My brother died when he was a baby.
He never grew up.
He was all in my head.
The three of them finally hit the main steel doors, and sunlight flooded her vision as the fresh air wafted over them, blowing away the cobwebs and filth of the bunker. The trees above the bunker entrance whispered to one another as they always had, the remaining crops in the nearby fields bending in the wind. Harris guided Freda and Mikala over to a flat area of grass, sitting them down gently as he followed suit. He released his hold on Freda only to reach inside his shirt pocket, pulling out the battered packet of cigarettes and lighting one. A twirl of grey smoke slid into the air above his head.
Freda stared down at the green blades beneath her boots, her fingers trailing absent-mindedly through them. The day had warmed up with the sun, chasing away the fog and frostiness that had accompanied them on their journey from the abandoned house. It was beautiful. But she didn’t notice any of it. Her voice hoarse, she began, “He was never real, Harris.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Another drag on the cigarette.
“But…so many people have died because of me. Reilly came to help, and you. If Reilly had never been dragged all the way to York, she might have lived longer.” She sagged under the weight of her self-punishment, worn out by it.
“Hey, look at me.” Harris leaned over, his jeans rasping against the grass as he held his cigarette between the fingers of his other hand, reaching out to take her palm in his. He bent his head so he could gaze into her eyes in the way he always did when he wanted her to really listen. “Reilly wouldn’t have been anywhere else. You helped her, remember? She had one wish before she died, and she was able to fulfil it, because of you. And you saved her from that bandit near Ripon. She told me about it. And when she went…” He drew in a deep breath, sucking hard on the cigarette until he let out a dry cough. “She was surrounded by people who loved her. That’s more than most can say.”
“What about the performers?”
“They were going to pass through, anyway. Katrina said so herself.”
Mikala grinned shyly, prodding her finger into Freda’s knee, her afro hair bobbing in the wind. “And you rescued me. My mum’ll be happy to know I’m okay, wherever she is now. With your friend, Reilly.”
The girl’s words seemed to bring Freda back for a moment, and she smiled down at her, stroking Mikala’s back as she took in the hope shining in her young eyes. “I’m happy we rescued you, pet.” She turned her head to look back at Harris, the smile dropping again. The scent of wildflowers drifted past for a moment, nothing more than a lingering memory as the wind blew harder. “And what about you? I dragged you from the Vigilants, for nothing.”
Harris gave a soft chuckle, shuffling over until he was sat next to her, so close that his jacket pressed against her coat with a scratchy whisper. Taking her cheek in one hand, he leaned in, his stubble rough against her skin. He captured her lips in a tender kiss. He stayed there for a long moment, as though pressing every inch of love he had for Freda into her body. Releasing her with a reluctant rub of his nose against hers, he murmured, “I don’t care. I love you, Freda. I do. I’d march straight back into that hive of Skin-Eaters if it would make you happy.” His tone became serious. “I’d do anything for you. I’ve found you, and I’m not going to let you go. Besides,” he added with a grin, taking another puff of his cigarette and blowing it coolly into the air, “I think it’s time the Allied Vigilants had a new branch set up somewhere else.”
Freda and Mikala both laughed at his comical nod, but Freda’s died away sharply as a pang of guilt went through her again. It was deeper than her other regrets, settled into her bones. Giving a sniff, determined not to cry again, she rasped, “So you still want the crazy lady?” She gave a tight smile, but her chin wobbled. “I still feel him, you know. I know Gareth—my Gareth, anyway—wasn’t real, but…I can still feel him. Like he’s died all over again and I’m in mourning for him.”
Harris scrambled to his feet, pulling her upright as he flicked the stub of his cigarette onto the road, pulling her in for another kiss. He tasted of tobacco, but she didn’t care, his warmth wrapping around her as he stroked her hair, searching her eyes with his. “I know, sweetheart. But we’ll get through this. Together. Me, you, and Mikala. For the rest of our lives.” His jaw ticked. “That thing your mother said about the Illness…I don’t know that I believe her. I don’t feel ill, and I don’t think you do, either.”
“I don’t, really.” Freda gave another sniff, her nose feeling swollen and heavy. She hoped her emotions would calm down once the burst dam released what it had to. I can’t be a blubbering mess for the rest of my life. In answer to his question, Freda shook her head at Harris with a sigh. “There’s no way of knowing if she was telling the truth or not. But she mentioned that place where they said they had found a cure. New Selby, right?”
Mikala put her hand on her hip, clearing her throat to make both adults look over at her. She cocked an eyebrow as if waiting to tell them off. “When you guys have quite finished being gross and smooching each other, we should probably get going. I like the sound of New Selby.”
Freda let out a merry laugh. The small girl had a way of bringing her out of her moods that reminded her of Reilly. A brief thought touched the back of her mind, that perhaps in some way Reilly had made sure they bumped into one another, but she pushed it away again. Come on, you’re not going to start believing all that stuff, are you? Smiling at Mikala’s practicality, she glanced up at Harris and took a deep breath, squeezing his hand tightly. “I think Mikala’s decided for us. Do you think the Allied Vigilants could set up there?”
“I’m almost certain of it,” Harris grinned back, holding out his other hand for Mikala. She skipped over to him happily, taking it and falling into step as the three of them started off on the road south. The dust blew over it as always, brown and dry while the fields of dying wheat bent and struggled against the wind pulling at them. The trees got greener in the distance to the south, a promise of what was to come.
While everything looked as it always had outside the bunker, Freda realised she had never set off on this road with anyone, least of all the man she loved and an adopted daughter. Her heart still ached for the memories of Gareth, but she promised herself that she would never forget him, even if he wasn’t real. Because when she had needed someone as a child, he had been there. And once she had grown up, and could look after herself in the world, he had faded away and left her, knowing she would be okay. And she had found what she most needed. Love. She smiled over at Harris and Mikala, both cheerfully chattering about what they were going to do first in the new city once they got there. It was good for her soul, to hear laughter that didn’t become cackling, and talk of the bright, rosy future they would have together.
She looked across at the landscape spilling out before them, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it rose higher in the painfully blue sky, heating her cheeks. Everything waited ahead for Harris, Mikala and herself. Their own little family, living in New Selby. She could almost smell the joyful dinners they would make together, hear the merriment of the friends they would invite to their cosy little house, feel the warmth of Harris as he slept beside her. They had been through so much, but they were going to be okay. The wastes hadn’t destroyed them. She still wished Reilly could have been with them, but she was starting to know that somehow, Reilly was watching over them, with Cary by her side.
Freda breathed in deeply, her feet no longer sore as they marched along the road to their new home. We are the few, she thought to herself contentedly. We are the happy few.
THE END
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More About The Author
I'm Miranda Stork, and I'm addicted. Addicted to writing and reading books, anyway. And chocolate, but that's another issue - no interventions, please.
I live
in the middle of a forest in North Yorkshire, spending my spare time as the wild woman of the woods, scaring small children and upsetting the sheep. On the days that I feel like being civilized, or I haven't got any unicorns to ride, I sit down and pour the tumbling thoughts in my head out onto digital paper. Mainly the thoughts and characters come out in paranormal form, with a good smattering of romance, because everyone likes a good cuddle. But you can also find strong elements of thrillers, myths, and even dystopia amongst the pages of all my novels. I've wanted to write books ever since I first realised that fairytales were not the newspapers of the fairy kingdom, but the imaginings of actual people who wanted to tell fancy made-up stories to other people. From that moment, I was hooked.
Why do I write? Good question. It might be easier to just keep the stories in my head, or even just to write them for myself. But I want to share them. There is no greater delight for a writer than when a reader devours your book, and declares, "Something in that novel resonated with me. And I want MORE." So grab your lucky clover and a baseball bat (there's some nasty paranormal creatures where we're going), eat the cookie with 'eat me' tagged on it, and enter through the tiny door into the world of Miranda Stork...
Read more here!
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