The Darkest Hour

Just My Luck

You know it isn't going to be the best night when you're jolted awake by a pair of policemen shouting and flashing their torches in your face.

Zeb fought past his initial panic, struggling to focus as his his eyes blinked frantically against the blinding light, his mind still foggy from the deepest sleep he'd had in ages.

'Come on, son. Sometime tonight'd be appreciated,' growled the taller of the officers, impatiently. Zeb worked himself into a sitting position, his sleeping bag in a tangle around his legs. He fumbled with the zips while eyeing the pouring rain that flashed in the torchlight. Just his luck. He'd finally gotten warm, and now he'd get drenched when they moved him on. In the winter, that meant absolute misery for a few days, until his stuff had dried out again.

The light continued to dazzle him as he began stuffing his things into the ropey old backpack he lugged around everywhere. He knew it was a losing battle trying to get them to leave him alone, but his shivering body compelled him to try.

'Please,' he began, as politely as he could, 'could you give me a break, just this once? It's tipping it down.'

The shorter and more tubby of the two sneered at him.

'No chance, mate. I suggest you pick up your things and move on , unless you fancy a night at the station.'

'Doesn't sound half bad right now,' muttered Zeb, under his breath, as the rain continued to thunder down. He'd been in enough cells to know that he'd at least be warm.

The men laughed.

'Not happening, kid,' Fat Cop replied, jovially. Zeb could have decked him. It was all a big joke to these guys, who only had to spend a few more hours outside before they went home to a warm shower and a fridge full of food.

'Get a move on, kid. We don't have all night,' ordered Tall Cop, waving his torch in Zeb's face.

'Officer, come on. I'm not hurting anyone,' he protested, 'I'll leave before anyone's up.'

'We've had a complaint from a member of the public,' the man replied, indicating the house opposite. 'Now, are you going to get out of here, or have we got to do this the hard way?'

Zeb swung his bag onto his shoulders slowly, his anger rising. Some interfering busybody had such a sad life they had to call the police to throw a teenager into the rain. They were probably spying now, from a window in their overpriced house, to make sure that the eyesore was removed from their fancy street. He was strongly tempted to give the finger in that general direction, on the off chance that the saddo was watching.

'I'm a member of the public too,' he argued, halfheartedly, knowing where this would inevitably end, and now just stalling for time. As tempting as a warm cell sounded right now, he knew he couldn't risk getting slammed up again. The judge had warned him there'd be no leniency next time, especially as he was now legally an adult.

The policemen laughed again, and Zeb ground his teeth in anger.

'You've got a nerve, kid,' Tall Cop told him, 'but you need to get going.'

Zeb racked his brains for another excuse to delay.

'I've already been moved on twice tonight,' he told them, but they seemed unmoved.

'Should have gone to a shelter then, shouldn't you?'

Now Fat Cop was really asking for a punch. Zeb clenched his fists.

'They're all full,' he spat, 'and I used up my quota of nights for the month.'

Tall Cop looked thoughtful.