Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

If youre reading this, then the likelihood is youve read book one. If thats the case, thank you. Ive had some amazing support and reviews for Crash, and I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone for doing so. Its a controversial book, so the positive reviews mean a lot to me.

I plan for the Crash series to span many books, although I do have the end in mind. The violence diminishes as the books progress, which is good because some of the scenes have been really hard to write. My other work, while tinged with horror, certainly doesnt go to the depths of depravity that the Crash series does.

Crash 2: Highrise Hell, is Georges story and follows on from the end of Crash. The intention is to tell each book from a new perspective as the cast of characters cross paths.

Crash is inspired by the global recession of 2008. What if money became worthless overnight? What would that do to the one percent? What would that do to the ninety-nine percent? What would that do to the poorest in society, who in the UK are the ones being blamed for all of the problems? Go figure. With class tension high in the UK, how would the previously oppressed react?

Reviews are so important for authors, so if you feel inclined, please leave a review wherever you bought the book. If you want to keep up with my future work:

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Thank you for reading, and I would love to hear from you.

With only a few days left before my partner gives birth, I have to dedicate the book to Gromit (my sons name for her - we still cant decide on a name).

I look forward to seeing your little face and the light that you will bring to an already amazing family.

Also, to anyone who has downloaded this book. Thank you.

George looked at his bloody hands. They were evidence of what hed become. Hed made an orphan of an innocent boy, and for what? Hed left him in a burning house to

Look out!

Fuck! George gasped. He squeezed the wheel. The people were too close. The truck wasnt stopping.

Head for the gap.

It looked too tight.

Fuck it!

He hit the horn. He winced.

Fuck!

Bang!

The wing mirror flipped in. Arms and hair flailed. Children screamed.

When George hit the brakes, the shudder of the ABS ran up his tense leg. Rapid breaths racked his large body, each one providing less oxygen than the last.

Stars swam in front of his eyes. The corners of his vision closed in. His world was being crushed. His galloping pulse throbbed in his temples.

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

With his mouth stretched wide, George fought to get air into his body. Slowly, each breath pulled him back down from the panic attack, suffocation seeming less likely with the passing seconds.

Sitting back, he unpeeled his grip on the wheel one finger at a time. While staring ahead, he stretched his aching digits. Some of the dried blood came away in flakes.

The stench of Ravis aftershave was bad. When it was mixed with the reek of burning rubber, it sent sharp needles of pain stretching through Georges sinuses. Pinching the bridge of his nose did nothing to stop the headache that was rapidly spreading behind his eyeballs.

Looking across, he saw Ravi dipping his head to look into the wing mirror. The boy was wide-eyed and several shades paler than his usual hue. He looked as bad as George felt. Looking into his own mirror, George couldnt see much. What the fuck just happened?

Without removing his glare, Ravi shrugged. You just hit her.

I know I fucking hit her.

The boy still didnt look across. When George focused on Ravis wing mirror, he saw a spiders web of cracks running through the glass. Light and color shot off in all directions, and it was still bent in from the impact. Its only a mirror, Ravi. We can replace it. Hell, we can get a whole new truck if we need to.

N n n Shaking his head, Ravi pointed instead.

Hot saliva filled Georges mouth, and his palms started to sweat when he saw what the boy was talking about. Hanging from the black plastic was a lump of flesh the size of a fifty-pence piece. It had tendrils of blonde hair flipping in the breeze.

Looking behind again, George saw that a crowd had surrounded the woman. Do you think shes okay?

Ravi didnt reply.

What shall I do?

What can you do?

Stars swam in his vision again. The collar on his t-shirt suddenly felt too tight as it pressed against his neck. Pulling at it, he opened the window to get some fresh air. Panic rode the cold currents as many of the group behind screamed and cried.

Thunk!

Glancing across, George saw that Ravi had also wound his window down and had pushed the mirror back in place.

Holding his chest, his heart kicking against his palm, George frowned at the boy. Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack? Although Ravi was twenty-six, George still considered him to be a boy.

I just wanted a better view, man. Theres what, forty of them? Why arent they retaliating?

Because theyre mostly kids. Two-thirds of them at least. In the chaos, George could only understand one word.

Help!

Watching a man run to the downed woman, George looked across at Ravi, who was watching it too. He must be the one in charge.

The crowd parted to reveal the fallen woman, and a cold chill ran through George. She looked like a broken doll, lying on the floor, unmoving, limbs splayed. Wheres that blood coming from?

There was no reply from Ravi.

Staring at the ever-increasing pool, his guts churning, George burped a flat taste of cornflakes. After three weeks of eating nothing else for breakfast, the stale cereal was getting tedious, especially since milk went bad weeks ago. Hed now resorted to eating them with water.

She jolted.

Fuck!

She jolted again.

Maybe shell be okay, George?

Dont try to humour me. Shes fucked. Unless that mans Doctor Frankenstein, she aint getting up and walking away. Running a hand through his thick, greasy hair, George looked at his lap. Why did I drive so fucking fast?

We have to move fast. Remember when Si was jumped on Penge High Street? If hed been driving faster, they would have left him alone. If you drive too slow, the gangs see you as an easy target. We lost four men that day.

The men we lost were a waste of oxygen. Shes a woman looking after kids. Her death means something. The leather creaked as he twisted around in his seat for the first time. Where are the others? I hope theyre moving slower.

When the two pick-ups rounded the corner, George relaxed. Thank God, theyre driving slowly.

I wouldnt count your chickens yet.

Theyve slowed down! Fucking hell, whats wrong with you, boy? A bit of positivity, yeah?

Ravi shrugged.

Whats that supposed to mean?

You should know. Youve been in the gang longer than I have. Deans an unpredictable mother fucker. I wouldnt assume this crowd was safe until theyre at least three post codes away from that lunatic. Scratching his silly little beard that ran along his jawline, he added, and Id still be hesitant then.

Okay, theyre hardly the cavalry, but this group doesnt pose us any kind of threat. They dont look like they have anything worth stealing.

It didnt take the silence that met Georges comment to make him realize he was being hopeful. He knew Dean well enough. Better than most in fact. Looking behind again, he saw many of the group stood slack-jawed and silent. While grinding his teeth and with his stomach locked tight, George tapped the steering wheel. Why arent they moving out of the way?