Cia Rose Series Box Set

by Rick Wood

  The way she was talking to him could be seen as impatient, but was more likely to be desperate. And when a growl shook the air and he refused to move, yet she didn’t leave him – that’s when he knew he had found two people worth aiding.

  “This does not help!” she snapped at the boy.

  Her face broke. As if she hated herself for being nasty. As if she had suffered such mental torment that she couldn’t help but break.

  She needed someone to help them.

  “Right, now let’s–”

  The earth trembled.

  He had moved his head to look at the Thoral before the ground’s seizure had even registered.

  It was huge. Drooling blood like they always did. Massive like they always were.

  It was walking toward them.

  These people were not moving.

  It hadn’t seen them yet, but they hadn’t long before it would.

  She was looking around, urgently searching for respite; somewhere to hide, somewhere to run.

  But you can’t outrun a Thoral.

  And he was sure that, in her face, even for just a little flicker, he saw her give up. Saw everything she was fighting for become pointless.

  She came to terms with their inevitable demise. It had been a good ride, but it was over. Their lives had run their course.

  That’s when he spoke up.

  “Hey!” he shouted in a loud whisper. “Hey, over here!”

  They looked over, confused, unable to see where the voice was coming from.

  He poked his hand out of the bush.

  “Down here!”

  Then they saw him.

  “Follow me!” he said, getting to his feet and ushering them.

  With a glance back at the Thoral slowly stalking its prey, they turned and moved.

  Colin led them a few yards down the street, to a door to a large building. What was once a huge group of flats.

  Empty, of course, except for the very small candlelight burning behind the curtains of a flat six floors up.

  He unlocked the door, let them in, then pressed himself against the wall, out of sight, as did they.

  The thudding steps of the Thoral grew close, and he held his breath. He watched them looking at him with widened eyes.

  Then the steps passed, and he let his breath go.

  He looked them both up and down.

  Both of them filthy. Potentially wounded. Unmistakably hurt.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  They looked at each other, then solemnly nodded.

  “Follow me,” he said, and led them upstairs.

  As they did, they all allowed themselves a long outward breath of freedom.

  For they all thought they were safe.

  They all thought they had escaped the Thoral.

  And they had – but there was still another monster they hadn’t escaped.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The flat itself was a peculiar surprise.

  The sofa wasn’t torn up with springs poking out. The wallpaper wasn’t ripped off. The windows weren’t smashed. The carpet wasn’t skewed by broken floorboards, the front door not beaten down, and the smell not that of decay.

  It was even warm. Cia couldn’t believe that they had central heating, but it certainly felt like it.

  Colin guided them into the living room, and they followed absently. Their bodies were moving statically, their eyes wide but distant, their minds so fatigued they were barely aware.

  “My name is Colin,” he introduced. “And this is my daughter, Cathryn.”

  A young girl smiled at them, ribbons in her long, brown hair, and wearing pyjamas far more immaculate than they could conceive. She was sat at a child’s table colouring in. Cia recognised the outline of the figure she was colouring in. It was a character from a book she used to love. She struggled to recollect his name… Hagrid, or something.

  Colin removed his camouflage. It was an impressive outfit; a full body suit covered in leaves that would allow him to blend in with any bush or thick area of forest. Just as well that they lived next to such an area.

  Beneath his disguise was a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. The kind that Cia’s father used to wear.

  “Give me a moment,” Colin said, and marched into a nearby room.

  Cathryn smiled at both of them. Despite their faces of terror, she wasn’t deterred in her endeavour to keep smiling.

  “Hi,” Cathryn said.

  Cia smiled weakly.

  “Hi,” she managed, her voice rough and small.

  “What are your names?”

  “I’m Cia…this is…Boy.”

  “Hello, Cia. Hello, Boy.”

  Colin walked out with a pile of clothes in his hands. He placed some of them on a table next to Boy, and on the arm of a chair next to Cia.

  “Cia and Boy,” he repeated. “Lovely names.”

  He stood, smiling at them. Why were they both so smiley?

  “These are some clothes for you. Please feel free to get rid of what you’re wearing, they don’t look like something that a washing machine could particularly handle.”

  A washing machine?

  Did this guy actually have a washing machine?

  “Whose clothes are they?” Cia asked, not sure why she was asking.

  “That, er…that doesn’t matter. They won’t be needing them anymore.”

  He smiled again, this time a little more forced.

  “If you would like to use the shower, then please do,” he said.

  “You have a shower?”

  Colin grinned.

  “Oh, yes.”

  And man, did he have a shower. It wasn’t just a few trickling beads of water. It was an immensely satisfying power-shower – a beating of water that would drench her and clean everything away.

  Cia was so used to cold lakes that she was almost hesitant about using it, like it was some kind of trap.

  She wanted to ask how exactly how he had a shower, but those questions could come later.

  She led Boy into the bathroom, where she turned the shower on, and felt the water until it reached the right amount of heat – just like her father used to do for her. She assumed Boy wouldn’t want it too hot, so once it was warm, she beckoned him to take his clothes off.

  He covered his body, too shy.

  She smiled and undressed herself, showing him it was okay. She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes as she lifted her head back and felt the water drench her hair.

  There was even soap and shampoo in the corner of the shower.

  She waved Boy in and, reluctantly at first, he removed his clothes and joined her.

  They were both filthy, and the water that trickled beside their feet had barely any water in it – it was mainly thick mud, marred with a tinge of blood. She ensured that Boy had cleaned himself thoroughly, that he took advantage of this commodity.

  Then, she beckoned him out and told him to go get changed.

  And she was left alone.

  Standing beneath the shower head.

  Not moving, not thinking – just standing. Letting the water punch against her and cascade down her body in an angry waterfall.

  She turned the heat up, then turned it up more, until it was burning her. Until every part of her naked flesh had turned red and begun to sting.

  And there she stayed, a catatonic state overtaking her.

  Letting the water beat her.

  Letting the heat scald her.

  Letting her skin be touched yet still feel nothing.

  Then it all came flooding.

  The love she felt for Dalton.

  The betrayal on his face.

  The vow to kill Boy in front of her.

  The terror, the anxiety, the stress.

  The look in his eyes the look in Boy’s eyes the running the hiding the listening to the bullets the being chased by him by the one she loved the one she relied on relied on relied on so bad to keep her safe as she kept him safe and he was going to hurt Boy hurt
Boy hurt Boy he was going to hurt Boy and oh dear God he was going to hurt Boy…

  Tears came suddenly.

  They fired out of her eyes quicker than the shower. Hit her knees and the floor and washed away with the mud down the drain.

  She cried heavier, and heavier, and heavier still.

  Everything she hadn’t felt surfaced.

  Every hidden emotion, every corner of her mind she hadn’t allowed herself to access, every piece of fatigue she felt in her aching muscles.

  Everything.

  Every damn thing.

  It fell out, cascaded out, forced itself out until she was a heaving mess amongst a room of steam.

  Then, finally, once everything had all fallen out, she finished.

  She turned off the shower, dried her eyes, and dried her body.

  She paused.

  And it was done.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cia emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the clothes she had been given; a pair of loose jeans, a blue and white striped t-shirt and an amber woollen jumper. She was also grateful for a new set of underwear, having been living between the same five pairs for a while now; even if the bra didn’t quite fit.

  Boy was sat with Cathryn, some crayons in his hand, blissfully colouring away. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans a little too big for him, but good enough for him to be content. He liked things a little baggy anyway, he didn’t like to be constricted.

  It was nice for him to be with someone else who was young. He was probably a few years older than her, but he’d never been able to experience childhood; not properly anyway. A luxury such as colouring in seemed like such a nice thing for him to do, and the smile on his face told her that.

  “Would you like a drink?” Colin asked from the doorway to the kitchen, a kettle in his hand.

  “Yes, please.”

  “A cup of tea?”

  She nodded. The last time she’d had a cup of tea it had been made by her father.

  She followed him through to the kitchen, admiring the pristine setup they had.

  “This is a really nice flat,” she observed.

  “I like to keep it clean. But, to be fair, what else do I have to do with my time?”

  She nodded. It was a fair point.

  He lit a fire on the stove with a lighter and boiled the kettle atop it. He popped two teabags into two mugs. Once he’d filled the water, he opened the cupboard, took out one of many cartons of long-life milk and topped the mugs up.

  “This is incredible. How do you have such a place?”

  “This was our home before it happened, and it’s our home now,” he explained. “There’s no one else in the flat block, just us. We’re quite high up, so we don’t get spotted that easily. I guess you could say we’re lucky.”

  She’d agree with him. She imagined there had been many, many people in a similar place that had died. Yet here they were, father and daughter – she figured there had to be at least one person who’d been lucky enough not to perish, and here he was.

  “How do you have a shower?” she asked.

  He handed her the cup of tea and she held it in both hands. She sipped on it. It tasted good. She’d missed that. A cup of tea used to make any problem go away.

  “There’s a boiler in the basement,” Colin said. “I’ve set it all up.”

  “You’ve set it all up? How?”

  “There is a river running past this house. After about a year of going without power or water, I figured we may as well make use of it.”

  “I just don’t understand how–”

  “It’s what I used to do – repair boilers, and so forth. I set up a small turbine in the water, and that generates our power. It’s not enough to power the entire building, but as it’s just us here, it suits us well. And the hot water, that took me a little longer – I created a way for the lake to feed into one of the boilers. Again, not enough for more than just a flat or two, but…” He noticed her confused expression. “It’s simple really, when you know what you’re doing.”

  She nodded. Wasn’t sure what to say. Sipped on her tea.

  “You’re welcome to stay,” he said. “I mean, you can have the spare room here for the night, if you like. But, I mean, there are lots of other flats. I’m sure I can direct some hot water to one of those, if you wished to take a home.”

  She almost laughed. It just seemed preposterous. The thought of just moving into a flat, setting up home and having hot showers…

  It seemed like something they shouldn’t have.

  Which was odd, because – why shouldn’t they? If it was available, then why not?

  It wasn’t like they would have such a thing at the cost of other people.

  “It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Colin said, seeing the trouble in her face. “And I imagine you’ve probably been through hell. You’d have had to, to survive this long. But we’re stronger together, right?”

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know whether that was true or not.

  “Hey, feel free to sleep on it,” he continued. “There’s no rush. We can talk, share our stories when you’re ready.”

  She nodded. Took another sip of her tea. God, it was good. So warm.

  “I think I’ll go to bed now,” she said, slowly and coolly. She drank down the last bit of tea and placed the mug on the side.

  “Good night,” Colin said. “Your bedroom is the one on the left.”

  She nodded and left.

  “Boy,” she said, as she walked through the living room. “Time for bed.”

  He didn’t put up a fight. She could see by his eyes how tired he was. She was surprised he’d stayed awake for so long.

  They made their way into the bedroom where two single beds were ready for them.

  They slept in the same one, her arm around Boy, holding him close, like she always did.

  Once Colin had said goodnight to Cathryn, he decided to go to bed too. He blew out all the candles then retired to his bedroom.

  At least, he thought he had blown out all of the candles.

  But there was still one single, solitary, rogue flame dancing by the window…

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Despite the comfort and warmth and blissful scent of the bed she found herself in, it kept her awake.

  She wasn’t used to it.

  Every time she woke up slightly, as one often does throughout a night’s sleep, she would panic and wake herself up fully. She would wonder where the bumps in the ground were, the wetness, the shivering cold – and she would look around, demanding to know where she was.

  Then she would see that she was safe and settle back down.

  Then again, was she safe?

  She recalled the last two sets of people who took her in.

  The first, a cult that demanded each woman be continuously fornicated with until they bore a child.

  The second, a set of elitist survivors who originally denied her entry due to her skin colour, who had insisted that she instead be separated from her all-too-willing father.

  Was she right to be cautious?

  I mean, didn’t this seem too good to be true?

  She tried to unstiffen her body. Tried to let her head sink into the pillow, its puffiness encasing her. Tried to let her body relax, wary of how much it was sweating beneath this heavy duvet.

  It’s strange what a person can become used to when forced.

  She would normally be awake listening for sounds. Or, if not her, Dalton. On watch. Ready in case something caught them beneath the shelter they had created.

  The trees normally disguised them well, as did the twigs she could straddle together to shelter them.

  The noises outside of this building, however, were unlike the noises she heard amongst nature. It seemed that, without the protection of trees and guidance of wildlife, the quantity of monsters grew greater.

  It seemed as if, any time she went to fall into a deeper slumber, she was woken by another screech or growl or thud or trem
ble or hiss.

  She was attuned to them.

  Her mind had been conditioned to wake up and become alert upon the sound.

  She struggled to feel secure in her safety but willed herself to get some sleep. Who knew how long something like this could last?

  Boy was fast asleep. Breathing heavily, eyes fluttering, snuggled beneath her arm wrapped tightly around him.

  Among all the clean linen, she could really smell him. His sweaty stink. His grubby body giving off years of fear in one surprising odour. It was the kind of smell a dozen showers would still struggle to get off. And, before she could begin to feel repulsed by it, she grew starkly aware that she probably smelt the same herself.

  On the bedside table was an alarm clock. Powered by batteries, she presumed.

  It seemed a bizarre contraption.

  To her, time had ceased to exist. There was the position of the sun in the sky and that was that. After all, time was a manmade invention. There was no forward and backwards, it was a concept created to measure events. Once people and events had all but gone, there was no need for time to exist any longer.

  Yet they still had it.

  She wondered if they knew the date, too. She would be intrigued to know what month it was.

  The time itself read 3.46 a.m.

  Was that late or early? She couldn’t remember…

  What was her bedtime when she still lived with…Dad.

  It still feels strange to think of him in such a way.

  To call him dad… It seemed undeserved.

  Daniel.

  Yes, she’d call him Daniel. That was his name, after all.

  She tried to recall what her bedtime was when she lived with Daniel.

  Eight, maybe? Half eight? Maybe nine?

  Well, she was up far past it now.

  She tried to sleep, but of course, when someone actually tries to sleep, it only reduces the chances of sleep and increases the chances of frustration.

  So she stopped trying.

  She listened to the sounds that seemed both close and distant.

  A dozen or so Masketes were screeching, but she had to really listen to hear them, and she felt safe in the comfort that they were far away.