Tears of Blood

by Rachel Martin

“Stay here,” Olly says.

  We wait. We hear someone running in our direction. I kneel and peek through the bushes.

  “Where are you?”

  It’s Stephen.

  “Here,” I say standing up. “Come on.” I grab Olly’s hand and the rucksack.

  We step out into the road. Stephen has a gun in his hand. He is bleeding from a cut on his eyebrow. I stare at it.

  “I’m OK,” he says, wiping it with the back of his hand. “Come on.”

  We start jogging down one of the roads, deeper into the countryside. The road becomes a lane. It is twisting and turning going on and on. Then I hear footsteps behind us. A gun goes off.

  “Stop,” someone yells.

  We ignore it and keep on going. I have that tightening sensation running through my body again. A bullet whacks into a tree just ahead of us.

  “Stop,” he yells again.

  We stop. We turn. It’s one of the soldiers. He looks young, about my age, maybe a little older. Stephen hides Olly behind him.

  “You fucking arsehole,” the man says stepping towards us.

  He has a huge gash on his face. I slowly step towards Stephen, who is now aiming his gun at the man.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you boy,” Stephen says.

  I grab Olly and rush towards the trees. We hide behind one. I hug Olly tight and peek around the trunk.

  “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  The man is stepping towards Stephen slowly.

  “If you were going to do it, you would’ve done it already. Why don’t you and your mates just fuck off back to your boss.”

  “Fuck you,” he spits, blood and phlegm hit the pavement in front of Stephen.

  He is stepping ever closer.

  Part of me wants Stephen to shoot the man the other half doesn’t. He’s too young and good looking to die.

  “I know you don’t want to do this,” Stephen says.

  “You know nothing.”

  They stare at each other for a few moments. I can’t stand the tension. Do something, I will it. Olly kisses my cheek.

  “I’ll tell you what, why don’t we just sort this out like men.”

  The man balls one of his fists, blinks and nods microscopically, clearly non-consciously. Though we all saw it.

  “Yeah,” Stephen nods, the man nods again properly this time. “I’ll put my gun down first, yeah?”

  Stephen bends his knees slowly and puts the gun on the ground and slides it over the tarmac towards the trees. The man does the same.

  “Come on then,” the man says motioning for Stephen to come closer, with a slow one-handed clap.

  Stephen is bigger than the man. He is surely no match for him. Olly and I step out from behind the tree to watch. Stephen steps closer to the man. The man has both fists up, like a boxer. He is bouncing from one foot to the other. As soon as Stephen is within punching distance the man swings for him, and misses. Stephen dodges out of the way, then punches the man hard in the stomach. The man doubles over clutching his stomach. He coughs, wheezes, and stumbles about. Then he shakes himself down and stands back up again. He starts bouncing from foot to foot again. He lifts his hands, shakes his head, approaches Stephen, and swings. Again he misses as Stephen dodges out of the way. Stephen hits the man in the stomach, harder. I wince. The man cripples over. He falls to his knees, he is sick.

  “Just turn around and leave,” Stephen warns.

  “Fuck you,” the man gasps, hunched over, looking up.

  His face is sweating. Blood is dripping out of his mouth. He can’t talk properly.

  Stephen steps towards him and punches him in the side of the head. He falls to the floor. He stops moving. Me and Olly rush over to crumpled form on the road. I drop to my knees. Stephen feels for a pulse in the man’s neck.

  “He’ll be fine, so will his mates.”

  Stephen grabs him by the arms and drags him off of the road. He covers him up with some fallen leaves. I watch on open-mouthed.

  “Trust me he’ll be fine.”

  “I do trust you, it’s just,” I am lost for words, I smirk, “well, I’m impressed, that’s all.”

  “Impressed, impressed,” Olly says.

  Stephen steps out of the bushes, picks up both the guns, and puts them in his belt.

  “You need to teach me how to fight like that,” I say.

  Stephen laughs, “all in good time.”

  He extends his hand to Olly who laughs and takes it. They start walking down the road. I am still staring at the heap under the leaves. I tear my eyes away and run to catch up with Stephen and Olly.

  “What did you do to his mates?”

  “I jumped out of the bushes behind them. I hit them around the head with a log before they realised what was going on. They’ll be out for a while. I got him too, but not as hard, he fell to the floor dazed. I thought that was enough to confuse him, but, well… he came back and hit me, I thought I’d knocked him out after though, he’s tougher than he looks.”

  “OK,” I say.

  “Anyway, we can’t go to that village you were on about yesterday. It won’t be safe now. We’ll find somewhere else.”

  nineteen

  Olly’s face turns white. He grips the sleeve of my sweater. He tugs it, hard. He holds on to it. He is stretching it.

  “We must go, Izzy,” he says.

  It’s not him talking. He’s different. He’s changed. A cold trail travels along my arm. It burns. I shiver.

  “What do you mean?” I prize his little hand off of my cuff a finger at a time.

  “We must leave the cottage now and go to the farm.”

  I can’t speak. We’ve been here for a little over a week, and that was only after days of hiking, after days and days of trying to get as much distance between us and the group of soldiers as possible. On the walk, Stephen would go out and create false trails to divert the trackers. He said he would show us how to do this one day. I look down into Olly’s green eyes. Stephen’s eyes. They are wide and shining brightly. They are reflecting the sunlight coming in through the window. They start flickering, creating illusions. I am being sucked in. I can almost see what he sees. They are like a fortune-tellers ball. I turn away from him, shake my head, and stare out of the window. I look at the scenic garden, in this scenic place. I gaze beyond it, to the idyllic lake. I love it here.

  “No, no we don’t.” I shake my head and grab the sponge from the sink and start scrubbing the sides.

  “We have to go.”

  “Why are you saying this?” I snap.

  “The bad men are coming.”

  “What?” I shake my head again, “no they’re not, they’re long gone.”

  “The bad men Izzy.”

  “Be quiet, Stephen might hear you.”

  “But Izzy.”

  I shove one of his toy cars into his hands. It seems to break him out of the spell. My shoulders fall. I lean into the counter and sigh heavily. Olly starts revving his cars all over the surfaces. I sit down at the kitchen table and stare at the grain in the wood. There is no way I’m leaving the cottage. It feels like home, a real home, after so long of just existing. I can almost fool myself into thinking that things are normal here. I can almost fool myself into thinking there was no disease. But Olly’s words are haunting me. My begins to race. I feel sick. The thought of having to go back out on the road is making my skin burn, I am itching all over. I cannot scratch it. I do not want to go back out there. I do not want to see another rotting corpse. I shake my head. No, no, no. I am not going back out there. I love the cottage. I love this rural village. I love being so far away from the built-up areas. We are happy, we are secluded, we are alone. Even Stephen has come round to the idea that maybe, just maybe, this could be our home. Stupid Olly, ruining everything.

  “Don’t tell Stephen,” I whisper.

  Olly stops playing and stands in front of me.

  “Did you hear me?” I ask.

  “I have to,” he says with that faraway
look in his eyes again.

  “Please don’t Olly.” I shake him a little. He seems to come around. “We’re going to be OK.”

  “But...”

  “No one is coming, you hear me. No one”

  He stares at me, then starts to play again. In that tiny moment, I manage to convince myself that things are going to be OK. The weight is lifted but replaced more or less instantaneously. It’s even heavier than before. I sigh noisily.

  “Who’s coming,” Stephen says walking into the room.

  I jump and whip my head around to the doorway. He has a towel wrapped around his middle. He has just had a shower, yes a shower! I sigh. All the things we could lose if we have to leave here rush through my mind.

  On the first morning after we arrived, we discovered an old handmade pump in a little room outside attached to the kitchen. We had no idea what it was, or what it was for. It looked so cumbersome and ancient. But we soon discovered that it was hooked up to an old water system, and allows water to be syphoned up from the lake into the house. More importantly though, it can be used in the shower room. Stephen spent that first morning repairing the pump and when he got it working, we realised that the water travels through pipes which go straight through the hearth of the fire before they travel up into a cylinder just above the shower room. Gravity does the rest of the work. And as long as we pump the water quite slowly the water heats up in the pipes and the cylinder holds the heat. This was the best discovery yet. Warm showers. Something I thought I’d never have again. My first shower here was like Heaven. I honestly had no idea how dirty I was. I had gotten used to smelling like a toilet. I literally changed colour before my own eyes. My thick, matted, greasy hair became a pleasure to touch again. I felt like a girl again. It really is the small things.

  “What is it?” Stephen asks staring at me.

  I focus. He rests a hand on the surface of the table and leans toward me.

  “What is it Iz?”

  “Nothing,” I say, breaking eye contact, and turning away to stare out of the window.

  “I know something’s up, what is it?”

  “She doesn’t want to leave,” Olly says.

  “Olly,” I cry. “Stop it.”

  Stephen steps towards Olly and picks him up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Olly don’t,” I shout.

  “She doesn’t want to go,” he says.

  “Why would she go?”

  Olly goes silent, he drops his car. It hits the tiled floor ominously. The room falls silent. We are both staring at Olly.

  “The bad men. They’re going to find us.”

  Stephen puts Olly down on the table, and he sits beside me. We all sit in silence for a few minutes.

  “We’re leaving today,” Stephen suddenly says slapping the table and standing up. “Get your bags packed. We leave this house in the next couple of hours.”

  “No,” I say.

  “He’s right. It is too dangerous here. We’ve been here too long already. You have no idea the types of people that are out there.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t. We’re leaving.”

  “Why? Olly’s just being stupid, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Stephen raises an eyebrow, “you know better than that Isabel.”

  “You’re not my Dad, you know.” I scowl at him. There is a hatred pouring out. “You can’t call me that.”

  Stephen stares at me in silence. A sharp pang bursts inside me. Guilt. I fight it. I want to stay. I fold my arms and glare at him.

  “You know as well as I do that Olly just knows things.”

  “Whatever.” I tut and look away.

  Olly begins trying to slide off the table. Stephen picks him up and sets him back down on the floor.

  “Well me and Olly are leaving, you can stay here if you like.”

  “No,” Olly shouts. “Izzy’s coming.”

  I feel the temperature of the room increase slightly.

  “Look you’re upsetting your brother.” Stephen places a hand on my upper arm gently. “You know we have to go. I know you can feel it’s right, like I do. There is a growing danger.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do.” Stephen steps towards the sink and leans against it staring down the garden. “Go upstairs and pack your things. I’ll go and get us some fresh breakfast from the lake for the trip.”

  I stomp up the stairs to my bedroom. Stupid bloody Olly and his stupid bloody sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, senses.

  “There’s some warm water in the tank, have a shower,” Stephen calls up the stairs. “We’re leaving soon.”

  I say nothing and slam my bedroom door. The old cottage rattles around me. They can fuck off without me then. I sigh and fall onto my bed knowing full well that there is no way in a million years I want to be left alone. I do know there is a lot of danger out there. I ball my fists and punch my bed. What am I going to do? This is so pointless. I hear the door open downstairs. I rush to the window and watch Olly and Stephen walk down the garden hand in hand. It is a beautiful morning. The sky is blue, there are only a few wispy white clouds floating about. I open the window and breathe deeply. I can smell the flowers which are beginning to bloom with all the colour of spring. I can smell the lake. I can hear tiny splashing noises as fish breach the water. It is perfect. It is tranquil. It is a paradise. I love it here.

  Stephen drags the boat out and picks up Olly and sits him inside it. He is wearing his orange life vest. My heart melts. Stephen pushes the boat deeper into the water and gets in beside Olly. They both look up at the window and see me. Olly waves. I drop down below the window ledge. I wait. I peek back up. Stephen is rowing them out to the middle of the lake. I watch as they row deeper and deeper then stop and cast the fishing lines. They are going to catch something fresh for breakfast, but I won’t eat it. Olly is laughing. I can tell by the way he is moving about. He loves the boat. He loves it here. Why is he being so annoying? As I watch him, his thoughts transmit into me. My heart beats cold blood. My veins freeze. Maybe he is right, maybe we should leave. Why do I deny it? I know he is right, he always is. Olly suddenly whips his head up and sees me through the window. I wave to him and push down the rising dread. The dread is the knowing. I shake my head, shudder and grab my towel for a shower. Probably my last one ever. Why does this world have to test me like this? I shower until the unit runs dry. Then I start to cry.

  What the Hell shall I take with me? I grab my rucksack from the floor and drop it on to the bed. I open it up. The smells from life before the cottage hit me. It stinks. Tears form in my eyes. I feel like someone has died. I want to scream out in frustration. I hold it back. What am I supposed to do? Screaming will get me nowhere. I open both the cupboard doors violently. The gust it creates blows over my face. I smell the clean clothes. I breathe it in. Lavenders, lemons, sunset kiss. How long until the fabric loses these scents forever? Too soon that’s for sure. Over the past few weeks we have been hunting through all the houses in the village, so now I have a large collection of clothes. I stand and stare at them all hanging up in the wardrobe. All the colours of the rainbow are represented. I feel a twinge in my stomach. I am momentarily haunted by regret, knowing that the original owners are now in all likelihood dead. I grit my teeth, and tell myself that it is not my fault. I have got to stop being stupid, I have got to face reality, I have got to be strong. If I allow every little thing to get on top of me like this, I will never get anywhere ever again. Stop thinking about things I can’t change. I realise that I have stupidly allowed myself to become human again. I have allowed myself to imagine another world, a civilized world, and that is to my detriment. There is no other world than this brutal world. I clench my fists digging my newly polished and filed nails into my palms, holding it for a second to really feel the pain, and then unclench them. As my fingers move away from my palms, my nails stick into them for a moment before tearing away. I take a bright red top out of the wardrobe and
clutch it to my chest. Red is the colour of war. I lift it to my nose. I close my eyes and breathe in the fabric conditioner. I never appreciated this before, like I never appreciated the shower. Well I do now! I look up to the ceiling.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to the real owners like they can hear me, like they care.

  I place the top on the bed next to the rucksack. I take one of the dresses out and layer it over me. A short floral summer dress. What use is this to me now? I hang it back up, angrily. How much should I take with me? What should I take? What is useful? What will I actually need? Is there any point in taking anything more than what I can carry? We have a car now, but how far we will be able to drive until the roads are blocked again? I slump down onto the edge of the bed and think. What to do? What to do? What to do? We are about 150 miles away from the farm, in other words, a long way. All it will take is one crash to force us on to our feet again. I rub my face in my hands and stare up at the ceiling. What to do? What to take? This is shit and I’m hungry. I look out of window. They have caught a fish it is wriggling about on the end of the line. Stephen is reeling it in. But there must be something left downstairs.

  I step down the narrow staircase and onto the floor. As soon as my bare feet touch the tiles my skin begins to crawl. There is a strange scratching sound somewhere in the room. I freeze. Something knocks over behind me. I am surrounded in darkness. I am being constricted. What is wrong? In through the nose out through the mouth. I want to turn around but I am too scared. I want to run but I have turned to stone. I stare at the back door, I stare through the window and down in to the garden. I can just about see Olly and Stephen out on the lake. Run you idiot, run. Do it, run in three, two, one, and just as I am about to go for the door someone grabs me from behind. Their hand presses down over my mouth, really hard. I can barely breathe. What the fuck is happening? I start kicking. I am lifted up off of the ground. The hand smells horrible. I am boiling up. Sweat is pouring off of me. I can’t move. A strong arm is around my stomach. It is clutching me so tight I am being crushed. I start getting get dragged backwards.

  twenty