Interrupted Journey

Chapter 7 - Stab

Stab and I managed, with some minimal help from the other girl, to maneuver the cart contraption back down the road towards Greendale and conceal it in a track through some scrubby bushes. Not a terribly good hiding place but at least it wasn't immediately visible to somebody on the road. We placed some branches on it to help hide it then sat down together on a log behind some bushes to wait for Laura.

It was a good thing that we concealed the cart. As we waited, a couple of groups passed along the road, both heading away from the direction of the smoke. I would have liked to talk with them but our load was too valuable to risk. I would have to trust Laura to find out what was going on.

I wanted to ask Stab about her background but sensed that direct questions wouldn't work. Instead I told her about my life since the day and about the farm and she responded by telling me her story. Throughout the narration, though, she continued to refer to Theodora in the third person and there was not a flicker of emotion. It was if she were reading words that she didn't understand.

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Before 'the day' Theodora had gone to a famous private school. Certainly I knew the name and knew that her family must have had money. I'd have liked to know where it came from but didn't want to disturb her flow by asking.

When everything had stopped working, her father quickly grasped the scale of the unfolding disaster. On the second day, he had them walking out from their home - in one of the more affluent suburbs East of Manchester - towards their holiday cottage in the hills slightly north of us.

At first they had no problems. The cottage was very remote and they had plenty of food which they had extended with fishing from the nearby stream.

Eventually, the food had started to run out and when her father had gone into a local village to try to trade for some more, someone must have followed him back to the cottage.

The attack had been unexpected and overwhelming. The gang of about fifteen had firearms and they didn't. At the end of it, her father was dead, her mother wounded and she and her younger sister tied up. Eventually her mother had died - though not before she had been ruthlessly used by nearly every member of the gang.

Theodora hadn't been able to eat the small bowl of stew they offered her that night. She had seen them efficiently butchering her mother before they started to cook. They had clearly had plenty of practice.

The gang travelled on the next day, with Theodora and her sister forced to carry heavy loads of loot. There was the constant menace of a fist, a boot or a cruel grope if they failed to keep up. Mind you, even keeping up did not prevent the groping. The load was heavy, the terrain rough, the distances large and the food was inadequate.

After about a week, a couple of the gang returned from some side trip with several bottles of spirits. They had a special party that night with Theodora's younger sister as the guest of honour. Though bound, Theodora tried to protest, even offering herself instead.

"Don't worry," one of the leaders had said, with an evil leer as he rubbed his hands over her body. "Your turn will come." He had gagged her and, when she continued to struggle, kicked her into insensitivity.

Theodora had eaten the stew the next day. She had to. She was just so hungry.

Two days later she had been sold to the slaver caravan for seven tins of food and two bottles of spirits.

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"I'd like to give you a hug," I told Stab when she had finished her story, "but I would completely understand if you didn't want any contact."