Joshua prised the lid off one of them. It was full of salt and he plunged his arm in up to the elbow, pulling forth a thick cut of beef.
"Are all of them full?" Sam asked while chewing the cured meat.
"Yup," he replied, cautiously. "One's fish and the other pork, but don't you dare tell anyone they're here," he warned.
"Is there anyone else?" asked Sam. It was an honest question, Joshua was the only other living soul he'd seen since leaving his home.
"A few," answered Joshua. "And they'd probably kill us both if they knew we had food."
Sam’s fear, which he hadn’t notice subside, returned at the thought and he looked nervously toward the door. “Can we go?”
“Go?” asked Joshua. “Go where?”
“Anywhere,” said Sam. “I don’t like it in here.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” He was becoming anxious, twitchy and desperate to escape the confines of the store-room even though he knew his fear was irrational.
Joshua looked him up and down, stuffed the remainder of his beef into his pocket and made for the front of the shop. On the way out he unhooked a wheel of cheese and cut off a chunk using an old knife he pulled out of the top of his boot. Sam's eyes followed the cheese. "We'll only take a bit,” said Joshua. “Don't know how long it'll have to last." He removed a rag from his pocket and carefully wrapped the chunk of cheese, tucking it safely in his trousers.
"Won't the others get it?" asked Sam.
"What others?"
"You said you'd seen other people."
"Yeah, but not that many." He made a small, half-laugh.
With food in his belly, Sam began to feel a little less afraid, and a little more at ease in Joshua’s company. They walked aimlessly, marvelling at the deserted city when the two passed a tavern.
“Have you tried ale before?” asked Joshua. “Not the weak, watery stuff they let kids have, but good, strong beer?”
“No. I’m not old enough,” replied Sam honestly. “Have you?” They’d come to a standstill.
“Lots of times,” said Joshua.
“I want to try.” Sam pushed the heavy door and wiggled the catch. It was locked.
Joshua’s confidence was rubbing off and thoughts of stealth had gone. A stack of empty barrels against the wall looked to provide a useful tool and between them they heaved one up onto their shoulders before half rolling, half throwing it through the plate glass window. The crash rang loud around the empty streets and they both froze, ready to flee. When they were quite sure no one was going to come around the corner, they picked long shards of glass out of the window-frame, casually throwing them aside where they shattered on the cobbles. Joshua cupped his hands and gave Sam a leg-up through the empty window before clambering through after.
The familiar stench of death assaulted them and they almost jumped back out into the street but a quick scan of the bar revealed no bodies. Landlord and kin must have been lying elsewhere in the building and the boys saw no need to go looking for them. They quickly got used to the smell anyway and set about investigating the full barrels stacked behind the smooth counter, worn to a sheen by thousands of elbows. Soon both of them were sitting with their own elbows propped on the bar, sipping a fine brown porter.
5
He woke with pins and needles from lying on his arm and the dim light hurt his eyes when he tried to open them. His mouth was dry and his tongue gummy but worst of all was a pounding in his temple which was almost as bad as the nausea which threatened to empty his guts over the well-trodden floorboards. Next to him, Joshua snored loudly.
Sam closed his eyes again and curled himself into a ball, cold and shivering from the draught coming in through the window they’d broken. It did however, help ease his other discomforts a little and the cool floor soothed the ache in his head.
During the night they’d laughed and joked and for a while, managed to push the outside world from their thoughts. The only sombre point came late, with tongues loosened by ale and minds anaesthetized, each recounted their story. Joshua’s tale wasn’t too different from Sam’s.
He’d lived in The Butts, a shanty town which clung to the outside of the city walls like a fungus. Near the dump, the tiny shacks were mostly built out of scavenged parts and pieces the city folk threw away. “People were getting sick everywhere,” Joshua was saying as a faraway look came over his face and he stared past Sam at horrors unseen. “There was screaming and crying all night from all around; sometimes close and sometimes a way off, but we knew it would get us in the end.”
Sam was leaning forward on his stool.
“We went to get refuge in the cathedral. It was already full when we got there, and a good number of folk were outside on the steps too. The priests were good. They ran around trying to help everyone. I helped too.” He looked up and smiled at that.
“Go on,” Sam urged, leaning forwards on his stool.
“They bought food and water and, although they tried not to let anyone else see, they took the bodies away through a small door. I watched them. I think it must have led down to a crypt or something.” He paused and took a deep breath.
“And then they got sick too. We tried as best we could, but in the end there was only me, and I couldn’t do it on my own.” At that point, Joshua appeared like he’d break down into tears but shook his head as if to clear it. “There you go,” he said. “That’s my story.”
“What about the others?” asked Sam.
“What others?”
“You said there were other people who’d survived, just like us.”
“No, not like us,” said Joshua, shaking his head more slowly. “I’ve only seen one or two, and they might be dead by now, but they were mad.”
“Mad?”
“I think the fever rotted their brains. Scabby, they were, with the spots and stuff, but they’re still alive. Not right they aren’t though.”
“Reckon we could get them to help us?”
“Not a chance. Probably eat us first if the ones I saw are anything to go by.”
“Oh,” he said. “So, what do we do now?”
“What do you mean?” asked Joshua, slightly puzzled. His melancholia had lifted quickly and a smile lit his face again.
"Well, shouldn't we go and find help? I mean, I don't know when someone will come. Wouldn't it be better if we went out to find other people, like us. We can't be the only ones still alive."
"What if we are?" Joshua said with a half-smile.
The concept was too horrific for Sam's mind to grasp.
Joshua must have seen the look on his face. "I don't believe it either," he said. "But I think we stand a better chance if we wait here, for them to come to us."
"And what if they don't?"
"We’ve got everything we need. Food, water from the well, shelter, warmth and money."
"Money?" Asked Sam, "What do we need money for?"
"For when they do come back. The people who ran off into the countryside’ll be back one day, of that I have no doubt, and eventually the King's men might even come and then all the houses will be full again, and where will that leave us?”
Sam shrugged while Joshua left a moment’s pause.
“On the streets, that's where. I for one, don't plan on living off the dump again. I've tasted how the other half live now,” he tilted his glass toward Sam, "and I like it."
"We can't just take it?" Sam protested. "It's stealing."
"What about this fine ale we're enjoying, or the food we've been eating?" asked Joshua.
"That's different."
"Why?"
"We could hang."
"Only if they find out. And who's about to tell them."
At the time, Joshua's drunken logic made perfect sense but making plans over a beer is one thing, acting them out in the cold light of day is entirely another. Sam lay curled up on the floor until, with a groan, Joshua rose and stretched.
“Follow me,” he said.
Sa
m pushed himself to his feet, still queasy and with a headache which caused one eye to almost close against the lonely shaft of light coming in through the broken window. They went, for the first time so far as Sam could remember, through a small door behind the bar. It led into a sitting room of sorts which was thankfully devoid of occupants, although the sickly, sweet stench of decay was again forefront in his senses and threatened to make Sam finally lose control of his guts.
The room was sparsely furnished. A table stood in the middle, along with a couple of chairs and a couch pushed up against the back wall. Next to the couch was an old, battered desk and Joshua headed straight for it. When he tried the drawers one slid open easily. Inside were a writing book full of numbers, a quill and an inkpot. The other drawer was locked. Joshua rattled it hard, and then pulled with all his might until the desk scraped across the floor. The sound made pain flare behind Sam’s eyeball and he winced.
Then, Joshua attempted to pick the table up and throw it but he found it too heavy and he only managed to flip it upside-down. It landed with a crash.
“Shhhh,” hissed Sam, instantly prepared to flee.
“Why? There’s no one to hear.” Joshua coolly replied.
“But I have a headache,” he retorted, not wanting to appear foolish.
“Sorry.” But Joshua wasn’t really and even as the words were leaving his mouth, he stamped on the exposed underside of the drawer. The thin wood splintered and caved in under his foot.
Sam looked on as Joshua tore the splintered wood out of the drawer bottom and reached in. “Aha!” he said and pulled out a large pouch. It jangled with the unmistakable sound of money.
Sam was becoming skittish and nervous. “This is wrong.”
“Leave then,” replied Joshua without hesitation.
The prospect of being on his own again wasn’t one Sam relished. So he stayed.
“It’ll be ok.” Joshua’s tone became calm again. He pointed to the ceiling with his thumb. “They won’t miss it.” With that he went to the only other door in the room, even smaller than the one which led from the bar and made of old, warped wood. Behind it, a narrow enclosed staircase disappeared up and out of view. Joshua started up without pause, the steps creaking beneath his slight frame. On the third step he stopped and turned, bending to peer beneath the ceiling. “You coming then or what?”
Sam’s nerve almost failed him, as did his stomach, at the sight of Joshua rummaging through chests and drawers while from the bed, hollow dead eyes of the landlord and, presumably his wife, looked on. “We should do something in return.” Sam said ruefully.
“Eh?”
“If we’re taking their stuff, we should repay them somehow.”
“Like what? I don’t think we’ve got anything they need.” Joshua laughed.
“I don’t know,” said Sam, and then he had a thought. “Bury them maybe?”
“Bury them?”
“Yes.” Then, considering the work involved. “Do you know where they took the other bodies?”
“Who?”
“The men who drove the carts.”
“Yes. Well at the beginning anyway. They took them to the dump after there were too many to bury in the churchyards. Not a care for us, who had to live there. It was another reason to leave.”
“The dump?” There was shocked disbelief in Sam’s voice. “They just took them to the dump?” He thought about his Ma, Pa and sister, dumped like rotten meat.
“I think they meant to burn them. But they kept on coming until there was no one left to cut the wood to make a pyre.”
“Poor Lillian,” whispered Sam, not hearing what Joshua was saying anymore, instead thinking of the sister he’d abandoned to the rats. He couldn’t stand the thought of her body lying in the house, alone. “Do you know where they keep the carts?”
“Yes,”
“Take me there?” he asked.
“If you must,” Joshua regarded him with scepticism.
6
By mid-day the boys found themselves passing out of the city and into the assemblage of huts and shacks beyond the walls. As they moved between the tightly packed, flimsy structures, Joshua walked with confidence. These were his streets and he knew exactly where to go. Meanwhile, Sam walked behind, partly in awe at the chaos surrounding them and occasionally sprinting to catch up for fear of getting lost. Every conceivable trade must have been represented in the fragile wooden shelters, even more than in the city itself.
As they pressed deeper into the makeshift town, the sweet stench of decay which smothered the entire city became thicker, as did the swarms of flies which persisted despite an autumnal chill.
Eventually, the two found themselves in a yard of sorts, flanked on all sides by stables and workshops. Wooden carts lay strewn haphazardly, along with a bewildering array of broken parts and spare wheels. Sam blanched at the sight of them and the memories they brought bubbling to the fore of his thoughts.
There were no horses. Presumably they'd been set free to fend for themselves in the surrounding fields by someone with the foresight and compassion not to let them starve, tethered to a post or shut behind a door. Amidst the jumble however, they found a small handcart with a flat bed, just large enough for the task in mind.
Sam needed to stretch his arms out beyond what was comfortable to grasp the handles on either side and he strained to lift them. When he did manage to pivot the cart on its axle, the effort he needed to start it rolling set his eyes bulging. "Give it a shove will ya?" he gasped.
Joshua obliged and leaned into the back of the cart with both hands, using the full force of his legs to shove. Once they got it going the cart’s momentum carried it forward, until they hit a pothole and had to start again. Even before reaching the city gates they'd had a dozen or more rest stops, and each time they had to start the cart moving again, it became more difficult and more painful. The blisters on Sam’s hands had rubbed off to leave raw sores, bleeding lymph.
By the time they pulled up outside the tavern, both of them were in tears and gasping for breath. Sam could hardly lift the ale he’d poured himself and his hands stuck to the sides of the tankard, stinging when he peeled them off.
Back in the tavern's bedroom, looking at the bodies and pondering where to begin, Lillian was foremost in Sam's mind. Here he was, about to give a couple he didn’t know a little dignity in death, albeit by removing them to the dump, while his own sister had been left as rat food. He resolved the next corpse they moved would be hers.
The landlord’s ankles hit the floor with a thud as Sam dropped them off the bed. "Gah! It's slimy," he complained. The corpse was now lying face down on the floor, stiff as a board. Neither boy wanted to touch him again and so they gathered up the blankets and carefully rolled the landlord and his wife into long parcels. When they dragged the bundles downstairs every step was accompanied with a thud or a crack. The cracks were worse, making both of them flinch each time it happened.
When, after a struggle, they had the bodies loaded onto the cart, only grim determination and gritted teeth drove Sam to place his hands back on the handles. Weary, they set off back toward the dump and as they traced their way through the city streets, the realisation dawned on Sam that he wouldn’t have the energy to make a second trip with the cart. He insisted they took a diversion and instead of heading out of the city, they weaved the cart through the alleys toward Sam's former home. As they neared, a sickness rose in his belly at the thought of what they'd find, and by the time they were standing outside his front door he’d begun to shake and couldn’t exert enough will to move his legs.
"You alright?" ventured Joshua.
"I don't think I can do it."
"Yes you can, just take a deep breath," said Joshua, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Sam tried taking a breath. He took several but simply couldn’t bring himself to open the door. He turned to Joshua, "Burn it." If he couldn't face moving his sister, he'd burn her body to save whatever was left from the rats. Althoug
h he doubted it was much.
Without needing to be asked twice, Joshua opened the front door, lifted his hand to his mouth and disappeared inside. It didn't take long for him to empty the oil from the lamps onto Lillian’s body before striking it with his tinderbox. Without stopping to watch her burn, he went back into the street to stand silently at Sam's side.
The glow of fire could be seen flickering through the windows and they stood motionless as flames grew and wisps of smoke began to escape through the open door. Sam sobbed while silently saying his final goodbyes.
Before long, flames were licking up the outside walls from the windows and door. Paint slowly peeled back on itself and timber beams began to blacken as the fire grew to engulf the house. Smoke filled the street, drying their throats and stinging their eyes. Fire started to spout from beneath the neighbour’s eaves. With a flurry of sparks and a rumbling not dissimilar to thunder, the roof of Sam’s house collapsed in on itself and only then was he shocked out of his grief.
"Do something," he said to Joshua, who'd watched the fire spread without a word.
"Like what?" Joshua turned. He was smiling with glee, although his eyes were streaming and tears smeared soot down his cheeks.
"I don't know. Anything!" Sam was frantic.
Just then, the neighbour’s roof also caved in, along with part of the wall, shooting more sparks high into the air. Black smoke billowed out from the inferno and swirled about them until they were struggling for breath and the heat burned their lungs.
"Run." shouted Joshua over the crackling of fire and popping of timbers.
Sam didn't need to be told twice and took off after Joshua who was already halfway down the street, laughing like a fool between coughs. The cart bearing the landlord and his wife was left abandoned in the middle of the road.
The Dark Stone Page 3