Blue Skin

by Steven Jenkins

  “That’s where I’m from.”

  “Oh, great. That’s good to know.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Simon.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking it. “I’m Freya.” I motion with my head to Ben. “And this grumpy guy here is my brother Ben.”

  Simon gives him an awkward wave. “This is Jade. She’s four-months old. We’ve been on the run since the HCA took over our neighbourhood. It’s been a nightmare.” His daughter hooks her arm around his, and rests her head against his shoulder.

  “Same here. We’ve been living in some shithole of a flat in Newton Port.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Can I ask how old you are?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Jesus Christ. You’re so young. Mum and Dad aren’t ‘round?”

  I shake my head, blocking out the anguish. “No. Dad died before I was born, and,” I pause for a moment, swallowing a lump in my throat, “Mum was shot by the HCA. She was trying to protect my brother.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’re surviving. That’s the main thing.”

  Maggie appears out of nowhere, carrying a white mug in one hand and another bottle of beer in the other. “It’s nice to see a couple of blues out and about.”

  “Do you have many Hemovores at the farm?” Simon asks her.

  “Oh, yes. Lots,” she replies, enthusiasm in her tone. “But most of them spend all day and night in their caravans. I’m hoping Jade and Ben can inspire them to step outside once in a while, mix in with the rest of us.” She purses her lips. “I’m sure they’ll get there in the end. Small steps.” She hands me the mug of blood. “Here. Best leave you give it to him. I’m guessing he’ll just knock it out of my hand.”

  “Thanks, Maggie.” I show the blood to Ben. “You hungry?”

  Ben glowers at me, glancing at my wrist, and then at the mug.

  “You don’t have to hurt me anymore. They have blood here. As much as you’ll ever need.”

  His glare travels to Maggie, and then back at the mug.

  “Come on, Ben. It’s just blood. Drink it.” I float it by his hand, praying that he doesn’t hit it.

  ‘No,’ he tells my head.

  “Come on. You can trust me.”

  Slowly, his fingers start to move and he grips the handle. He brings the mug up to his nose, sniffs it, and then gives me one more look of suspicion before swallowing the blood in one go.

  Maggie lets out a chuckle. “I knew you’d come ‘round, Ben.” She hands me the bottle of beer. “Now, let’s celebrate. It’s not every day we get new family members.”

  There’s an overwhelming sense of relief flowing through me as I drink the beer. Maggie is right. I can’t take on the HCA without help, without family. Sooner or later they would have found us, even if those vigilantes hadn’t. I can’t run forever. Can’t keep hiding in the shadows, hoping that this will all somehow blow over.

  And more importantly, I can’t spend another night scrubbing chicken grease in that bloody kebab shop.

  14

  My head is pounding and my stomach burns with acid.

  There’s hardly any light in the room when I open my eyes, which helps my hangover—but not by much.

  I take in my surroundings. I’m on the bottom bunk of the world’s narrowest brown-coloured bed, which is surrounded by a thin cream curtain. Where the hell am I? Right next to me is a small window, covered by a set of closed-blinds. I move them over a little to look through. Outside the sun is shining down on a field full of white and cream caravans, and the memory of last night’s drinking comes hurtling back.

  Beyond the curtain, I hear whispering. Dread slithers over me as I push the blanket from my body, and climb off the bed. Ben is lying on the top bunk, fast asleep, a blanket over his fully-clothed body.

  I hear the quiet laughter of a man, and then a woman shushing it. Pulling the curtain over, I step into the heart of the caravan. In front of me, there’s a small kitchen unit with two cups in a shallow sink, a microwave, and a toaster on the worktop, and two small cupboards fixed to the wall directly above it.

  “How did you sleep?” Katrina asks from the furthest end of the caravan. She’s sitting on a cushioned, two-seater bench, with a white table in front. And sitting opposite her is Wesley, holding a hand of playing cards.

  “Okay, I suppose,” I reply with a jagged voice.

  Wesley turns to me, his freckled face wrinkled with smugness. “You were pretty drunk last night, love. I had to practically carry you home.”

  I try to remember it, but the memory is misplaced.

  “I’m really sorry about that. I just haven’t drunk anything in a while.”

  “It’s okay, Freya,” Katrina says. “You were nervous. And nervous people tend to drink more. First day on the farm. Meeting new people. Can’t have been easy.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But thanks for getting us home safely. I really appreciate it.”

  “No worries, love,” Wesley says, shifting over in his narrow seat to make room for me. He pats the cushion. “Sit. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks,” I say, joining the couple.

  Katrina gets up and walks over to the kitchen unit. “Let me make you something to eat.”

  “There’s no need,” I say, politely. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She kneels down, opens the small fridge, and removes a plate of cooked bacon slices and sausages. “Young girl like you needs to keep her strength up.” She puts the plate into the microwave and pushes the button.

  “Do you know how to play Poker?” Wesley asks, shuffling the deck of cards.

  I shake my foggy head.

  “It’s easy. I’ll teach you.” He starts to deal out the cards. “It’s a game of luck, skill, and bullshit.”

  “That’s why he’s so good,” Katrina says as she puts two slices of bread into the toaster. “He’s the king of bullshit, that one.”

  “Cheeky cow,” he says, taking a sip from his mug.

  Katrina puts the plate of food in front of me, and then takes her seat opposite. “Tuck in. Best cure for a hangover.”

  As soon as the smell of bacon and sausage hits my nose, my stomach reacts, bubbling up inside. But I have to eat it. Katrina is right: it is the best cure.

  “Have you ever worked on a farm before?” Katrina pours me a glass of orange juice, and my dry mouth comes alive with anticipation.

  “No,” I reply, gulping down the juice in one go.

  Katrina chuckles and pours me another. “Well, we’ve got a lot to teach you then.”

  “What about security?” I ask, nibbling the corner of my toast.

  “What about it?” Wesley replies with a frown.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind working up on one of those watchtowers.”

  Wesley snorts. “I don’t think so, love. Best leave that to the men.”

  “Shut up, Wesley, you old fart,” Katrina cuts in, kicking him under the table. “If she wants to work security, then she can. Don’t be such a sexist pig.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, my cheeks feeling hot with embarrassment. “I’m happy to do something else.”

  “Freya,” Katrina says, “if you want to help protect this place, then that’s absolutely fine. Wesley will show you the ropes first thing tomorrow.”

  Her husband grumbles something under his breath.

  “Isn’t that right, Wesley?”

  He doesn’t reply, just sips his drink.

  She kicks him under the table again.

  “Fine,” he painfully replies.

  Katrina throws me a victory grin and then motions to my breakfast. “Now eat up, Freya, before it gets cold. And then I’ll show you how to milk a cow.”

  “Okay.” With my bare hand, I pick up a sausage, sniff it discreetly, and then take a bite. As soon as the thick grease makes contact with my tongue, I retch.

  “You all right, love,” Wesley asks with a smirk.

  I don’t reply
, just put a quick hand to my mouth, and bolt towards the small door at the other end of the caravan. With only logic telling me that it leads to the bathroom, I yank the door open, lift up the plastic seat, and vomit loudly into the toilet.

  15

  “How have you been settling in?” Simon asks as we approach the front gate.

  “Not too bad,” I reply, the cold morning breeze nipping at my cheeks. “Katrina’s been really friendly, especially letting Ben and I share her caravan.”

  “You’re lucky. Jade and me are stuck sharing with an elderly couple over by the barn. All they do is argue about horse-racing and money. I’m just glad I stay up with Jade all night, so we don’t have to put up with his snoring.”

  I chuckle. “Sounds bad.”

  Simon shrugs. “Well, I suppose things could be a hell of a lot worse.”

  I lift my eyebrows in agreement as we reach the gate. Wesley is already there, dressed in thick, waterproof trousers, a heavy red hiking coat, and a pair of knee-high green wellies. “Right, before we start,” he says, his voice louder than usual, with more authority, “do either of you have any experience with security? Maybe worked the door at a nightclub?”

  Simon and I shake our heads in unison.

  Rolling his eyes in frustration, Wesley unhooks his shotgun from his shoulder, and rests its length across his palms. “Okay. This is a double-barrel shotgun. As the name suggests, you gotta reload it after just two shots—but it’s reliable, precise, and packs a hell of a punch.” He hands the gun to Simon. “You two ever fired a weapon before?”

  “Only a paintball gun when I was eighteen,” Simon says. “Hurts like hell, though.” He points at his thigh. “My brother caught me here. Just missed the crown jewels.”

  I giggle, but then quickly contain it when I see Wesley’s pissed-off face.

  “And you?” Wesley asks me, but it’s pretty obvious what the answer will be.

  “Nope. Never.”

  Groaning, he takes the gun back off Simon. “Jesus bloody Christ. How the hell are you supposed to protect this place if you can’t even fire a gun?”

  “We can learn, can’t we?” I ask with a hint of cheekiness. “You can teach us.”

  Wesley hooks the gun back over his shoulder. “Look, I’ll show you the ropes for now, but someone else’ll have to teach you to shoot. I’m not a bloody babysitter.”

  For a second, I think about retorting, telling him that I don’t need babysitting, that I’m more than capable of firing a shotgun. But it’s not worth it. This is his world, his land. So, for now, I’ll keep my big mouth shut, and do whatever the hell he wants.

  “See this?” Wesley asks, knocking the wooden fence with his oversized knuckle. “This fence surrounds the entire fifty-six acres of farmland. Cost us a bomb, but worth every penny.”

  Simon touches it, his eyes following its five-metre height all the way up to the barbed wire covered spikes at the top. “Do you get many attacks on this place?”

  “No. Not many. We get the odd purebred roamers, but nothing we can’t handle. But my mother thinks that it’s only a matter of time before things get really bad.”

  “I’d say it’s already happened,” I point out.

  Wesley shakes his head. “No, we’re not quite there yet, love. Society is still hanging on. The police, hospitals are still functioning. The Internet is still going. But once those go down, once the news stops, the schools shut down, the whole country’s screwed. There’ll be too many purebreds to cope with, and this farm will be the safest place to be. Away from the towns and cities. Away from the rioting.”

  “Bloody hell, mate,” Simon says. “You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

  I chuckle, but Wesley’s words plague me. It’s not like I didn’t already know how bad things are likely to get, but hearing someone else say it, with such passion, such belief, really cuts deep.

  “We have six watchtowers spread along the fence,” Wesley says, ignoring Simon’s playful comment. “The most important one is right here,” he taps one of the four pillars of its wooden structure, “at the gates. This time next year, we hope to have six more towers, and a shitload more guns.”

  “Can I climb up?” I ask. “Take a look?”

  With reluctance written across his face, he nods. “Okay. But be careful. Mum’ll kill me if anything happens to you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I start to scale the wooden ladder, which is fixed to the watchtower pillars. The entire structure creaks and shifts slightly with every footstep, but it doesn’t scare me. If these things can hold Wesley’s chunky arse, then I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay. A gush of cool wind hits me as I reach the top. The wooden platform has barely enough room for one person, but the view is great. Behind me, I see the entire camp, beyond the caravans, the two buildings, and fields, all the way to the opposite fence and watchtower. Directly in front of me, outside the farm, I see the narrow road that brought me here, a forest about a mile away, and two huge overgrown fields on either side.

  Being up so high, looking down on everything, makes me feel powerful, like I can take on the world, take on an army of purebreds, an army of HCA.

  I imagine standing here at night, a shotgun in my hands, aiming it at the head of Michael Matthias. The thought makes me happy, excited even.

  They say revenge is never the answer.

  But you never know unless you try it.

  16

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper to Ben as he stares out of the caravan window. I try to see what he’s looking at, but all I can make out is a pitch-black campsite, without a soul in sight.

  He doesn’t answer, so I pause the movie on Katrina’s iPad, and rest it down on the bed. “Come on. Talk to me.”

  ‘Don’t like this place,’ he finally tells my head.

  “But we’re safe. The bad people can’t get to us here.”

  A quiet grunt leaves his mouth as he twists around to face me, his weight nearly shoving me off the top bunk. “Keep still, Ben. You’re gonna push me off the bed.”

  ‘Sorry.’

  “That’s okay,” I whisper. “Look, I know it’s tough living somewhere new, but these people can help us, and feed us. Out there is dangerous. Lots of bad people. Lots of guns.”

  ‘Guns here, too.’

  “Yes, but we need those to shoot the bad people.”

  He goes quiet again.

  “Shall we watch the rest of the movie?” I suggest. “It’s nearly finished.”

  He shrugs, shuffling in his sitting position, trying to get comfortable. “Maggie says she’ll find us a cheap little caravan to live in soon. We can have our own home again. Like before.”

  I wait for a response, but nothing comes.

  Give him time.

  My back is sore, and I can’t seem to get comfortable. “Shall we take a walk, Ben?”

  He nods with eagerness, clearly desperate to get out of here.

  I lower myself off the bunk, and step onto the floor with cat-like silence. Ben follows me down. Pulling the curtain across, I glance over at Katrina and Wesley. They’re fast asleep on the former dinner table, which is now a double bed, complete with a thick, white quilt and two pillows.

  We tiptoe over to the door, and then exit the caravan.

  As soon as the cold night air hits me, I zip up my coat and pull the hood over my head.

  The grass is damp, my trainer soaking up the moisture like a sponge. Need to get some wellies soon if I’ve any chance of making it as a farmer.

  The campsite is peaceful, like we’re the only two people living here. It’s kind of nice. In the distance, I hear the faint murmur of pigs squealing, or is it chickens clucking? It’s hard to tell.

  “Are you warm enough?” I ask him as we head towards the barn. “Pull your hood up.”

  Ben does what I ask, but I don’t think he feels the cold like I do.

  There’s a figure leaning against the closed barn door, smoking a cigarette. I squint to see who it is, but it’s too dark.
<
br />   The person waves at me. Once I’m a few metres away, I see a familiar face. It’s Simon.

  “Morning, Freya,” he says, flicking his cigarette on the grass.

  “You don’t have to stop smoking on my account,” I tell him, watching the orange flame fizzle to nothing on the wet ground. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  “No, but it bothers me. I’ve been trying to quit forever. And I managed it for two years. But then all this shit happened, and, well...stress, boredom, and loneliness aren’t exactly the greatest helpers with nicotine addiction.”

  “I suppose so.” Standing beside him, I scan the area, looking for his daughter, but she’s nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Jade?”

  He tilts his head back and I follow his stare to the roof of the barn. At the very top, Jade is sitting on the ledge, her feet dangling over, her gaze far across the field. “Jesus, is she all right up there?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Simon replies with a shrug. “I’ve tried telling her to come down, but it’s in one ear, out the other with that girl.”

  Ben is peering up at her with wonder in his eyes. He’s itching to join her, but he’s waiting for my approval. I should count myself lucky that he actually listens to me sometimes, otherwise I think I would have lost him months ago. “Go on then. You can go to her.”

  Ben doesn’t respond, just bolts to the side of the barn, looking for a quick route to the top.

  Simon chuckles with astonishment. “Bloody hell, you’ve got him well trained. I can hardly get Jade to do anything I say. She’s like a naughty child.”

  “That’s because she is. It’s easy to forget that they’re still so young.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “But Ben doesn’t always listen to me,” I point out. “The whole reason I was picked up by Wesley and Katrina was because he snuck out of our flat.”

  “Oh, really. Was he trying to escape?”

  I snort. “Not quite. He was looking for alley cats and dogs to kill.”

  Simon laughs. “That’s exactly what Jade used to do back home. Must be something about the taste.”