The Dead Saga (Book 4): Odium IV

by Claire C. Riley

  She closes those brown pools of innocence again and snuggles back down into her car seat, a thumb pushing between her rosebud lips to help soothe her. She should know by now that I am never far from her side. She is mine, and I am hers. It has been this way since we found each other in flowers and light. I will never leave her—not until I have to.

  I slide off the hood of my car, my jeans making a strange screech and scratch sound on the dented red metal. I take one last drag of my cigarette and stub it out into the dusty ground with a shake of my head. I swore I’d never smoke again. That’s another thing to add to the list: if you want to smoke, do it. But be aware that when they run out—the cigarettes—there’s no running to the store to get more. You get little in this world.

  I walk to the edge of the cliff to get a better view of down below. The sun is just setting over the ocean, creating a myriad of color before my eyes. It finally dips, and like a snap of the fingers the light is snuffed out. The night embraces us with its cold, treacherous fingers. It is easy to believe that everything is okay when I am up here. I can pretend there’s nothing to be afraid of—no boogeyman hiding under the bed. No evil in the world. Just me, Lilly, and the sound of the ocean.

  The waves pound against one another, the froth building and crashing against the sandy beach cove below. The saltiness of the ocean leaves its presence on my dry lips, making my thirst even greater.

  I startle when Lilly’s small hand clasps mine. Looking down into her melancholy little face, I try to force a smile for her, but it comes out as little more than a contorted grimace. Still, I tried at least. I always try.

  “You should be sleeping, Honeybee,” I say as I gently squeeze her warm hand. Her skin is still smooth like silk, not rough and calloused like mine, and I rub my thumb across the back of her hand over and over, my smile coming easier now. She always soothes me without even having to try.

  Lilly continues to stare blankly up at me until I reach down and pull her into my arms. She doesn’t resist, but clings to me like a little koala bear, her arms and legs gripping me tightly around my waist and neck. That thought makes me sadder still. She will never know what a koala bear is. In this morbid world, they are all gone now, along with almost every other beautiful thing that once existed.

  I stare up at the stars, tiny pinpricks of hope in the darkened night sky. My heart feels heavier than usual tonight. Lilly’s hand tips my chin down so that I am looking at her again.

  “Where are they?” she asks in a whisper.

  “Down there,” I say, pointing to over the top of the cliff that we are on.

  She peers over as much as she dares, her tiny fingers digging painfully into my skin as she watches the abominations moving below. They are awake now. They came alive with the snuffing of the sun. I feel her fragile little body shiver and tense in my arms and I grip her tighter, more for her comfort than anything else. Because I wouldn’t drop her for all the world. My grip on her is as fierce as my heartbeat, relentless and unforgiving. It knows no bounds, and would only surrender when those monsters ripped my still-beating heart from my cold, dead body.

  “It’s okay. We are up here, and they are down there. We’re safe,” I reassure her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We have our light still.” With a gentle smile, I point to the streetlight, which inexplicably is still lit after all this time. It makes no sense, but I’ve given up trying to figure it out. I’m just grateful that it is here, blanketing us with its protection.

  “For now,” she whispers back solemnly. Her words cut into my heart, carving a piece of it out and sending it away. I nod, because I cannot lie to her; she sees through to the truth every time.

  “Yes. For now, for tonight. And that is what matters. Tonight we can dance under the stars.” I smile and twirl her around in circles, and she giggles and buries her face in the crook of my neck, her warm breath washing over me with each gentle laugh.

  It is the sweetest sound I have heard in a long time—her laugh. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful sound that is left in this world. Better than the time we found the little gray kitten with its one white paw hiding under the burnt-out car, crying for its mother. The sound was so inexplicable to me. It was something I hadn’t heard in so long that I had forgotten that it even existed. A small meow—a cry for help, from a kitten of all things! Of course, it died a week later from starvation. There wasn’t enough food to feed ourselves, never mind a kitten. Lilly had lost the will to speak for almost two weeks after that. I thought she was gone, lost, absorbed back into herself forever. But she came back, eventually.

  Lilly laughs again, harder this time, the sound breaking free from her heart-shaped mouth, and I twirl her faster, making us both dizzy and breathless. Her laugh is even better than the sound of the breeze moving through the long grasses and flowers in the field that I had found her hiding in—though that is a very close second. My clever little Honeybee, hiding in amongst those sunflowers. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, that field of sun; as if God had shone His light upon that particular place, bringing her to me and me to her. In the middle of a world filled with so much loss—so much death—a gray world full of sorrow and pain and misery, how could there possibly be so much brilliant yellow beauty? I had wandered among the flowers in awe, my jaw slack and my eyes wide and brimming with tears. My hands skimmed along the tops of the flowers, the petals soft beneath my palms.

  It had felt like a sign.

  I had wanted to give up that day; I was ready to let go and move on to the next world, and then I saw her: my Honeybee. Her little scrunched-up face peering up at me, surrounded by the yellows, oranges, and greens of the sunflowers. She was like a gift. I was so close to losing it, and then she—Lilly—was there, her face a more beautiful canvas than any sunflower could ever be.

  We wept in each other’s arms that day, so happy to have found one another. A mother without a child and a child without a mother. Both lost and broken. Both dying with no hope. But together, things seemed more possible, and I have hope now. I think she does too.

  Lilly and I dance until the sky darkens further and the stars seem to multiply, though she does not ever let me put her down. She grows heavy in my arms, and her eyelids begin to flutter closed again. I take her back to the car and place her in the little seat, and I clip her back into it safely, being careful not to wake her up.

  I learned my lesson the hard way of not buckling her in when she sleeps. Having to make a hasty retreat with a small child screaming and rolling around on the floor—blood pumping from the small cut to her head she just received because she had fallen out of her safety chair—is a journey I don’t want to have to make ever again. She suffered a serious bump to her head that day, and I still feel guilty about it when the sunlight shines on that white sliver of a scar on her forehead.

  I light up another cigarette after I shut the door on her sleeping form, and I go to stand at the edge of the cliff again, looking down at them.

  They gurgle and hiss, their red eyes staring back up at me. The sound of their jagged nails scrambling for placement on the side of the cliff worries me, but they cannot climb, I know this. So we are safe. For tonight, at least, thank God, we are safe.

  *

  Light peeks over the top of the hillside, glaring in at me through the windshield—a soft orange glow turning to a brilliant yellow as the sun rises higher. I rub my eyes and slouch further down in my seat, wanting more sleep, but the sun retaliates and rises further, making me groan and fully awaken.

  “All right, all right,” I mumble to myself. I shouldn’t complain—the sunlight is our friend, our savior. But some days, I am so very tired.

  I turn in my seat and see Lilly still sleeping, her little thumb still tucked into her pink mouth. My mouth twitches into what could possibly be considered a smile, but then I surrender myself to my misery again as my stomach aches and I crease over in pain. I open the door and get out, taking my smokes out of my back pocket and lighting
one up before I’ve even shut the door behind me.

  The first wave of nicotine hits me and I relish the pleasure it brings. There are only four things that bring me pleasure these days: Lilly, my cigarettes, food, and light. I walk to the edge and look down the cliff face, knowing that the monsters won’t be there now—they are never there during the day. The night is their only friend.

  However, their previous night’s antics are there to be seen, unfortunately, in the form of a bloodied pebbled beach and mutilated carcasses. I don’t look close enough to see if the bones are human or animal, or even their own brethren, I never do. It doesn’t matter anymore—dead is dead, no matter what it once was. I gave up worrying about other living things long ago. I can’t do anything about it, so I prefer to blot it out. I would prefer to blot the entire world out if I could, but I can’t because I have Lilly.

  I finish my cigarette, feeling the hunger pangs subside a little, and I go to the trunk of the car and open it to check our supplies. I know we are running low on everything, and if we don’t find food soon, we will run out and eventually starve. I can survive without food longer than Lilly can, but it’s been days and I can feel myself growing weaker. The cigarettes were a great find to curb the hunger pangs, but I’m going to need real food soon. There’s only so long I can do this without food, without sustenance, without the energy it gives me to keep on going.

  I pull out the last of the canned food: a small can of pinto beans. She hates pinto beans, and I hate the effort of having to make a fire to cook them on. I was so pleased the day we found the stash of cans in the deserted gas station. So pleased. The people inside were long since gone. But now, as I stare at the last can, I think the beans were a curse, because we haven’t found food since that day. I throw the can to the ground in anger and slam the lid down on the trunk with a small sob. When I look up through the window, Lilly has awoken and climbed out of her seat, her pale face staring back at me through the window. Her wide brown eyes blink rapidly, looking frightened, and I immediately turn my sad face into a happy one for her. I beckon her out of the car to stretch her legs.

  I pick her up as she climbs out, giving her a quick squeeze and a kiss on her dirty forehead before pushing the soft curls back from her pretty face.

  “Morning, Honeybee.”

  “Morning.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  She bobs her head, her eyes going wide as she looks into my face. “I need to pee—bad.” She bites on her bottom lip, a small frown crossing her face.

  “Okay, let’s go pee together,” I say with a smile and put her down. I take her hand and we walk away from the car and toward some small green bushes at the side of the road.

  She stops as we near it, her sneakered feet skidding to a stop, and I turn to look at her.

  “Check it,” she pleads.

  It’s my turn to nod as I pull out my small knife from the sheath at my side, release her hand, and walk the rest of the way to the bush on my own. I know there is nothing in there. She knows it too, because the monsters only come out at night, and they hide in the darkness of buildings, mostly. This bush isn’t dense enough for them to hide in—light pierces through the scratchy branches—but I play along anyway. I always play along if it makes her feel better. Because I strive for her happiness, though at times it seems like an impossible task—to keep this little girl alive and happy. But I try.

  I slash into the bush with my knife. “Better come out, monsters. Lilly has to pee, real bad.” I turn and watch as her sweet features soften into a smile. “If there’s any of you in here, you better move along or you’re gonna get it.” I slash and stab one more time for effect and hear Lilly giggle loudly behind me, the sound almost taking my breath away. “All clear,” I say as I stand and turn to her.

  She runs over to me, promptly pulls down her dirty pants and white cotton briefs, and squats next to me as I do the same.

  We finish up and make our way back to the car, Lilly doing a little skip as we go, and me retrieving the discarded pinto beans. She climbs in the back of the car and retrieves her teddy and then comes to stand by my side. Mr. Bear has been with us for several weeks now. I don’t like her getting attached to things, but he makes her happy. He has at least stopped some of her nightmares.

  “I’m real hungry,” she whispers up to me.

  “I know, Lilly. I’m working on it.”

  I open the trunk back up and pull out the last bottle of water, and I take a long swallow before handing it over to her. She gulps it down greedily. I want to tell her to slow down and to ration it, but then I eye the last can of pinto beans and decide to allow her this small satisfaction, since she’s going to be eating her least favorite food today. And tomorrow… who knows what she’ll be eating?

  I gather some small sticks and then use my almost empty lighter to start a fire. I slowly add more sticks and some dry grass to the fire until it is big enough to cook on. I found the lighter—and the cigarettes—a week or so back. Which was lucky, because my hands were covered in so many blisters from making fires using two sticks that I could barely hold Lilly’s hand without it hurting. The lighter makes things much easier. Eventually the fire is burning well enough for me to heat the beans for her, and soon enough she’s tucking into them with enough gusto to make me laugh.

  “I thought you hated them,” I say between drags of my cigarette.

  “I do.” She smiles and fills her cheeks, chewing greedily. “But I’m hungry.”

  My stomach grumbles loudly, and heat rises in my cheeks. I’m glad that I’m sitting down as a dizzy spell passes through me, making my empty stomach twist in on itself. The headache that has been building all morning eventually breaks free, and I feel momentarily blinded by the pulsing pain behind my eyes. The urge to squeeze them shut and moan in agony is heavy and ripe, but I contain it because I don’t want to frighten her.

  I stare off into the distance, controlling my breathing until the pain subsides. My cigarette burns down between my fingers until it singes the tips and I drop it with a yelp. When I look down, I see Lilly is staring at me sadly, fork poised before her open mouth.

  “You should eat,” she whispers.

  “I’m okay, I ate earlier,” I lie easily. I suck on my finger to ease the burn, but it does little to help.

  Satisfied with my answer, she continues to eat, and I stand and sift through the first aid kit until I find the last painkiller. I pop it in my mouth and grab the water bottle before realizing it is empty. I drop the empty bottle back into the trunk of my car and force the dry, powdery tablet down my equally dry throat. I feel it wedge there and I continue to swallow until it starts to dissolve, leaving a vile, bitter taste in my mouth. At least it’s down is all I can think.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose to ease the pain of my headache. Both frustration and anger burn through me. Tears build behind my lids, but I press them away with the heel of my hand and I turn to Lilly as she finishes the beans and lets out a small burp.

  “All better now?” I ask.

  She nods and smiles before picking up a stick and drawing in the dirt on the ground. Everything is dirty these days—dirty and ruined. And dying.