Outcasts

by Claire McFall

  It wasn’t like the first time. The wraiths were ready. Before she’d even righted herself, they were grabbing and biting and swirling and dragging her down. Bubbles flooded the water before her face and Susanna struggled to make sense of what was happening. The wraiths moved too quickly for her eyes to track, their black-and-slate-grey skin perfectly camouflaged by the water.

  Fighting only enough to keep herself from sinking more than a few feet from the surface, Susanna scoured the water. Where was he? Which one was Jack? He’d been utterly indistinguishable, apart from his actions.

  Using all the breath she had left in her lungs – which wasn’t much – Susanna screamed Jack’s name. She wasn’t sure how far the sound carried, probably not far. It was a stupid move, too. No sooner had she done it than she had to make for the surface, had to breathe.

  She would, if only she could get herself free.

  Once again Susanna felt the panic as the wraiths caught and held her there, like a fish caught in a net. She flipped and twisted, but she was stuck. Her mouth was clamped shut, every rational thought left in her mind fixed on keeping it closed and fighting the need to breathe.

  She didn’t need oxygen: she wouldn’t die.

  But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to bear the pain, the desperate, clawing need to inhale.

  Without warning, a wraith holding doggedly onto Susanna’s left forearm was gone. A moment later, her right leg was free. Susanna didn’t see what happened, but she was knew: it was Jack. Swiping at a wraith that was flailing in front of her face, she saw him. His jaw was distended, the whole thing latched on to another wraith. Awkwardly moving through the water towards him, Susanna reached out, fingers searching, but the wraith that had to, had to be Jack, jerked away from her touch. It let go of the creatures it had been holding and swam at another, one that was clinging determinedly to Susanna’s jumper, chewing at it like it was flesh. Perhaps it couldn’t tell the difference.

  Trying again, Susanna twisted and stuck out a hand, but Jack wouldn’t even let her fingers graze him. He – if it was him – swam deftly away, but he kept at the wraiths that were attacking her, kept helping her.

  Susanna wanted to give it one more go, but she couldn’t ignore the need to breathe any longer.

  Using her newly liberated limbs, she beat at the wraiths that were trapping her, swimming for the surface as she did so. The higher she rose, the fewer wraiths made the journey with her, until she was alone, treading water, her head above the waves, hands clutching the boat. She drew air into her oxygen-starved lungs and wriggled into the rowing boat, much less gracefully this time.

  Two near-drownings was too much.

  This wasn’t going to work. There were too many of them. Susanna couldn’t separate Jack from the rest, and though he seemed to recognise her, he hadn’t let her touch him. If she was going to get him in the boat to do… something, anything – whatever she needed to do to bring Jack back to himself – then she had to get her hands on him. But she had no idea how to do that and, looking at the light in the sky, she was running out of time.

  Utterly dispirited, Susanna picked up the oars and started to row slowly, painfully back towards the shore, sobbing all the way.

  She just couldn’t do it – not alone.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dylan walked with her head down, on autopilot. She was hollow.

  Broken.

  They’d failed, that was almost a certainty now. They’d gone through the valley and crossed the rugged landscape that lay beyond. Now there was only the lake to go – and there was still no sign of her parents.

  Unless they’d been unaccountably delayed, Dylan and Tristan weren’t going to catch them. It was just as well this wasn’t Dylan’s wasteland, that she didn’t control the weather. If she did, they’d be facing gales and lightning, black clouds and driving rain.

  It had all been for nothing.

  She’d given up her life, Tristan, for nothing.

  Not even the thought of seeing her parents in a couple of days’ time, when she reached the line, could lift her black mood, because first she’d have to say goodbye to Tristan.

  “Dylan, angel, come on.”

  “Huh?” Dylan lifted her head, the landscape swimming for a dizzying second before her eyes focused. Tristan stood before her, his expression grim.

  “You’re slowing,” he said. “We’re not safe yet, we need to get inside.”

  Dylan looked over his shoulder at the safe house, just a few hundred metres away. She couldn’t feel Tristan’s urgency, his fear that the wraiths would catch them. She couldn’t feel anything.

  She just felt… numb.

  “Dylan,” Tristan repeated. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

  He reached for her hand and she let him take it. When he started walking again, she trudged along behind him.

  One night in this safe house.

  One night in the safe house on the other side of the lake.

  Then they would be separated. For ever.

  Unless… A spark of hope lit a small, tentative fire inside her.

  “Tristan,” Dylan began.

  “I know you’re tired,” he said, not looking back, resolutely marching forward, “but you can rest really soon. We’re almost there.”

  “No, Tristan, listen.” Dylan upped her pace so they were walking side by side, so she could see Tristan’s determined expression, his eyes fixed on their safe haven. “What will happen to the wasteland when my parents cross the line? Will it disappear, drop us into the real wasteland?”

  “What?” Tristan turned to her, clearly startled by the question. His eyebrows scrunched together as he thought, though he didn’t stop moving. “No.” He shook his head. “It will still be here as long as I am.”

  “But you’re not one of their ferrymen,” she reminded him. “If they cross the line, their ferrymen will disappear, be pulled to other souls, and then what will happen?”

  “I should be able to hold the projection,” Tristan asserted, but he didn’t look as sure as he sounded. His pace quickened, though Dylan didn’t think he realised. It wasn’t as if they were going to be able to beat her parents to the line; they had to stop here for the night to keep Dylan safe from the wraiths.

  “If you can hold the projection,” Dylan went on, pursuing the line of thought that was growing in strength with every passing second, “then we don’t really need to leave the safe house in the morning, do we?”

  Or the next day. Or the day after that.

  Or ever, really.

  If Dylan couldn’t gift her parents life, if it was already too late to beat them to the line, then she could at least steal some more time with Tristan. A day, a week, a year; she’d take anything.

  “What?” Tristan ground to a halt and stared at her. “Dylan, no. We have to keep going.”

  “It’s too late, Tristan. You know it is. We’re not going to catch them.”

  Tristan started walking again. There was a stiff set to his shoulders, and his grip on her hand tightened, squeezing Dylan’s fingers almost to the point of pain.

  “You can’t stay here,” he told her through gritted teeth. “No matter if we catch up to your parents or not, I’m delivering you to the line. It isn’t safe.”

  “But we’d be together!”

  “No.”

  “Tristan!”

  “I said no, Dylan! It’s non-negotiable. The longer you’re here, the more chance there is of something happening to you. I couldn’t bear it if you became one of those things. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that you were trapped like that, because of my selfishness, because I wanted to hold on to you for a little longer. Every wraith I saw, for the rest of eternity, I’d wonder if it was you.” He glanced in her direction, eyes blazing. “Would you do that to me?”

  The argument Dylan had ready to throw at Tristan died on her lips. No, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, do that.

  “Tristan—”

  But she didn’t get any further than that
.

  “Tristan! Tristan!”

  Like an echo, his name ricocheted around the valley, but it wasn’t Dylan doing the shouting. Taking a step closer to Tristan, Dylan glanced around, hunting for the owner of that strangely familiar voice.

  “What the hell?” Tristan spotted her a moment before Dylan, but then she saw Susanna running down the path towards them, the path that led to the lake.

  “What… what is she doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” Tristan muttered, then he surged forward, hauling Dylan along with him.

  They met at the end of the valley, just a few metres from the safe house. Susanna’s eyes were wide with astonishment as she ground to a breathless halt. She looked just as Dylan remembered her: dark hair, dark eyes; a little taller than Dylan, a little thinner. She was also sopping wet.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “What are you doing here?” Dylan demanded right back, even though Susanna’s question had been aimed at Tristan. Or, possibly, because the question had been aimed at Tristan. She took a small step forward, positioning herself ever so slightly in front of him.

  Susanna’s eyes dropped to her, and Dylan half-expected to see amusement there, or maybe ever derision. She didn’t expect sympathy. Sadness.

  “Dylan—” Susanna said softly.

  “Why are you here, Susanna?” Tristan prompted. “Where’s your soul?”

  “You don’t know?” Susanna asked, turning to Tristan, confusion clouding her features. Then she shook her head. “Of course you don’t know, how could you? But then, how can you even be here?”

  “What?” Dylan snapped, totally lost.

  “You’re ferrying one of Dylan’s parents,” Tristan stated, putting the pieces together.

  “You are?” Dylan breathed. She looked stupidly about her, as if expecting her mum or dad to suddenly appear at Susanna’s side.

  “No,” Susanna disagreed. There was a small pause before she added, “I’m ferrying both of them.”

  “I—” Dylan spluttered to a stop. “You’re… what?” She glanced around once more, taking in the empty space around Susanna. “Where are they?” The state of Susanna’s clothes and the direction she’d come from suddenly took on a new and horrifying meaning. “Have you lost them, in the lake? Have they… did you let them drown?!”

  Dylan advanced on Susanna, horror and rage burning inside her until she felt like a wraith, ready to attack.

  Susanna took a step back. “What? No, I—”

  “Where are they?” Dylan demanded.

  Susanna didn’t get the chance to answer. Another voice cut through the haze in Dylan’s brain, one she’d recognise anywhere.

  “Dylan? Oh my God, baby. What are you doing here?”

  Joan. She was there, tumbling out of the front door of the safe house, her cardigan flailing around her as she ran towards them.

  “Mum!” Dylan didn’t hesitate. She ran, her exhausted feet suddenly weightless. She was almost there, almost within the safety of her mum’s arms, when her dad emerged from the safe house, too… and a strong arm wrapped round Dylan’s middle and jerked her to a painful stop.

  “Don’t!” Tristan said, suddenly between Dylan and her mum, holding up a hand to halt Joan’s progress. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Tristan!” Dylan struggled in his hold, betrayal an ugly aftertaste in her mouth.

  “Remember, Dylan,” he said quietly. “Remember what it said.”

  For a second Dylan’s brain was too stunned to take in what he was saying, then it came back to her. The Inquisitor, explaining what Dylan needed to do to send her parents back to the real world. One touch, any touch, skin to skin. That was all that was needed. If Dylan threw herself into Joan’s arms right now, both of her parents would be whisked out of the wasteland, and Dylan would lose the chance to say goodbye.

  “Let go of her!” Joan was saying. “Tristan, stop it! Right now!”

  “What’s going on?” Her dad, now. Shoulder to shoulder with Joan, looking angry… and scared. “Dylan, what the hell are you doing here?” He shifted his gaze to Tristan. “Why is she here? What’s going on?” Not giving Tristan a chance to explain, he looked past both of them. “Susanna?”

  “We’ll explain,” Tristan said. “We’ll explain everything, just please—” a pause where a low wailing punctuated the silence, “let’s get inside!”

  No one argued with Tristan’s plea. They hurried into the safe house, Tristan orienting himself so that he was between Dylan and her parents. She appreciated it, because Joan looked like she desperately wanted to hug her, and Dylan didn’t know whether she’d be able to resist letting her.

  “All right,” Dylan’s dad said, as soon as they were inside and the door safely closed. “Talk.”

  “No, please.” Tristan ignored him, focusing instead on Joan, who was making a beeline for Dylan once more. “You can’t touch her.”

  “What do you mean I can’t touch her? She’s my daughter!”

  The anguish on her mum’s face was like a knife in the gut to Dylan, but Tristan was right.

  “Listen to Tristan, Mum,” she croaked. “If you touch me – you or dad – you’ll disappear. We won’t get the chance to… to say goodbye.”

  “I don’t understand,” Joan said helplessly. She turned to James, who was glowering at Tristan.

  “Explain,” he demanded.

  “It’s my fault,” Dylan said. She wanted to get that out there, right from the off. “This was my decision. You didn’t die. Not really. You’re here because of me. The Inquisitor took you because it made a bargain with us that it couldn’t break. It couldn’t have us, so reaped your souls instead.”

  Blanket silence followed Dylan’s words, until Susanna whispered, “The Inquisitor?”

  “What’s an Inquisitor?” Dylan’s mum asked.

  “It’s a being that controls the wasteland.”

  “Dylan,” Tristan warned quietly.

  “What?” Dylan shrugged her shoulder at him. “What does it matter what I tell them? Do you honestly think the Inquisitor will let them remember?”

  Joan and her dad couldn’t touch her, but Tristan could. He drew Dylan into his arms and she sagged against his strength, trying hard not to cry.

  “How… how did you come to make a bargain with this… Inquisitor thing?” Joan asked, confusion etched all over her face. “Dylan, I don’t understand!”

  Dylan opened her mouth and closed it again. How to explain? She’d had all this time in the wasteland, but she’d been so consumed with chasing after her parents that she hadn’t stopped to think about how she would break the truth to them.

  “I died,” she said quietly. “In the train crash, I died. I opened my eyes and I was here, in the wasteland. Tristan was my ferryman, he was meant to take me across to the afterlife, but I came back.” She glanced helplessly at Tristan, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, “We shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, but we didn’t know what the consequences would be.”

  “Dylan,” Tristan murmured, holding her tighter.

  She cleared her throat, determined to get it all out. “The Inquisitor took your lives to restore the balance, because we were in the real world when we shouldn’t have been.”

  “If the Inquisitor took us instead, why are you here?” her dad asked. He had a hand out, as if he wanted to reach for her, but he stayed at arm’s length.

  “She traded,” Tristan told him. “She traded the Inquisitor her life for yours.”

  “What?” Dylan watched her mum pale, all of the blood leaching from her face. She swayed, and for a moment Dylan thought she might faint, but her dad was there to steady her. He didn’t look much happier, though. Dylan watched his throat work as he tried to swallow.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”

  “It’s done,” Dylan said. She was feeling strangely calm all of a sudden, as if she stood in the eye of a storm. Detaching herself fr
om Tristan, she walked towards her parents. She wanted them to read her sincerity. To understand that this had been her choice – and she’d made it.

  “It can’t be,” her dad denied, shaking his head. “You need to tell it that you’ve changed your mind. That we didn’t accept and—”

  “I can’t,” Dylan said. “The Inquisitor was very clear on that. There’s no going back. Not for me.”

  “Oh, baby.” Joan tripped forward towards her but stopped short when Dylan stepped neatly back.

  “Not yet,” Dylan whispered. “As soon… as soon as you touch me, you’ll leave the wasteland, and you probably won’t remember any of this. Not the journey, or Susanna. You won’t even remember Tristan.”

  Joan shook her head. “Of course I’ll remember.”

  “You won’t,” Tristan said quietly. “The Inquisitor will take all of your memories from the day of the accident. It’ll be like Dylan died in the train crash, after all.”

  Dylan nodded. “You’ll have each other, though. That won’t change.”

  Her gift to them.

  Joan gave a little sob, lifting the hands that clearly wanted to reach for Dylan up to her face to cover her mouth.

  “That was a brave, selfless thing to do,” her dad said quietly, but then he shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done it, though, Dylan. We would have given up our lives for you in a heartbeat if the Inquisitor had given us the choice.”

  “It’s not for ever, Dad,” Dylan whispered. “You know there’s something afterwards now. And I’ve been across the line, I know what’s there. When it’s your turn, I’ll be there. Waiting for you.”

  Joan sobbed again and James folded himself around her, drawing her close. He looked like he was leaning on her as much as he was holding her up, and Dylan had a desperate desire to join them, to make them a family.

  She didn’t even know if the Inquisitor would grant her a moment to enjoy it before her parents vanished, however, so she held herself back. “It’s not for ever,” she repeated.

  “That’s right.” Her dad cleared his throat, seemed to shore himself up. “And you won’t be alone. You’ll have Tristan there to take care of you.”