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

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Nah!” she responds, feigning indifference. “I’m just bored of the conversation that’s all—bit too much doom and gloom for me.”

  “Hah!” he replies. “And you’re Mrs Happy aren’t you.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Sauerkraut!” he laughs.

  “I’ll crack you one, even if you are driving,” she retaliates.

  “Better not do that, I may just crash over the barriers,” he returns and swerves the van to the right, close to the central barrier, then back to the left.

  “Sergei!” she screams as the van almost scrapes the barrier.

  He laughs in delight at her discomfort.

  “You’re a shit, Sergei. Do you know that?”

  “Yep,” he says without hint of apology.

  Loz sniggers next to her and she elbows him with spite.

  “Ow! What was that for?” he asks as they pass through the final pair of massive concrete towers.

  “For being a twat!” she replies.

  The van drives up to the toll booths and slows.

  “No need to slow down, Sergei,” she berates. “We don’t have to pay.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I couldn’t see if it was blocked or not.”

  Saskia peers ahead. “The toll bars are lifted,” she says helpfully.

  “Yeah, but what’s that a bit further up?” Loz adds.

  Sergei slows to a stop as they reach the toll booth and the van is cast in shadow from the awning above. They look through the window to the road ahead. Banked on either side by vast, deciduous trees that edge twin woodlands, it makes a grey path to a roundabout ahead.

  “Wish that was still open,” Loz interrupts.

  “Huh?”

  “The mega-pub over there,” he says pointing to a vast building that can just be glimpsed on the far side of the roundabout. “They did the most enormous afters there—enough for ten they were.”

  “Bet you ate it all yourself ay, Loz?”

  “For crying out loud you two. Look! What’s that in the road?”

  “Blocks.”

  “Yes, bloody great blocks of concrete!” Saskia says in exasperation. “Somebody’s blocked off the road.”

  “Who?”

  “How the very hell would I know?” she replies.

  “Perhaps that gang? Perhaps this is what they’ve been doing every day?”

  “I thought they were just going out to get petrol or food or something.”

  “Well, if it is them,” Sergei says, his voice serious now, “then they’re scared of something.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I don’t think these blocks have been left here to stop us getting into the city. I think they’ve been put here to stop something getting across the bridge.”

  Chapter 6

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Finn says as Deacon pulls on his boots. “I just want to finish getting tidied up around here.” She hates lying, but it’s just a little one, she will join him later.

  “Sure, babe,” he says as he ties the laces. He stands, walks across to her at the sink and bends in to kiss her. The thrill she experiences each time he touches her is powerful this morning, and she wraps her arm around him then kisses him with passion.

  “Steady on!” Carl calls from the back door.

  Deacon laughs. “You’re just jealous!”

  “Sure am,” Carl replies with good humour. “C’mon, those weeds won’t jump out the soil on their own.”

  “Coming,” Deacon returns, gives her a final kiss then disappears through the open door.

  “Lina,” Finn calls when the gate closes and she’s sure the men are making their way to the allotment. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” she replies walking back from the living room. She carries a bucket of ashes, a dustpan and brush. “I’m just emptying these into the cinders bin.”

  “Carl’ll be happy. He was moaning that the ashes were nearly gone.”

  “And we’ll be happy when he brings us some lovely veg,” she replies as she walks out of the back door.

  Finn listens to the sounds of Lina emptying the bucket into the aluminium bin outside as she pulls on her jacket. A wave of nausea hits her and she takes a deep breath. She’s hungry, but she can’t face eating, so pours a small glass of water from the jug they keep freshly filled on the kitchen counter. It’s tepid, but quenches her thirst.

  “I’m ready,” Lina says as she pokes her head through the doorway.

  Finn smiles back and joins her, careful to lock the door and place the key in its hiding place. There’s only one, and losing it would be a minor disaster. Leaving the pub, their home, without anyone inside doesn’t happen very often. Deacon insists that one of them is there to keep a look out at all times, but today she needs Lina with her—she’s feels oddly vulnerable right now.

  “So, do you think we’ll find any?” she asks as they walk along the street on the way to the High Street.

  “I think so. It’s not as if the looters would have been interested in them, and there’s only us been in there since … since I went there to look for pain killers for Carl. I can’t remember seeing any of them though.”

  “Well, perhaps that’s because you weren’t looking.”

  “True,” Lina returns as they step across the road.

  The shop is only a few more minutes’ walk. That was the beauty of living at the pub, it was bang smack in the middle of town.

  “Age before beauty,” Lina laughs as she holds open the door to the Chemist’s.

  “Cheek!” Finn replies and gives her a nudge on the shoulder.

  They step inside the shop. Warmed by the sun streaming in through the wide panes of glass, the air is stuffy, but nothing seems to have changed since she was here with Kyle. Her memory of him stirs for a moment, and she stands at the counter facing the doors, remembering him crouching to the dog on the other side of the panes. He turns to look at her and she stares straight into the brown of his eyes. She smiles though the threat of tears makes her nose prickle, then sniffs.

  “You OK?” Lina asks.

  The girl was perceptive that was for sure. She’d guessed about Finn before she herself had even realised. “Yes,” Finn replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just thinking of Kyle, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Lina says and slides her arm across Finn’s shoulder, then leans her head there.

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s OK,” Lina replies then moves across to the shelves. “They’ve got some,” she says her voice taking a brighter tone.

  “Oh!”

  “Here.”

  Finn looks down to the packet held out in Lina’s hand. It’s oblong with blue writing on a white background. In the corner ‘99% Accurate’ is emblazoned across the corner.

  “Shall I do it here?” Finn asks as she accepts the pregnancy test.

  “Yes, at least then you can get rid of the evidence if it’s negative. No need to give the man a heart attack if you’re not …”

  “Him have a heart attack! What about me? I’m in pieces.”

  “Well, it’ll only take a few minutes. It says get results in under a minute on the pack.”

  “Oh,” she replies but doesn’t move.

  “Go on!” Lina urges and gives her a nudge on the arm. “There’ll be a toilet in the back.”

  “What do I do?”

  “I don’t know!” Lina replies with a laugh. “I’ve never done one before. Read the instructions.”

  “OK,” Lina says though she doesn’t sound convinced. She looks to the archway that leads beyond the shop.

  “Go on then!”

  “I am!” she replies. She can’t hold it off any longer. She has to know.

  Walking through the archway, there’s another door leading further into the building. She steps through. To her left is a small kitchen and to her right, a door with a sign, ‘Toilets’. She takes a breath and opens the door, her mind consumed by thoughts of the outcome of the test, no consideration gi
ven to what might be behind the wooden panel. The room contains a toilet and a sink with a mirror above. It smells fusty, but other than that is perfectly clean. She fumbles with the packet and rips at the card. Inside is a folded paper of instructions and a long plastic wand in a wrapper. She scrutinises the instructions.

  “What do you do then?” Lina asks from behind.

  Startled, Finn drops the wand.

  “You scared me, Lina!” she says turning to the girl then bends to retrieve the wrapper. “It looks like I’ve got to pee on the stick for a few seconds then wait.”

  “Wait?”

  “Yeah. Look,” she says handing over the instructions. “One line means the test has worked. Two lines the test is positive.”

  Lina looks up and meets her gaze.

  “And what do you want it to be? One line or two?”

  Finn stares back at her. Her stomach gives a queasy roll. “I—I don’t know. If things were different having Deacon’s baby would be … it would be amazing, but …” she stops and looks into the mirror, sees the gaunt face staring back, the shoulder blades sticking out beneath her top. “Now … I don’t want to bring a child into this world.” Her face crumples as emotion overtakes her and Lina steps up to give her comfort. “I’m OK, Lina,” she says wiping at the tears that have spilled over her lashes.

  “Listen. Either way it will be fine,” Lina soothes.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Now go and pee on that stick.”

  “OK,” Finn replies obediently, walks to the toilet, and unbuttons her jeans. She pulls down her knickers unembarrassed by Lina’s presence.

  “Shall I leave?” Lina asks.

  “No, it’s fine,” she replies as she squats to sit on the toilet, simultaneously ripping at the plastic packet. The stick inside is smooth with what looks like felt inside an oblong window. “Which end do I pee on?” she asks holding up the stick as she sits on the toilet’s seat.

  “There’s a cap on the end,” Lina replies as she looks at the instructions.

  “Hah! There is.”

  Taking off the cap, a narrow, fabric stick points out and she holds it between her legs, angling it as best she can to catch the flow of urine. Releasing her bladder, a stream of yellow covers the stick, and she watches as it travels up the fibres. Removing the test stick, she holds it at her knees and waits.

  “Is it done yet?”

  The fibres darken as moisture travels along them and then a dark line appears as urine mixes with the chemicals on the felt inside the window.

  “Well … it’s working,” she replies then catches her breath. A second, purple line appears as if by magic as the felt darkens with liquid. “Oh,” she says unable to process her emotions. She feels like crying, but she’s not sure whether it’s for joy or with abject fear. Her hands tremble and she drops the test for a second time.

  “You are?” Lina asks bending to retrieve the stick. She stands, takes it to the window and holds it up. “Yes, you are. Oh Finn,” she says turning to her as Finn sits frozen on the toilet seat, jeans still around her ankles, “it’s wonderful!”

  “Is it?” Finn asks then bursts into tears. What the hell was she going to do? Did Deacon even want a baby? They’d never discussed it. She’d never even thought about it.

  “Oh, Finn. Don’t cry,” Lina says rushing to her and crouching down. Her arm is comforting across her shoulders and Finn leans into her as she continues to sob.

  “What if he doesn’t want it?” she cries.

  “Don’t be silly, Finn. Deacon loves you.”

  “He does?”

  “You know it. Now come on. Dry your eyes,” she says reaching for the roll of toilet paper. “You’ll see—he’ll be made up when you tell him,”

  Finn takes the toilet roll and wipes away the mixture of snot and tears with a trembling hand.

  Chapter 7

  “Got it!” Derek shouts in triumph as he backs out of the brick shed. A clunk sounds as he pushes a lever and then the pumps hum into life.

  “Yes!” Jackson shouts as he watches the display change to 000:00. “You little beauty!” he exclaims and pats at the metal case. He unscrews the petrol cap, pulls out the nozzle, and squeezes as it stabs into the van’s tank. The tubing jerks then liquid pours out with the now unfamiliar glug. “Yes!” he repeats as he watches the digital display change. It climbs with each second as he squeezes the trigger in the handle. For once he’s not going to have to pay! He fills the van’s tank to the brim with an excited abandon. Everything may have turned to shit, but he’d never felt more free.

  “Full up?” Derek questions as he steps beside him.

  “It is, my friend. It is,” he replies and pats Derek on the back. “You are a gift to our community, Derek. Thank you!”

  Derek beams in response. “Just doing my bit. Same as everyone.”

  “Sure,” Jackson replies.

  “You’ve kept us safe these past months, Jackson. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Well, I can tell you this, Derek, from me and Trina, and the rest. Our lives would be a lot less comfortable without you.”

  Derek blushes and laughs. “Sure, Governor,” he replies then nods and walks back to his van. “See you back at the club.”

  “Sure, fella. Hey! Tell Sally and Trina to get the barbeque lit—we’ll have a few beers and some pork chops to celebrate.”

  Derek’s grin broadens. “Sure thing, boss!”

  Things were just getting better. First the clubhouse, then the farm with some animals still wandering around just ready to be caught and butchered, and now the petrol pumps were working, and best of all, he didn’t have to pay for a single damned thing. Well, not in money anyhow. He’d worked damned hard to get it though, if truth be told.

  The noise of an engine sounds from higher up on the hill, the entrance road to the town, and he looks across, with a flicker of anxiety, to the bridge and its massive concrete pillars reaching high into the sky, solid and black against the horizon. It would just be one of the boys coming back from checking out the surrounding towns, nothing to worry about. He stands behind the pump as the sound of the engine grows louder, and waits. Within the next minute a van appears. It’s not one of theirs. This one is black with ‘BRP Autos’ emblazoned in orange down the side. He hugs closer to the pump as it passes. A huge blond sits at the wheel. The crew from the warehouse. He heaves a sigh of relief. Get a grip man! The gang from over the bridge wouldn’t come over this way, and even if they did, they couldn’t get past the blockade.

  He walks behind his van and watches as Jake lugs the final barrel out of the flat-bed. The man is strong, a good worker, and Tom beside him, though smaller is just as willing. He’s got a good crew under him and for that he is thankful. “Want a hand?” he asks as the barrel thuds to the low trolley they’ve placed ready to catch it.

  “No, we’ve got it,” Jake returns. “Just a thought,” he continues.

  “Yes?” Jackson asks.

  “Well, now the pumps are on, it’d be easy for anyone to steal the petrol. I mean, before, you’d have to syphon it off, but now anyone can roll in and just fill up.”

  He stops and stares at Jake then to the pumps and the road. He was right. There was nothing to stop anyone coming in and the entire frontage was open. He’s quiet for a moment then turns back to Jake.

  “You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll post guards and block the front.” With what he had in mind, there was a hell of a lot of work to do before he could enjoy a cold beer and a barbeque tonight. “No rest for the wicked,” he says with a wink then walks to his van. As he reaches the back doors he calls back. “Wait here until I send replacements. We’ll have to guard the place twenty-four-seven.”

  “Or you could just switch it off,” Tom suggests. “They always used to just switch it all off at nine o’clock.”

  “That could work,” Tom responds.

  “You’re right. That’s what we’ll do, but we still need to block the entrance and make it ha
rder for people to get in,” he continues. He was absolutely sure, if the psycho blonde bit from the warehouse found out about their stash of petrol, then she’d be after it. She’d gone quiet of late, he had only caught glimpses of them since the fire, but her angry face and poisonous words haunted his dreams. It was only a matter of time before she sought vengeance, of that he was certain.

  Slamming the door shut, he starts the engine and makes his way to the club. His belly growls, but not with hunger. Damn. He’d have to find somewhere hidden to take a dump. They may have electricity, but running water wasn’t something they’d mastered—not yet anyway. The farm had a well, so perhaps at some point he’d relocate there, but for now, the club offered the protection they needed—plenty of open space around the building and eight-foot high aluminium posts along the entire perimeter. Heck, it even had metal shutters on the doors and windows, and you couldn’t get better than that.

  Pulling the van into a driveway, he walks up to the closed door of a house. It’s locked. He doesn’t fancy going inside anyway—it’s not one they’ve checked over and he’s way past bumping into rotting corpses. Opening the wooden gate at the side, he brushes back the overgrown honeysuckle that hangs down over the archway, and walks through to the garden. A wilderness faces him. Overgrown shrubs are narrowing the area and a large apple tree hangs its branches over almost half of the small garden. Young fruits hang from its boughs. He was in luck! What number was this again? He’d check when he left. Trina would be thrilled when he told her, perhaps even more appreciative of him tonight, though quite how things could be better between them in the sack he wasn’t sure. He smiles as he walks to a shadowed area of the garden and unbuckles his belt whilst checking the surrounding vegetation. Perfect! At his feet, and in clusters across the grass, are dock plants. Their wide leaves would be just the job for wiping himself afterwards. He plucks some of the largest, then pushes his trousers and pants to his ankles and squats. Who’d have thought taking a shit could be so sweet?