by Ryan Casey
And another.
And another.
He smiled as he stood there, warmth filling his body. Because he’d made a good move today. He’d let Alex walk into his camp. He’d let him carry out his revenge on the man who had killed his son. And no, Jon didn’t give a shit about Alex’s son, not really. But the fact was that Paul was a bigger immediate problem than Alex was, in a sense. He had let the women and the children go. He’d set them free, no doubt about it, for whatever shitty guilty reason or other.
Jon would get those people back. His conflict with Alex and his family wasn’t over. Far from it. He just wanted to make Alex feel like it was before he went back to him and took everything good they managed to build away from them all over again.
But Paul was problematic. He had been going that way for a while.
So really, Alex had done him a favour.
Two birds with one stone.
Besides. He’d watched Alex walk out, the blood on his hands.
And he’d got a strange sense of satisfaction from that.
No matter how much Alex tried to convince himself otherwise, they were the same, the pair of them. They were exactly the same.
And Jon was looking forward to facing Alex once again.
He was looking forward to getting him in this cabin.
Just not yet.
He reached for the handle of the door. Because he could feel that urge inside. That urge to see the mess from Eddie’s body all over again. He was once recommended to meditate. That mindfulness was a useful tool that could help drag him back into the present moment, stop him being dominated by his emotions.
But he’d found a better way.
Revisiting the scene of the crime.
That made him feel better.
That recharged him.
He thought of his son as he opened the door. Thought of the way his eyes had looked up at him. He thought of the glossiness that came to them as their light had faded. And he thought about what he’d told Alex. The story. The story of how his son had died. The story he was trying hard to convince himself to believe.
The truth.
Because the truth wasn’t easy. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he’d been held prisoner. He hadn’t lied when he’d said that the man in this cabin was part of the group that had held him. And he hadn’t lied when he’d said his wife was murdered by these people, too.
But he couldn’t deny the truth about what’d happened to his boy. His Charlie.
The way he was crying. Screaming.
The sound it made. That echoing sound that was driving Jon madder and madder and madder… all the while trying to get over the fact that his wife had been taken away from him, that his wife was with those people, that she was close to death…
And there was only one way to stop that screaming.
He hadn’t meant to hit Charlie so hard. He’d just meant to give him a bit of a jolt. Make him realise that he couldn’t go on like this. That he couldn’t behave in this way. His mum was too easy on him. It was about time he learned some manners, some real ones.
But he’d gone silent right as the back of his hand had connected.
He’d gone quiet, and then that silence had been followed by a thud as his head hit the floor.
And then the blood…
Jon took a few shaky breaths, trying to stave the panic attack that was building up.
Because although that was the truth—although he knew the real reason he would never satisfy his desire for revenge was that he was the one who had killed Charlie after all—he couldn’t let himself believe it.
He had to tell himself that wasn’t the way it happened.
It was only when he turned the handle to the cabin door and started to open it that he heard the shuffling.
And by that point, it was too late.
Paul was standing right opposite him.
He was looking Jon in his eyes.
“You killed Bobby,” Paul said. “Not me. You did it. Just like you killed your son.”
Then he pummelled the knife into Jon’s chest.
Jon stood there. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to react.
He just felt this blade hitting the middle of his chest, again and again and again…
He tried to reach out for Paul. Tried to push him away, to stop him, but he couldn’t because his body was getting so weak, so heavy, so…
He dropped to his knees. And as he dropped there, he heard shouting.
He heard Paul say something to himself. “Thank you.”
Then he heard a blast. And he felt something damp cover his face. He knew what it was. He realised, right away.
Blood.
Paul’s blood.
Paul fell before him as his people came to his side.
They were saying things to him. Trying to hold him. Asking him whether he was okay.
But he couldn’t really hear their words.
And he didn’t have the strength to say anything back to them.
He fell down onto his back and he looked up at the sky. He looked up at the darkness, the rain falling down from it.
And as he looked up there, he felt the tears rolling down his face.
Because he could see them.
He could see them up there, looking down at him, smiling.
Julie. Charlie.
They were waving at him.
Holding their hands out to him.
They were ready for him.
He tried to reach out for them. Because he was ready now. Ready to go.
And really this was the way it should’ve been all along.
He was the one who had killed Charlie.
He was the one who should go.
He was the one who…
He saw something then.
His wife. His son.
Their faces had changed to the faces of Eddie and Peter.
The faces of the people he’d killed.
He tried to pull away from them as their skin turned grey, as their flesh began to rot, as they opened their mouths gaping wide and screamed at an impossible pitch.
He tried to turn back, to regain his strength, to run away from them.
But all he could do as he lay there on the ground, as they came for him, was let out a whimper.
That whimper was the last sound Jon ever made.
The last thought he ever had?
How sorry he was for what had happened to Alex’s son.
After that… nothing.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The following morning…
Sun peeked through the trees.
It had rained all through the night. The ground was soggy. There was dampness in the air, so strong that it clung to the insides of your nostrils when you inhaled. It was hard to believe it now though, when you saw what the weather was like. Sun. Warm sun. And although the ground would take some time to dry up, although it’d be a long time before all the moisture was absorbed from it, it would dry out eventually. Things would be back to normal eventually. It was always the way.
I walked through the soggy ground, the sun on my skin, and I stopped. My feet were sore and covered in blisters. I was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
And I was lost.
I gasped as I pressed my hands against my knees. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to get lost. After all, the route through the woods was pretty straightforward, I’d made it that many times. But I’d ended up in a village, and then I’d found myself on the outskirts of a town. I’d taken a different turn to avoid a group of survivors, of whom I knew I couldn’t trust. And since then I’d been totally cut off from where I was comfortable with; from where I knew I needed to go.
I wanted to keep on going. I tried to lift my legs, to keep on moving.
But they wouldn’t.
They just wouldn’t.
I collapsed to my knees.
Mud splashed up against me.
I looked up at the sky and felt the warmth of that sun shining down on me. It was
hours since I’d left Jon’s camp, and allowed Paul, the killer of my son, to keep on living. I wondered whether he’d honoured my wishes. I wondered if he’d taken that knife and done what I’d asked him to do.
The thing was, I didn’t know. I’d never know.
And the most awful part about it all?
I’m not sure how much difference it would make if I knew he had killed Jon at all.
I thought about the revenge Jon wanted for what’d happened to his son and I saw clearly what he had been driven to. That hunger for revenge, never satisfied. That desire to hurt someone for putting him through the pain he’d suffered. It hadn’t gone away. And it never would.
I could see that now.
I could see something else, too. And that something was that Jon was the man who had taken his people to my homestead. Jon was the man who had started this whole sorry chain of events, not me.
But at least now I knew that I’d finished it.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d never forgive Paul for what he did. I’d never get over what happened to Bobby. Even if it was an accident, it was a mess, and something that should never have happened.
But I couldn’t allow revenge to drive me.
I remembered something Sarah had told me once. How forgiveness was always more powerful than revenge.
I wasn’t ready to forgive. Maybe it was powerful.
But at least I’d recognised now that I didn’t need revenge to make myself feel better.
I stayed there, crouched down. I wondered where my people where. I wondered where they’d gone to, what they’d been through. And I hoped they were okay. I really did.
But I knew, as I sat here, that I was lost. The chances of finding them were slim.
And yet still I had to believe that they were okay.
Because they had each other.
And together, they were strong.
I opened my eyes and dragged my weak body over to the nearest tree. I sat back against it. And as I sat there, I thought about staying put. I thought about just waiting here, letting hunger take a hold, allowing myself to dehydrate.
But no.
No.
I had so much out there to fight for.
I had so many people out there who I cared for.
And I wasn’t going to give up on them.
I wasn’t going to give up on life.
Never again.
So I battled the splitting pain on the soles of my feet.
I dragged myself upright, using the tree to support me.
And I took a few deep breaths.
I wasn’t a quitter.
I was a fighter.
And I was going to keep on fighting.
I looked up again. And in the sky, I saw that window. The window from the dream. The one where Bobby had been pressed against, blood dripping down himself as he cried out and waved.
But I didn’t see him like this, this time.
This time, I saw him smiling. His little cheeky grin. That gap between his teeth.
“I love you, Daddy.”
I felt a tear roll down my cheek and I wiped it away, a smile coming to my face. “I love you too, son. I love you too.”
I savoured that moment. Just for a few seconds, I savoured it, allowed myself to really get caught up in it.
And then I closed my eyes and I started to walk, the sun beaming down on me, the birds singing in the trees.
It was time for a new journey.
It was time for a new beginning.
It was time for—
“Alex?”
I stopped.
Turned around.
And when I saw who it was, a smile stretched across my face.
“Sarah,” I said.
She ran over to me. She put her arms around me. And as we stood there, holding one another, it felt like everything was better again. Like everything was fixed. Like everything could go back to normal.
She pulled back, looked me in my eyes. Then she scanned my body, my hands. “Is it done?” she said.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and thought about what she was asking. Was it done? Had I got what I wanted? What I needed?
I took a deep breath of the cool spring air and I smiled at Sarah. “It’s done,” I said.
She kissed me, then, and she took my hand. We walked together through the woods, silent, totally together.
And then it struck me that something was amiss.
“The others,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about them.”
“What do you mean?”
She tugged gently at my arm. “Follow me and you’ll find out.”
So I did. I found it within myself to trust. I found it within myself to believe. It wasn’t easy. One of the hardest things to do, especially with everything that’d happened, with everything we’d been through. But still I found my way.
We stopped, right by some branches. I could tell there was something behind those branches. Something Sarah wanted me to see. But at the same time, something she was reluctant to reveal.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked at me and she shook her head. “I won’t ever be okay. But I’ll do my best.”
She pulled my hand down then, and she pressed it to her belly.
I didn’t understand. Not at first.
But then I saw the way she looked into my eyes—just like she had when she’d told me she was pregnant with Bobby.
“You… you can’t be.”
She smiled and laughed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Not the reaction I was expecting.”
“No,” I said, feeling lightheaded. “I just… Wow. Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Trust me. Everything will soon become clear.”
I stood there opposite my beautiful wife. My body shook with adrenaline, as the wind brushed against the trees. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. All I could think about was how hard it was going to be bringing someone into this world. How hard it was going to be raising them. And how we were priming ourselves for heartbreak all over again.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked.
She leaned towards me, my hand still on her belly, and she kissed me. “We’re never ready for anything,” she said. “We’ve just got to take one step at a time and learn to live. Now are you coming, or what?”
She backed away again, took my hand. And I could see from the way she was looking at me that this could work. That it could be right for us. Because we’d never replace the first child we’d lost. We’d never, ever replace Bobby. I feared the worst was still to come where the grief was concerned. I knew we were going to have long days and even longer nights. I knew we were going to be pushed to our limits, emotionally.
But we were going to succeed.
Together, we were going to keep on keeping on.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and I thought of Jon one final time. A spark in my mind, telling me to go back there, to make sure he was dead, to make sure it was done.
Then I let that thought go and I took a deep breath.
“I’m ready,” I said.
Then I tightened my grip around my wife’s hand and I followed her through the branches and towards whatever it was that lay ahead.
When I saw what it was, my heart skipped a beat.
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any reference to real locations is only for atmospheric effect, and in no way truly represents those locations.
Copyright © 2017 by Ryan Casey
Cover design by Damonza
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Published by Higher Bank Books