by Wood, Rick
He closed his eyes and sighed. A negative response, but a response nonetheless.
“Hey,” she said, turning his face and forcing him to look at her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m still here.”
He swallowed.
Breathed deeply in and out.
And nothing else.
Knowing what she would want in this situation, she did the best thing she could.
She leaned in and placed her lips ever so gently upon his.
Chapter Nineteen
He kept his lips tight. Didn’t withdraw, but didn’t go forth. Just let her plant those smooth, perfect, bloody spectacular lips against his.
He didn’t kiss back.
She didn’t need him to.
He just watched her, eyes open hers closed, hovering as she rested them there, pressing lightly, enough to be a kiss but not enough to force it.
Allowing her to be a leech, sucking on his soul.
He wanted to cry and scream and cackle and punch all at the same time.
But he kept it inside, turned it into a batch of resentment he could build upon and build upon and build upon and build…
She was still there.
He wasn’t doing anything, but did that not seem to matter to her?
She just took.
Took what she wanted.
He loved the kiss, and hated himself for it.
It infected him.
A loving evil.
He hated her and he desired her.
The kiss both gave him chills and intensified his wrath.
Up and down his body he felt beautifully dirty.
Why was she doing this?
Did she think this could fix anything?
She thought it was his best friend’s death that was bringing out this hostility.
But he’d already known Brooklyn was dead.
Dead, just like everyone else in the Sanctity.
Only, he hadn’t realised that it was her who had killed them.
Her hands pressed against his cheeks. As if she had to hold him there. As if she had to keep him in place.
As if that was the only way.
Or were those hands hiding the world from him? They were beside his eyes so he could see nothing but her.
And then the kiss ended.
She looked back at him with a smile, triumphant in its success, as if that just cured everything. As if her lips were the enemy of grief.
As if they could nullify any pain he felt over a fallen comrade.
“I’ll get some wood.”
She left to build the shelter.
“I’m going to leave you with Dalton for a bit, okay?” she said to Boy.
She kissed him on the head before she left.
See? There was nothing special about me.
He was alone with her most treasured asset. Her prize possession. Her only real love.
What could he do to that only real love now to cause her pain?
She is a cretin.
Malevolent.
Sinful.
And yet, she was still all he had.
Chapter Twenty
The kiss was cold.
He didn’t react, but that was fine.
She didn’t need him to.
To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if his eyes were closed.
She kept her hands upon his cheeks, gripping harder, letting him know she was there. She hovered, held her kiss.
The kiss still sent her into a tizz. Sent her reeling into a world of mania.
She hoped that these kisses could last forever.
But he was still cold. The kiss was not reciprocated.
But that was okay.
We all deal with grief in different ways.
Maybe she just needed to leave him alone. Give him a bit of time. Let him be in denial, be angry, start to bargain, get depressed.
Then, eventually, once acceptance had landed, they would be what they were again.
“I’ll get some wood,” she told him, figuring they were probably going to have to shelter there for the night.
She should probably take watch for most of it. Let him sleep.
This would be the first time in the open. Just like they used to. Under the stars, close enough to touch but nervous enough not to.
She walked up to Boy, who was doing so well, and gave him a kiss on the forehead, letting him know that she was there for him too.
“I’m going to leave you with Dalton for a bit, okay?”
He nodded.
Dalton would still take care of him. He’d never let anything happen to Boy.
Dalton would die for Boy, just like her, and that was how she knew Boy would be safe.
She left to find some wood.
THEN
Chapter Twenty-One
Just as he’d gotten dressed that morning, brushed his teeth, and eaten his breakfast, Dalton walked the perimeter on automatic. Both he and Brooklyn had walked it enough times that it didn’t require much deliberate thought. They walked leisurely with their guns at their sides, listening astutely whilst rambling on.
Brooklyn often spent the walks rattling on about the pointlessness of them, and this time was no different.
“I mean, there’s no way anyone’ll find it, is there?” he kept going, louder than Dalton would have liked considering what could be lurking nearby. “No one’ll find the door and, even if they do, no one’ll get in. No survivors that is – as for creatures, they won’t even know what it is. Just doing this is pointless.”
“I know,” Dalton agreed, even though he really didn’t. “But if it helps everyone to sleep at night, then whatever.”
“Pah! The point of that place is that we can all sleep at night without any idea what’s going on out here. Yet we have to be subjected to it. That’s all they want us for.”
“Good.”
“Eh?”
“I just mean, good, they want us for something. Imagine where we’d be if they’d never found a use for us.”
They passed the same leaves, avoided the same nettles, stepped over the same logs. The same distant lake ran, the same birds cooed in the sky, and the same menacing silence hung over them with a readiness to be broken at any time.
“Hey,” Dalton said, catching Brooklyn’s attention.
There was something…
Beyond the trees…
It didn’t look to be moving.
It looked like a person.
Brooklyn saw it too and, in unison, they both raised their guns. They approached whatever it was and, as it came closer, it grew clear that it was a woman. Leant against a tree, her back to them, not moving whatsoever.
“M’am?” Dalton said. “M’am, are you okay?”
Brooklyn scoffed.
“M’am?” Dalton asked, Brooklyn laughing at his politeness.
Dalton shrugged.
“Oi!” Brooklyn shouted. “Speak up now or we’ll fucking shoot you.”
Dalton flinched.
“Did you hear me? We’re talking to you, bitch, answer!”
“Brooklyn, mate,” Dalton said, keeping his gun firmly raised, but allowing himself a glance of disgust in his friend’s direction. Brooklyn returned the glance with a snigger.
They rotated around her body, both of them approaching from a different side until they were facing her.
She was slumped, palms up, skin pale, crusted blood masking her face.
They both dropped their guns, then covered their noses as the stench of decay hit them.
“Jesus,” Brooklyn exclaimed.
“Looks like she’s been dead a while.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
Brooklyn walked up to her and prodded her with his foot.
“What are you doing?” Dalton asked. “Knock it off.”
“Why? She’s dead, what does it matter?” He kicked her again. “Jesus, she’s like solid brick.”
“It’s called rigor mortis.”
Brooklyn swung the gun over his back and placed his f
eet one either side of her, his crotch in her dead face.
“She looks like she was a pretty little thing, don’t she?”
“Fuck, Brooklyn, show some respect.”
“Oh, I respect. I respect the female form in its sexiness, dead or alive.”
Dalton felt like gagging. He almost did. He turned his head away and winced, repulsed at the sight of Brooklyn gyrating his crotch before a set of eyes stuck open with dried blood.
“Let’s just go,” Dalton said, but his request was ignored.
“Got a hell of a pair of tits, too.” Brooklyn reached his hand down her top and grabbed hold of her breast. “Gross, that’s stiff too.”
“Well it is going to be stiff.”
Brooklyn turned around and grinned. “Not the only thing that’s stiff.”
“Come on, mate, this is sick.”
“Just a moment, my friend.”
Dalton placed his weight on one leg and looked to the sky with a huff. He hated it when Brooklyn was like this. Who was he showing off to? It was just them. Brooklyn had no audience, had no women he was trying to impress or blokes he was trying to out-macho.
Then he heard a trickling sound, and hoped he was imagining it.
But he wasn’t.
And he turned around to the sight of Brooklyn’s dick in Brooklyn’s hand and the woman’s face fresh with urine.
“What the fuck, Brooklyn?” Dalton exclaimed.
Brooklyn turned to Dalton with an even bigger grin.
“Relax, she’s probably into it.”
“She’s dead! What is wrong with you? How would you like it if someone pissed on your dead body?”
“Wouldn’t give a shit, mate, I’d be dead.”
He finished up, shook his penis to ensure the final drips landed upon her lips, then zipped himself up and stood back to admire his work.
Dalton couldn’t move. Nor could he shut his open jaw, and nor could he understand what he had just witnessed.
Brooklyn swung his gun back into his hands and began walking again.
“You coming?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Are you – how – why–”
Dalton had no idea what to say.
“What? Thought you wanted to keep going?”
“What about – are we not going to acknowledge what you just did?”
“What?”
“That was someone’s mum. Someone’s sister. Someone’s daughter. And you just – what the fuck!”
“Mate, she was someone’s daughter. Now she’s just a hot piece of dead ass.” He shot a bullet into her chest. “See? Dead.”
Dalton shook his head.
He loved Brooklyn like a brother. Brooklyn always had his back.
But sometimes, there were these moments…
Moments where he wondered whether this world they found themselves in was created for someone like Brooklyn.
“You coming or what?” Brooklyn asked, a fair few paces ahead.
Dalton began to walk and paused by the woman’s body – considered shutting her eyes, showing her some respect, but didn’t want his hands in Brooklyn’s urine, so just walked on.
And they kept walking on until they arrived home and Brooklyn seemed to have forgotten the whole thing.
NOW
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dalton’s eyelids were like weights. They kept dropping down over his dry eyes.
Yet he didn’t feel tired.
Just drained.
He’d been up most of the night. He knew Cia was keeping watch, but who was keeping watch on her? She checked for the monsters, and he checked for the monster.
He was walking about ten, twenty yards behind them. Unnoticed. Unthought of.
Or so it seemed.
Cia and Boy had run ahead. Playing like two children. Just to look, you wouldn’t have known Cia was caring for Boy. You would have assumed it was both of them that were stupid and inept.
He rubbed his eyes.
His thoughts were poisonous.
He was grouchy and he knew it. He hated everything. He felt like telling the sun to fuck off and go back to hiding behind the clouds. Should a Maskete swoop upon him now he would raise a middle finger and tell it to go ahead, try it, see what would happen.
Of course, the Maskete would win, but Dalton didn’t care as he already felt defeated.
He watched her. Prancing around, giggling, cackling like a witch and he hated it because he had started to love her hard, hard, a strong and rampant affection he hadn’t been able to control and hadn’t wanted to and now she’d ruined it she’d ruined it she’d ruined it she’d goddamn ruined it.
No, it had always been ruined.
It had always been wrecked.
He’d only just realised it now.
They stopped beside a bed of flowers. Perfectly grown, beautiful sunflowers, with grand yellow petals and an amber tint to its centre, perfect for a bee to come and pollenate.
She stuck her nail into the neck of the flower, picked it off and handed it to Boy.
They both laughed.
Her and Boy.
And he wished he would stop calling him Boy.
His name was James.
Boy was a pathetic name to give him; a stupid, idiotic, childish decision. Call him by his name, his name, his actual goddamn fucking name.
“James,” he grunted.
Cia looked over her shoulder at him.
“What did you say?” she asked. Fluttering her eyes and smiling her smile and nursing the dead head of a flower between her dainty fingers.
He could bite of that finger with the strength it would take to bite off a carrot.
“Nothing.”
Her smile grew into wary smile. Pleasurable to concerned. She looked like a doctor with a patient she was delivering bad news to.
He used to have a doctor. Someone who cared for him and checked him over and made sure his health was in order.
Cia had killed him.
“Are you okay?” Cia asked, her voice so concerned, so genuine, so wicked.
“I’m fine.”
“You just, you don’t seem fine. I know it’s hard to see Brooklyn like that–”
“Don’t say his name.”
She paused a moment. He could see it in her eyes, she was deciding whether to bite.
But she never bit.
Not with him. She was always so nice. So kind. So caring.
So perfect so wonderful so evil fucking liar liar liar liar lair fucking liar.
“Your friend,” she said, changing her words.
“Rosy, I found another good one!”
Distracted by Boy’s voice, she left a lingering stare on Dalton and walked over to Boy. Abandoning Dalton for Boy – not his actual name – once again.
She crouched over the flower bed beside Boy.
“Oh wow, that is a big one!” she said, looking at the biggest, prettiest sunflower of the whole bunch.
She clipped off its head and gave it to Boy, who seemed so happy.
“You just going to murder that, too?” Dalton asked.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
He was muttering. If he wanted to be heard, he had to speak louder.
But did he want to be heard?
“Flicking the head off the petal.”
“Did you want one?” she said, smiling cheekily, sexily, playfully, insinuating he was jealous because he was being missed out.
“No,” Dalton answered. “No, you don’t need to kill anything else for me.”
He turned and walked away.
He could feel her watching him.
He could feel himself loving her.
He could feel himself hating himself for it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cia kept her distance from Dalton for the rest of the morning. Yet, occasionally, as they were walking through the shade of the towering trees, she would glance at him and wonder what was going on beneath the surface…
Something about him seemed…off.
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Like something had changed inside of him. Like something had begun to eat away at him and corrode his soul. Like the person he was, was now…
No, he was still Dalton.
She had to support him. Had to be there.
Beside her, Boy knocked his leg into a log and the sunflower heads he had gathered in his hands spilt over the ground, discarded by the wind.
She could feel Boy’s tears coming before they arrived, and she already had her hands wrapped around him.
“It’s okay, Boy,” she reassured him. “We’ll find more. It’s okay.”
She looked up, expecting Dalton to say something. This would normally be when he’d interject with something calming or reassuring, something like, “It’ll be all right, kid,” or, “Here, I’ll get you some more.”
She half-expected him to already have gathered another handful by the time he reached her.
But, as it was, he stood still. His face pale and empty. Standing over them, just watching.
She held his gaze.
At least she tried.
His eyes didn’t meet hers.
They were different.
Dead, almost.
And, for the first time since she’d met him, she felt fear, and she realised – she was terrified of the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cia didn’t sleep next to Dalton, like she always had.
Normally they would be side-by-side. She’d be lying there, thinking about touching him, too scared to move, knowing he was probably thinking the same thing.
Sometimes, their hands would meet, and they would fall asleep with their fingers intertwined.
Now, there was a considerable distance between them. She was closer to Boy than she was to Dalton.
Boy, who was obliviously dreaming. Not snoring, but breathing deeply – enough for Cia to know his mind was far, far away.
She envied him. To be clueless as to what was happening was a luxury she craved.
Then again, did she really know what was happening?
She reached her pupils to the far side of her eyes to peer at Dalton. She didn’t turn her head, she didn’t want him to see her move, she just strained her eyes as far as they would go.