Killer Kittens from Outer Space- Chapter Thirty One

Chapter 31

Tommy

The driveway burned.

Even in the shade of the broad eucalyptus trees that his foster father so lovingly doted on, the incessant heat of the sun turned the concrete into a searing hot pan you could cook an egg on.

Tommy hopped from foot to foot, kicking himself for forgetting to don a pair of sandals— he still called them that, even though Robert had jokingly threatened to flog him with a pair for refusing to put on thongs instead. He couldn’t go back for them now, the walk out to the end of the drive had been hard enough the first time.

His family was leaving. The commodore was crammed with luggage, so heavily encumbered that Tommy wondered whether he’d have fit in the first place— though he had no doubt Mary would have made something work.

“…not leaving until these friends of yours show up,” his foster mother emphasized again, wiping at her eyes. “You’re certain that this place you’re going to stay is safe?” A pang of guilt welled up in Tommy’s stomach at the sight of Mary’s tear-stricken face. She’d spent the better part of the morning trying to convince him to come with them, but as the day wore into the afternoon and it became clear that he wasn’t going to budge, her desperate pleading had given way to resignation and worry.

“I’m sure, Mary,” he said, trying to put a smile on for her. “And they’ll be here any moment now, you’ll get to meet them, I promise.”

As if on cue, a black V6 Calais pulled up smoothly into the street parking right outside the house. An unruly mop of black hair sat in the driver’s seat, turned to say something to the passenger, then stepped out. Danny was dressed in the Melbourne uniform— black on black on black, looking almost like he’d stepped straight out of the peak goth era of the nineties. He spun his keys around his finger lazily, then ambled over.

“All right, Tommy?” he asked, looking lazily between the family members. Bridget was already in the van— she’d given Tommy a brief, tight hug, told him how much of an idiot he was being, and then plugged her headphones in. Robert was taking the measure of this newcomer, and Mary was… well, Mary was crying.

“Danny, these are my foster parents Robert, and Mary,” Tommy introduced them. He turned to his folks. “Danny’s got me a job at Seamus’ tackle shop. They’re letting me stay in the apartment above, just while I find something a bit more permanent.”

“A fishing shop, eh?” Robert looked Danny up and down, frowning at the ripped jeans and black painted nails, quirking an eyebrow. Danny just smiled an easy grin.

“Don’t look much the part, do I?” he said, “I’ll admit, I’m better at selling tackle than rigging it.” He jerked his head toward the car. “I only started the job to help Seamus out. He’s needed it since he’s been wheelchair-bound. Had to move out of the upstairs too, access issues and all that. Honestly, Tommy would be doing us a favour by staying there, it’s just piling up dust.”

Hearing his name, Seamus leaned out of the passenger side window and waved. Robert returned the gesture, then turned his attention back to Danny.

“And you’ll pay him a fair wage?” Tommy’s foster father narrowed his eyes at the darkly clad man.

“On top of room and board,” Danny confirmed with a nod, taking the interrogation in stride. “We’ll hash out the specifics later today, but he’ll be taken care of, I can promise you that.” Seamus cleared his throat, fanning his face with a hand, and Danny smiled again, turning towards the car. “Sorry, I’d better go turn the key. Don’t want the old man perishing in the heat.”

“I’m only ten years older than you, ya git!” Seamus called from the car as Danny walked back over to him, and Robert snorted in amusement, exchanging a look with his wife. He shrugged at her, and she nodded back reluctantly, still sniffling. Then he turned to Tommy.

“Here,” he said, flicking a set of keys across. They spun lazily in the air, jingling until Tommy caught them in surprise. “Filled her up this morning. You’ll need your own wheels if you’re going to stay in town. Just be sure to cover up the signage, there’s some paint in the garage.”

Tommy pocketed the work van’s keys, swallowing heavily. “Thanks,” he rasped.

“You stay safe, you hear me? Keep your nose clean.” Robert clapped him on both shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “I know you only came to us because of all the horrible shit that’s happened, but… it’s been good to have you around. For all of us.”

Fuck, tears. He blinked them away. “Y-yeah. Thanks d… Robert.”

He'd tried. He really had, but the word wouldn’t come out. Robert just smiled like he understood. “Take care Tommy,” he said, giving his arm one last squeeze and then moving away so that Mary could hug him. “You keep in touch, you hear me?” We’ll let you know how we get on and touch base once we’ve found somewhere to stay for longer than a few nights.”

“Make sure you eat well,” Mary fussed, squeezing him like her life depended on it. “Call us tonight, before you go to sleep, okay? ”

“Okay,” Tommy agreed, submitting to the hug. “I’ll keep you all in the loop, I promise.” After a few moments, Robert gently pulled Mary away.

“Let the boy breathe, love. We’d all best get going before it gets much later,” he said, his voice turning serious. “You clear out of here before sunset, you here me Tommy? I know they gave us a week, but I wouldn’t trust a word that comes out of that kind of bloke’s mouth. They’ll try something eventually. Especially if the wrinklies visit that steakhouse again.”

You don’t know the half of it, Tommy groaned internally. He just nodded.

“Bye Tommy!” Bridget called from inside the car.

“Take care mate, look after yourself,” Robert said.

“We love you, Tommy.” Mary said, allowing herself to be steered into the passenger seat by her husband.

“Love you all too,” Tommy fought the lump in his throat.

As his foster family piled into the Commodore, Tommy finally seized the chance to hop over onto the cooler grass. Then the V8 engine roared to life, and, with a final set of waves, started reversing up the driveway.

Tommy strolled across the grass towards Danny’s Calais, still waving as his family backed out. He stopped by the open passenger window and exchanged a nod of greeting with Seamus.

“They’re a good bunch,” the older man commented, raising his hand to wave back at Robert as the green commodore backed fully out onto the street, then peeled away, starting down the road. He looked up at Tommy, resting his elbow on the windowsill of the vehicle. “We’re losing daylight though. Danny’s going to give you a hand carrying whatever you need out of the house while…”

Seamus kept talking, but the rest of what he was saying didn’t register, as, with a horrible sinking plunge, Tommy’s stomach dropped in horror. Movement caught his attention. A car had started its engine further down the street. Dark Ford station wagon, no plates, blackout tint.

It pulled sharply out onto the road, then accelerated quickly, bearing down on them then slamming on its breaks to come to a lurching stop alongside Danny’s vehicle. A familiar face peered across at the three men, lit with a sinister, empty smile.

The wiry man again, the one with the gun.

His eyes bore holes into Tommy’s own, and he said something to his passenger that Tommy couldn’t make out, something that made the other man laugh, then jerked his head.

“What the fuck?” Danny spat, his hand darting down to grab at something beneath his seat, but the wagon was already moving again, tires screeching on the melting asphalt as it tore away down the street after Robert’s vehicle, then disappeared around the same corner.

The hammer in Tommy’s gut came down again. He screamed. “No! No, no, no, no! That’s them!”

Seamus swore. “What the fuck is going on? Danny, call them!”

Danny lowered the chunky black handgun he’d procured and scrabbled for his phone. He'd no sooner found it than the sharp staccato retort of gunfire barked out over the sunbaked streets.

“NO! NO, YOU FUCKING CUNTS, NO!” Tommy’s legs were moving without thinking and, half stumbling, he fell forward, barely able to keep them beneath him as he sprinted around the side of Danny’s car and out onto the street. His feet slapped against the bitumen, burning on the black tar, but there was no pain, only horror and dread that filled him as he forced his body to move faster, as fast as it could go. More gunfire, the screech of tires, and then there was an almighty BANG, followed by the screaming whine of a clapped-out engine.

“Tommy! Wait, fuck!” Seamus swore.

Behind him, Tommy heard Danny’s tires squeal as he pulled away from the curb, but the man was forced to take the turn in three points and Tommy was already gone, tearing off down the road on foot with his heart in his mouth, too scared to even scream, so it was only the sound of his breath, the slapping of his feet against the road and the rush of blood that filled his ears, filled them with a horrible roar like a roiling ocean barely held back by a strained seawall.

He rounded the corner, and the strength left his limbs. He stopped.

The commodore was smoking. Thick black rubber marks wound across the street behind where it had come to rest up against the thick trunk of an old acacia tree. Further down the road, the rear wheels of the dark Ford sped off, going the wrong way around a roundabout and disappearing.

There was broken glass strewn across the road, but Tommy paid it no mind as he staggered forward, almost falling as his legs threatened to give out. The car became a green smudge as hot tears filled his eyes. A sound, something low, long, and keening escaped him.

“MOM, DAD, BRIDGET!” he screamed, and around him on the street doors started to open, faces peering out through windows. He hit his beacon, over and over, each time prompting a high-pitched beep from the device as he took another staggering step forward, towards the crash, towards...

Another engine. Danny’s V6 sped past, pulling up on the opposite side of the street to the smoking commodore, and the man jumped out, wearing an expression dark enough to match his outfit. He jogged across the street towards the wreck, reached out for the door handle, then took one look through the window of Robert’s car and flinched backward.

“Help them!” Tommy’s yelled, but Danny was retching, bile spraying across the grass by the tree, and the smoke was getting darker, shimmering with heat. “Help them, Danny!”

But Danny wasn’t pulling them out of the car. Instead, he was backpedaling as a gout of flame spewed from the engine block of the once-pristine Commodore, and as Tommy finally came up on the smash the dark haired man threw his arms out and caught him, pulling him back and away from the wreck, up against the side of his own car, putting himself between Tommy and his family.

“They’re gone mate. They’re gone,” he was saying, but the words didn’t make sense, because how could they be gone, they were just here. “Tommy, stop, stop, they’re go— erk.”

One of Tommy’s flailing arms caught the man in the side of the head, and for a moment his grip loosened enough for Tommy to wriggle free, starting forward, craning his neck to see—”

No.

At last he saw through the broken windows and into the cab, into the chassis riddled with bullet holes.

No.

The sight carved its way into his brain, and he screamed again, screamed until his voice went hoarse.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

“Danny!” Seamus yelled pointing at the flashing red light at Tommy’s hip. “He’s hit his beacon!”

“Shit,” the thin man swore, rubbing at his head. “We need to leave. What about Tommy?”

“They’ll be tracking him already, who even knows how long it’s been since he hit it,” Seamus said, sounding shaken. “If we’re leaving, it needs to be now.”

“Fuck,” Danny growled. He looked around, then started waving someone over. “Hey, HEY! Help me with him! Please, it’s his family in there!” When there was no response, he swore again.

The next thing Tommy knew, he was being dragged away, then forced down into a seated position, his back to something hard— the trunk of a tree. His body was numb, he could hardly feel anything. There was no strength left in him to stand.

“Stay here,” Danny said firmly, then he hesitated. “I’m sorry. None of this makes any sense.” Then he was gone, the screech of tires taking him away, and the next moments were a blur of stranger’s faces, questions, and the scream of jet engines.

Then, there was only the dark, and it welcomed him with open arms.






Well, that was an absolute rollercoaster to write.

I kept trying to justify any other outcome, but every time, something pulled me back to this scene. Poor Tommy.