The Midnight Cleaning Company

Chapter 34

Chapter 34

I sprinted forwards towards the shanty town of parked cars and makeshift tents, several dozen bloodthirsty Rogues screamed their battle cries and chased after me, desperate to claim their pre-emptive revenge against those they believed had plotted to betray them.
I slowed my head-long charge to a quick jog. The Rogues began to overtake me. As they passed by caught up in the moment, I slowed to a walk and watched the chaos commence before me.

A head long charge is not the most efficient method of surprise attack. The invading force will make a large dent in the initial impact, but will inevitably get carried away with their own success and splinter off from each other to chase their victims. The defenders will always regroup and will be able to inflict heavy casualties on the isolated attackers. Under any other circumstances I would never have allowed such a basic barbaric tactic. But as the aim was to reduce the numbers on both sides to a manageable quantity, I was satisfied the scheme was succeeding as I strolled to an empty car and leapt up onto the roof for a better view of the tarmac battlefield.

My Rogues hurtled into the camp, shrieking abuse. They poured down the gaps between parked vehicles, attacking all that they encountered. Flaming Molotov Cocktails were thrown through car windows, incinerating the unsuspecting occupants. Terrified Rogues under the command of Josephine and George or those who had not heard Vincent's or my call to arms, were dragged out of the cars where they had been sheltering and stamped into the muddy tarmac.

At the far end of the car-park, I saw Vincent's troops clambering over bonnets and rushing between the crooked rows of cars, hunting for what they believed to be their enemy.

From my vantage point on the car roof I surveyed the battle before me. The sheets of rain were a translucent window, thick like the frosted glass of a bathroom door, blurring my view of anything further than a few hundred metres.

The raindrops stung my eyes but I kept them wide open. My own terrible history was repeating itself at my instigation; the least I could do was to bear witness. I stared unblinkingly at the orchestrated disaster, listening to every scream of pain, until flickers of colour high up in the distance caught my attention.

I squinted through the obscuring veil of rain to see a bright red overcoat. Around this splash of colour was a canopy of black umbrellas, camouflaged against the ink-black sky. The Elders, keen to enjoy every moment of their evenings entertainment, had amassed on the garden centre rooftop to observe with relish as the Rogue army tore itself apart.

I stepped down from the car and dropped into a puddle. Skirting the perimeter of the car park, I observed the chaos in the centre with the cold objectivity of a mortician.

The momentum of the initial charge had begun to dissipate. My troops no longer massacred their unsuspecting comrades but were engaged in a skirmish in the constricted passageways between the rows of cars. Vincent's Rogues had almost reached them. They scrambled over parked vehicles and squeezed between bumpers, making their way from the other side of the camp to join the fight. They were charging towards the unprotected rear of George and Josephine's force. It would have been an effective tactic had that been our intention. However deprived of leadership and fuelled by anger, the flanking manoeuvre was a perfectly planned disaster.

Fires raging inside cars glowed brightly like beacons through the rain, but the thick black smoke escaping from sunroofs and shattered windows was beginning to accumulate and engulf the area, further obscuring my view and blinding the Rogues to each other.

Vincent's troops burst through the growing smog and into the rear of the tangle of fighting Rogues, stabbing them in the back. They quickly carved a chasm through the defending Rogues who had managed to organise a last stand.