Aftermath by Robert Clark

Author:Robert Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

Twenty-Nine

The two big men backed off. I could tell from the look on their faces that they had not expected such a display of force from one man. Sure, both men together could quickly subdue me, that was a given. But now I wasn’t a man to them. I was a wolf. I was a wild card. The looks on both their faces told me that they were regretting every single life choice they had made that had led them to be in this place at this time.

I played on their fear. I lurched forwards, egging them into a reaction. They retreated further, then turned and ran as fast as their fat little legs could carry them.

I turned back to the three hyenas. The guy I had stabbed was rolling around on the floor, clutching at his wound. He would need a hospital, but I wasn’t about the help him with that. He looked up at me absolute fear. The guy with the sore throat was struggling to breathe. Every breath would be agonising. The first man was unconscious, probably from the sudden collision with the cobbled stone beneath him.

Three men down in less than five seconds.

Absolute resolution.

‘You,’ I said, pointing at the man with the throat trouble. ‘What size are your shoes?’

‘What?’ he wheezed.

‘Your shoe size. What is it?’

‘Forty-Five.’

Ten and a half in English sizes.

‘Give me your shoes.’

He didn’t question my decision, not that it was exactly clandestine. He wore boots. Black in colour, and with some metal studs protruding from the cap. They were pretty ridiculous – like their owner – but they were less ostentatious than the others and better than nothing. He hastened to undo the laces, and he kicked them over to me one by one.

I picked them up.

‘Thanks, and don’t forget to be kind to strangers.’ I said as I turned to leave.

But as I did, something caught my eye.

Opposite the bar was a row of empty stores. Each had been abandoned long ago, probably due to the type of clientele that frequented the bar. Each had a large metal shutter drawn down over the storefronts. Each had been vandalised and abused. Various spouts of graffiti turned the once black metal into an array of distorted grungy colour.

Over the years, a plethora of advertisements had been pasted over the graffiti, showcasing events in the area, then the vandals had reapplied the spray paint. The cycle had continued, again and again, resulting in a thick canvas skin coating the buildings like a half-hearted insulation alternative.

But there was one spot that had caught my eye.

Amidst the disarray, a single poster had fought for attention. It was no surprise it had stolen my gaze. It was hardly discreet. The poster consisted mostly of bright orange shapes and writing on a black background, and advertised a Halloween party for October of the year before. It had survived a winter of celebration and bad weather and made it through to February still intact.

But it wasn’t the event that allured me.

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