The Outcast's Journey

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Hey! I was listening to that,” Murray complains.

  “I don’t want to listen to it. Turn the car on so it heats up.”

  “That’s a waste of petrol. Have you any idea how difficult it is to get petrol? First you have to find a car with a full tank, then you need to break the petrol cap, then you need to syphon-”

  Thump!

  “Aagh! What was that for?” Murrays says through gritted teeth as her clenched fist bounces back from his thigh.

  “Boring my tits off! Now do as I ask and turn on the engine. I’m cold. It’s minus ten outside.”

  Murray turns the key and the engine hums into life. Good. He’s learning. She reaches for the controls and turns the heat to maximum. The air blows cold then warm as she sits and watches Sergei wrest the hammer from Loz and lift it to the locked door.

  “And that’s how a real man does it,” she says with satisfaction as the door buckles under a single blow from Sergei. “Hah!” She pulls her hat lower down on her head, steps out of the car and goes to the boot. Opening it she reaches for her bag, pulls out the lighter and slips it into her pocket. “Today’s the day!” she says to herself as she slams the boot down then strides back to Sergei waiting at the open door. Glass crunches under her feet as she joins him.

  “Now what?” he asks.

  “Now we watch them burn,” she answers and her heart palpitates with excitement as Sergei reaches down for the can and steps through the open doorway.

  Chapter 20

  Finn treads slowly down the stairs, crow bar in one hand, hammer in the other, her heart beating wildly, the bile of her stomach churning. She swallows the nausea down, takes the last step and listens to the noise coming from the shop. They’re inside! She can hear their voices: Saskia’s demanding whine, Sergei’s deeper tones. Above the voices she can hear footsteps, his thudding boots, her clacking heels, and something else. She cocks her ear and listens. Splashing and a glug. The hairs on the back of her neck rise. They’re going to burn the shop down! As she turns to move back up the stairs to warn the others the door to the hallway opens and Sergei steps through, petrol can in hand. She freezes. For a moment their eyes meet and she remembers the last time, the pressure of his fingers as he’d held her against the wall, the smell of his breath as he’d pushed up against her. He smiles then puts the can on the floor and steps towards the stairs. She raises the crow bar.

  “Step back!” she shouts as he advances. His eyes stay locked to hers.

  “What is it?” Lina shouts stepping out onto the landing.

  “It’s me,” Sergei says as he takes the first step onto the stairs, his smile wide. “C’mon, baby,” he croons, holding out his hand to Finn. “You know you want to.”

  Lina gasps behind her. “Finn, get back in here,” she shouts.

  “Leave us alone, Sergei,” Finn shouts taking another step back.

  “Can’t do that, honey. Saskia wants to teach you a lesson. You need to learn not to take what’s not yours.”

  “Get back!” Finn shouts at him again as he takes another step up and raises the crowbar.

  “Now, now, Finn. Be a good girl and put that down. If you play nice-”

  “Sergei!” Saskia’s voice screeches from downstairs.

  “I’ll play nice if you do. Come down with me now and-”

  “Sergei!”

  “Damn it, Saskia!” he mutters.

  “Your sister wants you! Be a good boy and answer her,” Finn goads though her legs tremble as the rich smell of petrol wafts up to her level.

  Sergei purses his lips then shouts down the stairs. “What is it?”

  “Come on out. I want to see this hovel burn!”

  “No!” Lina shouts. “You can’t do that. You can’t burn our home!”

  “Hah!” Saskia says stepping through to the hall and taking in the scene. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll burn you all too,” she scowls and reaches into her pocket.

  “Psycho!” Kyle shouts down. “She’s a bloody psycho!”

  “Sergei! Don’t you let them talk to me like that!”

  Sergei turns with a pained frown to Finn. She raises the crowbar as their eyes lock again and he steps forward.

  “I told you to stay back!”

  “And I told you to drop that!”

  The crow bar arcs towards him. Saskia’s heels clack across the floor. Sergei grabs Finn’s arm, holding the crowbar inches from his face and pushes her against the wall. She grunts as his body pins her there, his face inches from hers.

  “She’s serious,” he whispers. “She wants to burn the shop down with you all in it.” Finn locks her eyes to his with horrified disbelief.

  “She can’t!”

  “She’s going to,” he returns. “Play the game right and come with me. We could be good together!” he says in a hoarse voice, and his arm slips around her back, pulling her to him, crushing her body against his.

  “What? No!”

  “Sergei! What the hell are you doing?”

  “Patience, Saskia,” he says irritated.

  “Patience! I’ll give you patience,” she says and holds up her hand, a slim green lighter in her hand.

  Sergei sighs. “This one’s coming with me, Saskia.”

  “That’s not what we agreed!” she complains. “I want this place burned down, with them in it.”

  “And I want this one—you’ve got Murray—I want her,” he says with a frown to his sister.

  “You’re both mad!” Lina shouts from the stairs. “Kyle, get up!” she yells then disappears back into the living room.

  Finn turns her attention back to Sergei and pushes at his arm, tries to force the crowbar down towards him. He squeezes her bicep, his fingers steel as they press into her flesh, and she drops the bar with a thud onto the stairs.

  Lina’s panicked voice calls to Kyle. “The windows! Open the windows.”

  Finn remembers with dread that the windows are locked, the keys nowhere to be found. Their only way out is down the stairs past Sergei and Saskia.

  “Let me go!” she growls and struggles against his arm fixed tight around her waist.

  Saskia flicks her thumb on the lighter. Nothing happens. She tries again. Still nothing.

  “Hah!” Finn goads. “You’re not going to burn us today!”

  Saskia smirks back at Finn. “You reckon?” she challenges as she slips her hand into her pocket and takes out a small box. Matches! Please let them be damp or ruined or-. Saskia clacks back down the hallway to the shop’s open door and picks up the jerry can, walks back, pours more petrol over the floor, then walks to the door that leads out into the backyard—the only exit. A match scratches against the rough paper on the box. “I think we will be having a little fire today.” The triumph in her voice tells Finn that the match has lit. Dread sinks like a stone in her stomach.

  “C’mon, Finn. Time we were going.”

  “No!” she shouts as the giant, his arm clamped around her waist, lifts her like a feather and carries her down the stairs. As they reach the bottom, Saskia kneels and strikes another match, holds it up and looks into the flame. She’s a psycho! A bona fide lunatic! The flame burns down the length of the matchstick.

  “Saskia!” Sergei calls as he carries Finn along the hallway. “Out of the way!”

  “Keep your knick-”

  Distracted for a second, the flame bites at her fingers and she drops the match. The petrol ignites as the flame hits the soaked carpet. She screams and staggers back then turns to run out of the back door.

  “Hell!” Sergei exclaims as the fire sprints towards them. He looks up to the stairs then back to the hallway then runs to the back door. Finn screams as they move across the burning carpet.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” he gasps as they reach the other side, the flames a wall behind them.

  Saskia grapples with the door handle. “It’s locked!” she shouts looking in terror at the flames filling the hallway behind them.

  Finn gasps, t
error consuming her. “Kyle!” she screams. “Lina! Fire!”

  Sergei releases his grip and stands her down. The fire behind them is intense. Sergei raises his leg and stamps at the door. It doesn’t budge.

  “The key!” Finn shouts. “It’s on the hook,” she says pointing to the key hanging head-height to the right of the door.

  Chapter 21

  “Can you smell it?” Kit asks as he sniffs at the air.

  “Yes,” Deacon replies as he turns to look back down the hill. Twists and billows of black smoke stand stark against the snow-laden sky as Deacon and Kit make their way through the streets. “Fire!” he exclaims.

  Kit turns. “That’s the next road, isn’t it?” he asks frowning up at the curling smoke.

  “Yes,” Deacon returns, and it looks like the same area as the flat those kids were living in. Saskia! She wouldn’t! “C’mon, Kit. Let’s check it out,” he says picking up his pace and then running. The closer he gets to the bottom of the road the more certain he is that the flat is on fire. As he reaches the place where the road curves, he can see up to the kitchen window where the girl was reaching into the cupboard. The curtains at the other window move and then a figure appears: a boy, and then a girl.

  “They’re up there,” Deacon says with relief, but then his skin crawls as they start to bang on the windows. The girl catches his attention, waves frantic, then bangs on the glass.

  “They’re trapped!” Kit exclaims as he responds to the noise from the upstairs room.

  Beyond the high wall that skirts the back garden of the property a door slams open and he can hear the sound of coughing.

  “Kyle! Lina!” a woman’s voice splutters.

  Deacon grabs the handle of the outside door. It’s locked. Running to the front of the building the shop’s door is open; fire clings to the shelves and flames lick up to the ceiling.

  “Kit!” he shouts realising the boy hasn’t followed him. He looks again into the shop, the fire is starting to take, but perhaps there’s time?

  Kit careers around the corner of the building. “Deacon! The girl and the boy—they’re trapped—I heard the woman saying the windows were locked …” He stops and stares into the shop. “Oh!” He’s silent for a few seconds then turns to Deacon. “We can still get in. The fire’s not that bad.”

  “No! Kit. We can’t go in there.”

  “What then?”

  “Find a ladder, break the glass upstairs.”

  “Find a ladder? From where?”

  “Check the back gardens.”

  “By then it’ll be too late!”

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Deacon looks up to the window above the shop. The girl has pulled the curtains back and is banging on the window, her shouts unheard, smoke thick behind her. His heart beats hard, his thoughts desperate. “I’ll go to the back—get them to find a ladder.”

  “Hurry!” Kit says as he looks up at the window. Deacon pushes his foot against the tarmac and powers his legs forward, sprints to the side door and bangs on the slatted wood.

  “Let me in!” he shouts. “We need to find a ladder.”

  He listens as the people in the yard cough then metal scrapes and the door’s handle opens. Blonde curls and a triumphant sneer greet him.

  “Saskia!” he growls and returns her scowl.

  The young woman he’d watched dragging her injured friend stands at the back door looking into the flames, her jacket above her head. She takes a step forward.

  “Stop!” Deacon shouts as she steps through the door. Pushing past Saskia, and ignoring Sergei, he runs to the door, grabs the girl about the waist and drags her back to the fresh air. “You can’t go in—the flames will burn you.”

  “I’ve got to,” she shouts. “Kyle and Lina—they’re trapped.”

  “Is there a ladder here?” he says his voice firm, calm. He has to stay in control.

  “In the shed.” She jabs her fingers to the back of the garden.

  Running to the ramshackle wooden shack sat against the brick wall he can still hear the hammering of fists on the windows. He pulls at the shed’s door. Relieved that at least this door is unlocked, he flings it open and peers inside. In the corner is a fold of aluminium. He steps in, grabs the metal, and lugs it under his arm, hoping that it will unfold long enough to reach the upper windows.

  Seconds later he’s leant up against the house, a brick in hand, and smashing at the glass. The outer panel breaks. He hammers it again until he makes a hole. The girl appears once more and stands with the boy, cloths over mouths, their terrified eyes staring at Deacon as he smashes at the window. The inner glass finally breaks and smoke pours out through the new opening. He smashes at the shards sticking out from the frame.

  “Here!” he shouts into the smoke and reaches into the room. Cold fingers take his and the girl’s face comes into view.

  “Take Kyle first,” she shouts uncovering her nose and mouth. “He’s hurt.”

  “No! You,” the boy shouts back then coughs.

  “C’mon,” Deacon says, his voice firm. “One of you has to come out now—this second.”

  “Go Lina!” the boy shouts again.

  Her fingers curl around Deacon’s hand and he takes a firm grip of her forearm as she stands on the inside sill and slips her leg out, blindly searching for the ladder’s metal rung.

  “That’s it,” Deacon encourages as her toes find purchase. Her other leg follows and Deacon steps down, guiding with his hand on her waist until he reaches the stone slabs of the back yard.

  “Thank God!” the young woman exclaims as Lina steps off the last rung. She rushes over and clasps her in her arms. “Please,” she begs. “Get Kyle now!”

  Smoke billows out of the window as Deacon steps back up the ladder.

  “C’mon lad,” he shouts as he reaches the top. The smoke is thick and black and the fire, he can hear, is raging through the building. He wafts at the smoke and peers into the room. “Kyle!” he shouts again. Silence. But he was here—only seconds ago! He takes another step up the ladder, pulls his jumper over his nose, and leans into the room. Squinting through the smoke he sees the white soles of a pair of trainers. He’s unconscious! Deacon takes a breath and pulls up onto the sill.

  Bam!

  The house judders and the ladder shakes against the window.

  Bam!

  The glass shatters and the power of the blast throws Deacon from the ladder. Pain wracks his body as he lands onto the ground below, a coil of rubber hosing breaking his fall. He groans through the blackness, his voice guttural in his chest as his ears ring. Opening his eyes, the young woman is crouched over him, her eyes fixed to the flat above; flames leap out of the upper windows. He sags back against the coil of rubber and groans. The boy would be dead now, of that he was sure. The young woman turns her attention to him, her face ashen, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Kit? Where’s Kit?”

  “Who?” she asks as she kneels beside him.

  “My boy. He was out the front watching the other girl.”

  “Lina?”

  Lina steps up to him and crouches next to the young woman. “He went into the shop,” she says, a worried frown marking her face.

  “The shop?”

  “Yes. He was looking up at me then he took off his coat and put it over his head …”

  “No!”

  “… and then he went in through the shop door.”

  “Did he come out?”

  “I don’t know … I … I went back to Kyle and then you were there with the ladder.”

  “No!” he repeats and pushes up from the ground. The pain in his back is immense and he grimaces. Wet trickles down his cheek. Putting his hand to his face, oily liquid clings to his fingers. Blood!

  “I think the glass cut you,” the girl says as he looks at his hand.

  His face stings as he stands, the cold biting at the wounds, but he ignores that and the pain in his back.

  “Kit!” he shouts and staggers to th
e gate. “Kit!” An engine revs as he lurches down the side of the building to the front and disappears back across its tracks as he reaches the shop’s entrance. Fire rages inside, the snow melted outside the door and across the path. There’s no sign of the boy. “Kit!” he shouts again looking up and down the road. If he went inside ... He stumbles then drops to his knees. “Kit!” he calls again as the tears come. “Kit!” he bellows from the depths of his heart.

  Chapter 22

  Zak taps down the stairs as Cassie waits at the bottom.

  “Did you call Harry and Celie?” she asks.

  “Yeah. What’s going on?”

  “Looks like we’ve got visitors,” she says taking in the flop of his hair as he sweeps it back with a flick of his head.

  He frowns. “Visitors?”

  “There’s a convoy of cars stuck on the hill and it looks like they’re headed this way.”

  “We’re under attack?”

  “No,” she says, keeping her voice calm, not wanting to worry the boy. “We’re not sure what they want, but we’re taking precautions anyway.”

  “Celie! Harry!” he calls back up the stairs. “I’ll go and get them,” he says turning to step back up.

  “If you can make sure they’re dressed with coats and boots on that’d be great, then I can go and help Rick and Justin.”

  Impressed with Zak’s protective response, she grabs her coat from the hallway, and steps back into the kitchen. As she stuffs her arms through the coat’s sleeves Justin and Rick walk across the farmyard, a huge metal sheet held between them, the noise as it bends and ripples loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. The room darkens as they lift up the sheet and place it in front of the window.

  “Zak!” Rick calls, his voice muffled through the glass as Cassie pulls up her boots.

  “He’s helping the kids,” she calls back, trying to make her voice heard as she finishes tying the laces.