The Outcast's Journey

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Pale horse?” Cassie whispers to Rick as she takes another sip of red wine. “Wasn’t that a film?”

  “Hah! I think you mean Pale Rider, and yes that was film with Clint Eastwood, but I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

  Lifting the half-full glass, she downs it then rests the glass back on the table. Unable to sit and listen to the man’s intense discussion any longer, she makes her excuses and leaves. Moments later Rick follows and they meet on the landing. The last light of the day casts shadows over them both.

  “I couldn’t stand to listen to him for another second!” she exclaims with a giggle. She wobbles and knocks against Rick. “Sorry,” she says. “The wine’s gone straight to my head.”

  “That’s because you didn’t eat,” Rick replies giving her his arm.

  His muscles are hard beneath his jumper and she holds his bicep in her hand as he steadies her. Having him here soothes her.

  “There wasn’t enough to go round,” she says with honesty.

  “No, I could see that.”

  “I know it’s awful to say it, but they really can’t stay.”

  “You’re right, you are awful.”

  “Huh?” she says turning to look at him. He smiles into her eyes and she slaps his arm with her free hand.

  “Only kidding,” he explains, “but you are right; they can’t stay.”

  “Looks like they’re here for the night though.”

  Looking out through the landing window, the sky has cleared of snow-laden clouds and dark is spreading across the horizon. She can’t imagine that the soft-hearted Justin will tell them to leave and face the treacherous journey through the snow at this time of day.

  “No, I think we’re stuck with them till morning,” Rick agrees.

  The sound of feet running along the upstairs corridor catches Cassie’s attention and she looks over Rick’s shoulder to see Celie, a huge smile on her face, and a wedge of books beneath her arm.

  “Can someone read me a story? Before it gets too dark,” she pleads looking from Cassie to Rick.

  “Sure,” Rick agrees and follows obediently behind Celie as she takes his hand and sits him at the top of the stairs.

  “Here will do—those people are in the living room.”

  “Hmm, not sure about that Celie,” Rick replies. “It’s a bit too dark. I can’t see the writing properly,” he says squinting at the page of a book she’s thrust into his hand.

  “I’ll get you a light,” Cassie replies then taps lightly down the stairs and into the kitchen and grabs one of the small solar lamps lined up on the window sill. She flicks the switch underneath and it comes to life, a stark, cold light. How she misses the soft glow of ordinary electric light! Justin and Sebastian are still deep in conversation as she walks past them and returns to Rick sitting on the top step of the stairs. “Here you go,” she says handing him the lamp. “I’m going for a lie down.”

  “You OK?” Rick asks.

  “Just tired. I guess the excitement of the last few days is catching up with me.”

  He nods then hands the lamp to Celie and opens the book. She listens for a moment, pleased at the mellow tone of his reading voice, then secludes herself with relief in her bedroom. Taking off her slippers, she slips, fully dressed, between the heavy covers. She shivers; heating is a luxury saved for the communal areas downstairs. She drifts into memories of her crisp cotton sheets and super-warm goose feather duvet at home. The memory kicks at her emotion and a tear wells in her eyes. She misses her home, misses her old life, misses Dan. A deep and painful grief washes over her as she thinks of her husband. How could you leave me alone like this, Dan! She has to find him. The thought of living her life like this and never seeing him again is unbearable.

  Chapter 25

  Dan crouches before the burner, opens the front hatch, and puts another log in the fire. He’s warmer than he has been since the summer and for that he’s thankful. Monica walks back into the room and a cold draft rolls across the living room floor.

  “You can really feel that,” he exclaims as she walks towards him, then shivers as the cold eddies around his feet.

  “It’s freezing out there,” she agrees “but if we keep the door closed we’ll keep toasty in here.”

  “We should sleep in here tonight,” he says turning back to the fire. Their earlier passion has been ignored, but Dan is hopeful. He’d felt alive for the first time since Professor Carlton had called telling him of Garrett Mitchel’s theft of the virus and the following realisation that the catastrophic, apocalyptic scale deaths that were occurring every second of the day, were his fault. If he’s honest, it was after the investigation had uncovered his dealings with the North Koreans that things had really taken a nosedive.

  “I’ve made tea,” she says holding out a plate of food. “It’s not much and it’s cold, sorry!”

  “Don’t apologise,” he says looking down at the measly portion of sliced meat she presents.

  “Is that spam?” he asks looking at the pink, indistinguishable and plastic-looking circle laid flat on his plate.

  “Yes—tinned.”

  “Hah! I haven’t had spam since I was at school. It was battered and we had to eat it whether we liked it or not,” he laughs at the memory. “School meals were truly awful at my prep school.”

  “Prep?”

  “Preparatory school—it was private.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry for reminding you, but we’re on short rations.”

  “Hey, come on. Stop saying you’re sorry. We’re doing the best we can and after the past months a plate of spam is a luxury.” He reaches out and strokes her face, marvels that she doesn’t flinch, and is overwhelmed by the need to slip his arm around her waist and pull her tight to his chest, to protect her from the harshness of the world. She looks up at him and smiles and life flickers again in his heart as he looks deep into the green of her eyes. Holding his gaze, she curls her fingers around his hand and leads him to the sofa. They sit, arms touching, and eat the rounds of spam. Dan chews each small mouthful, savouring the taste, knowing this will be his only food until morning.

  As the evening darkens they sit, curled up on the sofa, the log burner filling the room with warmth and a soft orange glow. Dan feels an unfamiliar contentment as he strokes Monica’s hair, marvelling at how the copper shines and sparkles in the firelight. She shifts then lays her head on his lap and their eyes lock as he strokes at the soft skin of her cheek. She really is beautiful.

  “You look like a fairy,” he says.

  She laughs. “What?”

  “Well,” he says joining her laughter, surprised at his own thoughts. “Your hair and skin—you should be living in the forest somewhere wild and free. You look like autumn.”

  “Thank you, I guess,” she smiles and reaches up to his face and strokes at his beard. “You look like you should be in the forest too with that beard—a grizzly bear.”

  He laughs, but stares again into her eyes. “Don’t you like it?” he asks rubbing at the growth of the past months. He had no idea what he looked like these days—can’t remember the last time he looked in the mirror.

  “I do like it. It makes you look strong—a real man.”

  “Hah! I always kept it trimmed before, but if you like it this way …”

  “I do. It’s kind of … sexy.”

  “Why thank you,” he laughs again and feels another spark of … what? … happiness? Could he really be feeling happy? He sits and strokes her face again then scoops his arm beneath her shoulders and lifts her to him, his lips pressing soft against hers. He closes his eyes and drinks in the gentleness of her touch. She responds and a thrill shoots through him, opens up inexperienced feelings. Intense emotion overwhelms him as she slips her arms around his neck and returns his passion. Never has he felt the need to consume a woman so strongly. It wasn’t just that he wanted to take her, he wanted to make her his, forever. Sure, he’d had urges with women before, enjoyed the thrill of sex, lost himself to the
greed of lust, but this, with Monica, whatever it was, was different. “I want you to be mine,” he says gently and looks deep into the green of her eyes. He sees the fear there and his desperate longing reflected. She remains silent. He waits.

  “I will be,” she replies finally, her green eyes locked on his.

  The ache to have her is intense and they consummate their bond. Afterwards, Dan falls into a deep and contented sleep with the woman who owns his heart, undisturbed by any sense of betrayal or infidelity.

  Cassie wakes with a shiver and pulls the blankets back over her shoulders, cold even though still fully clothed. Her mouth is dry. She’s such a lightweight! Two glasses of wine and she’s knocked out, falling into bed fully-clothed like some sleezy drunk. She swings her legs over the bed and hangs her head, a dull ache is spread across the back of her neck. Water! She needs a drink of water. Pulling on her slippers she makes her way to the kitchen. Half-way down the stairs she hears a noise that can only be coming from the kitchen. She frowns. The house is silent but for the clack and scrape coming from that room. Treading with a light step, she reaches the hallway then walks across to the kitchen doorway, the light from the landing window the only source of illumination. A harsh light moves about in the kitchen—one of the solar lamps from the kitchen window sill.

  Standing against the wall she looks around the door frame and into the kitchen, keeping her body hidden. A figure opens another cupboard and shines the light inside. It turns, swinging the light in her direction, and she pulls back, hiding again behind the wall. A shuffle of feet and whoever it is opens the pantry door. Cassie looks back into the kitchen. The figure is too small to be one of the men. As the figure steps inside the pantry, Cassie walks into the kitchen and grabs a lamp from the kitchen window sill, turns it on and shines it into the pantry. Ruth!

  “Hey!” she berates. “What are you doing in there.”

  “Oh! You scared me!”

  “Good,” she returns stepping closer to the woman. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Cassie shines the lamp on the woman’s face then downwards illuminating her chest and legs. “You’re stealing!” Cassie says as she catches sight of the bag held tight in Ruth’s hand.

  “I’m hungry!”

  “We’ve given you food.”

  “Yes, but I’m still hungry,” she says with defiance.

  “We all are. You can’t come in here helping yourself. The food has to be shared out.”

  “I get that,” Ruth hisses back, “but there’s not enough to go round—not with this lot here—and I’m not gonna starve.”

  “They’ll be leaving in the morning and we’ll make the rest go round. We laid down plenty over the summer.”

  “Where is it then, cos it’s not in there?” she says thumbing behind her to the pantry.

  “It’s in the outhouses,” she replies then wishes she’d bitten her tongue as the greed in Ruth’s eyes flickers bright.

  “You say that lot will be going in the morning, but I’ve seen the way they’ve settled in here, hogging round the fire, and that leader of theirs—I reckon he’s got his eyes on this place. I just don’t believe they came up here by mistake.”

  A stone drops in Cassie’s stomach. “They’ll go. They have to.”

  Thud!

  Both women turn to listen to the noise from outside, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.

  “Turn your light off,” Cassie hisses then walks over to the window, relieved of its metal barricade earlier in the day, and peers out into the dark. Something moves.

  “What is it?” Ruth asks as she joins Cassie and peers out from behind her shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” she whispers, “but I thought I saw something move.”

  “A fox? There’s lots of them up here.”

  “No, bigger.”

  “A dog?”

  “No,” Cassie replies her belly clenching at the word, the dogs at the B&B still haunt her dreams. “More like a man.”

  “A man?” Ruth exclaims and pushes forward as she peers harder through the window, squashing Cassie against the sink.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry,” she says stepping back.

  “I’m going out.”

  “No, Cassie. What if it is a man—or men? It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can handle myself!” Cassie says, indignation curling through her.

  “I know that! I saw the way you sorted Wes and Ollie, especially Ollie, but going out—you’re putting yourself in danger.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to wake the entire house. It may be nothing,” Cassie continues as she walks across the room to the back door. She reaches for the crowbar at the side of the door, Rick’s weapon of choice ‘in case’, and turns the key in the lock. Opening the door, the cold hits her and she shivers but steps out into the snow, realising too late that she still only wears slippers. Damn! They’d be sodden. A noise - a rustle - sounds close, too close and she freezes. A hand grips her wrist and she’s yanked forward, the crowbar grabbed from her hand.

  Before she has a chance to react she’s face down in the snow with a knee in her back and a hand on her neck pushing her down. She tries to shout, but a hand clamps around her mouth.

  “Ruth!” a voice calls as a rope is tied around her wrists.

  “Benson! What the hell are you doing?” she asks.

  “I’ve come to get you back. I’ve missed you.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “For you? Yes. I woke up this morning and all I wanted was for you to be there.”

  Cassie grunts under the pressure of the knee shifted to her backside, the hand still pushing at her neck. She searches her memory for Milo’s words, but can’t think straight. She listens as Benson talks in gentle, pleading tones to Ruth.

  “Ruthie, you’re the only woman for me.”

  “You’re a mean bastard, Benson.”

  “I’m sorry,” he grovels. “I didn’t mean to treat you bad. I’m stressed. The past months have been tough and you haven’t helped.”

  “Did you really miss me this morning.”

  Cassie groans. She’s going back to him!

  “Yes, babe! Let me show you how much.”

  Cassie twists under the pressure of the hand and looks at the couple in the doorway. Benson stands with his hand slipped around Ruth’s waist, pulling her hips to his, and kisses her with passion.

  “See,” he says.

  “Yeah, I can tell you missed me,” Ruth replies with what Cassie presumes is her best ‘come to bed, you’ve pulled!’ voice.

  “Help me with this one, Benson.”

  “Sure,” Benson replies. “This is gonna be easier than I thought.”

  “C’mon, darlin’! On your feet,” the man murmurs as he lifts the pressure of his knee. A hand grips her arm and his hand stays clamped around her mouth. She stands and stares hard at Ruth in the doorway. At least she has the good grace to look away when Cassie catches her eyes. Something hard and cold knocks against her arm. Looking down, the barrel of a gun rests against her leg. She was sure Benson hadn’t had one in his hand, so it must belong to the man holding her tight to him. Ropes tighten around her wrists.

  “Let’s go!” Benson says, pulling her out into the farm’s courtyard.

  “Wait!” Ruth says and Cassie swings back to her. She’s going to change her mind, tell them to let her go! “They’ve got a stockpile of food—in those outhouses,” she hisses pointing across the yard and stepping next to Cassie.

  Cassie’s anger burns and she raises her leg then punches it out, catching Ruth with a hard blow on the hip, the kick so powerful that the woman’s feet leave the ground and she slams against the kitchen window, her head smashing the glass. She screams as she slumps to the floor.

  “Ruth!” Benson calls then turns to scowl at Cassie. He steps up to her, raises his fist and punches her face.

  “Aagh!” Wes screams as the crack of knuckles sounds, his fingers a buffer between the punch and Cassie’s cheek. “You broke my
fingers,” he cries and drops his hand from her mouth. Stumbling forward Cassie lurches away from the man. As she steps up to the kitchen, fingers hook through the ties that bind her wrists, and she’s yanked back.

  “Rick!” she screams through the doorway.

  “Shut her up!” Benson hisses as he bends to Ruth slumped against the wall.

  Chapter 26

  “Cassie!” Rick exclaims sitting bolt upright in bed. The shout seemed so real. Heart pounding, he throws back the covers, grabs for his jeans, walks to the window and peers into the dark. There’s nothing to see, but … must have been a dream.

  “Rick!”

  Yes, there it is again. Turning, he runs from the room and sprints down the stairs, jeans in hand, boxers flapping against his legs, then swings round the bannister at the bottom and hurtles into the kitchen. The door is open to the cold and another slams shut on the other side of the farmyard. He stops, pulls on his jeans, and runs across the cold tiles in his bare feet. The farmyard is lit only by the moon, but he can see the figures across the yard. He steps out, disregarding the snow squeezing up between his toes and walks across to the dark figures standing awkward at the doors.

  “Rick!” Cassie shouts as she spots him. She grunts, then her body jerks as she’s yanked backwards by the broad figure behind her. The man twists to face him, Cassie held at his front, and tilts his arm upwards, a shotgun pointed at Rick.

  “Stop!” he shouts.

  Rick, realising the danger in the man’s voice, it’s lack of confidence and the tremor of uncertainty, stops and holds up his hands. From the look of him, the way he’s shifting and holding the gun, he’s just an amateur, and that makes him even more dangerous. He could trigger the gun if he got too nervous.

  “Alright, man. I’m not armed. Just let the lady go.”

  “No way! She’s coming with me.”

  The door behind them opens and the couple behind Cassie and the gunslinger disappear into the outbuilding.

  “They’re taking the food, Rick!”

  They can’t take the food, they won’t get through the winter without it! He takes another step closer. The man jerks the gun at him.