The Nightwalkers

5 - Without a Paddle

Terrified, the boys had run all the way home without stopping. Vincent lagged behind the other three and looked a dreadful sight but he too daren't stop.

When they were a relatively safe distance away from the crime scene and Vincent managed to catch his breath, he asked, "Shouldn't we call the police or tell our parents?"

Smedley, the gangly math nerd, had by now composed himself enough to speak. He straightened his skewed specs and said, "How about we try to forget all about what we've witnessed?"

The others looked shocked.

"Look," he said seriously, "I'm in a very good school, my parents pay huge fees, and I'm not going to ruin my prospects of getting into university by getting involved in this caper. I suggest you all think about your futures too!"

"But we can't just pretend nothing happened. What about those dead people?" asked Vincent.

"They're dead already, I doubt you telling the police will do them any good, will it? All you'll do by going to the Law is wreck my life," Smedley said irritably, "and yours of course."

"But it goes against our gang's code," Finnieus added.

Smedley was speechless. "It's a bloody murder, do you understand what that means?" he screeched. "I want nothing to do with it, nor with you and your idiotic, childish boy gang. Is that clear?"

"But what about our pledge, all for one and all that?" asked Clifford.

"Yeah," chimed Vincent and Finnieus simultaneously.

"You can shove your pledge!" snapped Smedley. He shook his head, "Why don't you lot just grow up?" he said with an exasperated tone. "All for one? Bloody hell who the heck do you think you are, the three bloody musketeers?"

Vincent began seriously wondering if any of Smedley's unverified tales of bravery were remotely true. He felt betrayed and conned. He had had him penned as a rebel, not a bookworm fearful of authority or fretting about higher education and his future career.

Finnieus suddenly looked even more anxious than ever as a realization dawned on him. "Hey guys, I just realized something," he said with the coloring draining from his face. "Even if we do decide to forget about what we saw, we're still not safe."

"How so?" asked Clifford.

"The note, remember?"

"What note?" asked Smedley.

Then Vincent reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled, blood-penned note. "It says they're going to come after us. We'll be next," he explained. "Surely, if we stick together we stand a better chance of surviving."

But Smedley remained defiant. "Note or no note I'm out of here. And if you dare try to involve me in this case, I'll use all my contacts to bring you all down. Is that clear? Now I'm going home. Don't call me or ever come round again!" And with that, he peeled some of the crusted vomitus from his chin and sweater and loped off.

The three younger boys stood to attention as if threatened by a teacher. Only when Smedley was out of sight did they turn and walk away, demoralized and scared. They were on their own now; they had to rely on each other, just like in the good old days before they'd recruited the Smedman. But how they could do with his wisdom and guidance, they thought.

"I never trusted him, not really, not deep down," confessed Vincent, casting furtive sideways glances at his friends either side of him. They said nothing.

The boys walked on in somber mood, deep in thought, pondering what their next step should be.

"So, what are we going to do? I say let's go to the police," said Finnieus.

Vincent had been thinking about Smedley's warning and realized they could end up in even more trouble by involving the Law. "No, we're EMO-Goths, we don't hang with the law, remember?"

"But I thought we were trying to help the coppers now...weren't we?" Finnieus asked looking perplexed.

"Nah. We were gonna show them up. We'd lose too much street cred if we went copside," Vincent revealed. "Nope, the cops can't help us now. This is way out of their league. We gotta find another way."

"What, then?" But Finnieus got no answer.

The boys eventually found themselves outside Vincent's house. The old gardener opened the gate and the three boys walked in sheepishly, heading for the gang's tree house den. Once inside they all plopped down on the beanbags and let out shared sighs of relief.

Vincent turned on the small TV set and instantly wished he hadn't. The breaking news was on all channels, and there in the background behind the TV reporters, billowing proudly, was Vincent's black commando tent. The boys looked at each other in horror.