“Well-”
“Tasted alright didn’t it,” Loz buts in with ‘I told you so’ thick in his voice.
“Well, I wouldn’t say alright,” Saskia responds – she wasn’t going to let him think he’d been right, “but it fed us, and the kids didn’t complain … too much.”
“And?”
“Well, it got me thinking … the dogs, seeing that they’ve gone wild-”
“Yeah, they’ve turned real nasty—it’s a dog eat man world now,” Loz sniggers.
“Pathetic!” Saskia returns. “Since they’ve gone wild and seeing that they’re not anybody’s pets no more, then perhaps …”
“Yes? Come on, Saskia,” Sergei snaps with that annoying way he has.
“Alright! Keep your hair on! Just let me finish. OK – here goes. I think we should catch them.”
“But they’ve gone wild, Saskia!”
“I know that Loz! I’m not talking about taking them for walks and rubbing their bellies,” she sighs in exasperation. “No. We should catch them to eat.”
There’s silence in the cab.
“Well?”
“I think you’re right,” Sergei answers.
“Hah!” she returns with a self-satisfied grin. “I am. As usual.”
“Well-”
“Shut it, Loz!” She jabs him with her elbow in spite, but he doesn’t respond. Good! He knows better than to disagree with her—or at least he’d better do!
Sergei leans forward in his seat, his chest over the steering wheel, and begins to slow down. Saskia follows his gaze to the road ahead. A van sits at the side of the road and there appear to be people standing around it.
As they get closer, she counts three men. Sergei speeds up again.
“Not too fast, Sergei. Let’s take a look as we pass.”
As they approach, a figure steps out to the side of the road and waves his hand in a gesture of help.
“Shall we?” Sergei asks.
“Let’s take a look first.”
Sergei slows to a crawl as they approach the vehicle. The tallest of the men, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, steps to the back of the van and taps at the side, his hand landing over the petrol cap. He points to it with his finger whilst looking into the cab. Saskia makes a small gasp as their eyes lock.
“Stop then, Sergei!” she commands still watching the brunette. He’s definitely not one to kick out of bed. “Looks like they’ve run out of fuel,” she says as Sergei pulls to a stop. She reaches for the door handle.
“Hang on, Saskia! Just roll down your window and ask what’s wrong first.”
The man is still staring at her, his eyes are bright against the tan of his skin, and seem to sparkle in the sun. Her heart beats a little faster as she winds down the window and he smiles, the skin crinkling around his eyes.
“We’ve run out of petrol,” he explains in deep tones, his eyes locked to hers, the white of his teeth bright through his parted lips. That seals the deal and Saskia winds the window down to its full extent.
“Well, we know just where you can get some,” she replies as she opens the door and jumps down from the cab.
She puts her hand out to the man, all sense of caution gone. “Saskia,” she says by way of introduction.
“Lennox,” he replies.
Chapter 18
Deacon tightens the last nut with the allen key and stands back to admire his work. The cot stands against the wall, its white painted wood gleaming in the sunlight streaming in through the window. Dust dances in the warmed air.
“It’s great,” Finn says leaning up against him.
He slips his arm across her shoulder and pulls her close.
“Have we got everything now?”
“I think so—everything I can think of anyway.”
“Good,” he replies and turns to face her. Even now, this far in pregnancy, the bump is small. “Are you sure you’re even pregnant?” he jokes and strokes at the growing mound of her belly.
“Yes,” she smiles back, placing her hand over his. “There! Did you feel it?”
“Hah! Yes. It kicked my hand.”
“And my ribs!”
“Weird.”
“Totally! It’s like there’s an alien inside me.”
He chuckles. “Well, as long as it’s not going to burst out of your chest then I’m good.”
“No, it’s not going to burst out of my chest.”
“Ugh!”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Tell me.”
“I just had a thought – about the birth – that’s all.”
“Oh. You mean … it bursting out of my-”
“Yes! Don’t”
Downstairs a door slams shut and Deacon tenses. Finn frowns.
“It’s only Carl,” she says sensing his tension.
“I know,” he replies dourly.
“Has something happened?”
“You could say that,” he replies clenching his jaws at the sound of Carl’s footsteps as he makes his way up the stairs.
Carl coughs as he reaches the landing and Deacon strides to the door. There’s no way he can abide him here. Not now.
“Carl,” he says, his voice confrontational.
Silence.
Finn steps up beside him.
“What’s going on?” she asks as Carl stares back at Deacon.
“Finn. I’m sorry,” Carl says as he takes a step towards them.
“What is it, Carl?” Finn asks.
“Saskia,” Deacon replies as Finn steps past him.
She turns to Deacon in confusion. “Saskia?”
A memory stirs - of Kit and the day he died - and the rage that has been boiling in Deacon since he discovered Carl’s betrayal spills out. He lurches forward and grabs Carl by the collar.
“Yes, Saskia! He’s been sleeping with her and giving her our food. Our food!” he snarls staring down at Carl.
“Deacon! Calm down,” Finn pleads and steps quickly to the wall as Deacon lurches again with Carl.
Carl pulls back and his foot slips on the top step of the stairs. Overbalanced, he topples and leans out and begins to fall back, pulling Deacon with him.
“Deacon!” Finn shouts.
Deacon pulls with all his strength to stop the man falling backwards and down the stairs. For a moment they’re still. He gives a great yank and they both fall to the safety of the landing. Losing his balance, Deacon crashes backwards, pulling Carl with him. Finn screams then grunts as Deacon lands against her, crushing her to the wall. The thud of his body against hers sickens him.
“Oh, God! Finn!”
He pushes at Carl, untangling his legs, kicking him away in his desperation take his weight from her body. Carl grunts and staggers along the corridor.
“Finn!”
“I’m sorry!” Carl shouts, his voice broken.
Finn drops to the floor as Deacon moves away. “Get out!” he shouts, his face contorted with rage.
Carl stands frozen, eyes wide in horror as Deacon lunges at him, fists clenched. He delights in Carl’s look of fear. “I said get out!”
Finn groans behind him and he gives Carl a final, loathing stare then turns to her. Crumpled on the floor, back skewed as she leans against the wall, her arms clutch her belly.
“Lina!” he calls as he steps towards Finn. “Lina, come now!”
Moonlight washes Finn’s face to silver as Deacon watches her closely. She’s asleep now, exhausted after the pain and worry of the afternoon. He takes a deep, quiet breath and exhales as he rolls onto his back, resting his hands beneath his head. Staring up at the ceiling, the room cast in shadow, he listens to the noises from outside: the infernal howling of the dogs, an owl in the distance, the scratting of something at the bins. The night seems to come alive now, but perhaps he was just more aware of it since the days were so quiet. A dog barks again and he turns to face the wall, pulling the duvet over his shoulder, it’ll be a long time before he can sleep. Finn groans then
shifts in the bed.
“You OK?”
She groans again—deep and guttural.
“Finn? Is something’s wrong.”
He sits up in bed to face her as she pulls herself to a sitting position. The mound of her belly glistens in the moonlight. She groans again and he watches as her belly seems to change shape, rising to a mound in the middle.
“Is it coming?” he asks as a wave of cold rolls over him.
“I don’t know,” she replies through gritted teeth. “Whatever’s happening is bloody painful.”
“But it’s not time!”
“Perhaps it is? We were never sure of the dates.”
He stands and walks to the other side of the bed and sits next to her.
“Don’t joggle me!” she whispers as the mattress moves with his weight.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry,” he says and begins to rise.
“No, just sit still, please!”
Minutes pass as Finn lies back on the pillow.
“Has it stopped?”
“Yeah,” she says smiling up to him.
“Perhaps just a false alarm—one of those Braxton Hicks contractions.”
“You think so?”
“Could be—maybe set off by the accident?”
“Oh, no!” Finn groans again—low and guttural. “Deacon, I think it’s coming. I need to push.”
“What? No! But there’s supposed to be hours—you’re supposed to be in labour for hours—we read the book—there’s the first stage, then the sec-.”
“Aaghhhh!” she groans again and pulls her legs up, bending her knees and pulling her shoulders forward. Water trickles then floods onto the bedsheets from between her legs.
“Wait!” Deacons says as he watches the wet patch spread across the sheets. He throws the duvet to the side and grabs for his underwear. “Just wait! I’ll get Lina.”
She ignores him as he stumbles about the moonlit room and grabs his clothes. He thrusts first one leg, then the other through his underpants, and then flings the door open. It slams against the wall.
“Lina!” he calls as he runs to her room. “Lina!” he shouts again as he grasps the door handle. She wakes and turns, startled, as he opens the door and shouts again. “Lina!”
“What is it?”
“The baby! I think it’s coming. Quick.”
He doesn’t wait for her response.
Running back to their bedroom, he’s greeted by another guttural moan and Finn, bathed in moonlight, pulling herself forward, arms hooked around her knees. Despite his panic, he can’t help but think how beautiful she looks covered in the moon’s silver light giving birth to their child. He stops at the doorway, his mind a blank as he watches her rest back once more against the pillows.
“I’m here, Finn,” Lina calls as she pushes past him.
“Deacon. Fetch the scissors and the ties and the blankets. They’re in the bag in the corner.”
“Where?” he asks looking around the room.
“Open the curtains some more—we need more light.”
He runs to the window and pulls the curtains wide on their pole then looks to the corner. A dark canvas holdall sits on the chair.
“This one?” he asks as he picks up the bag.
“Yes,” Lina returns as she bends to Finn and pulls at her knickers. “We need some light in here, Deacon. Can you get the torch, please?”
“Sure,” he replies staring down as Lina slips Finn’s underwear off and pushes her legs apart. Finn groans again and pulls her shoulders forward.
“I think it’s coming! The torch, Deacon. Get the torch.”
“Yeah, sure. Where is it?” he asks in confusion.
“In the bag. In your hand.”
“Oh.”
He unzips the bag.
“I need to push!”
“Just do it, Finn,” Lina replies as Deacon passes her the torch.
A click and the space around Finn is illuminated.
“Hold it up so I can see,” Lina commands, her voice firm, but gentle.
Deacon adjusts the height of the torch and shines it down on Finn just as the baby’s head appears. He wobbles as his knees tremble. “It’s coming!”
“It sure is.”
“Now what?”
“Just stay calm and hold that light up. I think you need to push, Finn—to get the head out.”
Another contraction hits and Finn groans, curls forward, her face screwed up with effort. Deacon’s legs quiver and cold passes over him as the baby’s head appears. Another contraction and the baby slides out from between Finn’s legs and slips onto the bed.
“Wow!” Deacon, unsteady, lurches forward, his thighs press against bed’s footboard, supporting his weight. Get a grip! He takes a deep breath and blows it out as he stares through the window, unable to watch for a second longer.
The room is silent but for the movements of Lina and the breathing of Finn as she rests.
Silence.
Aren’t babies supposed to cry when they’re born? “Is it alive?” he asks, turning just as Lina holds the child by the ankles and smacks its bottom.
“Hey!” he says overcome with a protective urge.
“You’re supposed to. He needs to breathe,” she explains.
The baby remains silent.
“He?” Deacon asks.
“Yes,” Lina replies. “He.”
“Is … he … breathing?” Deacon asks staring at the tiny body held over Finn’s belly.
A wail erupts from the baby’s mouth.
“Thank God!” Deacon blurts and tension washes away as the noise fills the room. Lina lays the child on Finn’s chest, a long and twisting, blue-grey cord still connecting mother and child.
“It’s a boy?” Finn asks laying back against the pillows.
Deacon shines the torch towards Finn and the baby. Its skin appears blue in the light.
“Is it OK?”
“I think so. It’s breathing. Do you want to cut the cord?” Lina asks reaching for the scissors from the bag.
“Hell, no!” Deacon replies unable to take his eyes from his new born son.
Chapter 19
Saskia lifts herself off his hips, slides onto the bed and lies back, her heart hammering hard against her breastbone.
“Wow!” Lennox exclaims as Saskia catches her breath.
“Did you enjoy that?”
“Sure did,” he replies and rolls onto his side to face her.
She gasps as he circles her belly-button and strokes his index finger downwards. Every inch of her skin is alive.
“Did you?”
“Oh, yes,” she replies.
“So, now we’ve been properly introduced, tell me about where you live and this store of fuel …”
Finn looks down at the baby as it latches onto her breast. The pain as it begins to suckle makes her toes curl and she takes a sharp breath and grits her teeth until the sensation passes. His eyes closed, the tip of his nose pushes against her swollen breast and he sucks. She strokes his feet as he feeds and smiles down, taking in every curve and line of his perfect face. He’s beautiful, more beautiful than she ever thought something could be.
As the early morning brightens, it casts its light across his skin, illuminating the blonde of his hair. The colour surprises her—both she and Deacon are dark, but then, her brother had been white-blond as a little boy and now, well, before the plague, he’d grown to be a chestnut brown. Her memory floats back to her mother. She would have loved the baby. She really must – they really must – think of a name for him. She pulls back the soft blanket and strokes the soft skin of his hand, the fingers curled tight into a fist. He stretches them out, reacting to her touch then curls them back in. Finn frowns and a stone seems to hammer in her chest. The light must be playing tricks on her. She twists to sit at the edge of the bed, facing the light, then uncurls his fingers. The nails are black. Her breath stops in her chest. No! It can’t be. N
o!
She looks down at the suckling child. A tiny drop of clear liquid sits at his nostril. Her heart sinks. Arms trembling as she cradles the bundle, she waits for him to feed, swaddles him in his blanket and lays him at the centre of their bed. Unsteady on her legs, she reaches for the dressing gown Deacon had brought for her only days ago. His eyes had burned with love as he’d handed her the gift. She slips it on then shuffles to the door and leans against the frame, overcome with tiredness and the dragging ache low in her belly.
“Deacon!” she calls, keeping her voice soft, and waits. She can hear movement downstairs—Deacon and Lina busy in the kitchen.
Looking back to the bed, the child sleeps. “Deacon!” she calls again, a little louder now.
Footsteps sound and he appears at the foot of the stairs.
“Hey you!” he calls up with a smile. “Get back into bed. I’m bringing you a cup of tea.”
“Can you come up now … please?”
He stares up at her. “Now?” he asks gently.
“Yes,” she replies without a smile. “Please.”
“Sure,” he replies and takes the steps two at a time to join her on the landing.
“Finn, what is it?”
“There’s something wrong—with the baby.”
He looks past her to the bed and the quiet child laid there.
“Wrong?” he asks stepping into the room and standing next to the bed.
“His fingers—look at his fingers.”
“I counted them. He’s got ten.”
“Please, Deacon. Just look.”
“Sure,” he replies and bends down to his son pulling gently at the swaddling blanket until he lies uncovered.
“Uncurl his fingers.”
Finn watches as he follows her instruction and takes the tiny hand in his, prising open the fingers. He stiffens then sags. A sob breaks out of Finn’s chest as he gently, wordlessly, wraps the baby back into its blanket. The baby stirs in its sleep and splutters.
“Shh!” Deacon croons and smooths his fingers across the child’s cheek then turns to Finn. His eyes are full of pain and he stumbles as he steps next to her.
“He has it?”
“Yes, he has it.”
“How long has he got?”
The baby splutters again and they both turn to the bed. The early morning sunlight glistens on the liquid leaking from his nostril and his lips are dark against his skin.
The Route to Justice: A post-apocalyptic survival thriller (A World Torn Down Book 5) Page 9