The Path to Destruction (A World Torn Down Book 4)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  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.

  “What’s up?” he asks as he adjusts the tile, pushing it back up and into place. It’ll have to do. The roof could do with being replaced, but that job would have to wait until the warmer months, and after he’d found some new tarpaulin. They’d have to make a trip to one of the larger towns with a DIY store and that, for sure, wasn’t something he was looking forward to. The local town he knew—knew there were small-time thugs like Benson, but the bigger towns? The only information he has about the rest of the world has come via Sebastian and his crew, and he wouldn’t believe a word those shysters said if you paid him. “I’ve just got one more tile to fix.”

  “Can you come down, please?” she replies. “I need to speak to you.”

  The seriousness of her tone resonates as an alarm, and he relents. “Just coming,” he calls as he slips the hammer back into his tool belt. “I’ll get these other tiles fixed in a minute,” he says as he reaches the ground and dusts his hands off against his jeans. They feel waxy to his touch and he’s suddenly aware that perhaps he doesn’t look his best. He brushes his hands clean then runs his hand through his hair. “What’s up?” he asks again looking into the blue of her eyes, noticing the flush on her cheeks and another patch of red at the base of her throat. “You look anxious,” he says with concern.

  “It’s Sebastian,” she says. “I just caught him forcing the kids to wait to eat their porridge.”

  “Oh? Doesn’t sound like too big a deal. Kids have got to have manners at the table, and they do get a little over-excited sometimes.”

  “No, not like that. They were sat at the table, with the porridge in front of them and he wasn’t even in the room. It was just going stone cold.”

  “He does seem very controlling.”

  “Yes, and it gets worse. He seems to have some hold over Becca. The way he talks to her is weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Yes, like getting her to think the kitchen is dirty then implying that’s why Justin died?”

  “I’m lost now, Cassie. What do you mean? How can the kitchen being dirty have killed Justin? He had serious injuries.”

  “The kitchen isn’t dirty! Me and Becca keep it very clean—we all do. No, it’s that he told her the kitchen was dirty and then was whispering to her about Justin forgiving her and making out that he died of infection because the house was dirty.” Rick listens attentively as she talks. He has serious misgivings about Sebastian, but this was Becca’s house, her farm now that Justin was dead, and she seemed to want Sebastian around. “Rick, I don’t know what he’s playing at, but it feels like … like he wants to be in control around here … like he wants to be the boss now that Justin is gone.”

  He nods in agreement.

  “And the kids … they seem unhappy now … and at the table, it reminded me of Ray.”

  “You don’t think he’s hurting them, do you, because if he is …” he riles and clenches his fist.

  “No, I don’t, not that way, but in another way, yes. They looked so sad this morning and when he came back into the kitchen they seemed really uncomfortable.”

  “They were only supposed to stay overnight.”

  “I know,” she agrees. “I can’t see them ever leaving now.”

  “No, I don’t think they will. They know they’re onto a good thing here.”

  “I don’t think I can stand another week with them, never mind the rest of forever!” she blurts.

  “No,” he says pensively. He wanted them gone too, to tell them to pack their bags and bugger off, but it wasn’t as easy as that.

  The door to the kitchen opens and Sebastian steps out, followed by Celie and Harry, both with hangdog expressions.

  “Celie? Harry?”

  “They’re coming with me,” Sebastian answers. “Now the snow’s finally gone we’ve got a lot of work to do to keep us all fed. They can help.”

  “They were coming with me to milk the goat.”

  “Play with the kid more like. No. I’ve spoken to Becca and she agrees with me; the children need to work just as hard as the rest of us.”

  Victor steps out from behind Sebastian and leads the children down the path to the plot near the brick sheds where the soil was being prepared for a new season’s crop of potatoes and carrots.

  “See!” Cassie whispers as the group disappear behind the brick buildings.

  “Yes, Cassie. I see.”

  “Well, what are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s right that in a way. We’re all going to have to work hard around here. Keeping this many people fed is a full-time job.”

  “I know that, Rick, but it’s the way he’s going about it—taking control.”

  “Let me talk to Becca,” Rick suggests.

  Stepping into the kitchen, Becca stands at the sink, violently scrubbing at her hands. Rick frowns and stands next to her then looks over her shoulder to the bowl. She reaches down into the milky water, washing the suds from her hands, then rubs the scrubbing brush over a bar of soap, and continues to scrub at her hand. The skin along her index finger is covered in fine black cracks, standing in relief against the angry red skin.

  “What’re you doing, Becca?” Rick asks with concern.

  “Germs,” she says and continues to scrub, moving the brush to the delicate skin on the back of her hand.

  “They look clean enough to me.

  “They’re filthy!” she refutes without a pause in her efforts.

  “Those stains are from your hard work. It’s not muck.”

  “It is, Rick. You can’t see the germs, but they’re there. Sebastian said there are thousands of germs on your hands.”

  “Well,” he says gently, “that’s as may be, but I don’t think there’s a single germ left on yours.”

  “And, do you know what’s the most common germ?”

  “No,” he replies indulging her though he winces as the soap suds become pink.

  “Shit! Faecal matter, that’s what.”

  “Well, that is pretty disgusting, but as long as you wash your hands after you go-”

  “I have to get rid of them otherwise … I’ll contaminate everyone.”

  “Don’t be silly, lass!” he chides.

  “Sebastian-”

  “Becca! Don’t listen to everything that man tells you.”

  “It’s my fault, Rick,” she says scrubbing even harder.

  “What is?” he asks although after his conversation with Cassie he thinks he knows the answer.

  “That Justin died. If I’d just kept the place cleaner, kept my hands clean! It’s them that killed him,” she says holding up her hands, a bright spot of red spreads out from the thick layer of soap suds.

  “That’s just not true, Becca! He died from infection because we didn’t have antibiotics. Hell, he might not even have made if we had doctors around and state of the art operating theatres. He took a shot to the chest, Becca-”

  “And if I’d kept my hands clean, instead of going to visit him after I’d been out working on the farm with the animals then he would still be alive.”

  “Come on now,” Rick replies to the increasing anxiety in her voice.

  She ignores him and presses the scrubbing brush harder still.

  “Stop!” he commands as the suds redden across her fingers. Grabbing hold of her wrist, he pulls the harsh brush away from her skin. “Becca! It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t shoot him!”

  “I may as well have,” she says turning to him in anger. “And if you and Cassie hadn’t turned up then he’d still be alive,” she spits, her eyes narrowed with hate as she looks at him.

  He recoils from her stare.

  “What?”

  “Justin would never have gone down into that town if you hadn’t been here. We had everything we needed. “And Cassie had to bring that woman up here! It’s her fault Justin was shot and it�
��s my fault he’s dead!”

  “Becca! No!” he says as she yanks her wrist from his grip.

  He releases her hand, and his heart hammers in his chest as her words bite at him.

  “I’m sorry, Becca,” he replies, his guts wrenching. “I didn’t realise … when I came up here-”

  “It was only supposed to be you!” she continues, her anger unabated. “Everything was fine until then. It was you and her coming that changed everything. Sebastian says-”

  “Hah!”

  “At least he’s here to look after us. That gang haven’t been back since he sent them packing.”

  “It was me that told him to do that!”

  “But it was him they listened to.”

  “Like you do?”

  “Yes. He’s here to protect me. That’s what he wants. Just to protect me.”

  “Protect you?”

  “From them out there,” she says nodding her head towards the drive that leads out from the farm.

  “And I don’t?” he asks, the hurt growing.

  “No. All you’re interested in is Cassie, and like I said—it’s her fault my Justin is dead.”

  “No, Becca. That’s just not true, Cass-”

  “See!” she spits again. “All you can think of is defending her.”

  “Becca! I just don’t understand where this is coming from. I’m working hard to look after us all, not just Cassie.”

  “Sebastian-”

  “Please! Give me a break. If I hear you say his name one more time!”

  The kitchen door opens and Cassie walks in.

  “Everything OK?” she asks as she looks from Rick to Becca.

  “It’s your fault he’s dead,” Becca spits. “Your fault my Justin is buried out there in the cold when he should be in here with me.”

  Chapter 13

  Dan lurches forward and falls flat on his belly, the soft mud of the woodland floor pushing up into his fingernails and across his knuckles. As he grunts, then pushes himself up, Monica snorts with laughter.

  “No fresh meat for us today then!” she laughs. “Didn’t you ever watch Bear Grylls on the telly?”

  “Hah! No, I didn’t.”

  She laughs again and steps forwards, picking the leaves off his jacket. He looks down into the brightness of her green eyes, heaves a breath, then stoops to kiss her. She returns her lips with a softness that is intoxicating and he loses himself for a moment, before pulling back, pointed stick still in hand. “I swear that squirrel flicked me the V before it ran into the bushes!”

  She laughs again. “Bear caught it in a hole—speared it with the stick.”

  “Of course he did,” Dan returns good-humouredly. “Let’s check the traps.” Taking her hand, he leads her to the outer edges of the woodland where he’s set a snare. Hopeful, he squats next to the tree marked by a branch he’d leant up against it, and inspects his handiwork. Empty. He huffs in disappointment.

  “What’s that?” Monica asks pointing down at the collection of wire, string and twigs that makes up his trap.

  “The snare,” he returns. “I left food and everything.”

  “Well, the food’s gone, and it looks like whatever ate it trampled all over your trap.”

  “Sure did!” he says, his mood still bright despite his disappointment.

  “Do you know how to lay a trap to catch rabbits?”

  “Yes,” he lies. “No!” he laughs. “I tried to think back to what we did at scouts, but I don’t think catching rabbits for your tea was one of the sessions,” he replies with a sigh. “I didn’t go to many either, so perhaps I missed that one!” he says turning to look up at her, a knot twisting in his stomach, his father’s dissatisfied gaze looking down at him for the barest second.

  She returns his gaze with a smile and he’s thankful for her kindness. “Seriously though, Dan, we don’t have much food left and we’ve checked every house in the village.”

  “There might be vegetables in the gardens soon?”

  “Hope so! But I don’t think we’ve got enough food left to last us that long, and if we can’t catch any fresh meat …”

  “There’s always …”

  “Yes?”

  “The dogs?”

  “Ugh! No way! You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Well, kind of, but we’ll have to think about it … if push comes to shove.”

  She’s silent, her brow knitted in a worried frown.

  “At least there’d be less of them to worry about! Roasted shiatzu is starting to sound quite appealing”

  “Sure, but-”

  “And there’s cats too,” he says, trying to keep his face straight.

  She looks at him in horrified silence, as though the words he’s uttered are the most appalling she’s ever heard in the existence of terrible ideas.

  “We could even breed them,” he adds for effect. She stares. He can’t hold his mirth back any longer and a laugh bursts from his belly and he snorts.

  “Why! You!” she clouts him hard across the back. “You bugger! You had me going there.”

  “Pah!” he snorts again and rises from his crouch, kicks at the useless trap and grabs her, pulls her to him, holding her tight against his chest. “I have got you,” he says with a thrill and kisses her. Releasing his grip, he holds her at a distance and looks into her eyes. “I know we’re low on food and I’ve proved I’m a useless hunter-”

  “Poacher more like.”

  “Hah! Listen. I promise that we won’t starve. I’ll go into the town-”

  “The town!”

  “Yes.”

  “But you said—those people—that woman at the supermarket.”

  “Saskia? Yes, she’s trouble—but if I can get in there, I can get us some supplies. They can’t keep it all to themselves.”

  “But it’s dangerous, Dan! What if she hurts you?”

  “I won’t let her,” he replies drawing his breath, easing the tension in his chest.

  She looks up at him in earnest, questioning. “I know—I won’t get caught. I promise.”

  “When will you go? Shall I come too?”

  “No! You can’t. You didn’t see the way she attacked … I couldn’t let her do that to you,” he says pulling her close again. “No. You stay at home—keep the fire warm for me, and I’ll bring you back more food than you’ll know what to do with, perhaps even a bottle of wine!”

  “Now that would be good, though we’ve still got a nice Rioja left.”

  “I’ll get you some more, and some champagne. How about that?” he asks.

  “Well, what are you waiting for,” she jokes and pulls him towards the edge of the forest where the light makes the trees seem darker in relief.

  Three raps at the door alerts Lina and she throws the log onto the fire then stands, brushes the palms of her hands against her jeans, and walks across the room to the back hallway. Opening the door, the sun shines bright in the sky, warming the early spring air. Purple and white winter pansies colour the neglected hanging baskets either side of the back door and she stops to take a look at their freshness before walking across the concrete yard to the back gate. Muffled voices sound from the other side as she unlocks the padlock and removes the chain from the gate. The latch clicks as the chain clanks to the floor and the door pushes open. Finn, her cheeks flushed red with cold steps through first, followed by Deacon, towering over her, his body filling the doorframe. And someone else!

  “Quick! Close the gate,” she calls as she sees another pair of boots on the kerb outside.

  “It’s OK, Lina,” Deacon responds. “It’s Carl—from the warehouse, he’s come to work for us.”

  “Ah!” she replies smiling, glad that Deacon’s plan seems to be coming together.

  “What about the other one?”

  “Murray?”

  “No! The other one—like Carl.”

  “There’s only one me,” Carl replies as he steps out from behind Deacon. He gives her a bright, overenthusiastic smile then
profs his hand. “How do,” he says as she takes it, bemused at his awkward charm.

  “Fine, thank you,” she replies.

  “You’d be talking about Loz,” he explains. “Loz’s is a different kettle of fish—a real mean streak, he has. Not like Saskia, mind you, but still a mean old git.”

  “And Murray’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, we think he is. We found him curled up in the road. If he wasn’t dead then he soon will be.”

  “Oh,” she replies, a frown knitting her brow. It didn’t seem right that they’d just left him in the road if he was dying, but the world was a strange place now and the old rules, the ones she understood, just didn’t fit anymore. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing then—if he’s dead. I know he was horrible and all that, but I hope he didn’t suffer.”

  “Oh, he suffered all right,” Carl responds. “Saskia made sure of that.”

  “Did she torture him or something?” Lina asks with concern though she doesn’t want to hear the details.

  “No, well, yes, but not in that way. She was a real bitch to him. But no, he was sick. You could tell by the way he got so thin, and he’d take handfuls of pills. I think to stop the pain.”

  “Oh,” Lina returns.

  “Don’t you go feeling sad for him. He was a nasty piece of work and wouldn’t have spat on you if you were on fir-” Carl stops, his eyes widen and he looks over to Deacon, grimaces, then continues. “He was a bad man—better off where he is.”

  “It’s nice and warm in here,” Deacon interjects, interrupting the awkward silence that follows. “Did you light the fire?”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” Finn offers. “Do you take sugar?” she asks.

  “Nah, I’m trying to cut down,” Carl returns patting at his belly. “There’s no dentists no more if my teeth rot, and I’ve already got a toothache. Come to think of it, do you have anything I could take for it?” he asks.

  “Lina?” Deacon asks. “You’re the doctor around here, have we?”

  “Not here, but at the chemist there’ll be some.”

  “Oh, it’s OK then. I’ll manage.”

  “I can get some though. I’ve been meaning to go there and bring back some supplies.”