“Cassie,” he calls to her. “If you really haven’t got anything to wear, we’ll need to get you kitted out.” He sighs, pulls at the strap of his rucksack and turns his attention to Dan, taking in the man’s bare feet and soft linen trousers. “And you too, Dan.” If he doesn’t join the living soon he’ll be getting a slap. “It’s time we left. We’ll get you some boots and trousers on the way. Let’s go.”
Chapter 12
Flat 5, Belmont Tower
Light filters through the thin, orange-flowered, bargain-basement curtains, warming the edges of the sun-marked brown fabric.
“Cheap shit!” Jak groans through cracked lips, the sides of his tongue tacky against the dryness of his mouth, the saliva thick. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly as he wakes, head heavy on the sweat-stained pillow, his tongue clacking thick as he searches for moisture. “Close them fekkin’ curtains.” A body moves next to him.
“Huh?”
Irritation churns inside the throbbing pain of his head.
“Lexi! Close the fekkin’ curtains.”
He forces the words out through the dryness of his mouth. The body moves, jiggling him on the over-soft mattress. His irritation grows to a rumbling anger. He hates being jostled. He tugs at the thin sheet, pulling it up over his pale chest, over the few straggling hairs that run along his sternum, and closes his eyes tight to block out the light, stop the pounding in his head. Sourness wafts into his nostrils as the body next to him shifts and reaches over. A huge softness weighs down his side, touching his face, and he squints, watching as she reaches to pull at the curtain. She grunts - fat bitch - tugs at the cloth and leans back. A sneer curls onto his lips and an ache throbs in his crotch as her heavy, naked breast brushes against his face. The sour sweat of her armpit lingers and he rolls over, sliding his arm over the rising rolls of her belly and clasps his hand over her breast, the flesh squeezes through his fingers as he grasps it tight.
“Ow!”
“Shut it,” he grunts sliding his leg over hers.
He pushes his knee down and crawls over her rising flesh until they are face to face, his hips between hers. A pain stabs at his belly but he ignores it, the throb in his groin pushing it down. He slides his hand between her thighs and smiles as she groans. Yeah, this time he’ll give it to her real good.
“Oh, Jak.”
“I told you to shut it. I’m concentrating.” He slides his fingers higher. Anytime now I’ll be ready. He grinds his thighs against her, feels the warmth. The ache is painful, but there’s nothing. He feels between his legs. Soft, flacid. Anger bubbles. He grinds against her again.
“Is it in?”
“Not yet,” he heaves, pushing hard against her. Still soft. Still nothing.
“I’m hungry.”
The prickle of humiliation tingles at his cheeks and the pain in his belly gnaws again.
‘She has no respect for you.’ The voice takes him by surprise and his heart skips a hard beat. It’s right though; she has no respect. ‘She needs sorting. Teach her a lesson’.
“Hah! You’re right,” he replies to the voice without realising he’s said it aloud.
He raises his hand.
“I know. I didn’t drink much yesterday.”
Clenches it into a fist.
‘She deserves it. Just like all the other scumbags.’
“Hah!”
'Do it Jak. Do my work for me. Punish the sinners.’
And smashes it down against her mouth.
“Ugh!”
“I told you to shut up yer fat bitch,” he seethes, rams his hips against her soft flesh and squeezes her breast tight between his fingers. She screams and bucks against him. He watches, his face clenched, eyes narrowed to slits, as blood seeps from the split his knuckles have made on her lips. He rolls back to his side of the bed, tugs at the bedcover, then kicks hard against the soft flesh of her dimpled thigh. The pain gripes at his belly again. He’ll have to get a fix soon. “Get me a drink,” he grumbles, throwing back the covers and pushing himself upright to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling the grease of his skin as he scratches his belly, “before I really give you what’s coming.”
Lexi sobs and reaches for the grubby dressing gown dropped at the bedside last night. He turns to watch her.
“It’s your fault,” he sneers looking at the squashed flesh of her thighs as she stands pulling her arms through the matted pink fluff of the gown.
“What is?” she asks unable to keep down a sob.
“That,” he sneers, gesturing to the bed. “That I couldn’t … No man would want to. Not with you.” She doesn’t reply. He pushes at her again. “You’re an ugly bit,” he spits. “Fat and ugly. That’s why I can’t do it.” Watching as her bottom lip trembles, he smiles. “Who’d want to anyway?” he mutters turning back to reach for his jeans. “No one. I only do it out of pity.” The pain stabs again at his stomach, and a chill creeps into his muscles, as she steps out of the bedroom. He’ll need a fix soon or he’s really going to suffer. She’s really going to suffer. “Get dressed yer fat bitch,” he shouts after her. “I need a fix.”
The heavy boots have the unfamiliar weight and tightness of new shoes that Cassie hates, but she’s thankful that Rick pushed her to get them, along with the thick, reinforced walking socks. Taking them from their hooks and stuffing extra pairs into the rucksack Dan had pulled down from the shelf for her felt wrong. She’d almost gone to the checkout to make payment before she realised the shop was deserted and no one would haul her back for shoplifting.
“This feels wrong,” she says slipping a long belt through the black cargo pants. They fit well and the khaki shirt looks good tucked in around her trim waist.
“What does?” Dan asks as he bends to tie the laces of the walking boots picked out by Rick.
“Taking all this,” she gestures to the piles of folded clothes on the seat next to racks of men’s boots.
“We need it and there’s no one here to take our money. No one’s ever going to buy it,” he responds with a hint of bitterness. “I’ve seen to that.”
“Shh! Babe, don’t let him hear,” she whispers. “We’ve got a chance at a new life now. We can put the past behind us, but if he finds out what you … who you are, then … he might not be so willing to help us.”
Dan’s head drops a little at her words and she looks over to Rick. Good. He’s busy in the camping aisle. She can hear the clatter of metal as he picks through the shelves and packs more equipment into a large canvas holdall. She doesn’t want to lie to him or be deceitful, but after the last couple of weeks, seeing the way the continual hounding crushed Dan, she couldn’t bear Rick looking at them with the disgust she saw in the eyes of the mob that had called for him to be taken to prison. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. She was sure of that. He couldn’t have known what would happen if the virus leaked. No one did—not really—even if the reporters had said different. Dan had explained it all to her—that Professor Carlton had stolen it, got Mitchell to take it and pass it on to their competitors.
“It’s what I want Cassie,” Dan looks up to her. “To start again. Where nobody knows me.” His eyes still have a haunted look and she cups his cheek in her hand and rubs her thumb against the lines there, wanting to smooth away the trauma of the last few weeks. It wasn’t his fault really. The reports had said something about industrial espionage and chemical weapons … but she knew Dan wasn’t involved. He could only know what the others further down in the chain told him and he wouldn’t lie to her, she knew that for sure. She bends down and kisses him, then holds his head against her belly and strokes his hair as she watches Rick pull a large hunting knife from the wall and slide his finger down the sharp blade before slotting it into its sheath and attaching it to his belt. He looks up as he finishes and smiles at her over the top of the low aisles.
“You need one too,” he calls as he realises she’s watching. “A knife—for hunting and … for protection. Can you handle one?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, she can,” Dan responds as he slips his arm around her hips. “We both can. Milo—my bodyguard—he taught us to defend ourselves after the Carsons were kidnapped.”
“Good,” Rick grins as he raises his eyebrows with what Cassie thinks could be appreciation. “Come and choose your weapons.”
Chapter 13
Weston Pharmacy, Belmont Road
Jak shivers as pain wracks through him. It tears at every muscle in his body but the need for a fix is driving him, pushing him to feed it before he claws his own eyeballs out the way Beeker did. He bends over, doubling up as the agony rips at his stomach, lurches, palm clawed against the cold wall of the pharmacy’s locked door.
“Break it down!” he gasps as the agony bites him again. “Break it down or I’ll rip your eyes out myself.”
“Keep your hair on,” Lexi snarls back as she raises the heavy lump hammer behind her massive shoulder, the fat on her arm and back wobbling as she stamps her foot down firm.
“Stupid, fat cow!” Jak shouts. “Smash it down now! Or-” he continues, his screaming rant drowned out by the screech of wood splintering and the thud of the hammer as it smashes against the door. “Again!” he shouts. “Make it good this time or-”
“Or what?” she snaps back, twisting round to look at his ravaged face.
“Or this,” he returns, raising his leg and kicking her hard against her thigh.
“Ugh!” she groans and lurches against the wall.
‘Kick her again. Do it for me,” the voice urges.
“And this,” he shouts again as he kicks his leg up and plants the toe of his heavy boot hard into her rump. He smiles as her face smashes against the wall and she groans in pain. He’ll teach her to listen to him and once he’s had his fix, well, she’ll really get the chance to learn. “What you snivelling at?” he snaps as her chest heaves, her face contorted with emotion. “Get up or I’ll break you.” She shuffles against the wall, pushing herself up with her arm hard against it. “Stop your snivelling,” he snaps again, the rage taking him. The agony writhes through his stomach. “Break you I-” he gasps in pain and staggers against the wall. She stands, her eyes catching his, and raises the hammer. For a second he thinks she’s going to bring it down on him, that she’s finally cracked. Maybe he’s gone too far this time? As she takes a step back, he cowers. She swings the hammer at the door. He sags with relief. Hah! She’d never dare to raise a hand against him. He’ll teach her later just what a mistake it is to raise her voice—talk back to him. Stupid fat bitch will get what’s coming.
He watches as she breaks through the door and steps forward, filling the doorway with her girth, chest heaving. The pain ebbs a little but the hunger for the fix consumes him.
“I’m in,” she says, a triumphant smile smeared across her bruised lips, the split from this morning’s punch breaking open a little. He watches as it widens, split fresh against the browning edges. Sweat drips from her greasy black hair. He needs to find himself a better-looking woman. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get it up. It was hers. Who’d want to give it to that. The pain in his stomach is building again.
“Find it,” he commands. “There’s got to be some here.”
She drops the hammer and starts to scour the shelves. She knows exactly what he needs. She’s useful that way at least, but when he’s back on his feet, once he’s had his fix, he’d make sure she’d get what was coming and then he’d find a better woman.
“Hah! Got it,” she shouts back, the sound reverberates in his ears, seeming to screech, and the pain in his head intensifies.
“Just get it and give it here,” he growls as she reaches up and picks a bottle of clear liquid off the shelf.
As she hands him the open bottle, her hand trembles. He smirks, top lip curled: she knows what’s coming and he’s going to enjoy it all the more. He tips the bottle pouring the liquid between browning teeth. The bitterness is instant on his tongue and he gags, but swallows. Relief is immediate and, as an exquisite flood of euphoria washes over him, the pain slides away. He sways then slides down against the wall to the floor and sits, his hands on his knees, his head bent as the opiates flood his body. A dull throb in his groin. This time he won’t be able to stop. He’ll take her hard. She’ll know who’s boss. He lolls his head back and sits for a moment more, enjoying the sensation washing over him, his eyes closed, listening to her breathing, knowing she’s waiting for him to start.
‘I told you—it’s what you have do—get them all.’
“Huh?” he looks around him. Lexi sits legs splayed, the black stretch fabric of her leggings taut across her ample thighs, her head lolls and her eyes rolled back, to white, a dumb grin spread across her face. The voice isn’t hers.
“You know it, Jak. All those cretins out there. They all deserve what you’ve got to give them. Rid the earth of the scum. They all hate you. Now’s your chance to become something special. To be top dog. To be the one they listen to.”
“Yes,” he says aloud through the fog enveloping his brain. “Listen to me.”
‘You know what to do. Exterminate them, Jak. Finish what I started.’
“Yes,” he says rousing. He stands, pushing up against the wall, an orange flame flickers, catching his eye. He stares, mouth hanging open as fire seems burn on Lexi’s head as it lolls on her fat shoulders, her face disappearing into melting folds of fat. He screams. She doesn’t flinch. “Lexi!” he shouts as her mottled face smooths beneath the flames and blinks. The fire is gone. He staggers, his belly retching. “Ugh!” Through the thickness stirring through his head he can barely grasp what’s real. “Lexi, get up,” he shouts, his hands trembling as they grasp the broken doorway.
Waiting for Lexi to waken from her stupor, his head clears of its suffocating fog and he knows just what he has to do. The light told him. He doesn’t question what’s in the light. He will be special and they will listen—after he’s finished with them. He chuckles. Oh yes, they’ll listen. For the first time in - he can’t remember how long - he feels stronger inside. He has a purpose.
“Lexi,” he growls. Walking over to where she lays slumped against the wall, he pulls at her, his steel fingers pressing into the fat of her arm. “Get up. We’re going out. We’ve got work to do.”
“Work?” she asks, spittle dribbling at the side of her punch-mottled chin. “What work?”
He doesn’t reply as he digs his nails into her flesh and pulls at her to get up.
The sun is at its height as Rick leaves the cool shade of the outdoor store. The rucksack sits heavy on his back, but it gives him comfort to know he’s at least got a sleeping bag, a change of clothes and the basic kit for boiling water. A cup of tea was the first thing the boys did once they’d bugged in for their target. Whatever the mission, the tea came first. He smiled at the memory—not that he’d smiled much back then—stuck out in the wilderness, hiding among the undergrowth for days on end, waiting for the command to come through to complete the mission. The end of the world, it seemed, was nothing compared to what he’d been through then.
“It’s so eerie,” Cassie says turning to him, her face in shadow now under the peak of the cap he insisted she wear. She looks good in the khaki and black of the camouflage print and he notices how the late afternoon sun glints off the blonde of her hair as it bounces against her shoulders and the back of the dark green rucksack. He’s surprised at the growl of desire that surges as she faces him and smiles. Dan’s boots scrape against the tarmac and Rick tightens his grip on the barrel of his gun and breaks away from the bright blue of Cassie’s gaze. He checks across the street for any sign of movement, alert even though the silence around them is intense, his heart beats a little faster, but not from fear.
Movement in his peripheral vision.
He turns his head quickly to catch it. Nothing. He squints into the distance, adjusting his focus, his eyes shielded from the sun by the peak of his cap, and watches. Nothing moves, and he relaxes, marching onwards, the thud of their boo
ts tramping along the pavement the only sound in this street. In the distance, the dog howls again, its refrain mournful in the warm air.
“Did you hear that?” Cassie asks. “I can still hear that dog and he must be miles away by now.”
“Sound carries,” Dan returns.
“It does and can you hear that?” Rick asks as a new noise penetrates his awareness. A thud followed by a bang.
“Yeah, sounds like a car door or something to me.”
Another thud and then the squeal of glass breaking. Cassie jumps, looking round wide-eyed to Rick. “That’s someone breaking glass!” she exclaims with excitement. “Other survivors!”
“Yep,” Rick replies dour.
“Let’s find them. They can come with us.”
“No, Cassie,” Dan replies. “We need to look after ourselves, not worry about other people.”
“Yeah, but what if they’re like us and just need help to get out of the city. Rick, you said we needed to get out because of the disease.”
“I did, but-”
Ahead of them a woman steps out onto the path. Rick watches intently as she lurches from the wall into the middle of the concrete slabs and stops to face them. He scans her quickly: dyed black hair showing through lighter brown roots pulled back into a straggling ponytail, overweight but strong and tall for a woman, well-padded his mother would have called her, brick shit-house, his father. Even from this distance he can see that she’s not sick, her skin is clear of the ashen pallor and green tinge of the virus, her neck, though fat doesn’t bulge. She’s probably another immune. The woman stops and stares at them for a minute, looks to her left, then smiles back at them.
“See,” Cassie says looking up at him. “I bet she needs help—like us. She looks … battered.”
The Road to Ruin: A post-apocalyptic survival series (A World Torn Down Book 1) Page 7