Walking back to his van, he notes the number of the house and the street, then makes his way back to the club. He’d wash his hands when he got there, and the rest? Well, he’d make sure he was squeaky clean for Trina at lights out.
Saskia opens the back of the van as the sun is lowering in the sky. She loved summer. Loved the feeling of warmth it gave her, like being hugged. She can’t remember the last time she felt happy at being hugged—certainly not by Murray! She sighs.
“Come on out then,” she urges with a forced smile.
The child shifts to the corner of the van.
That was another thing she was going to like about the summer—it made collecting a workforce so much easier. It seems that people were more likely to be out and about in the sunshine because, as she’d driven with Sergei and Loz through the villages along the wolds, they’d seen a few people. Sure, some of them had hidden before they got close enough to see them properly - and that bloke with the beard standing with the red-haired woman had practically shoved her into the hedge when he’d turned and saw the van - but there were enough that just stopped and stared. Luring … no that wasn’t the right word … convincing the children to come back with them had been easy. She’d start with just two—see how it went. They’d be good for her if they knew what was good for them, but like Sergei said, the best way was to try to be motherly. Hah! Well, if she was going to be like her own mother then that would be a quick road to disaster, but she would be kind and gentle—that’s what he really meant.
“It’s OK,” she soothes. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you,” she says leaning into the van and offering her hand. “We’ve got sweets inside. Remember, I promised you sweets.”
They nod and she smiles. This was going to be easy. They’d be putty in her hands and soon be cleaning and scrubbing and digging that bloody garden.
The smaller one, he must be about ten, stands up and walks towards her. “That’s right, come on. You’re home now.”
She beckons to the older girl behind. She was going to be a little more difficult to manage. She looks about thirteen. “I’ve got some sweets for you too,” she cajoles. “You like chocolate, don’t you?”
The girl’s belly growls and she clasps her hands across her front.
“Come on now. I know you’re hungry. I’ve got a nice bedroom you can have and food for you. OK?”
The girl looks at her and she forces her best smile—the kind one she saves for when she really has to use it. The girl relents and stands up then walks forward.
Good! If she played it right she’d have little elves working day and night for her pretty darned soon. She just needed to get Carl to help too, then their labours wouldn’t be wasted.
Chapter 8
Cassie smiles up to the wan face of Celie as she looks down on them from the bedroom window. If she was standing there watching, then she must be feeling at least a little better. Cassie waves then turns her attention back to the boy confronting her. He growls and she snickers, unable to hold back her mirth.
“OK, Harry. Give me what you’ve got,” she challenges and holds up her hands as though to grab him. “Think it through. I’ll take it slowly.”
She pushes her arm out in slow motion and grabs him by the collar. His hand wraps around her clenched fist as she punches at his head with a left jab. His reaction is immediate. He raises his arm, clamps his hand to the back of his head, sticks his elbow to her chest and blocks her punch whilst simultaneously chopping at her neck and digging the thumb of his other hand into her clenched fist, effectively breaking her grip and slamming his arm up against her outstretched arm knocking at the locked elbow.
“Ow!” she says with genuine pain and pulls her arm away. “Well done.”
He smiles.
“He wouldn’t be a match if you were really trying to grab him though, Cassie,” Zak interrupts.
“He’s doing great!” Cassie says catching Harry’s eye. Kids! They were always trying to outdo one another.
“Let me have a go,” he says. “Then we’ll see.”
“You’ve got an unfair advantage because you’re so much bigger, but yes, let’s see,” Cassie says accepting the challenge. “Are you up for that, Harry?”
“I sure am,” he replies with confidence, eyeing Zak up with spirit. “Come on then!” he goads, feet spread apart. “Take me down.”
Zak walks across to face Harry.
“Punch him, Zak,” Cassie instructs with a cool tone.
Zak turns with a raised brow. “You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure,” she nods and stands with hands on hips as the two boys face each other, Zak towering and lean opposite the younger boy.
Zak nods his acceptance and raises both fists in a boxing stance. The younger boy squares his shoulders, hops back and knocks Zak’s jabbing punch down as he attempts to smash first his right, then his left fist, into Harry’s face. Before he’s had a chance to retaliate, Harry kicks at Zak’s knee, catching it at the side and unbalancing him. Zak topples backwards defeated.
“Hah!” Cassie claps as Harry steps back and stands strong once more.
Zak recovers his position, a look of surprise quickly covered with a smirk of admiration as he raises his hand in defeat. “Not bad, for a little ‘un,” he says. “I let you win though.”
“No way! I won that. Didn’t I Cassie! Didn’t I win that.”
“You did, Harry,” she replies. “You’re a quick learner.”
A knock on the open upstairs window sounds and Cassie waves to Celie then turns her attention back to the boys.
Thud!
All three turn to the house, alert to the odd noise.
“Sounded like it came from upstairs,” Zak says looking up.
“It did,” Cassie replies with a frown.
“Must’ve been Celie then,” Harry explains. “What’s she up to, to make a noise like that?”
“I don’t know,” Cassie says although she’s already turning to run towards the house. She can only think of one reason for the noise—Celie must have collapsed!
She takes the stairs two at a time and bursts through the door. She’s right. Celie lies crumpled at the end of her bed without sign of life.
“Celie,” she calls as she strides over to the girl.
Cassie kneels down. Celie’s breathing, but unconscious, her face flushed, and her hair seems damp about her head. Scooping her arms beneath Celie, Cassie lifts the girl from the floor, surprised at how light she is compared to how tall she’s grown, and lays her on the bed.
“Celie,” she repeats as she holds a hand against her forehead. She’s burning up. Something to cool her. Paracetamol! That helps with temperature. Cassie takes a final look at Celie’s unconscious face then leaves the bedroom and rushes down to the kitchen and the cupboard that holds their meagre supply of medicines. Reaching for the bottle of paracetamol she holds it up to the window, peering through the dark brown glass to gauge the contents. There’s barely any left and if she’s unconscious how’s she going to give it to her anyhow?
“Cassie? What’s going on?” Rick asks as she sits the bottle down on the counter.
“It’s Celie. She’s collapsed and unconscious.”
“What?” he says looking towards the stairs with concern.
“Yes. She’s burning up. We need to get her temperature down. There’s hardly any medicine left either.”
“We’ll have to get her temperature down the natural way then. Get some cold water and flannels,” he instructs. “I’ll get the book and … do we have a thermometer?”
“Yes,” Cassie replies. “In the first aid kit.”
“OK. Let’s assess her temperature and go from there. “Where’s the book?”
“In the living room, second shelf down on the bookcase,” Cassie replies, thankful for his calm. “The water in here is warm,” she says nodding to the plastic barrel on the counter. “Zak can fetch some from the stream. That should be colder.”
“I thin
k the filtered water in the barn should be cold enough,” Rick replies.
“Yes. Yes, I bet it is,” Cassie agrees and turns to the outside door as Rick takes the first aid kit from the shelf then moves through the kitchen to the living room.
“Zak,” she calls to the boys still sparring in the yard. “I need a bucket of cold water from the barn.
“Huh?”
“Cold water! Celie’s got a high temperature and we need to cool her down.”
“Sure,” he replies, and turns to run to the barn.”
“The bucket’s here,” she calls bending down to pick up the container from outside the back door. He turns in an instant, collects the bucket and runs back towards the barn.
As she turns back into the house Rick is taking the first steps up the stairs, his stride huge. Clean cloths! She needs flannels or clean cloths to dip in the water. Harry hung some out this morning. She turns again to the back door, makes her way to the yard and the clothes line, plucks a handful of clean flannels, then runs to the barn.
“You got it?” she calls through to Zak.
“Yes,” he replies as he empties a jug of water into the bucket. “Great,” she replies thankful that he had the foresight to use the jug and not just dip the bucket into the filtered water.
Minutes later and she’s standing at Celie’s bedside. Relieved that the girl is awake again, Cassie looks down at her flushed cheeks as she lays a cloth over her forehead. A thermometer sticks out from between her lips.
“What does it say?” she asks as Rick reaches for the glass stick.
“Just a minute,” he replies holding it up to the light and squinting at the numerals. “101.”
“What does that mean?” Cassie asks.
Rick looks down at the book laid open in his other hand. “It means that the infection, or whatever it is that’s wrong with her, isn’t too serious and we should wait it out.”
Cassie’s shoulders relax.
“It says, that ‘unless the temperature is the result of poisoning, severe bacterial poisoning, heat stroke or toxins’ then it’s best to let the fever take its course.” He continues reading through the text in silence as Cassie smiles down at Celie. Her eyes look bleary, but she feels reassured that it’s nothing serious. “Ah! It also says that ‘fever is the body’s natural way of fighting illness or infection’ and … listen … ‘reducing it can make the illness last longer as it lets the cause of the illness live longer!’”
“Oh,” Cassie says with relief. “That’s good to know. Did you hear that, Celie?” she asks taking the cloth from her brow.
The girl nods her head.
“We need to keep her hydrated, and an eye on that temperature, but she should be OK.”
“Can you sit up, Celie?” Cassie asks reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. Her heart has reduced its hammering in her chest now that she feels more assured that this is nothing but an innocuous childhood illness—not something to really worry about, but what if she’d really had an infection that took her temperature even higher. She tips the glass to Celie’s mouth and helps her to take a sip then looks to the window and the direction of the city. Tomorrow she’d go and stock up with as many medicines and first aid items as she could find: penicillin, antiseptic creams, bandages and plasters—anything useful. After that she was going to find a book on herbal remedies too. Celie’s illness had been minor, but Rick was right to be anxious; right now, they knew nothing about how to help if things got serious. As well as becoming overnight parents, they were going to have to learn to be doctors too.
“Sleep now,” she says placing the back of her hand against Celie’s cheek. It was still hot, but nothing to really worry about, at least she hoped that was the case.
Chapter 9
The clank of the metal gate surprises Carl and he turns to look along the narrowing path between the hedgerow and the berry shrubs that form the entrance to the allotments. His lower back aches as he stands to stare at the figure walking towards him, a silhouette against the burnt orange of the late summer sky. He squints and peers harder and his heart beats a little harder in his chest as he takes a step back from the approaching figure.
“Carl. Yoo-hoo, Carl!” Saskia sing-songs and his belly gripes.
She wobbles in her heels along the grassy track and puts out a hand to steady herself. He hears the catching of her breath as her skin snags against the thorny briars of the brambles growing through the gooseberry bush. Undeterred, she sucks on her hand and continues her march forward. Carl can’t help but stare at her - a rabbit caught in headlights - as she makes her way to him.
“Look what they did to me?” she simpers holding out her hand.
Bright scratches of red cover the side of her palm, and droplets of blood grow round and fat as he stares down at her small hand with its perfectly manicured nails. He takes a moment to look about. He checks behind her and through the hawthorns to the road. There’s no sign of anyone else. What did she want?
“I … er …” he stumbles in confusion, his heart pounding harder in his chest. Was she finally coming to make him pay for deserting her?
“Oh, it’s bleeding!” she says thrusting her hand higher, her voice soft, with a vulnerability Carl can’t ignore.
“I’ve got some tissue,” he replies and fumbles in the pocket of his jeans. There it was. He’d only used it once and it was dry again now. He pulls it out and offers her the crumpled tissue. “Oh … yes, here, let me clean it for you,” he says as she continues to look at him without taking the tissue.
“Wait! Is that clean?” she asks pulling her hand away.
“I’ve only used it once-”
“Ugh!” she retorts though her voice is kept low. “Never mind-”
“No. It’s OK. If I use the edge it won’t mind—that bit’s clean,” he placates recognising the bitterness rising in her.
“Well, if you’re sure,” she returns.
Was that a smile? She profs her hand again and he lets it rest in his. Her skin feels soft next to his calloused palm, luminous almost against the grubbiness of his earth-stained skin. As he dabs away at the blood she strokes the hardened skin at the base of his fingers with her thumb.
“You’ve been working hard, Carl,” she says, her voice gentle and with … what? Admiration?
“Yes,” he replies as he dabs at the blood. “There! That’s better. The bleeding’s stopped now—just make sure you keep it clean, Sas.”
“Oh, I always liked it when you called me Sas,” she simpers and looks up into his eyes.
Not for the first time, Carl is captivated by her beauty—the aquiline nose, clear skin and sky-blue of her eyes. She’s as beautiful as the first day he saw her walking down the street with Sergei—her first day back after returning from New York if he remembered. His missus hadn’t been too impressed though when she’d caught him staring at her. Ah, Carol, bless her—now there was a woman worth her weight in gold—and she would have brought in a pretty penny if that had been the case. She always hid her weight from him—just like she tried to hide what she ate, but she must have tipped the scales at over twenty stone before the plague took her. The sudden memory of his wife bites at him and he pulls his hand away from Saskia’s.
“What brings you here then?”
She frowns.
“I mean … I haven’t seen you since-”
“Since you deserted me?” she says with a pained and injured expression.
“I … er … well, you treated me bad, Saskia. Deacon-”
“Huh!”
“You shouldn’t take it personal-”
“Not take it personal! How can I not?”
“Deacon offered me a better job … that’s all.”
“Pah!” she retorts staring at him.
He stares back, heart hammering, but he won’t let her intimidate him. A flicker passes across her eyes and he looks over to the hedgerow, noticing the first browning of the leaves—autumn’s on its way.
“Well,
anyway,” she says more softly, and reaches for his arm. A thrill of shock runs through him as her fingers curl around his bicep. “I’ve … I’ve missed you,” she says quietly.
He turns to her in confusion. “Missed me?” he asks locking onto her eyes again. She looks back up to him, an almost shy smile on her parted lips. He can see the white of her teeth—he always did admire those—so straight and bright—not like the missus with her smoke and wine-stained crooked mess.
“Oh?” he says warming to her and doesn’t pull his arm away.
“Yes, Carl. It’s been lonely without my Carl,” she simpers and stands a little closer.
“Oh?” is the only reply he can muster as she pushes her body up against his. A stirring he hasn’t felt for months, well, one he hasn’t had to make much effort in suppressing, makes his mind whirl in confusion and his body ache with longing.
“Yes, Carl. I was so upset when you left …” her eyes sparkle with a tear that seems to be welling there.
“I … I’m sorry,” he says as she slips her arm around his back and presses her head to his chest. His heart hammers as he takes his hand off the spade’s handle and slips his own arm around her back. She feels slight under his touch, a fragile doll compared to Carol, a fragile doll that he wants to hold to him and not let go. “Ohh,” he groans quietly as an unexpected urge overwhelms him. For God’s sake Carl—get a grip! He takes a breath to calm himself, but hugs Saskia closer—the feelings of being wanted, of holding a woman, someone to love, after all these months of loneliness, is overwhelming and intoxicating—even if that woman was Saskia.
“You know, Carl,” she says pulling away from him. “Me and Sergei—since the warehouse burnt down-”
“I’m so sorry about that, Saskia-”
“I know—we lost everything! Well, since it burnt down, me and Sergei have struggled—really struggled to keep ourselves fed—we’ve had to scavenge in the other towns and villages—and you know, they’re not safe—not like here.”
“Well, perhaps if all the food from the town hadn’t been taken to the warehouse-”
The Route to Justice: A post-apocalyptic survival thriller (A World Torn Down Book 5) Page 4