard in the stomach. The old man bent double, had it not been for Joe and Walker holding his arms he would have fallen to the ground.

Benton felt sick by what he had just seen. He knew now that he did not want the respect of Steve and the gang, they were the worst kind of monsters. It was one thing to feel empowered by frightening those who were weaker than you, but this, this was evil.

As if in response to this thought, Benton heard the twins giggle. He looked over and saw that they found this funny; they were actually enjoying watching a brute like Steve beat up a defenceless old man. Steve put his hand under the old man’s chin and lifted his face. Benton, even in the dim light, could see the tears on the man’s eyes.

‘Give me your fucking money,’ Steve said.

‘No,’ The old man said. His voice sounded rasping as he did his best to hide his pain.

Steve punched the old man in the face. A spray of blood and a wet crunch accompanied the bone in his nose breaking. The man roared in pain like a wounded animal. Benton wanted to cover his ears, close his eyes, and do anything he could to pretend he was somewhere else and not watching this horror unfold, but he could not look away.

The old man slumped to his knees in front of Steve, his arms raised above his head, as Joe and Tom were still holding him. Blood streamed down his face from his ruined nose. He spat out some that had run into his mouth.