Blood Bond (7 page)

Cheryl arrived at Damian's bedroom at ten o'clock as ordered, knocking timidly on the oak door. Inside the room she could see two candles, one on each of the bedside tables, illuminating the drapes of the four-poster bed on which Damian lay, naked. She could also see the door on the far side of the room, leading to what once had been a dressing room. Now it was Damian's special room — a room that he kept locked at all times. She felt herself shiver. Was it the chill of the evening or what she had been told lay behind the locked door?

Cheryl had discarded her grey tunic as instructed and was dressed in a silk blouse and flowing skirt she had selected from the film-set wardrobe.

‘What's in there?' Damian asked, pointing at the bag she was carrying.

She laughed softly. ‘Have you never been to Soho, Sir Damian, and seen the strippers carrying their costume bags between clubs?'

Damian shrugged. He'd been to Soho, but hadn't been looking at girls.

‘A costume for every occasion,' Cheryl explained.

‘And what have you done to your hair?'

‘Got sick of it being so long,' she lied.

‘Well, it's certainly short enough now!'

Cheryl placed the bag on a chair beneath the window and stood before him.

‘Well, let's get on with it,' Damian said brusquely. ‘The idea is to get you pregnant. The sooner you're in the club, the sooner I'll get His Lordship off my back.'

She noticed him watching her intently as she undressed and was grateful for the soft light so he couldn't see her scars. She took her clothes off as seductively as she could; she had a good figure and she knew it. Finally she lowered her knickers to the floor and walked over to the bed, her full, firm breasts swaying before his eyes. Cheryl knelt before him, placed her nipples on his chest and dragging them down his torso until they reached his groin. In the flickering candlelight she saw his penis slowly growing.

He quickly rolled to straddle her, but it was no use — she felt him slip out almost immediately. She tried to help, but could get no response. As he collapsed on the bed beside her, his back turned away from her, she heard him moan in frustration and anger. She reached over and touched his shoulder.

‘Get out,' he said.

She didn't move.

‘Get out!'

‘Go though to your special room,' she whispered in his ear.

‘What special room?'

‘You know where I mean — the dressing room.'

‘What do you know about my room?'

‘I know everything about your special room.'

‘How?'

She didn't answer the question. ‘I also know how to make you happy,' she whispered. ‘Go into your special room and wait for me. I'll make you happier than you've been since Mathew was there with you.'

‘How do you know about Mathew?' he asked warily.

Again she did not answer the question. ‘I know how Mathew made you happy,' she said softly. She reached over and felt his penis; it was hard. ‘Now go and wait for me.'

Damian rose from the bed, collected one of the candles and walked to the dressing room door. She watched as he lifted the corner of a painting and fumbled behind it. So that was where he hid the key.

‘I won't be long,' she said as he unlocked the door.

‘Don't be,' he commanded as he disappeared through the doorway.

Cheryl felt sick. So everything she had been told about Damian and his perversions was true. He had preyed on her younger brother, Mathew, making him his sex slave until Mathew could stand it no longer and had tried to escape. Then the Chatfields had hunted him down and beheaded him in front of the whole community. Cheryl was determined to take her revenge.

She hurried to her bag, took out a damp cloth and removed her make-up before combing back her hair, wrapping bandages around her chest and putting on the clothes she had brought with her.

‘Hurry up!' Damian called impatiently.

He was sprawled on a pink velvet chaise longue as she entered the room. In the candlelight she saw the shock on his face and then watched as the look was replaced by one of pleasure and excitement.

With her hair parted, her breasts bound tightly and wearing Mathew's clothes, she was the spitting image of her dead brother.

In the eerie light the nude men and boys on the posters taped to the walls seemed to come alive, watching as she slowly unbuckled her trousers. So this was where he'd brought the drugged Mathew, where he'd tied him up and raped him. She had to push away that knowledge, to steel herself, to fight every urge that made her want to run away. She let the trousers slip down and, with her back to Damian, walked over to the strangely constructed apparatus in the centre of the room. She pulled the shirt up above her buttocks, bent over and grasped the handles.

When it was all over she heard him moan again, in a mixture of pleasure and relief. He lay draped over her back, stroking her neck, running his fingers through her hair. She knew it wasn't her hair that
he imagined he was caressing.

‘Go,' he said.

She sensed that he wanted her to leave before the spell was broken. But it was time for reality to return. As he returned to the chaise longue she turned, unbuttoned the shirt, took it off and removed the bandages, revealing her breasts. She stood before him again as a woman.

‘Get out!' he yelled.

‘Tomorrow I will come again. Wait for me in here. I shall come as Mathew and I shall leave as Mathew. If you are a good boy, you will never see me as a woman again in this room.'

He was unsettled. ‘Why are you saying this?'

‘I'm your special little boy, Damian,' she said softly.

‘Why are you doing this?'

‘Because if you ever', she began, her voice hard as steel, ‘touch Ruben or Harry, or any of the other children in Haver, His Lordship will know your dirty little secret.'

She was not surprised when he suddenly fled from the room or when he burst back in, waving his pistol. She had already picked up Mathew's clothes from the floor.

‘Don't shoot me, Damian,' she said softly. ‘Do you think I came here tonight, having made all these preparations, without thinking everything through?' Unnerved, he lowered the pistol. ‘If you harm me, or my children, or any of the other children at Haver, I promise you, the letter I have already written will be delivered to your father.'

‘You bitch.'

‘No, Damian, I'm not a bitch,' she said as she walked past him into the bedroom. ‘I'm your special little boy. And tomorrow night your special little boy will return, and you'll make love to him and stroke his hair and be happy. Wait for him in your special room. He'll be here at the same time.'

Trying to hide her shaking, she put Mathew's clothes in the bag, donned her skirt and blouse, and slipped from the room.

The next night she returned. Damian had left both the doors ajar and was waiting in the dressing room as instructed. Alone in
the bedroom, she quickly transformed her appearance, then slipped through the door into the dressing room and over to the strange apparatus.

He was with her immediately: anxious, caressing and impatient. When he was satisfied, she left. Not a word had been spoken. Words would have broken the illusion.

She returned every night. Her days were spent dreading what lay ahead. But each night the thought of what he might otherwise do to her children forced her up the stairs towards his room.

He was always waiting for her. Neither of them would speak. Sometimes he would snuff out the candle and in the darkness she would act out rituals that took him to strange worlds of fantasy and violence.

 

Damian often boasted to his father and brothers of the good time he was having with Cheryl. The other members of the Chatfield family, however, kept their business between Diana and the women concerned.

Nigel watched Jasper's eyes follow Jennifer as she worked on the stone wall at the end of the garden. Earlier he'd heard Jennifer giggling when Jasper had sauntered down to relay his father's instructions to build the wall a foot higher.

‘Are you screwing that woman?' Nigel demanded.

‘Sure am — that woman's forgotten more about sex than any other woman I've ever slept with,' Jasper boasted, winking to his brothers.

‘She's too old,' spat Nigel.

‘Many a fine tune played on an old fiddle,' Jasper said, recalling Damian's words.

‘She's too old to have children, I mean,' Nigel said. ‘Your job is not to pleasure yourself, it's to produce more subjects. That goes for the rest of you, too. I want pregnant women. I want male heirs.'

The edict delivered, he stormed off, passing Diana on the way back to his quarters. ‘I've had enough of those stupid young girls. I need a real woman. Send me Jennifer.'

‘Yes, Your Lordship.'

Diana, suppressing a smile, hurried off to tell Virginia the good news that she had at last managed to persuade Nigel to leave her daughters alone — at least for the present.

 

One night, after a couple of weeks, Cheryl sensed that Damian was agitated. When she entered the dressing room he was sitting on the edge of the chaise longue, shoulders hunched, his chin cupped in his hands. She went through her routine a little more slowly, a little more seductively. She felt him move behind her.

‘You've got to get pregnant,' he blurted. ‘His Lordship says my brothers and I have to produce babies and build up the community's numbers. It's all Jasper's fault.'

She didn't ask him what Jasper had done; she simply turned around, arched herself across the apparatus, took his penis and drew him into her.

‘It's no good,' he said as he struggled unsuccessfully to maintain his erection.

She spoke to him for the first time in over two weeks. ‘Give Mary-Claire back to me,' she said softly, ‘and I promise I'll get pregnant.'

‘How?'

‘That's my problem — leave it to me and don't worry. No one will ever know the baby's not yours.'

‘There's no way I can get Mary-Claire back to you.'

‘I'm sure you can persuade your father if you really try,' she said gently, then added more sternly, ‘If I don't get pregnant, your father will force you to sleep with other women. Do you want everyone to know your secret? Now come on, stop worrying — just get Mary-Claire back to me and everything will be all right.'

As
Archangel
sailed from Cape Town, the mood aboard grew increasingly tense. Mark fretted about the lack of stores. He knew he should have stayed longer and gathered more food, but he'd felt pressure to leave Cape Town — not only from Steven, but also from Robert and Luke. He was also annoyed that having to leave in such a rush had not given him the hoped-for opportunity to spend some time alone with Allison. With the loss of Adam, at least there would only be the two of them on the twelve-to-four watch. In the early hours of the morning, when everyone else was asleep, they would at last have time alone together.

During the day, Allison was spending much of her time with Luke and Robert, who had become quiet and withdrawn since the death of their father. She shared in their grief; Adam had been her brother.

‘Why didn't you come when you heard us fire the four shots?' Robert asked Mark angrily on the second morning out from Cape Town.

‘It wasn't safe.'

‘What was the point of arranging a warning signal if you didn't have the guts to come and help us?'

‘Your father was told to be back before dark.'

‘He was just doing his job, finding food for everyone else. You should have come for us.'

‘It wouldn't have made any difference,' said Fergus quietly. ‘Your father was already dead.'

‘How do you know?'

Fergus shook his head. The piercing scream and deathly silence that followed had been proof enough for him.

‘If we had come for you in the dark there could have been further fatalities — probably
would
have been,' Steven said.

Robert, followed by his sad-faced brother, stomped below with a scowl on his face.

‘You shouldn't be so harsh on them,' Allison rebuked the others. ‘They're only fourteen and fifteen, for heaven's sake, and they've just lost their father.'

Mark felt hurt. Once again she hadn't supported him. It seemed that her family loyalties really were stronger than her loyalty to him.

The happiest couple aboard were undoubtedly Fergus and Jessica. It was like they were treating the voyage as a game, with the purpose of seeing how often and in how many places they could make love, under the noses of their relatives and out of sight of the ever-inquisitive Tommy and Lee.

Steven and Penny's lovemaking was more restrained. Despite that, they shared a deeper, more mature love than Fergus and Jessica — a love that kept Penny awake at night listening to Steven calling to his sister Jane; a love that had her ready to comfort him and coax him back to sleep when he awoke from the nightmares.

 

She had thought it was the nightmares that were causing him to sweat so profusely on the third night of their onward voyage, but it wasn't. By the time dawn broke she was sweating herself. And, like several others aboard, they were both coughing.

Uncharacteristically, Steven was reluctant to get up for the eight-to-twelve watch. He had a headache and appeared to have a
fever. It was sheer willpower that drove him to drag himself up the companionway into the cockpit. He found his father and Allison hunched together there. They looked terrible.

‘What's happening?' Steven asked.

Mark shook his head. His nose was bleeding slightly. ‘How do you feel?'

‘Weak.'

‘We do too. Get everyone who's able to get up on deck. Let's get the sails down while we still have the strength.'

Mark was already too ill to work himself. Only Robert and Jessica were able to help Steven. Five-year-old Lee, who unlike his cousin Tommy had also come on deck, was given the helm and told to hold the boat steady. It took the three adults over an hour to get the sails down and secured.

‘What do you think it is?' Steven asked Allison.

‘Heaven knows. Obviously some sort of fever. I've got no idea.'

Mark sneezed blood into his handkerchief. ‘Can you get me some water from the galley?' he asked Lee.

It occurred to Steven and Jessica in the same instant. ‘The water we took on in Cape Town!'

Mark nodded. ‘You're right! It has to be.'

‘This looks like more than just the effects of contaminated water,' cautioned Allison.

‘Whatever we're dealing with, we shouldn't drink it anymore.'

But the fever was making them all thirsty. Their misery was compounded as they realised that if they didn't die of the fever, they would die of thirst.

‘The jerrycan on the port side of the mast wasn't filled in Cape Town,' Steven said suddenly. ‘It's still holding rainwater from the tropics.'

‘Get it down here, and rig up a sail to collect more rainwater,' said Mark, adding apologetically, ‘I'm sorry to sit here giving orders — I'm just too weak to help.'

 

For the next twelve days
Archangel
was at the mercy of the elements, sometimes wallowing in windless seas, sometimes driven onwards
under bare poles. She was carried on an erratic course, steered by currents and fickle winds as her human cargo battled the fever that gripped them.

Conditions below deck became intolerable. The stench was appalling, although every available hatch was open. The crew lay sweating in their bunks, sometimes calling out as they slipped in and out of delirium. The only person aboard with medical training, Allison, was unable to help herself, let alone anyone else. Those who were not constipated had chronic diarrhoea, and few could make it to the heads. What little strength they could muster was used to drag themselves up the companionway to scoop up rainwater trapped in the sail draped across the cockpit. Those able to climb the steps carried precious fluid down to those unable to leave their berths.

Yet somehow they survived.

‘What do you think it was?' Mark whispered to Allison when he finally realised they were both recovering.

‘I'm not sure. I've been trying to think back to my lectures at nursing college. The only disease I can think of that fits is typhoid. But this disease seems to have progressed more rapidly than I would have expected with typhoid and, given the absence of medicine, if it was typhoid I would have expected fatalities.'

At the end of the third week at sea, life returned to some semblance of normality. Steven took a sight and established that they were a third of the way to Brisbane. The cabin was cleaned and the contaminated water tanks were emptied and disinfected. Sails were hoisted as the crew's strength returned. Steven assembled a system of canopies and hoses leading to tank-filling points that could be deployed whenever it rained, and the frequency of fronts sweeping rain past them encouraged Mark to continue on towards Brisbane rather than make an earlier landfall.

Each day as they headed east, Mark spent more and more time at the radio, frantically trying to raise Jane. But although they were well on their way home, nothing had changed. Still only static greeted his efforts.

 

Archangel
was two days out from Brisbane. It was a beautiful night,
with a moon full enough to light the sea, but not to dim the brilliance of the stars. The breeze was steady and
Archangel
's sails were set to perfection. She almost sailed herself.

Mark sat in the corner of the cockpit, his leg extended, one foot resting on the wheel. Only occasionally did he have to coax it a few centimetres one way or the other to keep the yacht on course. Allison sat snuggled into his side, staring out to sea. But despite their physical closeness, their thoughts were in different places.

Mark was very aware of the sea and the sky. Three albatross weaved effortlessly from side to side above
Archangel
's wake, hanging in the air, occasionally dipping down to the wave tops before rising again. There seemed to be more birds following the yacht on this journey than there had been a year ago. The increased numbers confirmed to him just how devastating the fishing industry had been on the albatross population before the pandemic. He wondered how long the species would have survived without the intervention of the disease.

Gloomy thoughts began to get the better of him. He wondered whether his search for other human beings left alive was a waste of time. Even if he could accumulate sufficient people with a broad enough gene pool to ensure a viable population, would the Earth continue to support human life in the long term? Had the exploitation, the greed of mankind, already changed the climate too much?

Then the breeze brought the soft smell of Allison towards him. No, it couldn't be too late. Life was too precious. Mankind had to survive.

His focus shifted to Allison. Acutely aware of her presence, both physically and spiritually, he could sense her mind was somewhere else.

‘A penny for your thoughts,' he said. His voice startled her a little, but she recovered and snuggled closer. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘What were you thinking about?'

‘Mother. Whether everyone at Haver is OK.'

‘I'm sure your mother is fine,' Mark assured her yet again. ‘You know your family will look after her.'

‘Will Nigel let them? You do know that the only reason I agreed to live with him was so that he'd order his sons to find medicine for her arthritis?'

‘I guessed that was the reason.'

‘I should have thought more about her medicine before agreeing to escape with you.'

‘Your mother wanted you to leave. She told you to come. I heard her tell you.'

‘She would say that though, wouldn't she? You know what she was like — always putting everyone else before herself.'

Mark sensed Allison's feelings of guilt. ‘How much medicine did your mother have stockpiled?'

‘Well … quite a lot.'

‘There you go, then.'

‘But you know how vindictive Nigel can be. It would be just like him to tip the tablets down the drain in front of her.'

Mark sighed. ‘Steven and I always planned to escape if we couldn't overthrow Nigel. One of the things I did, right at the beginning of our preparations, was to write a letter to Nigel, telling him that we would be back — and warning him not to harm any of our relatives. I handed the letter to Diana to give to him before I left.'

Allison pulled away and sat up. ‘When are we going back?' He could hear the excitement in her voice.

‘We're not. It was just a ploy — a threat to make sure he didn't enact any retribution on the rest of the community after we'd left.' Allison said nothing, but he could feel her disappointment. ‘You'll love New Zealand,' he promised her for the umpteenth time. ‘It's a beautiful country.'

‘More beautiful than Kent?'

‘A different kind of beauty. And a better climate where we're going. No more frost or snow.'

‘In other words — no seasons! I love the changing seasons.'

‘You'll love Gulf Harbour. We've got everything set up: a farm, vineyards, electric lighting, running water, school rooms, a library, music, games. Everything! We've even got a dentist's chair.'

‘Well, that's certainly something to look forward to!'

Mark gave up. He realised that no matter how he tried, he couldn't offer her the one thing she really wanted: her mother.

 

Despite having initially been opposed to calling at Brisbane, even Steven was excited as
Archangel
approached the Australian coast. At first light, the tip of Moreton Island, the largest sand island in the world, loomed into view.

Leaving the treacherous Flinders Reef to port, Steven was relieved to find that the leading buoy and the majority of the channel markers were still in place. They picked their way carefully through the narrow channels which offered safe passage through the myriad of sand banks that guarded entry to Moreton Bay.

‘Where are we making for, Uncle Mark?' Robert asked as they entered the deeper waters of the harbour. He had been studying the chart while his brother Luke helmed.

‘Manly Marina — it's one of the largest marinas in the southern hemisphere. We know from our experience at Gulf Harbour that marinas are the most likely place to find diesel, and we're practically out of fuel. It'll be a good base, and while Steven checks over
Archangel
and searches for fuel I can head into Brisbane city overland with the rest of the crew and look for Great-Uncle William's relatives.'

‘Like Fergus suggested, we should light a bonfire as soon as we berth, just in case there's anyone alive in the Manly area,' Steven said, although it sounded as if he thought the idea was a waste of time.

Due to the light winds, it had taken most of the day to navigate up the harbour, past Mud Island and through the passage between St Helena and Green islands towards Manly. Dusk was beckoning.

‘What in heaven's name has gone on here?' murmured Mark as they approached the marina entrance. They were sailing in a dying breeze, barely making way. ‘How the hell did that get there?' He could see a large barge lying across the marina entrance, blocking it completely. He handed the binoculars to Steven.

‘It looks as if it's been blown up and sunk there on purpose,' Steven replied as he handed back the binoculars.

Mark turned to Luke. ‘Steer straight for the wreck — we'll anchor at the entrance to the channel and row in by dinghy.'

‘We could cut through Boat Passage into the Brisbane River,' Steven suggested as his father scanned the foreshore to the right of the marina.

‘No way,' Mark said, his face beaming. ‘I can see people ashore.'

‘Never!'

Mark passed back the binoculars and Robert raced below and retrieved the yacht's other pair.

‘There's nothing wrong with your eyesight, is there?' Steven exclaimed, his voice raised in disbelief.

‘It's pure luck that I saw them,' Mark confessed. ‘I noticed the sun's reflection off something moving on the shore.' As
Archangel
altered course once again and swung towards the beach, the family gathered in the cockpit and binoculars were passed among the crew.