Blue Skin (Book 2): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  “That must have been rough.”

  “Yeah. Pretty much. But the funny thing was, Mum actually toughened up when Ben was born. As if she had someone else to worry about instead. I mean, it would have been nice if she worried about me once in a while.”

  “I’m sure she did. Ben probably needed more time and effort than you. You’re strong.”

  “I’m not that strong.”

  Simon shakes his head. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re strong. You’ve been out there, on your own, surviving for months. I don’t think I could have done that at your age.”

  “I’m sure you could. If I can do it, anyone can. Before Ben was born, I couldn’t even change a light bulb, or boil a bloody egg. It’s amazing what you can do when you’ve got no choice.” I chuckle. “Actually, I still can’t boil an egg.”

  Simon scratches his forehead, laughing.

  I notice his scar again. “Looks nasty.”

  “What, this little thing?” he asks, prodding it with his finger. “It’s nothing. Had a disagreement with a HCA officer. The muscle-headed arsehole tried to take Jade from the house we were staying in—so I broke the bastard’s arm.”

  “Sounds like he deserved it.”

  “Damn right, he did! I would’ve killed him too, if it weren’t for my wife.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, dreading the gory details of her obvious demise.

  “Right before the HCA arrested her, she made me promise not do anything stupid, like try to break her out of prison, or let the HCA take Jade—or kill anyone. And so far, I haven’t done any of those things.”

  “Oh, God. That’s awful. How long before they let her out?”

  He shrugs. “I have no idea. It’s too dangerous to get in contact. And if and when they do release her, they’ll be watching her like a hawk.”

  “Yeah. I suppose they will.” I pause for moment, imagining the HCA throwing me in jail. “Maybe someone from here can help you track her down. Maybe send her a message.”

  “Yeah, possibly.”

  There’s a weak thud at the side of me, followed by another. Simon and I both turn to find Jade and Ben standing next to the barn.

  “You need to be careful, Jade,” Simon says. “You could’ve broken your neck.”

  She throws her dad a blank stare, and then he turns to me. “See, Freya?” he says, almost laughing. “This is what I’ve got to put up with.”

  17

  The sun has almost set on yet another day at the farm.

  I look up at the orange sky as I walk towards the barn, my blue wellies squelching into the damp ground. Katrina finally found me a pair. They’re three sizes too big, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  There’s a little girl with curly, auburn hair standing next to the chicken enclosure. She’s wearing pink and white wellies, black waterproof trousers, and a puffy blue coat. My teacher for the day.

  “You must be Cora,” I say, shaking her tiny hand. “I’m Freya.”

  “Hi, Freya. Maggie wants me to teach you how to feed the chickens.”

  “That’s right. You don’t mind, do you? I’d love to learn as much as I can about farming.” There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.

  Cora beams with bright, perfect teeth, ocean-blue eyes, and chubby cheeks rosier than a China doll’s. “I don’t mind. I love teaching people.” Her voice is laced with maturity and confidence. I guess living on a farm is an easy way to grow up fast, learn how to take care of yourself, cook, clean, raise chickens.

  “Great!”

  Cora picks up a bucket, and then steps over the metre-high mesh fence, her presence causing a group of chickens to scatter away from her feet. “Have you ever done any farming before?”

  “No,” I reply, joining her in the enclosure. “Not since coming here. I watched Katrina milk a cow the other day, but that’s it.”

  “Well, feeding chickens is really easy. And it’s fun!” She lifts up the bucket. “These are grains. Chickens love it. It’s like chocolate to them.” Her enthusiasm makes me beam. “You just sprinkle them on the ground as wide as you can.” She dips her hand into the bucket and scoops out a small pile, and then throws it in the air. The grain scatters equally across the grass. In a mass of feathers and clucking, the chickens scramble over to the food, devouring each grain in seconds. “Just like that.” She hands me the bucket. “Now you try.”

  “Okay. Sounds easy enough.” I dig out a handful of grain, and throw it into the air. Once again, the chickens fight for every last one, shoving past each other without any regard for their cousins.

  “Not bad for your first try,” she says with a thumb up to me. “But you need to spread it out more. Some of these chickens are really greedy. They like to steal all the food for themselves. And then the little chickens go hungry.” She points at the bucket. “Have another try. It takes a little practice to get right.”

  “No problem.” I try again, this time managing to spread it out evenly.

  “That was awesome! Well done, Freya. You’re gonna make a great farmer.”

  “Thanks, Cora,” I say with a warm heart. “That really means a lot.” I follow her around the enclosure as we both shower more grain onto the ground. “How old are you?”

  “Eight. But I’ll be nine in two months.”

  “Oh, really? That’s exciting. So, how long have you lived here?”

  Cora kneels down and lets one of the smaller chickens feed out of her hand. “I was born here.” She points over to one of the caravan. “Mum and Dad have known Maggie for years. They used to travel together.”

  “So, do you ever leave the campsite?” I ask, joining her on the ground to hand-feed a chicken. “You know, to go to school, or to the cinema?”

  “Of course, I do. Mum used to take me to school every day. And we’d all go to the cinema once a month.”

  “But not anymore?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Not since the baby-virus. Dad teaches me maths and English now. He’s very clever.”

  “He must be with a daughter as smart as you.”

  “Thanks, Freya. You’re nice. I hope you stay with us. Maggie says we need lots of people to protect us from wild blues. That’s what the fences are for.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Cora. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “So, you’re definitely staying then?” she asks with wide, dazzling eyes.

  A tiny chicken comes over to us, looking to be fed as well. “As long as I can hang out with you, I’d love to live on your farm.”

  She smiles, stroking the top of the chicken’s feathery head. “Of course you can hang out with me. I can teach you how to feed the pigs tomorrow, if you like.”

  “That sounds great. I’d love to.”

  We slowly move around the enclosure, the bucket almost empty. “Do you have many friends at the farm?” I ask.

  “Yes. I play with Zara and Stacey. And sometimes I play with my cousins Jonny and Ethan. They’re a bit naughty. Mum doesn’t like me playing with them.” She turns to me. “Do you have a husband?”

  I chortle. “Oh, God no. I’m too young to get married. I did used to have a boyfriend though.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Sean. I loved him very much.”

  “Where is he now?” she asks, emptying out the last of the bucket.

  “I’m not sure. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.” My chest feels tight with sadness, remembering the last conversation we had right after his parents were killed. The state of him lying on that hospital bed. His eyes ice-cold with pain, with hatred.

  Does he still think about me?

  “Maybe he could live here on the farm,” Cora suggests. “He can help protect us, too. Is he strong?”

  I recall the terror written across his face right before we kissed for the first time. The memory paints over the bad one. “Yeah, he was pretty strong.” I grin at Cora. “For a boy.”

  She snorts, just as Maggie appears by the fence
with a bottle of water in one hand, and the other hand behind her back. She’s hiding something. “How’s it going, you two?”

  Cora puts her thumb up, and we walk over to Maggie. “Great! We’ve just finished.”

  “How was your student?” Maggie asks.

  “Excellent! She’s going to make a brilliant farmer.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Maggie says, ruffling Cora’s bushy hair. “She’s lucky to have such a great teacher.”

  “Cora really has a gift for farming,” I point out, stepping over the fence. “I’d love her to show me a few more things.”

  “Would you like that, sweetie?” Maggie asks her.

  “Definitely!”

  Maggie laughs. “Sounds like you’ve been getting on great.” She hands me the bottle of water. “Here, sweetie. Drink up. Farming’s thirsty work.”

  “Thanks,” I unscrew the cap, and then take a sip. “You want some?” I ask Cora, pointing the bottle at her.

  “I’ve got something better for Cora,” Maggie says with a secretive tone.

  “What’s that?” she asks, confused.

  Maggie reveals what she’s been hiding behind her back. “You deserve a treat for being such a good teacher. And it’s Friday—my favourite day of the week.”

  Coral’s eyes glow when she sees the can of Coke. “Thanks, Maggie!” She takes the drink and opens it straightaway.

  Something like a can of Coke would have meant nothing to me before, but seeing her face beam with happiness fills my stomach with warmth.

  No—more than warmth.

  Hope.

  “Now, you run along home,” Maggie says to Cora, pointing at a caravan in the distance. “And tell your mother how hard you’ve worked today.”

  “I will,” she says, jogging away from the fence. “Thanks for the Coke!”

  Maggie shakes her head, grinning. “She’s a good kid, that one.”

  “Yeah,” I say, gulping down the last of the water. “Very smart for her age.”

  “Oh, yes. Just like her parents.” She glances over at the chickens as they fight over the scraps of grain. “So, how’s your first few days been? Settling in all right?”

  “Yeah. Everyone’s been really friendly.”

  “That’s wonderful. I know it must be difficult sharing such a small caravan, but I should have one for you in a couple of weeks. I just wanted to make sure that you were staying first.” She raises her eyebrows. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” I say with a genuine smile. “As long as you’ll have us.”

  “Of course we’ll have you, sweetie. How’s your brother adjusting?”

  “Actually, he’s doing much better than I thought he would. He’s even made a friend.”

  “Oh, yes. Jade. Simon’s daughter. They’ve been getting along, have they?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. I think so. Hard to know for sure, but it certainly seems like it.”

  “That’s a relief. Some of the half-breeds we rescue don’t last that long. A lot of them just run away because they find it hard to mix with others. Jade and Ben are two of the most domesticated blues I’ve ever seen. Hopefully, they’ll rub off on some of the other blues we have at the farm. Maybe they’ll finally step out of their caravans.”

  “That would be good. It’s been great seeing Ben with another vampire. I was worried they’d end up fighting.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. But, for now, things are looking up. And I’m so pleased we brought you here, Freya. You’re gonna be a great asset to this place. I just know it.”

  “I hope so.”

  Maggie glances up at the sky. “It’ll be getting dark soon. Best you get back to the caravan before Ben wakes up. Don’t want him getting scared.”

  “Good idea,” I say as we walk along the grass towards the caravans. “Do you think someone can teach me how to shoot soon? I’d love to be up on one of the watchtowers one day.”

  “Wesley said he’d do it next week.”

  “Oh, great. Didn’t think he wanted to.”

  “He doesn’t have a choice, sweetie,” she says as we reach the caravans. “I love my son to bits, I really do, but sometimes he needs a good firm kick up the arse.”

  “He’s not so bad,” I say, just as my eyes start to fog over a little.

  “Are you okay?” Maggie asks, grabbing my arm as I lose balance.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply, struggling to lock my sights on Katrina and Wesley’s caravan. “I feel a bit woozy.”

  “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

  The empty bottle of water falls from my grip as my arms begin to droop. “Maybe,” I slur, the noise of the campsite slipping off into the distance.

  Through tunnel vision, I see Katrina standing in the doorway of her caravan.

  “Nearly there, sweetie,” Maggie says, her thick arm around my waist, practically dragging me across the grass. “Just a few more steps.”

  “I don’t…feel…very well.”

  Katrina moves aside to let me pass through the doorway. She grabs my arm, taking my weight from Maggie.

  “You’ll be all right, sweetie,” Maggie says, her words light-years away. “Best get some sleep now. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Through the clouds, I notice the bunk. Both beds are empty. “Where’s…my brother?” I hear the caravan door closing. “Where’s…Ben?”

  Katrina guides me to the bottom bunk bed and I collapse onto the cushions, my eyes half-closed, my head spinning out of control.

  “Don’t worry about your brother.” Katrina covers my paralysed body with a blanket. “He’s fine. Absolutely fine.”

  The thick, grey fog disappears as I close my eyes.

  And then I pass out completely.

  18

  I gawk at the menu, trying to make sense it. What the hell is a Rogan Josh? This is the first time I’ve ever been to an Indian restaurant, let alone the first proper date with Sean. “Eaten here before?” I ask him.

  He scans the posh, white room, the large fountain at the centre, the open-plan kitchen at the far end. “Maybe when I was little,” he replies. “Dad doesn’t like this kind of food. Says it’s too spicy. I thought you and the girls had Indian takeaways all the time.”

  I shake my head. “No. Just pizza. Nothing this fancy. Jason took me to a steakhouse once, but—” I cut my own sentence short. Jesus, Freya, why do you have to go and bring up the ex? “Sorry.”

  Sean chuckles, but it’s clearly a nervous one. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here with me.” He reaches across the table and rests his hand on mine. “That’s all that matters.”

  Our eyes meet. “Yeah. Either way: if I mention Jason,” I lean a little over the table and whisper, “—or vampires—then you can walk out.”

  “Deal.” He picks up the menu again. “And you can pay.”

  I jokingly kick him under the table. “Don’t push it.”

  He puts the menu down and takes a sip of his lemonade. “So, do you ever talk to Lisa and Katie these days?”

  “No. I’ve tried a few times, but it’s not worth it. Last thing I need is Lisa mentioning Ben.” I tut loudly. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I’ve failed already.”

  “I suppose I can let you off with a warning.”

  “You’re too kind.” I give the menu another attempt, thinking about how lucky I am to be here, sitting opposite someone that actually cares about me. Not some shallow dickhead who’s more concerned with lifting weights.

  I should have done this years ago.

  The Asian waitress comes over with her notepad. “Hello. Are you two ready to order yet?”

  Sean and I look at each and nod.

  “I’ll have the steak and chips,” Sean says, “with peppercorn sauce.”

  Not exactly the most cultured choice.

  The waitress jots down his order. “And for you, miss?”

  “Urrr…I think I’ll have…the same.”

  She nods, scribbles it down on her pad, and leaves the table.

  �
�Why fight it?” I say with a shrug. “We can try—”

  I shiver as a sudden chill runs down from my head, over my shoulders and back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I rub away the goosebumps from my arms. “Has it got cold in here, or is it just me?”

  “I’m fine, but I think you’ve spilled your water.”

  I look down at the table. There’s a pool of liquid over the white cloth, drenching my napkin. But my glass of water is still full. My head feels wet, so I pat it. What the hell—my hair is soaking. There’s water dripping down my neck and arms.

  “You’re drenched,” Sean points out with a grimace.

  I look up, but there’s nothing there, just a bone-dry, cream ceiling.

  The water is still flowing, getting thicker and thicker. What the hell is going on?

  I’m freezing.

  The sound of people chatting starts to fade.

  The table is now a pool of water.

  Sean begins to disappear, his voice becoming an echoey drone.

  “Wakey, wakey,” a woman’s voice says.

  Who is that?

  Through the distorted room, a face begins to form. “Maggie?”

  The restaurant evaporates completely, pulling me out of my dream, back to reality. But water is still running down my body. From my chair, I look up and find Katrina. She’s standing behind me, pouring a jug of water over my head.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Wide awake, disorientated, I try to take in my surroundings. The room is massive, with walls made out of scuffed up tin-sheets, and there’s a closed steel shutter at the far end the room. Am I still at the farm? In front of me is a barbed wire fence that stretches around a square hole at the centre of the room, about four-metres deep, and about ten metres wide. Its walls and floor are made of concrete, stained with dirt and patches of dark red. And on each side of the pit, there are three wide and high steps, elevating a crowd of at least a hundred men, drinking from cans and bottles, their raised voices filling the room with a muffled hum.