As the grating banged into place above their heads, Toby fastening it with a padlock hurriedly with trembling fingers, it was the only thought that kept Freda going as they splashed through the dirty water at a run. Her eyes flickered to Reilly.
No one spoke as the nurse busied herself around Reilly, who was laid out in the bed in Toby’s apartment. A long bandage was wound around her chest and shoulder to cover the bullet wound she had received, and her thin strands of blonde hair were arranged around her head on the pillow in a ring of gold. Harris paced back and forth across the wooden floorboards, making them squeak each time he did a pass of the small room. It was covered in striped wallpaper, peeling and ripped-off in places, but the open window allowed in cool, fresh night air. Toby sat on a nearby blue armchair that looked as though it had been re-stuffed, gently stroking his hand absent-mindedly over Emily’s head. His little sister was perched at his feet, leaning her chin and her hand on his knee as she gazed over at the sick woman in her brother’s bed.
Freda was the only one without a red or tear-streaked face. She gazed into the floor as she sat on the end of the bed, bolt upright with her hands clawing into her knees. She could still smell the stench of the sewer they had raced through, clinging to her skin and clothes. Every second had felt like an hour, and now they were back at the guest-house, it felt as though they had been rushing Reilly to her deathbed. Freda couldn’t feel anything, her body and her emotions numb. The moment the old man had said there was no cure, something had broken in all of them. But she had still hoped Reilly might have more time. Probably would have, if not for the bullet in the back.
The nurse leaned over Reilly for a moment as the blonde woman weakly gestured for her to crouch down, and she nodded to something being whispered. Straightening herself up again while giving Reilly a reassuring pat on the shoulder, she gazed uncertainly over at Freda, her short brown hair swinging around her face. “Um…Reilly would like to speak with you, Freda.” She turned to others with an apologetic expression. “In private.”
“No problem,” Harris rasped as he jerked his head towards Toby and Emily, striding across and holding the bedroom door open for them. As they marched past him silently, he scratched at his head, his green eyes searching as he focussed them on Reilly’s face. In a choked voice, he added, “Reilly, I…I’m glad I met you, you know. There aren’t many good people left.” Freda could have sworn she saw his eyes glittering, but he turned sharply and headed out into the sitting room beyond before she could see anything else. The nurse followed after him, smiling kindly at the two women left sitting on the bed.
Reaching out a hand towards her friend, Reilly croaked, “Freda, hold my hand.”
Stiffly, Freda did as she was asked, taking Reilly’s hand in her own. As she perched herself on the edge of the bed, shuffling further up so Reilly didn’t have to strain her voice, it terrified Freda how cold she felt. Reilly’s skin was like ice already. She’s not going yet, Freda told herself firmly, even if her gut gave a twist that denied her statement. She’s not going yet.
Unable to look across at her friend, Freda didn’t turn when Reilly gave her hand a gentle shake, taking in a wheezing gasp of air. “Freda, look at me.”
A knot of something dark and uncomfortable started to wedge its way up into her chest and her throat, but Freda slowly turned her head, swallowing as she looked down at Reilly’s face. No pain puckered her brow anymore, at least. The nurse had assured them all that the drugs she gave Reilly would take the pain away. It was all she could do. The Illness had spread too far, and the bullet wound had only helped it along to its final destination. Taking in Reilly’s red-rimmed pale eyes and serene smile, Freda gave a derisive sniff. “Hey, Reilly. Been through the wars, eh?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Reilly gave a chuckle that turned into a deep, whooping cough, before she fell back onto the pillow with a moan. She closed her eyes for a moment, her thin fingers clutching tightly, desperately to Freda’s hand as though she was using it to hold on. “I have some things I want…want to say to you.”
“You should save your strength.” Freda glanced away again as her voice shook, her chest painful as she tried to force her emotion deep down into the pit of her stomach, pushing it into the hard lump she could feel there. “You need to get better.”
“I’m not going to get better. Freda, please listen. I need to tell you something. Ever since Cary went…” Reilly sighed for a moment, blinking her eyes open, but her movements were weak. “Ever since she went, I didn’t really have anyone. When I left the bunker, I was all on my own. Then you found me. And you’ve been the best friend I could have asked for since Cary left.”
Freda gave a snort at that, but the effect of laughing almost made the tears threatening behind her eyeballs fall. She blinked a few times, clearing her throat as she shook her head. “No way. I led you into danger. You got shot at because of me. And you’ve been caged, not once, but twice. I doubt it happens twice to most people. I should have left you in Ripon.” The tears prickled this time, and Freda knew she couldn’t hold them back forever. She felt oddly calm, despite the crackling mess of feelings knotting themselves around her heart. She gave another sniff, wiping her coat sleeve under her nose. “You’d have been safe there.”
Reilly’s hand went limp under her own for a moment, and slid to the duvet as Freda snatched it up again in a panic, clasping it tightly to her side. Reilly gave another coughing chuckle. “I’m not gone yet, don’t worry. And you’re wrong.” She fixed her icy-blue stare on her friend, her lips cracking as she smiled. “If I’d stayed in Ripon, I would never found out the information about Brit Bunker. Harris and you both helped me—both my new best friends. And besides, if you had never found me in the first place, you would…would never have saved me from that bandit, remember? You saved me, Freda. And gave me an adventure. Cary would have loved it.”
Freda’s lip trembled this time, and she turned her head quickly to stop Reilly seeing it. Her friend was so peaceful that she didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make it harder for her. Looking down at her shoes, Freda croaked, “Well, I guess you could look at it like that. But maybe we should have…I don’t know…gone and looked at things. Places.”
“Like a goodbye tour?” Reilly actually grinned, but the joke didn’t hit a chord with Freda. “Trust me, I would rather have done all the exciting things we did than sit around looking at old ruins. Even if it put us in danger. I’ll have so much to tell Cary.” Her grin fell sharply, and she gripped Freda’s hand with an icy desperation. “Freda?”
“Yes?”
“Do you…do you think I will see Cary again? I mean, in an afterlife.” Reilly’s eyes welled, and she passed her tongue over her dry lips. “I’m not scared of dying. Not anymore. But…I’m scared that this is all there is. That there’s nothing after. That…” her voice dropped to a whisper, coming out in a rasping, broken sob. “That I’ll never see Cary again, or anyone I care about.”
Despite her own personal beliefs that the only thing waiting after death was to be food for worms, Freda knew she couldn’t let Reilly go thinking the same. Forcing a smile on her face, though it hurt to stretch it against the muscles trying to cry, Freda nodded. “Of course there is. There’s…” she paused, wondering how to word it. Back in the bunker, there had been religious groups of different kinds, but none had ever interested her enough. She had never even asked if Reilly was religious. “There’s somewhere beautiful you go to. Like the old world. With trees, and happy people, and big buildings.” She waved her mechanical hand up in the air as though dramatically drawing the height of the skyscrapers. “All sorts of stuff. And Cary will be there.”
Reilly seemed to relax at that, and she let her head sink back into the pillows, letting out another soft sigh. Her breathing was growing slower every second, and Freda clasped both her hands about Reilly’s, watching her chest fearfully. I wish that damn nurse would get back in here. She knew it didn’t really matter. Not anymore.
> “I’m glad. I’m happy I get to see her. I’m going to…to tell her about all of you.” Reilly’s voice dropped in pitch, and her eyelids fluttered closed. The hard lump in Freda’s chest turned to ice, agonising against every breath she took, but a tiny spark of relief danced through her as Reilly shifted her arm to show she was still awake. Barely. “She’s going to be so…so jealous. Freda?”
“I’m here.” She couldn’t keep the broken quality out of her voice any longer as the first of the tears rolled down her cheek quietly. Reilly’s cheeks were no longer rosy.
“Promise me you’ll find your brother. There’s nothing more important than those you love.”
“I know. I promise I will.” Freda squeezed her hand harder. “I swear.”
“And you’ll join the Vigilants with Harris? You’ll help other people, too?”
Freda swallowed. “I’ll join the Vigilants, I promise.”
“And you really are my best friend. Know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you cared. The way you care about Gareth. I know you act tough, but…”
Freda grinned against the tears now running freely down her face. She couldn’t stop them. “But really I’m soft and squidgy?”
Reilly gave a weak half-grin, without opening her eyes. “Yeah. That.”
“You’re…” Freda sighed. Even at this point, she still couldn’t articulate her feelings. “You’re my best friend, too. You’re like a sister to me. Gareth…he would have loved to have met you.” There. Loved. Not love. Met. Not meet. Now she had said it, now she had admitted the past tense, the tears turned into a waterfall. She gave a strangled sob that caught in her throat. It hurt to hold it back, making her breathing difficult, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let Reilly see.
But Reilly didn’t seem to notice, her body barely moving with the tiny, laboured breaths she sucked in. She kept her eyes closed as she took in another shuddering, squeaking breath, and she whispered, “Freda, I just need to rest before I talk to the others, okay?”
Freda’s shoulders shook hard as she nodded, rubbing the back of Reilly’s hand with her thumb in frantic circles, her face scrunched with her sobs. “Okay. You sleep for a while, Reilly.”
“Will you stay with me? Keep hold of my hand? Please?” Another long, laboured breath. It was like she was deflating.
“Yes. I’ll be here, pet. I’m not going anywhere.”
Freda looked away, breaking down completely on the side of the bed, still squeezing and rubbing Reilly’s thin, icy hand with her own, sobbing into the coat sleeve covering her robotic arm. Reilly’s breathing became so quiet that it was almost little more than a draught coming from the bed, but Freda didn’t turn to look. The lump in her chest crumbled, and it splintered into her heart, ripping it into pieces. Her sobs became howls, and she couldn’t see through the rivers of tears running down her face.
She finally plucked up the courage to shake Reilly’s hand, but there was no returning squeeze, no tiny shift of movement. Summoning her nerve, she twisted around to look down at her friend, the mattress squeaking as she moved.
Reilly’s face was still, her lips parted on her last breath, her eyes shut gently as though in slumber. The colour was gone from her face, and the hand that Freda held might as well have been a block of snow. “Reilly?” she whispered, hoping for a response. “Reilly?” she repeated in a high-pitched voice that became another open-mouthed sob, shaking her shoulder hard. Reilly’s body moved from side to side, but she didn’t wake up.
Sliding down to the floor on her knees, Freda pressed her friend’s hand to her forehead and let out a scream. It was pain, and grief, and anger that she hadn’t been able to prevent it from happening. We were supposed to find a cure at that damn place! And there was nothing! NOTHING! Her confused thoughts tumbled over one another into a black hole as she cried out loudly, shrieking like a banshee as she cried bitterly, soaking the sheets with her tears. She squeezed Reilly’s hand harder, as though it could bring her back, sobbing so loudly that her head began to hurt. She didn’t care.
Freda was vaguely aware of a breeze from behind her, as though the door had been opened, and someone falling to the ground beside her and wrapping strong arms around her shoulders. Someone else tried to pry her hand gently away from Reilly’s, but she screamed and clawed out at the interventionist, still unable to see from behind the swell of tears. Her eyelids felt hot and swollen. Whoever it was let her hand go. There was a pause. “She’s gone. I’m very sorry.”
Freda gave another screaming sob. Hearing someone else say it made it real. She sobbed and cried until she could hear her heartbeat rushing in her ears, and her chest hurt and made it difficult to breathe. Whoever had hold of her pulled her close, rocking her against them as they made soothing noises in her ear. They stroked their hand over her hair, and she clung to their chest like she was a little girl, uncaring that she was bawling loudly into their shoulder. Harris’ musky scent broke through her grief-ridden haze, and she held on tighter, knowing he could feel the same pain she did. She wouldn’t have believed how much Reilly had got under her skin the last few weeks, but there were so few people left that she cared for. And Reilly hadn’t been like most people. She had still held onto hope, still believed that there were good things. Freda screamed again. She wished she could believe the same.
It felt like hours, but Freda’s eyes finally dried up—not because her grief was gone, but simply that she had no tears left in her. She hiccupped and gulped for air as her chest jerked with her dying sobs. She let out a shuddering breath, wiping at her face to clear her vision, looking up into Harris’ steady green gaze. His own eyes were red-rimmed, and his jaw was taut, as though he was holding back his own pain so as not to show it in front of her. He brushed a thumb over her cheek comfortingly, passing it over her hair. “She’s gone now,” he whispered disjointedly, his throat swelling as he swallowed hard. “Reilly’s gone.”
Freda nodded, clawing at his chest. “I know,” she whimpered back. Tilting her head just enough to speak to the nurse she could feel hovering over her shoulder, she rasped, “She wasn’t in pain, was she? Because she was scared of that.”
“No, no pain,” the nurse replied in a soft voice that spoke of being used to tragedy. “I gave her plenty of drugs. She just fell asleep.”
“Good.” Freda gulped again, unable to catch hold of the strange rhythm of her heart as it pumped fast, staggering to her feet. Harris helped her, keeping hold of her as she rose up. Shaking her head, Freda squeezed herself in tighter to his body. “I can’t look at her. Not just yet.”
“We’ll go through here,” Harris whispered, gradually moving her towards the door with shuffling footsteps, holding it open so she could make her way through to the sitting room.
Without looking around at anything, Freda sank down into what looked like the couch from the corner of her vision, her mind in a daze as she wiped at her face. She felt like a mess, but somehow it felt right. She felt like she should be a mess, now that Reilly wasn’t here. It was like they had lost something important. Even more important than losing an arm. The sofa heaved as Harris sat down beside her, his hand rubbing her back soothingly. They sat in silence for a few minutes, only the clock ticking on the wall stabbing into their grief. Sniffing loudly, wiping her nose again on her sleeve, Freda blinked and looked around. “Where’s Toby and Emily?”
Clearing his throat harshly, Harris jerked his head towards the front door. “They went out for a while. They’ve closed the guest-house so no one can disturb us, and the other guests left today.”
Freda leaned forwards, hanging her hands between her knees as she let her head fall to her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing their sting as the swollen lids protested against it. Her eyes traced over the coarse blue patterned fabric of the sofa, tracing its curls and loops for distraction. “Those bandits finished her off.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Harris let it go again as he leaned back against the
sofa. His hand dropped from her back, leaving it feeling cold. “We can’t think like that, Freda. She was already dying from the Illness.”
“Yes, but she would have had a few more days, at least, if they hadn’t shot her. If she hadn’t had to run from them.” Freda curled her hands into fists, gritting her teeth against the fresh sorrow that crashed into her. It was slowly melting into something more familiar, more filled with rage. Something she knew how to handle.
“Maybe. But she still would have gone.”
“But she could have gone around York with us, done things. Eaten a cake, or something.” Freda cut herself off, aware that she was rambling.
There was a scuffle as Harris leaned over again, pushing against his boots for leverage to sit on the edge of the blue couch. He gingerly laid a hand on Freda’s arm, stroking it in a way that was maddening rather than soothing. “Maybe,” he repeated. “But there’s nothing we can do now.”
“Yes, there is.” Almost flinging his arm off in the process, Freda stood up and twisted around to glare at Harris. She could feel the sorrow melting into rage, her blood pounding for a reason that was overtaking her grief just long enough to push it aside. To stop hurting for a moment. She marched across to the scratched wooden desk outside in the foyer, ducking down for a moment and feeling along the shelf hidden underneath. They had thrown their weapons under there when they had brought Reilly in. It hadn’t felt right to take them in with her. It was dark in the dim lighting, but her fingers quickly found the smooth, rounded edges of her rifle butt, and she snatched it out hurriedly. As she swung it onto her shoulder, she turned back to see Harris hemming her in, holding his arms out to the wall and the desk to stop her getting by. She raised her chin defiantly. “They shot her, Harris. Sure, she was dying, but she still had time. They took it away from her.” Hot tears threatened to fall once again. “And I can’t do anything to the Illness. So I’m going to hunt those bastards down, and kill every last one of them.”
We Are The Few Page 22
