It’s the night of the blood moon when I first realize how much time has passed, or how little. And I think to myself that I haven’t felt … right in quite a few months. Stomach flus have plagued me. My body’s way of purging itself of the poison within, I thought. I’ve changed shape, but I’ve only been vaguely aware of this. I can’t stand my body, you see. So I never get naked, not even to wash. There are no mirrors, and I don’t look at myself: I can’t stand the skin I live in.
It’s not possible, anyway. It’s never been possible. I’ve grown so accustomed to that knowledge that it’s made up a huge portion of who I am. The absence of what I want most is what makes me, me.
Which all explains how I missed it, I guess. It’s quite possible I should have listened to what Doctor Overbite was trying to tell me.
Because as the red hue of the moon shines above and I feel no desire to hunt or kill, I feel something else instead. I feel something inside me.
And as I lift my hands to my swollen stomach I know.
The tough, leathery skin I sewed for myself falls away, the past falling with it. I sink to the grass and I cry and cry and cry because even when you think you’ve checked out, even when you think you understand the world, it still finds a way to save you from yourself. It finds a way to forgive.
With the armor gone the wounds in my spirit are finally revealed; the salt air of the sea gets inside them and I feel them start to heal.
*
September 16th, 2067
Luke
I could smash my fist through the world if I wanted to. I could rip it open and gaze into the burning hot sun at its core, and I wouldn’t even be burned. This is how powerful I’ve become. This is what the moon makes me.
Josi’s convoy is up ahead. Driving straight for the wall with the new kids in tow. She’s going to abseil them down the outside of the city. I’m meant to follow and protect the back, like I always do. But I’m getting hungry. I’m so hungry I can hardly think straight. And that’s the turnoff to where he’s been hiding, crawling underfoot like the enduring cockroach he is.
I make my choice; with the approaching sunset and rise of the blood moon it’s an easy one to make. This was why I kept the virus in my veins, after all. This was what the blood moon was for: killing Falon Shay. So I peel off, away from the others, from my wife, and I rev my bike fast down the highway.
I have to find him. I will find him before the night is through. It matters more than anything else, than everything else. And when I find him I will tear the heart from his chest and dev—
*
January 1st, 2069
Luke
“Townsend!”
I wake in a cold sweat, gasping air into my lungs. Someone is sitting on the couch beside me, resting his hand on my heaving chest. In the flickering firelight I see that it’s Zach. Of course it is.
I sit up and slump against the back of the couch. “Fuuuuck.”
“Same again?”
I nod.
“This is getting worse. You only fell asleep for like five seconds.”
He’s right – the movie we were watching is still playing. I don’t know what to tell him. Every time I drift off I dream of the same day, I remember my missing chunk of time.
Zach’s far too concerned so I look away from his face, taking in the sprawling living room we share. I’ve been staying in one of the houses in the Gates these last few months, and when it became clear that neither Zach nor I particularly wanted to rattle around in an enormous mansion on our own, he moved into the second bedroom. He’s been invaluable with the running of the city – I couldn’t have done any of this without him. And sometimes, late at night, when we’ve both had nightmares about the deeds that plague us, we meet in the dark to share the silence. To make it a little more bearable.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s …” I shake my head. “It’s my choice. The worst one I ever made. It won’t leave me alone.”
“What did you choose?”
“I chose death. I followed the moon instead of my wife and she was the one who paid the price.”
I’ll never leave that behind. It will be a weight around my ankle until the day I die.
Zach doesn’t say anything, but he pats my shoulder once more. And I think yet again how much people matter. They’re all that matter.
*
It’s sunset. My parents and I are drinking a beer on the top of the wall when I finally understand what’s to become of my life.
We do this often now, when Dad’s well enough. He’s got better medication, so he’s in much better shape than he used to be. But the disease is degenerative, and there’s still no cure to be found. One day it will take him from us, but not before it steals his dignity from him.
“It’s the way of flesh, kid,” he told me once. A far more graceful way of looking at it than I’d be able.
Tonight the sun sets golden over the red earth and crystal over the far distant sea that snakes up our peripheral. Each time I sit up here I imagine where she is: somewhere in the wilds. I imagine her walking out and out and out until she vanishes inside them, never to be seen again.
The Furies are out there with her now, her Furies. There was pressure from every side to use Dodge’s gas to exterminate them while they were trapped in our tunnels, but instead I opened the gates and set them free into the world beyond, just as they were before Josie brought them here to save us. Come what may, I set them free.
“Georgie wanted you to know she got top marks on her history test,” Mom says. They adopted her a few months ago, after it was clear that no distant relatives were coming forward to claim her. It’s been a saving grace for all three of them.
I make sure I see all the kids a lot. Instead of punishing me for having kidnapped their children, the parents all went out of their way to show their gratitude for having spared them the cure, and agreed to let their kids come over to my place for movies once a week. We try to talk about the people we miss, the ones who were taken from us, but often this is too hard. Mostly we just chat and watch whatever Teddy brings us – he says he’s working his way through Lawrence’s list of favorite films. It’s a sweet way to remember him.
Henrietta and Will are still together, but so quiet about it you’d never know. I saw them once, standing in the kitchen together where they thought no one would notice them. She reached to touch the corner of his mouth so gently, and he spoke something softly to her, and she smiled such a smile … Their quiet tenderness made my heart ache.
Alo, on the other hand, isn’t as private about his enduring love for Eric, which he proclaims at the drop of a hat. As far as I know they haven’t broken my rule, but thankfully for everyone who has to hear about it, Alo will be eighteen soon and free to do as he pleases. I wonder sometimes if their connection will survive beyond the tunnels, or if it was something made of fear and excitement and the need for comfort. I guess we’ll find out.
Coin shaved all his golden hair off to stop himself from obsessively touching it when he speaks. I still see his hands moving sometimes though, as if to the ghost of his old anxieties.
We are all slowly trying to put our pieces back together, even if they make a different whole.
“Brilliant!” I say now, about Georgie’s test marks. I’m not surprised she’s acing all her subjects – her memory for detail reminds me of someone I used to know.
“She also wanted you to tell Josi.”
“Mom, she knows I don’t know where Josi is. Which makes me think it wasn’t her suggestion, but yours.”
Mom spreads her hands in an innocent way. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Dad snorts.
“Jesus, do I have to get this from you on a daily basis, now?”
“Queries about where our daughter-in-law is?” she replies. “Why, yes, you do.”
“If I receive a message via falcon I will let you know,” I snap. There are no messages via falcon, for obvious reasons.
“Why did
she leave?” Dad asks for the eight hundredth time. I suppose since I never try to answer him it’s more my fault than anyone’s. “It’s not safe out there.”
“Josi’s safe anywhere. She’s the only one of us who’s not fragile.”
“But …”
“She was sad, Dad,” I say softly. “She didn’t want to be her anymore. She wanted to be free.”
They don’t ask any more questions about Josi after that. I get the feeling they might never.
What Dad does ask me is this: “And what do you want to be?”
Not this, my heart sings. Not whatever this is.
Without me having to answer Mom says, “Being good at something doesn’t mean you have to do it, Lukey. It was us who taught you to believe otherwise. You were good at so many things as a boy. I thought it meant you needed a bigger life.”
I can understand that, but I never needed a big life. I’ve only ever wanted small. Half a dozen people and nothing more.
Or even just one, really.
“Do you remember how poor we were?” she asks.
“We weren’t that bad off.”
“Do you remember how we occasionally punished you with no dinner?”
“Do I ever.”
“What you didn’t see was that when you didn’t eat, we didn’t. And often when you ate, we didn’t. Your father got sick years before we told you, he was fired from his job and we couldn’t afford his medicine. It was … worse than you knew. So when that woman came for you … it was like a sign. That you would be okay. Whatever we couldn’t give you, your own talent would provide. That’s why we let her take you. We didn’t know.”
“Oh, Mom,” I breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wasn’t for you to worry about,” Dad says gruffly.
“Then Dave went and money was the furthest thing from our minds.”
“Dave went, and I went,” I say, ashamed. I fucking ran away and left my parents to deal with his death alone. “I’m not doing that again,” I warn. “I’m not leaving you and I’m not leaving Dave.”
“Darling,” Mom says gently, “we’re okay now. Truly. Just as this city is okay. Seeing you in a cage is like a punishment for us. As for Dave … there’s no leaving him. He’s everywhere.”
I look between them both and feel my heart start to pound.
They are clipping the bindings free of my feet.
Will whispered it to me that night in the silo, with Josi handcuffed behind us. He leaned in close to my ear and asked, “You always go in after her, so why have you stopped now?”
My eyes go back to the distant horizon. And I know. If this version of me chooses death or responsibility over love, then I will stop being this version. I will be the Luke Townsend who knows how to do love better. Who was taught first by his brother and his parents, and then by the girl with the dual eyes. I’ll be the one who follows her into the wild, no matter how deep she goes.
*
Josephine
With my back bent over the row of potatoes and my hands deep in the earth I feel a kick. I straighten slowly and rest my hand on it, smiling.
There’s a whistle and I turn to see Shadow in the door of our hut. He nods for me to join him inside, so I climb to my feet and walk slowly through the veggie patch. The hills all around are windswept and cold this afternoon. This morning I found ice on the stream and tapped it until I felt the delightful cracking of it. We’re close enough to the sea here that I can hear its waves at all hours of the day and night.
Inside the hut the fireplace is raging, filling the little wooden space with smoky warmth. I don’t sleep inside except during these cold months. Mostly I sleep under the stars, still unable to be within walls for long.
But I’m not the only one to consider anymore.
Shadow stands beside the wooden cradle he’s finished building.
I grin. “Pretty darn good, Phillipe.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to go and get him?”
I shake my head. “I told you, we don’t have to.”
“Josi, you’re nearly—”
“He’s coming.” Every day I say this, and every day I believe it. “He’ll find us.”
I rest my hands on my belly and feel the kick again.
Can I just say that it’s very, very difficult to play the cello while heavily pregnant? It’s also fun to try.
*
January 7th, 2069
Luke
Two days I’ve been walking without water now. There seems to be no end to this barren land. I can’t find my way out of it. Even when I follow the sun I get turned around, lost in the endlessness of it.
Five days with the burning hot sun and the freezing cold nights. Two without water. I’m done for.
I realize it almost abstractly. It hasn’t occurred to me before now that I might actually die out here. It seems almost funny. Almost.
*
January 10th, 2069
Luke
On the fifth day without water my legs give out. I’ve been walking too fast, searching for a stream or river or even a bloody mud puddle. Anything to moisten the desert of my mouth. But I don’t find anything. I see a tree I’ve passed twice already and I sit down at its roots.
“Lukey, you moron,” a voice says from somewhere in the very corner of my eye. “All those years digging holes and you still haven’t worked out where water comes from?”
I sit up a little straighter. “Dave?”
Oh dear. I’m delirious.
But my hallucinated brother has a point.
I lunge at the earth, realizing the tree must be living off some sort of moisture. I dig and dig but the earth is so hard I can’t get through it. My fingers crack and bleed. I’m nine years old, digging in my backyard, my brother playing his guitar beside me. I’m digging to find an answer but it’s not here. I can’t get to it.
“Dave,” I say again. Just to have his name on my lips. Just to feel him near.
I lie down under the shade of the tree and watch the sky through its leaves. And just as my eyes are drifting shut, I see a shape move in the distance. It circles around and grows bigger and then it lands on the branch above me. Her eyes are black and bottomless as she gazes at me.
“Hello,” I whisper with a smile, thinking how sweet the world is.
*
It’s amazing what a burst of hope will do to your adrenalin glands. I’m on my feet in no time, following Intirri across the plains and into a stretch of grassy hills. She leads me to a river, where I gorge myself on water and feel life return to my body.
And then she leads me over the hills toward the sea, to where I see a cliff in the distance, and on that hill a small wooden hut.
As I draw nearer I hear Elgar’s cello concerto drifting from the window and stop to listen.
I’m smiling as it cuts off halfway through a note and a figure flings herself out the front door. She sprints down the hill and I hurry up it until there’s no longer any space between our bodies and her lips are on mine and her smile and her eyes and her hands.
“How could you take so long?” she breathes and I say, “Because I’m the biggest idiot on the planet,” and kiss her again and again but then she’s pulling away and dragging me up the hill and saying “Quick, hurry, come—” and I might think something was wrong if not for the sky splitting joy in every pore of her, if not for the music throbbing from her spirit, the absolute love in every one of her atoms and then we are passing a grinning Shadow who I have never witnessed grinning like that and then we’re inside and I see—
A child in a cradle. A child with enormous wide eyes, one of which is the color of Josi’s darkest brown eye, the other the color of my green ones.
I look at Josephine; she swims in my tears and then I’m reaching for my daughter. She is so tiny in my hands; all along, this was the purpose of them, even broken as they are, especially broken as they are. This is the only thing my hands were ever made for.
I thought I knew love.
<
br /> *
Josephine
Life finds a way. Even when the rest of her kind was killed, there came a last, lonely bird, brave enough to fly alone. Even when the earth all around it had been scorched away by blight and disease, the great redwood forest remained steadfast. Even when my body was too ravaged to create life, even when every piece of my spirit had been cut away by my own atrocities and the seemingly endless burden of shame, even when I’d limped into the wilderness to await my inevitable death – even then there came the most precious miracle of all. A powerful denial of the dark, a bursting throbbing explosion of beautiful new life, the strongest kind there is.
I think the secret to how this happens, time and again, is love.
Here Ends The Cure Series
Acknowledgments
I’ve been thinking about and writing the story of Josephine and Luke for so many years now that it feels surreal – and very sad – for it to be coming to an end. Such a big part of my life has gone into this story, but it takes a village to get a series of books out into the world, and The Cure couldn’t have happened without the support of some wonderful people.
First I’d like to thank my first agent, Sophie Hamley, who took a chance on me at eighteen, and found an amazing home for The Cure. I can’t express how grateful I am for your support, kindness and patience – I’d be nowhere without you, Sophie!
I’d like to thank the amazing team at Momentum, led by Joel Naoum. Ashley Thomson, Mark Harding, Patrick Lenton and Michelle Cameron, your hard work and dedication is hugely appreciated.
Thank you to the incredible team of editors who’ve worked on the three novels: Deonie Fiford, Jo Lyons, and Tara Goedjen. Your insights and wisdom made all the difference and helped the novels fulfil their potential.
Limerence: Book Three of The Cure (Omnibus Edition) Page 38
