by Terry Tyler
Like they used to during the Fall.
We set to work, adding the other bodies to the blaze. I feel such sadness, deep inside; I wonder about these people, who had names, families, histories. Just gone now, chucked into the flames to prevent disease. No tree, no record that they ever existed.
We have a last look down the only roads that contain houses still standing.
A thin, mangy dog hurries past us.
There's no one here.
That silence.
Then I hear the cry again. It's not a cat. It's a child.
I hold out my arms, signalling to Astra and Fay to stop, and be quiet.
Fay takes no notice. "What? Why are you stopping?"
"Shh!"
There it is again.
Not a child. A female voice. I hear crying, whimpering and weak cries for help.
I call out, "Hello? Are you injured?"
Silence, just for a moment. Then that small voice again.
"Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."
It comes from a tumbledown building down a little road off the green. Astra and I give each other the briefest of nods, then head off in that direction; Fay follows.
I stop, and call again.
"Where are you? We're guards from Blackthorn. We're not going to hurt you. We can help."
A door creaks open; the sound echoes through the vacuum of that deserted village.
Fay is set to charge in; clearly she didn't listen to the basic patrol safety section in her training, either. I put out my arm to stop her.
"Careful. She could be bait."
Astra calls, "Come out!"
We have swords and knives at the ready, as the door opens further. I'm not too worried, though; my nose tells me she's alone.
A slim waif stumbles out, hands in the air. She's clad in the usual worn, faded outlier attire, with dirty fair hair trailing over her shoulders and that gaunt, hungry look, like those we met outside Boltwick.
Her face is filthy.
"Are there any more of you?" Astra calls out.
"Only me." Her voice is weak, but not frightened. She just sounds tired.
"Watch her," I say to Astra. "Fay, with me."
We do a quick scout around the first floor, and I wonder if she'd lived here, or if it was just somewhere she was holed up; until just recently the place had clearly been a home. Now, it's trashed. Cupboards pulled open, pathetic little possessions once important to someone's life strewn over the floor.
I smell something bad wafting down from the floor above, and send Fay clattering up the rickety old stairs to investigate. A moment later I hear her strangled cries; she dashes back out and pukes up on the bloodstained landing.
"Bodies. Two."
I can't help grinning. "You don't say."
"Her name's Indra," says Astra, as we walk back out into this gloomy, wet afternoon, the last the village of Mulgrave will ever know. "Her husband and brother were in a group that attacked Boltwick; they were murdered in the final revenge attack three days ago, but she managed to hide. Says everyone else is either dead or run away."
I approach. On closer inspection, I decide that the tired, resigned tone I heard in Indra's voice was actually shock.
"Why did you not run, too?"
She hugs herself, and a tear rolls down her cheek. "I couldn't leave him."
That smell. It's seeped into her clothes, her hair.
"When did you last eat?"
She shrugs. "Dunno. Before they came." She frowns. "No, some nuts, yesterday. And I found some old cake. Drank rainwater."
I gesture to Fay.
"What?"
"Go on. You've got food, haven't you?"
She has the nerve to roll her eyes at me. "If I'd known we were on a feed-the-starving mission, I'd have packed for it." Under my stern gaze, she hands over her bottle of water and her other cheese roll.
Indra eats hungrily but with, I notice, a degree of decorum. She's no savage. This is good. I study her. Underneath the filth and grief, I can see that all she needs is a bit of soap and water and some clean clothes to make her presentable enough to take to Haystack. There might just be a job for her, somewhere, if she has skills. I can't send her out on the road, alone, at the beginning of autumn.
Too many guards and lieutenants see Blackthorn as the controlling overlord, our job to keep the outliers in check, but I believe our good fortune in living there should make us caretakers, not police.
"Would you like to come back with us?"
She looks up at me, big blue eyes wary. "To Blackthorn?"
I smile. "Yes. To Blackthorn. I might be able to get you a job. Somewhere to live."
Little Miss Fay doesn't like this, either. "You can't promise her that, Byron. You shouldn't be raising her hopes―and this isn't the plan! Direct them to South Gate, two days’ food and send 'em packing, that's what we do, right?"
She doesn't even pull me to one side, but says all this in Indra's hearing. Like she's a sub-human whose life doesn't matter. Send 'em packing, indeed. I'm furious that she thinks she has a right to talk this way, because she had the luck to be born in Blackthorn.
"I'm not promising her anything. I said I might be able to get her a job." I move closer to Indra and, gently, touch her arm; she doesn't flinch. I have to stop myself doing so, though; she smells bad. "Are you strong enough to walk back to Blackthorn?"
She nods.
"You're sure there's no one else still here?"
"Yeah. They're all dead or gone."
"Your husband and brother―do you want to bury them first?" I'm not looking forward to this, but it's the right thing to do. "You and I could come back and plant their trees, later, if you want."
Indra sniffs. "My brother. Not my husband. He doesn't deserve a tree."
I look at Fay, who shakes her head.
"No way am I going back up there. I'd puke all over them." She gives Indra a nasty look. "Or I would, if there was anything in my stomach to puke up."
Astra and I do the honours. It is a truly revolting job; we tie scarves over our faces, find shovels, and on the village green we bury the malodorous remains of this poor young man. When the task is done, I set light to the house, husband and all.
"Let's go, then. We've seen enough; I'll tell Hemsley that Mulgrave's over."
As we walk, I mourn the village that has ceased to exist. For all I dislike about Blackthorn, we are safe from such devastation.
I watch Indra walking in front of me, still hugging herself and gazing down at her feet, no doubt wracked with grief for her brother, and I swear that I will give her that security, too.
She has as much right to feel safe as anyone who lives behind our walls.
Fuck Fay, and anyone who tries to tell me that there is no job or bed for her.
The guards who open South Gate look at Indra like she's just murdered their mothers, but they're youngsters so they don't dare challenge me.
I say goodbye to Astra, shoo Fay off with the hope that I'll never have to see her again, and take Indra to my flat in the blocks.
A couple give me odd looks when they pass us on the stairs, too; my guest is clearly an outlier.
When I open my door, she looks around, eyes wide. It's my little haven, filled with books, pictures and lamps that I've bought at the market; I realise that I'm proud of it, even though it's nothing like Thorn Lodge, where I grew up.
She half-smiles. "Will I live here?"
I'd love to say yes, because I can tell this is what she's hoping for, but I can't. Outliers may share a guard's apartment, but only once an official marriage ceremony has been held in Haystack's office. This is to stop anyone bringing back casual shags; if I was hungry and homeless, I'm sure I could be persuaded to offer sexual favours in return for a couple of weeks sleeping in a comfortable bed, with plenty to eat.
But I'm not about to offer marriage to a woman I've just met.
"No. But if you'd like to get cleaned up, I can cook you some food, you can rest here fo
r the night, and in the morning I'll take you to see Haystack―he's the registrar."
I watch her smile fade. "The registrar?"
"Yes. To spend even one night in Blackthorn you must be registered, and if you want to stay, you must have a job. We'll just have to cross our fingers; if Haystack can find you work, he will also provide you with somewhere to live, which will probably be a shared flat." I point at my tiny bathroom. "There―you can have a shower. I'll find you some clean clothes, and then I'll nip down to the office and sign you in."
She opens the door to the bathroom. "Wow."
"Did you not have showers in Mulgrave?"
"Yeah. Well, sort of." She walks in, and fiddles with the shower head. "There was a block of six booths, with a big tank at the end. You pulled a lever, like a pump thing, and the water came out. Nothing like this." She turns. "Do you think there will be a job for me?"
"Let's hope so."
I badly don't want to have to chuck her out to fend for herself.
Some people have the survival instinct, but others flounder.
I don't know which she is, yet.
Haystack eyes up the newly-washed Indra, a tad lecherously; under all that grime she is prettier than I'd expected, even dressed as she is in my trousers and shirt. There is something appealing about the way she's clinched in the baggy clothes with one of my belts, showing off her tiny waist; we had to make another hole in the leather.
She sells herself well; she knows everything there is to know about the medicinal properties of plants, she says. She can draw and cook, and loves children.
It's her lucky day. The teachers' assistant in the starter school (age four to nine) has stopped work because she's about to have a baby. Haystack offers Indra the job, along with a bedroom share in one of the larger flats, occupied by two young women of around her age who work at the market.
"Bloody hell," she says, as we walk towards her new home, "I never thought it would be this easy. I thought I'd have to clean toilets and live in one of your shitty shacks."
I think of Evie, and feel irritated by Indra's words.
"Not all the shacks are shitty, and it's rarely this easy," I say. "Why do you think most outliers are turned away with nothing but a couple of days' food? You were lucky to get here at just the right time, that's all."
She nods, looking highly pleased with herself. "I was, wasn't I?"
I take a horse and we go back out to Mulgrave to plant the tree for her brother, after which I settle her into her new abode―her housemates are out at work―and it's not until I climb the steps of Lookout 10 for my midday shift that I realise what's been niggling me about her.
Not once, not last night or today, has she offered me a word of thanks.
Chapter 8
Evie
Another Sunday, lovely lazy Sunday, the last one in September, and I spend it walking in the woods with Jay and Laurel. It's a fabulous day, warm and sunny, and I don't feel sad when we sit by Morning's little apple tree, 'cause the leaves are such a lovely colour and the smell in the air is so lush, and if she really is here she will see that we're happy, which will make her happy, too.
Jay's glad to get as far away from Stinky Bottom as possible on Sundays, 'cause his dad starts drinking as soon as he gets up, then carries on at Clem's if he's not too pissed to get there by the time it opens. Some Sundays his head hits the table in Clem's half-way through the afternoon, then he wakes up a few hours later and carries on till Clem chucks everyone out.
I don't get it. Sundays are brilliant; why would you want to waste them with your head in a pool of beer?
I wanted Gale to come out with us, too, but he's helping Dad with some maintenance work on their roof, ready for the winter, so we say we'll see them back at the Beer Hut later on.
We walk home through the city centre, and two guys yell at us to take our filthy arses back to Shackers' End, but we just laugh and tell them to eff off. Some shackers go over and start fights when they say shit like that, but I can't see the point.
The Beer Hut is packed like it usually is on a Sunday; Darius and his buddies have got a darts match going on, Mum and all her friends are sitting round a huge table squawking their heads off, and we see Dad and Gale squashed in by the door, with some of Dad's mates and a huge jug of beer.
"Get us some cups!" I shout out to Jay, above the noise, and Gale hotches up to make room for us.
There's a burst of laughter from the darts corner as silly Thora falls over, pissed, and we all laugh, too, 'cause she doesn't half look a state, lying there with her shirt half undone―she's always trying to get Darius to fuck her. Bonnie lights lamps and candles, and I'm just thinking what a good day it's been, when the front door is flung open with a bang, and sunlight floods in, bringing the cool evening air with it.
Ryder's standing there. The sun's behind him so I can't make out his face, but he doesn't move. He just stands there.
"Oi!" shouts Lake, one of the loggers. "Shut the bloody door!"
Dad's mate, Steve, says, "Come and have a drink with us, mate, but it's a bit nippy sitting here with the door wide open."
Something's wrong, though. He looks like he's in shock. He takes a few steps in and shuts the door, but still he just stands. Gazing around at everyone, like he doesn't know where he is. There must be sixty or eighty of us in here; as he makes his way over to the bar―slowly, like he's thinking about every step―people near us stop talking, looking up to see what's going on.
I get up, and so do Dad, Laurel and Steve; we go over to him, and when I see his face I'm seriously worried.
"What's the matter?" I ask, and touch his arm.
He just stares at me, and says my name. "Evie." Soft, like; it's nice, but weird.
"You alright, fella?" asks Steve, and guides him onto a stool. "Summat up, is there?" He beckons to Bonnie. "Get him some brandy, pet. Looks like he needs it."
Ryder gives them a shaky smile, whispers a thank you, and downs the brandy in one go. "Thanks. I did."
I notice Bonnie doesn't ask for payment. 'Cause it's for Ryder, and he doesn't look too hot.
Dad joins them. "What's up, lad? You can tell us. You're safe here."
Ryder smiles again, but he looks like he's going to cry, which makes my eyes water, too; I don't know why.
I ask, "Has something bad happened?"
He stares into my eyes, like he's looking for something. "Not bad. No. Good. Wonderful. I―"
He leans his elbow on the bar, rests his forehead on his hand, and we wait. People over the other side who didn't seem him coming in are being hushed up; the whole room's gone from being bloody noisy to so quiet you could hear a grain of wheat drop.
Ivy the beehive lady calls out, "What's up? Has something happened to Ryder?" She and her husband get up and come over, too, followed by Star and Joe and the group they're sitting with.
"You want to tell us?" Dad takes the brandy bottle off Bonnie and fills up Ryder's cup. "Not that you have to, mind, but you're among friends―"
"No." Ryder puts his hand on Dad's. "No, I do have to. That's why I came in here. Not just for a drink." But he's frowning, like he's got all the cares of the world buzzing round his head.
Darius pushes through. "Come on then, you got us attention. So how's about you quit the drama and tell us why you're looking like you've just murdered Wolf North?"
His mates laugh, but no one else does; everyone's eyes are on Ryder.
He looks up at Darius. "It's not drama but―" He takes a huge gulp of breath, blows out, and swallows. "I've got something to tell you all, and please hear me out before you say anything. Please."
More people gather round, waiting; Ryder chucks a bit more of the brandy down his neck and frowns again.
"Come on, then," says Darius. "Spit it out."
"Okay. Hang on." He takes some more deep breaths, touching his hand to his chest like he's trying to control it. "I was out on patrol, with Coral. Past the west perimeter. We hadn't seen a soul, and we thought we'd
gone far enough, down to where those thick woods start―we were about to turn back, because Coral said she was knackered, and I'm on the wall later tonight. I wanted to catch a few zeds first, but―I don't know, suddenly I just couldn't. I couldn't go back, I had to carry on, into the woods. I can't explain. So Coral went back but I―it was like something was pulling me on, down into those trees."
"Something?" says Vic, this bolshie new logger who's fitted right in with Darius's mob. He pushes himself to the front, to stand by Darius. "What d'you mean? A noise?"
"Or a ghostly being?" Gale giggles, and waggles his arms about, making ghost noises, but this time nobody laughs.
Everyone's waiting for Ryder to talk again.
"I don't know what it was. It was just a feeling." He shakes his head, like he's trying to work that one out. "I just knew I had to keep going, even though I didn't know what I'd find; I was scared; I thought it might be a dead body, or something. So I walked into the trees, and, just a little way away, I saw this clearing." He looks up at the ceiling. "The sun was shining down through the branches, lighting up the grass, and it was the greenest grass I'd ever seen. The rays of sunlight through the trees―it was beautiful." He shuts his eyes. "I couldn't help it. I just had to go and stand there. Had to. Like I was meant to be there." He gulps more of that brandy down. "I know that sounds stupid, but it was how it felt. And when I stood there it was a total head-fuck. In the nicest way possible. It wasn't like anything I've ever felt before."
"What sort of head-fuck?" asks Laurel.
He gives her his best gorgeous Ryder smile; she looks super-pleased.
"It was sudden, complete happiness." He takes another drink, and shakes his head. "Not the sort of happy like when you're getting drunk with your friends and having a right old laugh―it was more like standing on top of a hill that was really hard to climb, on a beautiful day―but even better than that. It was just―total peace. Like everything was right with my world." He shuts his eyes for a moment, like he's trying to feel it again. "Think of the best meal you've ever eaten, when you were so hungry you'd eat your own shoes; my stomach felt warm and satisfied, all the tension eased out of my head, my feet and back stopped aching even though I'd walked for miles, and I couldn't remember ever feeling unhappy about anything at all. The craziest thing was that I knew I would feel like that forever, if only I could stay in that place, right there. I don't know how I knew; I just did." He stops. "I'll tell you how good it was. You know when you're seriously in love with someone and you've just found out they feel the same way―that's about the best feeling in the world, isn't it?"