by Hakok, R. A.
He points with the cane. I hesitate for a moment, then step inside. The door creaks on its hinges, then clangs loudly as Knox pulls it closed. Finch gestures to the guard to hand me the candle then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for the bunch of keys he carries. I tell him there’s really no need, but he insists; he says he’ll sleep better knowing I’m safe. I can’t see how I have much of a choice in the matter so I say that’ll be fine. He selects a key, inserts it into the lock and turns it. The bolt closes with a heavy clunk.
He returns the keys to his pocket, wishes me a pleasant evening, then points his cane along the landing. I stand at the bars for a while, listening to the slow shuffle and clack of his retreating footsteps. When at last they’ve faded to silence I set the candle on the ground by the leg of the bunk and sit.
The copy of Watership Down shifts in the pocket of my parka and I take it out, run my fingers over the familiar cover. I glance through the bars to check there’s no one watching, then I hold it under my nose and riffle the pages, like I used to do when I’d find something new. I close my eyes and inhale the book smell, and for a second I’m not sitting on a metal cot in the main cellblock of Starkly Correctional Institution. I’m in the day room of the Sacred Heart Home for Children. A single shaft of dusty sunlight filters through a high window above, and the air smells of furniture polish and old newspapers. There’s a girl sitting opposite me. Her head’s down, buried in a book, the same one I’m holding. Her dark brown bangs obscure her face, but I know in a moment she’ll look up, and I’ll see her for the first time. I try to hold that image but I can’t, and just as quickly as it came it vanishes again. I open my eyes and Starkly returns.
I lay back on the thin mattress. The cot’s not long enough and I have to raise my knees to get my feet on it. I stare up at the bunk above, watching as the candle makes the shadows cast by the rusting springs shift and merge. There are things I need to consider now, but I’m not ready for that, not yet, so instead I open the cover. Another world waits for me in there, one where everything is still as it was when I first met her, and right now that’s what I need. I turn to the first page, forcing myself to concentrate on the words.
Without anything to mark it the time draws out. Starkly grows quiet, save for the sound of the wind outside, moaning against the walls. A draft finds its way into my cell, disturbs the flame. For a moment it flickers, threatens to go out, then steadies again. I look down, surprised to see that the candle’s almost done; all that remains is a charred wick in a shallow puddle of wax. But when I look back to the page I realize I’ve got no further than the paragraph I began on.
I set the book down. It’s no use. The thing I saw, down in the basement, it will not be ignored. The truth of what it means drags at my brain, like a fishhook.
I’ve been checking Mags’ crucifix every night since we left Mount Weather. All the other stuff - how quick she is now; how she can see in the dark; how her skin is always cold - I’d convinced myself none of it mattered. The metal was how I’d know; as long as it stayed clear she wasn’t going to end up like Marv.
The low, faithless voice has been quiet for some time, but now it whispers.
That’s not true, though, is it?
It reminds me of something Gilbey told us; something I knew all along, but chose not to dwell on. The virus was a truly remarkable piece of engineering, she said, incredibly tenacious; so much more resilient than Kane ever gave it credit for. He fired all the missiles he had, but all that did was render those carrying it unconscious. For years it’s been waiting, slowly building itself back up inside them, just like Marv thought. And now it’s ready to return, and those that had it once are no different from how they had been before.
I lay my head down on the cot, letting that truth wash over me.
Kane scorched the sky; tore a hole in it; made the night burn bright with the force of a thousand explosions. And still he couldn’t defeat it. What did Mags get? A few minutes in a glorified magnet; a machine designed to look inside you. Not even the time it had been set for.
How could I have ever hoped that would be enough?
*
HE PICKS HIS WAY through the darkened mall. On either side vacant stores, their trash-strewn aisles stretching back into gloom. He tries a few, searching the dusty shelves for anything that might have been missed. But there’s nothing. Each has been ransacked, stripped of anything that might provide warmth, sustenance. In one he finds a box of plastic lighters, sitting by the cash register. He lifts one out, tries it. For a while it just sparks and he’s about to toss it, but then finally it catches, holds. He stares at the blue-tinged flame until the metal grows hot, then he lets it die.
He steps back outside to resume walking the concourse. This is what he does now, while the others are sleeping. The girl does not like him wandering off by himself, so he has to wait until she has fallen asleep, too. She doesn’t sleep for long now, hardly more than he does, so he can’t go very far. But that’s okay. He uses the time he has to explore. He likes it.
He makes his way through the food court. Packets and wrappers litter the floor, but there’s nothing among them worth having. Occasionally he holds the lighter up, thumbs the wheel. He does not need it, any more than the flashlight in his pocket. But he likes the soft glow of the flame, the way the plastic feels warm in his hand after.
He finds an escalator, climbs it to the level above. He follows the walkway, examining each storefront he passes. A soft drinks machine lies toppled over, its front pried open. He checks the insides in case a can has been forgotten, like he’s seen the tall boy do. The chute is narrow, but his arm is small and he can reach almost all the way up inside. There’s nothing there, though, so he continues on.
He wonders where the tall boy is right now. He was supposed to have caught up with them already, but he hasn’t. When they returned to the print store his pack was still there, right where he had left it. The girl stared at it a while then knelt to rummage in one of the side pockets. She took out a folded piece of paper, opened it to check something, then slipped it inside her parka. She stepped over to the counter, returning with a sheaf of paper. She pulled the stub of a pencil from her pocket and bent to scribble a note. When she was done she tucked it under one of the straps then headed back out to where the others were waiting. She led them on, picking her way between the cars and trucks that clogged the streets. Every few paces she would turn to check behind, but for the rest of that evening the road had stayed clear.
They had arrived at this place just as night was falling. The boy with the curly hair had brought them inside while she waited out on the road. When at last it had turned dark and there was no chance the tall boy might still be coming she had come in. The others already had a fire going, a way back from the entrance, where the flames would not be seen, but the girl showed no interest in joining them. She stayed by the doors, keeping watch over the parking lot. He could hear the others, whispering.
What’s she doing out there?
Can she see in the dark, too?
How can she stand to be so far from the fire?
But if she heard she paid little attention. Some time later the boy with the curly hair had come out to join them. He had hugged his parka tight to him and his breath had smoked in the cold. He said she should come inside, that the tall boy would be alright. The girl nodded, but when he returned to the fire she made no move to follow.
He completes his circuit, returns to the escalator. Trash is strewn everywhere here; he has to pick his way among it as he makes his way up the ribbed steel stairs. At the top a single large room, stretching back into darkness. On one side a long counter; a sign above that would once have lit up. Large posters hang from the walls or lie curled on the floor beneath.
He heads for the counter, treading decade-old popcorn into the mulchy carpet as he goes. The glass is dusty; he has to wipe it with the sleeve of his jacket to see inside. He presses his face to it, hoping to spot a candy bar that’s been missed.
But the cabinet’s empty. This place has been plundered, like everywhere else.
He holds the lighter up, cranks the wheel; his reflection appears in the glass. He turns his head to one side, studying it. He thinks it is a little better. The shadows around his eyes are finally fading, but enough of them remain to lend his face a hollow, sunken-in look. He is used to it now, but somehow it still feels unfamiliar, like this is not how he is supposed to look.
‘Hello there.’
His fingers scrabble for the goggles hanging around his neck. In his haste to pull them up he drops the lighter and it blinks out, returning the room to grainy shades of gray.
He turns around slowly, still fiddling with the strap. A boy stands there, staring down at him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a tattered leather jacket. The hood on the sweatshirt he wears underneath is pulled up, but there’s enough of his face showing to suggest it’s amusement that shapes his pale features. He turns his head, as though addressing someone behind him.
‘Hey, check out the shades on this little dude.’
A girl appears at his side. Her hair is cut in a ragged bob; without the lighter it’s hard to tell what color it might be. She wears a denim jacket with buttons pinned to the front. Underneath a dark t-shirt with a snaggle-tooth skull. Where the neckline dips he can see her collarbones. Her skirt is short and her legs are bare; they end in a pair of dirty high-tops. She tilts her head, her jaw working continuously. She flashes him a smile, says Hey, cutie, and goes back to chewing her gum.
One by one others step out of the shadows, until there are maybe twenty of them, arranged in a loose semicircle around him. Some are not much bigger than he is. None seem older than the girl, or the tall boy.
His brow furrows. He had not heard them, any of them. He can always hear the others, even when they are trying to be quiet.
The boy with the hood takes a step closer, squats down in front of him. His jeans are faded, his boots scuffed. He takes his hands from the pocket of the leather jacket and waves them in front of him, quick, almost too fast to see. A candy bar appears where before there was nothing. He holds it out.
‘Y’all looking for this?’
He stares at the candy bar for a moment, then reaches down for the lighter instead. He holds it up, thumbs the wheel. The boy’s pupils glow in the flame. He leans in, his eyes locked on the lighter, then pulls back the hood on his sweatshirt, revealing a shock of white hair.
‘That’s right, little dude. Just like you.’ The boy holds his arms out, gesturing to the others gathered around him. ‘We all are.’
He keeps his thumb on the lighter, holds it up. The girl cocks her head, pulls a face, goes back to chewing her gum. In the flame he can see her hair is bright pink, the same shade as the lipstick she’s wearing.
The lighter grows too hot to hold and he snaps it off, returns it to his pocket where it glows like a coal against his leg. The boy’s eyes turn dark again. His hand still holds the candy bar.
‘It’s alright.’
He hesitates a moment then takes it, peels the wrapper. The chocolate inside is gray with age. It tastes gritty, stale, but not altogether bad. He finishes it quickly. The boy smiles, like he’s pleased.
‘Want a drink?’ He turns to his companions, not waiting for an answer. ‘Hey, somebody gimme a soda.’
From somewhere back in the shadows there’s the rasp of a zipper being pulled and a second later a can gets passed forward. There’s the faintest of hisses as the boy pops the tab, hands it to him.
He takes a sip. What little gas is left stings his nose, makes his eyes water. It’s so sweet it makes the roof of his mouth tingle. He takes a large gulp, then another, and another, until it’s gone. He stands there for a moment, then belches loudly.
The boy laughs.
‘Little dude likes it. Y’all got a name, little dude?’
He’s about to tell them what he told the girl with the long blond hair, back in the mountain place: he doesn’t know. But then he remembers how that went.
‘They call me Johnny.’
The girl with the pink hair tilts her head again. She frowns, as though something about that answer doesn’t sit right with her.
‘And is that your name?’
He shrugs. The boy and the girl exchange a look he can’t figure, then they both turn back to him.
‘Well, Johnny, I’m Vince. And this is Cassie.’
The girl curtsies, flashes him another smile.
‘Please-ta-meetcha.’
He holds up the can and the candy bar wrapper.
‘Where did you find these?’
‘Oh, around. You just need to know where to look.’ He winks. ‘Hey, Johnny, come with me.’
The boy with the leather jacket leads him back towards the escalator. When they reach the guardrail he leans over, points down. Far below, towards the entrance, the cherry wink of a campfire; a collection of gray shapes, huddled around it.
‘Those friends of yours?’
He hesitates. He’s not sure what he should say. The girl is, for certain. And the tall boy, although he’s not down there right now. He’s less certain about the others.
‘Some of them are.’
‘Got it. Probably haven’t known them long, am I right?’
He nods. That bit is true.
‘And where are y’all headed?’
He pauses again. When he was in the cage the doctor said it was important to answer questions truthfully. He’s not sure what he should say now, however. The place where they’re going, the place that’ll be their new home, he thinks it’s supposed to be a secret. He doesn’t know exactly where it is, anyway, except that it’s close, but he’s not even sure he’s allowed to say that much. He considers it a few seconds more and then settles on an answer he thinks should be okay.
‘South.’
‘Y’all don’t plan to stay here, then?’
He shakes his head.
The girl with the pink hair folds her arms across her chest.
‘Told ya, Vince, no need to get your panties all up in a bunch. Just passin’ through.’
The boy holds his hand up, like he wants her to be quiet.
‘And what about the other one, the tall one, the one who took off after those men. Will they wait for him?’
He shakes his head again.
‘He’s going to follow us.’
‘Wouldn’t count on it, kid.’
The boy’s features twist in irritation.
‘Shut up, Cass.’
The girl rolls her eyes, goes back to chewing her gum. The boy turns to face him again. The smile returns.
‘Sure about that, Johnny? The bit about heading south, I mean. Y’all definitely don’t plan to stay here?’
He shakes his head and the boy’s smile widens.
‘Do you live here?’
The boy with the leather jacket goes back to staring at the campfire.
‘Oh, here and there. Wherever we want.’ He pauses a while and his face grows serious. ‘You could stay with us, if you like.’ He nods at the empty soda can. ‘There’s more of those. Loads more. We could show you how to find them.’
He shakes his head. The girl will be done sleeping soon. If she wakes and finds him gone she’ll worry.
‘I have to get back.’
The boy spreads his hands, like he understands.
‘Alright. Well, Johnny, it was sure nice to meet y’all.’
He’s not sure how he feels about having met them, so he just says thanks for the soda and the candy bar and hurries out onto the escalator.
He’s barely made it back to the level where the others are sleeping when he hears a sound from somewhere off in the shadows. He turns towards it and the girl with the pink hair is there, waiting inside the entrance of a Tastee Freez. He looks back at the escalator. He came straight down; he’s not sure how she made it here ahead of him. He opens his mouth to ask, but she presses a finger to her lips, beckons him over. He glances towards the fire th
en hurries over to join her. The gum she was chewing earlier has gone. She looks around nervously.
‘What you said up there, about moving on, did you mean it?’
He nods.
She looks relieved.
‘That’s good. Vince, he doesn’t care much for warmbloods.’ She glances out towards the entrance. ‘Although all things considered Vince might not be the worst of your problems.’
He’s not sure what she means by anything she’s just said.
‘What are warmbloods?’
The girl nods in the direction of the campfire.
‘Your friends.’
‘Why doesn’t he like them?’
She tilts her head, like she’s not sure what to make of his question.
‘You kiddin’ me, right? You don’t remember what it was like?’
He shakes his head. He doesn’t remember anything from before.
‘Their kind, they hated us.’ She keeps her voice low, but it grows hard. ‘They wanted us dead, every last one, even those that had stopped being sick. They sent their soldiers, to hunt us down.’
He does know about soldiers. He remembers the mean one, with the zap stick; how he had looked at him, when he had come down with his food, like he was a dangerous animal, in a poorly built cage.
‘It was Vince who saved us. Found us places to hide. Then the first winter came and that was it for their kind. Not enough of them left to be a threat to us anymore; for a long time now it’s just been the men from the prison. They come into town every once in a while, looking for food. Makes Vince mad as hell. Me and a few of the others, we try and discourage them. The warmbloods, they’re kinda dumb; they have to mark the places they’ve been, otherwise they forget. Makes it real easy to figure where they’ll go next.’ She shakes her head. ‘We strip whatever might be left before they get there; don’t leave them hardly anything. But still they keep coming back.’
