Road to London: City of the Dead

XV - August 4th

"Cheers!" Israel proclaimed as he lifted his beer into the air.
"CHEERS!" came the hearty reply from round the campfire. The silence of the night was broken by the hiss of gas escaping from the cans of Fosters and Stella Artois as they were cracked open. Everyone had been delighted when by the haul of the sixty cans of larger and four bottles of vodka, discovered in the boot of a red Vauxhaul Astra that had been lying abandoned on the road near where they had set up camp.

It wasn't long before the inappropriate stories were being reeled off. Before the first round of cans were done, the whole group was in stitches as Israel regaled them with the tale of how he had caught James fingering Stacy Chadwick in a wardrobe at Will Errand's house party.
"Brilliant..." James said flatly, obviously not particularly proud of his actions on that night.
"And that's not even the best bit!" cried out Israel between swigs of Smirnoff, "When I opened the door he turned around and looked at me like some naughty little kid who’d been caught nicking sweeties out his mum’s handbag!"
With this Conrad literally fell off the log that he was sat on. Even in the light of the fire everybody could see that James had gone bright red.
"it wouldn't have been nearly as bad if you hadn't called everyone over to have a look!" he protested incredulously.
"And I swear to God," Israel continued, ignoring James' pleas of embarrassment, "that when you pulled out, I heard a little POP!"

Despite the likelihood that this final detail was absolute bullshit, everyone keeled over with laughter and then began repeating the sound that Israel had just described. Hiya-ko didn't join in, but shook her head disapprovingly with a large grin on her face. Israel had actually expected her to refuse to drink completely but she was sipping away at her Stella the same as the rest of them. Katrina stood up, stumbled over to James and wrapped her arms around his head. "Aww, Jamesy, don't you listen to them!" she had adopted a motherly tone and held James' head to her chest protectively, "I'm sure they're just jealous!"
"Don't fuckin' think so!" Israel bellowed, "Stacy Chadwick is a fucking bint! And there you were, strummin' away at her like y'were playing Guitar Hero or so'thing."

After Katrina finally managed to swallow her giggles, she spoke up with a matter-of-fact expression on her face, "Actually Izzy," she said, pointing at Israel and addressing him by his most hated pet name, "If I remember correctly that wasn't the only interesting thing to happen at that party!"
To this, Israel held out his arms and motioned for her to bring it on, that he could take whatever she was about to hit him with.
"Wasn't that the night Lat gave you a blumpkin?"
"Yeah, and what?" Israel retorted, determined to hold his ground while the rest of the group pissed themselves laughing.
"NO!" interjected Latiwa, furious.
"C'mon love," said Israel with a expression of faked guilt on his face, "nothing wrong with a blumpkin every now and again, no use pretending otherwise anymore," to which Latiwa began slugging into his arms and shoulders, not with anger but with that heated annoyance that couples often display and is followed but by immediate forgiveness and affection.

Nathan looked at Israel in disgust, unable to believe what he had just heard. "You sir…" he declared, pointing his finger accusingly at the huge Israeli who had countered his girlfriend's attack by smothering her into his chest, "are fucking grim!"
"Woah, woah. woah," Svetlana butted in, "what is this 'blumpkin'?"

"Well," Israel had obviously decided that it was better to tell the story himself and so avoid the potential exaggerations that his tale about James had included. "you remember how Will's party had a pretty good setup?" everyone nodded. It had been a decent party; the alcohol didn't run out, Chou had been spinning the decks and Will's uncle had lent him a gigantic pair of speakers along with strobe lighting and a smoke machine.
"It was about two o'clock, we'd gummed all our mandy and miss Latiwa was getting a little frisky," this was followed by wolf whistles and chuckling, "so we found a nice quiet bathroom on the ground floor, I pulled my trousers down and Lat... Ahem!" Israel cleared his throat and put on a posh, articulate accent, "...began performing an act of felashio on myself..."
"So blumpkin means blowjob..."
"AND THEN..." Israel raised his voice over Svet's interruption, "I proceeded to void my bowels while the act of felashio was in effect. And that, Svetlana is a bumpkin,"

Svet looked at Israel with disbelief, attempting to come to terms with what had just been said. She failed and vomited violently by her feet. The hysterical laughter that followed this was accompanied with shouts of repulsion as people tried to scurry away from the growing puddle of sick.
“Someone can’t handle their vod!” bellowed Israel. As latiwa began helpfully holding Svet’s hair behind her head, Israel gently slapped her face, “You’re a disgrace to Mother Russia!”

***

The tent was hot. So terribly hot. Israel felt like a sweaty dog whose owner had left him in the car on a sunny day with none of the windows open. He peeled off the sticky sleeping bag to find that he was naked underneath. He didn’t remember stripping in the middle of the night but that’s what must have happened. He saw the zip on the tent door and began crawling painfully toward it. His limbs were so heavy and his head was splitting but he kept dragging himself forward.

As he pulled himself over Latiwa’s slumbering body she yelped. “What are you doing you stupid white boy!?” she demanded. Lat’s Nigerian accent was always stronger in the morning, when she hadn’t had time to put herself into an English mindset.
“Shutup Kelly, go back to sleep!” he replied, calling her after Dame Kelly Holmes, the Black-British Olympian who she genuinely did resemble. Israel reached out a hand, grabbed hold of the zip and tore the door open. He heaved himself through the tiny hole and out into the fresh air. He took a deep breath and thanked God he was able to escape that wretched tent.

He was more hungover than he had ever been in his life thanks to his insisting on finishing all the alcohol that was leftover when the others had either passed out or slithered off to bed. He hauled himself up onto a log and placed a wet towel over his lap to preserve his decency. Then, after locating his baccy tin on the floor, he rescued it from Svet’s vomit stain and began assembling the one thing that could make him feel better right now. A big fat dooby.

To his horror he found that he was down to his last eighth-ounce of bud. It would be enough for this morning but he would desperately need to find some more soon or the Wake an’ Bake routine he’d kept up since they left St. James’ would soon be a thing of the past. Taking a few King Size rizlas from the packet he began rolling three decently packed King F-plates and a small blunt. All four were very well rolled indeed. “And God saw that it was good…” he muttered to himself proudly.

“Breakfast’s ready!” he called, loud enough so that everyone in the campsite could hear. His announcement was followed by the sound of scuffing as the seven other members of the group frantically scuttled towards the source of the voice that had promised them a delicious morning meal that would take away the horrific pain in the heads.

Nathan was first out of his tent. It had only been a couple of days since his huge breakfast at the Bettle House and Israel suspected that he was still ravenously hungry. Nathan sniffed the air, searching for the hint of baked beans or fried eggs. He was instead met with a whiff of cheap ganja and he stared furiously at Israel, who was sat naked on his log with a lit joint in his hand, wearing his finest troll face.

“You wanker!” Nathan said angrily, “You said there was food, I’m fucking starving!”
“Then come have a nibble,” Israel whispered seductively, waving the spliff under Nathan’s nose, “you haven’t got stoned with me in ages.”
Nathan’s face softened and he sat down next to Israel. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess you’re right”

There were more groans as the others saw that Israel had been having them on. After Nathan, Conrad seemed the most annoyed. “Why would you even do that?” he demanded, enraged, “can’t you just get high without being a total asshole!?”
“Oioi son!” started Israel, pretending to be offended, “just sharing the love y’know! Take a seat”
“I don’t even smoke pot! You know that you dumbass!”
“I don’t even smoke pot dumbass!” Israel mimicked in an exaggeratedly high and whiny American accent, “Stop being a twat and just have a joint with us,”

Conrad looked for a moment as if he was going to argue, but then rolled his eyes and took a seat next to Nathan, but not before he made it clear that he wasn’t joining in due to peer pressure, but was instead because he may as well now that he’d been woken up. When Everyone was awake and had had their own personal rant at Israel, the weed began to be passed around. Latiwa took her battery operated iPod dock from her bag and stuck on “Hits from the Bong” by Cypress Hill. She began singing along with as close to a Puerto Rican accent as she could muster.

"Goes down smooth when i getta clean hit,
Of the skunky, funky,
Smelly green shit"

For the next few minutes, the group just chilled. Even though Katrina wasn’t smoking she was enjoying the atmosphere as much as the rest of them. Occasionally there would be a communal chuckle when James failed to pull off an Irish Waterfall, or a hail of booing when Conrad refused to take another hit from the shotty-bong that Israel made from a metal tube and an empty Pepsi bottle. Israel watched as Svetlana toked on the blunt. There was a quiet but distict crackling as the flaming red tip chased the roach. She passed it to Nathan as she inhaled, her chest expanding slowly. She waited for a few seconds, staring into space before releasing. A river of white, opaque smoke poured from her mouth and nostrils into the air around her face. She choked violently, more and more smoke emerging from her throat. When she stopped convulsing, she vomited again, in exactly the same spot as she had the night before

"Whitey!" Israel bellowed, repeating his routine of slapping her annoyingly on the cheeks.

After everyone had finished laughing at Svet and Nathan had lain her back down in her tent to have a nap, Israel came out with a comment that made everyone stop and think;

"I wish Eduardo was here..." he said, "he'd have loved this..."

Before Israel got together with Latiwa and Nathan began going out with Svetlana, Eduardo had been the third musketeer of their friendship group. Although officially American, Ed was a second generation Mexican immigrant. Even though he'd lived in English speaking countries all his life he insisted on using the words "si" and "gracias" instead of yes and thankyou. He also referred to Nathan and Israel as "hombre" or "ese". Eduardo had been diagnosed with a brain tumour aged thirteen and possessed a licence that entitled him to purchase medicinal marijuana back in Los Angeles. Eduardo was like a big, Hispanic, green smoking teddy bear. Nathan and Israel had never really recovered from Eduardo's death and after the tumour had taken his life the two had drifted apart. That was one of the up-sides of the deaths in Israel's opinion. It had brought him and one of his best friends back together.

"Yeah, he would have..." said James who had also been one of Ed's good friends. James looked up at the clouds for a few moments, reminiscing. Then he smiled and announced to the group, "you know, I think I'm the only person who knows what happened with Eduardo and Eleanor Turnpike back in year ten!" this declaration attracted the attention of everyone around the smouldering fire. The exact facts of what had gone on at the St. James' Christmas Party between those two was a mystery that nobody had yet been able to unravel. Eleanor, the gorgeous gymnast with the twenty year old boyfriend and a body that the other girls in their year would kill for.Eduardo, not the best looker but undeniably charming.Now that both were dead James was the only person in the entire world who could shed light on the situation and Israel could already see Katrina and Latiwa about to claw him to pieces to get at the gossip.

"You know," James began with a huge grin on his face, "I can't tell everyone," he scanned the group with a mischievous gaze. "And thanks to Israel I'm pretty hungry right now," he rubbed his stomach tenderly, "so lets say, the first person that brings me some fresh meat to eat will be the only person who will ever know Eduardo's last secret!"

"What are the rules?" answered Svetlana straight away, not questioning this demand in the slightest but instead rearing to go. "Umm," James paused, thinking, "you can work in teams of no more than two. You can take a firearm and only one round of ammunition. You cannot fight each other. You cannot travel further than a mile from this exact spot. You cannot bring me roadkill." After counting the conditions off on his fingers he looked around impatiently. "That is all"

*****

Israel and Nathan stared at the deer hungrily. It was a large handsome buck, with magnificent antlers and a muscular physique. Israel could almost taste the delicious venison in his mouth already. "How far do you reckon?" asked Nathan, who was doing his best to calibrate the scope on the hunting rifle. He had never touched one before and was confused by the lines and numbers that dotted the sight.
"Umm, about 75 metres I guess," Israel replied. Nathan adjusted the dial on the scope so that the interval labelled 75 was in line with the stag's head and the cross hair was several feet below its body. Then Nathan raised the rifle slightly so that the cross hair was back on the deer. Nathan wasn't familiar with guns at all, but he was sharp. He realised that this meant that although the gun wasn't actually aiming at the animal anymore, the trajectory of the bullet should be on target.

"what about wind and stuff?" Nathan asked, "don't I have to take all that bollocks into account?"
"I wouldn't worry mate," Israel answered, "it's not that windy so it's probably best to forget about it..."
Nathan nodded but he was sweating heavily. "Aright, loading now," with his right hand he took the single .300 round and slid it into the breach on the side of the rifle. He only had one shot to down this buck and it would be the first shot he'd ever taken. He closed his left eye instinctively, pointless as this was. Exhaling slowly, he pulled the trigger.

Israel watched as the deer's left antler snapped clean off and span away into the field. The stag reared up onto its hind legs and wailed in agony. "Fuck!" shouted Nathan, looking up from the rifle. He had either calibrated the scope incorrectly or the weapon hadn't been zeroed correctly in the first place. His target was just about to bolt when an arrow sunk into its left eye. The beast's cry was cut short and for a second it swayed gently back and forth before keeling over onto its side. "FUCK!" screamed Israel, as he saw Hiya-ko spring from a nearby bush and bound over to the carcass.

Israel was about to scramble to his feet and run over to the deer when he felt something hard and metal pressed to the back of his head. He froze, then without moving his head he looked over at Nathan. He too had a mussel to his head, a long barrel connected to a fierce looking assault rifle.
"Drop the fucking weapon," the man behind Nathan said. He had an unmistakable South London accent. Though Israel couldn't see the man he could see the khaki sleeves above the hands that were holding the gun, "or I paint the grass with your fucking brains..."