by Kevin Brooks
I thought about it for a moment, running it all through in my mind, then nodded.
Lets go and find some rope, I said.
As we went down into the basement and started sorting through Starrys vast selection of ropes – looking for a piece that was long enough, strong enough, but lightweight enough to carry out of sight – Chola Se asked me why I thought Pilgrim was so desperate to get rid of us.
I know it doesnt actually matter now because weare leaving anyway, she said, but I just dont get it.
Neither do I, I admitted. Hese up to something, Ime sure of that. But I cant work out what it is.
Do you think hese a traitor?
Everything points to it. Did you see how he was in Gun Surs office?
She nodded. Like he owned the place.
Starrys right though, I said. If he is a traitor, the Dau will kill him as soon as hese no use to them anymore. And Pilgrim knows that. He must know. But if hese not a traitor, whyse he doing all this to us – turning everyone against us, making our lives impossible, forcing us out---I sighed, shaking my head. None of it makes sense.
Yeh, well, she said, whatever hese up to, by this time tomorrow night it wont matter, will it? Wele be long gone by then.
As we carried on searching through the piles of ropes, I couldnt help thinking about what Chola Se had just said – by this time tomorrow night it wont matter – and I kept trying to imagine how tomorrow night would be – out in the Deathlands with my mother and the pack, sleeping beneath the stars---
It was there, I could see it---but it wasnt quite how it was supposed to be. I couldnt work out what was wrong with it at first, but then all at once it dawned on me. It was too far away. The picture was there. The reality was there. But it wasnt tomorrow. It was too far away to be tomorrow.
Once wede found the right length of rope and gathered together the few belongings we wanted to take with us – weapons, spare clothes, my writing book and pencils – we went downstairs and waited for Starry in his cluttered old living room.
The time seemed to pass both too slowly and too quickly – the minutes like hours, the hours like minutes. Every now and then Ide go over to the window and open the shutters, and every time I looked out, the bloodred moon had moved farther across the sky, bringing the morning ever closer. By the 4th or 5th time I looked out, I knew that Starry wasnt coming back.
He just wasnt there.
In my head, my heart---
In the air.
In the time to come.
He wasnt there.
But we carried on waiting all the same.
It was too late for us to leave now anyway. The sun wasnt up just yet, but away in the distance I could already see the pale light of dawn beginning to break, and I knew that even if we left right now, the sun would be rising by the time we reached the top of the watchtower, and the chances of us getting down over the wall without being seen would be close to nonexistent.
Wede just have to wait.
Try again tomorrow.
And who knows? I told myself as I gazed out at the fading red eye of the moon. Maybe Starry might be back by then---maybe everything Ime feeling about him is wrong---maybe hese just —
Everything stopped then – my thoughts, the silence, the world---it all stopped dead as 2 shattering gunshots ripped through the night. They came from the beach, just a few hundred yards away---2 shots in quick succession, the second just an instant after the first. BA-BANG!
The unmistakable twin blasts of a shotgun.
What was that? Chola Se said, jumping to her feet.
Starry, I told her, already halfway out of the window. Its Starry.
Ive never run so fast in my life as I did that night – racing along the beach, bare feet pounding the sand, heart hammering hard, sucking in lungfuls of icy air. I wasnt the only one whode heard the gunshots, and as I sped across the sand I was vaguely aware of the town behind me coming to life – barking dogs, shouts, running boots – but it was all just a background blur to me. My conscious mind was gone. I couldnt think, didnt want to think. I just had to keep running---faster, harder---faster, harder---running blindly through that terrible bloodred night.
I remember every wretched moment.
The feel of the sand beneath my feet – cold, grainy, dry then moist – and the smell of the sea – salt and oil and rotting fish – and the black chemical stink of the mud. I remember the reddened darkness of the air, everything veiled in the inbetween halflight of the rising dawn---
And the silence.
A deadness.
And running forever – faster, harder – my feet barely touching the ground, and the colors of the sand flashing through my mind – gritty brown, patches of black, gravelly gray and white---
And broken memories of Starrys voice.
What does it feel like?
What?
Everything. What does it feel like to you?
Like its all I know---like its dying.
I remember it all.
The gray and white gravel meant I was nearing the base of the old sea wall where Starry always fished from, and now I was slowing down, cautiously easing up, and I remember wanting to keep going, wanting to keep running, because I knew if I kept running Ide never see anything, and I didnt want to see anything, I didnt want to see what had happened to Starry---
I stopped at the old sea wall.
Silence.
I could still hear all the background noise – barking, shouting, running – and I knew it was getting closer. I could hear people coming down the beach now. Fighters, I assumed. But the noise they were making was in a different world. This world, right here, was perfectly silent. The sea was motionless, the air was still. The only sound I could hear was the terrified thumping of my heart.
I remember---
This world was death.
I was about 15 feet from the base of the wall, and although I couldnt recall drawing my knife, I was holding it in my hand---gripping it so tightly that the grain of the bone handle was searing into my skin. The sky was still dark – the sun just beginning to rise – but the red light of the moon was clear enough to show that something terrible had happened here.
I could smell the violence.
It hung in the air like a cloud of flies.
There was no sign of Starry himself at first, but there was no doubt hede been here. His shotgun was lying in the sand just a few feet away from me, his crutch a couple of yards to the right of it, and the remains of his fishing pole were scattered all over the place – broken bits of the wooden pole, the handle, the smashed-up reel---there were bits on the wall, others on the beach, some nearby, others yards away. And as I looked around at the splintered fragments, wondering what had happened, thats when I began to see it – the churned-up gravel and sand, like monstrous whirlings in the ground, the trails, slitherings, the copper-red bloodstains---
The signs of a massive struggle.
I breathed in deeply, tasting the scent of blood and violence--- the smell of the beast---sour and sharp, a scent of ammonia---
I could see it all now.
Dawn was breaking, its pale light spilling across the beach, and I could see the trail of the giant eel – a feathered line in the sand, from the stinking black mud of the shoreline to the base of the wall---and another trail going back, a parallel line – this one a little deeper – leading back to the oily black depths of the mud.
From the corner of my eye I could see the approaching Fighters now – 4 or 5 of them maybe, less than 30 yards away, running down the beach towards me. One of them was calling out to me, shouting out some kind of order – Dont move! Stay where you are! Dont touch anything! – something like that. But they were still in a different world. They had nothing to do with me.
And Ide seen something now.
Something that had stopped my heart.
Ide seen it.
It was right at the base of the cliff, just lying there in the sand---like something unwanted, abandoned, a dis
carded toy.
I wished it was.
I wished it more than anything else in the world.
But of course it wasnt.
It was Starrys severed hand, bitten off at the wrist.
There was no question it was his. Ide grown up with that hand, Ide seen it a million times – holding his fishing pole, offering me food, carefully turning the pages of ancient books – and the bandaged little finger proved it beyond doubt.
It was Starrys hand.
I didnt want to look at it, but I couldnt tear my eyes away. The sand beneath it was soaked black with blood, the deadwhite skin crawling with flies---and all around it, already drawn to the feast, were dozens of tiny scavengers – white crabs, sandworms, yellowbacked beetles---
I sank to my knees and howled.
It didnt seem to take any time at all for the 2 worlds to come together. One moment there was just me and Starrys savaged remains, alone in our bubble of silence, and the next thing I knew the bubble had burst and our world was swarming with people. Pilgrim and Kite were there – it was Pilgrim Ide heard calling out to me – and I could see Captain Luca bustling around, and Ghauri and Doctor Shiva and Tomas and Ovan and dozens of other Fighters---and farther up the beach – behind a cordon of yet more Fighters – crowds of townspeople were watching on, desperate to see what was happening. I knew Chola Se was among them – I could sense her presence – and as I looked up for a moment, and our eyes met across the beach, everything else melted away.
She mouthed a question at me – Is it Starry?
I nodded.
I saw her eyes close.
I looked away.
Pilgrim had taken control of the situation as soon as hede arrived – setting up the cordon, forming a line of Fighters to guard against eel attacks – and the first thing hede told me, the only thing hede told me so far, was to stay exactly where I was and wait for him while he examined the scene.
And so far thats what Ide been doing – just sitting there on the beach, too dazed and broken to get up---just sitting there like a dead thing, staring hopelessly at the remains of a life---
But the sun was up now – the heat already rising – and in the bright morning light I could see everything with a lot more clarity than before, and I was beginning to realize that some of those remains werent as they should be.
The remains of the fishing rod, for example – the broken bits of wooden pole, the crushed and buckled reel, the snapped-off handle---they werent the remains of one of Starrys rods. The handle was made of cork, for one thing. And while Starry had a lot of fishing poles, with handles of all different kinds – hardwood, cane, bamboo, metal – none of them had a cork handle. He didnt like the feel of cork, hede told me once. And cork handles had a tendency to crack. He liked something more solid – walnut, bitterroot, maple, cherry---anything but cork. And the reel wasnt his either. It only had one handle. Starry always used a twinhandled reel.
As I was thinking about these discrepancies, trying to work out if I was absolutely sure I wasnt mistaken, I found myself staring at Starrys severed hand, and as I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow, then leaned forward – shielding my eyes from the sun – to get a better look, a question suddenly struck me.
Why was it there?
Why had the eel bitten off Starrys hand and just left it there?
It was meat, food.
Eels dont waste food.
And now that I could see it more clearly, there was something else about the hand that wasnt right---
Something.
I couldnt quite see it.
I needed to get closer.
I got to my feet and started walking towards the hand.
What are you doing, Jeet? I heard Pilgrim call out. I told you not to move.
I ignored him and carried on.
Hey!
I could see it now---I could see what it was that was bothering me about the hand. I picked up my pace – wanting to get closer, to make absolutely sure – but then all of a sudden the massive figure of Captain Glorian appeared out of nowhere, blocking my way. He didnt say anything, just stood there – solid and immovable – holding his rifle across his chest, staring at me as if I was nothing. I reached instinctively for my knife – which Ide sheathed when Pilgrim and his world had arrived – but Glorian moved so fast that I never got anywhere near it. A quick dip of his shoulder, half a step forward, and he hammered his rifle butt into my belly. It wasnt much more than a short sharp punch, and Ive no doubt he didnt put all his strength into it, but it still felt like Ide been hit with a sledgehammer. My lungs emptied instantly and a wave of pain ripped through me, knifing upwards into my heart and down into my legs, turning them to jelly. I crumpled to the ground and doubled over in agony.
As I knelt there in the sand, groaning and gasping for breath, I was dimly aware that Glorian had stepped to one side to let Pilgrim through, and now the Deputy was standing over me in silence, waiting patiently for me to finish wheezing and coughing and moaning. It took me a while – as well as struggling to breathe I was also doing my best not to be sick – and I remember fixing my gaze on Pilgrims ridiculous Cowboy boots in an attempt to distract myself from the waves of nausea that kept surging up into my throat. And as I stared at the boots, something suddenly clicked – a faint and faraway click, somewhere a long way away, buried deep in the back of my mind---
But a click nonetheless.
One of the Cowboy boots moved – Pilgrim shifting position – and as the heel dug into the sand, setting off more distant clicks, I heard the Deputys voice from above.
Ime sorry for your loss, Jeet, he said blandly. I know how much Starry meant to you, and I can only imagine how terrible you must be feeling at the moment. If theres anything I can do to help —
How about shutting your mouth? I said, looking up at him. That would help a lot.
He stared back at me, a mask of sympathy frozen to his face.
Get up, he said.
I turned my head and spat in the sand.
I dont have time for this, Jeet, he said wearily. I just want a quick word with you in private, okay? 5 minutes at the most. You can either get up and come with me of your own accord, or Ile have to ask Captain Glorian here to give you a hand. Whats it to be?
Ile come with you on one condition, I said.
Youre in no position to lay down conditions.
I want Starrys shotgun and his crutch.
What?
Ime the only family Starrys got, so everything he owns belongs to me now, including his shotgun and crutch. I want them.
Youle get them when weare finished with them.
I want them now.
Pilgrim just stared at me for a while then, his eyes shot through with a mixture of disbelief and pure venom, and for a moment or 2 I honestly thought he was on the verge of drawing one of his Colts and shooting me in the head. And the strange thing was – although it didnt seem strange at the time – I didnt really care if he killed me or not. I didnt actually want to die, but I wasnt too bothered about living either.
It was just a life---I could take it or leave it.
And so could Pilgrim.
But after a while, I saw the poison fade from his eyes and he just laughed and shook his head.
Youre something else, Jeet, he said. Ile give you that.
I didnt know what he meant, and I didnt want to know.
He called out to a nearby Fighter – I think it was Ovan – to bring the shotgun and crutch over to him. Ovan did as he was told, and then Pilgrim just stood there for a while, with the shotgun in one hand and the crutch in the other, studying them with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. There was a hint of wariness in his eyes – as if maybe, just maybe, I had an ulterior motive for wanting them – but I dont think he really believed it. The overriding feeling I got from him was a sense of idle contempt, as if he simply couldnt understand why anyone would want such things. Eventually, after a final frown and a quick shake of his head, he passed the shotgun and crutch t
o me.
Thank you, I said, getting to my feet.
Happy now?
I didnt dignify that with a response.
This way, he said, turning his back on me and walking off.
I followed Pilgrim up the beach to another section of the old sea wall. Kite was waiting for us there, sitting on a slab of rock at the base of the wall. She stood up when we got there, and Pilgrim told me to sit down.
Ime all right standing, thanks, I said.
Sit down, he repeated.
I didnt want to do what he said, but I was suddenly beginning to feel a huge weight of tiredness bearing down on me, as if the air itself was a solid mass of rock, pushing down on my shoulders, and I could already feel my legs starting to buckle.
I sat down on the rock.
Pilgrim glanced at Kite.
She gave him a brief nod.
He turned back to me.
Look at me, Jeet, he said.
I wearily raised my head. It weighed a ton.
Do you know where Starry was last night? he asked me.
What?
Do you know where Starry was?
I shook my head. I dont understand —
Listen, Jeet, he said, leaning down towards me. Weve pieced most of it together now, okay? We think we know what happened to Starry. But there are still a few loose ends that need tying up, and because you knew Starry better than anyone else, you might be able to help us. Do you understand that?
I nodded.
Right, so Ile ask you again. Do you know where Starry was last night?
No.
Pilgrim glanced at Kite.
She stepped closer to me.
Starry was with me last night, she said.
You?
She nodded. Weve been friends for a long time. Starry didnt like other people knowing his business, as Ime sure youre well aware, so we kept our relationship very much to ourselves. I dont know if he told you about it---
She gave me a questioning look, but I didnt say anything. If she wanted to ask me a question, she was going to have to ask it outright.
Well, she said, tight-mouthed, Ime guessing from the look on your face that this is the first youve heard of it. But Ime sure youle correct me if Ime wrong.
