Chapter 11
Deacon loosens the snare from around the rabbit’s neck and holds it high as the first blast sounds across the sky. It barely enters his consciousness. The rabbit’s outline is dark against the lowering sun and the bones of its feet are hard beneath his fingers. The fur is brown and soft and the eyes are clear—no sign of the myxomatosis plaguing many of the colonies in the other areas. The first one with it he’d snared had sickened him—the reddened eyelids and mangy-looking fur were repulsive, but it wasn’t until Carl had explained that ‘myxi’ was a disease rabbits got and could spread through entire populations that fear had wormed in his belly. Although he managed to catch the occasional deer, rabbits had become their staple source of meat - he’d become quite the expert trapper since Kit had taught him - and if the disease spread throughout the population then they’d all suffer along with the rabbits. Not for the first time, his thoughts turned away from the town towards the countryside—perhaps there were farms out there that they could occupy and maybe they could farm the land and raise sheep and pigs. It was something to think about.
He lays the rabbit down on the grass, opens the sack then drops it inside before pulling the ties and arching his back as he stands to relieve the ache of crouching. He turns from the hedgerow with its myriad rabbit runs and looks out towards the river. The bridge stands massive in the distance, its concrete pillars stark against the salmon sky. The scene is static but for the swirling gulls riding high on the currents and the billowing clouds of black smoke. He frowns and his gut clenches as he stares between the pillars to the city in the distance on the other side of the river. He’d never visited the place and, from this distance, all he can see is the industrial sprawl of its outskirts, a few clusters of tower blocks and some large multi-storey office buildings, or perhaps a hospital. Given the amount of smoke billowing, a fire must be blazing somewhere deep in the city. He wonders for a moment how it started, then turns his thoughts back to home and to Finn—thinking about other survivors doesn’t give him comfort—not if they were anything like the groups that had formed in the town.
He begins his journey back home and steps onto the old road, walking for five minutes before turning off, and making his way down the track that edges the old quarry. An engine sounds in the near distance - near the allotments or perhaps the dump - and he squints along the track as though to hear better. The hedgerows are high and covered with leaves so his vision is limited to the pathway ahead—no chance of seeing what or who is driving in the area. Always alert, he quickens his step as he remembers that Carl is on his own at the allotment, Finn having dodged out of going today. He’d have to check in on her when he got back home as she seemed to be coming down with something. A pang of guilt rides over him. He should have returned earlier to help Carl dig over the beds; he’d been too leisurely checking the traps. As he listens to the engine, he slings the bag over his shoulder and begins to run. His boots thud against the dry earth and his breath comes hard. As he moves through the gap in the trees, he sees a black van disappear under the flyover of the bridge on the road that leads back into town.
“Carl!” he calls as he makes his way between the shrubs and hawthorns to the allotments. The older man, his paunch significantly reduced even since he’d joined them, steps out of the wooden shed he’d chosen to keep his tools in - his home-from-home he called it - and pulls his jumper over his head.
“Turning cold,” he says as Deacon reaches him.
“Aye, but you look like you’ve been sweating.
“Oh?” Carl replies and wipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, the jumper still only half on.
“Been digging?”
“Yeah. All afternoon—that yonder potato bed is empty and I’m planting it with purple sprouting broccoli.”
“Oh-”
“Where are the girls? They were supposed to come up here and pick those tomatoes. Lina said she was going to be making a chutney with them and preserve some others so we’ve got supplies over the winter. It won’t be long before it comes you know and-”
“Finn’s not feeling too well,” he interjects to stop Carl rambling on again about preparations for winter. He was well aware how important it was to make sure they had a good supply of vegetables to keep them going, he just didn’t need reminding every time he spoke to Carl.
“Oh?”
“She cried off this morning—said she was tired.”
“That’s not like her,” Carl replies, “you sure she’s not sickening for something.”
“I dunno. I’m on my way back there now to go and check on her.”
“Ah, she’s as strong as an ox—that one. She’ll be reet. You’ll see. She’ll be reet.”
“I’m sure she will,” Deacon replies though he frowns as he remembers the pastiness of her skin this morning as he’d bent to kiss her. She hadn’t succumbed to his advances, and even stroking her thigh hadn’t gotten a response. He’d given up knowing she was feigning sleep. “I’ve got a few rabbits too,” he continues as Carl reaches for his spade and stands it inside the shed door.”
“Oh, aye?”
“Nice and healthy.”
“Good!” Carl replies with a sigh. “It hasn’t got to them all yet then,” he says clicking the padlock into place and pocketing the key.
“Not yet-”
Bam!
A blast fills the air. Deacon looks beyond Carl, and the shrubs behind him, to the bridge and the black and billowing smoke rising up high into the sky.
“What the!”
“There was a fire in the city. I could see it as I came down the hill—right in the centre by the look of it.”
Bam!
Carl ducks instinctively as another blast sounds like gunshot.
“Sounds like the whole place is exploding!” he says as he stands tall again.
“And burning down,” Deacon adds looking at the wide column of intense orange cloaked in the darkest black as it mushrooms into the sky beyond the bridge.
“Whoa!”
“I’ve seen that kind of fire before.”
“Oh, aye?”
“It’s petrol, or oil.”
“Looks like lava it’s so orange.”
“Yep—it burns bright like that.”
“When have you seen it then?”
“When I served in the forces—we were called out to a fire at an oil refinery—it burnt orange that way—real intense with the blackest smoke.”
“In England?”
“No.”
“Perhaps a petrol station has gone up then?”
“Could be.”
“Damned shame—there won’t be no more delivered.”
“Nope!”
“I’m all done here,” Carl says as he turns from the billowing mushroom of orange and black.
“Let’s go home.”
Chapter 12
“Are you going to tell him tonight?” Lina asks as she pulls the plate out from the bowl and stacks it on the drainer.
Finn picks it up, wipes it with the tea-towel and stacks it with the others on the table.
“Well?” Finn pushes.
“Tell me what?” Deacon asks as he steps through the door from the living room.
Finn turns and stares at him. His massive frame fills the door and the gentle brown of his eyes is shining at her as he smiles. Speechless, she continues to stare, a queasy sinking feeling in her belly. Cold waves over her as her heartrate speeds up and hands tremble. She wavers and Deacon frowns. Suddenly the room seems unstable and nausea washes over her.
“Finn!” Deacon says though his voice seems distant.
A white light fills the room then his arms are holding her.
“Finn!”
She lays in his arms as the room waves and closes her eyes. He strokes at her cheek.
“Sorry!” she murmurs.
“Are you sick?”
“No, I-”
“Sit down,” Deacon instructs as he pulls a chair out from under the table the
n lifts her to it. “Lina, get her some water please.”
“Sure.”
A hand presses against her forehead. “Feels clammy, but not hot so you’ve not got a temperature.”
“I’m OK, Deacon, really.”
“Really—you don’t look so good and I noticed how pasty and tired you were this morning. If you’re sick we’re gonna have to find you a doctor.” He looks up to Lina as she passes him the water. “Thanks. Lina. You know about medicine and stuff—what’s wrong with her.”
“Well … she’s not sick.”
Deacon sighs. “Good!”
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Lina adds.
The nausea recedes but Finn’s heart thuds hard against her chest and a strange sensation of lightness and aching swirls low in her belly. Her hands still tremble. What if she told him and he didn’t want it? What if he didn’t want her anymore? She’d get fat and he wouldn’t fancy her! She shuffles in the chair and pulls away from him, a wave of sadness settling over her.
“Finn?”
The kitchen door closes and they’re alone. She can’t hold off telling him any longer.
“Deacon,” she says “I don’t know how to tell you this, but-”
“What? What is it—you’re making me worry!”
She remains silent. The words just won’t come out. He’ll be disappointed or maybe even angry—just like her ‘step-dad’ Michael, when her mum had told him about her baby. She’d heard his spiteful words through the paper-thin walls; how her mum had tricked him into having a kid, that she was just after his money. That was one man she wasn’t sad to see die in the plague.
“You’ve gone off me haven’t you!”
“No!” she blurts turning to him, in agony at the pain in his voice. “Never! Deacon, you know what you mean to me—I … I love you.”
He sighs again. “So, what is it then?”
“Deacon … I’m pregnant!”
The words tumble out of her mouth followed by a deep sob that she can’t hold back. Deacon pulls away, rocking back on his haunches grabbing the table to steady himself. Unable to look at him, Finn drops her eyes, holding her breath to stop the pain rising inside. He doesn’t want it. He’ll leave her now for sure—just like Michael had her mum.
Silence fills the room for what seems like an eternity, but can only have been a few seconds, and then Deacon’s hand presses on her shoulder and he kneels down in front of her.
“You don’t want it do you!”
“Finn. It’s not that.”
“What then?”
He leans forward and slips his arms around her, pulling her to his chest, enveloping her in his arms. He kisses her cheek and then presses his lips gently against hers.
“I guess I’m just scared,” he admits.
“Scared?” she asks as she rests her chin on his shoulder.
He strokes her hair whilst still hugging her close.
“Yes, scared. A child … it’s amazing … wonderful … terrifying!”
“You don’t mind then?”
“Mind? No. I’m terrified at the thought of being a rubbish dad and this world … bringing a child into this world makes me feel sad but …” he stops and pushes her back a little then looks straight into her eyes and a smile breaks out across his face and his eyes widen. “Are we really going to have a baby?”
Tension drains from her shoulders as she watches his amazed confusion. “Yes, yes we are.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Soon!”
“Yes, me and Lina—we calculated that I must already be about seven months gone-”
“Seven months! But you’re not fat—sure you’ve got a bit of a belly, but I thought you were just getting a bit—you know—podgy-”
“Hey!” she says giving his arm a playful knock.
“But seriously, Finn, you don’t look that far gone.”
“Well, my mum was always small—you really couldn’t tell she was pregnant with my brother until about the time he was ready to pop out.”
“Oh,” he replies with a grimace. “I have no idea—all women’s stuff!”
“Me neither! Lina found a book at the library-”
“So that’s what you’ve been up to! Carl was complaining that you’d been skiving off allotment duties recently,” he says as he strokes her cheek.
“I’m sorry … but we had to know for sure, and neither of us know anything—not really.”
Silence crowds the room as Lina remains in the chair and Deacon walks across to the window, his face turned away from her she waits for the news to settle in him.
“We’ll be OK,” he mutters though she’s not sure he’s talking to her or trying to convince himself.
Chapter 13
One Month later
The orange light of the petrol gauge flashes to red as Sergei changes the gear to third to push the van up the hill. Just eight more miles and they’ll be back home. Saskia sits beside him, her head resting on her shoulder. She gives a short snort and he elbows her—if he can’t sleep neither can she. She doesn’t wake. He makes a sharp, short turn to the right with the steering wheel and she jolts in her seat.
“What is it? What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he lies as the van moves smoothly forward. “We’re nearly back,” he says to engage her in conversation—lazy cow had better not go back to sleep. He takes the third turning off the roundabout and shifts the gear down to help the van up the hill. Moving into fourth the orange petrol warning light flashes on.
“We’re nearly out of fuel.”
“Again?”
“Yep. We’ve done forty miles.”
“We’ll have to re-stock.”
“Yep, and stop travelling so far.”
“No, we can’t do that. Further out is where they are.”
“Don’t you have enough now?”
“Perhaps, but a couple more wouldn’t harm.”
“Surely six kids is enough, Saskia. I mean—we’ve got to feed them as well—things are hard enough as it is.”
“Kids don’t eat much and we need them, Sergei—to dig the vegetable beds and do the washing and stuff.”
“Sure, I get that, Saskia, but still six is enough.”
“Perhaps,” she says though he recognises the lack of agreement in her voice—she’s just fobbing him off. “I’ve been thinking about taking over some more gardens and getting them planted up as well. Deacon-”
“Deacon? What’s he got to do with it?”
“If you’d let me finish! Deacon has got the whole of the allotments—they’ve planted up a huge area.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just know—that’s all.”
“Saskia?” he says with a warning voice. “How?”
“I paid a visit—that’s all.”
“What? You went to the allotments. He’ll rip you to shreds if he ever catches hold of you.”
“Hah! He can try. Anyway, I went to have a look and they’ve got beds and beds of vegetables planted: tomatoes, parsnips, carrots, marrows—all sorts of stuff, and there’s an orchard down there too.”
“And you think that’s what we need to be doing?”
“Yes, well, that’s what the kids can help with—they can dig and plant stuff and harvest it when it’s ready. Carl said he’d teach them. But, in the meantime—like you said, the kids need feeding—so, in the meantime, perhaps we could just … borrow some of their vegetables—for the kids.”
“Pah! You want to go in and steal their vegetables?”
“No, not me—the kids.”
“You’re having a laugh?”
“No, Sergei. I’m deadly serious. I’ve told Loz-”
“You’ve told Loz what?”
“I’ve told Loz that he should go down there about four when no one’s around and do a bit of harvesting.”
“You told him what?”
“We need to eat, Sergei. The kids need to eat.”
“You mean they
’re there now?”
“Yep,” she replies with a smile. “You can cook one of your vegetable stews when they get back. Shame we haven’t got any meat to go in it.”
“Well, you’re resourceful, I’ll give you that. We picked up a few tins of Irish Stew. I’ll mix that in.”
“Ugh! You know I hate that stuff.”
“Can’t be picky these days, Saskia. You’re lucky. You’ve got food to eat—that old bloke we saw at the roadside—he looked like he was starving to death—properly starving to death.”
“Yeah, he did,” she says and looks out of the window. “Anyway, I’ve never liked stew. What I want is a nice roast.”
“Don’t, Saskia.”
“Sorry.”
He looks down at the fuel gauge again. “You know, we’re really going to have to be more self-sufficient. Travelling for forty miles to find food isn’t something we can keep up—not with the difficulties we’re having getting petrol.”
“Hmm.”
“We’re nearly out of fuel—again! We’re down to our last cannister.”
“You can get some more.”
“No, Saskia. Getting petrol is becoming a real problem. Every car I get to these days has already been syphoned off—I reckon it’s that lot down at the football field.”
“I shouldn’t wonder, but surely there’s plenty of petrol around? It’s not as if there’s many cars on the road anymore.”
“No, but if they’re hoarding it all, there’s less for us.”
“Greedy sods!”
He raises an eyebrow knowing that the irony of the statement is lost on his socially challenged sister.
“It’s time we sorted that problem out.”
“Sorted?”
“Well, I think it’s time we convinced them to share a little of their hoard. Don’t you?”
Sergei looks down again at the petrol gauge—less than a quarter of a tank and only one full cannister back at home. “Yes, sis. I think you may be right.”
“Good. We’re agreed then.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Just a small distraction. You’ll see.”
The Route to Justice: A post-apocalyptic survival thriller (A World Torn Down Book 5) Page 6
