Tears of Blood

by Rachel Martin

  “Mummy and Daddy have gone away,” I lie, what else can I say, does he even know what death is? He’s too young, isn’t he?

  “Where?”

  “I can’t tell you… because… er… because… it’s a secret,” I say with enthusiasm. “They told me it was a secret and we would find out when we’re ready. But they told me it was very important that we must be brave.” I try to hold back tears, but they begin to fall out, one by one by one. I wipe them away.

  He is staring at me. He is trying to work me out. I have the overpowering sensation that he knows something more than he is letting on, there is something about the way his dark green eyes flicker subtly. He doesn’t understand though. He can’t possibly understand. Can he?

  “They left me in charge. I’m going to look after you.”

  “But I’m a big boy,” he says, forcing me to see him as the innocent he is.

  I laugh sadly, is he trying to make me feel better?

  “I know you are.” I force a huge grin. My lip wobbles, but somehow I manage to control myself. “But, do you know how to make your dinner, or how to make your bed, and are you going to remember to brush your teeth every day, and can you wash your clothes?”

  “No.” He laughs.

  I laugh.

  “OK, so I’m in charge yeah?”

  He nods.

  “Can I watch cartoons now?”

  I stick his DVD on in the living room and sit us both down on the sofa together. He laughs as he watches. I just stare at the images on the screen. They appear to disappear before my eyes. I can’t get my parents out of my head. I can’t get this situation out of my head. I am being weighed down in chains as the reality begins to dawn on me. I am growing heavier and heavier. I am falling into the Earth, I am utterly torn, I am broken. I have no shoulder to cry on, no one to share this burden with, just Olly, innocent little Olly, who I need to protect. Me? How am I supposed to do this? I am nothing. I am useless. Stop it. I tell myself, just bloody stop it. I hold my breath. The last thing I want to do is scare him by falling apart and crying again. I might never be able to pull myself out of it. I have to be strong. I have to find a way through. I dig my fingernails into my palms. I force myself to concentrate on the television. I need a reprieve. I get up and make him some cereal. The movement helps. Just sitting makes me feel as if my body is sinking. I hand Olly the bowl and a spoon.

  “I can eat here Izzy?”

  “It’s a special occasion, so yes.”

  He digs in. Just being with him is making me feel better. Calm is being emitted from him and into me. I will be OK. I will survive. We will survive. Together we can make it. Together we are strong. It is us against the world from now on. I sit down next to him and wait for him to finish his breakfast. I pull him on to my lap and look down on to his blonde locks. I press my face into his hair and kiss him.

  “Guess what?” I say grinning, turning him around to face me.

  “What?” he says, wide-eyed, and excited. “What? What?” I feel his anticipation in my heart as if we are one being. “Come on Izzy,” he says. “What is it?”

  I stare into his eyes and run my hand through his baby hair. His head is so soft. Thank God he is here with me. Thank God for small mercies. I laugh, small mercies, Olly. What on Earth would I do without him?

  “Izzy. Come on,” he whines.

  “OK. Well… Daddy says we must play tents and sleep in sleeping bags up in the roof. Would you like that?”

  “Really, wow wee.” His eyes grow large as he takes in what I’m telling him. “Really? Promise?”

  “Yep.” I nod. “And when we’re up there we’ll have so much fun. We’ll play games. We’ll play spies, we’ll play so many things and have picnics and other fun stuff.”

  “Can we go up there now?”

  “Soon baby, soon, I promise.” I pause, and allow his excitement to take root inside him and inside me. “And then,” I say, “guess what else?”

  “What, what.” He’s jumping up and down on my knees now. He’s gripping my upper arm.

  “We are going to go on an adventure. You and me.”

  “What adventure, what, what?”

  “We are going to take the sleeping bags and the tents and fishing stuff, and we are going to travel up to the Lake. To where Uncle James lives.”

  “Uncie James,” he repeats.

  “You haven’t met him yet, but when I was a little girl, I went to his house. Oh, Olly, you’ll love it. It’s so much fun, I promise. There is a farm with animals, and tractors, and lots of cool places to play. You will love it there.”

  “Will Mummy and Daddy be there?”

  I can’t take it. I look away. I bite my tongue.

  “Will they?” he asks again.

  I look back at him. “Maybe baby,” I lie.

  The sadness washes over me. I try not to shake with misery. I try not to cry. I can’t stop myself. The tears are falling again. I look away from his innocent young eyes. I wipe away my tears.

  “Maybe,” I force myself to repeat.

  Olly sits in silence as I try and stop the sorrow from beating me up. I try and prevent it from turning me into a darker version of myself, into a shadow, where I will be hiding in the darkness.

  “Can we go now, Izzy?” He says, excited, trying to pull me back out of the depths of despair.

  “Not yet baby, not yet.” I kiss his forehead and hug him tight. I can’t stop the tears coming out anymore. He hugs me back. I feel my parents embrace in his tiny little arms. I feel safe.

  “Izzy be in charge,” he says as he wraps his hand around my thumb. He pulls it gently. I allow myself a smile.

  five

  “Come on Olly,” I say, rubbing my gloved hands together. “It’s your go.”

  Olly picks up the die. He shakes it and throws it across the board. We watch as it rolls and comes to a standstill on the face of a purple snake. The moment it stops, a deep sound like thunder echoes somewhere in the distance. My whole body contracts. Oh no. No, no, I shake my head.

  “Can you hear that?” I whisper.

  Olly nods. We stare at each other. I point upwards. Both our eyes follow the invisible line my finger creates up to the snowed up skylight. There is another crashing and a scraping noise. A hydraulic piston. It’s getting closer.

  “They’re coming,” he whispers, wide-eyed.

  This is too strange. I can’t take it.

  “W... What?” I stutter.

  “They’re coming?”

  He is staring into me, not at me. I endure the words.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The men in orange, they’re coming for us.”

  There is absolute silence for a moment. He sneezes, then picks up his piece and moves it five squares. He climbs the ladder. I just stare at him frozen. My mouth is hanging open. Something is happening to us. I can feel it.

  “Olly,” I lean towards him and place my hand over his, slowly, a finger at a time. “Please, what do you mean?”

  “The big men, they want us.”

  I shake my head and sit back up, straight. What on Earth? My core feels his words like electromagnetism. He is right. I know it. Somehow, I’ve seen it too. How? Am I beginning to lose it? The crashing metal sounds grow closer. I shiver, I am back in the moment. I have to do something. I breathe deeply then stand up. I try and see through the tiny gaps in the snow piled up on the skylight. It’s no use. It’s far too deep. I put my hands on my hips and stare up at the dusty beams, exasperated. Another metal clanging, it’s closer still. They are heading this way. There is no doubt. This is it. They are coming. They are finally here, aren’t they? My heart starts to race. I go rigid. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go. Not yet. I’m not ready yet. Please, all I want is a few more days. Olly steps towards me. He grabs my hand. He starts tugging on it.

  “We have to go now don’t we Izzy?”

  “I’m not sure.” I stand silently for a moment staring at the pure white snow on the window. �
�But yes, we might have to,” I add thoughtfully.

  He puts his little arms around me and hugs me as tight as he possibly can.

  “It’s OK. We will be OK,” he says.

  “Yes,” I laugh, mystified, “of course we will.”

  The noise is getting louder and louder and more frequent. I’m not sure which direction it is coming from. It seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. We cannot leave until we know where they are. Fuck. I begin shoving the last few bits into our rucksacks. I roll up the sleeping bag. I force it into its waterproof bag and clip it onto my rucksack. Shit. I hear them break into one of the neighbour’s houses. It must be the one right at the end of the terrace. We both stand like figurines, too scared to move, too scared to think until I do. I start furiously pulling on my shoes. Olly copies me. A few minutes later another door crashes in. Minutes later, another. They’re like dominoes, door after door being smashed in, closer and closer and closer. Soon they will be at ours. Soon they will be on us. I am sweating, despite the cold. My heart is racing. I push an old, heavy, sewing machine over the loft hatch cover. I grab our woolly hats and shove them on both our heads. I check Olly’s shoes are tied, and zip up our coats, and wrap a scarf round Olly’s neck. This is it. Another crash, that is the house two doors down. Oh shit. What to do, what to do? I push the snakes and ladders board off the crate and grab Olly. I sit down, him on my lap.

  “Stay perfectly still,” I whisper.

  And he does, he is listening to the growing danger, just like me. I can feel his little body heat up. I can feel the energy in him. We are one. They are smashing around in one of the neighbour’s houses. The banging and crashing is echoing up and along the terraces. They are so loud. What are they doing? What are they looking for? They don’t seem to be interested in going up into the attics. If they were we would have seen one of them by now. My heart rate slows a little. Why should ours be any different? Why should they suddenly feel the need to break into our attic? We’re going to be OK. I think. I hope. I kiss Olly’s cheek and hug him even tighter. He is being so good, so quiet, so attentive. Just stay still I tell myself, just stay still and they will pass us by unnoticed. They crash into the next door neighbour’s house. I am frozen in place. My fingers are tingling. I am hyperventilating. Be strong, be strong, Olly squeezes my hand like he knows what I’m thinking. Shit, shit, shit. Our house is next, any minute now. I cover Olly’s mouth lightly with my hand, just in case. I listen. Then it happens, our front door is smashed in. We both jump more than I imagined we would. I am gripping Olly like he is a comfort blanket, he is holding on to my arms. Both our hearts are going haywire, I can feel his crashing through me. Then there are loud footsteps echoing throughout the house, treading over our hallway, our kitchen, our living room. I hear a voice say:

  “People have been here recently.”

  Shit. I hold my breath. They are opening all our doors, all our cupboards, checking for God knows what. Why don’t they just leave? I pray they do. I will it. They are coming upstairs now. I am rocking forwards and back, despite trying so hard to stay still. They slam open my parent’s bedroom door.

  “Whoo,” one of them says, it is a deep male voice. “It doesn’t get any easier. Here’s some more.”

  More loud, uncompromising footsteps stomping up the stairs and into my parent’s room.

  “They’ve been here for a while. You take him, I’ll take her.”

  “Twat,” another voice says.

  I wished my brother hadn’t heard that. But he did, and he didn’t flinch. Good boy, I think, while trying to hold back my tears.

  “Hey there are supposed to be some kids in this house,” another voice says.

  “Let me see that,” says the original voice.

  “Do you think they could be survivors?”

  “I don’t know. Search the house.”

  Furious searching ensues. Cupboards being opened feverishly. Noise after noise. Crashing, banging, stomping. The darkness has caught me. They are going to find us, aren’t they? Aren’t they? My hands are going numb. My legs have pins and needles shooting through them.

  “Nothing Sarge,” someone says, they are standing right below us.

  “Keep searching. It looks like people have been here recently, judging by the water in the bath, the lack of food in the fridges, freezers, and dry stores. The doors were locked, no one’s broken in. They’re here. I know it, they’re here.”

  Shit, shit, shit, I think, we’re going to have to go. Fuck, balls. Olly knows it too, I can feel his little body turning rigid. The glass in the sky-light starts making a scratching sound. I look up. It is cracking. Instinctively I lean round and kiss Olly on the cheek.

  “We’re going to be OK,” I whisper.

  “Ssssh, Izzy,” he whispers as if he is the adult now.

  “Do you think they may be immunes, Sarge?”

  “Yes Private, I do. But you know as well as I do, they’re not just immunes,” the lead voice announces. “They’re more than that, so much more.”

  “What?” I whisper looking round at Olly, “is he going on about?”

  He turns and kisses my cheek. He is actually comforting me. Why did he say that? Is that one of their methods to route us out or something? I wonder. There’s no way I’m falling for it.

  “Find them,” he roars. “We need them.” He starts coughing. “Find them,” he yells again.

  For a second, I am stuck, immobile, my mind going crazy. They are definitely going to find us, what the Hell am I going to do? Olly looks up at me with his piercing green eyes. I know, and he knows, we have to go. There is no time to waste. We have to get the Hell out of here, and we have to do it now. They’ll find us, no doubt. No doubt at all. In through the nose out through the mouth. In through the nose out through the mouth. The pins and needles fade, my fingers start to loosen. I am ready. I put my finger to my lips and tell Olly to be quiet. I gently slip him off of my knees and stand him on the floor.

  “Don’t move,” I whisper.

  He grins. I have the overwhelming sensation that he actually wants us to do this. He loves the adventure. He is calming me. He is making me feel that we can do it. Nothing can stop us. We are survivors. We have already beaten the odds and survived until now. It’s us against the world, and that is OK by me. They are in the room below us again. Any moment now they will find the hatch. I pick up my rucksack. They are pulling the room apart. I slip the bag over my shoulder, slowly, quietly. I pick up Olly’s little baby rucksack. It is bright blue and has his name on it in big purple letters. There are pictures of green aliens on it too. My heart melts at the sight of it. I shake my head, now is not the time for nostalgia. I slip it on to his back. I pause for a moment hands rested on his shoulders. Are we ready? Can we ever be ready for something like this?

  “I’m ready,” Olly says. “Can we go now?”

  “Of course,” I whisper into his ear.

  Electricity is shooting through me. I am ready. We are ready and there is nothing they can do about it, ‘fuck you’, I mouth, as I flick my two fingers up in the direction of the hatch, in the direction of what I can only assume are the soldiers. Olly laughs, silently, into his mitted hand. Time to go. I step towards the wall but knock over an empty can in the process. My stomach falls to the floor. I freeze. Shit. Olly stares at me. I bite down on my tongue and close my eyes. I am trying not to cry. Everything goes silent downstairs. What a fucking idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Olly holds my hand. He squeezes it. I look down into his angelic face. We both stand still like statues. The door to the boiler cupboard flies open.

  “In the loft,” someone yells.

  six

  I pick Olly up, rush to the wall, and place him over it, into next door.

  “Run,” I whisper. “Over the walls to the very end. Don’t look back just go.”

  I quickly glance around. They are pushing up on the hatch door now. The sewing machine is slowing them down.

  “Bye house,” I whisper. “Bye
Mum and Dad,” I gasp.

  I jump over the wall and follow Olly. I jump the next and catch him up. I carry him over the next wall. There is a loud clanging noise, swearing and yelling, then the ladder gets pulled down. I can feel the draft flow through all the attics in the terrace. I gulp. I try to fight the darkness, the tightness, the constriction. I keep running, helping Olly over one wall then the next. We run, jump, run, jump, run, jump, run, over wall after wall after wall, dodging all the crap people keep in their lofts. The end few houses don’t have skylights, so we run deeper and deeper into the shadows. Finally we reach the last house in the terrace. I look back. I see a soldier standing in our attic. He is standing in the light. He looks like an alien who has just beamed down. I have strange rising dread, a strange rising memory. Like I have seen this before, like I knew this would happen. I dreamt this years ago. Why am I remembering now? I am struck, motionless, so is he. He is dressed head to toe in an orange contamination suit. I don’t know if he can see us in the darkness. Thank God for small mercies.

  “Up here Sarge,” he yells. “People have been living up here.”

  “Where are they now?”