The Path to Destruction (A World Torn Down Book 4)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “All the food?” he shouts back with dread washing over him as he looks at the evil pixie’s screwed-up face.

  “Yes,” the large man replies. “All of it.”

  Jackson grunts, clenches his jaw, and turns to walk through the smoke and back to Aaron and the others.

  “Should we go in and get what we can, boss?” Tom asks as he steps through the other side of the smoke.

  The men are waiting, staring at the smoke as it billows in the sky.

  “The fire’s at the other end—where most of the food is,” Aaron explains. “We could try to-”

  As he speaks an explosion rocks the air and Jackson is blown across the yard. Shards of hot and melting Perspex rain down on him as the roof collapses.

  Turning back to the woods with Saskia’s screeching ringing in his ears, Deacon notices a figure walking up the hill. A lone man, coat pulled against the cold, looks back down across the town then takes a left to the road that snakes up the hill and across through the villages that sit among the wolds. Dan Morgan! It must be.

  As the motorbike engines kick back into life and roar to the edge of town, his thoughts flit from Morgan to the coming months. It was time to start building his presence here. It could go one of two ways. With all the supplies in the town gone, the gangs were going to either leave, or become even more vicious and entrenched. His instinct was to err on the side of caution, human nature being what it was, and expect the worst.

  Chapter 18

  Cassie smooths the strands of sandy-coloured hair from Harry’s forehead and smiles down to him. A small bedside lamp illuminates his face and she notices new freckles across his nose.

  “You’ve got more of the sun’s kisses,” she says as she rubs her thumb along the bridge of his nose.

  He puts his hand to his nose and looks at her with a questioning frown.

  “You’ve got more freckles,” she explains.

  “How come?”

  “You’re getting older that’s all. My brother was the same—as he got older he got more freckles. You look a bit like him.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. He was a real cutie-tutie.”

  “Cassie!” Harry complains with fake disgust but smiles at her nevertheless.

  “Well, it’s true. You’re going to be a heartbreaker when you get older. All the girls will love you.”

  “Ugh! Girls!” He stops for a moment and the smile on his face drops.

  “What is it?” Cassie asks with concern at the sudden change. Always watchful of the children, she’s tuned into their emotions—at least she hopes she is. The weight of responsibility she felt when she found them is still there—but it has transformed into something else now; they may be orphans, but they aren’t motherless.

  “Girls. The only girl I know is Celie and she’s like my sister.”

  Cassie’s heart pains for the boy. He was right. There were no girls for him to fall in love with, to have a family with, to have and to hold until death do they part.

  “I’m sure there are girls—just not on the farm. You’ll see—as time passes we’ll discover more survivors. You’re still young and so there’s no need to worry about it now. OK?”

  “I’m not. Girls smell anyway.”

  “I heard that!” Celie shouts from the next bedroom.

  “Hey,” Cassie reprimands, ruffling his hair. “You could do with a bath yourself,” she laughs.

  “Cassie!” he laughs again in mock horror.

  “You do!” Celie shouts. “Is it my turn for a story now, Cassie?” she calls through the walls.

  “No rest for the wicked,” she says smiling down at Harry and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “Night, lovie. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  Another twenty minutes of bedtime stories and both children are tucked up in bed. “Night,” she says as she flips the switch in Celie’s room and opens the door leaving the light from the landing to brighten her room. She turns and walks to the top of the landing. The day has been long and arduous. Along with a stint in the garden turning the soil ready for the first seed potatoes to be sown, she’s boiled water for the dolly tub, scrubbed clothes against the ancient washboard, and wound them through the mangle. Despite the physical hard work, it had been fun; feeding the t-shirts and jeans through the mangle with Celie and Harry, and taking it in turns winding the handle. They’d all laughed until tears ran down their cheeks as Celie had held up a pair of Rick’s underpants with the tongs and nearly wet themselves as Harry had fed them through the rollers. What she really wanted now was a nice hot bath, but that would be selfish. The past months had been hard—having to consider everyone’s needs before her own. Being married to Dan, she’d gotten so used to having what she wanted, when she wanted. A tear pricks her eye. She can barely remember his face now, unless it’s in a dream and even those have become infrequent. She needs a glass of wine. If she couldn’t have a soak in a hot bath, she could at least have a small glass of red.

  Voices float up from the kitchen and the living room adjacent—deep and laughing voices. In the kitchen, the voices are dominated by one in particular that grates on her every nerve—Sebastian. She takes a breath to ease the tension and reaches for the door’s knob, puts on her best fixed smile, and walks into the room.

  “Hi!” she says brightly to the men and women gathered at the table. The room is warm, the stove filled with the logs that Rick has worked hard to chop all day long. She looks around for him as she walks over to the cupboard. He’s not here. She can’t imagine that he’s with the others in the living room. Perhaps he’s in the back room or outside in the workshop—probably the workshop knowing Rick. She’ll give him that—he’s a grafter and always thinking of what needs to be done. As she reaches for a glass, she imagines him hammer in hand, banging at some bit of metal he’s bending to his needs out in the workshop. Behind her the room quiets. Oblivious, she turns and walks to the pantry, opens the door, flicks the switch and looks about the shelves for an open bottle of wine. The shelves are bare. Frowning, she scans her eyes across the wall to her right. Along each shelf, from the ceiling to the floor, there’s nothing edible whatsoever. She turns to the left. Nothing there either. With realisation she turns back to the silent room.

  “Where’s all the food gone?”

  Sebastian looks up at her from his position at the head of the table. Becca’s eyes flit downwards as Cassie searches her out.

  “We’ve locked it away.”

  “Locked it away! But it’s supposed to be here—in the pantry—that’s where it’s always been!”

  “Food was going missing. I had to-”

  “You had to?” she almost shouts back at Sebastian. The man was intolerable to her and this latest trick was the final straw.

  “Yes. Becca and I have agreed that the only way we can stop the …” Cassie scowls down at him. If he says children! “thieves from helping themselves is to lock it up so that we can control its distribution.”

  “Becca?” Cassie questions.

  “Yes, I agree with Sebastian. We’ve precious little as it is so we need to protect it.”

  “So where is it—the food? What have you done with it?”

  “It’s safe and that’s all you need to know.”

  “What? So, you’re accusing me of taking it are you?”

  “No, Cassie,” Sebastian replies although he doesn’t sound convincing.

  God, but he’s insufferable! “I work hard around here. I’ve been digging for half the day and scrubbing for the other half. Surely, I can come here and get myself a small glass of wine so that I can relax? I’m a grownup after all!” she quibbles with indignation. He looks at her with a smirk that she wants to smack off of his face.

  “We all work hard, Cassie, but if we all just helped ourselves to food when we wanted then there’d be nothing left.”

  She looks around the table incredulous.

  “Where is the wine?” she asks, determined to have a glass despite Sebastian’s mac
hinations.

  “You can have some tomorrow—with your meal.”

  She grits her teeth and her cheeks prickle as the anger of frustration rises through her aware that they’re all watching. She wants to scream at Sebastian, hurl herself at him with outstretched arms and scratch at his eyes, but instead she takes a breath, purses her lips, and grits her teeth.

  “Fine,” she replies, her voice hard as she stares back at Sebastian and then searches out Becca realising that she can’t win against his intransigence. Frustrated, she puts the glass back in the cupboard. No relaxing for her tonight! With eyes boring into her back, she steps to the door with dignity, pulls on her coat and hurries out into the calm of the night. Massive relief washes over her as she pulls the door closed and breathes in the fresh night air. Across the yard she hears the clang of metal thumping against metal and strides to the workshop.

  Light shines out through the paned windows, illuminating the cobbles of the yard, as her breath billows white in front of her. Pulling her coat tight, she opens the door.

  “What you doing?” she asks as she enters. Rick looks startled at her entrance and knocks his thumb with the hammer.

  “Agh!”

  “Sorry,” she says regretting bursting through the door and waits until his string of muttered expletives stops.

  “What’s up?” he asks through gritted teeth as he holds his thumb to his lips. “You’re agitated. What is it?”

  “Sebastian.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That man!”

  “I know. I just want to slap him. Guess what he’s done now.”

  “What?”

  “He’s emptied the pantry. All the food is locked up so only he and Becca have access to it. I couldn’t even get a glass of wine tonight.”

  “Well, that really is going too far! How will you cope without your glass of wine to snooze with next to the fire?”

  “You can laugh, but it’s serious,” she says rankling. “It’s not about me having a glass of wine, it’s-”

  “I know. I was only pulling your leg. They’ve locked it all away?”

  “Yes, every single last bit of food. There’s nothing to eat in the pantry at all. He said someone was stealing food and it was the only way to make sure it stopped.”

  “Hah! One of them perhaps?”

  “Well, it’s not us and it’s not the kids, but I think that’s what he was implying.”

  Rick hits the metal on the workbench with force and she can see that he’s riled. “What’re we going to do, Rick?”

  “I’ll talk to Becca,” he replies with another crack at the metal.

  “Last time you did that she accused us of killing Justin. I think she hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you. Sebastian’s twisted her.”

  “He’s certainly got her ear. He’s always with her and she just does whatever he says. It’s like he’s got some weird control over her—like some sort of cult leader.”

  “Like Charles Manson?”

  “Yeah, or that other one in America, David Koresh.”

  He stops and looks out of the windows to the yard. “Sometimes, Cassie, I think that only the freaks and weirdos survived. Present company excepted of course.” He looks across at her with a pained expression.

  “Aye,” she replies. “There’s nowt so queer as folk, except for me and thee, and tha’s a bit!” she replies.

  “Hah! I haven’t heard that one in a while. You are from up north then.”

  “My grandma used to say it,” she says with a smile, remembering the older woman as she shuffled about the farmhouse kitchen, slippers worn and splayed, the pig laid out on the table, trickles of dried blood running out of its ears, ready for butchering. Sebastian had the same cold, grey and unkind eyes of her grandfather. He’d look at her too with that unflinching, uncaring coldness when he passed her in the yard. The family’s monthly visits to her grandparents had been a trial. “Rick,” she says as the memories fade. “I think we should leave. Sebastian … well that kind of man … there’s no winning with him. He’s got his feet under the table here, and there’s just you and me against all of them.” Holding Rick’s gaze as he listens, she continues. “You know that don’t you? That it’s pointless trying to fight him.”

  “Yes,” he replies. “I don’t understand how Becca’s come under his control in the way she has, if she hadn’t things would be different—we could try to get rid of them—somehow, but the way it is—this is Becca’s farm-”

  “Was! I think it’s his now, Rick. I really do.”

  “Yes, you could be right.”

  “What shall we do then?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it. We should wait-”

  “Wait!”

  “Hang on, Cassie. Yes, we should wait until the weather’s a little better—you know how quickly it changes up here in the hills. If we wait, it’ll be easier on the kids.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “Not back to Barton,” he says with emphasis. “I know you want to find Dan and Lina, but with those psychos there it’s not safe.”

  “I doubt anywhere is safe. There’ll be a Saskia and Sergei or a Ruth and Benson in all the towns.”

  “Hmm, well-”

  “Then we might as well go back to Barton. At least we know what we’re up against and can prepare for it.”

  He’s quiet for a moment then continues. “I guess you’re right, but wherever we decide to go to we need to be ready—have provisions and fuel for a long journey. So, we need to wait and give ourselves time to prepare. If we didn’t have the kids, I’d pick you up and go now, but-”

  “Pick me up?”

  “I just meant that I’d grab our stuff and a car and get going,” he explains looking back at the workbench and picks up the hammer.

  “Oh,” she says surprised at the disappointment she feels when he looks away. “When do you think the weather will be good enough?”

  “A month or so,” he replies. “We should have enough supplies together by then. We can go into the town and search the houses.”

  “This time I’ll stick with you,” she says as guilt tightens in her chest.

  “Yes,” he says hammering again. “Do.”

  “Right, I’ll go then,” she says though she hovers, waiting for his answer as he continues with his work.

  “Sure,” he replies though he doesn’t look up.

  Chapter 19

  Pulling the covers tight over him, Rick listens to the sounds of the night; the wind whipping around the hilltop house, the creak of the timbers as the house cools in the night, the occasional bleat of a goat out in the pasture, and the hoot of an owl. Cassie lies only two rooms away, but she may as well be two miles. He’d had to hold it together tonight when she came into the workshop. Since they’d met she’d shown no interest in him, though perhaps tonight? Was it different? He thinks back to the way she waited for him to answer and the disappointment on her face when he explained why he’d said he wanted to pick her up. That’s just exactly what he wanted. To pick her up and carry her away, carry her to his bed and lay with her there. He clenches his jaw and tugs at the covers with frustration. Like a stupid kid! His desire for her has only grown over the last weeks since Sebastian arrived, and so had his need to protect her. She may not see it, but he does. Sebastian is controlling, sure, but he’s hungry too. Hungry for power and hungry for Cassie. He’s seen it in the man’s eyes when Cassie walks into the room and if he ever lays a hand on her … As his mind fills with Cassie darkness beckons and he slips into a fitful sleep.

  As morning breaks across the hills, and weak light filters through the lace curtains of his bedroom, Rick wakes. His muscles ache from yesterday’s labours and as he opens his eyes and squints with bleary eyes towards the window, he plans out the work for today: he’d put in his hours around the farm and the house, ask Becca what needed fixing, then make a start, a very quiet start, on preparations—get the car in good order, start filling the boot with non-perishables—petrol
, tyre repair kit, spare tyres, blankets—whatever they might need for the journey back south.

  Gnawing grinds in his stomach as he thinks about Sebastian. His grip on the others seems total and he’s not sure how he’d take to the news of them leaving. He can’t quite weigh him up, but he’s pretty sure he’ll be glad to see the back of them, and if Becca really does blame Cassie for Justin’s death, however wrong that is, then she will be too. He swings his leg over the side of the bed, and shivers as the cold air embraces him. Perhaps they should just be upfront and tell them they’re leaving? He rubs at his thickening beard. Perhaps today he’d give it a trim. He likes the way the streak of grey runs through one side, but it is looking a bit wild.

  He yawns, stretches, then stands in front of the dresser. The mirror reflects back his tiredness and he peers to take a closer look. You handsome devil! He laughs as he looks at the puffy eyes and deeper wrinkles around his eyes then reaches for the jug of water. He fills the bowl and takes a cloth from the stack Celie has neatly folded and put there yesterday. He’ll say this for them, the kids pull their weight. Whatever privileged brattishness they’d had at the start, and it wasn’t much to be fair, had gone. He dunks the cloth into the water and braces himself for the shock of cold. Soap lathered on the flannel, he slaps it across his belly and over his chest, shivers then slides it behind his neck before rinsing and lathering the cloth again. Armpits and balls next. He finishes, refreshed, then opens the drawers. Neatly stacked, curtesy of Cassie, his boxers sit alongside five pairs of socks. In the drawer beneath, equally neatly stacked, are t-shirts and jeans. These drawers, and this bedroom, was an oasis of calm in a world turned to chaos.