by Amy Cross
“You're out of here,” I tell her firmly, kicking her shoulder hard and sending her stumbling back down to the ground. “If you ever come back to Steadfall, you'll meet the same fate as Harry Shaw. Is that clear?”
“Please,” she stammers, with tears in her eyes, “I won't survive out here alone.”
“You won't be alone,” I reply. “You'll have Ellis for company. And anyone else who decides they don't want to stick to the rules I've laid down.”
“We won't make it!” she hisses. “What kind of bitch leaves people out to die?”
“You should've thought of that before you tried to jump me,” I tell her. “You're lucky I'm letting you live at all.”
Turning, I see that Harold is still watching me. I have to admit that if he wasn't here, I might be a little more lenient, I might even consider letting Alison and Ellis come back to the town, but I feel I need to put on a show of force. I'm sick of letting people think I'm a soft touch.
“Why are you such a bitch?” Alison stammers, struggling to her feet.
I turn back to her. “Playing nice won't make me change my mind.”
When she lowers her hands from her face, I can't help wincing at the sight of her mangled nose. I caused way more damage than I'd intended, but that tends to happen when I'm spooked. My training kicks in and people end up hurt or worse.
“What if I tell you who put us up to it?” she asks. “Then will you let us come back? Or if not both of us, then at least me.”
“I already know who put you up to it,” I reply. “I saw you talking to Deckard earlier.”
“Deckard?” She limps toward me. “It wasn't Deckard, you idiot! It was -”
Before she can finish, Harold aims a well-timed punch at her throat. She staggers back, clutching her neck and gasping hopelessly for air. She turns and tries to run, but she quickly drops to her knees. She's choking to death, and there's nothing anyone can do to help her.
“She was about to go for you,” Harold tells me. “She was going to grab your knife.”
“I wouldn't have let her.”
“Well, I...” He pauses, as Alison gasps for air on the ground. “Sorry,” he adds finally, with a faint smile, “maybe I over-reacted, but I thought you were in danger.”
Glancing down at Alison, I see that her face is turning red now as she continues to suffocate. I know there's nothing I can do to help her, but I can't help feeling a little suspicious as I turn back to Harold.
“That move you just used on her,” I say cautiously, “it was -”
“Military,” he replies.
“You said you were a doctor.”
“I was. In the military.” He pauses for a moment, as if he's amused by my suspicions. “I fought in the war. I think I was a medic of some sort, but my memories of the actual combat period were wiped after my tour of duty ended.” Another pause. “Maybe I'm crazy, Asher, but I get the feeling that you -”
“I was in the army too,” I tell him. “I fought in the war.”
“And you don't remember it either?”
I shake my head.
“It's not often I come across a fellow ex-soldier,” he continues, holding his right hand out toward me. “I definitely didn't expect to meet one on the island.”
I shake his hand, even though I don't like the way he seems to be constantly analyzing me.
“It's hard, isn't it?” he asks. “Having that hole in your mind, I mean. We both know we went through hell during the war, but we don't know exactly what happened to us. They took away our memories, we don't even remember who we were fighting, but...” He pauses for a moment. “There are still echoes, right? Little moments when you react to something in a strange way, and you realize it's some buried instinct kicking in?”
“I try not to think about it,” I tell him.
“I think about it all the time,” he replies. “I know I must have seen some truly awful things, but I can only imagine what they were. You and I are clearly more alike than I'd realized.”
I shudder at those words.
“I'm sorry I interfered,” he continues, looking down at Alison now that she's finally dead. “I see now that you could have handled yourself just fine.”
“I have things to do,” I tell him. “Traps to set, bait -”
“I'd like to talk to you about the war some time,” he says suddenly, interrupting me. “Maybe we could help each other dig up some memories.”
I shake my head.
“You don't want to remember?” he asks.
“There's no point. It was a long time ago.”
“I assume you went on a full tour of duty,” he continues. “That would have been three years of your life that were wiped from your mind. Three years of pure horror that have been taken from you. I have the same gap in my head, Asher, and I'd really like to get at least some of it back.”
“Good luck with that,” I reply, “but you'll have to do it on your own.”
He pauses, before finally nodding. “I understand. You're scared of what you might -”
“I'm not scared!” I say firmly, instinctively hitting back at that idea. “I just don't see the point in raking up the past!I remember my military training, and that's really the only part of the whole thing that's any use to me these days. I'm sure the war was hell, I'm sure I saw awful things, but I don't want to dredge it all up. Maybe they were right to wipe it from our minds, maybe no-one can live with the memories of something like that.”
“You don't really accept that explanation, do you?”
“I'm starting to,” I reply, taking a step back. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to get on with things. I'm sure there are people who need your help, too.”
“I'm sure there are.”
I wait for him to leave, but once again he seems content to simply observe me. Finally, I turn and start walking away, heading toward the next ridge so I can check the next set of snares.
“Deckard tried to have you killed today!” Harold calls after me. “Are you just going to let him get away with it?”
Stopping at the top of the ridge, I glance back at him.
“He'll try again,” he continues. “Don't doubt that for a second.”
“I won't,” I reply, before hurrying away. I know he's right, but I also know that I need to be smart when it comes to my response. Besides, Deckard knows I'm tough, and it's hard to believe that he really thought three poorly-trained idiots could bring me down. Maybe the attack wasn't meant to kill me, maybe it was just a warning.
When I get to the next set of snares, I find one dead rabbit waiting for me. As I crouch down and start twisting the wire from around its neck, I can't help feeling sorry for the poor thing, and imagining its final moments as it realized it was trapped and that it was about to die.
“One mistake,” I mutter, pulling the rabbit free and holding its corpse up for a moment. “Sometimes that's all it takes.”
Chapter Twelve
Iris
After examining the burned huts for a few hours I'm finally able to get a better idea of how this town worked, and how it was destroyed.
There was a large central clearing, much like Steadfall, with a dozen wooden structures arranged around the edges. Unlike Steadfall, however, there seems to have been one structure in particular that was larger than the others, suggesting either the home of a leader or perhaps the main building of a governing group. Asher has consistently refused to do anything that places herself above Steadfall's citizens, but here at this other town it's clear that there was a more obvious power structure. When I take a look inside the larger hut, however, I find only a few more burned corpses, but nothing to indicate who was in control of this place or what kind of town they were running.
What I do find, however, is a large circle carved into the wood, with two vertical lines running through the center. I've noticed the same symbol a few times, on walls and doors, and at first I started to think that maybe the town had some kind of official symbol. As I take a closer lo
ok at some of the corpses, however, I notice that the same symbol appears to have been carved into their skulls, which suggests that it was left behind by whoever ransacked the town and burned the place to the ground. Making my way to the darker, farthest end of the large hut, I find yet more corpses piled up in the corner, as if they were desperately trying to find a way out as the flames took hold.
It's not hard to imagine what it must have been like in this place, right at the end. The inhabitants must have died in agony and fear, there must have been screams and, judging by the relative freshness of the rotten bodies outside, I'm starting to think that all of this happened just a few weeks ago. I didn't notice any smoke rising into the sky during my journey, but there's no doubt that someone came to this town and burned it to the ground, killing at least a hundred people who were living here. Something like that would take organization and manpower, it'd take a group of people rather than a lone wolf.
And they'd need to be led by a complete madman.
Stopping for a moment to stare down at more burned bodies in the larger hut, I suddenly realize I can hear movement outside. I step over to the wall and peer out through a crack, and sure enough I spot a figure creeping through the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing, edging closer.
“Told you,” Della's voice whispers. “You should have run while you had the chance.”
Chapter Thirteen
Asher
“What's wrong?” I call out, forcing my way through a substantial crowd that has gathered at the side of the hut. “Let me through! What's happening?”
When I get to the front, I find that Deckard and a few others are already here. On the ground, Emma Lucas is breathing heavily and looking decidedly pale, while a patch of vomit is glistening in the mud nearby. One of the work trestles has been tipped over, leaving pieces of canopy in the mud.
“Don't get too close,” Deckard says, putting a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. “She's sick.”
“What kind of sick?” I ask.
“That's what we're trying to work out,” he says darkly, glancing at me. “Are you okay? You've seemed rattled since you were at the snares.”
“Surprised that I came back at all?” I ask.
For a moment, I see a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He probably thought that I'd have reacted by now to the attempt on my life, that I'd have confronted him. Figuring that I need to be smart and keep him guessing, I take a step closer to Emma, who looks as if she might throw up again at any moment. Crouching down while making sure not to get too close, I look into her eyes and see that she's struggling to stay conscious. She looks deathly pale, too, with sweat glistening on her forehead. We've had sick people in the town before, but this seems more extreme.
“Emma, can you hear me?” I ask cautiously. “Emma, it's Asher. Tell me how you feel.”
Her lips move, but she seems too drained to get any words out. Her whole body is shaking, as if she's gripped by some kind of fever.
“It came on suddenly,” says one of the men standing nearby. “She was fine about two hours ago, and then she said she needed to rest, and then this started. Her speech began to get slurred and when she tried to move, she toppled over.”
“What do you think it is?” another man asks. “Is it some kind of plague?”
“Could we all get it?” asks a woman. “What if it's infectious and it's in the air all around us?”
Before I can answer, Emma leans over and vomits again, bringing up a trickle of pale yellow liquid that drips from her lips.
“She's the only one so far,” Deckard says darkly, “but I've been worried about this for a while. People don't always follow the sanitation rules we put in place. It was only a matter of time before someone ended up paying the price. Then again, this seems like something more serious. I'm not sure poor sanitation alone could cause someone to get this sick, this fast.”
“We need to isolate her,” I reply, watching as Emma starts retching. Yellow bile trickles from her lips, mixed with a little blood. “Do we know what she's done over the past day? Is there a chance that she's left the town at any point and maybe eaten something poisonous?”
“She's just been working the whole time,” says Mary, one of the other women. “Since the three new canopies arrived today, we've been trying to get them unpicked so we can turn them into blankets. Just a couple of hours ago, we were talking about all the possibilities.”
“Something must have caused this,” I mutter, as Emma lets out a slow, deep groan. I pause for a moment, before realizing what we have to do. “She needs to be quarantined,” I continue, turning to Deckard. “I want everyone to keep away from her. Anyone who's already had physical contact with her today needs to be watched for symptoms.” Hearing a worried murmur from the crowd, I turn to them. “Most likely this is nothing serious, it's just a passing bug, but we can't cut corners. Did any of you have direct contact with Emma today? Did any of you touch her, or share a cup with her, anything like that?”
I wait, but no-one replies.
“This is important!” I say firmly. “Come on, who's been in close proximity with her?”
Cautiously, one of the women puts her hand up, and a moment later one of the men does the same.
“That doesn't mean we'll get sick, does it?” the woman asks, with fear in her eyes.
“You'll be fine,” I tell her, “but we're taking precautions.” Hearing Emma vomiting again, I turn and look back down at her just in time to see that she's trying to crawl away.
“Does anyone else feel any symptoms at all?” Deckard calls out. “If you do, now's the time to speak up!”
As they continue to discuss the situation, I keep pace with Emma, watching as she tries to crawl away from the hut. I know I should tell her to conserve her strength, but to be honest I'm a little relieved that she seems to be trying to get to the edge of town. If she could rest out there, away from everyone else, there's a chance she might recover without infecting anyone else. After a moment, however, I find that Deckard has come over to join me.
“I'm busy,” I tell him, still watching Emma.
“We need to move fast to contain this,” he replies.
“She'll be okay.”
“You don't believe that for one second,” he continues. “Look at her. Listen to her shallow breathing. She'll be dead before morning, and it's highly likely that she'll have infected other people. Hoping for the best isn't going to get us out of this one. If we don't act fast, this sickness could spread through the entire town. It could kill everyone!”
“We don't know it's that bad yet,” I mutter.
“We have to take every precaution.”
“What's your problem?” I hiss, turning to him. “Why are you -”
“This isn't the time for you to panic!” he says firmly, interrupting me. “Whatever problem you have with me, Asher, save it for later. Right now we have to deal with this mess.”
Looking down at Emma as she continues to crawl across the ground, I realize that Deckard's right. We have no medicine here on the island, nothing we can use to treat people, which means containment is our only hope.
“We'll keep her apart from everyone else,” I say finally, “and keep an eye on the others for symptoms. Anyone who coughs has to be temporarily moved out of town, at least until we can be sure that they're not sick.”
“I agree,” he replies. “Get everyone to leave for a while, just until you're sure that no-one else is infected. Then they can return if they don't have symptoms. Obviously this thing seems to progress rapidly, so it shouldn't take too long to work out if anyone else is sick.” He turns to me. “You've made the right decision.”
“I don't need you to tell me that,” I reply darkly.
Hearing another gasp from Emma, I look down and see that she's almost at the edge of the clearing.
“Something seems very wrong here,” Deckard mutters. “It's almost as if some kind of infection was introduced to the town.”
“I have to go with
her,” I mutter, turning and walking away from him. Once I reach Emma, I look back and see that Deckard has returned to the town and is already taking charge, ordering people to report any symptoms they might experience. When I look down at Emma again, I realize that I can't risk touching her, not if she's infectious. “It's okay,” I say finally, even though I'm starting to fear the worst. “You're going to be fine. We're all going to be okay.”
Chapter Fourteen
Iris
As soon as he steps close enough to the hut's charred doorway, I make my move. Stepping out, I grab the man's neck and pull him back, while quickly placing the blade of my knife against his throat. He gasps and tries to pull away, but I'm holding him too firmly and he stops struggling soon enough. The knife's blade presses against his flesh but doesn't cut through, not yet.
It's at times like this, I really wish I could still speak.
“Don't kill me!” he stammers, his voice sounding cracked and dry. “Please, I wasn't one of them! I just came to look for food!”
He seems old and frail, in his fifties or maybe even sixties, but I can't afford to take any chances. Shoving him forward until he trips and falls to the ground, I glance around to make sure that there's no sign of anyone else and then I step closer to him with my knife still raised. My heart is pounding and I'm worried that other people are going to come charging toward me at any moment. One wrong move in a situation like this, and I'll be dead.
“Kill him and run,” Della whispers.
“Please!” the man shouts, holding his hands in front of his terrified face. “Don't hurt me! I'm harmless!”
“That's just what a killer would say,” Della points out. “Cut his throat. Anything else would be too much of a risk.”
Except Della would never say something like that. Della would be horrified if she could see me now.
I want to ask the old man who he is, and what he's really doing here, but of course I can't ask him a damn thing. Instead, I make my way slowly around him, poised to defend myself in case he tries to attack. There's no sign of any weapons, and so far he seems harmless, but I've been fooled like that before. Life-and-death situations tend to bring out the worst in people.