“Hah!” Dan laughs.
Rick grunts his disdain and shrugs his shoulders although Cassie notices the smile creep onto his lips and the crow’s feet as they crease round his eyes. He’s loving this. She smiles to herself and turns to lift the leg of another heavy chair.
“Someone’s made a lot of effort to build this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well—these chairs—they’ve been unbolted from the floor. Probably from the canteen inside.”
“Yeah,” Dan agrees. “Same with these tables.”
“That’s big enough. Let’s get back in the car,” Rick commands.
As Cassie slips back inside the car, a glimmer flashes, catching her eye, and she stares into the dark glass of the service station windows. Rick starts the engine and the car rolls forward.
Clank!
“Guess is wasn’t quite wide enough!”
“Only caught the wing mirror.”
“They’ll be here won’t they,” Cassie says looking out over the cars in the parking bays again, some skewed, one rammed hard into the side of a red sports car.
“Who?”
“The dead.”
“Yeah,” Rick replies staring out towards the buildings. “You ok?” he asks with a frown of concern.
“Yeah, it’s just that I remembered. It’s all so quiet here, but the cars … maybe they’re not empty.”
“Well, it doesn’t stink like the city does—not here,”
“No. But-”
“You don’t have to look at them.”
“I won’t—they make me feel sad, that’s all,” she says quietly.
The car rolls slowly, following the curve of the road down towards the large car park outside the services. A sign points to the fuel—an arrow straight ahead for cars, one to the right for lorries.
“Can we go inside to check to see if there’s any food?”
“Yeah, sure, but first I want to refuel,” replies Rick as the car passes the large plate windows of the services. Cassie’s stomach grumbles with hunger as she reads the signs. A squat black hut proclaims Cornish Pasties. Her breath catches as she looks into the food shack. A figure stands stock still, hiding in the shadows.
“In the shack! In the shack!” she hisses.
“Jeez, Cassie!” Rick scolds, the car lurching as his foot presses down on the accelerator.
“What’s in the shack?” Dan asks, craning his neck round to see. “I can’t see anything.”
Cassie’s heart pounds hard in her chest as she continues to stare into the shadows.
“No, we’re too far past now, but there was a man. In the shack. In the shadows.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. He moved. That’s what caught my eye. He moved and stepped into the corner as we passed.”
“Looks like we’ve got company then,” Rick responds dryly. “Next time don’t give me a heart attack letting me know though. Ok?”
“Sorry. It was the shock. Thinking about finding the dead here was creeping me out then he—he’s just standing there like some statue watching us and-”
“If there’s one, there could be others,” Dan interrupts.
“Probably.”
“You’ve got your gun though.”
“Sure, but I don’t like using it unless I have to and …”
“And?” Cassie asks as they pull up to the petrol pumps.
“What now?” Dan asks.
“We fill up,” Rick replies, matter of fact. “Cassie,” he says turning round. She stares straight back into the blue of his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Dan’s going to go inside and get the pump working. You’ll fill up. I’ll keep a look out. OK?”
“I am?” Dan questions.
“Yep. You are. The lights are still on so at least we’ve got electricity. Perhaps you just have to press a switch. A man of your intelligence is capable of that. Right?”
“Right.”
“Cassie, are you ready?” Rick asks looking at her again. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we get out of this car, perhaps nothing, but we’ve got to get as much fuel in this tank as we can.”
“So you want me to hold out till the last minute—if anything happens?”
“You got it,” he nods. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
The next minutes pass in a blur as Cassie’s heart pounds hard. She pushes at the metal of the petrol flap. Nothing happens. She presses again. Still nothing. She looks across to Dan questioningly, but he’s looking intently at the large windows of the petrol forecourt shop.
“Try pushing it at the side,” Rick suggests, noticing her difficulty.
She presses the right side of the oblong flap. Again nothing.
“For crying out loud!” she mutters in exasperation, her cheeks prickling as Rick continues to stare at her efforts. It’s got to be the other side! She presses hard to the right and the metal flap pops open revealing the black plastic of a screw cap.
As she unscrews the cap and grabs the handle of the petrol hose, Dan runs across the petrol forecourt and stands before the closed double doors of the glass-fronted shop. She holds her breath. Are they locked? She breathes a sigh of relief as the doors slide open and yanks at the petrol hose as Dan disappears behind rows of shelving. Rows of bare shelving, she notes with disappointment. The hose is stiff in its housing and she yanks again to pull it out of the pump’s casing. It unravels and she pulls hard, unwinding enough to reach the tank’s opening and thrusts the nozzle inside. Dan waves from behind the petrol kiosk window and she gives him the thumbs up then listens for the pump to start and the digital readout to change to 000.00.
The last rays of sun shine across the fields between the service station and the village in the distance as she looks out across the forecourt watching for movement in the growing shadows. Rick, gun in hand, ready to fire, stands guard. He reminds her of images she’s seen of soldiers on patrol in dust-ridden streets and she wonders what hell he went through before this. Perhaps they’ll get a chance to talk later.
She watches as Dan’s dark head bobs up and down at the cashier’s counter. He jerks and raises his hand, thumb sticking up, a broad grin stretched across his gaunt face, the first time she’s seen him brighten since the news of Professor Carlton’s deception. She returns the thumbs up sign as the petrol pump buzzes into life. The readout clicks to 000.00 and she squeezes the handle of the nozzle. It chugs then petrol floods into the empty tank, the smell strong in her nose. She smiles as she listens to it glug and swish and watches the counter increase litre after litre then notices Dan walking back through the shop towards the double doors. A large, yellow-flowered shrub on the other side of the forecourt rustles, the noise and its shivering leaves, catch her attention. Heart thudding, she squeezes harder on the nozzle. Too hard. The handle clicks and the petrol stops delivering. She holds her breath as she looks to the shrub. It is silent and still. Did she imagine it? Perhaps it was just the wind blowing through its leaves? Dan pushes the large glass door open and steps down onto the forecourt.
“Fill her up, Cass,” he shouts across smiling, arms laden with bags of crisps and sweets.
She nods then releases the pressure on the nozzle and gently squeezes again. The petrol flows. Stay calm. Got to get a full tank. At the corner of the building, on the other side to the shrub, a figure, dark hair low across its forehead, falling over scowling eyes, lips curled in anger, steps out of the shadows.
“Rick!” she gasps, her hand trembling, clinging on to his words, keeping herself grounded as she stares at the figure. Hold out. Got to hold out. Got to hold out. Bladder and bowels desperate for release, she watches as the figure squares its shoulders, then hunches forward, a large pitchfork in hand. It raises the fork above its head, a pronged javelin in an iron grip, and grunts. She ducks in reflex. It charges across the forecourt, pelting towards Dan as she stands rooted, staring at its contorted face.
“Raargh!”
; “Sweet J-’ Cassie gasps as the figures charges.
“Hold steady, Cassie,” Rick shouts. “Dan! Move it.”
Cassie watches as the figure bears down, only feet away from Dan now.
“Dan!” she screams.
“Get in the car, Dan!” Rick shouts, his voice urgent.
Dan, caught in confusion, catches Cassie’s horrified stare beyond his shoulder and twists to look behind.
“Dan! Quick! Get in the car.”
Startled, he lurches forward, bags slipping from his arms, shoulders hunched, head low and pelts across the forecourt. The pitchfork lifts higher, then, with another grunt, the figure pulls his arm back and thrusts, releasing his grip. The fork launches, sharp prongs flying towards Dan’s head. Cassie watches horrified as it arcs through the air. Dan stumbles to one knee, the shining, silver-grey prongs shoot through the space where his head had been only moments before and crashes into the door of the car, bouncing back onto the hard bricks of the paved ground.
“Get in the car!” Cassie screams as Dan lurches forward again, grasping at the door handle, the huge figure bearing down on him. She gasps as more figures appear from the corner of the building just as the man catches hold of Dan’s jacket and yanks him back, pulling him off balance.
“Ugh!”
Dan disappears below the top of the car as the man grapples him to the floor, his grunt of pain loud under the forecourt canopy.
“No!” she shouts as Dan grunts again. The tremble in her hand disappears as a surge of power runs through her body. “Get off him,” she screams dropping the nozzle from her hand, petrol spraying her combats and dribbling down the metal of the car’s rear panel. She lurches to the front, pushes past Rick. Ahead, the crowd, armed with wrenches, spades and axes, move towards them. As she rounds the bonnet, Rick steps forward, pointing his gun at the crowd.
“Shoot, Rick. Stop them!” she shouts as the man, face contorted with rage, holds his fist in the air ready to pound it again into Dan’s bloodied face.
Without thought, anger risen from deep in her belly, she launches herself at the man. Too late to move, he turns and she stares directly into the bleary-brown of his startled eyes and digs her sharp, perfectly manicured, strong as steel acrylic fingernails, deep into the soft flesh of his neck, her legs locked round his thick waist. He screams in pain and jerks backwards. A surge of power rips through her, and her legs, honed and strengthened by countless hours at the gym and practice on the pole, grip him vice-like. Lodged firmly, she digs her nails harder into his neck.
“Aargh! Get off, bitch.”
“Let him go,” she screams digging harder.
“Aargh!”
“Let him go,” she repeats as he bucks against her, flinging her against the side of the car. Her head knocks hard against the metal of the door, pain ringing through.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” she hears Rick shout.
“Shoot them!” she shouts back.
“No!” the man cries, looking over the straggling group across the forecourt. “No! Don’t shoot. Please.” He relaxes under her grip. “OK lady. You win.”
He sags and as the tension leaves his muscles, she releases her fingers and draws her fingernails out of the flesh of his neck. She watches as blood seeps from the wounds and wipes her fingers against the dark fabric of her trousers. Looking up to the crowd, a frown creases her brow. They’re just kids!
The man, his neck dripping with blood, stands, unsteady and slow.
“Please don’t kill them,” he gasps, his breath coming heavy. “We’re just trying to look after what we’ve got.”
“Yeah! A tall boy, his dark hair flopping over his left eye, steps forward. In his hand he holds a long wooden handle, with what looks like a serrated kitchen knife strapped to the end.
Rick stands, his gun trained on the boy.
“They’re just kids, Rick.”
“Sure, but they’re kids armed to the teeth,” he replies.
“We have to protect ourselves,” a young girl shouts back, a knife gripped in her small fist, her tightly plaited blonde hair straggled in pig-tails, obviously unbrushed today and probably yesterday too.
“Get back over there,” Rick shouts to the advancing boy, jerking the barrel of his gun towards the glass doors of the petrol station, though there’s a softness to his voice. “And you,” he turns to the man, “you stand at the back of the car and don’t move a muscle.” The man nods as Cassie watches the small group of teenagers and young children step towards the shop.
“Drop your weapons,” Rick shouts across to them as they obediently move back. They look to the man for direction. “I said drop your weapons,” Rick repeats, threat creeping hard into his voice.
The man nods and the clattering of metal breaks into the tension as Cassie crouches to Dan and offers her hand as he pushes against the ground to stand again. She flinches as she looks at his grazed cheek and bloodied nose. His lip is beginning to swell and there’s a dark bruise beginning to show above his brow, the delicate flesh around his eye puffy and mottled.
Looking across to the group of dishevelled and gaunt children and then to the angry man, she wonders how many are his own children and how many are orphans of the plague and steps towards them, her hands raised, palms flat. They watch her carefully as she steps closer, but don’t flinch. She forces a bright smile onto her face.
“Are you a soldier?” the blonde girl asks.
Cassie’s smile reaches her eyes as she looks down into the green eyes of the girl and tries not to frown as she notices the dark bruise above her eye. She can’t be more than ten years old and the dark circles under her eyes look out of place on her young skin. Cassie pushes down the flicker of concern and looks at the other children. They’re staring back, expectant.
“We don’t want to steal your stuff,” she says. “We just need some fuel to get to where we need to be an-”
“You are stealing our food.”
“Well, it’s not technically yours,” Dan interrupts stepping up next to Cassie.
“Ray says it’s ours and that we have to fight to keep it safe,”
“Sure, and Ray’s right,” Cassie continues ignoring Dan’s comment. “But do you think you could share a little of it with us—just this once?”
“Ray said we might have to kill people—that they’d come here and try to take what we’d got.”
Cassie’s brow’s lift as she looks at the teenage girl. Her long hair is held in a high ponytail, the remnants of makeup cling beneath her eyes, her blue jeans grubby and a yellow-green bruise spreads from beneath the cap of the dirt-smeared sleeve of her t-shirt, dirty finger marks printed on the white cotton. Whoever grabbed her must have done it with an intense grip to leave a bruise that bad. An old memory stirs.
“That’s right!” Ray shouts from behind Rick. “We have to protect our food. And I have to protect these kids.”
“They have nothing to fear from us,” Cassie returns, casting her eyes over the dishevelled man. “Not from us,” she repeats smiling back to the children. “Is there anywhere to heat food here that still works?” she asks. “Perhaps I can cook something for you?” she finishes.
The blonde girl with the bruised eye smiles and holds out her hand.
Chapter 15
The clatter and clink of glass and pottery reverberates against the white tiles and stainless steel counters in the service station kitchen as Cassie and two of the younger children, Celie and Harry, wash up the pots from the sparse evening meal she’d prepared for them.
“Cassie?”
“Yes, Celie?” she replies to the small blonde girl with the cute, if untidy, plaits as she rinses a soapy plate beneath the trickle of water coming through the tap. She knocks at the tap and turns it on then off in frustration.
“Don’t think that will make it run any faster, Cas,” Dan replies with a chuckle as he puts another dirty plate on the counter. “That’s me done. I’m going outside to catch the last of the evening’s sun.”
/>
“I’m coming with you,” Harry says, jumping down from the stool brought in from the café’s bar to sit at the tall island they’d used as a communal dinner table.
She knocks the tap again and frowns.
“The water’s stopped running!” she says with exasperation, turning the tap on and off again.
“It’s started then,” says Dan with a grim expression.
“What’s started?”
“The utilities drying up. I’m only surprised they’ve carried on this long.”
“What do you mean?”
“The water, gas and electricity. Who do you think’s looking after them now?”
“Oh!”
“Yep.”
“But what’ll we do without running water? I mean … how will I get a shower?”
“Shower? Hah! Cassie, without running water having a shower’ll be the least of your worries. How about water for drinking?”
“And the toilet!” the girl pipes up. “The toilets won’t flush anymore.”
“Ugh!” Harry exclaims from the doorway, then giggles. “That means the poo won’t go down. There’ll be floaters in there.
“Ugh! Harry, don’t be gross.”
“He’s right though. You won’t be able to use the toilets anymore.”
“I don’t mind not having a shower,” the boy continues.
“And we’ll have to dig holes in the back,” Dan adds.
“In the back! No way.”
“He’s right. You will have to dig holes in the back.”
“No! No, not in the back,” Celie repeats.
“Why not?” Cassie asks, curious at her refusal as Rick walks into the room.
“It’s where they are?”
“They?”
“Yeah,” the boy responds. “The people from the cars.”
“What people?”
“The dead people.”
“Oh,” she returns quietly, confused. “But how did they get from their cars to the back if they were dead?”
“Ray made us take them there.”
“What?” Rick interrupts.
“No, it’s OK. We had to do it. Ray said that if we didn’t take them there then they’d stink up the place and the disease would get us.”
The Road to Ruin: A post-apocalyptic survival series (A World Torn Down Book 1) Page 9