Blind the Stars (Rose of the Dawn Series Book 3)

by Maguire, Ily

  Blind the Stars

  By Ily Maguire

  BLIND THE STARS TEXT © 2015 ILY MAGUIRE

  Cover Design © 2014 Saffie Design & Illustration

  All Rights Reserved

  For Janine. Happy Honeymooning.

  From The Picture of Dorian Gray

  By Oscar Wilde

  (1854-1900)

  There are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either after one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enamored of death, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through the chambers of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality itself, and instinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques, and that lends itself to Gothic arts its enduring vitality, this art being, one might fancy, especially the art of those whose minds have been troubled with the malady of reverie.

  1

  “I said, go!” Dory pushes me in the direction from which Pike and I came. Away from what’s left of my home.

  “Dory, wait! Slow down!” If she pushes me any farther, I’ll fall backward down the stairs.

  “Rose. Please.” She pulls me close for another hug and then releases me from her embrace. Her body is cold. Her eyes move about without focusing on any one thing.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.

  “No one has followed us here if that’s what you’re worried about,” Pike interjects. “We’re pretty sure of it.”

  “But they’re still here, watching.” Her eyes dart from me to Pike and then around the hall. She doesn’t ask who he is and he doesn’t offer an introduction. “Always watching.”

  “Who’s watching?” I ask.

  “They are,” she snaps. “They are always watching.” Shadows creep across the walls and over the floor. It makes my neck warm with sweat and my skin crawls.

  “Where is everyone, Dory? Mom and Dad? And Evie? Where’s Evie?” I don’t mention the small gravesite where Sofie, our dog, is buried outside. I’m sure Dory already knows about it. She may have been the one to bury her.

  “They’re gone.” Dory stands there. Her attention drifts with her eyes. Most of her hair was cut from mid-back to shoulder-length. There’s dried blood around her temples. Grey hair is matted to the blood. She’s aged, yet she’s not even twenty-two. A breeze wafts around my face. I look from Dory to the giant hole that is above our heads.

  “Gone where?” Pike asks.

  “Away from here,” she responds. I think this is may be the first time Dory studies him. Her shirt is in tatters. She isn’t wearing any pants. Just this long shirt, to her knees, and socks mismatched with a hole at one of the toes. She shuffles up the steps and we follow. She sits at the top.

  Her skin is so pale and sallow. Her new, short hair hangs in uncombed clumps and she tugs at a lock, nervously twisting it. What has she become? This isn’t her. This isn’t the person who was beside my bed that last day before I left. I look at Pike, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at my sister. How has Dory deteriorated so quickly? What’s happened since I left?

  “From here to where?” Pike resumes.

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs. I can’t tell what she’s looking at. She’s apathetic. Almost angry.

  “Dory, you have to make some sense!” I hold her shoulders. The flesh is thin and her bones delicate. Brittle almost. Like they may snap if I decide to squeeze. “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know.” She shakes me off. “Away. Away from here. I don’t know where they went. I don’t know.” Her head falls to her hands in her lap and she cries.

  I keep my tone level. “Did they leave you behind, Dory? Why didn’t you go with them?”

  “They had to go, Rose. It was okay. I wanted to stay. I was waiting for you. I knew you’d be back. I had to wait.”

  “For me?”

  “For you.” She repeats, her voice is monotone. Numb. Dead.

  I’m the reason she is this way. My eyes well up with tears. I wipe my eyes.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  “A while, but not long. Not long enough. Not too long, I mean.” Dory stumbles on her words. On her thoughts. Her eyelids close and she looks tired.

  “Listen,” Pike begins and Dory and I turn to him. He stares at Dory. “You wanted us to leave. Why? What’s happened here? How did all this happen?”

  Dory looks up. Her shoulders sag and the shirt falls below her neckline. I gently pull it up and adjust it. She doesn’t notice. Her skin is moist. And clammy. The temperature is warm, but her skin is still cold. My skin sweats. It’s the humidity.

  “The crows,” she answers. “It was the crows.”

  “What crows?” Pike asks. We both look up to see nothing.

  “The ones outside,” she says.

  “There were none outside,” I say.

  “Yes, there were. Okay. No.” Dory shakes her head.

  “Are the crows people?” Pike offers, probing for more information. I’m not sure what she’s talking about. From what I’ve read there haven’t been crows on this part of the planet in years.

  “No.” She keeps shaking her head. “Yes.”

  “Dory, did they hurt you? What happened?” I reach over to touch the side of her head, but she jerks away. She mutters to herself, but I can’t make out any words.

  “Pike,” I lean over and whisper. My face is turned away from my sister. “What’re we going to do? What if whoever was here is still here? What if they come back?” I look back to Dory.

  “It’s still early and it won’t be getting dark any time soon.” Pike moves down the hallway to stand directly below the most open part of the roof.

  A loud, thunderous rumble shifts my attention as well. Dark clouds pass overhead.

  “A storm is coming,” Pike states and pulls me away from my sister. The sky isn’t just overcast. There are so many clouds that they’ve blocked out the light completely.

  He runs down the stairs and back to the front door. I look at Dory who sits down watching the sky, playing with her hair. I run down the stairs after Pike. He’s back outside.

  The sky rumbles again. It’s as loud outside as it was inside.

  “It’s snowing,” I observe. Soft, white flakes fall from somewhere in the sky. Water vapor frozen into ice crystals fall at an unprecedented rate. Within seconds, I can’t see more than ten feet in front of me. And it’s gotten cold, too. Pike steps farther onto the porch. I take a step after him, but then he’s gone into the white-out. I reach out to grab him, he couldn’t have gone far, but I grasp nothing. “Pike?”

  I step closer to the edge, but I don’t want to leave Dory, even though I’m not sure she’s fully aware of my presence. The snow falls. I haven’t experienced this. I’ve read about it though it’s never snowed here in my lifetime. White and fluffy becomes wet and sticky very quickly. The lawn and all of the debris are being covered by snow. I don’t see Pike anywhere.

  My body shivers trying to maintain balance and my new arm rubs the real one to try to warm it. I don’t feel anything on the side of my body that lost my limb. I look around, but don’t see anything. Anyone.

  “Pike?” I call. I look to the ground, but any footprints he may have left have been covered over. I can’t tell how long I’ve been out here. At least fifteen minutes? Maybe more. The sky has gone dark and it’s still snowing.

  Another loud rumble and a few seconds later a crack and a bright flash illuminates the sky. Lightning. I jump back into the doorway.

  “Rose? Rose!” Dory’s voice shrieks from the top of the stairs, inside the house. “Where are you, Rose?” She yells, demanding my whereabouts.

/>   “Dory, I’m here. I’m still here. Wait where you are – I’ll be right up.” I step back toward the porch and cup my hands around my mouth. “Pike?”

  Again, no answer. Again thunder. And more lightning. Then I see him. In the brief flash, I see Pike dart across the lawn. Another rumble and flash. Pike is up the stairs and standing beside me. He breathes deep, catching his breath. His hair is white with snow and he shakes it suddenly, sprinkling water all around his head. I reach up with my hand and rub the rest of it away. I surprise myself. He doesn’t seem fazed. Water dries on my hand upon contact. The sensors on my fake hand glow orange as they try to mimic a body heat response. Footprints Pike left up the stairs are gone and there’s no trace of his path across the lawn.

  One more timid rumble, no lightning, and the snow stops falling. The sky brightens with a dusty-pink glow. The storm is over.

  “Micro-storm. It’s passed,” he states.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I respond.

  “You’ve never seen snow before?” His voice gets high at the end and he’s surprised. He wipes the remaining condensation away from his arms and shoulders.

  “Uh-uh.” I shake my head. And as I look down at the lawn beyond, the snow that a few minutes ago covered the ruined front steps of my house has begun to melt.

  “I’ve never seen it melt so fast before,” Pike observes.

  A strange sound makes us look up. The topiaries that lined our once neatly-manicured lawn and blocked us from our nearest neighbor five hundred feet away sounds like it’s moving, though there is no breeze. I don’t see anything at first. Then Pike and I watch a large bird fly down onto the lawn. A crow.

  “Rose, is it over?” Dory calls. There’s no hostility in her voice. It’s quiet, but she’s close. I don’t think she can see the bird on the lawn. Her voice doesn’t shake and she sounds less anxious. She’s still inside.

  “Dory!” I run back in and to the bottom of the stairs where she waits. One hand on the only part of the railing that hasn’t been mangled. Even with the gaping hole in the ceiling and my sister beneath it, she is still dry and the stairs haven’t a drop of water on them. “It is over. It was just a small storm.”

  “There was a storm?” Dory asks. I’m not sure how it’s so dry inside.

  “There was, but it’s over now.” I wrap my real arm around her shoulder and she leans into me. She hugs herself with her own arms.

  “Did you hear them?” Her hands move up to cover her ears, something I’ve never seen her do before.

  “Hear what?” I only heard the thunder.

  “The crows. They’re coming back.” She closes her eyes.

  “We’re going to have to get somewhere safe regardless. We can’t stay here,” Pike says pointing to the open ceiling. “There’s no one else here, right, Dory?”

  “No one,” she answers. “But the crows. We can use the quarantine cellar.” Her shirt slips down again.

  “Is that where you hid all this time? Then why were you hiding in that closet when we got here?” I ask, pointing behind her up the stairs. She doesn’t turn.

  “I didn’t hide down there. I didn’t hide at all.” Dory’s eyes wander. She stomps back up the stairs and we follow. She goes to the closet that used to contain the linens, folded in perfect squares, organized by color: white, blue, and beige. Now it’s an empty hole in the wall with any shelves or even a door. The linens are all over the floor.

  “What’s the quarantine cellar?” Pike asks. “Why didn’t you go down there if you knew it would keep you safe?”

  “I was waiting for the crows to quiet down.” Dory looks down around the ruined house. “They were outside and then inside. They were everywhere.”

  Pike looks from Dory to me.

  “It was always off-limits,” I start. Dory rummages through a heap of towels on the floor of the closet. She mutters something again, but I can’t make out what she’s saying until she turns toward us.

  “It was the epidemics!” She yells and then turns back to the closet.

  “Epidemics?” Pike asks.

  “With the repeal of vaccinations, houses were required to include a quarantine cellar in the event that an infected person could contaminate the population. With the rise of desensitized disorders and the unknown spread of them, the room was designed to keep disease out rather than the other way around. It’s furnished and fully stocked and can keep us alive for years. As long as an epidemic or outbreak could last,” I tell him.

  “But disorders aren’t diseases,” he says. I shrug. I know, but does it matter?

  “How come you didn’t just go down there?” He asks. Dory doesn’t pay any attention. Her fingers fiddle with an imaginary string on her shirt. Stretching the air and then twisting it around her finger. Over and over again. Better that than her hair, which lies in detached strands all over her sleeves.

  “Why wouldn’t she go down there?” Pike turns to me.

  “Maybe she never had the chance,” I answer on my sister’s behalf.

  “But it would’ve kept her safe,” he retorts.

  “She might not have had the time, I don’t know.” I pull Dory up from a pile on the floor, holding her beneath the arms. She doesn’t fight me, but reaches back into a heap nearby. Clothes are matted and compacted and they smell musty. I sneeze.

  Dory pulls a green long-sleeve shirt from somewhere at the bottom, which looks and smells miraculously good. It must be self-cleaning. She stands on her own and we walk toward the back stairs.

  She trembles as she nears our rooms. “What’s wrong?” I ask. Dory doesn’t move from where she has stopped in the hallway.

  “Rose, don’t –” Dory says. She doesn’t have enough strength to stop me. She doesn’t even try. Instead, she hides behind Pike.

  I slide the door open. It’s heavy, but manageable. It isn’t activated and I’m guessing the floor isn’t heated either. There should be more than enough solar power to energize the house and I’m caught off-guard that it isn’t. I push the door all the way open and glimpse inside. The light is bright, almost blinding. Like what I imagine too many stars in the night sky to be like. The sensors aren’t working either it seems because if they were, the room would be dimmed with soft light. Pike touches my shoulder and I let the door close.

  “I told you not to.” Dory’s voice trembles.

  “But I didn’t see anything. I couldn’t.” I need another look. Dory’s hand stops me, gripping me tight. Jagged nails dig into my real arm and I wince in pain. She shakes her head.

  “You’ll wake them,” she shushes me. She releases my arm.

  “Wake who?” I ask. I didn’t see anything, but I heard breathing.

  “Shh. The crows. They’re roosting,” she says, holding a hand up.

  Something pushes me like a magnet back to my bedroom door. Prepared for the brightness, I squint and then slowly open my eyes. I open the door partway. Pushing firm, I try not to make a sound as not to disturb whatever’s inside. It’s still so bright, but in an instant, a cloud passes overhead, shifting the blinding light from my eyes. This isn’t my room. I step inside to get a better look. I slip on something and my arms flail to regain my balance. My bed has been stripped of any sheets and the down mattress has been ripped open. It almost looks like it moves, and that’s when I notice dark feathers in and amongst the down.

  Birds. I notice it now. My room. It’s filled with birds. Dozens and dozens of huge black crows, unbothered by my presence. Light streaks through the clouds, casting itself into the shadows. Their purple-black feathers look silky and shimmer. Molted feathers on the floor, not one out of place on their bodies. Prehistoric claws are gray and scaly. Sharp. Many are seated as they roost in my room, among my things. Green and white waste is all over the floor.

  I avert my eyes. Birds are perched atop furniture and light fixtures. Plaster from the walls is chipped and crumbling onto the floor. Foam insulation swirls around the floor as air blows down from the open ceiling. The roof l
ooks like it was blown from the inside out. Dust along the furniture has accumulated undisturbed, which I know would never have happened if people were still around or if the self-cleaning system was working. Ancillary electronics are out of commission. The crows’ breathing en-masse is loud. Like a living giant. A dragon.

  I glance back at Pike in the doorway and Dory still standing behind him. At least I’m not alone. I turn back and step farther into my room, watching where I place my feet. At least it doesn’t smell. The door tries to shut behind me, but Pike puts out his hand and blocks it from closing with his body. I turn past my bed to focus on the darker parts of the room.

  “How did they get into my room?” I whisper, backing out. Pike moves out of my way and Dory pulls the door shut with silent urgency.

  “If you disturb a murder of crows from their roost it is very dangerous,” she tells us. She knows. “They’re in my room, too.”

  “Why?” Pike and I ask simultaneously.

  “You’re invading their space. They will attack to protect their young. I made that mistake.” She lifts up her hair in the back and I see scratch marks, scars along the back of her neck that I didn’t notice earlier. She takes my hands. “You won’t know until it’s too late.”

  “What about Evie’s room? Or Mom and Dad’s?” I ask, considering turning back down the hall to check my little sister’s room.

  “The same.” Dory drops my hands and heads down the back staircase.

  I look at Pike. He shakes his head and then we follow my sister. The crows were everywhere. In my dresser drawers and on the curtain rods. On the floor and in the bed. In my bed.

  “Dory, how come the windows weren’t broken? Why was there a giant hole over my room?” I question.

  “They did that,” she answers.

  “Who? The crows?” My head starts to throb. “They didn’t blow off the roof. Someone else must have been here. Who was here, Dory?”

  “They are very smart. Very smart indeed.” She doesn’t answer my question.

  “They must have been let in. Did you let them in?” My shoulders tense and my real arm is getting hot.”