Now Cait's face drops, no longer brave, no longer sure of what she knows as truth. "What kind of thing?" she asks.
"Fucked if I know," Ryan says. His words are tainted. I have never heard it in his voice before. Fear. "It follows me, stalks me. I can hear it some nights, but I never see it."
"What does it sound like?" I ask.
I brace myself. I pray he does not say what I think he will. My heart sinks when I hear his description; the words I dread to hear.
"Clicking."
Suddenly, David's smile falls away. He can see it on my face. He has reason to be afraid. I know what hunts his son. "John, can I have a word?" he asks, pointing his forehead towards his room.
"Sure," I say. I place my hand on Cait's knee. "Please excuse me, darling. We won't be long."
I nod to Ryan. He nods back, pursed-lipped. I hear him say to Cait as I reach David's door, "It's one of them, isn't it?"
I look back just in time to read her lips. "I hope not," she says. "For all our sakes."
I close the door behind me. David looks anxious. He is pacing back and forth, breathing heavily. Panic, distress, agitation; I can see them all. He stops pacing when he hears the bracing bar latch down.
"What is it you know?" he asks me. I dare not say. He approaches, wraps his meaty hand around my collar. "Tell me!" he roars.
"Calm down," I say, slowly prising his hand from my shirt.
"Don't tell me to calm down, John." He returns to pacing. "He's my son. He's all I've got left. I can't lose him too. I just-"
"Hey!" I yell. I grab him around the back of his neck, pull his face close to mine. "He's safe. We won't let anything happen to him." His eyes soften, his breathing levels out. "And he's not all you've got left. You've got me." He is suddenly placated. "And Cait. Rose. We're family now. We look after each other."
He slumps down onto his bed, tears falling freely. "I'm sorry, John. Forgive me." I sit at his side. I know the pain he feels. Everyone has lost someone. "What is it? What is the thing that hunts my boy?"
I place a hand on his shoulder. I keep my voice low, calm, gentle. "What I'm about to tell you, I've never told anyone before." His back straightens. Intrigue blooms across his face. "I was seven when they first came here. My father was a paranoid man. He watched the news religiously, watching them spread across nations. He had a plan, a way for us to survive, but they came too soon."
"You were only seven," David utters softly. His eyes close. He draws a long and taxing breath. His upper lip quivers.
"He told me where we were going. He made maps, drew them himself. He even decorated them with cartoons to make me smile as I read them." I wipe the moisture from my eyes. I can feel David's hand settle on my back, between my shoulder blades. "That's how I found this place. There were nineteen of us when I first got here. Cait was one of them." I shake my head. It does not help. I cannot shake away the memories. "I can't remember what it looked like. Trust me, I've tried. But I can remember the noise it made."
David removes his hand from my back, more of a jolt, like he has suddenly realised something. When I look in his eyes I can see that he has. "Clicking," he mutters. I nod. "But, how? Solars can't survive in darkness."
"You're right," I say. "They can't. Or at least they couldn't."
"What are you saying?" David is suddenly afraid. "That they have evolved? That they can now walk in the night?"
"No," I say. "If they could we'd be dead by now. It must be something else. Something we haven't seen before. If it can track Ryan, then we're no longer safe here." I sense a shift in David's mannerisms. "What?" I ask suspiciously. His eyes widen. I stare at him expectantly.
"Well that's just it," he says as he leaps up off the bed. "The reason we found you. The reason we travelled so far north in the first place ... I know somewhere safe."
I knew he had been keeping something from me. There is much that I do not know about this man, many mysteries that remain unanswered. I stand, face him as an equal, yet he still towers over me. My eyes burn into him, flaring with confidence, as I ask, "What happened to Ryan's mother?"
RYAN
Friday, 16:56
"Why didn't you ask us last night?" John asks. Does he suspect something?
"I didn't realise I needed it till this morning," I say.
"You need flight rail and trigger lube because the mech is sticking, and you didn't realise this when you shot the buck through its face?" He is sceptical, I can see it.
"Like I said." I nod repeatedly, like a bumbling idiot. "I also need some wax and conditioner for the bowstring."
"Fine," he says reluctantly. "Don't be long-"
"I won't," I say. I can see from his sullen look that he was not done talking. I pause, allowing him to finish.
"And if you see anything, hear anything, even suspect that something might be following you; run, okay? Just run back here. Your dad will be waiting, ready to barricade the door at any time." I do not speak. I simply nod in agreement. "Now get going. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll get back."
"Thanks, John." I slap his shoulder. The look he gives me tells me I should not have. I turn awkwardly, hurry back to my room so that I can prepare. I can feel John's eyes burn into me as I go. His behaviour towards me has changed of late. I am beginning to think he hates me.
I change my clothes, dress warmly. The nights are growing bitter. My duffle coat keeps me warm when I hunt, but tonight I opt for something thicker. A snow jacket, fur-lined hood, perfect for trekking on a winter's night. A strategic choice, for it has another feature I must utilise: deep pockets. I open the bottom draw of my bedside locker and grab the police scanner hidden there. I twist the knob once more, just to check that it still has no charge.
I hear a knock at the door. I stuff the scanner into my jacket's pocket. I feel relief at the sight. No bulge. The padding hides its bulky outline well.
"Come in," I say. I expect to see John, to tell me that he has changed his mind and I can no longer go. Or Dad, telling me the same. But the face that emerges is a surprise, and a very pleasant one at that.
"What you up to?" Rose asks as she creeps through my door.
"Hi. Rose. I-uh. What's up?" I try to act cool, but I sound like an idiot.
"Daddy says you're going to town," she says. I nod. "Can I come?" I try to suppress it, but cannot. I laugh in her face. "I'm not a kid, you know?" she snaps. Age is just a number, and she is very mature for her age. She has to be in times like these. And as my eyes scale her slender figure, her womanly curves, her alluring posture, I can see she is definitely not a child.
"I know," I say. "But it doesn't change anything. You can't come, Rose."
"Why?" she asks. I can see her deflate. She must have had her heart set on it.
"Does your dad know?" I ask. She shakes her head. "That's why. Your dad will kill me."
"No he won't," she protests. "He and Mum are going to the orchard tonight. They won't be back till just before sunrise. He won't even know I'm gone."
"And if my dad tells him?" I ask. She has no answer. Her eyes turn to mush. She is struggling to hold back her tears. "Hey, no. I didn't mean to-"
"Please," she says, cutting me off. "Please take me with you. I want to be with you."
I am stuck for words. What does she mean by that? Does she mean she wants to be in my company, or does she mean actually be with me? I open my mouth, meaning to ask her to clarify, but I am terrified as to what her response will be.
"The answer's still no," I say sternly. I hate myself for it. Her eyes glisten. She looks so beautiful in the dim candlelight. Her auburn hair dances with the flames.
"Please don't leave me here," she says. The tears start to flow. I dare not ask her why. My heart is barely holding. One more look from those doe-eyes and it may break.
"I said no, Rose!" I growl. I force a wrath into the words that cuts at her in a way she does not deserve. I turn, face my bed and the rucksack I had been packing before she entered. I cannot bear to face her. "Now
go," I hiss. My teeth are clenched. Why is this so hard? My heart screams at me, calling for me to hold her, to wipe away her tears; to tell her I have dreamt of her near every night since I got here. Instead I focus on packing, do not look at her again, uttering, "I'll see you in the morning."
Why? Why am I such a fool? All she wants to do is spend time with me, and I tell her to go away when all I want is to be around her. I hear her weep, yet I do nothing. Nothing but pack and ignore.
She lingers at my door for a few seconds, then says, "Fine, if that's what you want." There is no anger to her words; only pain. They are softly spoken. Her voice breaks with every syllable. "I'm sorry if I've annoyed you. See you at breakfast?"
I seal my eyes shut. She sniffs and sobs behind me. I dare not look. Say something, you fool! But I cannot muster the courage to reply. I just nod, only once, and then continue packing. Gutless fucking pig! I am sick at the thought of myself. Tough guy, strutting off into the night like some proud peacock. Yet when it comes to Rose, beautiful Rose, so innocent, so naive, I melt into a mere shadow of a man. I feel powerless.
Say something! My mind races, searching for something, anything. It draws a blank.
"Okay." Her word is little more than a whimper. She expected more from me than just a half-hearted nod. My hands tremble. "Goodnight, Ryan," she utters softly.
"Night, Rose," I say. I wanted to sound warmer than I had been, but I still hiss the words. I hear the door creak to a close. I turn, hoping to see her, hoping she had closed the door without actually leaving. No, obviously not. All I see is cold steel, riveted trims, bracing bar still raised. I am alone. Alone with my thoughts. Problem is, all I can thing about is her. Damn these secrets. I hate keeping her in the dark. I grab the rucksack and sling it over one shoulder. It is time to go. The sooner it is done, the better.
ROSE
Friday, 17:41
I listen outside his door. My heart dares to hope. My mind knows better. As if he even cares. As if he even notices me. I am just the poor, pathetic little girl. Why would he call or come after me?
I head to my room, my sleeves soaked with tears. My heart is beating so fast I fear it may stop at any second. I was happy, once. I had no fear in the night, no anxiety. Now, I have fear. I have anxiety. All I do is wait for night, but also pray it never comes. I no longer fear the monsters of the day. I only fear one monster, and he only comes for me at night.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" My eyes dart to her, stood in her and Daddy's doorway. I had hoped she would not catch me in such a sorrowed state. Too late now, though.
"Nothing," I say cheerily, again wiping my puffy red eyes. I must look a mess.
"Come in here," she says, nods to the inside of her room. "I want to talk to you about something."
"What?" I ask. She looks side to side, from wall to wall, scanning the common area. What is she so worried about? Or who?
"Come here and I'll tell you," she says. It is obviously something she wants to remain a secret.
I am intrigued, suddenly a lot less sorrowful. I hurry over, nudge past her. She stays in the doorway for a moment; a rather long moment.
"Is everything alright, Mum?" I ask. She is acting cagey. I know something is wrong.
She nods anyway, smiles broadly. "Fine, sweetheart. Are you gonna tell me what's upset you?" I purse my lips, shake my head. Childish, I know, but I do not want her to know the truth; any of it. She pauses. She knows better than to press for an explanation. Still, she hopes that the awkward silence will break me. I stare at her blankly, calling her bluff. "I'm sorry we're not around much at the moment," she finally says. "It's just 'cause it's-"
"Winter," I interrupt. "You don't have to explain it to me, Mum. I get it. I know why you need to go every night." The thought suddenly hits me: use her guilt to get out of here. "I just feel so useless, that's all."
"Is it?" she asks. I can feel the look of bemusement engulf my face. "All, I mean."
"Yeah, of course," I say. It seems all I do is lie nowadays. "What else would it be?"
"David?" I can see her studying me, scrutinising my reaction to his name. I force my feelings down deep, push the thought of that repulsive beast away. I hope it is enough. Mum looks unconvinced. "Does he constantly watch you when we're gone?"
"I think so," I say, raising an eyebrow for added effect. "I'm usually asleep, so I can't be sure."
"He doesn't stay around you? Talk to you?" I know where this is heading.
"No," I say. I shake my head dismissively. "Why?"
"Has he ever touched you inappropriately or-?
"Jesus, Mother! No, of course not." I lay my theatrics on thick. She seems satisfied. "Why would you even ask that?"
This is interesting. I see a look in Mum's eyes that I have never seen before. My blood runs cold. I hope that my assumptions are incorrect, but I find myself asking, "Did he do something to you?"
"Or was it Ryan who upset you?" she asks. The subject change unsettles me. I do not push the question.
"I asked if I could go to town with him," I say. "Let's just say he didn't let me down gently."
"Oh sweetheart," she says in that motherly tone that I hate. She throws her arm around my shoulders. "Ryan's a hard egg to crack. He's not had the same sheltered upbringing we've been able to provide for you." I smirk at the remark. Sheltered. Shackled, more like. "He was raised to hunt. He walked the night before he could even talk. God, I can hardly imagine what it must have been like." I draw back, brow raised. "Sorry, got a little sidetracked with my thought." She smiles, hugs me warmly. "He likes you, I can tell. Just give him time. He'll soon show you his true side." I return her smile. Her eyes widen, as if suddenly remembering where she was, and adds, "Just don't tell your father. He'll do all he can to keep the two of you separate."
"Don't worry," I say. "I won't tell Daddy."
"Tell Daddy what?" Mum and I turn, startled by his voice. Daddy stands in the doorway. I had not even heard the door open. "What are you two plotting?" I am glad that his voice is friendly, filled with humour.
"Nothing," Mum and I hum in unison, both of us smiling from ear to ear.
Daddy's face changes. He cocks his head, eyes narrowing. "What's wrong, Bud?"
"Nothing," I say, wiping the last remnants of tears from my eyes. "Just got a touch of cabin fever, that's all."
"Well, why don't you come along?" he says.
He has changed his tune since last night. I look at Mum, say nothing. She knows I am asking her permission. She does not object. I look back at Daddy. He is dangling the car keys in front of me. "Here," he says. He throws the keys my way. I snatch them out of the air. "Do you remember how to drive?"
I cannot help but smile a full smile, all teeth and cheeks. "Yes," I chirp contently.
"C'mon then," Mum says. She places her hand on the small of my back, ushers me through the door. "We've got a lot to do tonight."
I am so excited, I can barely contain it. I practically skip to the staircase that leads topside, stride up the steps two at a time. The door at the top is locked. The minute I am forced to wait before Mum and Daddy finally reach me takes a lifetime. I am shaking, but for once it is not through fear. I can hear the door keys jangling in Daddy's hand. I cannot wait any longer. I leap down the steps like an agile cat and pluck the keys from his grasp, before scaling the heights to the door again. With a clunk, the lock springs open. I am free.
The night air rushes in. I can taste the moisture, the icy vapours that cling to the darkness, and it is wonderful. Down bellow, the silence can be unbearable at times, like a wicked reminder that the world above died a long time ago. But up here, where the forest's critters still dwell and flitter and frolic about, I see now that the world is not dead; not really.
"This way, Rosebud," Daddy says, gently linking his arm with mine.
I beam a smile his way. "Thank you," I whisper. I can feel my eyes welling again. I have not been this happy in years.
He squeezes my arm, a comforting gesture. I
am here, in the open night, with the two people who love me most. I have dreamed of this for so long now, the way it had once been. I almost thought it would never happen again.
Daddy leads me to a shipping container and unbolts the heavy steel doors. I squeal in delight as I lay eyes on it, its silver paintwork glittering in the moonlight. It is already unlocked, so I slide into the driver's seat. Daddy climbs into the passenger seat next to me. Mum shuffles into the back. I grip the wheel tightly, my knuckles turn white.
"Where do I put the key in?" I ask. They both laugh. I do not understand. Their joke is lost on me. "Is it obvious or something?"
"It's push start, sweetheart," Mum says. Is that supposed to mean something? "You push the ignition button on the right, there," she explains. She must have seen the puzzled look I shot Daddy's way. The last car we had was an LPG convert, a rusted piece of shit that was nothing but trouble. This one is sleek, sexy, electric, yet the console looks alien to me, as if it were forged from solar technology. I hope I can drive this thing. Then again, it would be a kick in the teeth for David if I were to crash it. An enticing thought.
I take it slow at first. But as my confidence builds, so too does my speed. I whoop in merriment as we venture through the countryside. The roads are empty, not a single car to be seen. Daddy has told me of this, that the cars have gradually been reclaimed by solars. Technology, that has always been their lure. Curious. They are far more advanced than we ever were. What use could they have for such primitive machinery?
I look to Daddy. His face is stern, as if he is waiting for something to leap out from the foliage and kill us all. Mum's face is of pure horror, clinging on for dear life. She has always hated my driving. I do not blame her. I was barely ten the last time.
"Next left," Daddy says. His eyes are still fixed on the woods.
"It's not very far away," I say. He does not appreciate my idle chitchat.
Solar: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 3
