After They Came

by Tom Kavanagh

  “I would probably bring it to a vet. And I guess if it were really sick, I would put it down.”

  Strike two.

  “Where were you when the lightning struck?”

  “Where was I when the lightning struck?”

  “There was a storm a few months ago. Where were you when the lighting struck?”

  “Last week . . . Oh, I remember. I was actually driving home from the village. It struck very close to my car actually. Scared me half to death.”

  “It struck close to your car?”

  “Yes! I was terrified!”

  I thought it had only struck near me, but there must have been other sites where they came down. And that meant that she must be one of them.

  She was one of them.

  I wasn’t safe here and needed to escape. But I couldn’t just leave; I needed them to know that they couldn’t mess with me anymore.

  I lunged forward with a pair of scissors, aiming to scare her just enough so I could escape.

  I didn’t want to anger them; it was simply a warning shot. I wanted them to know I wasn’t going to take this anymore.

  My scissors swang a few centimetres from her arm, stopping short to ensure I didn’t scratch her skin. She recoiled in terror at the sight of the scissors, and backed away to a safe distance. The scissors dropped to the floor as I threw back my chair and sprinted down the school hallways.

  I needed to put as much distance as I could between the fake teacher and myself.

  There was no telling what would happen if she caught me.

  I didn’t stop running until I got to a gate leading into a group of fields.

  I’d have to keep going if I was going to survive.

  There was no turning back now.

  Eleven

  Becoming a Shadow

  I had no idea where to go.

  They were everywhere.

  For all I knew, they could have been pursuing me since I left the school.

  I needed somewhere to hide until it was safe for me to continue searching for answers.

  But I knew there was one thing I couldn’t do without while on my journey. And that was Pickle. I couldn’t leave her alone with my dad and the rest of them. Without me around to protect her, I couldn’t ensure her safety. I had to go to the farm and pick her up.

  Although there was a problem with my plan: I’d stormed out of the kitchen this morning and had missed the usual ritual of finding out what my dad was going to be up to that day. For all I knew, he was still there, sitting with Mary and holding hands, plotting my demise. But it was a risk I had to take.

  Most people had gone off to work or school, so the streets were relatively quiet. Even so, I walked quickly and tried to keep as low a profile as I could. Luckily I had my big coat, so no one could see that I was wearing my school jumper. If anyone did see me, they might have mistaken me for a college student with a free period. But that wouldn’t work with everyone, so as soon as was possible, I went off-road and made my way across fields to get back to the farm. It was strange to be out walking on the fields at this time. I was usually sitting in class wishing I could be outside, and now I finally was. As I walked, I hoped that this was all a dream and that I’d find myself back in class before all of this had happened. I had never really been happy in school, but anything seemed better than the current situation I found myself in.

  Instead of taking the main path to the farm, I went around the back, weaving my way through the bushes and trees behind the main field. From there, I could see the house and the outhouses. Dad wasn’t in the outhouses or in the main field, which meant he had to be in the house. I thought I’d have to wait there for goodness knows how long, but then I heard the front door open and then slam shut.

  I could just about hear my dad speaking. When he was angry, his voice was booming and travelled far in the valleys around our farm.

  “What the hell was she thinking? First she storms out this morning in the middle of a discussion, and then goes and swings scissors at a teacher.”

  I couldn’t hear Mary’s voice; she was obviously speaking quietly in the hopes that it would calm him down. But it didn’t seem to be working.

  “I mean it’s one thing to go running off and hurting yourself in the middle of the night, but to try to hurt someone else? I didn’t think she was capable of that, Mary. I really didn’t.”

  His voice was becoming louder as he became more exasperated at what I’d done. It was a good thing I ran when I did; I don’t think I’d have wanted to be there to greet my dad at school—he would have torn me a new one.

  “And now she could be anywhere. And who knows whether the school will even let her through the gates after what she did? Who would?”

  There was a part of me that hoped they wouldn’t let me back. They hadn’t exactly made me feel welcome while I was there. Every day there was a new person staring or spreading rumours or making me out to be some kind of nutjob. All of this stress had been building for so long that I was surprised it hadn’t come out sooner. In fact, it was a miracle that it hadn’t. There’s only so much stress and abuse a person can go through before they do something unlike themselves. The more you chip away at who they are, the more likely they are to turn their back on everything they once believed and held true. I just wanted to run away from all the negativity surrounding the school and find myself again.

  After a bit more shouting, I could hear the car door open and close, and then the familiar sound of the engine coming to life. I waited for a few more moments, just until I couldn’t hear the wheels turning over the gravel, and then made my way up to the house.

  As soon as I got to the door, Pickle leaped up excitedly, unable to contain herself. I came inside and gave her a few scratches behind the ears to calm her down, and then got to work collecting everything I needed for my little journey. I needed just the bare essentials: a few tins of human food and a few tins of dog food, Pickle’s spare dog bowl, a blanket, plenty of water, a torch, a penknife, and some matches. Pickle followed me around the whole time, unable to leave me alone for even a second. But deep down I didn’t mind; at least with her around, I knew that I would be protected.

  I packed my bag, took one final look around the house to make sure I hadn’t left any clues, and then made my way back to the front door. But just as I put my hand on the door handle, I realised that I’d forgotten something. I made my way back up the stairs, hoping that my dad wouldn’t suddenly storm back into the house and find me about to run away again. I went into my room and opened my bedside table drawer, slipping the picture of my family and me into my pocket. I didn’t need the picture as much as I needed the food or blanket, but I couldn’t do this journey without it. For a moment I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to soak up any of the peace that lingered in my room. I’d felt my most safe while in my room, unencumbered by the danger and stress of the outside world. It wasn’t as if I’d accepted that my life would be lived within these four walls because they were where I felt comfortable, but I loved that they were there just in case. But much to my chagrin, I couldn’t stay within these comfortable walls; I had made a decision that went against comfort, and now I had to live with it.

  And so once again, I made sure to cover my tracks, and then closed the front door behind me. With a bag full of food and my trusted sidekick with me, I made my way back into the woods, leaving behind all that I’d known and now wanted to forget.

  It wasn’t long before the light began to retreat, escaping from the valley at an alarming rate. My overriding memory of the woods around my house was of light, of long summer days spent pretending I was an elf or a knight. But as I walked through the now darkened wood, those memories began to escape me. I was losing grip on them, on memories that had once been so dear to me. The encroaching shadows were taking them from me, promising to take more than just them if I let them. And so I played those memories in my head over and over again, like a reel of film that looped without end.

  One particular me
mory came through particularly strong.

  It was during an unbearably hot summer, something we usually didn’t get in our area. I had been outside for hours, thinking that if I soaked up enough heat, I’d be warm through the winter. But I’d failed to put on sunblock, and so it didn’t take very long for the burned skin to show. I spent the next day in bed with sunstroke, but I spent it in bed with my mum. She lay next to me and wheeled in the TV from the living room so that we could watch movies together. I felt as if I was going to die, but I was glad to be with my mum. I knew that we wouldn’t share many more memories like that again, and so I soaked her up like I had done with the sun, except I never got sick thinking about her. And she did keep me warm, even on the coldest and most depressing days.

  As the day wore on, the forest fought me every step of the way. Branches, thorns, and any number of other sharp, pointy limbs slashed at me, slowing my progress away from the farm and town. Every time I thought I had made some progress, I was confronted with an impenetrable row of hedges or thickets. It was as if the forest was changing shape in front of me, guiding me to a place unknown. But all I could do was keep walking, letting the forest take me wherever it was taking me, and hope that a plan would form amongst the fog and mist currently holding my brain captive.

  * * * * *

  We’d been walking for most of the day, and I could feel the blisters on my feet growing exponentially. Every step was agony. I needed to stop. The only problem was, I had no idea where. We were far from town and I hadn’t seen a car or a person in hours, but I couldn’t shake that feeling that someone or something was watching me. The tingling at the back of my head hadn’t stopped, even though it had been hours since the altercation with my tutor.

  Pickle was having just as bad a time as I was. Her fur was covered in mud, twigs, and leaves, and she hadn’t eaten since the morning. I still didn’t feel completely safe, but for her sake, I decided to stop.

  We walked for another few minutes before discovering a natural clearing hidden behind a section of thick brush. A circle of trees surrounded it, like a defensive wall around a castle. I dropped my bag and started to set up a small camp, first getting out Pickle’s dog bowl and food, and then my blanket and tin of beans. I had hoped I’d be able to warm my beans up, having brought matches to start a fire. But it had been raining during the day, and so there was no dry wood to start a fire with. So instead, I opened it up and ate it on the ground with Pickle, wrapped in the blanket for warmth. While I ate, I imagined that Pickle and I were at a picnic, not in a terrifying wood surrounded by unimaginable horrors. We’d decided to stop during our leisurely stroll and were now enjoying a spot of high tea before we made our way back to our warm and inviting home.

  But a far-off noise, like the sound of a shrieking child, made it difficult to keep my imagination in check. And once one noise had penetrated my bubble of imagination, all other noises flooded in. The shriek far off in the distance was the overture, but then other smaller noises began to intrude. Snapping twigs were like beats on a hi-hat, and the ominous sound of the wind rushing through the trees was like a sorrowful violin. This was no longer a pleasant picnic out with my best friend. This was like the opening scene of a horror film where the main character stumbles into a situation they really shouldn’t have stumbled into.

  I rose from the ground and approached the tree line, hoping that I wouldn’t find something hiding. I was armed with my penknife and a large, pointy stick, and proceeded to circle my makeshift camp, like a territorial animal around its nest. I didn’t care whether I got hurt, but I couldn’t stand to see Pickle harmed.

  After hitting the trees surrounding the clearing in a feeble attempt to ward off any of them, I knelt in that damp, murky wood and was encircled by an ever-encroaching darkness. The shadows grew until they touched my legs and then encircled my entire body. I held Pickle close, knowing that she would protect me if anything were to happen.

  I knew that I couldn’t keep running forever. I would have to go back and face them, whoever or whatever they were. But in my current state, I couldn’t do it all alone. I couldn’t shoulder all of that responsibility. I would have to ask for help. And I knew there was only one person I could trust to help me.

  * * * * *

  The next morning I walked across countless fields, wading through patches of mud and manure, my school shoes a poor excuse for wellington boots. It slowed my progress, as every time I tried to walk faster, I would start to slip and slide. I could almost feel them watching me from somewhere; it was a tingling at the back of my head, as if I were a cat that had been put on edge by an approaching threat. My trousers hadn’t fared any better, quickly becoming dirty, picking up every piece of mud that was flicked up by the backs of my shoes.

  I knew roughly what direction I was supposed to be heading in, but without a proper map or road signs, I was moving purely on instinct alone. All I knew for certain was that I had to get to Simon. He was the only person who knew about what was going on, and for some strange reason, he believed everything I told him. And more important, I trusted him, something I couldn’t say for the rest of the village.

  On the day we’d walked around town questioning random civilians, he’d told me he also lived on a farm. It was a real surprise, because I hadn’t pegged him as a farm boy. He was sort of spindly like most teenage boys his age, and there were no signs of blisters on his hands. The insides of my hands were covered in a thick section of skin; it was sort of like a farmer’s tattoo. But annoyingly, he had failed to mention the exact location of his farm. He had been sheepish about giving me the address, like a conspiracy theorist who didn’t want to mention the whereabouts of his emergency bunker. Luckily, I knew pretty much every single farm in the area, so I could easily narrow down which one it was likely to be. Whichever farm it was, I would have to cover a lot of ground, something I wouldn’t be able to do with my socks that were full of holes, giving me blisters the size of pennies. I pulled the blanket and penknife out of my bag and went to work cutting up the material. I could make something that would at least cover my feet, even if it would be scratchy and hot.

  While I made the makeshift pair of socks, I thought about which farm it could have been. I could cross off both Mr. Thomas’s and Mary’s farms; I think that by now I would have found out if they were related to Simon. There was another farmer called Mr. Jenkins, but he was a bit of a hermit, so I couldn’t imagine that he had ever been outside long enough to meet a woman and get her pregnant. And then there was the Potters’ farm. They were an elderly couple who only sold eggs. My parents had dropped me off on their farm because they were going on a weekend away, and so I ended up being told every little detail of their family, and Simon’s name didn’t come up.

  There were only two other farms in the area, and one of them had been shut down after it was found they had an outbreak of bird flu, so that left only Simon’s farm. From what I could remember about the farm, it was located about a mile from Mr. Thomas’s farm—although it would take me a little longer if I wanted to avoid Mr. Thomas’s farm. If he saw me, there was no escape. He would rat me out to my dad, and then who knew what would happen to me?

  After battling with a waterlogged field, the slightly slick surface of footpaths was a godsend. It also meant I could stay off the main roads that went in and out of town; I didn’t know who might be looking for me. I felt oddly calm for the first time in weeks. There was something tranquil about walking down dirt paths surrounded by trees. It felt like the trees themselves were linking arms and protecting me, giving me a clear path to safety. They were protecting me from the shadows as best they could.

  Once I’d found a main path, I was able to find signposts telling me where I was. I’d finally found my bearings, meaning I’d no longer have to wander around aimlessly. Now that I knew where I was, I realised how much I had drifted, giving me a five-mile walk to look forward to. It was going to take me a good few hours, but at least I was finally on my way.

  * * * * * />
  When I finally got to the farm, I hunkered down in the undergrowth with Pickle, trying my best to stay as still as possible. But that didn’t last. Before long, Pickle was whimpering, obviously hankering for another stinky tin of food. I retrieved her bowl from my bag and dispensed a can of food, holding my breath as I did so. I loved Pickle with all my heart, but I most certainly didn’t love the smell of her food, especially the cheaper stuff my dad bought. She attacked the bowl with excitement, exchanging the whimpering sound for gnashing teeth. But after just a few minutes, the food was gone, and Pickle lay down into the undergrowth with me, soon sinking into sleep.

  From then on, I watched the road. I was pretty sure that no one would find me, but there was no harm in a little surveillance. And I could also make sure that Simon was alone. They might have found out that we were working together and might have used him to find me.

  As I waited, I sank farther into the undergrowth, letting the hedge and branches envelop me. There was nothing I wanted more than to shoot roots from my body, forcing them into the damp, dark soil below me, and to disappear from the world.

  But I knew that I couldn’t.

  There were people to save.

  And it was up to me to save them.

  Twelve

  They’re Coming

  Simon came wandering down the driveway a few hours later.

  I had planned to step out in front of him calmly, but it turned into a jump after tripping on a twig. So it was pretty unsurprising that the whole experience startled him, causing him to fall over, sending books and pieces of paper flying into the air. The whole situation wasn’t helped by Pickle leaping on top of him and licking his face.

  “What the hell!” he screamed as he pushed Pickle away and picked himself up from the ground.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I called out, trying my best to help but only making the whole situation worse.

  “Why would you jump out at someone like that?”