The Outcast's Journey

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “No chance,” he says pushing at the man.

  Wes stumbles to the side and turns with a grimace and pushes back then steps again towards Cassie as she beckons him.

  “Hey! You’re my woman,” Ollie shouts and grabs at Wes’ coat, yanking him back.

  “She’ll choose who she wants,” Wes scowls back. “Ain’t that right, Darlin’?”

  “Sure is,” Cassie returns, “and I want you.”

  “Hah!” Wes exclaims with a triumphant smile as he turns back to Ollie. The older man scowls, but remains still.

  Wes steps forward and squeezes at his crotch, a wide smile spread across his face.

  “You want it here? Now?”

  “Sure do,” Cassie replies, her voice seductive, her body strong, her heart beating with … excitement. Yes! She’s excited. She wants this over. She wants this man beneath her. She reaches for the zipper of her coat and begins to pull it down as Wes approaches.

  “No need to get undressed, love. Just your jeans.”

  “Nah! I want to take my coat off—makes it easier.”

  “You mean you want it right here? In front of Ollie?”

  “Sure—he’ll get to see what I can do that way?”

  “Do?” He groans as he takes another step forward. “This,” he says into her eyes, “is going to be good!”

  Cassie watches his eyes closely, waits until she can see the flecks of amber amidst the blue-green then makes her move.

  Chapter 12

  Thud!

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah and it sounded like it came from the street behind. This way!”

  Rick runs back along the street to the passageway he’d noticed as they were following Cassie’s steps. It leads out to the back of the shops and a wide expanse of carpark. As he runs up the passageway the shouts ring out in the air followed by thudding and a crash. The scene brightens as he steps into open space and he can see the head of a man above the grey top of a bin. A thud sounds again as the man totters and steps back. A head of white-blonde hair springs into view and the woman launches at the man, her arms outstretched. Cassie! She disappears again from his view until he runs further and stands clear of the bin. He stops as he takes in the scene.

  A man lies curled up on the ground, his hands between his legs, his face a grimace, his cheeks red, his nose bloodied. He groans as Rick approaches, Cassie stands in his peripheral vision. She’s seen to this one then! He kicks at the man’s backside as he passes then stands and watches as she deals with the other.

  “Wow!” he hears Justin exclaim from behind. “What’s going on?”

  “Cassie,” Rick replies.

  “She did that?” Justin asks gesturing to the groaning man on the floor.

  “Yep!”

  “And now she’s doing that,” Rick continues nodding towards Cassie and the man grappling with her

  “Should we help her?” Justin asks, his voice curious.

  “If we need to,” Rick replies as he watches her chop at the man’s thigh. He staggers back and falls.

  “Cassie!” Justin calls.

  She swings round, her face flushed, eyes wide, her hair wild and her cheek grazed. She raises her hand to wave.

  “Cassie!” Rick shouts as the man springs to his feet behind her.

  Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a thick leather belt and wraps it round his hands. Before she has a chance to turn, the man hooks the belt over her head. Rick sprints forward, but Cassie spins on her heels to face the attacker, releasing her airway from the band of leather, and smashes her fist against his head. She pounds again with her fist as he staggers from the first knock.

  “Hell!” Justin exclaims as the man is knocked to the floor. Cassie squats over him and thrusts her fist into the side of his face and he lies still.

  Rick reaches down to the coat at his feet and picks it up.

  “Here,” he says walking over to Cassie as she pushes at the man’s chest watching for movement then stands. “Your coat.” He says with a smile as she turns to accept it. Their eyes lock. “You did good,” he says with understatement.

  “Thanks, babe,” she returns then blinks and quickly looks away.

  “Cassie!” a woman’s voice calls out. “Is it over?”

  Rick spins round to see a young woman stand from between the bin and the white painted brickwork of the shop.

  “Yes,” Cassie says breathless, stepping away from the man lying at her feet and pushing past Rick. He watches in confusion as she walks across to the woman and waits as she steps out from behind the bin. “This is Ruth.” The woman looks from Justin to Rick and then to the men on the floor. “And she’d like to come home with us.”

  Dan bends down to take hold of the bottom of the pushchair, thankful that she allowed him to cover the child’s face with the blanket. He lifts the buggy as she pushes open the door and steps into the hallway.

  “This your house then?” he asks as she pulls it back and sets it beside the wall. “Yes,” she replies still clasping the buggy’s handle. “We’ve lived here for five years.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh. I—I’m sorry about that.”

  “The child,” he says looking at the blue and red patterned blanket, the softness of its fabric moulded about the child’s body.

  “Reece.”

  “Reece. I’m so sorry about Reece,” he says fighting back the blackness that threatens to drag him down again. His heart beats hard in his chest and his hands tremble.

  “Not your fault is it. The plague—that’s what killed my husband, and Reece—Reece was sick. Once the hospitals-”

  She stops and her knuckles whiten as she grips the chair, forcing back the emotion he can see is welling inside her. “The hospitals closed down—the doctors were dead—I couldn’t get the medicine Reece needed.”

  “We need to bury him,” Dan says, swallowing down the guilt, swallowing down his cry of apology. He wants to tell her ‘Yes! It is my fault.’ Wants her to scream at him, hit him, let him suffer for what he has done.

  “No!” she says looking up at him, her eyes wide. He can’t decipher what’s there. Fear perhaps. Maybe with the strain of the past months her mind is broken?

  “Monica,” he says gently as she stares at him. “You have to let him go.”

  “No!” she says again and crouches next to the buggy. “My baby!”

  “Monica,” he says again, crouching next to her, and slides his arm across her shoulders. “He can’t stay here. We need to dis-, we need to bury him. Isn’t that what your husband would want—for his son to have a proper burial?”

  She sobs and pulls the pushchair closer to her, her breath billowing white in the cold air of the hallway, weaving around the handles.

  “If it were my son,” he soothes, “then I’d want him put to rest.”

  She sags at his words and leans her head against his shoulder.

  “Can … can we do that?”

  “Yes. It will just be like putting him to bed. He’ll be at peace then.”

  “Yes, to bed. I’ll get his blankets.” She stands and steps away from him then goes up the stairs. He watches as she goes and wipes away the tear that has trickled over his lashes. He looks down again at the stiff body in the chair and swallows hard. Hold it together, Dan! Do it for her. He thinks back to the petrol station and Rick giving the final rites to the bodies piled out at the back. He could do this. If Rick could then so could he, even if he was the monster that killed the boy. He takes a deep breath as she comes back down the stairs. It would take his lifetime to make amends, but this was a start.

  “Do you have a spade?” he asks as she reappears at the bottom of the stairs, her arms laden with a pillow, a duvet patterned with blue waves and swimming fish, a brown teddy bear placed on top. She staggers at his words and the teddy falls to the floor. He bends to pick it up, looks down at its brown eyes and well-loved body and a tear slides down his cheek.

  �
�In the garage,” she says, her voice hoarse.

  Chapter 13

  A noise alerts Murray and he leaves the office, glad of the distraction. He can’t stand another second of watching Saskia simper over Deacon. She was practically drooling. Might as well strip off in front of him and spread her legs. Stupid bitch! He’d make her pay. He rolls his shoulders, stretching out the tension in his neck, and the pain of the bruised welt down his back pinches at him. Striding to the door, a sickness filling his gut, he greets Sergei. He tips his head up in recognition.

  “What you found then?” he asks as he steps into the shadow of the giant blond. The crossbow grasped in his hand glints in the sun.

  “Found where them kids are. Snow’s good for something as well as keeping the meat fresh.”

  “Hah!” he says rubbing his calloused hands together then wipes at the stray hairs that have slipped off his forehead, laying them flat across the balding spot, then wipes his greased hands on his jeans. He catches the grimace on Sergei’s face. Best wash his hair tonight. Perhaps that was it—why Saskia was repelled? He was a frog, he knew that, but she always wanted him in her bed—when it suited her anyway—maybe he needed to take more care of himself. He’d start tonight, do some push-ups, some sit ups. He sucks in his belly. Despite his massive weight loss he’d never get a six-pack again. Sure, he’d been cut when he was young, his muscles had been a real fanny magnet then and he’d had no trouble pleasing the ladies, but now … he sighs. He’d just have to make more effort. This bloke was a flash in the pan—just a bit of eye candy and she was making a right fool of herself. He could see in his face that he didn’t want her—was just playing along with her. Silly bitch! He smirks and turns back to Sergei.

  “That’s good to know. I’ll get Loz and Carl and we’ll go round there. Walk with me,” he says pushing back his shoulders, matching his stride with the blond giant’s. “We’ve got visitors.”

  “Oh,” Sergei returns, stopping and turning to look down at Murray with a frown.

  “Yes,” some bloke and his kid. “We found them in the town—caught them in the pub. Saskia brought them back here.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah!” he says with a smirk. “That’s what I thought. She’s a silly cow.”

  “Shut up, Murray,” Sergei says, a curl of disdain across his lips as he looks up towards the office and stares through the glass.

  Murray follows his gaze. The office is lit by the solar lamps he’d set up, they give a harsh light. The bearded giant stands talking to his boy, Carl is smiling and Saskia is laughing, presumably at some lame joke the man has told. He grits his teeth as he watches her shake her curls and put her hand on the giant’s arm. She used to do that to him—when they first met. His stomach clenches and he hangs his head for a moment as he follows behind Sergei then his anger rises and he squares his shoulders. She’s not going to make a fool out of me!

  Saskia’s tinkling laugh, harsh on his ears, fills the room as Deacon looks up and notices movement near the tills. A man as broad and tall as himself is striding towards the office, his face set grim. Sergei? The weasel Murray shuffles behind him, a miserable sight with his oily, combed-over red hair and bleared eyes. Deacon notices something clutched in Sergei’s hand but only gets a glimpse before the sill of the window covers it at his approach.

  “Sergei!” Saskia says with a hint of uncertainty as the man stamps through the door.

  “What’s going on here?” he questions staring at Deacon.

  “We found Deacon and Kit in the town. They were cold so I invited them here for a coffee.”

  “Pah!” he retorts. “Come out here. I need to speak to you.”

  “But-”

  “Now!” he demands and turns.

  Saskia puts her cup down on the table and looks at Deacon as though to say sorry then trips out after her brother.

  “Hah!” Murray sneers locking eyes with Deacon as she pushes past him on her way through the door.

  She steps her heel down onto his shoes and he grimaces before closing the door behind her. Deacon watches as Sergei talks down to her, his words unheard. She shakes her curls, puts her hands on her hips and talks back. Minutes pass as the two argue then Sergei holds up both hands and she turns, a triumphant smile on her face. Murray groans. The door opens again and Saskia, with a renewed energy, enters the room and smiles at Deacon.

  “Me and Sergei have had a chat,” she says smiling from Deacon to Kit. “And we’ve decided you can stay! You can join us.”

  “Huh!” exclaims Murray, and she dismisses him with a flap of her hand.

  “Yes. And I’ve said that you can share with me. I’ve got spare bedrooms at my house. It’s comfortable there. It’s an old house—no running water, but there is a fire in every room—even the bedrooms,” she adds with a smile and an intense look at Deacon.

  A shudder passes over Deacon as he listens to her words, but the thought of a warm bed, even if it were just for one night, is seductive in a way the shrewish woman never could be. He looks to Kit, silent since they’d entered the supermarket. “What do you say, son?” he asks looking straight into the boy’s eyes.

  “Well-”

  “You’d get a warm bed and food—we’ve got plenty of food-”

  “No, we haven’t!” Murray disagrees.

  “Well, no, not anymore, but we’ve started searching all the houses now—Deacon and Kit can help us with that, can’t you boys?” she says with confidence.

  “Kit?” Deacon asks again then steps to the boy to speak to him away from their hearing.

  “Kit? What do you think. Shall we go? Perhaps just for one night? I know you’re cold to the bone out at the hide. Perhaps one night? Then we can look again for a log burner and take it back.”

  “Well … I dunno—I’m not keen, but … a warm bed! Sure—but just for one night,” he replies without enthusiasm.

  Deacon turns to Saskia and looks into her expectant eyes, noting Murray’s scowl as he stands behind her. “OK, Saskia. We’ll stop—for one night.”

  “And joining us?” she asks hopeful. “Will you join? You know what they say, ‘united we stand, divided we fall’.

  “Well-”

  “We need you Deacon.” She steps closer to him. “Them out there,” she says nodding towards the tills, ‘they want what we’ve got—always coming here trying to steal our food—they were at the warehouse earlier.”

  “Sask-”

  “Shut up, Murray,” she snipes. “Murray shot one of them and Sergei’s found out where they live. We just need to go in for the kill now.” Her words flow seamlessly from rebuke to deadly plan.

  The hairs on Deacon’s neck prickle as she continues to speak and he remembers the young woman standing at the kitchen above the shop and the boy with the bloodied leg she’d dragged across the snow. They wouldn’t stand a chance against these vipers.

  Chapter 14

  Finn walks back into the living room, bottle of juice in hand, and offers it to Kyle. A grimace contorts his face as he shifts on the settee and holds out his hand. His face is pale against the black of his coat and the woollen hat pulled low over his brow.

  “Let me look at that,” Lina says as she follows behind Finn.

  Kyle nods, a weak acceptance, and drops the bottle onto the cushion next to him.

  “You’ve got to drink, Kyle,” Finn says unable to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

  “Sure,” he says with a forced smile. “I will—in a minute.”

  Lina kneels down next to him, pulls the blanket and then the towel away from his legs.

  “Steady on!” he laughs, though his voice is weak. “Don’t want you getting an eyeful.”

  “You’ve got your kegs on!” Lina laughs in return as she peels back the white cotton of the dressing she’d laid there earlier in the day.

  Finn peers over her shoulder, concerned and drawn to the ugly wound. On his thigh, just below his buttock, the flesh is ripped where the bullet from Murray’s rifle skimm
ed his leg.

  “Gross!” she mutters staring down at the dark and congealed blood.

  “It looks healthy,” Lina says with authority. “There’s no sign of infection.”

  “That antiseptic spray will help keep it clean,” Finn agrees.

  “You got any more of them pain killers?” Kyle asks.

  “Sure,” Lina says and walks back into the kitchen.

  Kyle sags back into the cushions of the sofa and Finn watches him carefully, noticing the ashen pallor of his skin and the way his eyes follow Lina out of the room.

  “You’ve got to drink, Kyle.”

  “Sure,” he replies closing his eyes, his lashes dark against his pale skin.

  They flicker open as Lina returns and brighten a little. Finn smiles. He’s sweet on her! His gaze doesn’t leave Lina’s face as she walks towards him and Finn watches the scene; Lina crouching, offering him the pills, reaching for the bottle of juice, her palm across his brow—a tender moment in this upside-down crappiness that their life has become.

  “How is he?” Finn asks as Lina sits back on her haunches.

  “I’m sure he’s going to be OK. Just the shock making him tired—and not enough food.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  “He doesn’t feel hot, but we’ll need to watch him over the next few days just in case.”

  “Infection?”

  “Yeah.”

  Finn walks back into the kitchen and opens the cupboard doors. Empty. Same as it was last time she looked. She checks in the next cupboard. A solitary - and far too small - tin of sardines in tomato sauce sits among the crumbs of the last packet of crackers. The last of their provisions.

  “What’re we going to do?” Lina asks walking up behind her.

  “I’m going to have to go out and get some food for us.”

  “I’ll come!”

  “No, Lina. You need to be here with Kyle. I can go by myself. It’s not as if I haven’t done it before.”