by Kolin Wood
The woman in the tower looked down at him, her hands no longer outstretched. It was then that he noticed that she had no features; no eyes, nose, or mouth, just a smooth palette of pale skin where the face should be.
Bubbles foamed in his open mouth as John screamed aloud in his head.
A sharp pain stabbed at John’s neck as he tried to move, the grip of the noose still present. Something hot and wet licked his face. A fowl stench wafted up his nose and he coughed, bringing yet more intense pain. He opened his eyes.
The hard floor stung his elbows as John pushed Murphy away and struggled to right himself from his uncomfortable position on the floor. In his slumber, he had fallen low against the wall, forcing his chin onto his chest and causing his neck to ache painfully. After an awkward shuffle, he was again sitting upright. Murphy, happy that his master was okay, wandered over to the empty, chipped plate under the window to lick it even cleaner, the sharp light from the moon painting a grey cloak down his back.
Cold bristled his skin as John sighed loudly. A dream; nothing but a dream. Something inside of him told him that the faceless woman had been his mother. Even in his subconscious, he could not remember what she looked like, and the thought made him sad. Why hadn’t he routed in the house for pictures of her before he had left? He was sure that there would have been plenty to find. But it was too late; she was lost to him, both physically and in memory now too.
John stood with a groan. His arms and legs tingled as he shook them in turn to help regain some blood flow. He rolled his head on his shoulders, angry at himself for the unnecessary nature of the ailment. With nothing but the unknown ahead of him, it was certainly not warranted and something that he could have done without.
At the window, a night-time draught prickled his skin and condensation from his breath clung to the glass. Outside, the sky was clear and black, splashed with a luminous spray painting of stars. A small slither of grey appeared to lighten up the horizon with the promise of dawn. It was going to be another hot day.
He looked down at Murphy. Seeing as they were both up, it made sense to make an early start. Just time for a quick breakfast before they set off. His stomach growled and he prepared the food quickly, re-igniting the embers from the fireplace with some skill and a steady hand. The dried meat that he added did little to flavour the brew. Even after soaking it still required some amount of effort to chew and swallow, but its weight felt welcome in an otherwise empty gut. Murphy enjoyed the last half of the tin of cat-food that they had opened the previous night and was soon whining at the door, his tail wagging violently, keen to leave the tight confines of the room.
“Okay, boy! Easy!”
With the main route out of town on the other side of the flood and the closest houses already searched, John decided to push on. The sun had not yet risen enough to clear away the darkest of the shadows and John walked briskly, tracking a path in the middle of the congested roads. The early morning air was clean and fresh; the constant and comforting scent of the sea rising up from the tidal river, ever present in the air.
Aside from the noise of the birds and the occasional gentle lapping of the waves, not a sound could be heard. The town remained barren and still. Once, while crossing an overgrown area of parkland, John thought he spotted movement in a clump of bushes, but an over-eager assault from Murphy revealed it to be a roebuck. The clumsy dog chased the lively animal down a cluttered street before returning twenty minutes later, annoyed and looking rabid from the phlegmy beard of drool hanging from his jaws. Shame, John had thought, the meat would have kept them going for a month. He inwardly hoped that one day the dog would be able to improve on his hunting technique in time to help provide for them both on the trip, however, he doubted it was likely to happen.
Before long, the sides of the valley flattened and the density of the infrastructure began to thin out as he reached the town limits. Now in his stride and with the sun beginning to increase in intensity, John decided to ignore any chance of extra salvage and push on south, hoping to cover a decent amount of miles before he had to stop. He knew from experience that if he stopped now then it was likely that his joints would seize up. Consciously, he added a more purposeful length to his stride.
Soon the sober tones of the small town had fully given way to a lush and untouched green once more. John and Murphy walked all day, stopping only briefly to eat and rehydrate in the shade of some tall pines. Gradually the miles went past.
It was dusk by the time the first signs of urbanisation had begun to appear once again. A change had occurred in their surroundings, the lush greenery giving way to darkened brick and concrete. It immediately became apparent, even from the outskirts, that this was a far bigger town than the one previous. Bigger roads, bigger bridges, bigger traffic islands, but still just a town—not the Refuge.
Ahead of him, a vast, flat roundabout lay overgrown and chaotic with abandoned cars. Signs pointed to places with names he could not read and did not recognise. One however, showed a picture of a building and a car which John presumed must point in the direction of the town centre. He followed the road, skirting the congested wrecks of more cars as he walked. Every vehicle he passed was empty, no bodies, no skeletons; no signs of life. Soon, shops appeared. On his right, a small parade offered an old boiler repair shop and a building once used for the repair of personal computers. Both had their front windows missing. Opposite, partly hidden behind a thick row of trees, sat another, far larger building. Its visible red brick walls and large bay windows gave it a homely appeal compared to the angular boxes of the surrounding architecture. Intrigued and needing a place to stay, John crossed the road and looked up the driveway. A sign on a brick pillar at the entrance read Grand View Nursing Home. Like everywhere else, the windows were dark and bore no signs of life. But unlike many of the other buildings that he had so far seen, the front door looked to be intact. If he could get inside then perhaps it would offer him some additional protection from… What was he worried about? He hadn’t seen a single person for days now.
He paused, scouring the road in one direction then the next, and finally, with a nod of the head that sent Murphy running off ahead, John gripped the heavy stick in his hand and turned to follow.
6
John awoke covered in sweat.
The dream made no sense as it faded away.
He’d been chased, of that much he was sure. The faceless woman had been there too, watching him as always, from somewhere just out of reach.
He opened his eyes, expecting to see Murphy’s face, but the eyes staring back at him were not those of a dog. They belonged to a person. For a moment, John wondered if he was still dreaming.
“Your dog is stupid,” a voice said suddenly.
John scrambled backwards, reaching out for his heavy cudgel, but his fingers found nothing except frayed carpet. Pain stung the bottom of his spine as his back hit the wall.
A quick glance around the darkened room showed Murphy missing and the door closed. Fear gripped him.
“Where… where is he?” John said, his voice cracked with thirst. The sleep in his eyes restricted his vision further and he blinked repeatedly.
The person watching him was crouched down in the far corner. Two eyes shone like shiny pebbles from the shadows. “Who? Stupid? He’s downstairs.” The voice was higher pitched than his own.
“Who are you?” John asked, confused as his eyes found focus and darted around the room once more. His bag and belongings were where he had left them; everything seemed intact except for the stick.
“Becca,” the voice replied, offering nothing more.
A girl? John fidgeted awkwardly.
“This is the part where you tell me your name,” the girl said.
“What… what have you done to my dog?”
A sigh.
“I told you already… Stupid is downstairs. Didn’t even growl when I opened the door. Not much of a guard dog, is he?”
It was more statement than question. As t
he fugue of confusion lifted and he was able to decipher the situation, John calmed a little. Sure, his only weapon looked to be missing, but the person—this girl—did not seem threatening and had not made any move toward him.
“Well?”
“I’m John,” he offered, surprised at how pushy and confident she sounded.
“Well, John. You sure got some big, brass balls strolling in here like that. Might as well have sent up fireworks.”
John frowned, unsure of what she is talking about.
Another sigh.
“You know, fireworks? Light the wick, listen to the fizzle, WHOOOOSH… BOOM!”
John maintained his confused look; perhaps she was crazy.
A laugh.
“Where have you come from, John? You don’t seem very worried.”
“Worried by what?”
“Worried about being seen by anybody.”
This time it was John’s turn to laugh. “Seen by anybody? You are the first person I have seen in days!”
The girl frowned.
“Who are you with?” she asked after an awkward length of silence.
“I’m just looking for someone.”
“In this place? Good luck. Most of anybody who comes here without knowing what is what don’t last too long. I’m surprised you lasted the night, to be honest. Just dumb luck that you chose this place, I guess.”
“What is this place?”
“This is nowhere… And that’s a good thing.”
John’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of everything that he was being told. Why was the girl being so cryptic?
“Listen John, I’d suggest that you turn your butt around and go back to wherever it is that you have just come from. If your friend came through here, chances are that they’re already dead anyway.”
The statement rang like warning bells. How could she possibly know that Ryan was dead? In a place this size, she surely couldn’t. Not unless she knew.
“Where’s my stick?” he asked, suddenly on guard.
A slap of wood against skin.
“What? This? I was just admiring it. You carve these patterns?”
“No. Someone gave it to me.”
“Well, someone is very talented. I try to do a bit of carving myself but my skills are nowhere near as good as this.”
Again, the carefree nature of the way the girl was rattling on unnerved him.
“Who are you?”
A shuffling sound as the girl moved out of the shadow and into view. She remained crouched down on her haunches. The morning sun shining through the window lit the untidy shock of her bright red hair, surrounding her face with a golden halo of tiny fire snakes. A scar ran from the corner of her mouth to the middle of one cheek, slightly pulling down on her lips and disfiguring her smile. A cluster of auburn freckles dusted her nose and her eyes had turned from shiny black pebbles into brilliant green emeralds.
“I told you,” she said, cheerfully. “I’m Becca… Bec, Bex, Bee—whatever suits.”
Studying her now, John guessed the girl to be roughly his age, perhaps a few years his junior; maybe not twenties yet but late teens certainly. Her shoulders poked angular even through the warm-looking, but filthy, quilted jacket that she was wearing and her jeans had holes at the knees. Dirty pumps with multi-coloured laces were strapped to her feet.
Frustrated and confused, John slid his back up the wall until he was in a standing position.
The girl copied him, standing until they were both looking at each other, John with the slight height advantage. He glanced down at the stick and she lifted it up for him to take, its weight in his hand an immediate, extra reassurance.
“I can’t leave,” he said. “Not until I find out where my friend went.”
Becca shrugged. “Hey, it’s a free country and your funeral—as if I care what you do—but just don’t say I didn’t warn you, okay?” She turned for the door.
Watching her make to leave, John felt pangs of panic. This girl was the only person that he had seen for days, and she was the only person of his own age that he had ever met. Suddenly, the thought of being on his own again seemed like the worst idea in the world.
“Will… will you help me to find him?” The words left his lips before John realised that he was saying them.
Becca stopped and turned. She looked down at his feet and then up the length of his body, as if taking him in properly for the first time. She appeared to think for a moment before, finally, she sighed.
“Okay, fine. But understand this, John: you or Stupid slow me down and I will leave your asses out there. That straight with you?”
John did not fully understand but nodded anyway. Whatever the danger was that the girl was talking about, she seemed serious about it, and that was enough for him to sit up and take note. Maybe she was delusional, but he had a feeling that regardless, she did not mean him any harm.
Becca nodded back. “Come on then, Rambo. We got a few jobs to do before I can take you back, and we got limited hours to do ‘em in.” She opened the door and stepped out of the room, muttering under her breath.
John scooped up his bag, ignoring the rumble in his belly. There would be no time for breakfast today. He needed to check on Murphy and was unwilling to lose sight of his new guide. Feet clumped down the stairs outside and, as he gave the room one last scan, only one question was on his mind: who in the hell is Rambo?
***
Outside, the sun shone brightly. The air carried on it a sour tang, like carrion and sour milk. Nobody talked as the three of them made their way deeper toward the heart of the town. Becca moved like a cat, her poise crouched and her footfall light and quick. John felt like a toddler by comparison. Several times, Murphy barked and chased a bird or some small rodent, drawing a scowl.
“You need to keep him quiet!” Becca said, pulling John into a side alley between two large office buildings.
In response, John only looked at her, his eyebrows raised as if to say ‘And how do you propose it do that?”‘
With a roll of the eyes, Becca dropped to one knee, swung her satchel from her shoulder and pulled free a ball of twine. She lifted it up in his direction. “Here.”
For a few seconds, John looked at it, confused. But confusion soon turned to shock as it dawned on him what she was asking. “You can’t be serious!”
Her face remained straight and her arm outstretched.
“Look, we haven’t seen anybody since we came into the city. In fact, I haven’t seen anybody, except for you, in days. Surely this is overkill?”
“Suit ya self.” Becca shrugged as she stuffed the twine back in her bag and zipped it closed. Then she stood and turned away from him down the alleyway. “Bye then, John.”
John watched her go, mind whirring, dumbstruck at her attitude. Once again he found himself questioning her sanity and, yet again, he realised that regardless of her mental health, he was not willing to let her go, not just yet.
“Wait, please!” he called out.
Becca stopped. When she turned around she had already retrieved the twine from the bag and now held it loosely in her hand. John called Murphy over and the two of them approached her.
“Just until he learns not to bark,” she said.
John took the string and bent down, resigned to do as he was told. Murphy’s ears went back.
“Make a lead too,” she added, pulling a small, black crossbow from the bag and loading a steel bolt in the cradle. “Don’t need the stupid mutt running into somewhere he’s not welcome, not this far into town.”
Just like the first village that they had encountered, nature had begun to win its war of reclamation. The once-grey and concrete streets, originally rolled smooth to facilitate the working stages of a congested population, now lay organic and green; ’their surfaces now cracked and ruptured by the invasive push-back from below. The organic complexion continued, street after street. Things were now cramped and the buildings towered above them, covering much of their route i
n a cooling shadow.
More than once, Becca stopped to check her watch and measure the position of the sun in the sky. She was clearly very anxious about being caught out after dark; a disposition that John was still no closer to understanding. They had been moving for a good half hour now and still he had neither seen nor heard anybody.
Eventually, and with a frustrated look on her face, she stopped beside the wreck of a rusted car in front of a huge steel-beamed building which John quickly realised was a hotel. The once-grand foyer was now a scene of devastation, the floor a darkened landscape of rubbish and blackened by fire.
“Right,” she said in a hushed voice. “You two are gonna have to stay here. It’s too risky from here on out and I can’t go back empty-handed.”
John frowned but said nothing.
“Stay put, stay quiet, and for God’s sake, stay in the open! Don’t do anything stupid like venture off into any of the buildings or light any fires. I’ll be back in twenty.”
And with that, she was gone.
John waited until he no longer heard the faint crinkling sound of her footsteps then sighed. He was not even sure if the crazy girl would return for them. Perhaps she’d grown tired of the shadow and decided to rid herself of the burden.
Even in the coolness of the shade, he felt hot. With a grunt, he swung his arm and dropped the bag from his shoulders. His shirt clung to the middle of his back with sweat. He had also realised the creeping aroma of body odour, hardly surprising given that he had not washed in days.
The car offered little in the way of comfort; the windows were broken and the seats had been ripped out, leaving nothing but a metal chassis.
John looked down at Murphy who was looking back at him with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, boy,” he said, bending to untie the twine noose which was holding the dog’s jaws together. “There, that better now?”
Murphy snuffed and then shook his shaggy coat like he did when it was wet. He licked his muzzle and barked loudly. John smiled.
