The Path to Destruction

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Sure I’m sure,” she replies as Deacon stokes the fire. Sparks fly up into the air and embers land on the dark tiles of the hearth.

  “Take protection with you,” he says with a matter of fact tone. “And be back,” he stops to look at his watch, “by two-thirty.”

  “Sure,” she says without question. That was one of the things she loved about Deacon, how he made sure they were all safe. Even after such a short time, he was like a father, or a big, very protective, older brother.

  “The nights still pull in quick and there are no streetlights,” he says by way of explanation.

  “Don’t worry,” Lina returns. “I’ll be back on time.”

  The sun is lowering in the sky as Dan reaches the town’s outskirts, it must be further than he remembered. Snow still lays in small patches in the ditches of the hedgerows and he shivers although thankful that the bone-chilling winter has at last come to an end. He pulls his coat tight around him. It hangs loose against his frame, any extra fat that he’d worked hard to keep at bay only a few months ago gone. It seems so distant now—the parties, the weekends spent at race days drinking champagne, hobnobbing with the Bernsteins and the Charltons. Hah! And now, here he was, the great Dan Morgan, king of the Golden Mile, playboy billionaire and every wife’s dream lover, trudging into some third-rate market town, starving, ready to scavenge any food he could find, or kill. He’d even eat dog if he had to—not that he hadn’t thought of it, but Monica was dead set against it. He’d talk her round though, he’d have to, he couldn’t catch a rabbit, or any other wild creature, to save his life and they were both going to starve to death if he couldn’t find some food soon. Sure, they had a small stock, but once that had gone!

  Dan looks up from the road, its tarmac dark with wet, and smiles as he remembers Monica reaching up to kiss his cheek as he pulled on his coat. She’d zipped it for him and passed him the hat she’d warmed next to the fire. His belly may be growling with hunger, but he feels a peace that still seems strange. He’d grabbed her, kissed her passionately and they’d laughed. A wave of anxiety washes over him as he imagines her alone in the house with the sun leaving the rooms. She’d sit in darkness until he returned. A man of excess, he’d never had to stint himself on anything, but now, when they had nothing, he appreciated her frugality. He can’t imagine the spendthrift Cassie being so careful. He quickens his pace. The faster he can get into town, and check out the supermarket, the quicker he can return to Monica and the warmth of their hearth.

  Reaching the signpost for the town he runs down the hill to the bottom where the larger houses sit, their windows blank and unseeing, their gardens empty. The place is eerie, like a still from a film, though the trees shiver in the wind. A squirrel darts from the hedgerow to his right, stops in the middle of the road as it sees him approach, then disappears across to the row of shrubs that line the boundary of a garden. Damn thing! If they could flick him the V, he’s sure they would.

  Alerted by the sound of an engine in the distance, he looks further down the road. A flicker of movement catches his eye. Heart stepping up its beat, he moves off the road and stands next to the tall hedge of privet as he watches. Two men pull at the doors of the cars parked along the street, then bend to inspect something at the rear. Petrol flap! They’re checking for petrol. One bends then stands tall and beckons with his hands raised. Seconds later, a flat-bed truck rolls into view and parks, sliding up to the car he’s inspecting. Another man jumps out of the van, saunters to the rear and pulls at a long piece of tubing, stretching it over the boot of the car to where the man stands. Unable to see exactly what they’re doing, Dan guesses they’re syphoning off petrol, sucking it up through the tubing and letting it pour out into the waiting barrels on the flat-bed of the truck. They don’t look familiar, so he can’t be sure whether they’re part of the crew from the supermarket or not. He’s definitely not going to walk up to them and introduce himself, so he hugs the privet and waits. Minutes pass slowly as he stands frozen, then inches back as they return to the van and drive towards him. Heart beating hard, he backs up, turns the corner into the next street, then darts along the road to the first driveway, and jumps between the wall and the shrubs that make up the garden’s boundary. The noise of the engine grows louder as he waits. It passes the top of the road and Dan breathes a sigh of relief. He’d have to get a move on if he was to make it to the supermarket and be back home before dark. He had no desire to walk back to the village with only the moon to light his way. The days of the apocalypse were bad enough, but the nights? Well, with the packs of dogs on the loose, and who knew what else in the shadows, they seemed even worse.

  As Dan steps back out onto the path, and makes his way towards the supermarket, more engines ignite and their thrum fills the air. He quickens his pace, and wonders if Saskia and her crew have grown in number. Finn had mentioned only five names or so. As the noise gets closer, he steps into the walkway set in a row of terraced houses that line the street and peers out to watch from behind the safety of the wall. The truck that he’d seen earlier, along with a white van, moves towards the roundabout that leads out to the motorway on this side of town. Following behind are a dozen or so motorcycles. The air hums as the convoy takes the roundabout and moves up the hill and out of the town. If those are part of Saskia’s crew, then she’s really become a force to be reckoned with! He waits a few minutes more, steps back out onto the pavement, walks along the road, and turns left onto the high street. The supermarket, he remembers, is not too much farther.

  Apart from the birds and the occasional bark, the only sound is the tap of his boots against the tarmac. He shuffles the rucksack on his back, squeezes the straps, and rolls his shoulders back, relieving the tension tightening across them. His plan fixed in his mind, he determines to go through the woods to the back of the supermarket and do a reccy. Hah! He was turning into the super-macho Rick! He’d do a reccy and then slip into the supermarket’s store room when no one was looking. It was only a few months since he’d been here last and Cassie said the store room was full—they can’t have used up all the supplies in such a short time.

  A cat runs from the hedgerow, spots him and turns back as Dan crosses the road and slips into the darkness of the woods. Five minutes later and he’s at the far end, almost opposite the back corner of the supermarket. He stands at the treeline and looks out over the carpark. It doesn’t look any different; none of the cars, as far as he can remember – and that day has been scorched onto his brain – have been moved. He watches for a moment, then, sure that no one is around, walks across to the sidewall and down to the back corner of the building. Peering round, the door is open and he pulls back, waits, then peers around again. There’s no sign of life, no movement, no sounds other than the birds twittering in the hedges. Taking a breath and pulling at the straps of his rucksack, he strides forwards and aims straight for the door. They must be out or perhaps in the office Cassie talked about? As he steps out in front of the open door and peers into the dark interior of the storage room, his eyes widen as he sees it. Nothing! Absolutely nothing remains on the shelves. The greedy sods have eaten it all! Moving into the room with an angry step, he barges past the shelves, catches his sleeve on a metal edge, curses, then walks on into the supermarket proper. He scans the shelves; every single last item has been taken. The entire place is empty of anything useful.

  “You can’t have eaten it all!” he shouts to the empty walls. His voice echoes and is harsh in his ears, yet strangely satisfying. “You just can’t!” he screams in frustration. Now what was he going to do? He’d promised Monica he’d bring back some food—not just some—lots! He couldn’t bear to go back empty-handed and see the reproach in her eyes. In a rage, he turns and pushes at the row of metal shelving. It doesn’t budge, but the edge spikes his hand and he winces. “Damn you!” he shouts at the metal corner. “Damn you to hell!” He hits at it again with the palm of his hand then kicks it as he turns to leave.

  Chapter 14

>   “Jackson!” Trina calls from the small room that overlooks the football pitch. “Did Derek get the solar panels?”

  “I’m right here, no need to shout,” he replies as he walks up to her and wraps his arms around her waist, pushes his hips against her backside. She wriggles against his embrace. “Hmm,” he says with a low voice. “Later.”

  “Hah! Get off!” she says with a happy lilt in her voice.

  He squeezes her a little tighter before letting go and rests his hand on her shoulder.

  “What is it?” he asks following her gaze.

  “The telly.”

  “There is no telly.”

  “This one right in front of your nose.”

  “Yeah, I know there’s a telly there, but you can’t watch it. There’s nothing on it.”

  “No, you’re right, but look underneath—a DVD player. If Derek can get those solar panels working-”

  “They’re locked into the grid-”

  “Yes, I know, but he said something about batteries. If he can fix them so that they go into batteries, then we can watch DVDs!” she continues still staring at the black screen of the television.

  “Bloody hell! You’re right!”

  “Derek!” he calls. The thought of being able to watch a film again feels like a revelation—a strange, but utterly delightful, modicum of normality. “Derek!” he shouts again, louder this time. “Where is that tosser?” he mutters.

  “Here, boss,” Derek replies breathless.

  For a second, Jackson cringes at the realisation that Derek may have heard the abuse. The emotion dissipates in an instant. He really doesn’t care.

  “Good! Any chance of getting the solar panels rigged up today?”

  “Yep!” he replies with a triumphant smile holding up a pair of needle-nose pliers. “Just fixed them. We’ll have lights-”

  “Will the oven work? It’s electric. Right?”

  “No,” he beams. “It’s gas, but it’s working, and so’s the kettle.”

  “Hah!” Trina responds and Jackson breathes a sigh of joy at the smile on her face. Making her happy is one of his goals, that and making this place an invincible stronghold where no one can get to them. He’d learnt his lessons in the city—just how harsh people could be. In a matter of weeks, and some at the flick of a switch, they’d become monsters, and if they did, well, then so would he.

  “So, now all we need, is some decent food to cook.”

  “We’ve got some.”

  “Sure, but nothing fresh. Can you imagine it, Jackson? Sitting here watching a film and eating freshly roasted meat?”

  “What kind of meat?”

  “Lamb, beef, pork—whatever.”

  “And where are we going to get that?”

  “There are farms around here—we should start looking for livestock. We could even hunt.”

  “Hunt?”

  “Yeah. They always do that in films about the end of the world—they have to survive—like we are, and they go out hunting for their food.”

  “I’ll check the farms, see if there’s any sheep.”

  “Hah! OK. But first, I’m going out to the shops to find some DVDs!”

  “Hold on!” Derek says, before disappearing across the large function room.

  “Where’s he going?” Trina asks with an amused frown.

  “Dunno,” Jackson replies as he watches the man run through the cluster of tables where the others sit and talk and laugh. He turns back to Trina as Derek pushes hard at the double doors then disappears into the entrance hall. “But I like your idea. Tonight is movie night!”

  Whirring sounds from behind, and the lights flicker. A roar of approval comes from the room and Jackson turns to the sound. Beneath the television, a small, green light flashes bright against the black of the DVD player.

  “Best day ever!” Trina exclaims and throws her arms around him. He hugs her back as he stares at the television. The last months have been rough, and he’s endured more than he ever thought he was capable of. Having Trina by his side for the last few weeks, well, she’s saved his life. That’s how he sees it anyway.

  As Trina wriggles out of his embrace, Aaron knocks at the door.

  “Boss.”

  “Yeah,” Jackson returns, keeping a poker face through the surprise of being called ‘boss’ for the second time that day. They must see him as the natural leader now that Frank is gone. “Did you find them?” he asks.

  “Yes, we did. They thought they’d outrun us, and we’ve let them think that, but they’re holed up in a warehouse.”

  “Where?”

  “Falklands—the road that skirts the town, past the kitchen factory.”

  “The industrial estate?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “Why’d they need to be in a warehouse—must be freezing in there?”

  “We reckon they’ve got a stash. The gates are locked.”

  “Could just be that they’re trying to stay safe? Same as us.” Trina offers.

  “Could be,” Jackson returns. “But if they’ve got a stash then perhaps they’d like to share it.”

  Aaron’s face breaks with a wide smile. “I doubt that, boss, but perhaps we could ask them,” he laughs.

  “I think we should. Get the lads together. We need to have a little chat.”

  “What about the telly?”

  “Take Sally and Jake. Go into the town. There might be some DVDs in one of the supermarkets or newsagents. That’s where they always used to be—can’t order online no more,” he finishes and slaps her arse, then follows Aaron out to the tables where the men have gathered. As he sits, Trina passes him talking excitedly to Sally on her way to the gates. They’d best not pick up any chick-flick romance rubbish. A thought crosses his mind. “Trina!” She turns. “Pick up an Ed Stafford boxset or something. Looks like we need to do some learning.” She nods, waves, then turns and disappears through the doors.

  Trudging along the road, his temper still grinding, inadequacy brushing him like his father’s harsh voice, Dan doesn’t notice the two women and one man walking towards him until he hears their voices. He stops, almost knocks into a lamppost and stands still, using the post to hide behind. The women stop, point into the window of a shop, then try the door as the man continues towards him. The door is obviously locked and the group cross the road to the newsagents. He’ll check it out once they’ve come out. There would at least be some crisps in there, and, if he was lucky, some bars of chocolate. As the group disappear through the doors, he crosses the road then runs along the path until he reaches the wide, poster-covered windows. He looks in between the vinyl stickers, posters and cards offering ironing services, houses to rent or dog sitting. He scans the shelves. The central, rectangular aisle is surrounded by metal shelving against the walls. They are all completely empty. His shoulders sag as he scours the room, looking for anything that has been left by the looters. He frowns again. No. This didn’t look like looters—it was too clean—too devoid of anything useful. Sure, there were racks of newspapers and magazines, and, from this angle, it looked as though the unit holding the lottery tickets were full, but everything else was gone. Bet there’s a winner in there! He laughs to himself at the ridiculousness of it all. He’d had everything - all the money he’d ever need - but now, just finding a single packet of sweets or bag of crisps would mean more than all those billions. What were they anyway? Just a bunch of digits hanging about in the ether—well, not even hanging about any more—it was all gone. His thoughts return to the penthouse and the safe—Cassie’s diamonds. Worthless! It was all worthless.

  The taller woman throws down a magazine she’s been leafing through, an image of a chubby, cheap-looking woman with the headline ‘Beaten for sex’ a brazen banner beneath her sad ‘I’m a victim’ face. Ugh! Who’d want to! With that! And who reads that kind of trash anyway? Well, no one any more, actually, Dan. He sags again, the darkness growing in him a weight at the back of his head. The women look nice, normal even, a
nd he steps in front of the door.

  “Dan?”

  He turns on his heels to face the voice, his eyes wide, disbelieving as he sees Lina waving to him from down the road. She stands, arm held high.

  “Is that really you?” she calls again as he stares at her.

  “It is,” he calls back. “Lina?”

  “Hi! Yes, it’s me,” she says without a smile though her eyes are bright.

  He shies from her gaze, remembering her comments in the kitchen at the B&B, waiting for her to remember her own anger and shout at him. She continues to walk towards him as he stands frozen, a rabbit in headlights.

  “I can’t believe it’s you!” she says, her voice unsure. “Well, yes, I know it’s you, but … I can’t believe you’re here. Cassie sent Rick out to look for you when you left.”

  “She sent Rick for me?” he asks, with a flicker of jealousy or was it a pang of guilt?

  “Yes, she was in too much pain to go herself, but she tried. We had to stop her. She was heartbroken though. Where have you been?”

  “How are you?” he asks deflecting attention from himself. “You look thinner, but well. And the other girl and boy—Finn wasn’t it? And Kyle?”

  “Kyle’s dead.”

  “Oh!” he replies shocked. “Was he sick?”

  “No. That bitch from the supermarket killed him.”

  “What?” Hearing the soft-spoken Lina saying ‘bitch’ feels like a slap.

  “Cassie looked everywhere for you, Dan! She was heartbroken.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay. You all hated me. I thought you’d all be better off without me. Cassie is better off without me. She’s got Rick now.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that but-”

  “She is,” he says and knows in his heart that it’s true. Thoughts of Cassie only torment him now—the guilt he feels that she’s had to suffer because of him, but she’s got Rick, her very own action-man hero. Loathing descends. “I’m the man who killed the world, remember,” he spits as she looks past him. “I’m the one who let the plague loose on the world. Why would anyone want me anywhere near them?” He can’t help the anger seeping out and regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth as the colour drains from Lina’s face. She’s remembered—he can tell—here is the moment he’s been dreading—the loathing in her eyes.