“No,” Jamie said. “A few mumbled words, but I didn’t understand what they were.”
“A pity,” Stephen said. “Sometimes people let slip important information when they’re not in the best condition. In any case, keep a close eye on her. It’ll be a bit of a shock for her when she wakes up.”
Jamie nodded and peered through the window at the girl in the bed. She was smaller than he thought. How she could be so heavy, he didn’t know. She was a little thing. With all the grime cleaned off, the dust removed, her soiled clothes removed and in all likelihood incinerated, she was actually very pretty. For a girl. She was bald, her head blinking with light from the window behind her, the sunlight strong in the mid-afternoon.
“So, when would you like to take her home?” Stephen said.
It took a moment for Jamie to process what Stephen had said.
“Sorry?” he said.
“The girl,” Stephen said. “She’s your responsibility now. That’s what your father told me.”
That sounded just like this father. He could never pass up an opportunity to educate his son about an important life topic. This was would come under the banner of Responsibility. To cope with the consequences of our actions. It was a talk he’d heard often. Jamie always managed to find himself in trouble. So this was the price he had to pay for not following his father’s orders. For heading into the desert and putting his life at risk.
He was a babysitter.
22.
THE HORSE was in poor health, snorting loudly through his wide nostrils. The woman on his back suspected he wasn’t long for this world. His ribs probed at his flesh, malnourished and starving. The sun was hot, its rays tangible on her skin, which itched, turning red. It was not a pleasant feeling.
The horse was a slow beast, and uncomfortable to ride. She’d headed east as the young boy had told her but she had yet to discover a sign the girl had passed this way. If need be, she would turn back to speak with the boy again. If he forced her to waste time, it would not end well for him. She was about to stop and head back when she spotted something of interest.
A short rise of rocks fashioned by the wind, wide at the base and narrow at the top, a whipped cream quiff. It was the only natural feature of note for miles in any direction. The mountains she’d come from were now nothing but a short jagged rise on the horizon. As the woman neared the rise, she heard something.
A croak from a torn throat.
The horse became skittish, apparently used to hearing this sound. The woman forced the horse forward. He drifted right as they came around the strange rock formation. There wasn’t just one of the Rage creatures but three. They were gnawing at the remains of a body that had been crushed beneath a large rock.
They turned to peer back at the woman on horseback, growling, and continuing to feed on the body. The woman dismounted and led the horse back to the opposite side of the rock formation. She tied him to a rock and began to scale up the strange rock formation. She bent over and appraised the rocks as she did, looking carefully at the marks etched in the rocks’ surface. Nothing of significance, she decided.
She reached the top and took a seat. Several large rocks were perched on the top, gathered like they were having a town meeting. They too had been shaped by the wind. Various sizes but all the same shape: near-perfect spheres. She put her hands to one of the rocks and gently pushed it. It gave easily beneath minimal pressure and rolled over the side.
Thud!
The rock had fallen, embedding itself in the hard ground below, missing the previously crushed undead by inches. The creatures that had been feasting on it were gone.
A scream behind her.
The Rages had grown tired of gnawing at fleshless bones and set upon the horse. It rose on its hind legs and kicked at the Rages. It struck one, knocking it back. It struck the second with its powerful head, shunting it to the ground. It was too distracted to notice the third creature creeping up behind it. The Rage buried its teeth in its thick, meaty flank.
The horse screamed louder, spinning on the spot to dislodge the creature. Its reins tightened, straining at the rock it was tied to. It wasn’t about to get free anytime soon. The former two zombies got to their feet and converged on the horse, which peered at them with terrified wide eyes. It was doomed.
The woman calmly got to her feet, dusted off her hands, and climbed down the rise on the opposite side. The horse had helpfully given her a distraction. The horse’s wailing screams chased her as she continued her journey on foot, heading east.
23.
JAMIE POURED the tin of soup into the saucepan. He increased the heat and gently stirred. Oxtail soup. Just about the only flavour they had left. It was fortunate for the girl because it was meant to be among the best for sickness. Just as the soup began to bubble, Jamie turned the hob off. He brought the saucepan to a bowl and poured the soup into it. He used a wooden spoon to get every last drop into the bowl. He placed a single roll on a separate plate, joining the bowl on the tray.
He carried it across the living space and down the corridor to his bedroom. He pushed the door open with his backside and turned as he entered. The girl hadn’t stirred an inch. He’d been suspicious in case she got up and wandered around while he was out of the room, so he’d tucked the blanket in under the mattress. If she’d gotten out of the bed, it would have been impossible for her to tuck it back in the same way he’d done it.
It was his first day on babysitter duty. So far, things were going well. Stephen had given him a list of items to complete until she woke up and could do them herself. Jamie had been dumbfounded when he came halfway down the list to the words, “Bathe her.” He’d been immensely relieved when Theresa dropped by to volunteer that item herself.
“Make sure to talk to her,” Stephen had said. “People do hear and understand the things said to them when they’re unconscious. It’ll be easier for her to trust you if she recognizes your voice when she wakes up.”
“I, uh, made you some food,” Jamie said.
He scratched his head. Not sure what else he was supposed to say.
“You must be pretty hungry,” he said. “I. . . suppose I should feed you too, right?”
The girl, of course, didn’t respond. Still lost in her own world.
Jamie put his hand to her forehead. She wasn’t hot. That was something else the doc told him to look out for. She was weak, her immune system shot after her extended time in the sun. Jamie was not only a babysitter but a nurse.
He sat on the edge of the bed. It was a bit awkward holding the tray with one hand and spooning the soup with the other. He finally settled on holding the tray from underneath. It was only a little warm from the bowl. He filled the spoon with some soup. He blew on it, ridding it of excess heat. He tried the first spoonful himself. Not too hot. Barely even warm. And it tasted good. He filled another spoon and moved it toward her mouth. It was closed. He pressed her bottom lip down, opening it with the spoon, and tipped the soup into her mouth.
Aware she could instinctively recoil, her body thinking she was drowning, Jamie leaned back. There was so little on the spoon that it ought to trickle down her throat without her body even noticing. The reaction didn’t come.
Jamie spooned more soup into her mouth. Slowly. He glanced at her closed lids, at the smooth skin of her face. She had the palest skin he’d ever seen. She looked like one of Angie’s porcelain dolls. No one had perfect skin like that at this commune.
Jamie kept feeding the girl the soup. Her eyes moved left to right in rapid movement. She was dreaming. He wondered what she was dreaming about. Deserts and demons most likely.
Man, he was bored. It was all fine and good taking care of someone but Jamie needed adventure. Something to help him escape the monotony of his boring life. His boring life of less than two hours. . .
The doorbell rang. Relieved, Jamie put the tray on his desk and left the room.
24.
THE MOMENT Jamie left the room, the girl’s eyes opene
d. They were big and blue, more than a little afraid. She ran her hand over her lips and across her tongue to dislodge the liquid he’d forced down her throat. It had a sinister aftertaste. Worst of all, she’d swallowed some!
She wriggled her body up, escaping via the hole at the top. She’d woken up earlier but hadn’t had time to overcome the boy’s tucked in blanket trap. Any movement she made would have given her away. After he’d sat on the edge of his bed, he’d loosened the blanket enough for her to wriggle free. She wouldn’t have worried about the trap if knew she could escape the house before he returned. But she didn’t.
She hopped down onto the floor. And immediately regretted it. Her head swam, the world swaying side to side. Her stomach heaved and threatened to spew what little contents it had. Just what had the boy given her? Some kind of poison? She could still taste it at the back of her throat. Perhaps it was better if she was sick. At least then the poison would be out of her system. She let the sensation come, grip her by the throat and prepared to evacuate itself. . . But it wouldn’t come. It was stuck there, in the pit of her stomach.
Then, a flash.
Her feet were no longer on the wooden floor of the boy’s bedroom. They were on a metal floor. Cold. Hard. Unbreakable. Why that word should come to her, she didn’t know. But she was right—it was unbreakable. In this state—a dream? a vision? a memory?—she was also unsteady on her feet. Somehow, she sensed it was for a totally different reason.
But what? What was the reason?
She stumbled back and fell on her bed. Yes. It was a bed. She felt the blankets beneath her hands. Soft, crisp, clean. She felt at them like they were the most wondrous thing in the world.
“Soft aren’t they, L?” a voice said.
It surprised her. She turned to look up at the man standing before her—and yes, it had definitely been a masculine voice—but she was no longer in the mysterious metal room. She was back in the boy’s bedroom.
Her hand was clutching at the blankets the way they had in her dream. The girl peered at her surroundings, fear clutching her heart, making it bounce in a syncopated rhythm. What had just happened? How much time had passed? It couldn’t have been long. The light entering the room was the same as it had been when she’d first woken up. It must have happened in the blink of an eye. She’d take care of it later.
She got to her feet and immediately regretted it. This time, she fell forward, landing on her knees. Her head swayed even harder like she was onboard a moving ship. Her hands grasped for something to keep her steady. They found the desk. Various papers and notebooks stacked and organized. She thought back and didn’t think she’d made much noise. Her knees had found a thin carpet.
She caught sight of something out the corner of her eye. Something was moving.
A ball. And a glove. The glove was brown like the soil outside but looked smooth, shiny from a hundred hours of use. The ball was large, the crude seam visible. It was white, dirty from hours of similar use. It was rolling. Toward the table’s edge. Her grasping hands had disturbed it.
The girl’s eyes widened. It would fall and make a loud noise for sure. She let herself fall—it was hard for her to move in a smoother way right then. Her backside hit the floor. Thankfully, she had a little padding there and made no noise. She stretched for the ball with her extended hand, to catch it before it collided with the ground. Her side and shoulder followed her ass as she fell. Her attention was focused entirely on that single simple act.
She needed to catch it. Her life might very well depend on it.
25.
“BOY, AM I glad you’re here,” Jamie said.
“Has she woken up and done any kungfu yet?” Fatty said.
For some reason, he was convinced the girl was some kind of spy or assassin. Jamie didn’t know where he came up with these ideas.
“Not yet,” Jamie said, shutting the door behind his friend.
Fatty cast around the living room. He looked like he expected something to be there.
“Where is she?” he said.
“In my room,” Jamie said.
“You’ve got a girl in your bed?” Fatty said. “I can’t believe it! Have you been puckering up and pecking her on the lips while she’s unconscious?”
“Shut up!” Jamie shoved his friend.
“Did you use your tongue?” Fatty said, pouting his lips and making kissing noises. “I bet you did!”
“You’re the one who kisses girls when they’re asleep,” Jamie said lamely.
“You’re not fooling me,” Fatty said. “Is she a good kisser?”
“Yes,” Jamie said.
Fatty immediately snapped to attention.
“Really?” he said.
“No!” Jamie said. “I don’t know! I didn’t kiss her.”
Fatty winked. “Yet.”
“You know, for a second there I was pleased to see you?” Jamie said. “Now you’re actually here, I’m not so sure.”
“Because I’m getting in the way of all your kissing action,” Fatty said, puckering up.
Thud.
Jamie and Fatty’s expressions turned to masks of horror.
“What was that?” Fatty said.
“Sounded like something from the corridor,” Jamie said. “Go take a look.”
“It’s your house,” Fatty said. “You go look.”
“Chicken,” Jamie said.
“And proud of it,” Fatty said. “Go look.”
Jamie formed another insult to hurl at his friend before realizing he’d only be wasting his time. Fatty didn’t even pretend to be brave.
“I’m right behind you,” Fatty said.
As he always was. Behind. Jamie sometimes wondered if people like him were the ones most likely to live long into the future. It certainly wouldn’t be through taking too much risk. Jamie edged down the hall toward his bedroom door that stood ajar. Had he left it like that? He paused and rewound the memory of the ringing doorbell. Yes. He had left it ajar. He continued moving forward.
He put his hand on the door and pushed it open. It opened with a creak that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved to see the girl still lying in his bed or not. If she hadn’t made the noise, what had? And then there was his tucked-in safety procedure which he cursed himself for not doing before rushing to the door. If the girl had woken up already and was looking at his things, he wouldn’t be able to tell now. Idiot!
“Here,” Fatty said. “Your ball and mitt fell off the table. You idiot. You looked terrified!”
“Did you poo your pants?” Jamie said. “Because I can definitely smell something.”
“Probably your room,” Fatty said. “You really should think about cleaning and tidying up in here.”
“You’re a good one to talk,” Jamie said. “Your room’s a pigsty.”
He picked the ball up and put it back on his desk. Could it have rolled off the tabletop like that with no help? Stranger things had happened, he supposed. Undead creatures were wandering around outside. That had to list somewhere in the top ten most highly unusual things to ever happen.
He turned to look at the girl. She was still in bed, in the exact same position she’d been in when he’d gone to answer the door. Still, he sensed something was wrong. And though he searched the girl’s face, her position in the bed, he couldn’t for the life of him see what it was. He shrugged and turned to Fatty, who was, as expected, already making a nuisance of himself.
He was picking through Jamie’s meagre collection of comic books. It hadn’t always been meagre. They had a way of disappearing and turning up in Fatty’s bedroom. It was as Jamie turned away from the girl, eyes sweeping up in Fatty’s direction at the back of the room, that he realized what was out of place.
26.
IT WAS possible to peer at something with your eyes almost closed—by having a tiny slit between your eyelids, so small your vision was blurry through your eyelashes. That was how the girl watched Jamie as he turned away from her and then
stopped, turning back to look not at her, but at the tray with the missing spoon. The spoon that was in her hand, beneath the blanket.
The girl recognized that look in his eye because it was the same feeling she fostered. Confusion. Realization. Horror.
These two boys were her captors. They must have taken advantage of the situation after she’d been in the tree trying to escape those things.
And now they knew she was only pretending to be asleep. She daren’t wait any longer. Who knew how many of them there were. Her eyes shot open and she pushed off the bed and leapt to her feet.
27.
“WATCH OUT!” Fatty said. “She’s probably got ninja skills! I knew she was a spy!”
She wasn’t a spy. At least, not so far as Jamie could tell. Ninjas wore dark clothes, for one. And the entirety of Jamie’s education about ninjas—and Fatty’s for that matter—all came from the same source. Comic books. They weren’t white like this girl. They were Japanese. But it was more than her appearance. It was the look in her eye.
He could see she wasn’t calm and in control like the ninjas. She was scared, afraid. It was in her big, wide eyes, as she looked from Jamie to Fatty and back again. She was brandishing the spoon as a weapon, the handle pointing up at Jamie. It was blunt and rounded, but with enough force—and he doubted the girl had that much strength—she could pierce a belly’s soft flesh. And Fatty had an exceptionally soft belly.
“Don’t come any closer!” the girl said, waving the spoon in a way she no doubt thought threatening. “I know how to use this!”
Jamie held up his hands.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Oh yeah?” the girl said. “Then why did you give me poison?”
“Poison?” Jamie said.
The girl jabbed at the bowl.
After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set Page 6