by Rick Wood
“How on earth would she outrun your guardsmen? Are they not trained?”
“Yes. It is unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate!”
Cia threw her arms into the air and turned around.
“We sent another team out to find her this morning. They came back a few minutes ago. Nothing.”
“When did this happen?”
“About midnight.”
“Midnight! Why did no one tell me?”
“Cathryn was not your responsibility, she was this couple’s–”
“Yes, she damn well was. Her dad is dead because of me, and she was my resp–”
Cia cut herself off. Turned around. Covered her face in her hands, then turned back decisively.
“I’m going out to look for her.”
“Cia, we have sent trained men out to find her. If they haven’t found her, then…”
“I don’t care. I’m going out to find her.”
“And what about your boy? Are you going to risk his life out there too?”
She paused.
He was right.
She wouldn’t let Boy stay here alone, not yet.
At the same time, she didn’t want to risk his life out there if she didn’t have to.
Then again, they’d spent so long out there surviving, surely he could endure another few hours…
But at his speed she wouldn’t get far. He’d slow her down too much, and the search would be futile.
The debate raged around her mind. She changed her mind one way to another, then back again, unable to settle on a single decision.
“Cia, I know this is tough.”
Cia scoffed.
“Do you think we wanted her to go?” Ryker said.
Cia glared at his turning defensive.
How dare he?
He knew nothing of what they had suffered. He had no right to be defensive.
Cia looked through the door at Boy, playing happily with a box of Duplo. He organised the red bricks, the blue bricks and the green bricks into different piles, then arranged the piles into perfect symmetry.
He sure did have an extraordinary mind.
“I know this is tough,” Ryker said.
“Do you?” Cia snapped.
“We’ve lost people before. It’s heart-breaking. But it’s always been down to their decisions. You are not responsible for this.”
Wasn’t she?
If she hadn’t been responsible for Cathryn, who had been?
This couple?
Great job they did!
“Cia,” Ryker said, forcing her to look at him.
She looked back at him expectantly, then he said those two words that concluded the issue and left Cia knowing that she had to think with her head, not her heart.
Those two words that let her know Cathryn was gone; that allowed her to know that there was no way she could track her and be sure of Boy’s safety at the same time.
Those two damn words.
“She’s gone.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was agreed that Ryker would check in with Arnold.
Ryker was responsible for recruitment–but recruitment was a difficult task, and one that Arnold would not leave without supervision. Who knows what kind of miscreant or psychopath this world may have produced? How could Arnold sleep soundly, not fully knowing who was living in the community he had built, back when having a fortune meant something.
Do not be mistaken, he trusted Ryker
He just did not trust Cia.
“Well?” said Arnold as he heard Ryker’s footsteps approach the open door, a door that was so rarely open; Arnold’s desire for Ryker’s report on the girl forced him to leave the door open, as if this would somehow encourage Ryker to hurry.
“The child’s not a problem,” Ryker announced.
“I was not asking about the child.”
Ryker wiped sweat from his brow. It was a hot morning, and he had rushed up here, knowing he was already running late.
Arnold turned from the window and took in Ryker’s dishevelled appearance.
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to like her,” Arnold said.
“Like her? She’s a good fighter. She might not look it, but she’s spent the last few years out there.”
“We need not discuss the status of her recruitment, Ryker, that conversation has been and passed. What we need to discuss is the status of her being here. Is she a disruption or not?”
Ryker shrugged, then regretted the non-committal response upon seeing Arnold’s sneer.
“It’s too early to tell,” he said.
“How has she reacted to the child’s disappearance?”
Ryker went to shrug again, then stopped himself.
“Negatively. But, as you would expect. She cared for the kid.”
“Does a person like her really care for anyone?”
Ryker sighed. This was as good a time as any to bring it up. “The boy.”
“The boy?”
“She cares too much for him. I don’t know how we’ll be about to tear him away from her.”
“But I don’t want him here, I just want the girl.”
“I know, and I am doing all I can.”
“Well, do better.”
“If anything, this child’s disappearance will only make her cling onto him more. Maybe his being here is something we just have to put up with.”
Arnold tutted a loud tut and swiped his glare away. He leant against the fireplace and thought about the whiskey in his desk drawer.
“The boy has no function. I do not wish his presence here,” Arnold said.
“Yes, but–”
“Have I made my stance on the subject perfectly clear?”
“Yes, Arnold, but it’s not that simple.”
“Simple? What could be simpler than a knife to his throat?”
“You want her on side do you not?”
“I want her on side, or I want her dead. At this point, either would suffice.”
He walked from the fireplace to his desk and prepared his glass. He took out the whiskey and poured himself a generous portion, lifted it to his nose, smelt it, sipped it, then gulped it.
He did not offer Ryker one.
“Is she going to go hunting for this child?” Arnold asked.
“Cathryn?”
“Yes, the child.”
“I—well, I don’t think so.”
“Think?”
“There’s no way to be sure. She’s unpredictable. But I don’t think she’d leave the boy long enough to go search for her.”
Arnold felt himself frown, highlighting wrinkles that weren’t visible five or so years ago. It seemed there was always an upside and a downside to everything they did—the upside being that she would accept the child’s fate, downside that she would resist the boy’s.
“When is the next event?” Arnold enquired.
“Sorry?”
“You heard me. When is the next event?”
Ryker sighed, considered this; wanting his answer to be accurate.
“A week away, I think. Days, maybe.”
“And we have our subjects lined up?”
“Yes.”
“And this boy is a dear, dear asset to the girl.”
“It would look like it.”
Arnold downed the rest of his whiskey.
“Well then, I think we have another subject,” he decided, and the conversation was finished, and Ryker understood.
Chapter Fifteen
An assortment of toy dinosaurs spread across the floor of the living room.
A living room.
An actual living room.
Cia dropped her head and covered her eyes. She sank deeper into the soft yet firm cushions of the sofa, allowing its comfort to encapsulate her in discomfort.
Boy began to rearrange the dinosaurs. He’d done this before with trees—he’d learnt all the different types of tree and could identify a tree’s species and its traits in the instant he saw
it. Ryker had arranged for a box of toys to be brought over, and in that box was a book about dinosaurs and a box of dinosaurs. Despite Boy being far too old for toys now, he still loved them—but not to play with them. He had simply read the book about dinosaurs and could now sort them into species and sub-species, separating them into their allocated piles.
“An Archaeopteryx,” Boy muttered, “bird, flies, this goes with the Dimorphodontid and the Dsungaripterus. The Abelisaurus, predator, theropod, that goes with another bipedal…”
Already it was giving her a headache. These facts he could remember were beyond the ability of her brain.
But she tuned it out.
Her mind still lingering on Cathryn.
It just made no sense.
Why would she run away?
Did they do something that made her runaway?
Was she still alive?
Probably not.
She felt bad for not searching for her. She wasn’t sure how Ryker had convinced her not to.
Who could she have left Boy with though?
What about Dalton, he could have–
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was an unsteady relapse to two weeks ago, when she’d though she had someone she could trust.
Before he tried to…
She needed water.
She stood. Fell onto a side table, knocking Boy’s glass of water to the floor.
She tried to breathe. It came out as a wheeze. A desperate surge of nothing.
“Rosy?” Boy asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, though it came out as a strained whisper, like someone who had lost their voice trying to shout.
She waved her arm in an attempt to indicate that she was okay.
“Just–go back to–”
Her knees wobbled and her thighs burned and she felt so fatigued. She collapsed onto her hands and rolled onto her back.
“Rosy?” Boy asked, approaching her.
She couldn’t see him.
All she could see was Dalton.
His hands bleeding like stigmata. Holes in his palms with thick gunks of red oozing down his wrist.
“Water…” she gasped.
“Rosy?”
She rolled onto her front and tried to use her wobbling arms to push herself up.
A sudden jab in her side and Dalton was punching her there, stabbing her even, again and again, and even though he wasn’t she felt the pain in her side and felt it so sharp–
“Boy… Get me water…”
Boy ran to the kitchen.
Cia rubbed her eyes and fell once again rolling seeing her father her father hands against the glass watching her run as she had trapped him in with the monsters and they devoured him they ate him tore him up spat him out a bloody mess she saw his remains and she scampered away he was nothing just inside out just torn and maimed to the soundtrack of screaming so sourly it was her fault he was dead her fault her fault her fault her fault her fault:
Her.
Fault.
“Rosy.”
She looked up and Boy had a glass of water.
She tried to grab it but her hand went through it like it wasn’t there and she fell onto her back and it went blank.
She was unconscious, but fully aware.
She could hear him shouting Rosy, Rosy, beneath the banshee screams of the Sanctity as it collapsed and everyone died because of her and Dalton helped her escape not knowing never knowing not knowing until he’s dead until he died until he killed her but he didn’t she killed him she killed him she killed him she.
Killed.
Him.
Oh my God I murdered him.
I slaughtered him.
I fed him to the Masketes because I didn’t have the guts to give him a quick death.
The panic ended as the storm departed and Dalton’s face was all she saw.
“I trusted you,” he said.
“I thought you were the one,” he told her.
“I protected you,” he claimed.
“No,” Cia refuted. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dalton, I’m sorry, so, so sorry.”
“Rosy?”
Her eyes opened.
Her breathing resumed.
The ceiling spun a little, but she was aware enough to see Boy knelt over her, holding out the glass of water.
She propped herself up on her elbows, took the glass, and drank it all in one gulp.
She looked at Boy.
How could she protect him if this kept happening?
What even was it?
Boy’s hand placed itself gently against her cheek, then rubbed her hair in the way she always did with him. As if mimicking her. As if doing what comforted him to comfort her.
He was intelligent.
So intelligent.
She did what she had to do to save him; she had to remember that.
Just as the surge of fear pushed itself up her gullet, she quelled the thought and returned her mind to sense.
“Let’s get some fresh air,” Cia said.
“Okay,” Boy confirmed.
She looked at him.
So sweet. So strange. So wonderful.
She pushed herself up, found her shoes and put them on.
Her feet had felt so free without those shoes.
Together, they left the house for the sunshine, leaving a few unfinished piles of dinosaurs behind.
Chapter Sixteen
Cia’s leg strained to remained at a low pace. They felt like they should always be running.
She willed them to acclimatise, to allow her just to saunter down the street, to look at the community.
It was odd how it had lasted so long without an attack from one of the creatures.
In fact, if she listened, as much as she strained, she couldn’t hear any far-off noises of screeches or growls—which was even stranger. For the past few years, she was used to always hearing something in the distance. But here, it was as if there was nothing nearby.
Which couldn’t be possible.
A civilisation like this was like an all-you-can-eat buffet to one of those things.
She told herself to stop it. To be more positive.
Then she laughed at the idea.
It was her negativity, her constant wariness for what could go wrong, that had allowed them to survive. If she let that go, then…
But maybe she could let it go, sometimes. Not completely. Just enough so she could enjoy the moment and resume her wariness whenever danger was near.
If she was going to enjoy this place, she would have to learn to relax.
“Hello there,” came the northern accent of an elderly lady.
Boy had disappeared from her side and she immediately felt for the weapon hidden beneath her belt.
But it was okay.
Boy had just walked up to a lady doing some gardening.
Which was peculiar, as Boy would never approach anyone or anything without severe trepidation. For him to just walk up to a stranger…
Then again, when had he ever been able to safely approach someone he didn’t know?
Maybe this place was good for him.
Maybe she should make it a home for his sake.
Maybe he could still have some resemblance of a normal adolescence—normal in the way that it used to be, that is.
“Would you like some grapes?” the woman asked.
Boy nodded eagerly.
She picked a few off a plant and handed them to him.
After living on grapes for the past few months, she’d have thought Boy would be more excited to have something else that was available—yet he seemed eager for a familiar taste.
The woman smiled at Cia.
Cia realised she was frowning and tried to smile back. She even thought about saying thank you but found it tough to form such unusual words.
Cia and Boy walked on. Boy kept rushing off to see speak to other people seeing to their fruit and vegetables, eager to see what gifts he could get.
&nbs
p; It was a sight she never thought she’d see.
A crescendo of children’s laughter caught her attention. She turned to peer into a large hall and discovered what appeared to be a classroom full of children, with the doors open to allow the sunshine in. On a board were words, with a teacher speaking each syllable slowly and particularly. The children echoed her.
They were learning to read.
As lovely as that was, Cia felt it was redundant. They should learn how to fight, how to master weapons, not how to use an ability this world no longer required.
“I know what you’re thinking,” came a voice beside her.
Cia turned and looked at a man, her own age, dashingly good looks. Swept back blond hair, big blue eyes, and a physique that showed he was used to manual labour.
“What?” Cia snapped.
“I said I know what you’re thinking.”
Cia frowned.
“You’re thinking, why are they bothering to read? The world has gone to the monsters, what use is Moby Dick when they can’t fight. Right?”
Cia hesitated to answer. Who was this guy?
“Let me just ask you a question,” he continued. “Our community lives on, we grow in population, and we pass down knowledge of the world as it used to be. How would we do that without writing?”
“It just seems pointless.”
“Knowing our history is pointless? The next generation knowing how the world used to be—is that not important?”
Cia shrugged. She did not want to admit that the guy had a point.
“I’m Hades,” he said, and held out his hand.
Cia looked at it, wondering what he was doing. Then she remembered. People used to shake hands when they met. It was something she saw her dad do a lot.
Reluctantly, she held out her hand and engaged in a handshake; something she had never experienced before.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Hades said.
“Cia.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Thanks,” she said, and tried to think of what else to say. “Yours is… interesting.”
“Oh yeah, my parents were deep into Greek mythology. They almost lost me when I was born, and they said I only survived because I was a fighter, so they named me Hades—after the god of the underworld. Like I was the ruler of it. Doesn’t seem so great now a bunch of monsters crawled out of it.”
