Blue

by Brandy Wehinger

  My parents don’t care about me at all. I was feeling lonely, so I went out to the stables to brush Bob. I was thinking about how he was my only friend and I started to cry. My father came into the stable and saw me, and his face turned all red and he stormed over to me and said, ‘This desert isn’t a place for babies, so you’d better stop acting like one.’

  I told him I missed Tree Sanctuary, but he said, ‘Well, you don’t belong there and you won’t belong here either if you keep up this snivelling and crying.’

  I feel like the loneliest person in the world. Nobody loves or cares about me here. I don’t know why they even came and picked me up to live with them.

  I miss all of you guys. I hope everything is okay there. Say hi to your family for me.

  Jessy

  XAVIER, spring, 62 A. Z.

  Dear Jessy,

  I’ve been thinking that the next time you guys ride through Tree Sanctuary, you should just stay. Let them go on without you. Say something like you want to keep going to school, or you’re sick, or anything — just so they let you stay. I’ll start looking for a place to keep Bob. There will be somewhere near an old ground building that Joaquin and I can fence off. I don’t think too many people will disapprove. Having a horse will be really useful for Tree Sanctuary. Bob can help pull things, or be used as transport if there is an emergency or something.

  Try and be patient. Hang in there! You don’t have to live with those people forever. Try and remember that.

  Everything here is pretty much the same, except Dad and Joaquin have taken over care of the orchards, which is pretty fun. The trees are just about big enough for a real crop. Apple pies and cider for everyone next year!

  I found out something crazy. I’m not sure if you already knew about this, but there is a law that says we have to marry people from other settlements. Usually I don’t care about laws and stupid rules from the City, or even marriage, but my mother said that she and Dad know who I will grow up to marry. Mum said the rules were made so that people don’t accidentally marry someone they are related to and then have deformed children.

  My parents told my little brother and me that the girl Joaquin is marrying next year is the daughter of one of Dad’s old friends. I don’t think Joaquin has really thought about it — at least, I’ve never heard him say he was excited about the wedding or anything like that.

  When I asked Mum who I would marry, she said that it would be that girl, Rose, from the City — the one Mum made me write to last year. She said that in five years I will have to marry her and it was probably a good idea to kind of get to know her. Four years is a long way away. What if I don’t like her or she’s ugly? I’m definitely not going to marry her if she’s stupid like that girl Tash in our class. I don’t even know if I want to get married when I grow up. Have your parents told you anything about this?

  I’m sorry you have to be out in the desert all by yourself with those mean people. I think they should have just left you here in the first place. When you come back this way, just stay. I mean it. I’ve been thinking about how to get you back to Tree Sanctuary otherwise, and haven’t come up with anything really good yet. I’m sorry I can’t come to get you right now. My dad said it would be impossible with no horse, no weapons and no help. But I really wish I could. Hang in there.

  I miss you,

  Xavier

  ROSE, spring, 62 A. Z.

  Dear Diary,

  The entire City knows about what Elliot has done. I guess it’s because we all live so close together and people have nothing else to talk about except the misfortunes of others. The Leaders have had a meeting almost everyday, and there has been at least one of the grumpy old politicians in Father’s office, talking with him behind closed doors, since we first found out.

  Father looks pale, drained and sad. He hugged me this morning and said he was sorry. Sorry for what? This isn’t his fault — it’s Elliot’s silly doing. Elliot is my big brother, my best friend, but he gets too excited about things sometimes. This Blue, Katie, has just fired him up and made him a bit crazy. I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.

  Mother is a mess. She goes between being an angry witch who throws teacups at the servants and a crying little girl who refuses to leave her room. She has instructed us to ‘Keep your mouths shut!’ What would I say anyway, and to who? We haven’t even been allowed to go to school. It’s like we’re trapped in here, shamed and hiding away from the world, or mourning the death of someone. When we do go back to school it’s going to be so awkward. Everyone is going to ask questions that we’re not allowed to answer. That will lead to even more gossip.

  Jenny said that we’re waiting for the final verdict from the Leaders, and their decision will influence the way we act and proceed. What decision could be so big that it changes the way we live? Like, are we never going to go back to school again? I don’t understand. Nobody tells me anything! They think, ‘She’s only thirteen years old.’ Yeah, but I’m fourteen in two weeks. I’m old enough to be told what’s going on!

  What scares me is that I don’t know what the Leaders are deciding right now. Part of me thinks they’re just wildly over-reacting and what Elliot’s done is none of their business. But the other part of me thinks they might be talking about removing Father from the Leadership. If they did that, would we have to move from this house so the next Leader and his family could move in? What would Father do? He’s only ever been a Leader, hearing the City’s disputes, helping run the different trades, writing laws with the other Leaders. I can’t imagine him doing anything else like planting vegetables or making rope.

  If Father is made to step down, Mother will have to work like the other women. We’ll live in a small house and she won’t be able to use ‘managing the servants’ as an excuse to not do anything anymore. I can’t imagine what kind of a job she’d do. Cooking? Sewing? She hasn’t done either of those things in her entire life, though it would be funny to see her trying. I know that sounds horrible of me to say.

  If the Councillors aren’t discussing Father’s role as Leader, what could they be talking about? Maybe they’re deciding to go and bring Elliot back. Can they do that? Technically, Elliot, who is almost seventeen, is an adult. He should be able to decide for himself what he wants to do.

  I wish someone would tell me what’s going on. I can’t sleep and feel sick all the time.

  ROSE, spring, 62 A. Z.

  Dear Diary,

  Mother has fired Beth! She was so horrible about it, too. Our lovely nanny, who has raised us from babies, was fired like she was just some normal employee. She was not even given a ‘thank you’ for years of caring, love and help. No gratitude for holding us when we were scared, for her patience as we learned to read, for making sure we were bathed, dressed and fed. It was simply, ‘Beth, we no longer require your services, please pack your belongings and leave immediately.’

  Beth tried to ask what she’d done wrong, but Mother turned her back on her and left the room. They didn’t know it, but I was right outside the room, listening to everything. Beth burst into tears and ran past me. I didn’t follow her, thinking she might need a little time to gather herself. Anyway, I was crying too.

  So now pretty much the major mother figure in my life is leaving and there is nobody left to love me. I hate it. I don’t understand why Mother did this.

  VIRGIL, late spring, 62 A. Z.

  IT WAS VIRGIL who first spotted the carrier pigeon. He coaxed it into the aviary, and unbound the small scroll tied to its leg. He read it once, twice, and then exhaled slowly. Okay, better get this to Ray, he thought.

  The boss had started the day in a foul mood, criticising the breakfast Owen had made, shoving Jessy aside to take her chair at the table, telling everyone to shut up. Virgil had stayed well clear of him after that, but knew he had to give him the message.

  Ray read the letter slowly. He said nothing, but Virgil watched the muscles in his jaw flexing as he worked through the letter’s implications. Finally he
looked up at his crew and said, ‘Boys, we’re going to find and punish a pervert.’

  Virgil lowered his eyes. He wanted nothing to do with the Leadership’s edict. So, the top Leader’s son had broken the law. The silly boy had run off with a Blue, leaving his commitments to the Leadership Council, to his family and to his fiancée. Maybe the kid was a menace and had a history of trouble, and this was just the final straw. But surely that didn’t justify the severity of the Leader’s orders: find Elliot Grosvenor and the Blue; bring them into the City by any means for sentencing and execution; kill the Blue if necessary.

  ‘Can you believe this disgusting crap?’ Ray said, and threw the scroll on the table. ‘Now I’ve heard it all. The world has gone mad.’

  Owen came forward then, and unrolled the message. He started to laugh as he read it. ‘Now that is not what I expected — the Council Leader’s son running off with a Zombo Blue. Wow.’

  ‘It’s blasphemy!’ Ray exploded. ‘It spits in the face of all decent people.’

  Owen sensed the dark turn in Ray’s behaviour. ‘Yeah, it’s disgusting, Boss,’ he said. ‘Really abnormal.’ He would keep his real views to himself.

  Virgil had never heard of an execution being carried out in the settlements. Even criminals and murderers weren’t judged so harshly. There must be something else going on. Killing the Corpses, sure, that was okay. But killing an uninfected human — there was no precedent and it wasn’t right. Gunslingers killed the Dead, not the living.

  In a moment of rare boldness, Virgil spoke again. ‘Before we act on these orders, Boss, it might pay to make sure the letter really is from the Council Leaders and not part of a plan to have the top Leader’s son murdered.’

  Ray raised his eyebrows, but didn’t explode as he might have done. He considered Virgil’s words and nodded. ‘Okay, we ride for the City first and talk to their Leaders. I guess it’d pay to make sure we’re after the right man.’

  ROSE, late spring, 62 A. Z.

  Dear Diary,

  I miss Beth. Never will I forget her tears, or the big hug she gave me before leaving. Where will she go? She has lived with us for the past eighteen years — pretty much half her life — and now she will be alone. I hope she finds a home that needs her. She knows how to do so many things: sew, cook, care for children.

  This house is dull without her. She was always the one to lift our spirits, especially in the mornings. Hers was the first face I saw when I woke and the last before bed. Now she is gone and I have no one to comfort me or calm me down. My mother certainly won’t. We must always be pleasant and pretty around Mother.

  I have been trapped in this house for over three weeks. I haven’t seen or spoken to any of my friends, gone to school, or even stepped outside. It’s like I’m being punished for something. Mother and Father are even more distant. Father spends all day with the Council Leaders. Mother is mostly in her room or paces around the house and screams at the remaining servant. Why are they trapping Jenny and me in here? Are they trying to shield us from the gossip that’s going around the City? Keeping us in here like caged animals won’t fix anything.

  CHRIS, late spring, 62 A. Z.

  HE WAS A Leader, well spoken, and approachable, but at his heart he was a private man, much preferring the company of his books and his thoughts. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and strongly built, but he also had an artistic aspect that softened his otherwise dominating presence. Many women admired him; found him intriguing and handsome with his still-dark hair, olive skin and green eyes. But Chris had always been faithful to his wife.

  Annette was beautiful, demanding and harsh with the children, but Chris was devoted to her. He knew her softer side, the real Annette — vulnerable, insecure, curling into his side at night, lovely red hair unpinned and the make-up washed from her face.

  When Chris was a young man, he had chosen Annette, and a life of power and luxury. She was the daughter of a Council Leader, a socialite and a beauty: she had been impossible to resist, especially as she was the one who pursued him. Until then, he had always believed he would marry Helen. They were close friends, and had begun to date during their final year at Desert Camp. Helen was sweet-natured, unpretentious and dedicated to helping others. But Annette had set her sights on him, and Chris had chosen to live comfortably, to be admired and respected. It had come at a price.

  Chris sighed. He knew that he was making another expedient choice. He was destroying part of his family to save the rest of them. Sacrificing Elliot to the Council would demonstrate his dedication and keep his leadership intact. But the prospect of losing his son was ripping his heart apart. Elliot — such a happy boy, enthusiastic for life, so full of potential. But a fool. Running off with an Infected, a wanderer from the desert? Why, Elliot, why?

  Chris knew that the rare Blues were very much like humans, able to talk and think. Regardless, they were still Deads, and still dangerous. Chris closed his eyes, trying to think clearly. His son would not bed down with a Dead woman. Therefore, the Elliot who had run off with a Blue had already changed into someone else, become so damaged he was no longer his son. Perhaps he had already been bitten and transformed into a Corpse. This man is no son of mine, Chris told himself. When he is put before me for judgment, he will be a stranger, a mere vessel for the son I once had.

  Then he put his head into his arms and wept — for Elliot and for himself.

  ELLIOT, late spring, 62 A. Z.

  EVERY DAY IN the Tower was different from the last. Unlike the irritating regulations and day-to-day monotony of Desert Camp, life in the desert with Katie filled Elliot with a sense of freedom, gave him a reason to jump from bed in the morning. This amazed him, because what they did was mostly simple things: talking, learning about each other’s lives, telling stories and laughing.

  The Tower, constructed from an old grain silo, had a ladder that led from the ground to the two floors right at the top of the structure. They had obviously been designed and built many years earlier by someone who knew the importance of distancing themselves from the Infected. Perhaps that builder had been a carpenter. Windows had been neatly cut through the metal on the living floors, allowing sunlight and fresh air to enter, and the roof had been guttered to catch rain water.

  Unfortunately, the Tower was located in a low valley ringed with steep cliffs, making the area a perpetual Corpse trap. It would have been nearly impossible for the carpenter to leave. Elliot looked out the window at the small groups of shuffling figures moving about below. There are so many of them, he thought. Humans knew to stay well away from areas like this, where the Infected were concentrated. Elliot certainly would not have been able to come here without the protection of Katie.

  The Tower was filled with trinkets from the past, as well as a library and multitudes of potted plants. When he had asked Katie why there were so many of them, she’d laughed and said it gave her something to do. ‘Plus,’ she said, ‘I need coffee.’

  Katie’s little rituals fascinated him. Like her task-filled start to the day: grinding beans, packing the grounds into a metal contraption, starting the small wood stove, and boiling extra water. Half an hour later she would emerge, smiling, holding two tiny cups of hot black liquid and a little jug of boiled water. ‘Espresso!’ she’d call.

  Elliot’s first taste of coffee was not encouraging — the bitter drink was too strong. But now, with practice, he’d grown to love it. Katie told him she had made thousands of coffee drinks in her life, mostly during her time at university when she worked as a barista at her good friend Karl’s cafe. ‘This drink and my parents put me through school,’ she said. ‘Thanks to my higher education, I’m now living the dream life.’ Then she laughed for a while, made a long hooting noise and looked at Elliot. ‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Sorry. It was funny, I swear. You’d get it if you were about sixty or seventy years older.’ Then she laughed a little bit more.

  The way Katie dressed was similarly amusing and mysterious to Elliot. Inst
ead of the practical, unadorned tops, baggy pants and loose robes worn by most humans, Katie wore an eclectic variety of garments from her far-gone era. One day she went about her chores dressed in a silk Japanese kimono, her hair piled high on her head and held neatly with polished sticks, her face dusted with white powder and her lips painted blood red. Another day she wore a robin’s-egg-blue skirt and jacket, immaculately sewn and detailed. Katie had smiled and said, ‘It’s Chanel, and these’ — she pointed at her tiny feet arched within soft leather shoes — ‘are Louis Vuitton.’

  The names meant nothing to Elliot, but he knew they must have been coveted items before the Plague. Katie said she’d been collecting ‘goodies’ over the past sixty years and ‘might as well use them because we could die tomorrow.’ She had laughed as she often did, proud of her joke.

  Katie also spent a lot of time doing things like stretching her body, arranging flowers made of cloth in ornate vases, and painting her nails with enamel. Women he knew did none of these things. But the effect of shiny red against Katie’s violet skin aroused Elliot. He loved it when she traced one of her tapered, polished fingers across his chest. He couldn’t wait for the day she would do more. But she had been irritated with him when he had asked.

  Elliot was constantly amazed by Katie’s stories and took special delight when she finally explained the permanent drawings on her skin. She called them tattoos and they were not caused by the Infection or by her being a Blue. They had been done before she became a Blue by an artist named Tom-Tom who pushed ink under her skin with a needle gun. ‘It hurt like crazy, but I totally should have had more of these done,’ she said, brushing her hand along the many cherry blossoms running down her arm and across her elbow. ‘I wish I’d had a fantail put on my side. They’re the little birds of death in New Zealand. I’m dead, so that would have been perfect.’ They talked about his life, too. Katie would sit cross-legged as Elliot spoke about his family, his father’s power and his mother’s coldness.