“Did she behave … Kate?” Durham asks, nodding upwards, as Deacon turns to leave.
“She sure did.”
“Did she perform?”
“From what I can remember,” he laughs.
Durham chuckles and takes a slurp of his coffee. “They all do once they settle in. Take Ella here,” he says reaching across and slapping the girl’s arse; his hand makes contact with a hard crack. She flinches but doesn’t make a sound. “She came in last week. Now at first, she was all titty about it, but now, now that she knows which side her bread is buttered on, well, she’s putty in my hands. She can be putty in yours too—for a price. Only one careful owner so far—me,” he snickers and the girl’s head drops. Deacon grits his teeth and buries whatever feeling it is that’s welling up inside him.
“Hah!” he returns. “Next time. Got to go.”
“Oh, yeah? Where you got to be that’s so important.”
“That’s for me to know,” he retorts.
Footsteps sound behind him as Chris and Jake appear. “You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” they reply in unison.
“Let’s go.”
Deacon stops beside the wooded area that sits half a mile away from the farm, walks to the side of the van, and slides open the door. The inside is dark and empty save for a long, zipped bag. He grabs the handle and hauls it across the floor. Chris coughs as he jumps out of the cab then clears his throat and spits into the hedgerow. Unzipping the bag, Deacon takes out a rifle and lays it down. He reaches in again and pulls out another, passing it to Chris as he steps next to him. Reaching in a third time, he pulls out a crowbar and then a bowie knife and passes them to Jake. Finally, he reaches in and pulls out a box of ammunition, opens it, takes out the bullets and loads his gun before handing the box to Chris. Loaded, and with the safety lock on, he lays the gun down on the bare metal floor of the van.
“Ready?” he asks as Chris finishes loading his gun.
“Ready,” he returns and slides his gun next to Deacon’s.
An engine sounds in the distance. “Sounds like we might have company.”
“Opportunity more like,” Deacon smirks and stands to listen. The engine sounds louder with each passing moment. “Get in,” he instructs and slides the van’s door shut with a bang. Turning the key in the ignition, he starts the engine and manoeuvres the van to block the road. He turns off the engine, flips the bonnet then jumps out and opens it, popping the lever to hold it up.
As the vehicle rolls into view, Deacon, his gun laid across the top of the engine, takes his place beneath the bonnet of the van. The vehicle stops and the driver jumps out.
“Broken down, bud?” the man calls from behind the open door.
Deacon forces a smile to his lips as he turns. “Yeah. Know anything about engines?”
“Sure do,” the man replies, steps out from behind the door and walks towards Deacon. At the moment he’s closer to the van than his own vehicle, Deacon grabs the rifle and swings it at the man.
“What the!”
“Stand and deliver!” Deacon laughs.
“You’re taking the pi-”
“Your money or your life,” he says, his face dropping to a deadly glare. He jerks the gun up and the man raises his hands above his head.
“James!” a woman calls from the car.
“No joke. You’re on my patch. You’ve got to pay the fee.”
“Your patch?” he frowns.
“That’s right. Now how are you going to pay?” Deacon asks as Chris and Jake stand beside him.
“I don’t have anything.”
“Sure you do. We can start with your woman.”
“No!”
“Well, what do you have then?”
“Food—we’ve got some food.”
“Fuel?”
“Fuel? Sure—there’s a couple of cannisters in the back.”
With the bag of groceries snatched from the woman’s hands and stuffed in the back of the van alongside the two cannisters of fuel, Deacon and the boys head towards their main destination: Roebrook Farm—one of the many places they’d checked over the last month. It has everything they require; people working the land and producing food—trusting, innocent people who didn’t have a whole load of defences up against people like him.
Deacon pulls up at the gates, waits for Jake to open it, then rolls onto the driveway. They drive up to the farmhouse and jump out, rifles at the ready. An older man answers Deacon’s knock to the front door. By the look of his grizzled beard, he’s probably about sixty years old and no real threat.
“Time for collection.”
The man stares back at him and a woman appears from behind, her face grim. He smirks as she narrows her eyes.
“You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Well, we’re here now, so best get busy,” Jake adds with a nice touch of menace from behind Deacon’s shoulder.
She purses her lips and narrows her eyes further then takes a deep breath. “Wait there,” she says and closes the door shut.
“Now what?”
“We wait,” Deacon replies with confidence. “She knows better than to try anything—after last time.”
Chris sniggers.
Deacon turns to look around. The white pebbles of the driveway are peppered with grass as it grows through clumps on the unused surface. Long, untended grass grows along the borders where a fence runs down to the gate at the bottom of the drive. Through the fence, a field of wheat shines golden in the sun. He’ll come back near harvest. The door opens and Deacon reaches for the bag the woman holds out.
“Apples and a ham hock. It’s all I can spare,” she says as he peers inside. “The wheat,” he says nodding his head to the golden crop. “I’ll be back for some of that—make sure you keep some aside for me.”
She scowls at him. “Sure,” she returns with grudging acceptance, then pushes the door to.
Deacon slides his foot between the door and its frame and stares into her eyes as she looks at him with a questioning frown. “Make sure you do,” he growls. “Or it’ll be more than food my boys will take,” he says eyeing up the young woman behind her in the hallway. Jake snickers.
The older woman growls at him and kicks at his foot, pushing the door hard against it. “You disgust me!” she seethes as he stares at her.
He grits his teeth, buries the tightness in his chest, and pulls his foot out of the doorway. The door clicks shut and he turns, holds the bag up to the boys and steps back to the van.
“Onwards,” he says passing the bag to Chris and slides back into the driver’s seat.
Chapter 24
“Harry! Celie!” Cassie shouts from the end of the vegetable plot. Her short nails are rimmed with dirt and the skin is rough and grained with earth as she leans against the hoe. The warmth of the summer sun feels good on her arms though she’s careful to keep her face covered with the large brim of her hat and factor 50 sunscreen. She may not be living the high life anymore but that was no excuse for her to let herself go and turn into a sun-burned and raddled old hag. She rolls up her sleeves and peers across the garden to the driveway where two figures stand then stoop. She smiles as she watches the children. Grown tall over the last summer, they pick the brambles from the hedgerow. Celie is the tallest now, and her young body is gangly, and flat-chested, though Cassie knows she’ll grow to be a beauty. Without the sugar to wreck her body, she’ll keep the leanness Cassie had always worked so hard to maintain—not that she needed help to do that these day as food was never really in abundance. Sure, they had enough, but they worked damned hard to get it. She pushes against the hoe, careful to catch the weeds between the growing vegetables and thinks ahead to teatime and what they’ll eat.
A hand slides over her back.
“Oh! You startled me,” she laughs as she turns to face Rick. Her heart pumps a little faster as he slips his arm around her waist and pulls her to him.
“Glad to see I’ve made an
impact,” he says with a smile and leans in to kiss her.
She accepts his love with tenderness and then passion—the kids were too far away to see.
“You’ve certainly done that,” she says feeling the strength of his arms and looks deep into the blue of his eyes. Every day that she wakes she’s thankful for Rick. Each day that she wakes she loves him a little more—his strength and compassion, the way he’s become a father to Celie, Zak and Harry. And to her? He is so much more than a lover. He’s her companion, the one man she can rely on, the one man she wants beside her as they struggle through this life. She raises her hand to his cheek and strokes at his overgrown beard, and the warmth she feels for him has little to do with desire.
“What do you want for tea?” she asks.
“Chicken,” he replies as a cockerel crows from the coop at the end of the garden.
“OK. You kill it and I’ll cook it. Deal?”
“Deal. Where are the kids?”
“Down by the drive picking brambles.”
“I can’t see them.”
“Oh?” Cassie turns to look back along the drive. The children have disappeared although that causes her no qualms. She looks further afield across to the copse of trees at the farm’s entrance. “There they are,” she says pointing down to the road. “See! Just the other side of the hedge. We’ll be having stewed apples with brambles after tea—if they don’t eat them all first!”
“Hah! Life of Riley, eh?”
“It is, Rick,” she replies. The weight of his arm across her shoulder is reassuring, and she turns her face to him, waiting for his kiss.
In the distance an engine sounds.
“Sounds like Zak’s home.”
“Yep, but I wish he wouldn’t go out on his own like that.”
“Sure, I know, but he’s nearly a man and we can’t keep him wrapped up in cotton wool. He needs to be fearless and go off and explore.”
“I get that Rick, but we don’t know what’s out there—or rather we do!”
“Well, he’s back now, so you can stop worrying—mother hen!”
“Hey,” she returns with a gentle slap to his arm. “Go and get that chicken so I can cook it. Zak can gut it when he gets back.”
Rick laughs, gives her a final hug then disappears down the garden towards the chicken coop. Two minutes later the squawking of chickens fills the air.
The van rolls to a stop in the middle of the lane.
“You seen something?” Saskia queries and slips her sunglasses into her hair.
“Thought I saw something over that way,” Sergei replies and points to the field in the distance.
Cassie pushes at the green shoots between the carrots. The thin stems break easily under the hoe’s sharp blade and she bends down to scoop them up and throws them into the growing pile of withering green leaves in the barrow. Behind her, the earth is a satisfying brown between the growing vegetables, but before her it is sprinkled with green shoots. She sighs at the sight of the long bed laid out before her and stands, and, with one hand on the hoe, leans back to ease the ache in her muscles.
Movement!
A flash of brilliant light near the cluster of trees at the end of the long drive catches her attention and she peers into the distance. The twinkle of light doesn’t reappear but there is a van. The sun must have caught on the windows or chrome of its wing mirror. She watches as it rolls past the entrance. The gates! They’re not locked—and where are the kids? The van stops, does a three-point turn and passes by the gates again. She sighs with relief. Whoever it is isn’t interested in coming to the farm, but the kids! Where are they? Unable to take her eyes off the rolling vehicle, she watches as it comes to a stop just past the cluster of trees on the bend. The driver’s door opens and a blond man, huge judging by the size of his body next to the van, and somehow familiar, steps out. The heads of Celie and Harry bob up from behind the hedge as they cross the road to speak to him. A deep frown creases between Cassie’s eyes and the tap of her heartbeat quickens then pounds. Familiar … something so familiar about the blond. A second later a woman appears from the other side of the van, a petite, leather-clad blonde …
“Rick!” she shouts as she grabs the hoe tight in her hand. “Rick! Come quick,” she calls but doesn’t wait for his response. Instead she runs down the driveway, her eyes glued to the scene ahead. The huge blond grabs Harry, the man’s arms locking around his neck and drags him to the van. Celie darts away.
“Rick!” No!
The third figure, a man as tall as the first, but leaner with flopping, sandy-coloured hair, lurches after Celie. She’s not fast enough and as he launches himself at her she disappears from view. Cassie is half way down the drive when she hears the thudding of Rick’s boots behind her.
“Run, Cassie!” he shouts. “Run!”
Her legs burn with the effort, unused this past year to exercise other than digging in the garden and working around the house, but she’s strong and determined.
As she gets closer to the gate, she hears the thrum of the engine and watches in horror as first Harry and then Celie is bundled into the van.
“No! … Stop! No!”
The lean man with floppy hair slams the van’s door shut as the woman and the giant jump back into the cab. The van pulls away with screeching tyres, the passenger door still open, then disappears down the hill just as Cassie reaches the gate.
“No!” she screams and hurls the hoe after the disappearing van. She staggers onto the road. “No!” Her scream is guttural, a growl from the pit of her stomach. She continues to run, stumbles as the van disappears around another bend, stumbles again then stops. Sinking to her knees, she watches the van make its way across the next hill.
“Did you get the number plate?”
“No, I-”
“Did you see what was on the side.”
“I … yes! Yes.”
“Remember it Cassie. Did you see their faces?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Remember them.”
“It was them!”
“Them?”
“From the supermarket. The woman who shot me, and her brother.”
“Saskia?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Rick sighs with relief. “Thank God!”
“What?” Cassie says turning to him. “Those animals have kidnapped the children and you’re thanking God?”
“No! I mean, yes! We know who they are, Cassie. It means we’ve got a chance to get them back.”
“We have to get them back!”
“Yes,” he agrees as he reaches out to help her stand. “We’ll go now! We can catch up with them—if we’re lucky.”
“We have to be lucky, Rick,” Cassie says unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. Anger is welling up so hard inside but the tears are there too. “We have to be,” she finishes hoarsely then turns and runs back to the farm.
“Well that was easy,” Saskia says as she listens to the banging and thrashing in the back of the van. She turns, slams her fist against the metal divider then turns back to the road ahead. A vast expanse of fields edged by trees and partitioned by roads lays ahead.
“What time will we be back,” she asks thinking to the evening. Lennox will be pleased with today’s catch.
“Dunno, before sunset though.”
“They look good and strong, those two, and Lennox knows someone who’s looking for a good strong boy.”
“I thought Durham wanted a boy to help on his farm? He’ll probably want the girl for the house.”
“Well, if he does, he’ll have to pay top price. She’s a looker and intact I should say—we could get a really good deal for her—if we find the right buyer.”
“Lennox will probably want to take a look,” Sergei continues, catching her gaze in the mirror as he checks her reaction. A cold rage stirs.
“He doesn’t need to take a look. I’m in charge of the business.”
; “Sure, sis, but you know he likes to sample the product first.”
A hard knot forms in Saskia’s stomach—that was one habit Lennox had that she really had to put a stop to.
“Huh! Well, he’s not sampling this one.” She looks out to the road ahead as images of Lennox with the girl prick at her. Oh, no. There was no way he was dipping his wick there. He’d have to learn that she was the only one who could fulfil him that way. She grits her teeth and her lips pull into a sneer as her mind churns, stirring her emotions into a rage.
“We’ll take them home.”
“We usually do.”
“No, I mean to my old house. I’m keeping these ones there.”
“You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. I’ve got plans for these two—and for Lennox.” She feels Sergei’s eyes on her as he shifts in his seat. “What?” she quibbles.
“Lennox is not a man to be crossed, Sis.”
“And I’m not a woman to be crossed neither.”
“Have it your way. You usually do.”
A loud banging and shouting sounds from the back of the van.
“Can’t Loz shut them up!” Saskia complains. “I’m getting a headache.” She turns again to the back of the van and slams her fist repeatedly against the metal. “Shut up in there!” she shouts.
“Steady on, Saskia. You’re giving me a headache.”
Chapter 25
Cassie throws the kitchen door open and scans the worktops for the keys to the 4x4. They’re nowhere in sight.
“Rick! Where are the keys to the pick-up?”
“Not sure,” he says searching around the room. “It’s been a while since we had it out.”
“Well where did the keys go?” she asks her voice increasingly frantic.
“Did you check the drawer and the hooks?”
“Yes, I checked the drawer and the hooks!”
“OK. Calm down, Cassie,” he says as she slams another drawer shut. “Take a moment. Think. What would Milo be telling you.”
“Milo’s not here!” she says spinning round and shouting at Rick. His eyes meet hers with a flash of anger. “I’m sorry,” she apologises. Get a grip Cassie! She stops for a moment and takes a breath, runs her hands through her hair and clutches it at the back of her head and closes her eyes. Think! “Zak was messing about with the engine the other day,” she says remembering the boy tinkering under the pick-up’s bonnet.
The Route to Justice: A post-apocalyptic survival thriller (A World Torn Down Book 5) Page 12