The Route to Justice: A post-apocalyptic survival thriller (A World Torn Down Book 5)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “I’ll take her back up to bed. It’s just a sore throat I think.”

  “Has she had medicine?” Rick asks scanning the kitchen surfaces.

  “I gave her some when she woke up. She can have some more in a couple of hours. Come on Celie,” she says putting her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  He watches them both leave and turn to go up the stairs then rubs at his shoulders. She only had a cold, he was sure, but without recall to a doctor, or any advice other than what they knew, or could glean from the medicine book they’d found in the house, his anxiety was high. What if she was really sick? Properly sick so that she needed stronger medicine—anti-biotics or something even more powerful? They wouldn’t be able to help. Living up here was great; they felt protected, but it was isolated too.

  Voices sound from the staircase then Zak lollops into the kitchen. Rick turns to give him a welcoming smile and notices again how tall the boy is becoming—tall and strong. It won’t be long before he fills out and broadens across his chest.

  “Morning!” he calls as the gangly teenager pulls up a chair to the table. “I’ve got a few jobs for you to do this morning, before we get on with some training,” he says as he turns to the stove. “Want a brew?”

  “Uhuh,” is the monosyllabic reply.

  Rick chuckles and opens the cupboard to reach for a mug then for the pot of hot ‘tea’ kept warm on the stove.

  “Milk?” he asks.

  “Ugh! No. I hate the goats milk in it—it’s too strong,” Zak replies with an exaggerated judder.

  “Want it sweetened then?” he laughs

  “Uhuh,” Zak replies.

  Rick unscrews the lid of a jar of honey and dips a teaspoon in then holds it above the mug of stewed nettles. It had taken a while to get used to the taste of nettle tea, but now that they had bees making them honey, it helped it go down a whole lot smoother.

  “There you go,” he says and places the mug before Zak. “Once you’ve finished there’s some logs that need chopping and the water barrel needs filling again,” he continues turning to pat the large plastic barrel sitting on the kitchen counter, “and after that you’ll need to get some fresh water from the stream to replace what you took. OK?”

  “OK,” Zak replies lifting the mug to his lips and slurping at the liquid there.

  Good. No resistance. Zak was a good lad. Sure, he had his moments—his teenage tantrums, but he knew deep down that he had to help—that they all needed to work hard to keep things running smoothly.

  “Rick!”

  “Yes,” he answers with some trepidation. Talking with Zak and the other two wasn’t always easy. He’d been caught out a few times after Cassie had had ‘that’ talk with them and he’d snorted tea through his nose at the dinner table when Harry had blurted out that he thought he’d started puberty and sometimes his ‘thing’ grew big, only he’d used the ‘correct’ term for his ‘thing’. He’d looked on in wide-eyed horror, trying not to dissolve into a fit of laughter, as Cassie had leant across to Harry and told him they’d talk in private later and that perhaps that kind of talk wasn’t really suitable at the table.

  “Can you teach me to drive?”

  Rick sighs in relief, a broad smile across his face and nods. “Sure.”

  “Yes!” Zak replies and beams back at him. He finishes his drink with a final gulp and strides to the door.

  “I sharpened the axe yesterday, so she should make easy work of those logs,” Rick calls as Zak steps over the threshold and down the step.

  “OK. Thanks,” he calls back as he disappears across the courtyard.

  Cassie’s footsteps sound on the stairs as Rick reaches across the table to retrieve the now dirty mug

  “She’s asleep again,” she says as she returns to the kitchen with a hint of relief in her voice.

  “Cassie,” he says turning. “How do you feel about living closer to a town?”

  “No,” she replies and looks him straight in the eyes. “We’re safer here.”

  “But what if the kids need a doctor or real medicine and not just-”

  “I’ll go into the city,” she says looking out through the window in the direction of the metropolis that sits ten miles from their new home. “I’ll get us the medicine that we need.”

  “Cassie-”

  “Aren’t you happy here?”

  “Yeh, sure, it’s just … it’s just with the kids being sick I thought that it might be a good idea to be closer to people who could help if they needed it.”

  “She’s just got a temperature,” Cassie returns, the frown of anxiety leaving her face and she steps close to him and slips her arm across his back, “that’s all. Don’t worry,” she finishes leaning her head against his chest.

  He returns her affection by stroking her hair. Happy was an understatement of how he felt—everything seemed to have slotted into place since they’d found the farm. An added bonus was that Cassie hadn’t mentioned going to find Dan since they’d arrived.

  “I’ll go in and look for medicines—make a stockpile of things we need. Perhaps we can find a book at the library about family health?”

  “You can’t go alone to the city, Cassie,” he says pulling her close.

  “Well, one of us has to go and I’d prefer it if you were to stay here looking after this place and the kids. I can look after myself, Rick-”

  “Hah! I know that, Cas, but I don’t like the idea of you going out there on your own.”

  “I won’t be. I’ll take Zak with me—his training’s really coming on.”

  “It is. You’re doing an amazing job teaching them everything you know.”

  She smiles back to him at his compliment. “They need to know how to look after themselves.”

  “They do. I’ll take the boys for a run this evening too—got to keep myself in shape,” he says pinching at an imaginary roll of flesh around his waist; whatever fat he’d had there was long gone.

  “Hah! You’re nothing but muscle, Rick. There’s not an ounce of fat on you,” Cassies responds with what Rick takes to be an appreciative glance over his abdomen. “I’d join you, but, with Celie being ill, someone needs to stay in the house.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll go in the morning.”

  “Running?”

  “No. To the city—to get some medicines.”

  “Cassie.”

  “Yes?”

  “What’ll we do when the medicine runs out? Whatever is left will have a sell-by date and then there’ll be nothing.”

  She stops and thinks for a moment. “It’s played on my mind too. I think we need to keep as healthy as possible, and learn what we can about herbal medicine—use what grows around us.”

  “Herbs?”

  “Yes, they’re what a lot of medicine is based on anyhow.”

  “It kind of feels like we’ve stepped back in time.”

  “I think perhaps we have.”

  Chapter 4

  Screwdriver in hand, Jackson pulls at the wire as he crouches next to the panel. His boots scratch against the tiles and a corner breaks, its red shard tumbling down to the guttering. Un-phased, he continues his work and pulls the rest of the grey wire through the hole until its end comes through. The bare copper wires glint in the sun and a muffled voice shouts from the loft beneath his feet.

  “You got it? That’s the last one.”

  “Great!” he shouts back. “Come this side and I’ll start unscrewing the brackets.”

  He lays the wire down against the tiles and inches further up the roof. At least it’s not raining. Back in the day, he’d have had to go up the scaffold come rain or shine. Not that there weren’t plenty of times he’d sat in the cab with Nick dipping biscuits into a hot mug of tea from the flask, legs up on the dashboard. He chuckles at the memory. Heck, but that man could fart—that was his party trick—once he thought they’d had long enough in the cab, he’d let rip and they’d be forced to evacuate. Too much beer
the night before, that had been his problem—always out on the lash, and who could blame him with what he’d got to go back home to; Jenny, his wife, had been a right bunny boiler and not even a looker. Ugh!

  Noise from below breaks into his musings and focuses his attention back onto the job as he loosens the last screw holding the solar panel to the bracket. It shifts downwards and he grabs it before it begins to really slide.

  “You ready?” he calls down to Jake.

  “Yep.”

  With a firm grip at the top of the panel, he lets gravity pull it down the roof’s slope. He sidesteps with it until he reaches the guttering then steps onto the ladders. The panel is heavy - really needs two of them here - but he lets it out further over the end. Luckily this one is narrow and long, and it lowers quickly to Jake’s reach.

  “Got it,” Jake shouts up.

  Jackson watches as he inches his hands to the midway point. “I’m letting go,” he warns.

  “Sure, I’ve got it,” Jake responds and takes the full weight of the panel, grunts with the effort, then walks forward and leans it up against the wall to join the others he’s already stacked there.

  “Do you think these’ll work,” he asks as Jackson climbs down the ladder.

  “I dunno. Derek seems confident that they will.”

  “Let’s go see then,” he replies with a smile and reaches out to grab a panel.

  Ten minutes later and the panels are loaded into the van and they’re on their way to the petrol station. As they take a left at the mini-roundabout another truck is making its way down the hill and back into town. It beeps its horn as they cross the road.

  “They’re back.”

  “Yep,” Jackson agrees. “I wonder if they’ve managed to get much today.”

  “They do most days,” he replies as the flat-bed pulls into the station after them.

  Parking the van, Jackson jumps out and makes his way across the forecourt to where the flatbed has stopped. Kane winds the window down and leans out with his arm resting on the door frame. His tousled hair, sun-bleached during the hot summer, flops over his eyes, and he swipes at it, then smirks. His eyes sparkle as Jackson approaches—looks like good news!

  “Now then,” Jackson says by way of greeting. “News?”

  “You’re gonna love this, Jackson,” Kane replies, his smile showing the white of his teeth. “Ten miles down the road there’s another town—plenty of petrol there. We’ll need a fekkin’ tanker.”

  “Can we get one?”

  “Pah! Trust you.”

  “I’m serious. Can we get a tanker?”

  “We could if we could find one,” he says with a laugh.

  “Find me one then,” is Jackson’s reply. He wants this petrol station filled to the gunnels.

  “Will do,” is Kane’s reply.

  “Did you check the bridge?” he asks with a faint twist of his guts.

  “Yep. All present and correct.”

  “Great,” he replies, his relief hidden behind a firm voice.

  Jackson liked Kane. He could rely on him—he had a real will-do attitude. Perhaps he should bring him tighter into the fold—having willing people around him was more important than ever now; there seemed to be rumblings of discontent lower in the ranks—just a couple of the lads—hotheads who thought they should rule the roost. “When we get back to the club, come to my office.”

  “Sure,” Kane replies with a nod as Jackson walks to the back of the truck.

  Jackson nods in appreciation as he scans the flatbed’s contents—nine barrels. “These all full?” he asks as Tom joins him.

  “Yup,” he replies with a broad grin as the cab door slams.

  “Good, empty them into the tank.”

  In the centre of the forecourt a round of metal sits on the concrete, the place where the tankers would offload their petrol. It was better to stash their supplies here even if the pumps didn’t work. He looks along the lines of pumps then to the van. If Derek could work his magic and got the solar panels working they’d have it easy. The thought of watching the noughts on the pumps click over to ever-increasing numbers as he filled his tank and didn’t have to pay, makes him happy. Sod the greedy government—no tax to pay anymore. Where were the politicians now? Dead that’s where. Hah!

  Chapter 5

  Saskia waits in the cab of the van, impatient for Sergei to join her. If he didn’t hurry up! Loz opens the door and hauls himself up then sits next to her, his skinny leg touching against her thigh. With him comes a smell she finds unbearable and, as he pulls the door to, the smell intensifies. She coughs and turns her head away as he reaches for the radio and pushes the CD back into its slot. The machine engages with the disk and the sound of music fills the cab. He starts to hum and tap his fingers on the dashboard.

  “Loz,” she says gently, a sweetness to her voice.

  “Yes,” he says with caution turning to her with wide eyes.

  “You stink!” she replies with a harsh tone. “When’s the last time you washed?”

  “This morning,” he says defensively. “Pits and bits! I did ‘em this morning—like you told me.”

  “Did you use soap?” she asks with disdain.

  “Yes,” he replies.

  She leans forwards and sniffs at his top. “When’s the last time this was washed?” she asks pinching the fabric of his t-shirt.

  “Dunno.”

  “Get out!” she demands.

  His eyes widen in surprise. “But you said we were going to fetch some kids?”

  “Collect a workforce, Loz.”

  “OK, collect a workforce then.”

  “We are, but I’m not sitting with you for the next god-knows how many hours when you stink like a bag of shit. Now, get out and go change into something clean.”

  “Sure,” he replies and pulls at the door’s handle with irritation.

  “And don’t be long,” she demands as he steps out.

  He slams the door in reply and stomps off across the driveway and back into the house just as Sergei opens the door. Sergei would never leave the house stinking like that! She watches with admiration as he adjusts his sunglasses and strides towards the cab. He’s leaner than ever, but muscular with it. The crop she’d given him last night suits him and she wonders if he’s put on some of that cologne she likes. At least it would get rid of the stench in the cab.

  “Stinks in here, Sis,” Sergei comments as he slides into the driver’s seat. “Didn’t you … haven’t you had a wash-”

  “How very dare you!” she says with indignation, a flush rising on her cheek. “It was that filthy Loz. I’ve just sent him back in to get a clean t-shirt on.”

  “Hah! No wonder he looked like someone had just pissed in his beer. He probably hasn’t got anything clean to put on.”

  “Oh, Sergei! He must have. I only brought him some new tops and t-shirts the other week.”

  “Sis, that was last month. He’ll have gone through them all.”

  “He could wash them!”

  “Yeah, sure! That’s woman’s work.”

  “Pah! Not this woman’s it isn’t.”

  “Well, that’s why we’re getting some little helpers isn’t it?”

  “It sure is,” she replies. “You smell nice.”

  “Thanks,” he replies as he reaches for the ignition and turns the key.

  The engine hums as they wait. When Loz finally appears, he’s wearing a red shirt with a Hawaiian scene printed on the front.

  “Nice shirt, Loz,” Sergei says as he jumps back into the cab.

  “Thanks. Saskia got it for me,” he says with a smile. He holds her gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary then faces the front and pulls at the seat belt.

  If he thinks he’s got a chance with her, he’s got another thing coming! “Let’s go, shall we?” she says with impatience.

  The van backs out of the driveway and makes its way across town then heads towards the major roundabout. There are three roads they can take,
all leading to major conurbations with plenty of towns and villages on the way.

  “Where to, Sis?” Sergei asks as they reach the top of the road.

  “Let’s go into the city—if we’re going to do this, we should go to where there’s the greatest chance of finding people.”

  “Your call,” he says as he pulls the van forward.

  “There should be plenty of survivors in the city. I mean, the town’s practically overrun with them now,” she continues as the van pulls off the roundabout and makes its way down to the road that leads to the bridge. She’s always hated going across. It’s so high, and when the wind blows you can feel the car buffet.

  “Do you remember when that lorry turned over and its cab was hanging off the road and over the water?” Loz asks as the bridge moves across the land then flies out over the water. Saskia looks down. Below, the bank gives way to white pebbles to a thick, gunge-brown band of silt.

  “Tides out,” she says looking down at the river. A buoy sits in the distance, bobbing and red, useless now that nothing sailed along the waterway.

  “I remember that,” Sergei responds to Loz. “Bet the driver cakked himself.”

  “It wouldn’t take much though would it—to send you off the edge? I mean—the railings are all very well and good, but they’re not going to stop you tumbling off if you crash. I mean—if you go through the first lot you’re just gonna fly over the edge and … bam! Straight down to the water.”

  Saskia’s stomach lurches and her chest tightens as she listens to him. “We get it, Loz!”

  “I mean—you’d just splat wouldn’t you! They say that hitting the water from this height is just like hitting concrete.”

  “Yeah?” Sergei asks obviously interested in the conversation.

  “Yep. Kills you straight off. No chance of surviving that,” he says with his eyes glued to the river.

  “Probably why so many people came to chuck themselves off,” Sergei replies.

  “For crying out loud you two! Will you quit it?”

  “What’s up, Sis. Don’t like heights?” Sergei asks with a quick glance at her. She looks to the road ahead. She won’t admit fear, not least to him. She’d learnt a long time ago that letting people know your weaknesses was a bad idea.