“How’re we going to eat it then?” Emma asks as they stand around the kitchen table looking down at the dog.
“Do you cook it with the fur on?”
“No, don’t be silly.”
“Then what?”
“We have to skin it.”
“Oh, gross!” Emma complains. “No way I’m doing that.”
“Well someone has to,” Leo says as a bang signals the front door closing.
Loz looks to the kitchen door—it can only be Saskia or Sergei, everyone else is here or outside in the garden.
“You do it, Leo. You’re not squeamish.”
Heels tack, tack over the laminate flooring of the hallway. Saskia. Loz’s heart thuds.
“Me? But-”
“Saskia’s back!” Emma hisses as the tack, tack grows louder and the kitchen door swings open.
They turn in unison to face her and Loz waits, breath caught in his chest as he stares at the figure in the doorway. She stops with her hand on the door’s handle. Her eyes narrow in an instant. She’s … magnificent!
“What’s going on here then?” she asks staring at each of them in turn and looking beyond their shoulders to the table. “What you got there?” she asks and steps forward.
Loz, Emma and Leo step aside leaving the table in clear view.
“What the very hell is that?” she asks with a frown of incomprehension.
“It’s a dog.”
“A dog? And what is a bloody dog doing on my table stinking the place up and … getting hairs everywhere?” The pitch of her voice increases as she continues. “Hairs and filth and slather … in my clean kitchen!”
She stares at them and then back at the dog.
“What’s wrong with it? Is it sick?”
“It’s dead.”
“What!” she almost screams. “Get that filthy mutt off of my table!”
“But-”
“Now! Get it off my table now!”
“But we can eat it!”
She stops and stares at him as though he’s suggested she eat a bowl of cat sick.
“Eat it?”
“Yes! We’re all starving and we thought that …”
“Eat it?” she replies incredulous.
“Yes, the Chinese eat them and-”
“And the Koreans.”
“Well, we’re not Chinese and the last time I checked my passport I wasn’t Korean neither.”
“The French eat weird stuff: frog’s legs, horses, snails.”
“Yes, and when we went to Verona they had donkey ravioli. My dad had some and he said it was great!”
“Before, when people were still alive, there was kangaroo steak in the shops too.”
“Yeah, so what’s so different about eating a dog? It’s meat. It would have eaten Loz if I hadn’t killed it.”
She stands and stares at it then looks back to Loz.
“Skin it outside. And when you cook it make sure it’s off the bone—for me!”
He never would have taken Saskia for someone who’d be squeamish, but she understood, the way they all did, that meat was meat. Sure, he’d draw the line at eating people, but … if he was really desperate … No, that just wouldn’t happen. He picks up the dog, sliding his arms under its ribcage and hips.
“Grab a sharp knife for me, Emma. I’ll do it in the garden.”
Chapter 15
Loz shakes his hands and the suds plop off into the bowl of dirty water in the sink. He grabs for the tea-towel and dries his hands. He’s had enough. Enough of waiting for Saskia to make the first move. He’ll have to be the one to start things rolling. He walks out of the kitchen and into the downstairs toilet. The only light comes from the small window, but there’s just enough to see his reflection in the early evening twilight. He closes the door, and checks his hair. It’s grown long over the past year or so, or however long it’s been since the shit hit the fan. He pushes his hands through the flopping fringe, sun-bleached over the long summer, and tucks it behind his ears. His beard glows copper, catching the last of the light, and he strokes it to a point, raises an eyebrow to himself, and lets out a quiet fart. He chuckles then leans forward to squeeze the pimple that has grown yellow over the course of the day, dabbing at the blood with the cuff of his sleeve. Taking a final look at his handsome self, he makes his way to the front room, and Saskia.
She’s sat in her usual seat, leaning into the soft leather of the sofa, book in hand.
“Dog wasn’t bad, was it,” he says by way of introduction. She ignores him, her attention focused on the book. “Didn’t taste bad like I thought it would.” Still no reaction. “There’s plenty left—lots of meat for you and the kiddies.” He may as well be invisible! “What you reading?” he asks - his final attempt to get her attention - then recoils from her sharp frown as she looks at him in confusion. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says with a smile. His heart hammers in his chest, but it’s now or never! He slides onto the sofa next to her and leans across to look at the book. She pulls away and a memory stirs of Becky Ryeland at primary—she was always pulling away from him too, covering her work with her hand—he’d only wanted to stop the teacher going on at him. Dumb is what she’d called him more than once. His cheeks begin to sting at the memory, and Saskia’s continuing glare. “Do you … like reading?” he tries again.
“Yes, I- … what do you want, Loz?” she asks biting at her words.
“I,” he stalls and looks deep into her staring eyes, and sighs. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.” For a second she looks even more startled and then, unbelievably, begins to soften.
“Oh. Well, yes, I do like reading since you ask.”
“So, what you reading?” he says feigning interest.
“Machiavelli,” she returns.
“Oh,” he continues. “I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”
“I can’t—it’s in English,” she replies with a frown and what he reads to be a friendly smile.
“Clever bloke—writing in English then.”
“Er … Yes, he was.”
“So, what’s it about?” he presses, holding her gaze whilst inching a little closer to her. Their legs are almost touching and he can smell her perfume. One thing about Saskia, she kept herself well, even in these days. He’d taken her comments to heart about being clean too, and hoped she’d noticed, but perhaps he should have cleaned his teeth before coming in to talk to her! He wipes his tongue across his teeth, moving it back and forth. She stares down at his lips and snorts.
“It’s about becoming more powerful—how to conquer your enemies-”
“Sounds interesting,” he lies noticing only how her lips move as she speaks.
She locks her eyes to his, her lips parted. This is it! He closes his eyes and leans in, waiting for the softness of her lips to press against his.
He hears the twist of her jacket as she turns to him.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Loz?”
“I’m waiting for you to kiss me,” he says, his eyes flicking open.
She snorts with derision and his shoulders sag.
“You don’t want to?” he asks feeling his stomach slump.
“Of course I don’t bloody-well want to.”
“But, there’s just you and me. Who else is going to love me?” he asks. “I don’t want to be alone forever!”
She stares back without speaking, takes a deep breath then looks away. Her jaw clenches and he draws back, uncertain. He’s over-stepped the mark and who knows what punishment he’ll get now.
She stands, pulls at her belt to adjust her jeans, and strides to the window, then turns, her face a dark scowl. “Loz, darling. If you were the last man on earth, I would rather die a virgin than shag you!”
“Oh,” is the only response he can muster. Some virgin!
A shout comes from upstairs and footsteps banging across the floor make the light-fitting shake. Saskia looks up to the ceiling and scowls, her top lip pul
led to a sneer.
“Go and tell them kids that if they don’t settle down Sergei will lock them in the shed in the garden for the night—again!”
“Yes, Saskia,” Loz replies as the diminutive blonde, her hair a golden halo against the sun, stands with hands on hips, and stares at him with irritation.
“Well, go then … you lanky streak! Go tell them before I fetch Sergei.”
He turns, takes a final look at the spiteful pixie, then runs up the stairs two at a time to warn the children. He couldn’t stand it if they were put in the shed again.
Chapter 16
The sun peaks through the gap in the curtains casting its light over Saskia’s cheek as she wakes. She notices how the leaves are beginning to fall and shudders; the cold of winter will soon be here.
Something’s not right.
The sound of breathing is behind her!
Startled, she turns and her heart jumps to her throat as a figure stands next to the bed staring down at her.
“Ugh!” she groans with irritation. “What are you doing, Emma?”
The girl, her hair neatly braided and her face cleaned of the muck that had been smeared across her cheeks the day before holds out a cup to her.
“Your tea,” she says without a smile. “Loz made me bring it up.”
Saskia groans. “Put it on the bedside table. What time is it anyway?”
“Loz said it was time you got your lazy arse out of bed,” she replies flatly, but is that a hint of defiance in her voice?
Saskia doesn’t reply, just narrows her eyes to slits. She’ll give him lazy! Cocky little bas-
“There’s nothing to eat,” the girl whines.
“Fasting is good for you,” Saskia returns with complete indifference, though her own belly is aching with hunger. It’s not so bad though, her hips are more defined than they’ve ever been and her belly is nice and flat, taut even.
“But we haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”
“You’ll get your ration soon enough.” Perhaps it was time to catch another dog, but anyway, having the kids perpetually hungry was useful. “Now leave me in peace.” She stares at the girl. “Go on then! The toilets need cleaning. You can go and do that. I don’t want to have to wash in a mucky bathroom. And whilst you’re at it bring me some water so I can have a wash.”
“Yes, Saskia,” the girl replies in a monotone.
Good! She was learning. The little brat had been difficult at first, but a few nights in the shed on her own had seen to that.
Saskia groans and pulls herself up to sit against the pillows then takes a slurp from the steaming mug. She sips the black tea, savouring the taste, and the freshness of it in her mouth. Her belly growls again. She takes a gulp of tea to help ease the pang of hunger that spikes at her belly. It’s a harsh reminder of the day’s work ahead; of the fresh houses to check through. She reaches across the bed to where her map, pen and notebook lie and grasps the map. Opening it out, she scrutinizes a section just south of the town—the next location to scavenge from. Neat hatching covers most of the town, marking off the houses they’ve checked through. Only a few areas remain un-hatched, but most of those are a no-go now. Beyond the town is where she needs to be looking. She peers closely at the map then writes down the names of a town and the streets she wants to target. Her belly growls again and with it rises the nausea of hunger. Perhaps they should do more than just catch the odd dog. And perhaps … perhaps if they had enough meat for themselves they’d have something to barter with, but first, Loz has a date to keep with Carl.
“Loz!” she shouts turning her head to the door. “Loz!” He can get his lazy arse over to the allotment and collect the vegetables from Carl. She’d earned them that was for sure – an ache pulses between her legs - but she had to admit, Carl wasn’t as much of a disappointment as she’d imagined. Disgusting. Yes. But his twenty-odd years of marriage had been well spent—he really knew how to … please her. And he was grateful—unlike the ungrateful brats she was giving a home to.
“Loz!”
Footsteps sound on the stairs and the bathroom door opens.
“Your water’s ready,” Emma calls.
“About time!” she shouts back and throws the duvet away from her. Let Loz collect the veg, she’d pay a visit to Carl later to keep him sweet. She smiles then chuckles. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. “Emma!”
“Yes.”
“Tell Loz he needs to get the veg.”
Carl lugs the sack over his shoulder and his guts twist. No one had shown up this morning to collect the vegetables so he’d decided to make a delivery. Despite his reservations, he didn’t like the idea of the kids going hungry—but if he got caught! It didn’t bear thinking about. Sweat beads on his forehead, but it’s not from his exertions, though they are keeping him warm despite the coolness of the autumn breeze. He clutches again at the sack slung over his shoulder and turns the corner.
“Carl!”
He looks up. Ahead, Loz is walking towards him, his hand held up in greeting.
“Hi!” Carl calls back, unease shifting across his chest.
“I was just on my way to see you.”
“Shh!”
“What do you mean ‘Shh!’” Loz asks. “There’s no one here.”
“No, I know. It’s just that-”
“Don’t want to be seen with the enemy?” he laughs.
“Kind of.”
“What? So you can’t even have a chat with an old mate on the street because you’re too scared of Deacon?”
“No, it’s not that-”
“Well, what is it then?”
“The food—I shouldn’t be giving it to you, should I!” Carl says giving the street ahead a furtive glance over Loz’s shoulder.
“Well, if you feel that bad about it, why you giving it to us?”
“Well, Saskia’s been nice and-”
Carl stops as Loz reacts with shock.
“Nice? Saskia? But she hates you! She said she wanted to kill you after you left us high and dry.”
“Hates me?”
“Yeah.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Yes, she does.”
“No! She does not.”
“Yes! She does.”
“I can prove she doesn’t.”
“Oh, aye? How?”
“She’s my … we’ve been … we’re seeing each other,” he stammers as a figure, a large, flat box held high and resting on his head, appears from the end of the road ahead.
His eyes caught by the movement of the walking man, he peers over Loz’s shoulder. Silence falls between them and Loz takes a step back, a dark scowl on his face.
“What?”
“You?” Loz shouts grabbing the lapel of Carl’s jacket. “She’s shagging you?”
Carl is yanked forward, his face only inches from Loz’s, and the man’s breath is hot and rank on his face.
“Yeah. What of it?”
“Why the hell would she want you? Huh!” he shouts yanking at Carl’s lapels again.
“Steady on!” Carl returns. “And why wouldn’t she? What’s so bad about that? Ey?”
“But you’re … you’re old and … boring!” he blurts.
That does it! “Yeah? Well that’s not what she says when she’s got me rammed up inside her!” Carl retaliates with spite.
“Agh!” Loz shouts and throws Carl hard. His back hits the wall of the corner building and he grunts as his head knocks against the stuccoed render. The sack of vegetables falls to the floor and carrots roll out across the tarmac.
“Hey!” a voice shouts.
Deacon!
Loz raises his leg and aims it at Carl. At this angle it will kick straight into his face. Carl raises his arm to protect himself.
“Hey!” Deacon shouts again, louder this time.
“Deacon! He’s-”
“She’s shagging Deacon too?” Loz snarls bearing down on him?
“No. Shh! She’s my girl
friend! Look! Deacon is here!”
Loz frowns at him, his mouth hanging open, the dark grey of his fillings twin lines to the back of his jaws.
“Who’s your girlfriend?” Deacon asks as he steps next to Loz and stares down at Carl, shifting the box to stand next to his legs.
“He says Saskia is his girlfriend. He’s been shagging her!”
“No, Deacon I-”
“What?” Deacon asks with an incredulous laugh and shakes his head.
“You know—giving her one,” Loz explains. “He’s an idiot though. He reckons she likes it. Pah!”
“What?” Deacon repeats, a darker frown across his brow and his eyes narrow as he looks from Loz to Carl.
“Yeah! He’s too stupid to realise she’s just doing it for the food.”
“Food?” Deacon growls looking down at the carrots and radishes scattered at Carl’s feet.
“Yeah, food. She’s been trading her vag for his veg by the sound of it!”
“Is this true Carl?”
Carl’s belly clenches and he can feel the queasiness in his bowels as fear overcomes him.
“I-”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” he admits and bile rises in his throat. He gags and wretches, leaning his hand against the wall. Vomit spews across the white stucco and spatters the carrots and potatoes at his feet.
Deacon shifts behind him and Carl jolts forwards as Deacon kicks at the back of his leg. Carl’s head grazes against the wall, the pain in his thigh intense as he crumples to the ground. Carl watches as Deacon turns, the large cardboard box now beneath his arm, and makes his way back into the centre of town.
“Serves you right, you twat,” Loz spits and bends down to grab the sack of vegetables, picking up the spew-covered carrots and potatoes. He stuffs them in the sack and turns with a last withering look at Carl then follows behind Deacon.
Carl pulls his knees to his chest and rests his head against the wall. The warmth of the sun licks at his face as a tear wells up and spills down onto his cheek.
Chapter 17
“You know that dog—the one we had the other week …”
“Yes?”
The Route to Justice: A post-apocalyptic survival thriller (A World Torn Down Book 5) Page 8