by Erme Lander
“Stay here.”
Outside, I want to fling my arms around Mum, pick her up and spin her around simply for us both being here and yet I don’t. Something’s wrong, she’s not bothered by my having been away. An oddness prevents me from asking and I find myself standing with my arms crossed, trying to look casual. A comfortable conversation happens, nothing to say that I’ve been missing. I desperately want to find out what’s happened and yet find myself in a conversation about normality – she wants my washing and can’t understand why I won’t let her get it.
I manage to put her off for the moment, mentioning the cat being in there makes her smile. There’s no way she can come into the shed, goodness knows what she’d make of Talia being here. As I turn to go back to the shed, I casually ask the date. She sighs and smiles, it’s Monday the second. The day after I left. To my relief Mum goes back inside the house, not noticing my shock.
I’m left reeling, at least a weeks worth of working and skulking in Talia’s world has taken barely any time here. What is this, some kind of magic or has Talia brought me back in time as well as space? The thought of Talia brings me back to my current problem – what am I going to do with her? She’s got no passport, no identification. People will ask questions. Hell, Mum will be asking questions if she sees her and Mum will come looking for washing when I’ve gone to work. I glance at my watch, seven thirty. I have to go to work. Despite everything I’ve been through I quail inside. I hate it, the petty conversation, the smirks. I far prefer the cool quiet of the morgue – no one answers back there.
Back in the shed, Talia’s behind the door, hiding from view. This world isn’t right for her either, she’s too wild. I need to hide her, at least for today until I’ve had a chance to think. I talk while I make up a bag of food.
“Right. I’ll need to hide you somewhere.” Inspiration hits. “There’s a cave system in the quarry on the hill. You should be fine there. Just try to look normal if anyone walks by.” I look pointedly at her knife. “We don’t carry those around here. You’ll have to leave it.” Her reaction is typical, ignoring my open hand, she stuffs it back in her belt. I decide I’m not going to push my luck. “Just keep it hidden, okay?”
I take a jumper out of a chest of drawers and give it to her, it’s not going to rain today. “We’ll take Biggles for a walk and I’ll show you. I’ll come and pick you up tonight.”
“What you doing?”
I grin and give her the satisfying answer of “Stuff.” She shuts her mouth and pulls the jumper on back to front.
We sneak out, the best anyone can sneak with a brown spaniel bouncing around them. Mrs Pickles is in her garden and I manage a weak grin and a wave. She comes bustling over to speak to us, in pretence of being neighbourly. I can barely get a word in edgeways. She keeps glancing at Talia and I wince internally at Talia’s expression – it wears the same bemused horror I felt when given the rats to carry. Eventually Mrs Pickles works her way around to asking Talia where she comes from. I start to splutter my way through an explanation and am cut off by Talia.
“Oh, just passing through. Come on Daniel.” Her voice is casual, making it clear she doesn’t want to be here.
Mrs Pickles looks at me and humphs, “Well, it’s nice to see you with a young lady for once.” Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t regard Talia as a young lady for a minute. I groan internally and allow Biggles to pull me away, knowing that Talia’s presence will be reported throughout the village.
The day passes in a blur of worry about Talia and her being found. They’re short of hands down in the morgue again, for some reason they can’t get people to stay. Clive’s been making jokes to the receptionist about everyone downstairs being strange. He’s right, but they’re strange in a way I can understand. I offer to help out during a break and Mr Davies appears pleased. He talks pompously about undertaking being a good career as we walk downstairs.
I take a split second to decide, “Actually, I’d be really interested.”
He looks surprised and mutters something about me having to take a pay cut and start at the bottom. A reckless feeling fills me and I find I don’t care about the money. I have a place to sleep and food to eat. I can wait and anything is better than office politics.
One of the other undertakers notices my hands while I’m rolling up my sleeves and says they look competent. I glance down at my hands under the water as I wash them. They aren’t the great square spades Vihaan had, they’re slender with long fingers and yet with the nicks and scratches from the mill, they have an air of being able to do things. Competent was a word I’d never have given myself. I feel a pride build inside and notice the pointed glances at Clive walking past and shrug with a smile. Clive with his comments couldn’t touch me this morning, he’s got nothing on Talia or the men at the factory.
Following instructions, I find the work soothing and start thinking through my problems. Talia can’t stay in this world, she’s going to have to go back. Then I realise that I don’t want her to go back into danger. I’d worry about her going back, she’s got nothing. Those grey men as well, what if she got caught?
“Sometimes it can take courage to step sideways into a world you don’t know.” I gape at the remark echoing my thoughts and then realise my boss is talking about me moving into the morgue.
I drive home in a thoughtful mood, stopping to buy a pizza. Layer out of the dead. I like the idea of becoming that person, thinking about the look of respect in Talia’s eyes.
Talia. What am I going to do? I wave a hand at Mum, showing her the pizza box and leave it in the shed to dash up the hill, ignoring Biggles’ imploring look. I’m panting by the time I get to the quarry. No one there and I shout Talia’s name, no answer. Maybe she’d been spooked by a walker. Maybe she’d gone back to her own world without me. A sense of loss fills me, odd and spiky as she was, I still need to know that she’s safe.
I make a loop, passing the place where we’d come through the rift. The pile of mud seems larger than I remember. I slow as I come closer, it’s definitely larger and greyer. It looks dustier, less of a pile of mud, more of a pile of clothes. I give myself a shake – it’s just mud – nothing to worry about. Something runs through me as I stare and my sweat chills in the breeze. The creases and lines in the mud twitch, becoming an arm. A foot stretches out, rustling the leaves. My breath catches. A grey man, in my world.
I’m rooted to the spot as the mud re-arranges itself before my eyes, the body bending at impossible angles, sucking itself higher. A fall of mud from the shoulder solidifies to form another arm. A burst from the chest rising up to form a head, the face hooded and deep in shadow. The same recognition fills me, I should know this person.
Terror stops my feet from working. I stand there, all plans wiped clean from my head, seeing in my mind’s eye the man in the square and the sound of his head hitting the floor. The figure in front of me is eerily quiet, only the rustle of leaves under his feet where the weight changes as he forms. I watch in fascination at the mud curving to form the stitching around the elbows. Such detail. The mouth is all I can see under the hood. It looks young with no lines and it’s partly open as though concentrating. Mine echoes it. The same lethargy fills me as it had with the first grey man, weighing down my arms and legs. No choice about running, I would stay and see what he wanted. A calm fills me as I contemplate my destiny. An arm begins to stretch in my direction. The image of the dessicated corpse from the square rises in my mind and I brace myself, unable to think of any alternative.
Something hits me. Grabs my arm and shoves me into a stumbling run down the hill. I slide, still in a daze. Someone pants in my ear as they drag me through the bushes, heedless of the thin saplings whipping into our faces. I fall flat on my face, forgetting to break my fall and look up at Talia. She’s pulling at me, tugging on my arm. I stagger to my feet and clumsily try to remember how to put one foot in front of the other.
I swing to look back and see him striding downhill. Nothing seems to
bother him, he walks down the slope as though it were flat clear ground. The brambles slide through the mud of his body. My mouth opens as I clearly see one go through him and out the other side. I meet his eyeless gaze and he pins me into one place for a split second. Then I hear Talia, a thin frightened keen coming from her. She’s swearing at me, at herself, tugging on my arm and dragging me onwards.
I let her lead me, conscious of the presence behind. Something is sucking the fight out of me, I shouldn’t be this tired. Talia’s breath is coming shorter. She’s going to start coughing shortly, she can’t keep going like this. I can’t keep going either. I trip again, this time in one of the many small streams that come down the hill after the rains. Talia begins to cough, a deep hacking sound. She lets go, unable to hold her ribs and keep me moving.
I drag myself out of the wet and begin to crawl. I can’t get to my feet. I’m going to die like that man in the square. Talia is bent double, unable to do more than cough. This fit’s bad, the lack of air drives her double.
The grey man arrives at the same steady walk. I lay on the leaves and gaze at it. I can do no more. I wonder if it will carry on walking once it has killed us. Talia has fallen to her knees, her face puce. It’s only paces away now. It raises its hand and takes another step towards us.
Chapter 11
A deep gasp beside me. Talia has finally drawn a breath, the coughs dying into a spasm. Her lungs heave with the effort of bringing oxygen back into her body. She stares, exhausted. Neither of us can do anything, we are both going to die.
For a split second the figure seems uncertain. A grey foot is raised and plunges into the stream, less than six inches deep. I watch the water run up the leg, it loosens the mud, cracks widen and collapse. The figure falls, splashing across the stream, landing inches away from my leg. The mouth opens and drowns as the water enters it. I twitch away and find the strength flooding into my limbs as the rest of the body is sucked back into the wet. It takes moments and then nothing left but a thin grey stain spreading downstream.
Birdsong comes into my ears, a light breeze ruffles my hair and leaves scrunch beneath my body. I gape at the shafts of sunlight, becoming conscious of the sweat drying and a thin pain across my forehead. I touch it and my fingers come away red. A branch must have caught me and I’d not noticed.
“They can’t touch water.” I jump, surprised out of my musings and lean back onto my elbows to look at Talia. She’s recovered from her fit and has a satisfied look on her face.
“Doesn’t it know not to go near?” I can’t give it a sex now, it feels inanimate to me.
“Don’t seem to. Best thing to do if they’re following you. Deep puddle’ll do it. Running water’s best. One step and poof!” Her arms spread wide, demonstrating the disintegration.
“How did it get here?” She shrugs. “Did it follow us? There was that pile of mud on the path when I first saw you. It’s still there, will the same thing happen with that?”
Talia looks puzzled, “It looked the right sort of stuff but it wasn’t the same.”
“How can you tell?”
Another shrug, “Just can. They sometimes do that, fall into a heap and then when you walk past...” She waves her hands to show something growing. “Didn’t know you had them here.”
“We don’t.” We didn’t, at least not before I’d met Talia. Nothing normal about mud or dust animating and walking around killing people. I shiver and despite the shock, my stomach grumbles. The practicalities of life insert themselves. “Let’s go back, I’ve got some food to introduce you too.” I grin, “and it’s better than rat.” She restricts herself to a snort and follows.
We arrive back at the shed to find Mum’s left a note pinned to my pizza box. They’ve gone out for the evening and I breathe a sigh of relief at not having to hide Talia from them.
The pizza goes down very fast. Talia, licking her fingers, insists on wanting to clean the contraption she’d found. I pull it out from its hiding place and take it down to the bottom of the orchard to put the hose on it. Gradually gears begin to show through the slow trickle of water, a clockwork mechanism appears and two figures on a pierced base. The handle is missing so I get my screwdrivers out and fiddle with it. Talia hovers, showing anxiety over her baby. Biggles is told to sit and wriggles ever closer until told to move back. I notice he shuffles over to Talia in the hope of a fuss and she ends up unconsciously burying her fingers into his fur until he falls over in ecstasy.
I grease some parts, clean off others, moving them gently to clear the rust. I reach underneath, showing her how the rods move the dancers. She sits and watches, for once her eyes unguarded. I find a piece of wood, drill some holes and attach it. Holding the base down, I encourage her to turn the handle and the figures dance stiffly.
“I could get some enamel paint and make them look pretty if you like.” I can see Talia struggling. She doesn’t want to let me do any more. She wants to keep her prize for herself. Having seen her world I can understand.
“I need it for Bay.” She doesn’t. She wants it for herself, a small piece of prettiness in a world of grey mist.
“No you don’t. We don’t need to go there again. You’ve brought me home.” I wait and watch her screwing herself into a knot. “I need to paint it. This part here and here are rusting, they won’t last long otherwise.” I touch where the rods are holding the dancers. “I’ll put it in the shed where it’ll be safe for the moment.” She nods and stands, putting her hands behind her back. I pretend not to notice the tears filling her eyes.
“All right nob.” The insult isn’t quite in her usual tone. I smile, take the dancers and tuck them inside the shed.
I come back with my own twisting stomach. The presence of the grey man in my world has firmed my decision, I can’t leave Talia to go back on her own. I stop in front of her and say, “We need to go back and find the source of these grey men.”
Such simple words. My heart’s sinking already, I’ve only seen part of the city. That guard, he’d travelled around the island and told me there was nothing else. I’d seen the plateau lands and the wall surrounding them but I want Talia to be safe. We have to find out where the grey men are coming from, especially if they’re coming into my world.
“Why?” Seeing my confusion, Talia asks, “Why do you want to leave here?” A skinny arm is waved. “You have everything.” I see my world again through her eyes. Clean and safe, with lots of food and no need to run and hide. The privilege of being brought up here means I can see its problems but to her, it’s paradise.
I feel awkward, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” Her mouth hangs open, the concept hasn’t occurred to her. I try to make her laugh, “Isn’t there a fish that does that?” I open and shut my mouth imitating her.
She clicks hers shut. “Nob.”
I snigger and throw a stick at her. Biggles launches himself at it and we end up in a three way romp that the spaniel wins easily. He runs off to gnaw at his prize. I lie panting in the grass and become serious, “I am going back with you, you know that, don’t you?” She looks down at the grass and lets her hair cover her face as she nods.
I go back to the shed and stuff a rucksack full of anything we might need. A warm hoodie and food that will keep for several days. I’ve not been able to sort out time off work for the next day, it’s too short notice. I’ll just have to hope Talia would be able to bring me back in time. I snort at the thought. I have a time travelling friend, of course I’ll be back by tomorrow. I just need to worry about the enemy dehydrating me, nothing much. I pick up my rucksack and we both take a deep breath to battle our way through the rift.
The familiar lurch and we are back in the city, fighting the nausea. I’m more wary this time, I’ve brought the thumb stick I use for walking in the winter mud. Talia nods her approval at the competent way I swing the shoulder high staff while walking.
The contrast to my world this time couldn’t be greater and I’m more alert, expecting trouble. Grey walls show in the
lamps at the intersections, scattered rubble to trip the unwary, and the streets are deserted in the night. Talia snuggles into her borrowed jumper and walks off with the expectation of me following. I shrug my hoodie on, pulling the neck up to keep the chill out and hurry to keep up.
Back in her cellar, I tell Talia about my day while she checks out her hidey hole, stalking around, picking at items and sniffing at them. I’m enthusiastic about my decision to become an undertaker. By the look on her face I can tell she’s still not sure of the term and I try to qualify it with the comment she’d made, “You know, a layer out of the dead.”
She flinches and says quietly, “Those grey men. We call them the dead, that’s what I thought you meant.”
My mouth opens and shuts with nothing coming out. She’d thought I could do something about one of her world’s nightmares and I’m nothing but an office worker. My heart sinks, “I’m sorry.”
Her mouth pulls up into a bitter line, “Doesn’t matter, we’ll find them.” We spend the rest of the evening barely speaking until she curls up into a corner to sleep and I lay staring into the dark, worrying.
We start searching the city the next morning in a despondent mood. It’s a hopeless task, neither of us know what to look for. We decide to start searching close by and we quarter the district over several days. Talia uses her contacts, asking questions and we look at piles of dust and mud and poke rubble heaps. Word on the grapevine comes floating back reluctantly, there is little to be heard. Talia is visibly twitchy as the deadline for meeting Bay passes.
