Cia Rose Series Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Wood, Rick

  She has no reason or cause or anything.

  She bows her head and closes her eyes.

  She can still smell it. She can shut it out behind her eyelids, but it still invades her other senses. The overwhelming silence and the potent odour of death.

  All the creatures are gone now.

  There is no one left to take her.

  How she wishes there was.

  How she wishes she could give herself the instant relief of a brief, painless, undignified death.

  What is the point of going on in this world?

  There is nothing to work toward. No career or partner or home to protect. Just surviving and surviving and surviving—but for what?

  What is the point of surviving just for survival’s sake?

  She sees something twitch. A body, twenty or so feet away from her. A child. A boy. His open chest moving.

  She does not wait. She runs—maybe this one needn’t die because of her. Maybe no one else need die because of her.

  She lands by the boy’s side, scraping her knees on the gravel. His eyes are empty and his mouth not moving. He is pale, stiffened as if dead, but the slit in his chest is throbbing.

  Was it his heart trying to beat?

  His lungs trying to breathe?

  She places her hands either side of the open wound and moves it open to look.

  Something bursts out at her and squeaks. She leaps back, and a rat runs across the street.

  The boy stops throbbing now the rat is gone.

  There is something still living, but not this kid.

  Across from them, his mother still stares at her.

  “I’m sorry,” Cia tells her.

  The mother says nothing. Just continues to stare. She can’t figure out where the rest of this woman’s body is, but it doesn’t matter. It is her eyes that judge her.

  “Fuck off,” she tells her.

  Why should she be sorry?

  She didn’t do this.

  She bows her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  She shouldn’t have snapped.

  She did do this.

  Again.

  Over and over again.

  THEN

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Days went by, and so did weeks. Cia and Ryker left each other alone, and she didn’t see much of Arnold. It seemed as if they were content pretending the other didn’t exist.

  Cia was up early most mornings. She kept waking up, startled and ready for a fight that wasn’t there. In the end, she would give up getting any more sleep and drag herself out of bed. She would be tired, but it meant she could witness the sunrise from the garden window; prompting thoughts of how much she missed the sight of the distant amber glow rising in on the horizon.

  Seeing the sunrise and sunset had always been an omen for another day of struggling or a night of worrying. It was so nice to watch it and feel safe, knowing that it was not announcing another day of pure survival. The Waster attack was a while ago and, despite her terrible night’s sleep, she felt safe—something that both concerned her and pleased her.

  She had just finished her second coffee when Boy emerged into the kitchen.

  “Morning,” Cia said.

  She didn’t realise she was smiling. Boy’s face lit up to see her happy. It wasn’t something he was used to.

  “What would you like for breakfast?” Cia asked, bringing the various cereal boxes out of the cupboard. Boy pointed to the one he wanted, and she gave him a bowl and some milk.

  Cereal. Bowl. Milk.

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  It no longer felt unsettling to have such luxuries—it felt satisfying.

  Maybe they deserved this life.

  A knock on the door caught her attention. She gave Boy another smile and went to see who it was.

  “Hey,” Ryker said as she opened the door.

  “Hi,” Cia said.

  “I just wanted to come along and… apologise, I guess.”

  “What for?”

  “I know we left things badly after the Waster attack.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean, we know you have questions. But, same as you need to take your time to trust us, we need to take our time to trust you.”

  “So there are answers you can give me?”

  “In time. We will be honest with you; you’ll learn what you need to learn. But, please, be patient.”

  She guessed that was fair. Trust went both ways. If she took a moment to stop being so hostile, she would realise that.

  “Fine,” she concluded.

  “There was one more thing,” Ryker added.

  “Yes?”

  “We have a therapist here.”

  Cia awaited further explanation. When none was coming, she said, “And…?”

  “And I really think he could help you.”

  “Hah!” Cia couldn’t help a little outburst of laughter. “You are kidding, right?”

  “I’m thinking about how you collapsed. We thought you were ill, but Shan said it was a panic attack.”

  “I’m not going to go open up to some therapist, Ryker.”

  “All I’m asking is you try him. One session. You’re clearly struggling with some kind of anxiety, and I think he could help, really.”

  “I don’t think–”

  “What good are you going to be for us out there if you collapse under your own stress? It will make you a better warrior.”

  Cia hesitated. She sighed.

  A few days ago, just the idea of it would prompt her to get violent and start screaming and attacking and–

  That wouldn’t be a healthy reaction.

  But a therapist?

  Please.

  She erred and ahed, going back and forth between abhorrent rejection and optimistic willingness.

  “Just one session,” Ryker said. “If you don’t like it, don’t go again.”

  Cia exhaled. Maybe she needed some help readjusting to a ‘normal’ life. It was still something she was not used to.

  “Fine,” she said, and immediately regretted it. Ryker gave her the details and left before she changed her mind.

  An hour later, dressed and full on sugary cereal, she took Boy next door to Graham, who was so pleased to see him. Graham really seemed to know how to interact with him, and how to look after him. Maybe Cia was even beginning to trust him.

  She followed the directions Ryker had given her. She turned left at the end of the street, then right a little further on, and after ten minutes of walking, she reached it. A small cottage with a plaque on the door reading Christoph Jason P.H.D, therapist.

  She went to turn back.

  This was ridiculous.

  How could she even–

  Before she could completely change her mind, the door opened, and there stood a man who looked like a poor imitation of Sigmund Freud. A white beard, white hair, tweed jacket, beige trousers, checked shirt.

  “You must be Cia,” he said. His voice was quiet and kind, in a way that Cia could never imagine being nasty.

  “Yeah, I was just…”

  What? Just what?

  “You’re a little hesitant, aren’t you?” Christoph observed.

  “Yeah. I don’t really know… I mean… I don’t think…”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t we just start with a cup of tea?”

  A cup of tea.

  She could do that.

  She followed him into a kitchen where he boiled the kettle and placed tea bags into two separate cups.

  Cia watched him, expecting conversation; anticipating questions and small talk. Yet Christoph remained quiet. In fact, he didn’t even look at her.

  Was this a classic therapist technique? Just wait for the patient to talk, don’t fill the silences?

  “How do you take it?” Christoph asked.

  “Er…”

  “The tea?”

  “Oh. Just milk, I guess.”

  She couldn’t remember any other way of taking it
.

  Christoph made the tea and handed a mug to Cia.

  “Shall we?” he said, and walked through to his office, Cia following.

  It was quite a small room. There was no long couch for her to lie on and no Rorschach tests for her to interpret as blood splatters or dead bodies. There was just a desk, with a chair beside it that Christoph sat on, and a comfy, cushioned chair opposite for Cia.

  “How are you settling in?” Christoph asked as they sat down.

  “Erm… okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Well, it’s strange, isn’t it?”

  “How so?”

  “It’s not… I guess, it sounds weird to say, but it’s not real. It’s just made up. This is fiction, out there is the real world.”

  “Is that so?”

  She was confused.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “What makes you think the world in here is fiction, and the world out there real. Maybe it could be the other way around?”

  Cia didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “I guess places like this don’t really exist anymore.”

  “If they don’t exist, then how are you here?”

  “I mean, I can’t see another place like this being real.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the creatures wouldn’t allow it. They’d tear it apart.”

  “It sounds a little like you want them to tear it apart. As if it would prove you right to have this community collapse; so you can stand there and say I told you so.”

  Cia frowned.

  “I don’t want this community to collapse, not at all.”

  “Then why are you so desperate for it to be fake?”

  “Because—I just got so used to running and fighting. I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore.”

  Woah.

  She paused.

  Took a mental step back.

  She didn’t even know that about herself. How had she admitted something so personal, so soon, that she hadn’t even known of?

  This guy was good—and suddenly that made her feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re fidgeting.”

  “Am I?”

  “Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about what you’ve been through?”

  She shrugged. “I just don’t see what talking about it would do. I don’t want to have to relive it.”

  “But you are reliving it, aren’t you? Involuntarily? You keep on having these episodes where you see things you’ve done, things that have been done to you. Do you not?”

  Cia didn’t know what to say. She just vaguely nodded.

  “What you are suffering from, Cia, is post-traumatic stress disorder. It means you have suffered a lot of torment, a lot of violence, and you are struggling to get past it.”

  “I don’t want to get past it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s part of what helped me to survive.”

  “And is it still helping you survive? Or is it making you suffer?”

  Cia exhaled. Looked at her feet.

  “I have to protect Boy, whatever happens.”

  “And there it is.”

  “What?”

  “The reason you can’t let it go. Your love for Boy is both your greatest weakness, and your greatest strength.”

  “I’m not going to stop loving him.”

  “Of course not. But do you not want him to be happy?”

  Cia peered at Christoph. Would letting go of what she’d done, what she’d seen, really be the way to make Boy happy?

  She’d been so set on helping him survive, she’d never considered how to make him content.

  Of course, she’d do what she could to help him smile, help his morale—because that’s what stopped him from breaking down, and helped them keep moving when creatures were near.

  “What exactly should I do then?” she asked.

  “Face these memories you keep trying to bury or run from. Face them and accept them.”

  “Accept what I’ve done?”

  “Accept what you had to do.”

  “But… if I hadn’t… then…”

  “Then you wouldn’t be alive, and neither would Boy. You have a right to be happy, Cia. And this is your opportunity.”

  She had a right to be happy?

  She hadn’t even thought…

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, unaware that she was crying. She hated herself for it. It was a weakness.

  And, just as she thought it a weakness, she realised how much she needed his help.

  Chapter Thirty

  The early evening coolness helped to calm Cia and allow her to reflect on that day’s meeting.

  She’d just accepted being messed up as a vital part of survival. Perhaps she hadn’t realised how much of a mental strain everything she had done put on her.

  The only problem was, as much as she knew sharing the things she’d done might help—she could not let anyone here know all of the atrocities she’d committed. These people would be far too naïve to understand.

  Graham sat at a table with Boy, who was eagerly engaged in their activity. Cia was always astounded how keen he was to learn. She assumed he’d be too anxious to try something that he would find difficult—yet here he was, sat beside Graham, doing all he could.

  “And this one,” Graham said, holding up a picture of a man with an large frown. “What can you tell me about this person?”

  “He’s upset.”

  “What kind of upset?”

  Boy looked puzzled.

  “Is he sad upset, lost upset…”

  “Angry upset.”

  “Yes, he definitely is, isn’t he?”

  Boy smiled.

  “And how can we tell that he’s angry upset?”

  Boy studied the picture a little more. Cia could see how difficult it was for him, but he tried.

  “Because his mouth is curved down,” he answered.

  “Yes, well done! What else?”

  “His eyebrows are kind of pointed inwards.”

  “They are, aren’t they?”

  “And he looks like he’s sweating.”

  “Very good. It’s a definite frown, isn’t it?”

  Boy nodded.

  “And what would we do if we saw a person with this expression?” Graham asked.

  Boy thought about this.

  “Run?” he suggested.

  “Maybe. Maybe. Is there anything else we could do?”

  “Ask him why he’s angry?”

  “We could do. Anything else?”

  “Leave him alone to calm down.”

  “All very good suggestions!”

  Cia could tell that Graham was once a great teacher. He was so enthusiastic and so engaging. It was exactly what Boy needed.

  “And what about this person?” Graham asked, lifting a card. “Now this one’s a little more difficult, so take your time.”

  Boy studied it. It was a woman winking obviously, slanting her head with an open mouth to stress the gesture.

  “She’s got one eye closed,” Boy observed.

  “She has. And do you know what that is called?”

  Boy shook his head.

  “It’s called a wink. Do you know what a wink is?”

  Boy shook his head again.

  “It’s when you close one eye and direct it at someone. Like this.”

  Graham winked obviously, which made Boy chuckle.

  “What do you think the person means when they wink?”

  Boy thought about this. He studied the picture.

  “That they like you?”

  “It could do, it could do. But maybe it could mean something even deeper than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “It could mean, for example… I trust you. Do you know what trust means?”

  Boy nodded. “It’s when you rely on someone a
nd believe them.”

  “Precisely! And a wink is like, hey, you, we trust each other. We’re all right.”

  Boy smiled.

  “Can you try a wink?”

  Boy tried to wink but ended up moving his whole head to the side and blinking both eyes. Graham and Cia chuckled, and Boy joined in.

  “You’ll get there eventually,” Graham said, placing the cards down. “I think that’s enough for today. What do you think?” he asked Cia.

  “I think Boy has done really well and worked really hard. I would agree.”

  Boy beamed with pride.

  “Why don’t you go get ready for bed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Boy nodded and stood.

  “What do you say to Graham?”

  “Er…”

  Cia called Boy over and whispered in his ear. He turned to Graham and said quietly, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Graham said.

  Boy ran across to the house next door and disappeared inside.

  “Thank you so much for this,” Cia said. “He’s learning so much, it’s really helping him. I’d never even have even thought of doing something like this.”

  “It’s no problem, really. It’s made me realise how much I miss it; it’s been so long.”

  Cia stood.

  “He’s an extraordinary boy,” Graham said. “And that’s a credit to you. You’ve taken good care of him.”

  There were hundreds of ways she could have responded to such a nice, unexpected compliment; from extreme gratitude to constant tears.

  As it was, she replied with, “Good night,” and left for her own home, thinking about what Graham had just said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A few more weeks past where Graham continued to teach Boy, and Cia continued to quell her wariness. Relaxation still seemed to be her enemy but, slowly, she was overcoming her reservations.

  This place was beginning to feel like home.

  Having learned that there was a gym, Cia decided to try it out. It could be good for her to work out some of her aggression and frustration by punching a punching bag or doing some running.

  A gym was another thing that seemed a bizarre concept—but those bizarre concepts were her reality now, and she was just about starting to accept that.

  Boy came with her, not wanting to be alone. As soon as they entered, he ran to a chair and covered his face with his book about dinosaurs. He sat there, engrossed, muttering names and facts to himself, oblivious to the world around him.