by Rick Wood
And so they would not let her in.
And that was why, when returning to the Sanctity all these years later, she had her revenge.
They’d kept monsters on the ground floor. Bound, drugged, sedated. The subject of experiments.
She’d set them all free.
She’d let the Sanctity find out what it was like to suffer the fate they had forced her to suffer.
Dalton didn’t know.
Brave, noble Dalton.
Perfect, spotless, youthful, handsome Dalton.
The man who did what was right.
He had gone back to save her, thinking she was a victim like everyone else. Now here he was, with her and Boy, forming a team.
She wanted him to stay. She just didn’t know if he would protect her when things were bad – as in, when things were really bad.
Most importantly – would he protect Boy?
Or would he put the most important thing in the world to her at risk?
Did he even know Boy was autistic? That Boy came with challenges? Would he change his mind if he did?
They ran together, ahead of the few stragglers who’d made it out alive – ahead of all of them except for one.
Cia heard the footsteps before Dalton did. Heavy boots, splashing mud and snapping twigs. Approaching, gaining, with aggression in every step and grunt.
Dalton remained oblivious, and this made her wonder what good he’d be without the instincts she had.
A gun shot.
She, Boy and Dalton stopped and ducked.
They looked up to find a man, standing, feet away from Cia, edging closer and closer until she was in his shadow.
He wore army gear. He was pale-faced. Bags under his eyes. His gun was trembling. His legs were wobbling. He was unstable in his stance and in his mind.
“You…” he grumbled.
He knows. He knows I did it.
Was this when Dalton would find out?
They had just begun their life together and here this guy was, ready to end it.
Was this when Dalton would discover that she was the reason all those sick, privileged bastards died?
“I saw you…” the man said, his voice quivering. “I saw what you did…”
She glanced back at Dalton, who was rising to his knees.
“Neil,” Dalton said. “Neil, listen to me.”
“Shut up, Dalton.”
“Neil–”
“I said go to hell!”
The soldier – Neil, apparently – cocked his gun. Directed it at Cia’s temple.
“Neil, put the gun down. We’re all just trying to survive.”
“Survive?”
“Enough people have died today. You’re just angry, you’re losing it. Think about what you’re doing.”
“My God…” Neil gasped. “You don’t know, do you? Who she is… What she’s done…”
Dalton looked at Cia.
Beautiful Cia.
Innocent Cia.
Terrified Cia.
“I don’t care what she’s done,” Dalton decided.
So noble. So forthright. So smitten.
Oh, you do care… Cia thought. If only you knew, you’d care… You would care so much…
“You don’t care?” Neil echoed. “You don’t even know who she is!”
Please, Dalton, please don’t find out who I am… I want to love you, I want to know you, we can’t start out like this, we can’t…
Neil held his gun with a firm grip, taking aim, stroking the trigger.
Cia closed her eyes.
A gunshot fired.
The birds in the nearby tree hastily flew away.
Cia opened her eyes.
Neil was on the floor, squirming and wriggling, his arm bleeding profusely. Dalton was standing behind Cia, his gun still in position, distraught at the sight of what he’d done.
Boy was curled into a ball, covering his ears, closing his eyes, hiding himself away.
Neil tried to lift his wounded arm, tried to direct the gun at Cia. But he couldn’t lift the gun fully – meaning the gun was directed at Boy.
His finger feebly stroked the trigger.
She didn’t hesitate. She stood, took Neil’s gun from his bleeding hand, and put a hole in his head.
And she watched.
Watched as the stranger’s eyes emptied and there was no way he could hurt Boy.
Watched as a man died.
She dropped to her knees. Tried to numb her thoughts, to numb the image, to numb the action she had just taken.
She turned and looked at Dalton. Looked for his reaction. Looked to see if this upset him.
To see if he would still want her now.
He said nothing. His face was empty.
He simply held out a hand, and waited for her to take it.
“Come on,” he said. “The gunshots may have attracted something, we need to go.”
“But, Dalton, I–”
I’m the one responsible for monsters being loose in the Sanctity.
I’m the one who’s responsible for the death of all your friends.
I’m the one you should hate, should shoot – not Neil, not him.
“Dalton, he was saying I’m a bad person because–”
“I don’t care,” Dalton asserted. “I don’t care what he had to say. I’ll make up my own mind who you are.”
“But I–”
“He was going to kill us. We both did what we had to do.”
His hand remained, poised, held out for her.
She had to make a decision.
Take that hand and lie to him.
Or bat it away and tell the truth.
His kind eyes looked down on her. His sweet eyes, his eyes that were making her melt. He could take care of Boy with her. He could be everything to her, and she could be everything to him.
And most of all, he could reduce the burden.
Lighten the loneliness.
He shot Neil… He shot his friend in the arm, to save us…
He did what he had to.
Maybe he could protect her and Boy.
Maybe he was not a risk. He could be an asset.
But he doesn’t know…
She had to make a decision.
“Come on,” he urged her.
She took his hand and he lifted her up.
He crouched by Boy, took Boy’s hands away from his ears, and spoke to him softly.
“Hey, it’s time to go now. Okay?”
She watched him help Boy up.
Watched him care for Boy.
Watched him protect Boy.
And she decided she would keep her mouth shut.
NOW
(Six months after the destruction of the Sanctity)
Chapter Two
Secrets are like a nasty bout of food poisoning.
You must have the food just as you must have the secret – but it makes you sick, makes you ill, makes you lurch until your insides have emptied.
Cia knew that she should always keep this secret hidden away, concealed inside the fortress she built around it. Kept squashed into a corner, a box constructed with bricks, always there but within reach.
Sometimes she wondered, considered whether the burden of knowledge was too heavy, whether her legs would buckle under its weight, whether she would tire from carrying it around day after day, after day, after day.
But what was the alternative?
Tell Dalton that she was responsible for the death of everyone he knew?
Cia had let her resentment get the better of her. She had been completely taken over by her hatred for that underground bunker, that Sanctity, home to the elitist, rich, upper-class sycophants who, back when the creatures had risen, had denied entry to a poor mixed-race girl called Cia Rose – leaving her, barely an adolescent, to fend for herself in a world full of monsters.
Even now, this far into the future, she was still angry.
They had deserved it.
She had watched as the Sanctity collapsed and
they were all forced to confront the world they had made her confront, many years ago.
And now she watched Dalton.
Dalton, who had been a soldier in the Sanctity, but was unlike the others – because he went back for me.
She watched him, sitting with Boy.
Boy, who Cia had been through hell for.
Boy, who Cia loved enough to kill for – as she had been forced to do.
Boy, who would know nothing of what Cia had done but would always be sure of her love.
It was nice be able to share the burden of looking after Boy with Dalton. Before, it had just been Cia, and she hadn’t minded – but now she could sit back, like she was at that moment, and watch as Dalton played with Boy via a stained chess set with three missing pieces they had found when they’d looted an Oxfam store a few weeks ago.
On the board was a balled-up leaf, a stone, and a piece of bark from a nearby tree, replacing the absent queen, knight and pawn.
The chess board had been Dalton’s idea. Cia would never have thought of it, but Dalton had clearly said, “It will help him with his…y’know.”
Y’know, of course, meaning Boy’s autism. Something that meant Boy came with extra difficulties – not that Cia had ever considered them difficulties whatsoever. Not once had she felt burdened, or been angry at Boy for panicking at sounds, for covering his ears and screaming when a monster attacked, or for having to recite their special poem when his anxiety became too overwhelming.
She had never even considered it to be an issue.
But she was worried Dalton wouldn’t feel the same.
Yet, here he was, playing chess. Dalton had taken on more than his share of responsibilities when it came to Boy. He had done his best to find ways to satisfy Boy’s mind, to keep Boy’s very active thoughts controlled and stimulated.
Boy made a move and Dalton playfully threw his arms into the air.
“Oh, you got me!” Dalton said. “Damn, you beat me again.”
Cia couldn’t tell whether Dalton was letting Boy win, or whether Dalton was just that bad.
Boy turned his beaming smile to Cia, so proud of his victory.
“Well done,” Cia said, returning his grin. “Looks like you’re way better than Dalton.”
Dalton shrugged as he stood with a little chuckle.
“What can I say?” Dalton said. “Boy’s got skills.”
Boy ran up to Cia, throwing his arms around her. Despite Boy being just twelve years old, and her recently turning eighteen (her birthday was normally during the winter, so she was sure they would have passed it seeing as it was now spring), Boy still towered over her.
She was quite petite, mind, and most people did tower over her.
Dalton stretched his muscles and put his hefty bag on his back.
Cia and Dalton’s eyes met for a moment. Something unsaid was passed between them like so many times before, but Cia was never sure what it was.
A noise echoed in the distance, possibly a Thoral.
“I think that’s our cue,” Dalton decided. “We should make a move.”
Cia nodded and turned to Boy.
“Do you want to pack up your stuff?”
Boy placed the chess board in his bag, zipped it up, and placed it over his shoulders.
Cia looked at her two boys, at the family she had found, the home she had created without need for a house.
“Ready?” Dalton prompted.
Was she ready?
Poor Dalton. He had no idea what she had done to his previous home. No idea what she was responsible for, why all of his friends were dead.
And, looking at the life she had found, she decided he was happier this way. That a life in the open with her was far better than an eternity trapped underground.
“Yep, I’m ready,” she answered, and they walked on as she wondered…
How long can a perfect life stay perfect?
Chapter Three
Dalton was glad that winter was over. Spring had arrived and it was still chilly, but not dangerously so. He hadn’t worried about his own warmth; being in the army had forced him to brace himself for treacherous conditions – but he had feared for Cia, and he feared for Boy.
Mostly Boy.
Cia could handle anything. That’s why he was so drawn to her.
There was never any hesitance; just alertness.
Never any trepidation; just vigilance.
He was sure she was scared, but she didn’t let it rule her – she was a survivor, and a survivor isn’t someone that lives without fear; it is someone who is victorious over that fear. They quell it and channel their adrenaline into staying alive.
What’s more, at no point had he ever felt wary about involving himself in Boy’s life; Cia’s caring for Boy was too infectious. From the devotion she showed the child, to never caring about the difficulties he came with. Although, if Dalton was honest with himself, when creatures attacked and Boy shut down, shouting and putting his hands over his ears, he did get worried; it was time they could be running, but were instead having to encourage Boy to move.
But Cia…
She never faltered.
Not once.
She would not leave without Boy.
She’d crouch before him, her voice as calm as if she was reciting directions, her smile warm and her skin gently touching Boy’s hands. She would whisper to him, talk him out of it, and they would move.
If it was Dalton, he’d probably panic and shout at Boy to get going. Which, inevitably, would only make it worse.
But not Cia.
No, not Cia.
Maybe she thought Dalton was the one taking care of her, taking care of Boy; she couldn’t be more wrong.
She was the one keeping them alive. She had been his motivation to go on after the horrific ordeal at the Sanctity.
After everything they’d witnessed.
After how everyone had…
He bowed his head. Winced. Shook himself out of it.
He didn’t want to think about it.
He turned his gaze to Cia, who was talking to Boy about all the different trees. Boy could recite their type, estimate their age, and do that crazy thing he did where he would know a hundred facts about a hundred things whilst Dalton could barely remember what he had for breakfast.
That was what he wanted to be thinking about – Cia and Boy.
But the images remained.
My friends.
The guys he had lunch with, joked with, circled the perimeter of the Sanctity with – the guys he’d spent the best part of four years with.
He’d stepped over their faces, their open eyes still staring up at him with nothing behind them. Their bodies pale and empty. Their mouths open, their skin crusted with blood, their insides on the outside and their entrails leaving a bloody pool behind them.
He could never rid his mind of that image.
“Hey, Cia,” he said, quelling the thought. “How about lunch soon?”
Cia looked around, listening for noises, placing her fingers on the ground. It was as if she could feel things he couldn’t – she would just know if somewhere was safe, and he trusted that.
“Yeah,” she answered.
The problem with these images of his friends; the problem with the violence he’d left; was that he’d never understood why.
There were many, many bodies, but why?
He wanted to know.
No.
He needed to know.
But he didn’t want Cia to know that. He didn’t want her to know how much this was still hurting him, how little he slept, how much the memories still haunted his nightmares.
“Hey,” he called.
“What’s up?” she asked. Smiling. That same smile that made his heart beat just that little bit faster.
“I was thinking that, maybe, it would be a good idea to go back to the Sanctity.”
For a moment, she said nothing – then followed her silence with, “Are you being serious?”
�
��Hear me out,” he said. “Everyone left in such a hurry. Everything was abandoned. Think of the supplies that are still there. They could feed us for months.”
Her expression morphed between various objections. He could already hear her protests without her needing to open her mouth.
“I mean, you don’t have to go in if you don’t want,” Dalton offered. “You and Boy could wait outside. I could go in and see what there is.”
“I wouldn’t let you do that.”
“I would be fine.”
“But what if there was something still in there?”
Dalton shrugged.
“I could take it.”
Cia looked back at him, saying nothing, but thinking everything.
Boy stopped by a bush covered in berries. With a nervous smile back at Dalton, she began picking them. She did so with such haste that it made him wonder whether she was that hungry, or whether her speed was as a result of frustration; a convenient diversion from their conversation.
She went to take the first bite of the few she’d gathered for herself, then heard Boy’s stomach rumble so loud she thought a Thoral was approaching. Seeing that he had no berries left, she offered hers to him.
Boy shook his head.
“It’s fine. My belly’s not feeling great, I’m not all that hungry anyway,” she lied.
He took the berries and rushed to the shelter of a tree, where he sat and feasted.
“Boy needs more food, too,” Dalton said. “We all do. We can’t just survive on the berries you pick, or the dirty water in the lake. There will be lots of food left in the Sanctity.”
“How would we carry it all?”
“Our bags can hold a lot. We can put smaller stuff in there, like cans.”
Cia bowed her head. He knew she didn’t want to, but he’d made a compelling argument and they had little choice.
He had little choice.
He had to know.
“Like I said, you and Boy can wait outside, or on the top floor. You don’t have to come in with me.”
“Fine,” she answered. “Fine, but we’re not waiting on the top floor. We stick together. Right?”
“Okay,” he answered.
She smiled that damn smile again.
She looked over at Boy, whose eyes were beginning to shut.
“I guess we’re stopping here,” Cia said with a chuckle.
