No Shelter from Darkness

by Evans, Mark D.

  Before her a sudden rustling of leaves alerted her, and Beth was sure she glimpsed the furl of a dress disappearing in the distance.

  The phantom.

  * * *

  The night seemed to be an everlasting darkness, relieved only by the far off moon that hung low in the sky. Occasionally she tripped over anchored roots that hid beneath the surface of the shallow sea of leaves and twigs, while her nightgown bore the souvenirs of her journey so far.

  Above her, the trees that filled this unrecognizable woodland towered, reaching up to the dark sky. With closed eyes she appreciated a slight breeze, but when she lowered her head and looked forward, the night was still in front of her. Momentarily bewildered, she realized the forest floor was no longer what she stood on, but what she laid on. She peered down and saw her toes poking out of the leaves under which her whole body was submerged. And then from somewhere above came that all too familiar drone. The moonlight had become a dirty pale-orange and the stars had died. Frozen in confusion, she gasped when suddenly the moon moved. That dull orange globe of light glided from one side of the night to the other, seeming to swing slightly like a watch on the end of a chain.

  Or like a lantern.

  All around her, the leaves started to speak in short, sharp and quiet syllables.

  “Pitt! Patt! Putt!”

  The drops of rain landed on her face and the refreshingly cool water took the edge off a fever she didn't know she had. Then from above, a string of water fell into her mouth and she swallowed the fresh rain. Her throat felt sore as it ran down, before the coolness reached her stomach. But it didn't quench her thirst. It made it worse, somehow reminding her that water wasn't what she wanted.

  Meanwhile, the low rumble somewhere above got louder, though the sky was just as dark. And then she heard the whistles of bombs. She turned her head to the side and found she was caged. Dark walls blocked her view of the forest to both sides. Suddenly her world trembled. The branches above her rustled while a shallow earthquake rumbled through the forest, shaking her on her enclosed bed of leaves. The dim orange sun somewhere yonder slowly faded away to nothing, and with it went all sound and sensation.

  There was nothing but black.

  Have I died? Is this impenetrable darkness the end?

  She lifted her knees up, but they hit something with a dull thud. Putting her hands up in front of her, she felt the rough surface of stripped wood. And then she pushed. The surface lifted, like a door on hinges, and she pushed it open until it rested vertical against a wall. She was in a hole dug into the ground. A grave. The edge was just above her head. On tiptoes she managed to get her elbows onto the forest floor and pull herself up.

  The night was almost as black as the inside of the poor-man's coffin, but in the gloom Beth could just about see the forest floor. Only it had changed. There were no longer sharp edges of leaves and twigs, but the smooth rounded contours of objects she couldn't identify.

  Tentatively, she reached out with a foot and touched something. It was soft like rubber, and with a little push it rolled slightly. Careful not to step back and fall into the hole, Beth crouched down and put her hands out, touching a rounded protrusion. With both hands she patted and felt her way up what she soon realized could be an arm, an elbow, a wrist, and then without a doubt a hand and fingers. The skin seemed to be covered in a sticky, oily substance. Standing up, she looked out over the forest floor again, and in a growing light began to distinguish the glistening edges of bodies all around her, stretching as far as she could see in every direction. They left no inch of the ground uncovered.

  The moon had returned behind her. Her shadow crept across the new sea of flesh and in the brightening moonlight she held up her hands. They were covered in blood. Slowly it ran down the sides and dripped from her wrists. She gasped and stepped back, but her feet faltered, caught in between soft flesh.

  Instinctively, she put out her hands and screamed, but instead of plummeting backward into the grave, she fell upon the flesh. Her right hand slipped between two of the dead bodies. She screamed again, panicked, and fumbled back up to her feet, frantically wiping her hands on her gown to add to its tapestry. The moon that had climbed high above her cast its judging light upon the forest, showing Beth the thousands of pale, lifeless bodies.

  All were streaked with blood. All had suffered violently.

  They all stared at her with wide, dead eyes. Gaping wounds covered their bodies, with chunks of flesh torn away and necks ripped out. Beth looked at her hands, which were still smeared with their blood, and she began to weep.

  * * *

  Beth could feel the end approaching. She was tired. Weak with hunger and thirst. Unable to walk due to her feet constantly slipping on bloody limbs and torsos, she'd crawled her way through this endless forest. The moon hadn't strayed an inch in all the time she'd been here. Every now and then a leaf fell in the distance, spinning in its slow descent before resting on a bloody thigh or twisted arm. She tried to keep her focus ahead, but in the soft light her peripheral vision saw lips peeled back over rows of teeth, mouths gaping in the midst of eternal screams. Under her hands and knees the occasional rib cracked, and more than once she'd put her hand down only to hear the squelching crack of teeth being pushed in. Sometimes they snapped off completely at the gum line.

  Her body ached and her energy was all but gone. The thirst was a constant and nagging companion. With her eyes half-closed, Beth clumsily put a hand forward. It slipped and she hadn't the will to save herself, falling on dead flesh before struggling onto her back. She laid on the bloody corpses, wheezing in shallow breaths. Her eyes focused and through the dense black branches of the trees, she saw patches of very dark blue sky. Is the night over? Is a dark dawn approaching?

  Somewhere a branch snapped. Beth's eyes widened and she strained to see what was there. Her weak heart managed to beat a little stronger, a little faster.

  Snap!

  That one was nearer. Maybe twenty yards away. Slowly she turned her head and could just make out a figure walking toward her. A delicate light that came from behind the stranger cast it into shadow. Beth found the strength to roll over onto her front and prop herself up as the figure kept walking toward her.

  Snap!

  The ground hadn't changed. Dead bodies still surrounded her. It wasn't wood that was snapping, but bones. The figure seemed unconcerned, and with amazing balance continued to walk almost gracefully on the corpses. Then it stopped a few feet away. Beth looked up. Disbelief shocked her into action. Painfully, with tremendous unease, she stumbled up to her feet and looked at the figure that had emerged from shadow. A beautiful girl, dressed in a plain, brilliant white gown. She looked at Beth, and Beth looked back into the girl's bright hazel eyes; into a mirror. Her angelic twin smiled, but it seemed sinister, and Beth flinched as a single drop of bright red blood landed on the angel's shoulder.

  “Pitt! Patt! Putt!”

  Red rain began to fall over the forest, and the angel's white dress slowly turned scarlet with thin streaks of blood. She raised her arms from her sides, palms facing up, and tipped her head back, opening her mouth.

  “No, don't,” said Beth, but her voice was no louder than a whisper above the rain. She watched. She tried to be disgusted. She tried to feel repulsed, but instead of nausea she felt a longing, a yearning. A desire.

  The rain fell heavier. The angel glistened red from head to toe. Her once flowing black hair was now stuck to her neck and shoulders and strands were slicked down across her face. Through squinted eyes Beth peered up, through the rain of blood as it fell from above. The scent of sweet, rusty metal flooded her senses. It was a divine aroma. She looked back at the red angel, but she'd vanished.

  An insane resolve overcame her and she looked up once more, allowing the blood to wet her face and run down her cheeks. She felt it run over her clenched lips. And then slowly she opened her mouth. The blood ran in, and the rain became a downpour.

  She'd given in to what she knew was wr
ong, but at that moment it felt so right. She could feel her thirst being quenched and the craving subside.

  The rain stopped, replaced with an eerie silence. Slowly Beth opened her eyes, expecting to see an orange dawn through darkened branches, but instead she saw a flat, pale roof. A ceiling. Her eyes stung as the air around her reached them. Things once blurry came into focus and she recognized the flowery wallpaper to her right. It glowed a dirty orange from the light in the corner. And then she realized there was another presence in the room.

  There was someone sitting beside her.

  She turned, recognizing the figure instantly and looking away.

  Impossible!

  She turned back, half expecting the man to have been a figment of her imagination, but he was still there. Beth crawled backwards up her bed, shuffling as far to the edge as she could without falling off, and hugged her knees.

  “Here. You need more,” said the familiar voice, a voice Beth hadn't heard in over a year. The man held out for her a pewter jug. A drop of blood was poised to drip from the lip of the spout.

  Words caught in Beth's throat. She blinked and swallowed before trying again.

  “Dad?”

  FOURTEEN

  BETH COULD SEE CLEARLY, but everything still felt like a blur. She could remember being in the forest. She remembered the blood. All the blood. She knew it was a dream, but now with her adoptive father sitting beside her in plain cotton pajamas, she questioned whether she wasn't still in that surreal world. He should've been in some distant country, shooting Nazis and winning the war.

  “Elizabeth, you must drink.”

  At the sound of his voice, Beth's hands clenched around fistfuls of sheets. She was afraid, simply because he couldn't be real.

  “It's okay. It's me, your father. I'm not going to hurt you.” He spoke softly, secretly.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Keep your voice down. People are sleeping. Here …” Bill Wade looked down at the jug he held out to her, as a gesture for her to take it.

  Fragments of the horrific nightmare lingered and Beth could still smell the overpowering metallic aroma. She'd been at these crossroads before, in her dream, but now it was different. Every minute that passed she felt slightly better, a little more alive, a bit stronger. A part of her made the connection between that and the blood, and that part wanted more. But now that she was awake, she was in control of her actions and she pushed the jug away.

  “I can't.” Her voice was weak and raspy.

  “You must. Otherwise you'll die.”

  Beth glared at her father incredulously.

  “Close your eyes if you need to. Hold your breath, pinch your nose; but you must drink.”

  This was utter madness. So surreal; so unbelievable. But Beth still ached all over, and her insides were crying out for what her father had brought. Unclenching her hands, she timidly held them out. With desire and disgust in equal measure, she took the jug of blood. The rusting iron was pungent and butterflies fluttered in her stomach with intense craving. She closed her eyes, lifted the jug, put the spout of it to her mouth and tipped it up.

  At first she took only a sip, her eyes clenched in anticipation of the liquid making contact with her lips. It was like sipping a cup of tea without being sure of its temperature, afraid to let the liquid touch. But then it did, and Beth lost herself. She gulped down the blood, unable to drink fast enough. The jug was soon empty. She dropped it to her lap and leant back on her wooden headboard, letting the new blood course through her.

  She didn't feel it find its way to her stomach, not like she would were it food or drink. The warmth she felt wasn't localized, but was spread out instead. And it was exalting. She sat silently for what felt like several minutes, in the grips of a rush that nothing else—not even the ecstasy of winning a race—could compare to. In her meditative state, she could feel the fresh blood make its way around her body, warming limbs she didn't realize were cold.

  The initial thrill subsided and slowly Beth remembered where she was. She opened her eyes and looked to her side, at her father. A new rush, one of guilt, washed through her. But her father gave no indication of anger or disappointment. “How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

  “Better.” She moved her head from side to side and stretched her arms out in front. “A bit.”

  “I imagine it'll take a little time before you're feeling good as new. A couple of hours perhaps.” He took the jug from Beth's lap and wiped the side with a tissue where a drop of blood had begun to run down. He was so purposeful in his actions. He looked at Beth and mimed wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. Beth copied him, feeling something wet and tacky at the corner of her mouth. With her finger she wiped it away and looked at the red blood smeared on her fingertip. Anything good she had been feeling was overcome by disgust.

  “What's happening to me?” she asked.

  “I'm afraid that's rather complicated, and we don't have time for it right now.”

  Beth glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning.

  “I'm not supposed to be here,” her father continued. “I was flown in yesterday and taken to the infirmary up the road.”

  “You're wounded?” asked Beth with concern she couldn't hide.

  “Yes, but nothing too serious. It's enough for them to keep me in the hospital for a couple of days though, so I had to sneak out tonight. I've got to get back before the orderlies do their rounds.”

  “How did you know about me?”

  “Your mother came to see me yesterday when I arrived. She told me all about what's been happening to you.”

  “That's not what I mean, Dad.”

  “Elizabeth, please. I've got to go.” Her father rocked forward and used the side of Beth's bed to stand up on one foot. His other leg he kept straight and tried to keep weight off it. He retrieved the wooden crutches that leant against the wall and quietly maneuvered to bend and pick up the jug. He was a tall man; athletic with dark hair that made the few strands of gray stand out. He was usually clean-shaven, but now he looked disheveled. His rugged face hinted at unseen horrors and his forehead bore a worry line that was missing from Beth's recollection. It was good to see him though, and Beth felt herself smile at him slightly. It wasn't returned and she felt a little stupid for thinking it might've been. Instead he made his way to the door.

  “What do I do?” asked Beth.

  Despite the openness of the question, her father seemed to understand perfectly. “I should be released in a few days. It would be best if you stayed home from school until then, and take things easy. You'll probably feel fine now, but it'll raise eyebrows if you start running around all of a sudden.”

  “Does Mum know?”

  “No. And she can't. No one can.”

  Beth hated lying, but something told her she'd have to get used to it. “What do I tell her?”

  “A version of the truth.”

  Beth jolted her head back in confused surprise.

  “You've been given blood transfusions this week,” said her father. “They were on the right track, but either you were so far gone that they weren't giving you enough, or your body requires it orally. Regardless, you had another small transfusion today, so it'll be easy for them to assume it's finally worked. You shouldn't need to say anything. They'll come to the only conclusion there is.” Her father put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.

  “What if I need more?”

  “You won't. Not until I've got back, anyway.”

  “So I will need more, then.”

  “Elizabeth, when we have the time I'll try and answer all your questions, but for now you're just going to have to be patient.” He silently opened the door and limped out, closing it behind him without so much as a good-bye.

  Would it have killed him to smile? Their relationship had always been strained, unlike the one her father shared with Oliver. She thought perhaps he was as disgusted as she was for drinking the blood, bu
t that didn't make much sense, as it was him who gave it to her. It was all so conflicting and confusing.

  She realized then that she'd been awake for the longest time in … How long have I been asleep? She didn't even know what day it was. Only that she'd been terribly ill and that after drinking blood she was getting better. And fast. Suddenly her thoughts jumped to the last time she felt like this; to when she woke up in Victoria Park.

  In flashes she remembered the blood on her gown and the poor creature that had been ripped apart, right where she'd been laying. She remembered seeing it in the light of day, wondering where all the blood had gone. That was no longer a mystery, and an imaginary recollection of what she'd done played out in her mind.

  Beth heaved, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up.

  Not even the blood she'd just drunk.

  FIFTEEN

  OLIVER'S ROOM WAS THE SMALLEST in the house except for the toilet and the scullery. With barely enough room for the single bed, slim wardrobe and rickety drawers, he was forced to hide the few toys he had in awkward places. Almost everything was under the bed or at the bottom of the wardrobe, including his small but prized collection of metal toy vehicles. It was a collection that Mary knew was top secret; she'd always known the Wades were better off than they appeared. More expected were his simple wooden figurines of various military personnel, well-used crayons and scattered trump cards. The shrapnel he'd found was on proud display on top of the drawers, along with a model Spitfire.

  This had surrounded Mary for almost two months. Her own possessions, of which there were so few, were scattered between this room and Beth's. No one except for Mary, it seemed, had realized that it was all about to change yet again.

  It was Wednesday. There had been a raid the night before and no one got to bed until after midnight, yet here she was at five-thirty in the morning, wide awake. The day outside was already bright, and it leaked in around the edges of the blackout blinds enough for Mary to make out the straight edges of bedroom furniture.