The Path to Destruction

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Just watch!” she reprimands and continues to watch the scene.

  Leaving the group circled around the prisoner, a man, tattoos creeping out from his shirt and up his neck, strides over to the white van parked at the side of the compound. He slides open the side-door with a bang, reaches in, then pulls out a heavy coil of oil-stained rope and heaves it over his shoulder. Expecting him to return to the group, she frowns when he starts to walk towards her and ducks.

  “Don’t be stupid! He’s not coming for us.”

  “Oh, shut up!” she returns and pushes back up to stand on tip toes and watches as the man walks to the metal gates. The lock clanks and then the doors swing open.

  “Terry!” he calls back to the group. “Get me the ladders.”

  Terry, a young blonde woman shouts OK and runs over to the van, disappears inside and reappears with a pair of step-ladders, jumps down from the van and follows the man out of the gates.

  “What do you think they’re doing?”

  “Come on,” Saskia says as she steps down from the brick step and runs to the corner at the back of the house. As she watches, the man steadies the step ladder beneath the great bough of a walnut tree that reaches across the road. Its branches, showing the first signs new growth, jostle in the wind. He climbs the ladder and throws the end of the rope over the thick branch that overhangs the garden’s driveway. The stepladders wobble and Saskia holds her breath as he seems certain to topple. Steadying himself, he continues until the rope has been wound over the branch several times. On the end he ties a loop.

  “It’s a noose!” Sergei says with shock.

  “Bit slow there, aren’t you?” Saskia asks with a wry smile - he always was a bit slow on the uptake – and continues to watch. Shouts rise and mix with the scuffling of feet. “Get back!” she chides as the group from the compound surges forward, close to their position. At its centre is the prisoner. With two huge men either side, clutching his arms and pulling, he half-hobbles, half-slides along the ground. He jerks as they pull and his shouts fill the air with expletives. Saskia’s heart beats with excitement as he’s dragged past.

  At the base of the steps he stops and kicks out, refusing to climb. The crowd quietens and watches his struggles in silence, the leader’s voice drowned out by the prisoner’s shouts. Jerking his head, he catches one of the henchmen a blow across the shoulder. They retaliate and he’s lifted into the air, his feet dangling as they place him on the steps. A thrill rides through Saskia as he jerks again and kicks at the steps with his bound feet. They clatter to the ground, kicking up loose pebbles. With calm, the leader picks up the ladder, climbs up, grabs the rope and slips the noose over the man’s head.

  “When I’ve seen hangings on the telly, they always go quiet. This one’s kicking like a donkey,” Sergei mutters.

  Saskia ignores him, transfixed by the scene, excitement coursing through her veins. The man’s struggles are thrilling.

  Finally, the noose around the prisoner’s neck, strong arms lock around his legs and keep him lifted him as the leader adjusts the knot at the back of his head. Stepping down, he turns to the gathered crowd and silence falls.

  “Frank broke the rules. He stole food that was meant for us all. You know what the punishment is for that. We all agreed.”

  Mumbling rises in the crowd.

  “There’s no room among us for thieves.”

  The crowd chunters and nods in agreement.

  “We all have to work together to survive and share what little we have. We trusted Frank, but he’s proved that he’s working against us—not with us.”

  The leader looks round at them as though checking for their approval. He’s weak! Saskia wouldn’t have asked their permission. Cut to the chase!

  “We agreed the rules together so we’ll punish Frank together. Come on,” he calls, beckoning with large arcs of his arm.

  Pah! She’d have kicked that step away on her own—shown the others who was boss.

  The crowd hesitates. He shouts again. “Come forward,” he demands, his voice firmer this time. “I know this isn’t easy, but if we let one of us get away with breaking the rules then we’ll all suffer. It’s the only way we’ll survive. Now,” he says looking around at them one by one, “come forward and take hold of the rope.”

  A thrill of excitement sparks through Saskia as they step forward and, one by one, place a hand on the rope that winds around the tree.

  “What’s that going to do?” Sergei asks.

  “Nothing, but I guess he wants them all involved. Me—I’d just do it myself.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” he replies with a grimace.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Shh! Just watch.”

  Holding her breath, Saskia waits as the last man takes hold of the rope and the henchmen holding his legs step back, releasing the bound man. He drops hard towards the floor and Saskia looks on in disappointment, sure that his feet will hit the ground. She smiles, her eyes opening wide, as his boots dangle inches above the gravel. He swings and bucks. The bough creaks. Saskia relishes every second. His face reddens then purples until, with a final jerk, he becomes still, his feet sloping to the ground as his body hangs limp.

  “Done!” she says with delight as his body swings, the sun glinting on the red in his hair.

  As she speaks the leader turns and stares at her.

  “Aaron!” he calls whilst still staring at her. “Looks like we’ve got visitors.”

  Chapter 11

  Breathless, Saskia reaches for the van’s handle and yanks the door open as the thrum of motorcycle engines fills the air in the distance—the very near distance.

  “Move it, Sergei!” she shouts as he slides behind the wheel. The van lurches forward as he shifts into gear and swerves it round in the road. As it speeds away, Saskia looks in the wing mirror, nothing, but that doesn’t mean they’re not following, just that they haven’t reached the top of the road yet. “Put your foot down. If we can get round this corner before they reach the top then we can lose them.”

  She lurches forward, slamming her hands on the dashboard as he changes gears and puts his foot down hard. The van picks up speed. Her eyes widen as they reach the end of the road without any sign of slowing. She reaches for her seatbelt and clicks it across her chest as the van swerves to take the corner. Wheels screech as they career round the bend and hurtle towards the next junction. She looks again into the wing mirror. Still nothing. Grabbing the handle above the seat she clings on and leans over towards Sergei as he takes another sharp corner. Nearly there!

  “What’s that?” she exclaims as a mound appears in the road.

  “Road kill?” Sergei swerves to avoid it and she looks down from the passenger window.

  “Murray!” she gasps as they pass—a crumpled heap, yes, but she’d recognise that thinning red hair and skinny frame anywhere.

  “What?” Sergei asks, looking in the rear-view mirror as they take the final stretch of road before they get to the safety of the warehouse. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure.”

  “Was he dead?”

  “Looks like it?”

  “Hit by a car? Was it one of them? Why—I oughta-”

  “If it was, then they did him a favour and put him out of his misery.”

  “God, but you’re a heartless woman, Saskia. No wonder they called you sauerkraut at school!”

  “They did not!”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Just drive, Sergei,” she says pulling her brows to a frown, and pursing her lips as she looks to the road through the wing mirror. Still empty. “Looks like we lost them. Drop me at the gate and I’ll lock it whilst you hide the van round the back. Got it?” she snaps. The ‘sauerkraut’ memories still sting.

  “Yep,” he says as the van jumps over the ramp through the gates. He brakes and Saskia jumps out, runs to the gates and pulls the first one across on its runners. Metal scrapes against metal as she p
ulls, and then her arm jars as the gate sticks on its runner. The sound of motorbike engines grows louder in the distance. She yanks again at the gate, pushing it forwards, jiggling at the heavy metal frame as the noise increases.

  “Sergei!” she calls.

  “Coming,” he returns and joins her to pull at the gates.

  “Quick! They’re coming,” she says yanking again at the gates.

  “Steady on, Saskia. We’ve got to right it first.” He pulls at the gate, pushes it to the side, then pulls again. “Yes!” he shouts as it begins to slide.

  The two gates meet. Saskia threads a heavy chain through the bars then fixes the lock just as the bikes turn the corner onto her road. She looks up and glimpses the leader at the front.

  “They’re here,” she hisses and turns to run back to the warehouse, the high tack, tack of her high heels breaking through the deeper noise of the engines as she crosses the concrete. Four motorbikes pass the gates just as she steps through to the safety of the warehouse.

  “That was close!” she gasps with a laugh.

  “Too close,” Sergei insists.

  “But exciting!” she continues and looks at her brother. His cheeks are flushed and his chest moves quickly, though he’s not too badly out of breath.

  “Define exciting!”

  She pulls the door to and looks around the warehouse. Lit only by the clear, corrugated panels in the roof, there’s enough light to see all is well, but something seems off. “Carl!” Her call is greeted with silence. “Carl!” she calls again.

  Chapter 12

  Three Peaks Farm

  Despite the crisp, spring sunlight casting its rays into the room, the mood in the kitchen is sombre as Cassie steps through the doorway. Harry and Celie both sit in silence at the table, a bowl of food untouched. She’s noticed the decline in them over the past weeks. With that gang coming up to the farm and holding them hostage whilst they tried to take their supplies, and then Justin dying, she could understand them being upset, but this was different.

  “It’s quiet in here, my little chickadees! What’s wrong?” she croons.

  Harry gives her a wan smile then turns back to look down into his bowl.

  “We’re hungry,” Celie answers, her braided hair straggled from sleep.

  “Oh?” Cassie says walking up behind them and stroking Celie’s head. “Then eat. That porridge looks yummy. Is there any left?” she asks turning to the stove. A pan sits on the counter and she walks across to look inside. Yes, there’s enough left for her to have a portion.

  “Sebastian-”

  “Brother Sebastian,” Harry interrupts Celie as Cassie reaches for the pan’s handle.

  She huffs in response. “Brother Sebastian says we can’t eat until he says so.”

  Cassie’s fingers grip the handle tight as she holds the pan mid-air and swivels to look at the children.

  “What?” she asks incredulous.

  “Yes, Seb … Brother Sebastian told us to sit here and wait for him to come back. He said that if we ate before he got here that we’d … he’d do us in.”

  “What?”

  “He said we’d ‘face his wrath’, Harry.”

  “Same thing.”

  Cassie feels the tension of anger across her shoulders. It had been building the last weeks and being around Sebastian was just getting harder. He seemed to be taking over and, with Becca listening to his every word, and this being her farm, it was difficult to retaliate, but making the children wait to eat, especially as they had precious little anyway, and threatening them too, was more than she could stomach.

  She serves herself a large dollop of porridge. “Now listen!” she says pulling out a chair and sitting opposite the children. They watch her with wide eyes. “For one thing, you don’t have to call that man Brother-”

  “But he said, Cassie. He said we have to.”

  “Yes, he did,” Celie adds. “He said we had to show him respect and that we had to call him Brother Sebastian.”

  “Well, I’m here to tell you that you don’t. Right? He’s not in charge around here.”

  “Seems he is,” Harry says with a sullen frown.

  “Well, he’s not. And secondly, no one tells you to wait to eat your food, unless we’re all sitting down together and then it’s just polite to wait until we’re all sat down and the food’s served.”

  “But he said-”

  “It doesn’t matter what he said, Celie. Now, come on, eat your porridge or it’ll be cold.”

  “It already is,” Celie complains.

  Cassie looks over to the congealed mess in the girl’s bowl.

  “OK. Hand it over. I’ll heat it back up.”

  The children pass their bowls to Cassie and she scrapes their portions back into the pan, adds a little extra milk and stirs it on the stove until it’s warmed through.

  “Good job we’ve got Sarah,” she says as she stirs. “You’d have to eat this made with water otherwise.”

  “It doesn’t taste as good as cow’s milk,” Harry complains, “but I’ve got used to it now.”

  “Yep, goat’s milk does taste stronger, but I like it now.”

  The door to the yard from the kitchen opens and Sebastian stands in the doorway, his face a dark grimace as he looks at the table and then to Cassie at the stove. Cassie’s belly clenches. Fear? Is that fear? She takes a breath, clenches her jaw and pushes it down. She won’t let this man intimidate her! Memories of Ray’s angry scowl suddenly appear in her memory and her hand trembles. She stirs the wooden spoon one final, vengeful time, and slaps the warmed porridge back into the bowls. Sebastian takes his coat off in silence and hangs it on the peg next to the door. As she turns back to the table Celie and Harry both sit with eyes cast down to the table. Harry fidgets, uncomfortable in the tension, and Cassie’s anger rises.

  “Come on kids, eat up,” she says.

  “Yes,” Sebastian says as he wipes his boots on the mat then walks across to the table. “Eat your porridge. I’m back now, so you may.”

  “Hah!” Cassie blurts, her anger spilling over. “They don’t have to wait for you to return to eat their breakfast!”

  “These children need to learn discipline, Cassie. Spare the rod, spoil the child. They’ve got to learn how to behave.”

  “They do!”

  “Not from what I’ve seen, Cassie.”

  “Well, it’s not up to you to discipline them,” she counteracts. “They’re not your children.”

  “They’re not yours either,” he says holding her gaze. His challenge obvious.

  Celie shifts in her seat and Cassie recognises the anxiety in her face. She has to stand up against this man, but perhaps now, here in front of the children, isn’t the right place.

  “Eat your porridge, kids,” she says with a forced smile. “Sarah needs milking.”

  They nod, but don’t smile.

  “That’s right,” Sebastian adds. “Eat your food. We don’t have enough to waste it.”

  Biting back her words, Cassie shovels a spoonful of the cooling porridge into her mouth, ignoring his insistence on having the last word. She’d talk to Rick about him later. What happened to only staying for the night!

  Sebastian pulls out a chair and sits at the head of the table, watching as the children spoon in each mouthful. The tension is unbearable, but she doesn’t want to put the kids through any more strain so remains quiet. Footsteps sound in the hallway and then Becca walks into the room. She’s far thinner than even before the winter and her face is gaunt. She seems a shadow of herself.

  “Good morning, Becca,” Sebastian says jovially. “I’d like a cup of tea, please.”

  Becca’s eyes light up at his words and she moves to the stove, lifts the kettle then places it on the hottest ring. She’s changed so much since Justin died, since Sebastian got here, that it’s hard for Cassie to look at her. She just wants to take hold of her shoulders and wake her up. Shout at her to come back from wherever she’s gone to.

  �
��Becca,” Sebastian says with a grin at Cassie. “The kitchen’s rather messy this morning.”

  “Oh?” she says looking around. “But I cleaned it last night,” she continues looking around with a worried frown.

  “Well, there are footprints across the floor and crumbs near the sink.”

  Cassie looks at the tiles and over to the sink. Sure, there were a few marks and a few crumbs, but nothing that anyone would notice.

  “Remember, Becca. If we don’t keep clean we’ll get sick. You don’t want that do you?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “No. I know,” he says with a gentle voice and stands then walks over to her.

  Cassie watches as he puts his arm around her shoulder and squeezes her gently to him. His voice is soft as he speaks, barely above a whisper. “If only things had been clean before,” he lets the words hang in the air, “then perhaps … perhaps Justin would still be here.”

  Becca seems to sag against him.

  “Come with me,” he says and guides her to the door and towards the living room. “He’s at peace now, Becca. I’m sure he doesn’t blame you, not really.” Cassie hears him say as he opens the door. She sits with spoon in hand, staggered at his words, and stares at the white panels of the closed door, listening to the drone of Sebastian’s voice. His words are muffled, too faint to hear clearly. The scrape of a chair breaks her reverie.

  “Finished?” she asks. Celie nods. “Right. Pop up stairs and clean your teeth. You too Harry. I just need to speak to Rick, but then we’ll go and milk Sarah.”

  “OK,” Celie replies, oblivious to Cassie’s confusion. “I want to see Poppy too.”

  “Well, you certainly can,” Cassie replies, happy again at the brightness in her eyes. “That little baby goat is such a cutie.”

  “It’s a kid, Cassie,” Harry corrects.

  “I know that!” she says with a laugh and then watches as they disappear into the hallway and up the stairs.

  Rick! She has to find Rick.

  Rick stares down the ladder as Cassie shouts up to him, the usual smile he’s come to look forward to, absent from her face.