The Returned

by Seth Patrick

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he said, clearly upset, and Julie relaxed a little. Then he added, “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  She tensed again. She saw the look of genuine distress on Victor’s face, and she had no defense against it. He looked so distraught she didn’t think it was the right time to probe deeper, but she would have to make doubly sure to keep him inside from now on. She held him. He hugged her back tightly.

  “It’ll be OK,” she said.

  Then she felt something through the sleeve of his shirt. Something rough, on his arm.

  “What’s that?” she said. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. She rolled his sleeve up carefully, gasping when she saw the state of his forearm. It looked like an old wound trying to heal but succumbing to infection. But she knew it couldn’t have been there for long.

  “When?” she asked. “When did it start?”

  “Yesterday,” said Victor. “I didn’t want to tell you. You might not want me near you. You might leave me.”

  She drew him close again. “Never,” she said and held him. “Never.”

  75

  When Pierre asked people to gather for the service for the Koretzkys, it took Claire a moment to spot where her daughters had gone. They were outside, enjoying the first sunshine of the day. She watched them, amazed at the way a break in the cloud could transform how you looked at things. She sent Jérôme to bring them in, then sat a few rows from the front, keeping three seats around her for the rest of her family. The room filled quickly; after all, there wasn’t much else for people to do. Claire’s heart sank, though, when Viviane Costa took the seat in front of her.

  “Are they your daughters?” said the woman, nodding to Léna and Camille as they entered.

  “Yes,” said Claire.

  “They’re pretty. It’s a shame.”

  Claire gave her a pointed look. “What’s a shame?”

  Viviane Costa smiled, a particularly sour one. “Well,” she said. “It won’t last, will it? It never does.” She turned to face the front.

  Claire said nothing, taking a long breath to stay calm. If the woman hadn’t already been dead, she thought she might have cheerfully killed her herself.

  Léna and Camille took the seats to Claire’s right, while Jérôme sat to her left at the end of the row. There were quite a few people at the Helping Hand now. As well as the initial group of parents, more had found their way there, either through direct invitation from Pierre or by hearing about the refuge from others. The dormitories would be crowded tonight, thought Claire; the supplies would have to be used sparingly.

  She shivered suddenly, realizing that she was now assuming they would be there for as long as Pierre had suggested.

  “Thank you all,” said Pierre as he stood at the front and held court over the congregation. “We’re here to remember Joseph and Anna Koretzky, two cherished members of our little community. Some of you have asked why I decided to hold this service to remember them, so I feel I should explain. I’m sure you’re all deeply upset by what they’ve done. I believe we need to express our fears, our questions, and our doubts, and to do so as soon as possible. We face an uncertain time. I have spoken to many of you already about what challenges lie ahead of us, and here, now, I think we must all hear the truth.”

  Claire heard some uneasy whispers, but they soon fell away.

  “First,” said Pierre, “I would like us all to hold hands.” He smiled as bemused laughs spread across the room. “Go ahead,” Pierre continued. He waited for them to do as he asked. “Now, I want us all to say to the people next to us, ‘You can count on me.’ Go on.”

  Claire caught the raised eyebrow on Jérôme’s face. She smiled at him and shrugged. This was Pierre’s way, and it served a purpose.

  “You can count on me,” Jérôme said to her, and he meant it. She told him the same.

  Beside her, Léna and Camille turned to each other and said it too. It gave her a rush of hope: her two beautiful girls, back together again.

  “You can count on me,” murmured everyone in the room.

  Then Pierre talked about the Koretzkys, told of their trauma at the loss of their only son, of their courage and their support for the other parents involved in the tragedy. He celebrated their lives without mentioning again the manner in which things had ended.

  “I can understand your concerns, my friends,” said Pierre. “But don’t be afraid. Death is not the end. We know that. Our friends who have returned are proof of it.”

  Claire glanced around the faces to see how many people were mystified by what Pierre was saying. There were some but not many. Most knew something of what had been going on.

  “The Helping Hand was chosen,” said Pierre. “It will be their haven as a new world arises. A new order. One that will continue as it begins—with togetherness, support, and love.”

  She could see Jérôme’s scowl forming and could understand it. Pierre’s words held such vast implications, they were even making her a little uneasy.

  In the front row, Sandrine stood up. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I need some air.” Her husband stood up beside her. She looked unsteady. Suddenly Sandrine clutched at her husband’s arm and fell to the ground, crying out in pain.

  People rushed to help. “Please, give her room,” said Pierre. “Can someone get a glass of water?”

  Sandrine reached down and put her hand between her legs. When she pulled it back, it was covered in blood, and Claire saw the devastation forming on her face, grief and loss congealing there.

  Miscarriage, Claire thought. Oh God, no. It had meant so much to her. It had been everything.

  Then Pierre’s words came to her, unwelcome now: A new order. One that will continue as it begins.

  And it had begun with death.

  76

  Satisfied that Simon Delaître was contained, Thomas drew up the emergency rota. Communication in the town was deteriorating rapidly. It seemed that soon only their police radios would be functional; even then, the station would only be able to route the signals for as long as its generator kept working. The last he’d heard from the hospital, the generators there were unlikely to hold out much longer. Treatment would be reduced to little more than triage. Any emergency cases would have to be taken elsewhere, and the nearest alternative was an hour’s drive away. Thomas had no intention of putting his officers at additional risk, if looters suddenly started to get violent. Having an officer shot the day before by Toni Guillard—a man he hadn’t thought capable of violence who was now on the run—made him even more wary, even though the resulting leg wound hadn’t proved that serious.

  Overnight, they would have to patrol the town and be visible. All off-duty officers would keep their radios nearby at all times in case extra hands were required. Everyone was stretched and growing tired, so he was eager for those coming to the end of their shift to get home and sleep. He’d already made this as clear as he could, and he himself would be leaving soon.

  He was shattered, of course. The night before had been a long one and he needed the rest, but he planned to come back before dawn. He wanted some time to watch over Simon—watch him deteriorate, he hoped. And perhaps, in a quiet moment, Thomas would pay Simon a visit. Talk to him.

  Laugh at him.

  Rota completed, he assembled all the officers who were still in the station and talked them through it. There was no dissent. If he’d asked them, he knew they would all have pushed themselves to the limit and worked through the night if need be, but they couldn’t afford to burn everyone out. Not now.

  “You OK with this, Inspector?” he said to Laure, keeping things as formal as he could. In difficult times, a reminder of rank was crucial. Informality was weakness.

  Laure nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, get home. Sleep well. Be back here before midnight.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to spend
a little time discussing some of the priorities with those who’ll be staying before I go.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “If that’s OK.”

  He nodded. “Of course,” he said, thankful that she’d remembered her place. “Don’t take long.”

  “No, sir,” she said.

  • • •

  Thomas went home, on edge the moment he laid eyes on Adèle’s ashen face.

  “What’s wrong?” he said. He saw her flinch a little and told himself to be more calm. “What is it?”

  Adèle led him through to where Chloé lay asleep on the sofa.

  “What happened?” he asked. There was nothing obviously wrong.

  “She was on the trampoline and fell off. She was unconscious briefly.”

  “Is she OK?”

  “Julie was here. She’s a nurse. She checked Chloé over.”

  “Julie?”

  “Julie Meyer. Laure’s ex.”

  He nodded, suddenly wary. “What was she doing here?”

  “She’s staying next door. There’s a boy staying with her, and he came over to play with Chloé.”

  A boy, Thomas thought. He’d heard something about that, something Laure had been handling: the boy who had gone missing with the Costa woman. “He was there when she fell?”

  Adèle nodded.

  “What did he do?” he asked, his suspicions growing.

  “I don’t think it was him, Thomas. I think she got dizzy, that’s all. A virus maybe.”

  At that, Chloé woke.

  “Are you OK, sweetheart?” said Thomas.

  Chloé was looking at her mother. “Why did you want to die?” she said.

  Adèle looked at Thomas, shaking her head, then back to her daughter. “What?”

  “I saw you,” said Chloé. “When I was on the trampoline. I saw you in the nightdress, and your wrists were cut. You wanted to die.”

  Adèle looked at her daughter in horror, tears starting to form in her eyes. Thomas turned to Adèle, certain of his suspicions now. “The boy you mentioned. He’s next door?” Cautious, Adèle nodded.

  Thomas stood, his mind made up. He went outside, across to Laure’s house, and knocked on the front door. “Open up,” he said. “Julie Meyer, open up.”

  No answer, no sounds from within. He knocked harder and called once more, raising his voice. Again, no answer came.

  He waited, sure someone was there. After a few minutes he saw a car approach: Laure coming home. She got out, looking at her captain.

  “Sir?” she said.

  He nodded to the door. “Where’s he from? Your friend’s little boy?” She shook her head. Thomas felt his impatience soar. “Inspector,” he said. “You’ve been keeping things from me, and it must stop. Tell me where he’s from.”

  Laure was reluctant, but she answered, “We don’t know.”

  “I want to talk to him. Now.”

  Her face stiffened. “No, sir.”

  “No?” He glared at her, appalled by the insubordination. “No?”

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate, sir. He’s a child, and you seem…agitated.”

  Her eyes went to Thomas’s hand. He looked down and carefully unclenched his fist.

  “Bring him to the station in the morning,” he said slowly. “Listen to me, Inspector. When we go back, he comes with us. It’s for your safety. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “Sir.”

  He watched her for a few seconds until he was satisfied that she really did understand, that she would follow orders. Then he returned home to make sure his family was safe.

  77

  Laure managed to keep herself from shaking as she opened the door. She wasn’t sure how many bridges she’d just burned. Julie was sitting, holding Victor close to her. They both looked terrified. The look on her face told Laure she’d heard every word.

  Julie gripped Victor tighter and looked at Laure, desperate. “Please,” she said. “Take us away from here.”

  Laure took a deep breath. She thought for a moment, but she couldn’t ignore what Julie’s eyes were telling her. There was no way she could allow her captain to lock the boy up—as she presumed he intended. It would destroy Julie.

  “Pack some things,” she said. “We’ll wait an hour or so, until it’s dark.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we’re leaving town.” Maybe the captain would do as he’d earlier instructed her to do—sleep. Maybe.

  At least their house was downhill from his. When dark was falling, they crept out and got in the car, and Laure freewheeled down the hill as far as she could, lights off. Then she hit the lights and they drove. Laure felt good, to see the look of relief on Julie’s face.

  Trees flew past either side of them as they took the road toward the dam. Then Laure had a thought.

  “Julie,” she said. “My radio. See, clipped to my belt?”

  “What about it?”

  “Take it off.” Julie reached across and unclipped it. “Now throw it out the window.”

  Julie grinned. “You’ll be in trouble,” she said.

  “That’s OK,” said Laure. “I was getting sick of my job anyway.”

  Julie nodded. “I think I was sick of your job too.” She wound the window down and threw the radio out. They both looked back and saw it shatter across the road, then they grinned at each other.

  After crossing the dam, Laure settled in for the drive. There was no other traffic around, she realized, nothing at all on the roads since they’d left home. She wanted to put as much distance between them and the town as she possibly could, even if it meant driving all night.

  Soon, though, the monotony of the pines either side of the car got to her. She found herself getting drowsy. She felt the car judder and snapped her head upright, startled and frightened—she’d almost drifted off. She wound down her window.

  The blast of cold air roused Julie. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Trying to stay awake,” said Laure. As they rounded the next bend, she slammed on her brakes.

  The car slid to a halt. Julie looked at her as if she was mad. “What the hell?”

  Laure didn’t answer. Instead, she was staring ahead. Julie turned to see. The dam was right in front of them.

  “Haven’t we crossed it already?” she said.

  They shared a look, and Laure drove, faster than before, feeling her pulse quicken. But again the monotony of the pines either side of the road lulled her. Again, she felt that sudden drowsiness hit, and she looked immediately to Julie. She could see in her eyes that Julie had felt it too.

  They drove around the next bend, and there it was.

  The dam.

  They couldn’t get away.

  78

  In the empty Lake Pub, Lucy Clarsen had been waiting in the dark.

  She had opened the doors and propped them wide, and now she stood patiently in front of the bar. She knew this place so well, after her year spent working here. She looked around now, at the familiar tables and chairs waiting for people to come, still neatly laid out.

  Not for much longer.

  And now they came, at last. Drawn to her once the sun had set, as she’d known they would be. Silent, slow, they shuffled inside. Some were almost untouched by physical deterioration; others were much further gone, and she could feel their hunger most of all.

  Once they were inside, they turned to her. Lucy smiled. She raised her arms slowly, welcoming them.

  It was time.

  79

  Anton woke to find that the world had gone. All he could see was the white of thick morning mist outside. He turned to the barricade he’d thrown against the control room door during the night: an overturned desk and a shelving unit. Not long after nightfall, he’d heard someone moving outside, and the knocking had begun. Slow, repetitive. He’d
called out for whoever it was to identify themselves, but there had been no response. He’d stood, listening, sensing that there was more than one person out there. The knocking had grown as others joined in.

  Erecting the barricade was all he could do. Then he had moved a monitor under a desk and huddled there, watching the status of the dam’s sensors with his hands over his ears, until a restless sleep had taken him.

  In the center of the control room was the alarm switch, which would manually set off the acoustic warning for the town. He wanted to trigger it. Trigger it and drive. Let the town deal with what was happening, not him. The thought of the chaos and panic that would follow stopped him, though; he had stayed to watch for problems, not cause them.

  He thought of the others: of Eric and the rest of the engineers, running from the crisis. But they had families, responsibilities that he didn’t have. And the time to run had gone now—he knew it. By staying, he’d taken on a duty he would have to see through. If he’d gone when the others had, maybe he could have convinced himself that the blame fell between the gaps and lay with nobody. Run now and the blame would be solely on his shoulders.

  He stared out the windows into the white, hoping for the mist to clear. He had no idea what time the banging on the doors had stopped or if those responsible had really gone. Until he was sure, he would stay where he was. He couldn’t face going outside.

  80

  Léna and Camille lay together in the dorm bed, both sleeping.

  And in their sleep, they dreamed, and they understood what it was: a shared dream, but not one either of them wanted to experience.

  They were Camille at first. Four years ago.

  “Do I really have to go on this stupid trip?” she said.

  Her father laughed, eyes to the ceiling. “We’ve paid for it. It’s not up for discussion.”

  “But Léna’s allowed to stay at home.”