by Lisa Jade
"Good. Listen, we are really very grateful for this. Ash… I mean, Mouse is out on her first time to the city. This is traumatic enough."
"We'll sort it."
With that he switches the HT off and fastens it to his own belt.
"Well now, look how that worked out," he smirks at me, "I suppose that makes you my ward for a few days."
I fight to keep my face neutral, hoping that I still appear calm and steady. He watches me for a moment, and then his face contorts into an expression that I'm only too familiar with. It's the same look that people have given me my whole life. A look of pity and pride mixed together - pity for the poor mute girl who's clearly so helpless, and pride in themselves for being so great as to help me out. I've seen that expression on everyone I've ever known, perhaps with the exception of Dr Newton. People look at me like I'm a baby, screaming and naked and vulnerable, completely unable to survive without them. Then the pity is counteracted by equal parts self-gratification, the cocky comfort that comes with being ‘the good guy'. I remember that look being shot at me any time I tried to make myself known. The first time I stepped up to volunteer for the Scouts, the whole council simply stared at me until my resolve faltered. Even Bree has given me that look in the past. It twists in my gut and I bite back on the building anger.
"A mute, huh," he wonders aloud, "that'll be a change of pace."
I tilt my head and he laughs.
"Street is… well, I don't really know how to describe it. You have to see it for yourself."
We walk in silence for another couple of hours, until the sun starts to sink. The temperature drops rapidly, but I don't care. The cool night air only serves to calm me. Max supports me with one arm now, effortlessly lifting me over walls and obstacles despite my silent protests. I find myself staring at him; I can't tell if he's a gentleman or an idiot. He seems so kindly, but also abrasive. I can't quite figure him out.
"Alright," he says, coming to a stop in the dark, "we're near a safehouse. Let's buckle down for the night."
I wince. Safehouse. They were all the rage back when the bots first attacked - people believed that they could lock down certain places, board up windows and seal doors to provide a perfect hiding place. Some were fairly advanced; attic rooms with no windows, basements with a secret entrance. But the rumours died as quickly as the people who believed in them. There's nowhere that's safe from the bots. If they want to attack then they will, and only heavy gates and thick walls stand a chance at keeping them out.
The safehouse turns out to be an old church. As Max pulls open the door with a screech, I'm surprised at how well-maintained it is. There are countless gouges in the wooden door, and a few bricks are missing from the walls, but otherwise it’s perfect.
True to the old rumours, they don't bother to light a fire. Instead they wordlessly block up any windows and lie down on the pews. Nobody bothers to take watch. Nobody bothers to eat or drink or even speak a word. They're so set on what they're doing that there's no need to communicate.
Max leads me to a pew at the front and then lies down, shifting away to give me space to do so, too. I sit quietly for a few minutes, until the room is filled with their quiet, soft breathing.
The church is dark now, but I can still see the shadows of the pews around me. Though the windows at the sides are boarded up, the large window at the front remains open, too high to reach. Very little light reaches us through it, but if I squint I can just about make out a figure in the glass, arms spread, a halo overhead.
I never really gave any thought to religion. It was just one of those things, like marriage and careers, which simply stopped existing once Lumis was attacked. There became no point in it. Those who believed in a god were let down by the disaster and unable to explain it away. Those who didn't believe were given no reason to try. Personally I don't know if I could ever believe the radical stories they used to tell… though I suppose it's not much more far-fetched than what's really happened here.
And as much as it seems like nonsense to me, I can understand why people used to believe. Here in the dark, with my body in pain and my mind on high alert, unable to sleep or relax or stop my mind from racing, it would be nice to have some comfort. I don't even care what form it takes right now. A softly spoken word, a gentle touch, even the thought of someone kind watching over me. It's nice to imagine, even for a moment, that I'm not completely alone right now. I lie back against the pew, forcing my muscles to relax. Every cell in my body is on edge. My mind is racing. I'm scared and angry and upset… and more than anything, more than any of it, I'm lonely.
I close my eyes and think what it must be like at Fairground tonight. The others won't have made it back yet; nobody will know what happened. They'll be getting along with their lives, blissfully unaware. I bet Bree is sitting on watch, staring into the city, excited for our return. I bet Dr Newton is smiling to himself, pride filling his chest as he remembers how hard he worked to help me earn this chance. But now, I may never find my way home. If I do, no doubt Adam will send me to the infirmary and hold me there forever. I'll never be allowed out of the gate again. He'll never trust me again. Some small part of me sees the appeal of it. I've never been through so much as I have in the last day - at least if he locks me away I'll never have to do it again. But more than anything, I feel sad. A lifetime trapped in there is so much worse than a day or two out here. I roll onto my side and breathe out, long and slow, into the darkness.
Chapter Eight
I'm awoken by the sound of quiet banter. My body hurts all over, and I realise that somehow in the night I've fallen off the pew. I'm sprawled across the floor, my arms spread out in front of me, my legs tucked underneath. I suppose it would be comical if it didn't hurt so much.
A hand reaches down to me and I take it without thinking. Max drags me to my feet, where my weight shifts and I suddenly slip. He catches me in an instant and sets me back up again, then smirks.
"How are you feeling today… Mouse?"
I shrug, forcing a smile onto my face, but the pain is obvious. He reaches out slowly and touches my arm; but I jump a little and clutch at it. Damn. I forgot about that. I was so stressed and exhausted that I didn't stop to treat it. I heave a frustrated sigh. Some field medic I am.
"Sorry. Does it hurt?"
I shake my head, but it's clear I'm lying. Even the slightest touch hurts. Max gathers up my pack and throws the launcher over his shoulder. I step forward to protest, but he waves me away.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to steal it. But you don't need to carry any extra weight right now. Luckily we're only an hour or two away from Street. Once we're there, you can get patched up. I'll have Minni cook you up some food and you'll be right as rain."
As if on cue, my stomach growls. Blood rushes to my face and I chew at my lip, but Max simply laughs.
"I get that feeling," he says, "we've got a good supply of food back at Street. All that good stuff. You'll love it."
I smile. I hadn't realised quite how hungry I was until just now. I've had so much more to think about than food over the last day and a half. The bottle of water in my pack is nearly empty, but I'm sure I can make it.
One of the others comes up behind Max and taps him on the shoulder. He's a young boy, no older than fourteen, short and skinny and covered in spots. When he speaks, his voice seems to crack.
"Hey," he mutters, "some of us have been talking…"
Max rolls his eyes; clearly it's not unusual for them to talk amongst themselves.
"What now?"
"Well… we kind of, uh, came out here to get more supplies, and instead we're bringing back another mouth to feed."
The boy catches my eye and immediately blushes - I fight the temptation to scowl at him and instead pretend that I simply don't hear. Max reaches up and hooks an arm around the boy's neck, pulling him down into a half-playful headlock.
"Thomas, listen to me. It's not our place to decide who dies. We have to save who we can, because if we don't, t
hen how are we any better than the bots?"
Thomas frowns and then nods.
"You're right. Sorry."
"It's alright," Max tells him, "but since you're so eager to help, take this."
He passes my pack to Thomas, who staggers a little under its weight. Max turns to me, a twinkle in his eye, and winks. I stare. Somehow the leadership of this group seems less concrete, less unquestionable than it is at Fairground. I'd never dream of refusing Adam's orders, at least not openly. We operate on the basis of blind loyalty to whoever has been put in charge - but it seems these guys don't.
We exit the church and start walking. This time Max takes the lead, leaving me a little further back. Every so often he glances back at me, checking to see that I'm still behind him. I'm able to keep up now; luckily, they move slower than the Scouts. Occasionally I stumble, my legs still frail from yesterday, but this time nobody stops to help me up or catch me. Max doesn't notice, and the other men simply keep walking, turning a blind eye to my struggle. I heave a sigh as they walk past me for the third time. There are no free rides with these guys.
I can't say that I blame Max, though. His leadership has been questioned, so now he has to assert himself. Stalking ahead of us and passing out orders is one way to do that. I briefly wonder if he's the type to slip out of the leadership role when he's not thinking, and blend too much into his group. I've seen Adam do this kind of damage control before, years ago - a younger trainee was challenging him with a needless show of aggression, and Adam reacted swiftly to take out the risk. I can still remember rushing out into the courtyard to see the younger boy pinned under him, held fast, apologising for daring to question him. What might seem brutal, or like a show of force, is simply a reminder of who's in charge; and I can't fault him for that.
Finally we reach the crest of a hill and Max stops. The others spread out around him, gazing over the ledge and into the distance. I step up behind him and he turns, reaching for my hand.
"We're here."
He helps me up onto the ledge, then waves a hand across the sky.
"Here we are, our little slice of paradise. Welcome to Street."
It takes me a moment to realise what he's referring to. From up here, it just appears to be a small selection of mostly intact buildings. Still cold and grey and ruined, no different from any other shell here in the city. But then I squint, and the details come clear.
On the way here I had wondered how they have survived for so long, but now I see. Between two buildings, where a wide road used to be, is a wall. It's nearly ten feet high and made of what looks like scrap metal, soldered together with only a small door to break it up. I can see six people on top of it, pacing slowly, keeping guard over the street. Behind them the street turns a sharp corner, so I can't see the settlement itself, but if it's on the same level as the outside then I expect a lowly, run down campsite. I feel a pang of sympathy in my chest, sorrow for the people who are forced to live this way.
"Come on then," Max says, taking my arm in his, "let's head down and introduce you."
The moment we reach the gate, the yelling starts. The people on the top of the fence call out, waving their arms over their heads.
"Max! How did it go?"
"You're back early!”
Max simply waves back, a tired expression on his face. Clearly he's used to being questioned.
The gate clicks, clunks and finally opens, and the men stream into Street. Max and I hang back, with him still holding my arm firmly. Once it's clear, he leads me through.
Suddenly a hand encloses my wrist; I'm pulled back, my arm twisted and lifted up against my spine. I gasp and pull free - but they're faster than me, and this time they push me hard against the wall. A forearm is pressed against my throat and I find myself held fast by a stranger.
"Hey, hey," Adam scolds, "go easy on her. She's a guest."
"Another one?" someone scowls, "why do you always go for the girls, Max? They ain't loss kittens, you know."
He shrugs, then pulls me away from my attacker.
"That's not really for you to be asking, now is it? Just get on with your job."
He doesn't wait to hear their answer. His hand finds my shoulder and he leads me away from the gate, towards the corner, where the others are headed.
"Don't worry about those guys," he mutters, "they're always a little edgy around new people. No idea why."
We turn the corner, and I gasp.
I had expected a run-down disaster of a camp. I had expected piles of rubble and a few miserable people here and there. Instead, I'm faced with a surprising flash of colour in an otherwise monochromatic city. The street itself has been cleared; homemade furniture fills the space, a long table with stools, a makeshift barbeque at the back. The middle is consumed by what appears to be preparations for a large bonfire - and weapons lie everywhere, in every corner, ready to grab if something goes wrong. Pipes and knives and guns… but no launchers.
But what gets me most is the colour. Ropes are strung between the buildings on each side, and colourful banners hang from them. Clothes hang up there too, air drying in the heat of the globe. Red blankets cover every seat and a number of small tents have been set up, each as brightly coloured as the banners overhead. The overall effect is surprisingly bright, and my eyes even hurt a little. Wow.
Max leans over my shoulder and smiles.
"So... what do you think?"
I stare. This is the last thing I expected when I came here. People bustle about, heaving massive boxes between them, whipping scraps of cloth in the air to free them of dust. An older woman takes pride of place at the back of the street, her greying hair tied back with a bandana. She lifts a stick and beats at a rug that's pinned against the fence. A cloud of dirt rises from it and she coughs a little. Surprise flickers through me. I haven't seen anyone this old in years. Even Dr Newton, his hair handsomely streaked with white, isn't that old. This must be a safe enough place.
"Fine," Max huffs from beside me, "don't say anything."
I tilt my head and lift an eyebrow. He stares for a moment, and then the colour drains from his face.
"Oh, no. I just heard it. Sorry, I forgot."
I roll my eyes. How can you just forget that someone can't talk? Still, I’m not surprised. It's happened before. I remember Dr Newton calling me over before now, into the infirmary to get my thoughts on something. When I didn't answer he became irate, and it took a few minutes of signing wildly before he realised what he'd asked of me.
Max shuffles uncomfortably beside me.
"So… uh, what do you think?"
I fight to turn my gaping mouth and wide eyes into something positive, a soft smile or gentle laugh, but I just look confused. He laughs.
"Yeah. That's what everyone thinks. Come on, we'll get you patched up."
He takes me by the arm and leads me towards one of the buildings - when suddenly a hand waves in his face and someone steps in front of us.
"Are you actually kidding me, Max? You've brought home another one?"
I blink at the girl in front of me. She's tiny, barely reaching my shoulder. Her hair is tied into two long, jet black pigtails; perfect contrast to her pale, nearly translucent skin. She has sharp, bready eyes that dart back and forth, glaring first at Max, and then me. Her expression twists in a way that makes my heart sink. Oh no.
"Come on, Minni. She's not staying," says Max, "she's just here for a few days. Her name's Ashley."
Minni looks at me and scowls.
"Ashley, huh? And just how is it that a helpless little girl with bambi eyes ended up so close to Street? Don't you find that suspicious?"
"She was separated from her group," Max explains, "the guys at the old theme park lost her in the city."
Minni rolls her eyes, and those sharp eyes find me.
"You know, you're doing a great job of letting Max defend you. How about you explain yourself?"
An uneasy silence settles over us and Max clears his throat.
"U
h, Minni? She's a mute."
The girl's eyes open wide and she heaves a loud sigh.
"And you bought that? Seriously? Come on, Max. Wake up. She's only going to do what the last one did."
"He wasn't too bad."
"Until he tried to slit your throat while you slept," she growls, "I still have the scars from that fight."
She shoots daggers at me, and I feel a small rush of understanding. Clearly the others weren't being totally unreasonable when they said not to let people in. It makes sense that they'd be a little cautious after being burned before.
But Max just gives a soft smile, and her shoulders relax.
"Don't worry," he soothes, "I know what I'm doing. I'm the leader for a reason, you know."
"I know."
"So, trust me."
She looks at the ground, then back up to him, and then nods. She's not happy about it, but she's holding back for now. I try to fight the smile that plays on my lips. It seems that not everyone is willing to challenge Max’s authority.
But then she turns to me, and her mouth curls, and I find myself shrinking back. I can almost feel the hate coming off her in waves. Her eyes travel down the length of my body, sizing me up; and then her expression changes. Her gaze tracks my shivering fingers, my dirt-smeared face, the cuts on my arms. Her eyes narrow, and I can tell that she's torn between sympathy and rage.
"She's all beaten up," she mutters, making a point to talk to Max rather than me. I choose to ignore it – while I can understand her suspicion, I can feel my anger flaring every time she speaks.
"Yeah. That's why I was coming to find you. Could do with some aid."
She purses her lips and frowns.
"What makes you think I can help? I've told you before, I'm not a nurse. I don't know anything about medicine."
I raise my hands and sign; but the two of them simply stare. Then, Minni leans down and plasters a smile on her face.
"Ooh look, Lassie’s trying to tell us something. What is it, girl?"