The Outcast's Journey

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “But-”

  “I’m coming, Rick.”

  “Yes,” he laughs remembering the first time he’d seen her tacking down the street in her heels and how surprised he’d been when she’d tackled the losers in the café. She was feisty that was for sure, and perhaps that was why he loved her. He swallows as he looks at her, pushing down his need to protect her. “I’m sure you are an asset,” he says as she holds his gaze with determination.

  Chapter 9

  Blexton, Northumberland

  Benson pulls his jacket tighter as he stands next to the log burner and scratches at the wire of his beard. Before this he’d liked to keep clean shaven, but what was the point now, and anyway, he was glad of the extra warmth.

  “We need more logs, Ruth” he calls through to the kitchen. A tin is slammed down onto the counter and a woman strides through to the room.

  “Go get some then!”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “Do I look like the woodcutting type?” he asks, pulling at his jacket again.

  “Do I?” the woman demands, her dark hair poking out of the woollen hat pulled down low over her ears.

  “Yep!” he replies with a laugh. “Now, go and fetch some wood. I’m going to be getting cold soon. There’s nowt much left in this bucket.”

  “Nowt much left in this kitchen neither!” she replies thrusting a tin to him.

  “What’s that?” he asks, staring at the congealed mess inside the open tin.

  “Your dinner.”

  “Cold beans?”

  “Yep.”

  “For crying out loud woman. Warm them up first!”

  He’s silent as she stares at him.

  “Right. I’ll get a pan and stick them on the fire.”

  “Good,” he says as she stamps back to the kitchen. Cupboard doors slam and pans clank as he waits. Minutes later she walks back through, aluminium pan in hand, and crouches in front of the log burner. She opens the glass door and sits the pan on top of the burning logs.

  “Where’s Ollie?” he asks.

  “Out in the houses.”

  Benson grunts. “Better come up with something better than tins of beans this time,” he returns. “It’s alright living on tinned stuff, but I need some fresh meat and bread.”

  “Don’t!” she says as she wraps a cloth around the saucepan’s handle.

  “And cheese,” he sighs. “And apples, and bananas and-”

  “Benson! Don’t. It’s bad enough as it is without you going on about it. Just makes me feel all the more hungry.”

  “We need to go through every house in this town,” he says as his guts grumble.

  “We can grow stuff in the spring.”

  “What do you know about gardening?” he asks tapping at her backside with his foot.

  “Geroff!” she reprimands slapping at his boot. “Nothing, but how hard can it be to grow a few carrots and potatoes?”

  “I dunno. We never had a garden to speak of. Just a yard out back and the only thing my mum could grow were fake flowers,” he laughs at his own joke and grabs Ruth by the waist. “Come ‘ere,” he growls as she gasps. “I’m hungry,” he says as she pulls the saucepan out of the fire and lets it thud to the carpet, “and not for beans.” He pushes his knee between her legs and covers her mouth with his own then slides his hand beneath her top, finding the swell of her breast there. She groans. Encouraged, he kisses her harder and reaches for the zipper on her jeans. “I’ll find us some potatoes and a proper house with everything we need. But first I’m going to find you,” he whispers as his fingers slip into her warmth and she lifts her hips to accept him.

  The fire warms his backside as he sits back on his haunches, satisfied, and looks down at the flush across her chest. Bared to the cold air her breasts are pert, her belly taut.

  “Stay like that,” he says as he looks over his woman, enjoying his domination.

  “But I’m cold,” she complains.

  “I like to look at you,” he says as he stands, pulling his jeans back over his bare arse. She lies, half naked, top pushed up, jeans at her ankles, as he does up the button, pulls up the zip and fastens his buckle. He’s already looking forward to the night.

  The side door opens with a clat.

  “Let me up!” she says with a hurried glance to the living room door. “That’s Ollie and Wes back.”

  “Wait out there,” he shouts.

  “You busy?” an amused laugh sounds from the kitchen above the noise of stamping feet and the slamming of the door.

  “Hah! Yeah, not that it’s any of your business, Ollie.”

  “Randy buggers!” Ollie calls back as Ruth scrambles up from the floor, pulling her top back down over her breasts.

  “Aww!” Benson complains as they disappear beneath the wool. “I was enjoying that.”

  “You’ll have to wait till later then won’t you,” she retorts with a tight smile and pulls her knickers and jeans up with deft fingers.

  “You decent yet?” Wes’ gruff voice sounds from the kitchen.

  “Never!” Benson laughs in return.

  The door to the living room opens and Ollie’s amused face peeps round the corner. “I need to get me one of those,” he says nodding in Ruth’s direction, his eyes travelling up and down her body.

  “Yeah?” Benson returns with a sudden scowl stepping forward between the half-open door and Ruth, blocking her from Ollie. “She’s mine. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” Ollie says, a frown crossing his brow. “Course I know that!” he says pulling back from behind the door and stepping back into the kitchen. Low voices ring around the room.

  “You got that?” he says, his voice gruff as he looks at Ruth.

  “Yes, of course Benson,” she returns. “You know I don’t look at anyone else.”

  “Hah! You’d better not,” he says, his guts griping at the thought of her with another man. He doesn’t love her, he’s sure of that, but she was his. End of story, and if any other man so much as looked at her! He clenches his fist and pulls her to him, pressing his mouth down on hers. “You’d just better not. That’s all,” he says without kindness pulling her away from him and staring down into her eyes.

  “Of course not!” she says, a flicker of unease in her eyes. He smiles. That’s what he likes to see—subservience—fear—whatever it was, that’s how he liked it to be.

  “Wes!” he barks to the kitchen. “Tell me what you found today then.” He strides through to the room and stares at the three men waiting there in silence.

  Blexton, town threshold, Northumberland

  “Where shall we go first then?” Cassie asks as they reach the town’s threshold. Looking down the road she can see that no one has passed here in recent days, perhaps weeks, or even months. The bare twigs and branches of the hedgerows sit dark beneath their blanket of white and the snow lays deep on the road and path, untouched but for the prints where birds have hopped and sunk with each step.

  “The bigger houses? They’re more likely to have food in the cupboards.”

  “This reminds me of the supermarket, Rick.”

  “This is different,” he returns, placating her. “There’s no psycho to shoot bolts at us here.”

  “No? What about that gang that came up to the farm?”

  “They’re long gone, Cassie,” Justin replies.

  “How do you know?”

  “I kept an eye on them. They left a good few weeks ago now.”

  “Perhaps there’s nothing here then?” she says looking from Rick to Justin. “I mean—did they leave because there wasn’t any food here?”

  “There’s got to be,” replies Rick.

  “Like Rick said, we’ll start with the bigger houses.”

  “Like that one,” she says pointing to the house that comes into view as they continue down the road.

  “Exactly like that one,” Justin replies with a nod.

  As they reach the house Cassie looks up to its windows. The curtain
s are drawn in the upstairs bedrooms and she swallows as dread washes over her. “There could be bodies in there,” she says.

  “Probably,” Rick replies. “Listen, we’ll just go into the kitchen and check through the cupboards.”

  Cassie sighs and rubs at her shoulder, feeling the ache of the old wound. She’s worked hard to put away the fear that rises when her guard is down, the apprehension she feels every time she undresses, and sees the ugly scar left there by that woman. She’d get her back—perhaps when they went back to the town—she’d be ready for her then.

  “Cassie! Are you listening?” Rick asks, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Sorry! No. I mean, yes. I was just looking up at the windows and …”

  “We’ll go round the back and see if there’s any sign of someone living there then go in through the side door. OK?”

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  The house is cold and Cassie’s breath billows white as she checks through the kitchen cupboards.

  “I can’t shift the thought that I’m stealing,” she says to Rick as he squats down beside her and pulls out a tin of fruit salad.

  “It’s not stealing though is it. If the owners are dead then this is ours. We’ve got to survive any way we can now, Cassie.”

  “Sure, I know, it’s just … do you think people will be … will go up to my penthouse?”

  “Well, if they did would it matter?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want them to take my stuff. I’ve got jewellery in the safe, and there’s my shoes and bags and a carafe of vintage champagne in the cellar.”

  “Do you really think they’d be interested in your jewellery, Cassie?”

  “Yes, of course … it’s worth millions.!”

  “Oh? Is it? Is it worth millions?”

  “Yes,” she says indignant. “Dan bought me diamonds. He said they were an investment—if anything ever happened—they were my security.”

  “Hah!” Rick says standing, turning to face her. “Something has happened. What good are your investments now?”

  A stone sinks in her belly as she remembers Dan’s face as he’d handed her the diamond bracelet for her twenty-ninth birthday—the same day he’d made his first billion.

  The afternoon passes as they move from house to house collecting food. Bored with waiting for Rick and Justin’s instructions, and irked at Rick’s attitude, Cassie walks further down the road to the last house on the street. It intersects at a crossroads. She squints against the glare of the sun as it reflects off the snow and the windows of the shops. Recognising a pedestrianised area with its wide space between the buildings, bollards and absence of snow-covered cars, she treads through the snow. She looks from one side to the other, scanning the shops: a butcher’s flanked by two estate agents sits to her left, whilst on the right is a pet shop next to a bank and then a charity shop. Nothing very interesting!

  Forgetting Rick and Justin, she walks further into the town’s central shopping area. A window is lined with bolts of fabric and she walks across the road to peer through the glass. Inside bolts of patterned fabric are slotted upright into bins sat against the wall. The central area holds a long table covered with more fabric. To the side a stand with needles, scissors and thread. She makes a mental note to talk to Becca and come back to collect fabric they can use. There was a time, before she’d met Dan, before her mother’s drinking had become unbearable, when she’d delighted sitting with her Grandmother, taking instruction and sewing. She was sure that she could make clothes for the kids, maybe even for Becca and Rick. Pyjamas or something.

  Moving further along the sun catches gold, shining on whatever sits behind the next window. She peers inside and steps back startled by the figure standing in the shadows. It doesn’t move and she peers again behind the glass then sighs. It’s a boutique with dressed mannequins, their features as frozen as the snow outside. They’re last season’s fashions, well perhaps even before that - this place was so provincial - but she’d have whatever suited her. Smiling to herself at the thought of trying on new clothes, she tries the door handle. It’s locked. She looks up and down the street. It’s empty. She laughs. No one to see her breaking and entering. Not this time. She takes off her hat, wraps it round her fist, and smashes the thin pane of the panel next to the door handle. She reaches through searches for a key. Nothing, but there is a latch. She twists it back and the lock opens with a satisfying click. She shakes back her hair as the memory of a thrill she hasn’t felt for … how long? - must be fifteen years - courses through her and steps into the shop.

  The dinge of the room is brightened by the sun’s reflection from the snow as she takes off her glove and runs her hand over the neatly folded tops and fine-knit jumpers stacked on central tables. The hanging racks are loaded with dresses and she fingers one in pale blue, a halter neck with a plunging neckline that meets at the high waist. She shivers at the thought of stepping out in that, she’d look ridiculous now, here in this shop, this town, this life. A tightness grips at her heart as she smooths her fingers over the silk. Catty Kayla would have withered and died of jealousy if she’d seen her in this.

  “Sod it!” she says to the mannequin stood in a bohemian skirt and gossamer thin, embroidered cream top, and grabs the dress from the hanger. She giggles as she looks around - still no one - and hurries to the changing rooms at the back of the shop. On the way she picks up a handful of hangers hung with ridiculously small and lacy g-strings then slips into the vacant cubicle and pulls the curtain across. Hanging up the blue silk dress and her thick coat, she pulls off the hand-me-down turtle neck jumper Becca had given to her when the weather turned form cool to cold, unclips her bra, and pulls off her knickers, letting them drop to the floor. She kicks them to the side. She has new ones now—that pair can go into the bin. She stands and looks at herself in the mirror—dark roots show through the white-blonde and she’s pale again, the remnants of her fake tan gradually fading over these past months. She’s slimmer than before and her muscles have softened a little, though still strong and shaped from the work she does at the farm. She holds her hair up and piles it onto her head. A clip. She needs a clip to hold it up.

  Walking back into the shop, she shivers, goose-bumps cover her arms and her breasts stand pert with the cold. She tiptoes across the freezing floor to the stand hung with necklaces and hair accessories and picks out two combs studded with diamante. A shadow falls across the front of the shop. She grabs a hand across her chest and turns. Nothing. She runs back across to the changing room and pins up her hair, smiling at her reflection. Something’s missing. Your dress silly! She giggles. Shoes. She needs shoes to go with the dress. She pokes her head out from behind the curtain. Yes! A row of stilettoes sits along the wall next to the mannequin with the gossamer top. Tip-toeing again, she moves across the shop’s floor to the shelves of strappy sandals. A pair of pale blue satin stilettoes, complete with diamante glitter at the front, catch her eye and she picks them up then strokes their heels. Lost in her memories, she dances with Dan in a ballroom strung with fairy lights and an oversized chandelier of tear-drop crystals. She swings from side-to-side as she remembers his hand on the small of her back, a flute of the driest and best champagne held in her manicured hand, and the huge glass doors that swing open to the warm evening, covering them in the burnt orange of the setting sun. Behind her the sound of breathing makes the hairs on her neck prickle.

  Chapter 10

  “Hello!” a man’s voice whispers in her ear, warm breath stroking at her cheek. A rough hand snakes across her naked belly and pulls her tight against the man’s front. He groans. She takes the stiletto and smashes it down onto his hand.

  “Let go of me!” she shouts as he grunts.

  His hand releases her and she steps away from him, but he grabs her arm, raising it above her head.

  “Not so quick. Where you going? I was enjoying that. Better than the telly,” he says with a chuckle his eyes g
leaming as he devours her body with his eyes. The sting of shame prickles at her cheeks as she watches his eyes move from her breasts to below her naval.

  She slams her hand down hard. His grip remains firm, wrenching at her wrist.

  “Let me go,” she says, her voice cold.

  “Nah! You’re alright. I’m enjoying the show.”

  “What you found there then, Ollie?”

  “Dessert,” he replies laughing to the man stepping through shop’s entrance.

  Cassie’s chest tightens as she catches sight of the man stepping through the doorway. Wrapped against the cold, he looks massive even without the extra padding. She shivers.

  “It’s cold,” Ollie says with another laugh as he feels her shake beneath his fingers.

  “Surprised she’s not frozen her tits off in that get up.”

  “Let me go. I was just trying on a dress, that’s all. My clothes are in the changing room. Let me put them on. Please?” she asks.

  “Well, if you ask nicely, then-”

  “What the hell is going on here?” a woman’s voice calls from the doorway. Cassie sighs in relief.

  “Just found me a woman, Ruth, that’s all.”

  Cassie pulls against the man’s arm. “Let me go!” she says.

  “Yeah, come on! Let her go,” the woman insists.

  “No,” the man replies. “I told Benson I wanted to find me a woman and I got me one,” he says turning to stare at Cassie, ownership shines strong in his eyes.

  Where was Rick? “My friends will be here in a minute,” she says looking to the trio. “And when they do there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes, from the farm-”

  “C’mon, Ollie. Let her go.”

  “I told you Ruth. She’s mine now—friends or not. I need a woman in my bed at night to keep me warm—I haven’t had it for months now and seen as Benson isn’t keen on sharing you I’m taking this one.”

  He tightens his grip on Cassie’s arm then twists her and slips his arm around her waist.