by Teri Terry
“This is the good stuff. It must be bad,” Zohra says.
“Yes. Okay, here it is. The epidemic is in London, and it has been for days.”
“Out loud,” he says to what I thought was shocked silence. Questions rip out, and he holds out a hand.
“I’ll tell you what I know. It hasn’t spread in an ordered fashion from the north; there’ve been a few pockets of it here and there after Glasgow was hit, but nothing major until London. So it’s kind of like it has jumped great swathes of country and landed in London, and it’s hit there big time. And the quarantine zones are breaking down north of us too; they’re breached all over the place. The boundaries don’t mean anything anymore. The UK is overrun. It’s everywhere or will be soon.
“And that’s not all. I’m sorry, Freja,” Patrick says, “but everyone is blaming you for what is happening in London. It hit the day you left. They’re saying you really were a survivor and that you spread it all around.”
“It’s not true!” Freja says.
“We all know that.”
“But it doesn’t even make sense. I was around loads of people and no one caught it—for weeks. Explain that?”
“It doesn’t make sense, but that is the official explanation they’ve latched onto. London is under siege now. And elsewhere, places that are still untouched are becoming fewer and farther between. It seems likely that the rest of the country will follow soon.”
CHAPTER 11
CALLIE
DID THEY NOTICE WHEN I LEFT THE CABIN?
Everyone was so upset—maybe they didn’t.
Most of all, I hope they didn’t notice what I was thinking as I raced away. To start with, I forgot to hide it. But they were all so focused on Patrick, on what he was saying, on Freja freaking out, that I think they missed me completely.
Because I knew what Patrick was going to say before he said it.
It is in London—of course it is. I was there too.
CHAPTER 12
KAI
I KNOW FREJA IS AWAKE LIKE I AM. I know she is out there in the woods where we talked the other night.
She said she wouldn’t plant thoughts in my head, but if she didn’t put them there, then where did they come from?
Annoyed, I slip out of the tent, a new one that Patrick brought for me. He must be another insomniac: I see him sitting on the bench by the cabin, but he doesn’t look up.
I head into the woods.
Freja is leaning against the tree where we talked a few nights ago, and in her hand is Patrick’s bottle of whiskey. She tips it back to take a drink from the bottle as I walk up.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“I’m over eighteen.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I’m eighteen, two months, and six days.”
I take the bottle, have a drink, and struggle not to cough. “Let’s see: I’m eighteen, five months, and nineteen days.”
“Congratulations.”
“Respect your elders.” I waggle the bottle at her. “Does Patrick know you’ve got this?”
“He should. He was sitting outside the cabin when I walked past with it in my hand.”
She takes the bottle back, has another drink. “Seriously—why does life have to suck so much?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But that seems to be the way of it lately.”
“What’s bugging you? No one thinks you’re a bringer of death.”
“You. Them. All of you bug me.”
“How so?”
“As much as Patrick says ‘out loud’ all the time, you’re always talking in ways I can’t hear—it’s like you’re all speaking a different language and can’t be bothered to translate.”
“I could deliver whatever anyone says straight to your brain if you wanted, but you don’t want that. Anything else?”
“You’re all just generally creepy sometimes.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“Look, I don’t care that you can do weird shit. Not much, anyhow. But bloody well keep out of my head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I could feel you tickling around in my brain again just now—calling me to come out here. Don’t do it.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “I didn’t. I don’t know if anyone else has, but I didn’t, and I don’t. Though maybe—” She stops.
“What?”
“Well, maybe Patrick sent you out to keep an eye on me, which quite frankly pisses me off more than it should you. Why does it freak you out so much, anyway, if he did? Is there something hiding inside you that you’re afraid somebody will see?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t got any deep, dark secrets. But private should be just that: private. There may be some things rattling around inside me that I don’t want to talk about, and that should be my decision.” She passes me the bottle and I have some more, and this time I don’t cough. The world is spinning a little. I never drink this strong stuff. There’s a small clearing, and I lie back on the ground and look up at the stars through the treetops.
Freja settles next to me. There is a whisper of her silky sleeve against my bare arm; I can feel the angles and heat of her through it in the cool night. “What do you see when you look up?” she says, her voice soft.
“Right now? The night sky. Stars. What else?”
“Things have changed for me. I see that, but I see more. There are halos and rings of color around the stars; the whole sky is bright. It’s beautiful. But I didn’t ask to see things like this. It just is as it is.”
“And?”
“It’s like that with people. I didn’t ask to see how you feel, I just do. And I’m sorry if it bugs you, but that’s just how it is. But I don’t dip into your mind without you knowing. Never.”
I’m quiet for a moment. Then I nod. “Shay tried to explain to me once that not touching my mind was like trying to pretend she couldn’t see or hear.”
“Yes. That’s a good way of putting it.”
“But I don’t want anyone meddling in my head!” My muscles tense, and I’m angry again.
“Whoa. You’ve got some issues.”
“Me? What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the one person I’ve met who usually makes me feel well balanced.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” She pulls away, then turns and punches me, hard, in the arm. And I’m rubbing my arm and annoyed and then I hear these little snuffling noises she’s making in the dark. Is she really? Is she crying?
I sense rather than see the space that is between us now. Unsure, I reach out a hand, find her shoulder—she’s on her side, facing away from me. “Freja? What’s wrong?”
“You don’t bloody know where I’ve been or what has happened to me, so don’t make these judgments, all right?”
“Look, everyone has had way too much to deal with lately—”
“It’s not that.”
There’s silence, except for the chirp of insects, my heart beating; hers. Her sniffing.
“I’m listening. Tell me.”
“It’s not something I talk about.”
“But you mentioned it…”
She laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “You caught me. Maybe because you might be the one person who could understand.”
“Okay. Tell me, and I’ll try.”
She’s quiet a long while, and I don’t say anything else, just wait next to her in the dark.
Then I feel her move back next to me.
“I had a sister. A younger sister. She was a beautiful person, Kai. But she was different. She saw the world in her own way; she was funny, kind, had an amazing imagination. But she found it really hard to get on with other people, to interact with them—she took everything people said literally. And she didn’t know how to hide her
feelings—she was just open, and people hurt her to make her cry. They were mean, cruel, because she was different.”
“What happened?”
“She killed herself, that’s what happened. And then everybody was all like, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean it. Sorry doesn’t mean anything when it comes too late.”
I hesitate. “How…?” My voice trails away. “Don’t answer that if you don’t want to.”
“She jumped off a cliff into the sea. Smashed on rocks and died.”
“Freja, I’m so very sorry.”
“The thing of it is that I wasn’t there. I couldn’t stop her. That’s why I thought you could understand.”
“Because of Callie.”
“Yes.”
Silence. Beating hearts, insects, the wind. But silence.
My hands are clenching into fists. “I should have been there. Not just for Callie, but for Shay too.”
“I can tell when you mention Shay that there is something you’re not saying. What really happened with her?”
I take the bottle from Freja and sit up to have another drink. The taste is starting to grow on me and I have another. “She messed with my mind. Sent me to sleep, so I couldn’t stop her from going.”
“Is that why you get so freaked at the thought of anyone in your head?”
I shrug. “Yes and no. I mean it was before that too—it always bothered me.”
“Why?”
“There’s more to it; something that is tied up in the past somehow. I can’t explain what I don’t get.”
“But this wasn’t just anybody, this was your girlfriend—someone you should trust. It sounds to me from what you’re saying that you didn’t trust Shay, and that’s why you didn’t want her in your mind.”
“What? No, it’s not that. Not exactly.”
Maybe a little. Maybe I can’t trust anybody.
“Maybe you were just scared of her because she’s different from you. Maybe you’re scared of me, of Patrick and the rest of them too, and that’s why we make you angry.”
“No,” I protest, but then I wonder—could she be right? I sigh. “Maybe that was part of it to start with. Not now that I know you.”
“Oh, really? Think about how it feels to be different, really different. Like my sister was. Like Shay is; like I am. We didn’t ask for this, you know. Even if everyone finally accepts we’re not carriers, they’ll still be weirded out by us like you are.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it, but I did trust Shay. I let her in, and then look what happened. She did exactly what she promised not to do: she mucked around in my mind without permission.
“Whatever it was that happened with you and Shay at the end, if you can’t completely trust her, then there is no hope for the two of you,” Freja says. She isn’t spying on my thoughts—I’m sure of it—but somehow she still seems to know that there are things I’m not saying. “What happens if we find her?”
“I don’t know. I have to find her. After that, well…” I can’t think about that right now. “I just have to find her.”
“Maybe there’s something I can do to help you. With part of this, at least.”
“What’s that?”
“If you need to be able to have your own space in your head that no one can step on, let’s see if we can work out how to do that. Then if you find Shay again, you’ll know how to do it: then you can let her in if you want to. Or keep her out if you don’t want. It’ll be your choice, you see?”
“But how do I do that?”
“Let me think a minute.” She’s quiet, then I feel her nod her head and sit up. “When we came here, it was the first time I’d been around other survivors, so it’s still new to me. With the others, it took me a little time to figure it out, but now I can let them in or keep them out at will. Doing that is kind of instinctive, but I’ve been trying to work out just how I do it, and it’s something like this. Think of a wall, one inside you. It’s tall and thick and no one can breach it. Hold it in your mind.”
“Okay. Brick, many feet thick. A castle wall higher than I am tall.”
“Are you visualizing that? Making it strong and steady?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it feels like if someone is in your head?”
“Sometimes—maybe even most of the time. It sort of, I don’t know, tickles in a particularly weird way. But not always.”
“Sometimes is better than never. Some people are really unaware and don’t even have that. I’m guessing if you can tell sometimes, then you can train yourself to be more aware all the time. Okay, keep thinking of the wall. Hide something behind it, something you don’t want me to see. Build the wall all around it.”
“Something I don’t want you to see…” I grin. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
“Right. Now I’m going to try to see what it is. Keep the wall thick, and strong.”
“Yes.”
She starts to laugh.
“What?”
“Really? Is that it? A bunny. You’ve got a toy bunny?”
“I did, years ago, and don’t laugh; he and I went through a lot together. But I did what you said. How did you see Bluebell?”
“Bluebell? Your bunny was named Bluebell?”
“I know. Bluebell objected to the name too.”
Freja’s really laughing now.
“Focus.”
“Okay. It sort of worked, because I could see the wall you built and couldn’t see through it, but the wall ended and I could look over the top. Maybe encircle something, instead? I don’t know, I’m just making this up as we go along. Try it again. Hide something else and put walls all around and a roof over the top.”
We try again and again and still it doesn’t work—she always finds a way in.
I’m frustrated and punch the ground. “How can I block you from doing something I don’t understand and can’t do myself?”
“Maybe what we tried before is the wrong way around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Instead of trying to hide something, don’t think about anything. Just be blank.”
“Okay. Give me a minute, then do your worst.”
Cold thick walls—steel; concrete; a fortress. Over and over in my mind I reinforce and strengthen and build the walls and think of nothing else.
“Okay, go,” I say.
She’s quiet for a while. Then she says, “Kai?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you’ve done it. I can’t see or feel anything except your wall.”
“Are you really trying?”
“Yes. Now that you’ve managed that, try to think of something else and hold the barrier at the same time.”
“I’ll give it a go.” Strong, thick; no way through. Very carefully and slowly I move in the dark—small movements, as I know her eyesight is better than mine. I think of a sound behind us in the trees and she turns her head to see if anyone is there. While she’s distracted, I move more and tickle her tummy.
She screeches and laughs, catches my hands in hers to make me stop. “A sneak attack, using misdirection! Oh my God, I’ve created a tickle monster.”
Her short hair brushes my nose as she shifts on her side, closer, then stops—still—her legs against mine. Blood is pulsing under our skin, apparent even through our clothes. There is something else, here and now, and it is stronger than whiskey. It could make everything go away.
We’re both still, silent except for our hearts beating. Our breathing seems to be in sync.
Freja’s hand lightly touches the side of my face, down my neck, then stills. Waits. Her fingers are fire on my skin.
I pull away, sit up and shift so we’re not touching anymore. But that isn’t what I want to do right now—it isn’t what she wants me to do either, and I don’t need t
o read her mind to know it. My blood thunders through my body, hot and restless, wanting what it shouldn’t have. I stay silent, awkward, but hiding it all behind this wall I’ve built and hoping she can’t see through it.
I’m sorry, I finally say—directed at her silently, not sure if she’ll hear me.
She answers out loud. “So am I.”
We mumble good night and stumble back to the house. Patrick is still sitting on the bench by the cabin—he takes the bottle of whiskey from Freja and whistles when he sees how much of it is gone.
“You’ll regret that in the morning,” he says.
I already do.
That night I toss and turn. The memory of Freja’s legs against mine, the silk of her skin, the way she smells and the whiskey in my blood all combine to make me even more restless. I haven’t forgotten Shay and how I feel about her, but she isn’t here—maybe she isn’t anywhere anymore, but until I know—maybe, even if I do—no.
By morning, I know I have to leave. I can’t stay here, or I’ll forget what I must do.
I’ll forget who I am.
CHAPTER 13
CALLIE
THE NEXT MORNING AT BREAKFAST, KAI LOOKS TERRIBLE.
I whisper to Freja: What’s with Kai?
I think he might be hungover, Freja answers back silently. Too much whiskey.
Stupid.
To be fair, I would be too if I didn’t have ways of getting alcohol out of my system. Freja considers him under her lashes across the table. I don’t think it’s just that, though. Before I can ask her what she means, she shifts her attention back to me. Where were you last night?
Hunting. For survivors.
Don’t you ever sleep?
No. I get bored when it’s lights out for all of you; no one to talk to.
Sorry. Did you find anyone?
No, but why would I? We’re too far from the zones.
Across the table, Kai clears his throat. “I’ve got something to say to everyone,” he says.