The Rot

Chapter Seven.

The first warning they had of the gang's approach was the heavy crunching of feet along the shingle.

"It's them!" hissed Saphie, walking with a start. "They're back! They must have realised we tricked them. We're in trouble!"

They could hear the distant voices closing in on them, becoming more imminent.

As they crawled out of their tents, still in shock, Huddez screamed, "GOTCHA!"

Huddez and the gang members swore and started fighting. Screams tore the night air. Knives plunged deep into soft bodies. Everyone was hurt- some were dead.

Somehow, though cut and bruised, Saphie, Jacob and Keelin survived. They staggered from the campsite down to the raft and set sail into the darkness.

Just as the first cold light of dawn began to illuminate the distant horizon, the raft touched bground somewhere near the ruins of Canterbury. The aching arms of Jacob stopped rowing as the oars touched the wet sand. He turned to look at the sleepy faces of Saphie and Keelin.

"Where are we?" asked Saphie. She was tired and confused.

"In the ruins of Canterbury. We can make a camp here," replied Jacob.

Reluctantly, Keelin sat up and looked at the dilapidated surroundings. The survivors crawled wearily off their ramshackle raft and chucked themselves on to the faded yellow sand.

"So it's come to this," announced Keelin. "Living like outcasts. But I suppose this is the way it has to be."

Saphie shot an angry look at him and growled, "It's not our fault, so stop moaning."

Keelin smirked and thought to himself, she's fit when she's angry.

They left the shore and wandered around, looking for signs of civilisation. Keelin noticed something under a bush. He rushed up to it shouting, "hey guys, look what I've found!"

Saphie and Jacob ran over to see, right infront of them, two small, packed-up tents, ready to be pitched. It was a miracle!

"This is perfect. Saphie and I can share and you can have one all to yourself like before," said Jacob with a wicked grin. Keelin struggled to contain his anger and jealousy. He clenched his sweaty fists.

When the camp was ready, Jacob and Saphie climbed into their overnight shelter while Keelin perched himself on a large log in front of the blazing campfire. He could hear the flirtatious laughs and giggles of Saphie coming from their tent.

"She will be mine sooner or later big brother..." he muttered into the darkness.

By the next evening Keelin was struggling to control himself. It was so much better when there were just the two of us, he thought. And it would be so much better if there were just the two of us again. Saphie and me. His jealousy seethed within him like a roaring volcano. He bit his tongue until blood ran down his cheek. He couldn't control himself any longer. He had decided how he was going to get revenge on Jacob that night.

He snarled with mixed emotions as he looked at the granite sky above him and smiled with a crooked, mischievous grin. It made him a different person, the wrong person. As if to match his mood, it started to rain. The rain drizzled down on his grubby face as he carefully took his metallic dagger out of his torn pocket, beads of raindrops scattered on it, before replacing it.

"It was better with just two of us," he mumbled.

"Keelin! Come and give us a hand over here will you?" shouted Jacob. "And whilst you're at it, get out of that daydream of yours!"

"UGGH!" replied Keelin.

"Come on. It's raining and I'm freezing," shouted Saphie.

Darkness was starting to enclose the horrific Canterbury ruins that lay around their encampment. Rations were tight and fresh water was difficult to find. Life was hard, harder than they had ever experienced before.

As before, Jacob and Saphie went into their tent, leaving Keelin outside by the fire. His jealousy swelled within him. He waited until the moon was at its highest, swearing to himself that he would finish it once for all.

He waited and waited until the laughing and chattering gradually died down inside the tent. He had his dagger in his left hand, ready. When all was still, he saw a figure stepping out of the tent. He recognised Saphie's hoodie. Right, he thought, she must need to go to the toilet. Thank goodness. The coast is clear.

Keelin lifted up the dagger and rehearsed what he was going to do in his head. Finally, glancing once again, the hooded figure in the trees to his left, he plunged the dagger through the tent wall into the figure in the sleeping bag inside.

He'd done it. At last! He stooped down, entered the tent.

"What are you doing in here, Keelin?" It was Jacob's voice. Jacob's? Jacob's!

Keelin spun around to see his brother. He was wearing Saphie's hoodie. A horrible shiver ran down Keelin's spine.

Turning round and looking at the person in the sleeping bag, the person he had murdered, a cold chill seized Keelin's heart. He stared in disbelief at the corpse of Saphie, beautiful even in death. From behind him came the dreadful grieving sobs of Jacob.

Without a word, Keelin stood up and ran out into the night.