She tried the front door and found it to be open, the frame forced by looters. The front of the house remained largely untouched. It had been emptied of most things; what was left had been smashed on the floor. She walked through to what was once the kitchen. Their small table was smashed clean in half by the fallen bricks of the walls and there was no way through to the yard. Returning to the hall, she spotted it: an envelope, lying up against the wall. The postman had been fooled into thinking the house was still being lived in.
She picked up the letter and her eyes widened to find it addressed to her. It had the Wade's number “6” on the front, not her own number “10”. She guessed the postman must have been used to posting by name rather than number.
Stepping back and sitting down on the second step of the stairs, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. It was dated August 27th, a week and a half earlier, and was from her Uncle Patrick. He'd been severely wounded in battle but had returned home safely and had learned from one of Mrs. Wade's old correspondences of his sister's death.
As her eyes moved over the neat words, her heart rose into her throat and a tear of relief rolled down her cheek.
He was inviting her to stay with him, up north in Kellythorpe.
THIRTY-EIGHT
BETH HAD WOKEN IN THE SHELTER on Sunday morning accompanied by aches and the other familiar symptoms that demanded more blood. She was no longer losing any from her period, but she was still in deficit. What she'd consumed in the middle of the week was enough to satisfy the rage, but not the thirst, and already the fatigue had returned.
In his typical cloak-and-dagger style, her father had disappeared on an errand around midday. He'd gone out the day before on his daily check and came back with news that Jeff had returned. He'd apparently been pulled away on urgent Ministry business, but Beth's suspicion mirrored her father's.
Bill returned, holding the familiar wooden box. By that time she was the only one left in the house, and no clandestine operation was required for her to sneak out to the shelter.
“It's not much,” her father said, handing over the box.
“How much is there?”
“Less than half a pint. How long will that stay your thirst?”
Beth shook her head. “A couple of days, at most.”
“He's getting more, but he needs a few days.”
There wasn't anything else Beth could do or say, so she took the box from her father and went to the shelter. In her cool den, she took out the jar and opened it. The blood had been warmed at the butcher's, but immediately Beth could smell the difference between this and her last meal of human blood. It was like being promised a dessert after dinner and expecting your favorite apple pie but getting a slice of fruitcake.
All too soon it was gone, and Beth relaxed for a few minutes to let the blood soothe her and take the edge off her thirst. The craving monster inside her calmed down. She eyed the interior of the shelter. She was in a sticky situation once more, and once again she'd exiled herself to this tin can that seemed to get a little colder and a little damper with every passing night. The bug that she was supposedly suffering from last week was no longer a viable excuse, and though her mother frowned, Beth was back to convincing her that she needed a little space again; that she liked the solitary confines of the shelter. Despite its dropping temperature, Beth still liked it. The coolness of the night wasn't bothering her yet, even though she knew it should.
What did bother her, though, was that Mary was leaving.
She'd explained over dinner the night before her visit to her old house and the discovery of her uncle's letter, presenting it to Lynne. Her mind had already been made up; she was going to live with him. Beth couldn't help but notice Mary's primary emotion had looked to be relief rather than happiness. After an awkward silence Lynne had gotten up and hugged Mary tightly, repeating over and over how welcome she would always be. It sounded like Mary's uncle had been wounded quite badly and could do with an extra pair of hands. He was also the only living relative Mary had that she was close to. In fact, he was the only other member Beth could ever recall her talking about. Meanwhile, Oliver was obviously distraught at losing his new sister—a better sister, Beth couldn't help thinking—but he had tried to hide it behind a new, gruff exterior. It hadn't worked.
Her father, however, had looked indifferent. She had no doubt he was thinking along similar lines as herself, that it was for Mary's own good. Beth felt guilt and remorse at seeing her friend leaving, especially so eagerly. But it would keep her safe and it would certainly make things easier. One less person to lie to. One less person who could find out.
Her thoughts shot back to that moment in the shelter, of her own, vile fangs snapping at her father's arm. It had been involuntary, but that made it worse. If the thirst could drive her to the point where she was no longer in control … she didn't want to imagine the consequences. This time, she had been saved by a sudden and intense shame that allowed her to take a hold of herself, to remember her humanity.
But what if there's a next time?
How could she possibly move back into the house after Mary's departure … but how could she stay in the shelter, away from them all? There would be questions about her health, worries about the permanency. Her mother would try and fix what she could never know was wrong, and then there would be that look in her eyes again. The painful I can't help you look, which up until that first fever hit had never been true.
She was a liability and a burden.
For the first time in her life she wondered if the world would be a better place without her.
THIRTY-NINE
JUST WHEN MARY'S WORLD had been plunged into horrific darkness, a light was offered to her. It was almost too good to be true, and it had taken a while for her good fortune to sink in. The flood of relief lasted for what felt like days.
By Monday, things had settled down and the solace gave way to worry. She wasn't out of the house yet. And there was also her concern for Lynne and Oliver—especially so for the boy she'd come to consider her little brother. They were clueless as to the danger they lived with; she didn't like the thought of them continuing to live in darkness. She hadn't yet divulged what she knew to Lynne and had been trying to think of how she could say it, but every scenario she imagined ended with Lynne laughing at her. And why wouldn't she? Who, anywhere, would believe that the quiet, well-meaning Elizabeth Wade was anything other than human? Who would believe anyone was anything other than human?
She had to prove it somehow.
In the meantime, she had a backup plan to save at least one of them. Oliver had already been evacuated once. It was possible, a very slim chance though it was, that Lynne might let him come with her for safety. The relative peace of recent weeks didn't do her any favors, but the phony war of the year following the declaration had made it clear that silence shouldn't be taken for granted. Mary hoped that if she could convince Oliver, he would convince his mother.
After school that day, Mary grabbed him and managed to talk him into going to the park with her, so she could teach him how to skim stones across the lake. Even though the sun hadn't been seen for a couple of days now, it was still warm enough to play around outside.
“You gonna miss me then?” she said in a jovial tone as Oliver flicked a stone and managed to get two bounces before it sank.
“Nah,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah, right. You know you love me, really.”
“Suppose I'll miss you a bit. You're okay. For a girl.”
“Wow. Thanks, Ollie.” She picked up a stone. “Try wrapping your finger round the edge of it, like this.” She flicked the stone and it skimmed a good fifteen yards along the surface.
Oliver searched for another flattish stone.
“Y'know,” said Mary, “if you want, you could always come with me. I'm sure my uncle would appreciate the company. There's lots of kids there and it'll be a lot safer.”
“Pffff.” Oliver smirked. “Are you off your
rocker? I've already left home once, and it was horrible.”
“Yeah but this won't be. He's got a nice big house and everything.” Mary had never actually been to his house, he'd always come down to them, but she had to give incentives.
“Nah. All my friends are here. I don't want to leave Mum and Dad, anyway. Or Beth.”
Mary hid a shudder at the mention of the girl she was trying to save him from. “Okay. But if you ever want a holiday or something, or if the bombers come back or whatever, you know you can always come and stay. Right?”
“Yeah. Whatever you say, Mary.”
His curtness took her aback. He doesn't mean it, she thought with a deep breath. He just doesn't know. She wondered if she should tell him the truth, but it could do her more harm than good. “I'll still write every now and then,” she said. “You'll write back, won't you?”
“Okay,” he said, indifferently, before skimming a stone almost to the other side. He raised his hands in victory before searching for another stone. Mary smiled but felt dreadfully sad.
* * *
That evening when they got back, Lynne was waiting for her with a grin.
“We have a surprise for you, Mary,” she said, standing next to Bill. “I was able to speak to your Uncle Patrick today and he's happy for you to go as soon as you can. So, to say thank you for everything you've done while you've stayed with us, we've paid for your train ticket. It leaves on Wednesday. You'll have to miss school, but I didn't think you'd have a problem with that.”
Mary was dumbfounded and took a moment to find her voice. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Wade,” Mary replied, almost suffocating under the wave of emotions. She looked sheepishly at Bill and nodded. “Mr. Wade.”
“Not at all, Mary,” he said, his smile painfully genuine.
“I'm sure Beth and Oliver would love to see you off,” continued Lynne, “so I'll let them skip school for the day, too.”
Oliver had clearly overheard his mother as a whoop came from the kitchen. Mary smiled again but this time it was tainted with falsity. She had no wish to have Beth around anymore than was strictly necessary.
The news left Mary with very little time. Her plan for Oliver was always a long shot, and it had fallen through as she'd expected. She still needed to tell Lynne, though. But there was no way she could even try to convince her without proof.
She had to figure out a way to get it.
FORTY
AT TIMES, BETH FELT like her family was split into two factions. They weren't at war, but they were inexorably different. She couldn't shake the notion that one side was bad, and the other good. Currently the good had the numbers, but soon their strength would be equal.
In truth, she still didn't know if her father belonged on her side of the fence.
His lies and deceptions were what gave Beth the fuel to hate him initially, but over the past few weeks she'd begun to understand how they had been necessary. She hadn't forgiven him, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd called him “Bill”. She'd also come to wonder that if she considered herself to be evil, did that not make her father ultimately the good guy for hunting others like her?
Why couldn't everything be black and white, like it had been before this curse was forced upon her?
These were the kinds of musings she deliberated over during her time in the shelter. Since the week prior, every day had been the same. She got up and had breakfast with the family and went to school alone. In class she was quiet, at lunch she stood by herself and on the way home she held the same company as in the morning. She wasn't quite sure if her daytime solitude was entirely self-imposed; at times Mary seemed just as committed to it as she did. Upon returning home she'd retreat to her dark and chilly sanctuary, going in to the house only for food and use of the toilet.
She was lying in there—still in her worn-looking school dress and shoes—when the back door opened and Bill's uneven footsteps on the soft ground came her way. It was Tuesday, and the small amount of blood she'd consumed on Sunday no longer kept the edge off her thirst. With the craving getting stronger and symptoms of fatigue setting in, sounds and smells were becoming overpowering. But it wasn't due to her senses getting stronger; it was due to her control of them getting weaker. She was unable to subconsciously ignore the common superficial things.
Her father opened the metal door and came in from the cooling afternoon. “Good news,” he said. “Jeff assures me he'll have a good couple of pints tomorrow.”
Beth smiled at the news, but nothing else.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I'm fine. Just getting a bit tired again.”
“Well, everything should be okay tomorrow. It couldn't have worked out better, really. You'll be right as rain, Mary will have left, and there'll be no danger in sleeping back in the house.”
His words did little to comfort her and she'd already planned on asking him to fit a lock on her door. Perhaps now wasn't quite the time for it.
“I understand why you're down here,” he continued, “but if you can manage it, I bet Mary's wondering why you aren't spending some time with her.”
“Don't be so sure, Dad.”
“Why?”
Beth shrugged. “I've got a feeling she wouldn't want that.”
Her father hummed to himself in agreement. “I've got to get going anyway, I'm on duty tonight. Mary's train isn't until the afternoon tomorrow, so I'll try and get to Jeff's early, okay?”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Her father smiled sincerely and then left the shelter. Beth heard him go back into the house and about ten minutes later the front door closed. He was gone for the night.
Lying down with her eyes shut, Beth couldn't see the afternoon outside gradually get darker, but she could feel the air getting colder. She'd been lying there for what felt like hours, and when she opened her eyes dusk was fast approaching. The inconvenience of nature forced her hand. Under the cover of clouds she left the shelter.
Through the back door Beth could see on the table the chopping board with some half-prepared vegetables around it, but there was no sign of her mother. Stranger still was that Mary was foraging around in a cupboard. Beth opened the door. Mary stopped and jumped up, spun around and stared at her. Beth found it almost funny.
“Mary?”
Mary just stood there with her eyes wide.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just … nothing.”
Beth raised her eyebrows. “Where's Mum?”
“Um. She went up the road. To see if the local's still open. Not enough veg.” Her fragmented sentences made her sound most peculiar. Then Beth noticed a smell. It was one of the many that was always in the kitchen, but never this strong. And it came from Mary. “Is that …” Beth sniffed again. “Is that garlic?”
“No,” Mary said immediately.
Beth knew she was lying, but couldn't challenge her without raising suspicion of her unnatural senses. She was about to turn away when the silence of the house raised further awareness. “Where's Ollie?”
“Out.”
“It's a bit late, isn't it? It's gonna be dark soon.”
“Guess so.”
Beth's eyes narrowed. “What's going on?”
“Nothing.”
Beth shook her head. She had enough of her own problems to deal with and couldn't waste energy on anyone else's. She carried on her way and halfway up the stairs she heard Mary breathe out loud, in relief. Beth's heart sank a little more.
A few minutes later she was on her way back down when the stomping of a child's feet came to a halt outside the front door. It rattled from frantic knocking; Beth could hear the panting of a boy on the other side before she opened it. Dave—or was it Charlie?—was out of breath. The dark haired boy with red cheeks straightened up initially but then relaxed a little when he realized who he was looking at. His urgency hadn't been quelled though and he blurted out his message in between breaths. “Come quick. It's your brother. He's h
urt!”
The fatigue and thirst were forgotten in an instant at the mention of Oliver being involved in an accident. From behind, Beth heard Mary clamber from the kitchen, as concerned about her brother as she was.
Beth stepped down onto the pavement into the dark gray dusk. “Where?” she demanded of the boy.
He pointed toward Gawber Street. She grabbed his collar and pulled him with her as she began to walk hurriedly.
“Hey!” the boy protested.
“Let me guess: you've been playing on that bloody bombsite,” said Beth.
The boy stayed quiet.
“Left at the bottom?”
The boy nodded.
“Which one are you, anyway? Dave, or Charlie?”
“Charlie. And let go of my shirt … if you rip it Mum'll kill me.”
Beth released the boy, but didn't let up on her pace. They rounded the corner and started on their way up the street with demolished houses on the left hand side. Behind her, Mary was only a few strides behind, but Beth wondered why she wasn't walking with them. She turned to her. “Mary, can you go and find Mum?”
“Let me see that Ollie's okay, first.”
Beth was in no mood to argue. Darkness continued to absorb the dusk. “So what happened, then?” she asked Charlie.
“We was playing over there,” Charlie pointed further along the street, “when me and Dave heard Ollie shout. We turned around, but he was already gone.”
A spot of rain landed on Beth's shoulder and she looked up to curse the sky. “Gone where?”
“He'd fallen through some big hole in the ground. Dunno how he did it with all the bricks and wood and stuff, but when we got there he seemed all right, just a bit bruised. But then—”
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