by Ryan Casey
Candice was quiet for a while.
He looked up from the embers and saw her looking in his eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“If you really believe something, Jack… something you actually understand, then you should fight for it. No matter what the consequences may be. If you really believe in something, you should fight for it. You don’t always get to choose leadership. Leadership chooses you.”
He looked away, not really taking her words in. It was too hard. Fighting for what he believed was just too taxing.
He looked at her and half-smiled. “Hazel was right. I’m probably just paranoid.”
Candice shook her head, looked like she was going to contest.
Then she sighed. “You can’t blame yourself forever, Jack. If something doesn’t seem right… you have to express that. You have to step up to the plate. There’s a balance. Be careful how you walk it.”
They sat there a little while longer. Quiet. Watching the embers fade.
“I should head to bed,” Candice said.
“Me too,” Jack said.
She stood first. Went to head off.
“You heading back to your place?”
“Nah,” Jack said. “I will, but I’ll be right behind you. Give me five minutes.”
He saw the uncertainty in Candice’s eyes.
Then, he saw her smile and walk off.
He looked back at the embers of the fire.
Stared at them, Villain by his side.
It was another two hours before he finally left for his caravan.
And all that time, all he could think about were the consequences of stepping up, and how he could never face them again.
Chapter Five
She ran through the woods as quickly as she could.
The night was illuminated by stars. It was nice being out here, able to stare up at them. Sometimes, when she was at His camp, she looked up at the stars. Usually when she was involved in something she really didn’t want to be involved with; when she was being forced to do something she really didn’t want to do.
Just stare up at the stars. Try to count them.
And the rest of the world—all her troubles, all her worries—just fizzled away.
Her bare feet were sore as they collided with the rough earth. A stitch crippled her stomach. She wanted to stop. She wanted to give up and collapse to the ground. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way. These days, she found herself feeling more and more like this all the time.
It only seemed to be getting worse.
Which was why she had to get away.
She didn’t know where she was going. In a way, it reminded her of her childhood. She remembered running through the fields when she was away on holiday in France with school. The freedom she felt. She knew she shouldn’t be doing it. She’d been told strictly not to stray too far from the grounds of their hostel.
But she just needed to spread her wings and fly.
She’d spent so many years suffocated that even the illusion of freedom felt so, so good.
She’d been punished for it, of course. First, by the school. Then by her parents, when she got home.
But she smiled at the memory.
It was worth it.
Those few minutes of freedom were worth it.
That’s what this felt like.
Freedom. Or rather, an illusion of freedom.
Because He was still out there.
And when she saw Him again, she was in trouble.
Big trouble.
She shook her head, pushed those thoughts aside. It alarmed her, in a way. When had she got so… well, weak?
She’d always been weak in the past, she saw that clearly now. She’d always been subservient to someone else. She’d always valued the opinions of others over her view of herself. Or rather, the lens of those opinions was how she gained her view of herself.
But then she’d shaken free of that. She’d grown stronger. She started to value herself. She started to appreciate herself for who she was.
When had everything gone so horribly wrong?
She went to take another step when she felt it like a punch to the gut.
The memory.
She froze. It might be in her mind, but her reaction was physical.
And it was visceral.
The way he’d stood there.
Then the way he’d…
She shook her head again. The anxiety was crippling. She was so hunched over she could barely walk. She was shivering, even though the night heat was intense.
She knew exactly why she was in the position she was in right now.
She’d been lost after it happened. She thought she had started to value herself, but really what she’d done was value just how well she fulfilled her duties for others.
For him.
So when he’d gone… she was lost again.
And that’s when she met Him.
She shuddered at the memory. He’d picked her up when she was going through hell. He was harsh, but eventually, He’d made her feel strong. And He’d made her feel valued.
And even though she didn’t realise it was even happening, she’d slowly been handing away control, all over again.
By the time she even realised what she’d got herself involved in, it was already too late to do anything to break free.
But no.
That wasn’t true.
Because she was here right now.
She was breaking free.
She forced herself to keep going, to keep moving. She couldn’t wallow in the past. The past was done. It was settled. What she’d done, she couldn’t change that. What she’d been through, she couldn’t change that either.
What she could do was embrace this moment.
Make the most of the situation in front of her.
Keep on running and hoping.
So she picked up her pace.
She ran through the trees. Felt the fallen branches digging into the soles of her feet. She couldn’t look back. She couldn’t even let herself consider glancing over her shoulder.
Because this wasn’t the first time she’d been running away.
She thought of the last time. She hadn’t got quite as far. She was so close to giving it all up.
But then she’d looked back and she knew where she was protected.
She knew where she got the kind of support she needed.
She’d gone back and He’d been waiting.
He wasn’t happy with her. She could tell. He had that look to His eyes.
But then He’d grabbed the back of her neck, stroked it, and told her He was glad she’d come back. Glad she’d seen sense.
But she had to make a small sacrifice.
She felt the sharp pains on her back with every move.
The lashings of that whip, cracking until her flesh was bare.
They’d scarred now. But the memory would always be there. The pain would always be there.
It would never go away.
She looked over her shoulder and regretted it immediately.
She couldn’t see anything back there. Nothing but darkness.
But it was the knowledge that mattered.
The knowledge that she knew exactly what was back there.
She thought about going back. Thought about the pain she’d face. The suffering she’d encounter.
And she had to bear it.
She had to be willing to.
If she couldn’t, then the alternative was even worse.
Even more painful.
Staying out here was even more dangerous.
She went to take a step back when she heard something in the direction she’d been heading.
She looked around. Crouched. Made her way through the trees.
She stopped when she reached the edge of an open area.
And then she saw it.
In the brightness of the moonlight, she saw a caravan site.
She saw the static caravans overlooking the sea
.
She saw fields of crops.
She saw… somewhere safe.
She tightened her fists. Dug a tooth into a bottom lip that had already been bitten away.
And then she felt a slight smile creep across her shaking face.
This place looked perfect.
She just didn’t know which perfect it was going to be yet.
Chapter Six
Jack knew something was wrong the second he passed the small field on his way to work.
It was the little chicken coop before the fields. Usually at this time of day, the hens in there were clucking away. Their geese—the Osmond family, as they were known—usually shrieked to wake them, bothering them, trying to force them out of their little wooden home. Donny Osmond—a female, somewhat confusingly—was always the ringleader.
But there were no sounds.
He looked over towards the coop. It wasn’t his to investigate. Wasn’t his responsibility.
But at the same time, he couldn’t just let this slide. He’d got up early. Barely got any sleep last night, but that was kind of par for the course these days, so it wasn’t a problem.
He looked at the corn planted before him. He could see already that some of the plants were going off and withering in the heat. They needed far more water than they had to spare, and a better water collection system to boot when what minimal rain did fall.
He gritted his teeth. Battled with staying put, with getting on with his job, and with going over to the chickens to investigate.
“Stuff it,” he said. “Come on, Villain. Let’s go take a look. But no chasing them.”
They walked over towards the chicken coop together. There were people around, but not many yet. It was early. The sun had hardly risen, but it was clearly going to be warm again. Every day felt warmer than the last. Rain was something he longed for. It’d been at least two weeks since the last downpour, and that wasn’t exactly torrential.
He looked over towards the caravans. Then over the top of them towards the sea. He looked over at Morecambe Bay, which he could see from here. He wondered how many people were still surviving in Morecambe. Whether the town had been emptied, just like every other town.
He looked away from it, not really wanting to think about it, and turned his attention to the chicken coop.
He knew what the problem was right away.
The chickens weren’t gone. They were still sleeping away lazily in their coop.
But their prized goose, Donny Osmond…
She was gone.
Jack scratched his head. He knew there was a good chance of a goose escaping. Maybe she just got tired of being here, fancied exploring elsewhere.
But then there was that memory of those people lurking on the edge of their site yesterday.
That feeling in the pit of his stomach that they wanted what his group had, because at the end of the day, nobody could be trusted.
He looked over to the edge of the woods, not really expecting to see anyone, when he froze.
There was a woman standing there.
She had a goose in her hands.
Donny Osmond.
Jack’s first instinct was to go chasing after her. To hunt her down and stop her getting away.
But then there was that opposing force.
The one telling him he had to just back down, give up, or at least report it to somebody else.
He didn’t want to get involved.
He didn’t want to engage.
He didn’t want to…
He remembered something.
The conversation with Candice by the fire last night.
“If you really believe in something, you should fight for it. You don’t always get to choose leadership. Leadership chooses you.”
He remembered her words and he found himself tightening his fists.
He didn’t want to do this.
He didn’t want to involve himself.
But he could see someone stealing from them.
He couldn’t just back down and let this go.
This wasn’t leading.
It was just reacting to a situation that needed dealing with.
The woman stood and stared at him for a few seconds, realising he’d seen her.
And then she disappeared into the woods.
He ran as quickly as he could. Raced across the fields, crushing crops in the process.
He knew it was futile. The woods were a good place to shelter. It was easy to hide in there. This woman had the advantage.
But she also had Donny.
And if Jack knew one thing about this bloody goose, it was that she was a racket when she wanted to be.
He reached the edge of the woods and he stopped.
He stood there a few seconds. Listened for a sound. Footsteps. Or the goose.
He didn’t hear a thing.
He thought about just letting this woman go. Telling the others he’d seen her flee but hadn’t managed to catch up with her.
But there was something else.
That urge to make himself useful.
And that nagging desire to lead that he was doing all he could to repress, all because he knew the disaster that came with it.
All of it trying to burst out.
He ran through the trees a little more, Villain by his side.
He kept as low as he could, scanned his surroundings. She could be anywhere. Laying low. Racing off into the distance. He had no idea.
But still, there was something rewarding about this pursuit. Something freeing.
He was about to take a right when he heard a shriek from Donny Osmond.
He stopped. Looked up ahead.
Donny wasn’t far away at all.
He crouched down, heart racing. He pulled his knife out of his pocket, just in case. He edged towards the goose, slowly, bracing himself for whatever might face him.
He stopped when he was sure he was close.
Donny was still shrieking.
He found it strange, in a way. Why would she be making a noise like that?
There was only one way to find out.
He held his breath.
Raised his knife.
And then he pushed the branches aside.
When he saw what was ahead, it wasn’t quite what he expected.
Donny was standing there hissing at him.
She was on her own.
Jack frowned. Lowered his knife a little. “Donny? What’re you…”
He realised something, then.
Donny.
She wasn’t hissing at Jack.
She was hissing at something behind him.
Jack’s muscles went numb.
He turned around, slowly.
He saw her.
Right behind him.
But before he could say a word, before he could even figure out what she looked like or weigh her up in any way, she cracked him across the head, and everything went black.
Chapter Seven
Jack was vaguely aware of a metallic taste right at the back of his mouth.
He opened his eyes suddenly. Blinding light burned through, forcing him to close them again. Everything hurt. His head ached like mad, more so on the front of his skull than anywhere. It throbbed, and every throb felt like a knife digging in and twisting. Opening his eyes felt like hell.
But he knew he had to.
Because there was only one way he felt this bad.
Well. Two ways.
One was a hangover. And he didn’t remember having a hangover for a long time.
So there was only one other option.
He’d been attacked.
He squeezed his eyes open, gradually, and as his vision returned, he tried to gauge his surroundings.
He could see trees above him. Branches. Leaves. A blinding, burning sun, making him drip with sweat, and making that banging headache even worse.
He looked around to his right. Villain sat there staring at him, panting. Other than him, there was nobody here. As far as
he could tell, there were no tents, either. He wasn’t camping. He was alone. Where was he?
He reached for his head, put a hand to it, and felt a bloody lump.
And then it hit him.
The memory.
The woman with the goose, Donny Osmond, running off into the trees.
Chasing after her.
Finding Donny there on her own.
And then turning around and being whacked over the head.
He didn’t know where he was and he didn’t know where this girl had gone. But he knew she was nowhere to be seen, which meant she’d escaped.
He only had one choice, especially now he’d been humiliated.
He had to go back to the caravan site and forget this ever happened.
“Come on, Villain,” he said. “Let’s get…”
He froze when he went to push himself up.
The woman stood there, still holding Donny.
She was thin. Quite tall. Very fair-skinned. Her dark hair was long and matted. Her eyes were wide, scanning every inch of him. She was dressed strangely. A long white dress, like she was a part of some kind of pagan cult or something.
She looked at him with distrust.
Donny was in her arms.
“I’m sorry I had to hit you,” she said. “But you were chasing me. Had to do something.”
Jack frowned—but even frowning sent splitting pains through his skull. “I… I was chasing you because you stole from me.”
“I’m sorry about that, too. But everyone needs to eat.”
Jack looked at her, then at Donny. Poor thing looked quite relaxed in her arms. She had no idea what was ahead.
“What’re you…”
“Why am I still here?” she asked.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Like I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just needed to put you down and get the measure of you. Your dog seems nice. Which is a good thing.”
Jack looked over at Villain. He walked over to this girl, who ruffled his fur a little.
Traitor.
“Yeah well for someone eager not to hurt me, I’d say you didn’t exactly do the best job.”
She smirked a little at that. Like she found it amusing. Psycho.
“I’m sorry. But you’re okay now. Get back. Get some rest. Some water. I’ll…”