The Chaos by Rachel Ward

move.
    ‘Let’s sit down,’ I say, ‘talk like men, you and me.’ 
    We’re in an old warehouse. They’ve got a fire going in one corner, with crates pulled up around it. We sit down, a metre apart. The flames are reflected in his eyes, as he leans forward.
    ‘So, tell me. What are these lies that you’re writing?’ 
    You mustn’t tell. Not anyone. Not ever. But maybe I can tell Junior. He won’t believe it anyway, and it won’t make any difference to him now, he won’t have months of agony, not like Mum, because today’s his last day. 
    I take a deep breath.
    ‘When I look at people, I see a number. It’s the date of their death. Sounds freaky, I know, but it’s true. I’ve always seen them. There’s nothing I can do about it.’
    ‘So you can see my number?’ He’s playing me along, trying to make me think he believes me.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘And you wrote it down, in your book. That’s the number I saw?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Today.’
    I fall silent. It’s half-past nine, dark and cold. The rain’s battering down on the corrugated roof. He’s got three and a half hours left, tops. It don’t seem likely. All his mates are here. There’s four of them, and one of me.
    He looks around him and spreads his arms out wide.
    ‘So, where is it, man? How’s it going to happen?’
    This is creepy. It’s sick.
    ‘How’s it going to happen, Adam? I read it, read what you said. There’s a knife, blood. Who’s it going to be? There’s no one else here except us. There’s no one here who wants to fight me, except you. Is it you? Are you going to kill me?’
    He’s mocking me to start with, but then his voice turns serious. His tongue flicks over his lips, and there’s something in his eyes apart from his number. He’s scared. Maybe he’s as scared as I am.
    I don’t want it to be me. I don’t like the guy. He’s a maggot and I want him off my case, but I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to kill anyone.
    I want the clocks to stop ticking. I want time to stand still. I want the numbers to go away.
    The heat from the fire is toasting my face. Someone throws a plank into the middle. Red-hot ash flies up around it, making a million sparks in the darkness.
    ‘I’m going,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘Junior, I came here to fight you, but I don’t want to fight. I told you the truth, my truth, so now you can leave me alone. It was our deal. Yeah?’
    He signals to the others, and they home in on me,grabbing me from behind, pinning my arms behind my back.
    ‘I’m a man of my word. I’ll lay off your nan. But don’t think you can just walk away. You said you came here for a fight, so I’ll fight you fair and square. Search him.’
    I kick out with my feet, but it don’t keep them away. They’re on me with their hands, slapping me all over, delving into my pockets. They find my blade, of course. I didn’t hide it – I had it handy, tucked into my belt, so it would be there if I needed it.
    ‘You brought a blade.’
    ‘Self defence, man.’
    ‘I’m not armed.’ He holds his empty hands up. 
    ‘I don’t believe you.’
    I can’t be the only one who’s brought a knife. He turns out his pockets, opens his jacket to show me there’s nothing there. Shit, the only knife here is mine. And now I’m defenceless, wide open.
    ‘You came here to use it on me. You came here to kill me.’ He comes up close, jabbing his finger into my chest. ‘Well, I’m not going down. You’re not having me. Tomorrow you’ll have to find your book and cross my number out, ’cause I’m not going anywhere today. You got it wrong.’
    He punches me hard in the stomach.
    ‘The only one in trouble tonight is you, loser.’
    He gives me another punch, in the bottom of my ribs. And another. And another. I try and stand up to him, but with my arms pinned back, I’ve got nothing. He’s hitting my head now. My lip’s split and there’s blood pouring down. The smell of it sends me further into my