by Anthology
"Wait!" Chancery grabbed Annabel, clung to her. She pulled away, drawn to something out at sea, just like the other people, oblivious to the corpses. Chancery started after her, but she was already lost.
Chancery collapsed, bones baking. She had visions of them caramelising, could almost smell the roasting marrow. She squeezed fistfuls of sand until it hurt.
When she saw Hedron, he was blurry: a shape, a shadow in a heat haze. He wandered over, taller than any of the people, and she couldn't tell whether they made room or he passed right through them.
Prickling tendrils burst from high up inside her nose and shot through her brain, a snort of sour fizz with a chilli heat. "Hello," he said. "Aren't you going with them?"
She tried to answer but couldn't.
He bent down, cupped her face with hard, spindly fingers, and blew gently on her parted lips. The coolness of his breath on the moistness of her mouth penetrated to her bones, replacing the marrow-deep fire with a detached calm.
She looked up, and he was pulling his hat firmly onto his head. It was covered in a layer of granular soot.
She sat, arms almost too weak to push against the soft sand. "She said I couldn't. I lost her. I didn't know what to do. Then you came." She looked at her hands, thinking there should be some sign she nearly roasted from the inside. "You made me better."
"You wouldn't have been able to speak to me if I hadn't, and you're the only one who tried."
She turned to watch people falling like skittles in the surging waves. "All those people," she said. "They're dying."
"I know. I don't know why."
"They're going into the sea."
"What's wrong with the sea?"
"They drown."
More prickling, ticklish rather than painful this time.
"All right. We'll keep some of them. They can help me keep you safe."
Chancery picked up a dead crab and made its legs waggle, then frowned at the opaque horizon. It was so quiet. So peaceful. Her limbs relaxed outwards, as if she were a trussed chicken and someone had cut the string. "Do we have to?"
***
Hardly anyone escaped, Hedron had said at the time, pleased with himself. Bones still lay in bleached white drifts of fragments on the beach, barely recognisable after five years of winter storms. The Haar remained, never straying further than around three miles out, no matter the weather, although sometimes it came all the way in. Chancery knew that was when people were trying to reach the island and Hedron didn't want them to.
Armed coastal patrols kept Britain in internationally ratified quarantine. Only the Oilers were allowed to land. Their Aberdeen Harbour compound was the one place still accessible. Three years after the Walk they'd surrounded the docks with an electric fence and doused everything in chemicals before resuming work there. Maybe they really needed the oil.
Although she'd never been inside, Chancery bartered with them, with Hedron's help. Gourmet meats and preserves, jewellery she'd found—things they couldn't afford where they lived—for rifle ammunition, flour, and spices. She'd asked Hedron not to infect them and he'd agreed, as long as they kept bringing her things, didn't leave their compound, and she didn't tell them about him.
He wanted her to be happy. Cooking made her happy.
She gave them jars with lids sucked tight and tupperware containing gold and gemstones swimming in bleach, which they had her drop into plastic bags she wasn't allowed to touch. They weren't to know the real reason they were safe.
The first few visits, they'd tried to catch her. Once, she barely escaped. She begged Hedron not to send his people to spit and shed through the fence, nor to activate the spores coating the piers and their vehicles, in case it disturbed the status quo and even more people came. He eventually relented, although the ones responsible had walked, and he made them stay near the compound as a warning, until they starved to death.
After that, the Oilers settled for trading. Hedron said they thought they were keeping an eye on her, as if she needed it with him around.
That was how she'd met Kay, and Kay was the only one who'd been outside since.
Chancery hadn't needed Hedron to talk to Kay. Kay wasn't people.
The kettle rattled, spitting water onto the hotplate. Chancery dragged herself away from one of her treasured recipe books and filled the cracked brown teapot before snuggling it under a cosy.
She retreated to the living room with biscuits and tea. Curled up in front of the fire with notebook and pen, she made a list. Lists kept her calm. Hedron had taught her that. They were recipes for getting through the day.
After a while she opened her eyes to see Hedron peering at her notebook. The fire had died away to embers. She threw twigs and logs into the hearth to get it going again.
Skook nosed his way around the door, pink tongue lolling and his face all wet. Hedron had got Skook for her after the Oilers tried to catch her. He was an enormous dog, the biggest she'd ever seen. He had fluffy fur the colour of autumn leaves and looked like a cross between a lion and a bear. Hedron said he was a Himalayan mastiff. Even down on all fours, his head reached her chest, and Chancery loved him to bits. She had never been to see the Oilers without him since he arrived. He helped Hedron keep her safe.
"How were the goats?"
"Fine. I've got a couple of our people out by the barn." Hedron didn't say what they were doing because they both knew. They would be walking. That's what they did.
"I'll be careful." They'd learned the hard way it was almost impossible for Hedron to stop her walking when she was close to one of their people and he and his hat were elsewhere. "Are you staying for dinner?"
"I ate not long ago." He yawned, mouth impossibly huge above his pointy chin, teeth glinting in the firelight.
Chancery didn't ask what he'd had. Or who. She put the guard in front of the fire and returned to the kitchen.
***
She fetched rabbits and pheasants from the snares in the greyness of pre-dawn, the Haar thick and moist across the fields and forests. The rest of the morning was spent on mise-en-place, because Kay was coming and Chancery wanted it to be perfect. She always wanted it to be perfect, but didn't mind getting it wrong so much when there was no one around to see.
Hedron visited after lunch.
"Are you going to clean your hat?" she asked. It was making her bones itch and her toes curl. He fingered the brim and sniffed his fingers.
"Not today," he said. "You mustn't stray far without me, Chancery."
"Okay."
She frowned as he left. He wasn't normally quite so protective.
***
She was reading, clean and a little damp from an early bath, when Skook went mad and an engine rumbled into the yard, the sound burbling in her gullet. Her heart kicked against her ribcage.
Someone banged on the door. "Chance? Have you got hold of that carnivorous pony?"
Chancery knew Kay meant Skook, even though Skook was a dog. "Yes!"
Then she heard a much deeper voice, a voice that pattered on her skin like the first pebbles of an oncoming landslide. She grabbed the boning knife from the rack.
Kay was swaddled in a heavy fleece with the Chevroil logo on the breast, a fur-lined trapper hat, mitts, and thick cargo-trousers. She trailed a scent of soft-hard peony, orange blossom, sandalwood, and vanilla; by comparison, Chancery's honeysuckle soap smelled of cheap chemicals. Her deep brown eyes, candied rose petal lips, and complexion of smooth, dark, rich honey were so perfectly beautiful Chancery's gut twisted in a tight knot of hopeless inadequacy.
Worse, behind Kay was a man. A people. Hedron would be so angry.
Sick anxiety clogged Chancery's throat.
"My god, you've gotten thin." Kay pulled off her hat, hair falling in glossy waves. "Hi, Skook. Remember me?"
He growled, hackles raised.
"Evidently not. Oh, Chance. It's so good to see you."
Kay embraced her. She returned it, stiffly, not ready for the intimacy but not wanting to o
ffend. She could smell the man. Bacon, baked beans, and black pudding. All Oilers were the same; she couldn't tell them apart.
Except Kay.
"What's this?" Kay plucked the knife from her hand. Chancery couldn't reply, but her fingers ached to snatch it back. Kay put the knife on the table.
"It's all right, Rob. Chance's shy," Kay said over her shoulder. "You must know Rob, Chance. He told me your sausages are the best." She paused, her face an undecipherable combination of smile curves and frown lines. "I'll have to see more of you or one day you'll forget me, too. Rob, would you mind helping me with my stuff? I brought coffee and I'd better get it before Chance makes me some unspeakable concoction from twigs and rabbit droppings."
"I said I'd drop you off, that's all. I thought this place was close to the beach." Rob's gravelly voice made the words clipped and fierce.
"We're only a mile inland. You can practically smell the sea," Kay told him in a harsh whisper. "Think of Sara. She's your niece. You've got plenty of time. Man up."
Kay turned back, expression tight and stiff. "This won't take long," she said.
They went out again. Chancery stood by the stove, shaking. She tried to calm herself by listing all the recipes she knew for raspberries. Skook growled and she shushed him.
They fetched five boxes, piling them on the floor. Kay took Rob outside and there was muffled conversation, then the jeep left with a throaty gurgle. Chancery stared at the pyramid of cardboard invading her space.
When Kay returned, she took off her jacket and her boots, dumping them on the floor by the sink instead of putting them where they were supposed to go.
"Right!" She grabbed the knife and plunged it through the tape sealing the first box. Chancery swallowed her instinctive protest. Skook pressed against her.
Kay rummaged and made piles of bubble wrap. "Teabags," she said, brandishing a box. "Coffee. Chocolate. Ammunition and clothes…Must be in another box. Preserved lemons, hickory chips, almond flour, parmesan, canned cherries, olive oil, dried pasta—”
Chancery's legs folded under her. The cold seeped into her buttocks, grocery items and packaging accumulating around her, long-lost scents worming into her head. She rocked, clutching herself so she wouldn't dissolve into the strangeness.
"Oh god. I'm sorry." Kay put the jar she was holding back in the box. "You're getting worse. You shouldn't be out here alone." She kept her voice soft, glancing at the dog. "I'll tidy this up and we can go through and have a drink, like normal people."
Kay's 'tidying' comprised throwing everything back in the box and kicking the bubble wrap under the table. She dumped the knife in the sink and grabbed a bottle of French wine with one hand and Chancery with the other. "Come on."
***
"They caught a few two weeks ago." Kay had drunk half the bottle. Chancery had barely touched her glass. Skook was asleep on the hearthrug. "Took them to Porton Down. Everyone thought they'd be dead by now. No one knows why they're not. I heard one of them was pregnant. They must be breeding. Can you imagine? They say the further inland you go the less time it takes before you Walk, no matter how careful you are. It's why the scientists got infected, despite all the precautions. Even the ones who didn't go near the Walkers."
That's what people called Hedron's people. To Chancery they were all just different sorts of people. She had to avoid them unless someone was around to look after her. Her mum, then Annabel, now Hedron.
"Oh," Chancery said.
"I heard that's why they went into the sea at first. To get away from it. Now the only one who can stay here is you. It's so sad."
That was the way Chancery and Hedron liked it. "Are you hungry?"
There was a pause. "I could eat."
Kay sat at the kitchen table while Chancery finished and plated up. Her unbroken attention made Chancery's hands tremble as she positioned vegetables in a delicate garden salad and finished with a warm dressing of rosehip vinegar and hazelnut oil. She put the plate in front of Kay and poured her a glass of oak leaf wine. Kay speared a carrot and sucked it off her fork with a loud slurp that made Chancery flinch.
"How do you make a carrot taste so good?" she asked.
Chancery served rabbit loin braised in a broth of dried leaves and mushrooms, accompanied by its own sautéed, sliced heart, and roasted venison marrow on a bed of succulent moss. Kay went into raptures over the loin and the heart, slurping and sucking on every piece, but didn't touch the rest.
"I get paid a lot—and I mean a lot—and I couldn't afford to eat somewhere serving food like this," she said.
For dessert, Chancery offered a honeyed apple tart with damson liqueur.
"You're too talented to waste out here," Kay said. “Chance—” She hesitated. "We're closing the depot. The profit margins are thin and the company's worried." Her fingers alternated like legs on the tabletop.
"No Oiler has walked recently." Hedron would have mentioned it.
"I want you to come home with me. Please. There might not be a next time."
Chancery cleared the table.
"Talk to me," Kay said.
"I need to get the dishes done."
"Leave those. They're not important."
This was clearly wrong. Chancery ignored it.
"Dammit, Chance!" Kay's outburst shocked Chancery into tears, and she dropped the glass she was holding. It shattered. "When we met you were about ten kilos heavier and I could talk to you. You didn't make much sense, but you'd talk. You're eating plants and twigs. You look like you'd snap in a breeze. You reacted to Rob like a child reacts to a stranger, and I can barely get a word out of you. You're only twenty-five. You're wasting away."
Her chair scraped, grating on Chancery's spine, and a moment later Chancery recoiled at the touch of hands on her shoulders.
"I don't want to upset you, but you can't stay here by yourself."
"I'm not by myself." She had to force the words out between choked sobs.
"Skook's a dog. You need someone to take care of you. You need people."
"I don't! I've got Hedron."
Kay's hands stiffened. "Hedron? Oh, Chance. He's not real."
Fresh tears stung Chancery's eyes. Her gut burned and her skin turned cold as fresh fish. "You said he was as real as anything."
She'd fought so long with Hedron, pleading to be allowed to tell Kay about him, so she would understand why it was safe to visit. Kay was the closest thing to Annabel Chancery had found.
"Real to you. He helped you cope with being the only survivor. But when they close the depot you'll be alone out here."
Broken glass glittered in the sink and found its way into Chancery's heart. "I need to get the dishes done."
Kay blew a sigh then patted Chancery's shoulders, making her shudder. "We'll talk again tomorrow. I'm really tired. I'm going to bed."
"Your room's freshly made," Chancery said, and wondered if there was a way to make the last ten minutes not have happened.
***
Chancery was woken by the door opening. The room was black, save for the bright rectangle of moonlight on the window frame. She listened so hard the soft pad of footsteps stroked her eardrums.
The bed heaved when Kay climbed under the duvet. She slid her hand around Chancery's waist then up to nestle between her breasts. Lips pressed against her spine, pliant and moist, a patch of heat that blew cold when the kiss moved on. Chancery felt herself flush warm and tingly, even as her skin prickled in the draught. She tangled her fingers around Kay's hand and brought it to her lips so she could kiss her fingertips.
She breathed deep, and Kay's scent was thick and dense. She kissed Kay's palm, pushing her tongue against it to taste her skin.
Kay's breathing slowed and her arm became slack. Chancery kissed her hand once more then put it back against her chest, holding it tight.
***
She slid out of bed quietly, so as not to wake Kay. It was early, still dark. She had chores to do.
"Why do you think she brought al
l this if she wants you to go with her?" Hedron asked when she entered the kitchen. He was hunched over the pile, all elbows and knees and furious angles. Chancery gaped at him. She had never seen his hat so filthy. Looking at it made her bones quiver and burn. It made her want to run.
"You need to sort your hat, Hedron."
"Answer the question."
Chancery shrugged. "I don't know."
"To show you what you're missing." He jabbed an accusing finger at the pile. "Olive oil and Belgian chocolate. Saffron, Chancery. She doesn't think lichen and leaf broth can compete with white truffle and cinnamon."
Chancery cracked the lid on a pot of pimenton dulce and sniffed. The heady aroma's physical presence conjured a forgotten happy memory: Annabel making a mess of spaghetti carbonara with chorizo in their tiny kitchen, laughing as the sun turned her hair to spun gold.
No one since Annabel had kissed her until Kay did.
Chancery hugged herself, remembering the feel of someone else's skin.
"You and Skook could come, too."
"You know what would happen." He held out his arms like a scarecrow and pirouetted. "All those people. This is our home and you belong here, with us, where we can keep you safe. She doesn't love you like we do."
All those people. How many more would walk if she did?
Part of her wanted to. Part of her wanted to because they all would.
***
"You shouldn't have bothered putting the stuff away," Kay said around a mouthful of toast piled with fish and egg. She poured more coffee and tapped her satellite phone. "They've moved the departure date. I have to take you back tomorrow."
"I can't."
"What?"
"All those people. I can't."
Kay rummaged in her bag. "I have something for you." She produced an envelope. Chancery took it and read the letter inside. "It's an offer of a place in the kitchen at the Sanctuary in Bergen," she said, as if Chancery were too stupid and damaged to understand it. "It's an amazing opportunity." Chancery felt faint. The restaurant's recipe book was one of her favourites. "You'd have to go through quarantine, but that only takes a week. I know you're scared of being amongst people again, but you'd adapt. I think you'd blossom."