Home is not far. We should see the entrance around the next bend.
"What are you going to do?" I ask. His eyes find mine, query my meaning. "With David." I add. His eyes return to the road. He says nothing. "Do you have a plan?"
"No, Cait," he snaps back scornfully, "I don't have a plan. What would you have me do?"
"Shoot him," I say. "Put him down like the beast he is."
"And will that make you sleep better at night?" I hate the way he looks at me, as if I am his worst enemy. The betrayed look in his eyes is too much to bear. "Would that curb your guilt? Would it?!"
"Please, calm down," I say. I place my hand on his thigh. "There's no need for this. I'm sorry, you have no idea how much. But we need to keep our heads right now. I've seen what he can do."
"I'm sure you have." I allow the jibe without reprisal. I do not wish to antagonise him further. I need him on side.
"He's hurt our daughter," I remind him. "Who knows what despicable things he's done to her?"
"Shut up," he says. I may have taken it too far. I keep quiet, thinking up a suitable response. Before I have a chance, he breaks the silence, yelling, "What the fuck?!"
I let out a wail, hold my hands to my mouth. The fire pit is aglow, illuminating her half-naked form. She is sat, leaning against the post, cuffed to it. Unconscious.
The car skids to a halt. John is out before I realise we have stopped moving. "Rose? Rose, wake up." He kneels at her side, throws his jacked around her. He rubs her arms, her legs, warming her. "Come on, Rosebud. Wake up."
"Daddy?" she mutters through swollen lips. "Is it really you?"
"It's us, sweetheart," I say.
I tug at the cuffs. They are secured tightly. The post is unforgiving, does not move in the slightest. Her hand is limp, only supported by the cuff that is threaded through the hole at its centre. There is no way to free her without a key. She shuffles uneasily. Her legs unfold. I gasp as I see her blood-streaked inner thighs.
"I'll kill him for this," John growls. "Rose. Where did he go?"
Her arm rises, bloody, bruised. She points a trembling finger to the woods. "That way."
"Are you sure?" he asks. Rose's head dips, bobs and sways. There is no way she can be certain. "I'm gonna check inside, make sure he's gone." I nod. He places his hand on my shoulder as he rises to his feet. "Shout me if you see anything."
The door is already open. I watch as he descends the stairs. He disappears into darkness. I cradle Rose, nestle in close. She is warm. The fire pit has kept the chill wind at bay. David did not mean for her to die, to freeze out here in the winter air. He wanted her alive. He will be back.
"He's dead!"
John's shout startles me. "David?"
"No." He is sad, subtle sobs befoul his anger.
"Ryan," I say, almost a whisper. "Oh god, no."
"She did it!" The call comes from behind me, from the woods. "She killed my boy."
John calls out into the night. A feral scream of rage, hatred, misery. A hideous shriek of sheer agony. He runs headlong, fists leading. No thought for what comes next. The first punch takes David on the chin. The second to his ribs. He stumbles back, wind knocked from his lungs. "You fucking bastard! I let you in, treat you like family, and this is what you do?"
David recovers quickly. He steps towards John, arms at his sides, unthreatening. "I didn't do this, John. You did. You couldn't keep your wife from straying. You couldn't keep your daughter safe. It's all on you. Don't blame me for your failings. You-"
John's fist flies before David can finish, a heavy blow to the jaw. David's head is jarred to the right. His fingers massage his jaw as he chews air, easing the tension in his aching muscles. John throws another. This time his fist stops dead as David's fingers wrap around it. David throws a jab of his own. John is too quick. His fist hits nothing but air. John hooks his foot behind David's knee. The brute stumbles, falls. John is on him in a pinch. His fists slam down hard on David's face. Blow by blow, crack by crunch, David's face begins to cave. As John brings his hands up for further strikes, blood comes with them, spraying droplets into the air.
"What do you have to say, now?" John shouts. "Huh? Look at you. You pathetic piece of shit."
"Kill him, John," I yell. My blood boils. Adrenaline rushes through me, filling me. I feel I could snap his neck myself with my bare hands.
He whispers, too low to hear. "What was that?" John asks. He leans in closer. "I can't hear you." His voice is fierce, malevolent. David's lips continue to move. I cannot hear his words. "Speak up, you cunt!" John leans closer still, their faces near touching.
"I said, 'come closer'," David says. He clamps his hands around John's face. "Come closer so I can crush your skull." The veins in his arms bulge. Screams drown out the crunch of crumbling bone as he presses his palms together. He throws John to the ground beside him, rolls on top of him. He raises both hands, cups them together, brings them down like a mighty hammer, onto Johns face. I cry out, distraught, devastated, as John's head bursts like a ripe seed pod.
My ears buzz. My eyes grow hazy. The steady thrum of my heart beating is all that holds me in this moment. Without it, I fear that time would stop altogether. Rose calls to me. I cannot understand what she says. Her voice is desperate, a warning. I am powerless to heed it. I am lost to grief, a slave to suffering. A blur in the darkness approaches. As it moves closer, it sharpens.
I stare into his cold blue eyes as he says, "You've got no knife to wave in my face this time, Caity." He pulls his blade, holds it outwards. He scrapes the serrated edge along my jaw line. I feel pain, but not as I should. It is lessened, lost in an ocean of desolation and torment. "But I do."
He seizes me by my hair, drags me to the table: a wooden picnic bench where I have enjoyed many a meal with my family. My heart warms with fond memories; special moments that I could hold onto until the next. I expect, from now on, this table will hold a different meaning for me.
He throws me against it, face down, bent over. He kicks my legs apart.
"No, David," I plead as I feel his knife creep under my coat, beneath my blouse. "Please. Please don't do this."
He holds me down, his huge palm pressing on my back. He runs the blade up my spine, the honed edge cutting through cloth, the serrated edge tearing through flesh. A flash of heat spreads through my back. I feel the skin peel back like loose wallpaper. As he tears the shredded clothing away, the heat vanishes. Only cold remains.
He pulls down my leggings, my underwear with them. "Deep breaths, Caity," he says. I struggle, resist. Pain cripples my right shoulder as he brings his blade down hard, pinning me to the table. I scream, tears streaming from groggy eyes. His blade holds me in place. I cannot move. "Now hold still. I'll try to be quick."
I raise my eyes to the fire pit, to the post beside it. Rose is watching, crying, screaming at the top of her lungs. She pulls frantically at her cuffs. She is helpless, as am I; at the mercy of this merciless beast.
"Please, David." I say. My words are little more than a groan, too weak to hold any weight. I feel him against me, prodding, trying to force himself inside me. "Please stop."
He thrusts harder each time, but to no avail. "Damn, Caity. What a letdown. Even you daughter wasn't this much of a disappointment. She took it like a champ." Frustrated, he pulls the blade from my shoulder. "No worries. I know a way to get you wet." I squeal as I feel it. A sharp impact between my thighs, followed by a wave of agony that ripples through my abdomen. He pulls it out slowly, the serrated edge churning my innards to pulp. "Ah, much better." I convulse. My body falls limp. I cannot muster the strength to move. He takes his blade over to the fire pit, plunges it into the flames. "I'll just leave this here for later. Oh, the fun we will have with it."
"You monster!" Rose screams.
He grabs her throat, punches her face. She falls in a heap, eyes rolling in the back of her head. "Wait your turn, Little Bud."
He walks back behind me. I hear him fumbling with his trousers
. I brace myself for what comes next, yelp as he slides himself inside. My head pulsates, darkness invades my vision. Each jerking thrust seems to hit deeper than the last. I feel my body break, tearing inside and out. He grunts loudly, revels in the pain he is inflicting. I am fading. It will not be long before I lose consciousness altogether. I welcome it. I would welcome anything that could relieve me of this torture. His panting increases, body tenses. What happens when he is finished? Will he release me? Kill me? Kill Rose?
My thoughts are jumbled. I cannot think straight. All I can focus on is the pain. I throw my left arm behind me, try to hit him, to cause him pain in any way I can. Futile, I know. I do not know what I wish to accomplish.
He grabs the limb, wrenches it behind my back, further than it can comfortably bend. I hear it snap, yet my mind barely registers. All I hear is white noise, drowning out all else. Just as the darkness takes me, drags me into an involuntary slumber, I hear a new noise. A blast of sorts, thunderous and loud.
Gunfire.
ROSE
Sunday, 23:12
My hands are trembling, breathing erratic. My father lies only ten paces away. I have always wondered what brains would look like. Nothing could have ever prepared me for the true horror of it. Daddy. My Daddy.
I fall to my knees, bury my face in my free hand. The other hangs, restricted by the cuff that is linked through my palm; through the hole that resides there. My other palm is soaked within seconds, dripping with tears. The gun lies in the dirt before me. The gun Daddy left in his jacket. The jacket he draped around me. I wonder if he had planned it, to leave it with me so I could take the shot if need be. I guess I will never know the truth. I will never hear his voice again.
Death. There has been far too much of it tonight. I cannot say I am sad about all of them. I see his corpse. I would smile if things were not so tragic. I have wanted to kill him since the first time he laid a hand on me. I thought I would enjoy it, but not now. Not like this.
I hear a groan. Mum. She is alive. But for how much longer? She has lost a lot of blood. Her head sways sporadically, shakily. She is barely holding on, unable to move, pinned under David's inanimate weight. Even in death he still causes suffering. I have never hated someone so much.
I climb to my feet. My legs are weak, unstable. My own ordeal has taken its toll. I rattle the cuff, pull at it with both hands. The post holds firm. I did not expect any different. That cuff will never be free. The one through the hole in my hand ...
I clamp my right hand around my wrist, pull hard. It does not hurt, not in the slightest. I assume the skin will tear with ease. It does not even stretch. Something about the shimmering flesh that surrounds the wound. It is unusual, tougher than it should be. It pulses in the fire pit's radiance. Spines of circuitry stem from it. I flex my fingers. Only now do I notice the feeling has returned. I have full use of every digit, a full range of movement. That is impossible. I do not know what they have done to me. Some biomechanical virus, maybe? Who knows? Whatever it is, it is spreading.
I take David's knife from the fire. The blade glows white-hot. I take a breath, grit my teeth. This is going to hurt.
I take a moment, centre myself, listen to the night air, the wind howling through the trees, the hoots and whistles of nocturnal creatures. I hold my left arm outstretched, my right arm high. I hold my breath as I bring it down. The blade is razor-sharp, severs the extremity like butter. The smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils as I fall, but I feel no pain. I hold the blade to the stump for good measure, cauterise it fully. I am a hand down, but I am free.
The car is close, still powered up. I run to the table; to Mum. I drag the vile excuse for a man off of her. He is heavy. I manage to set his mass off balance. His dead weight does the rest, dragging what remains down with it.
"Mum?" I utter, little more than a whimper. There is no indication to whether she hears me or not. I press my fingers to her neck, prod her shoulder with my charred wrist. "Mum, wake up." She has a pulse. Barely.
I roll her into my arms. She is not as heavy as David, but still awkward to carry with only one hand. I bundle her through the car's rear door, onto the back seat. With the interior lighting, I see the full extent of her injuries. She will die before I can get her anywhere. I need to stop the bleeding. I need her suture kit.
I head inside, descend the steps two at a time. I suddenly feel a sense of dread. I used to feel safe here. Now, I wish I never had to set foot down here ever again. The common room seems smaller than before, what little furniture there left in tatters. Yet another victim of David's wrath. I move with purpose, head for Mum's and Daddy's room. The less time I have to spend down here the better. The suture kit is where it has always been, pride of place, on the dresser. Mum always kept it close at hand, just in case.
I grab it and run, not sparing a second glance for any of their possessions. I follow the blood trail to the foot of the stairs. It is mine. I remember it leaking from me as he dragged me up top by my throat. I stop suddenly, not through sorrow, or fear, or anger. Quite the opposite. I have to see him one last time. I have to say goodbye.
I gently push his door open. He is exactly how I left him. Again I see past the bruises and cuts, ignore them completely. He looks so perfect, so peaceful. I sit at his side, lean over him. "I'm going now, Ry," I say. "I'm going to find the safe zone." I run my fingers through his hair, so silky, so soft. "I wish you were coming, too."
I shuffle away slowly. Strange as it sounds, I do not want to disturb him. I lean over to his bedside locker. The map is exactly where he left it, but different, defaced by red marker. As it unfolds I come to realise why. He has done the work for me, plotted the safest route. All I have to do is follow.
I unfold the last section. A note falls free, floats to the floor. A single sheet, folded through its centre, my name scrawled across it. My heart leaps to my throat. I pick it up with shaky fingers and unfold it. Tears well as I begin to read.
Rose,
If you are reading this I am probably already dead. The bullet wound in my side has festered. I'm feeling worse by the hour, and don't know how long I have left before it takes me.
I assume you've found the map. I have marked the quickest route to the castle. You shouldn't have any problems reaching it if you stick to the course.
I wish I could come with you, help you find a place where we could live our lives without fear.
I'm sorry for everything. If your dad hadn't taken us in, nothing bad would have happened to you. You would have been safe. I am also sorry because I am thankful he did. If he hadn't, I never would have met you. I know we have only know each other for a few months, but I have fallen so hard for you.
I wish I could tell you how I feel, but solars aren't the only thing that scares the shit out of me. I fear your reaction, that you might not feel the same way about me. I would rather be a friend, have you talk to me, tell me your deepest secrets, than shy away from me and my affections.
I dream about you every night, about holding you, kissing you. I live for the moments we spend together. I wish they could last forever. Sadly, nothing ever does.
My heart is yours. It always will be, no matter what becomes of me. I love you, Rose, more than I have ever loved anything. Take the map, live your life for the both of us and keep me in your heart. That way I will always be with you. That's all I ever wanted.
Ryan x
The page is sodden by the time I finish. I close my eyes. I see us in my mind's eye, the moment that was stolen from us. If I could take back the day, I would. I would give anything just to see his smile one last time.
I lean over him, press my lips to his forehead. My palm caresses his face, fingers tuck the stray locks behind his ear. I hope he can feel it. I hope he knows I am here, with him, wherever he is.
"Thank you," I whisper. I kiss his lips one last time. They are cold, dry. "I love you, too. Always will."
I stop as I reach the door, taking one last look. I have seen him like this so
many times, like he is sleeping. My heart pleads for him to wake, to invite me over to snuggle in next to him. It breaks as it realises he never will.
My ascent is harder. The steps seem taller, my feet feel heavier. Each stride is an arduous climb. I am breathless as I reach the summit. The night seems darker, emptier. The fire pit has nearly burned out. Only a few smouldering embers remain. I look back, down the staircase. The only home I have ever known. So many bad memories, so much death. It still does not wipe out the good. I smile for the first time in a long while. The times we shared, the love we had for one another; I will miss it all. My smile does not last long. It is gone, killed by the dread that has taken root in my gut. I hear it, a noise from close behind me.
Clicking.
I pirouette, turn to the darkness, to the dark figure that stands between myself and salvation. A flash of warmth washes over my cheeks. My head is pounding, blood pressure at an all time high. With all that I have seen, all that I have been through, could it really get any worse?
It is so still. I could have mistaken it for a statue. It stands over Daddy, looks down on him. David is missing, dragged away into the woods. Only a trail in the dirt remains. Good riddance.
The car is still on. If I can only make it that far ...
I have what I need. The map, the suture kit. There is food in the car, fresh from Mum's and Daddy's supply run. We could survive for days on it. I have no choice. I need to make a run for it.
I ready myself, deep breaths. Then, I notice. The trees are alive, moving, coming closer. There are dozens of them, these monsters in their black armour. They stop as they reach the clearing. What are they waiting for?
The one next to Daddy looks up. Its head tilts. It studies me for a time, neck snaking with jerky movements. It makes its sound, the clicking, as if it rattles inside its shiny cladding. The others take a knee. This one, the one that watches, must be the leader. It has me. I cannot escape, cannot get to where I need to be. I am sorry, Mum. There is nothing I can do.
Solar: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 13