The Path to Destruction

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “We?” Murray says with disdain. “Don’t you mean, me, Carl and Loz?”

  “Yes, Murray, that is what I mean. What’s your point?”

  “My point is, darling, that I’ve had enough of you waiting here on your lazy arse whilst we go out and do the hard work.”

  “Murray! I-”

  “Shut it, Saskia. Your brother’s not here to interfere now, so you’re going to listen to me. We’re not going anywhere tomorrow. If you want those houses picked over, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

  “Yeah, well she has to help at least.”

  “Carl! We agreed—she’s got to show willing and go do it herself.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he returns, “but a woman out on her own …”

  “Pah! She can handle herself.”

  “No, Murray. Carl’s right. I can’t go out and do it myself,” she smiles at Carl, giving him her best simpering smile. “it’s not safe—that Deacon-”

  “Deacon will be after her blood,” Loz pipes up.

  “What is he? Some sort of vampire?” Murray retorts.

  “No, but-”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know what you mean.”

  “She can come out with us then,” Carl suggests.

  Saskia mouths ‘thank you’ at him. Perhaps if she shows willing she can get them back on her side.

  Murray looks in disgust at Loz and Carl reaches into the cardboard box on the end of the sofa, pulling out another bag of crisps.

  “Put them down!” Saskia commands, but recoils from the look he throws back at her. “I mean, it’s bad for your health, Carl. You’ve already had one bag.” And besides, you greedy git, you’ve had your ration.

  “Aren’t you turning into the little mother,” Murray huffs.

  “Just got to look after my men,” she returns. “I can’t run this place on my own.”

  “Exactly, Saskia. Exactly. You need us,” Murray rounds on her. She pushes down the urge to argue with him. Damn that Deacon! She’d made a fool of herself—the mortification she feels when she thinks about him bucking her off his hips still stings at her cheeks when she remembers it—and now Murray had taken against her. Give it time and she’d get him wrapped back around her finger though. For now, let him think he had one over on her.

  “Fine,” she returns. “We’ll go out tomorrow—all of us. Sergei too. Where is he by the way?”

  “Out keeping an eye on that Deacon,” Loz says with a smirk. “He’s got the hots for that girl.”

  “Hah! He’s got it bad. Remember when-”

  “Oh, shut up!” Saskia snaps, unable to keep her annoyance at bay. “He’s out there keeping us safe. Not like you lazy lot cooped up in here keeping yourself cosy round the fire and stuffing yourselves silly with crisps.”

  A surge of jealousy and anger waves through her. It was that girl from the shop—the one he rescued. If he hadn’t gone in like that she could have finished them all off and then there’d be three less rats trying to steal her food. The fire had finished only one of them off and now that ‘girl’, that woman, was with Deacon, and no doubt sharing his bed too. She clenches her fist, digs her nails into the palms of her hand. Sergei had better not get with her. He’d just better not. It had always been the same. Sergei—mummy’s favourite—daddy’s favourite—and she, she’d been the one always sent to her room, always the one accused of doing wrong. Sergei had always got what he wanted. The sharpness of her nails digging into flesh, makes her wince.

  A flicker of movement catches Sergei’s attention as he crosses over to the path on the other side of the road. Getting used to the silence has been rough, but nothing moves anymore, apart from that lot back at the warehouse, and he’d had a gutful of them. He stops, the sole of his boot dissecting the white line of the road and stands frozen as he watches the scene at the bottom of the road. If he stands still they may not see him. Wind buffets against his back, but it’s not the cold that makes the hairs on his neck prickle. Looking down to the rail crossing where the road ends are figures, their black clothes stark against the bright green of the trees. They’re pushing something, a long trolley, like one from a hospital, raised with wheels. He peers down the road to get a clearer view. A body! There’s a body on the trolley and they’re pushing it across the road to an area of scrubland. As he watches, a man, taller than the rest, pushes hard at the trolley, shoving it into the high-grown shrubs overhung by a tree, a walnut if he remembers rightly. The trolley disappears and the man lifts one end and jabs his arms upwards, once, then again. When he pulls the trolley back, the body has gone and he walks back with the others into the entrance of the football club.

  As they disappear, Sergei strides to the path and follows the road down towards the club, keeping close to the row of parked cars that line the street. His wits about him, he’s alert and ready to duck. He’ll find out what they’re up to and they won’t even know he’s there. Saskia’s gonna go ape if they’re up to what he thinks they are!

  There’s no sign of any movement, so he runs across the road and up the driveway of the house next to the club’s entrance and into the back garden. As he jumps the low, wooden gate that separates the driveway from the garden he notices a dog lying in the corner of the lawn. He freezes, one hand still on the top of the gate, and stares at the mutt. It lies still, half on the concrete walkway that skirts the house, the other half on the lawn, all four legs pointing towards him. Its nose points to the wall of the house and its belly is a sunken cavity. Dead! His shoulders sag with relief, and he takes a step closer. Yes, definitely dead. The birds and maggots had already started to devour it.

  “Poor sod,” he mutters as he takes in the chain that runs from the dog’s collar to the wall. It reminds him of Beano, the collie they’d had as a kid. A crazy dog—more of a kangaroo. He’d loved to let it jump up at him, put its paws on his shoulders. At least one living soul was pleased to see him. Did dogs have souls? Turning away from the dog, he walks to the end of the garden and listens. On the other side of the high fence he can hear the sound of men and women talking, some giving direction, others laughing. In the corner is a neat pile of stacked bricks. Perfect! Stepping on the pile, he crouches then slowly rises to peer over the top of the fence. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene. There must be a dozen motorbikes and at least the same number of people just milling about. Parked near the entrance is a flat-bed truck loaded with large barrels.

  A man pushes open the club’s double glass doors. He must be as tall as Sergei and as broad. He grunts. A contender! A petite brunette pushes out from behind him and slips her arm around his waist. A surge of jealousy waves over Sergei as he watches the woman tip her head up to the man and waits for his kiss. Finn’s delicate face appears in his memory, and then her horrified look as she’d stared at him the moment the blast took out the shop. He clenches his jaw, pushes down the bad feelings rising inside, and watches as the man steps down into the gravelled area and fist pumps one of the other bikers then laughs. They both walk over to the van parked next to the flat-bed and slide open the side doors.

  The trolley re-appears, pushed out of the double doors. It carries another body. They’re clearing it! Saskia is going to be pissed! He watches for ten minutes more then makes his way back to the warehouse and Saskia.

  Chapter 8

  Deacon stands behind the tree, watching as Murray parks the van next to the open shutter of the warehouse’s entrance. The passenger door opens and first Carl, then Saskia step out. Murray slides open the side door of the white van and gestures to Carl. He steps up and into the van then stands with two large shopping bags.

  “Looks like they’ve been on another hoarding mission,” he says to Finn at his side.

  “I tell you, every single house is gonna be empty soon. I checked the houses on Burgate a couple of weeks ago and there was still plenty of tinned and dried food in the cupboards. When I went back this week, it’d all gone!”

  “That’s her plan—to empty all the houses and store it here.
They’ve even shifted everything out from the supermarket.”

  “Well, it makes sense to have it all in one place.”

  “I told her it was for us all to share.”

  “Then we’re going to have to make her share.”

  “We are,” Deacon returns with a grin. “We certainly are.”

  “How’re we going to get in?”

  “We’re not.”

  “Then how’re we going to get the stuff.”

  “Like I said, we’re going to make her share, whether she wants to or not.”

  “And how do you plan on doing that?”

  “You’ll see. By the time I’ve finished with her she’ll beg me to take her damned food!” He smiles as he watches her struggle with a bag, even from this distance he can see the bad temper that screws up her face. She was one nasty piece for sure, and he was going to make her pay. He wallows for a moment in the satisfaction of his imagined revenge then turns to Finn. Despite the thinness that has crept over her, she’s beautiful, her skin is clear with dark freckles peppered over her nose, and a flush of rose across her cheeks in the crisp spring air. Surprised at his need for her, he pushes down the urge to kiss the pink of her lips, and looks again to the warehouse. Saskia and Murray have disappeared, leaving Carl to unload the rest of the bags. “Poor sod looks worn,” he mutters as Carl jumps when Saskia re-appears and then follows her puppy-like as she clacks back into the building, the tack of her heels sharp in the air.

  “Looks like she’s got that bloke well under her thumb,” Finn says as she watches the scene.

  “That’s Carl. He seems like an OK bloke—at least he did when I met him. I think he’s just got himself in too deep with them—got nowhere to turn.”

  “I guess.”

  “I think we could get him on our side.”

  “You thinking of building up an army?” Finn asks with a wry smile.

  Deacon smiles back, notices the brightness of her green eyes, and nods. “Yup. Well, at least breaking hers down. The less people she’s got at her back, the stronger our position.”

  A dog howls in the distance.

  “Bloody dogs!” Finn exclaims. “Don’t they ever stop barking?”

  “Nope,” Deacon replies with a laugh as she raises her brows and shakes her head.

  “We should catch some and train them as guard dogs,” Finn suggests. “That way if Saskia ever comes to try and finish us off, we could set the dogs on her,” she says with a laugh.

  “That I’d like to see,” Deacon replies. “But those dogs are wild now, I wouldn’t go anywhere near them.”

  “True,” Finn replies. “And I don’t trust them—not after that fluffy shitzu thing bit Kyle. You should have seen it go at him. It wouldn’t let go until I nearly broke its jaw. It was like it was crazed or something.”

  “Maybe the plague made them go doolally rather than kill them,” Deacon suggests.

  “Zombie dogs you mean?” Finn asks with a laugh.

  “Just saying! You never know.”

  “Nah! You’re being silly now. They’ve just turned wild. One minute they’re being fed, pampered and running rings round us humans, next their meal ticket’s gone and they have to fend for themselves.”

  “Sounds a bit like the humans,” says Deacon without mirth, looking back to the warehouse and watching as Murray strikes out against Carl, slapping him across the face.

  “What’s going on there?” Lina asks as she watches the men. “A scrap?”

  “Opportunity more like,” says Deacon as he watches Carl push his hands against Murray’s chest. The thin man staggers back then falls to the ground.

  “That Murray doesn’t look too good these days,” Deacon observes.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Finn agrees. “He’s less than half the man he was before the plague. Can’t be lack of food. There’s tons of it in the warehouse.”

  “You’re right there, Finn. I think he must be sick. He’s even thinner than the last time I saw him.”

  “I know it sounds cruel, but I’m glad of that. He always was mean, and hooked up with that psycho Saskia, he’s just worse. Perhaps he’ll die soon?”

  “Save me having to kill him, Deacon,” adds.

  “You’d really do that? Kill him?” Finn asks turning to catch his gaze.

  He waits for a moment before replying, letting the question settle on him, then looks her straight in the eye. “Yes, Finn. I would. They all had a part in Kit’s death. They have to pay for that. There’s only me to get him justice, and killing a man like Murray, a woman like Saskia—well, I’m ridding the earth of scumbags.”

  “Vigilante justice,” Finn says flatly.

  “Vigilante? No. There are no laws here anymore. No government to set the rules. We get to set the rules and for me it’s an eye for an eye. They killed my boy. They killed Kyle. It’s only right that they should lose their lives in return, but first I’m going to have a little fun with them.”

  Finn keeps his gaze and nods. “What about Carl then?”

  “Carl’s something else. He’s not a cruel man, just got himself stuck in that mire,” he says nodding his head towards the warehouse. “He’s useful to us.”

  “Hey! Looks like Sergei’s back.”

  “Where does he go to, do you reckon?”

  “No doubt checking which houses they can clear out of food.”

  “Sergei!” Carl calls in greeting as he enters the warehouse.

  “Hey!” he returns with an upward nod. “Where’s Saskia?” His breath comes hard.

  “You’re sweating! What’s up?” Carl asks with concern as Sergei strides past.

  “Down at the football pitch,” he stops, then bends, resting his hands on his knees and takes a moment to get his breath back. Running back from the club had knackered him.

  “You look like you’ve run a marathon.”

  “Feel like it!” he gasps. He really did need to cut out the cigarettes, and the booze, but what else was there to do in the evening? If he had Finn by his side, well, that would be different. His memories triggered back at the club, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Recovering, he calls for his sister. “Saskia!”

  “What?” she shouts back, her voice travelling from the far corner of the vast warehouse.

  “Come ‘ere.”

  “Coming!” she calls back with an edge to her voice. The tack, tack of her high-heeled boots sounds across the concrete and she appears from behind the tall shelves, clipboard in one hand and pen in the other. She frowns at him, her newly dyed blonde hair a bright halo about her face. He laughs despite himself.

  “What you laughing at?” she snaps.

  “No need to be sharp, missus!” he laughs back. “It’s just you reminded me of Mum with your hair like that, and your clipboard—she was forever making lists.”

  “Pah! Don’t talk to me about her!” she returns with a frown.

  “Come on now, she wasn’t all bad!”

  “What did you want anyway?” she asks ignoring his question.

  “There’s people at the football club!” he says watching her face as he speaks. Her brows knit, eyes glower, lips purse and clutches the clipboard to her chest.

  “What? Do you mean Deacon and those bitches?”

  “No!” he replies angrily. “And Finn’s not a bitch!”

  “Whatever,” she says with an angry flick of her hand.

  “No, not them,” he says bridling. “These look like bikers, or at least they’ve arrived on bikes, with a couple of vans.”

  “How many?”

  “At least fifteen I’d say.”

  “Whoa!” Carl interrupts. “Can’t remember the last time I saw fifteen people.”

  “Bad memory then, Carl! It was only three months ago that the town was overflowing. It was a bit weird seeing them though,” Sergei replies turning to look at the dumpy man. Murray sidles towards them from behind another row of shelves. Little and large! What a difference a few months make. Something’s got to be
wrong with the man to be looking that thin—he’s practically a skeleton!

  “What’s going on?” Murray asks with a hoarse growl.

  “Incomers,” Sergei replies, scanning Murray’s haggard face. He’d be of no use whatsoever if they turned nasty.

  “Oh? Where?”

  “Down at the football club.”

  “Hah! See Saskia,” he says with a sneer. “I told you we should have taken over that place.”

  “Well, we have this place to look after,” she retorts.

  “How long they been there?”

  “Dunno. It looked like they were still off-loading—they had a van full of stuff and a flat-bed loaded with barrels.”

  “Petrol?”

  “Think so. And they were trolleying out the bodies.”

  “Clearing it out then.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I guess we’ve got ourselves some new neighbours.”

  “Neighbours! You’re such a dumb fool, Murray.”

  “Wha-” he says turning to Saskia.

  “They’re the enemy—that’s what they are!”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Every stranger is a friend in waiting,” Carl pipes up.

  “Oh Carl, shut up!” Murray throws back at him.

  “Yes, shut up, Carl,” Saskia spits. “That gang are a new threat. One that we’re going to have to stamp on—hard.”

  Chapter 9

  “I’m tired, Deacon,” Finn complains as he stares at the warehouse.

  “Just a few more minutes, Finn,” Deacon returns without taking his eyes from the open door. “I want to watch to see if there’s a pattern.”

  “Why a pattern?”

  “Then we can know when’s the best time to get inside that warehouse and help ourselves to some food.”

  “Hah!” Finn returns.