Out of the Dark (Light & Dark #1) Page 13
“I know you are,” I whisper, as I pick her up and she wraps her arms around my neck.
I carry her, singing to her softly as I walk, the sound of my voice floating in the slight breeze. I make the song up as I go—the tune, the words, are all spur-of-the-moment fiction from my own mind. I can’t remember music and how it once sounded. Not the sound of guitars or drums, or any of the lyrics from songs. It is all gone, blanked out from my memory as if it were too painful for me to remember. Yet I somehow string some words together that have some semblance of a tune, and I sing a song that she likes. My voice carries an unknown tune that eventually calms her, and she stops crying.
In time we come to a children’s park, and I point to it and whisper to her to look. After much persuasion, she lifts her head from my shoulder to see what I am talking about. She doesn’t smile, but she’s interested, and that’s good enough for me.
I push open the little green gate and we go inside. There are two swings, which are both broken, and the merry-go-round squeaks loudly when I push it around, so I tell her she can’t go on that as it could draw attention to us. But the slide still seems good and strong—safe—so I tell her that she can go and play on it. I begin to gather stones and twigs to build a fire, and she climbs the steps, her footsteps sounding loud yet hollow on the metal stairs. She slides down without even smiling, and I wonder if she likes it at all, but then she goes back around to the stairs and climbs them again before going back down the slide once more. She’s here, and yet not. Her body is on a continuous loop, going up and down that slide, yet her mind is unaware, blissfully or perhaps ignorantly somewhere else. I don’t blame her; I want to be somewhere else too.
The park is only small, enclosed by what was once a green metal fence, and I search all around for twigs and stones. I find a child’s backpack near the picnic benches. It has a small brown stain near the zipper that I think could be blood. Inside the backpack is a well-loved brown teddy bear with only one eye, a piece of paper and a pen, some loose change and a small knife that doesn’t look very sharp. I take the backpack, feeling annoyed that there wasn’t any food in it but knowing that Lilly will love the teddy bear, and then I keep on searching the park. I rummage through the green trash can by the entrance and find an old polystyrene container that probably once held a Starbucks coffee in it. I dig a little deeper and find a shattered coffee thermos. The silver reflective material that was once on the inside of it, is broken and it tumbles out, the sunlight reflecting off the shards when I tip it up. The sound is actually quite sweet—like tiny sparkling stars falling to earth. I bang the side of it to make sure all the glass is out, but still worry just that some remains inside, so I drop it back in the trash can. I find an old Pepsi can and I take that instead.
I watch Lilly as I walk across the park. She’s stopped sliding now and is staring off into the distance as if transfixed by something. I look to where she stares, but see nothing. There are houses across the field, but they are very far away, too far for her to be able to see anything in them—but still she stares like she knows something that I don’t, some secret that she is being whispered to by the wind, that I am not privy to.
I cut the Pepsi can in half using the dressmakers’ scissors, and then I sit down on the grass and begin to build my fire with stones and twigs. I use my lighter and watch the twigs and leaves begin to burn, and then I open the can of pinto beans and pour half of them into the Pepsi can. I tear apart the dandelions—the heads, roots and leaves are all edible, even though they are bitter—and I put them in the tin can and then add some of our precious water. I set the can on top of another circle of rocks in the center of the fire, so as not to smother the flames of the fire, and then I wait while the food slowly cooks.
Lilly is still staring into the distance when I hear a gunshot somewhere. The sound makes me flinch even though it is far away, and Lilly breaks her trance and scampers over to me. She sits down, looking at me with those soulful eyes of hers that see everything.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It was far away. Sound travels in the open like this, especially when the world is so quiet.”
She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she looks at the food bubbling away and licks her lips. I give her knee a squeeze as a sign of reassurance.
When the broth and beans are good and boiling I distribute them between the Starbucks cup and the can, handing Lilly the largest portion.
“It’s hot,” I say, and she nods as she takes it.
Lilly blows on it before she tries to drink some of it. She winces as it burns her tongue, and I offer her the bottle of water.
“I told you it was hot,” I say.
She takes a small swig of the water and then gives it back to me. When she picks up her cup of broth again, she blows it a lot more before trying to drink any this time. We eat in silence, each of us staring off into the distance as we slowly sip the bitter broth. It doesn’t taste very good at all, but it should make us feel better, because any food is good food right now, and there are plenty of nutrients in the dandelions. I think we’re both feeling numb and empty—hungry to the point of exhaustion. I hope that after we’ve eaten we’ll both be feeling a little better. I’d like to keep on walking today, put some more distance between us and that strange small town that sold only dairy products and the monsters hiding in its depths like dark family secrets.
I slurp the last of the broth down and then stare into the empty can longingly. It’s not enough, but then, it will never be enough because nothing ever is anymore.
I watch Lilly drinking the last of hers. She doesn’t eat without restraint, but with care, as if every last drop of the broth is some amazing, life-giving force that needs every flavor to be experienced and enjoyed. And maybe it does. But other times it’s just bitter dandelions and out of date pinto beans in boiled water, and it is nothing more than there to fill the hollow hole where our tummies are.
Lilly finishes the food and sighs, looking satisfied, and that makes me happy—to know that she is full, that I have done a good job today of feeding her, especially since I could have gotten her killed back at the collapsed store. Her eyes meet mine, a small spark of something within those beautiful brown orbs, and she tentatively smiles at me. Not a full-mouthed, toothy grin, but a shy, contemplative smile. I reach behind me and get the child’s backpack, and I hand it to her. She looks at it like it’s possibly the greatest gift she’s ever received. Her small fingers clasp the smaller zipper, and she slowly opens the bag up before looking inside. Her face tilts up to look at me, and there it is: the smile that fills me with such joy.
“Can I keep it, Mama?” she whispers, one of her little hands reaching in and grasping the teddy bear. She pulls it out of the bag, showing it to me, even though she must be aware that I have already seen it. “Won’t someone miss it?”
“You can keep it,” I nod, “I don’t think there is anyone to miss it anymore.” She looks into the face of the bear with only one eye before promptly bursting into tears.
I scoot over to her and place an arm around her shoulders. I know that she’s thinking of Mr. Bear and how much she misses him. He had been with her since the start of everything. He was her longest memory, and like a fallen family member, she has lost him to the monsters. In the rush to escape the house, he was left behind in the bedroom. And I hate Sarah even more for making us lose that teddy. I kiss the top of Lilly’s head and hum to her until she calms down.
“Hush, Lilly, hush. It’s all okay,” I murmur, though this life is anything but okay.
“He smells different from Mr. Bear,” she says, pulling out of the hug. She holds him up for me to sniff, and I do, taking a deep lungful of him in.
“He does, doesn’t he.”
She nods.
“Different isn’t always bad though, Lilly. Sometimes different can be good.”
She blinks twice and then looks down at the teddy. Her mouth quirks in a very tiny smile and then falls away, but then she hugs him to her chest. I wonder i
f she feels like she’s betraying Mr. Bear by keeping this one. The way she clings to him is both angry and happy.
“It’s okay to love him, Mr. Bear would want you to be happy.” I say and she wipes at her damp eyes and nods. “We need to keep walking,” I say with a heavy heart. “We need to put some more distance between us and that place.”
“From the monsters?” she asks.
I nod and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying again.
I pack away our things, noticing how my headache has eased now that I have eaten. Lilly places the backpack clumsily over her shoulders, and I adjust the straps so that it fits her more snugly. The previous child must have been older than Lilly, I realize with sad indifference.
We begin to walk again, Lilly’s hand once more slipping into mine. The silence is heavy and oppressive around us, like thick smoke, until Lilly’s voice cuts through it.
“Will you sing to me?” she asks.
I look down at her with a small frown. “Sing?” I say, and she nods.
“The song you sang before,” she explains.
I huff out a breath because I really don’t want to, but I nod as I try to recall the words to my made-up song from earlier today. Parts of it come to me, but I’m still struggling to remember exactly what I had sung. It was just a jumble of words that made no sense, and then I realize that it isn’t the words, but the sound of my voice that she likes. It’s the sound that soothes her when she has nightmares, or when she is feeling sad and missing her real family. So I nod again, just to confirm that yes, I will sing for her. And then I open my dry lips and I sing in the same tune, but with different words from earlier:
I never knew—how could I know?
That you and I would see the world.
We walk the roads, so very long,
We walk the roads, and they pass us by,
Because they do not know—how could they know?
They don’t see us as we sneak on by.
My love for you is what sets me free.
It gives me breath, and it gives me wings,
To lift me high, above the roads.
I never knew—how could I know?
That the world would end tonight.
I stare up at the clouds, watching the twirling white tails of their innocence drift lazily across the sky, oblivious to our pitiful existence, and I picture a world that I once loved so much. I blink past the faces of the people I have met, both old and new, and I feel my soul scorching, set on fire with the memories that beat down on me. The world is hollow and empty, but not as empty as me right now. My emptiness echoes for all the world to hear. I think it would have been so much easier if I would have died when all of this began. If I would have ended at the start.
Lilly tugs on my arm and I blink sluggishly, still staring up into the distance. My lips are moving, but barely a wisp of voice leaves them. She tugs on my arm again and I look down at her, realizing that I have stopped walking altogether. I realize that it was a selfish thought, because if I would have died, Lilly would be all alone now. Or perhaps not even here at all.
“I’m sorry,” I say, cupping one of her small cheeks in my dirty palm. “I’m sorry,” I say again.
She still looks uncertain, and I force a smile—which is possibly more frightening.
“Did I scare you?” I ask.
Lilly nods, and I drop to my knees in front of her, cupping both of her cheeks now as I stare into her face and get lost in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Honeybee. I was thinking of the past,” I say sadly. And I was, sort of. I was thinking about death and how sometimes I wished that I had never lived. That I hadn’t hidden so well. Because if I hadn’t hidden so well, then I wouldn’t be here now, starving, dying of this disease, being chased by monsters every night.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she whispers back.
I nod, and tear my gaze away from hers. “I know. It doesn’t help. It’s just hard sometimes.”
We stay there in silence for several minutes, me on my knees in front of her, and her staring down at my pitiful form.
I finally take a breath and stand back up. I take her hand in mine. “I won’t do that again,” I say, and we begin to walk. And I know that I won’t do that again, because I was supposed to live. If I hadn’t lived, then Lilly wouldn’t have, either. My life gives her life.
She doesn’t ask me to sing anymore, and I’m glad, because I can’t stand the sound of my own voice right now.
Chapter Eighteen.
#18. …
It will be night soon. Again. I sigh, feeling more frustrated than I would normally. I should be feeling anxious as the day draws to a close, as our savior—the sunlight—goes to bed to rest its weary rays of light. Yet I don’t. I just feel frustrated because the days are never long enough.
We stand outside a squat, red-bricked house, both unsure of what to do. It could be safe inside. But it might not be. Monsters may be inside, waking from their daytime rest, hungry and eager for the night’s gentle caress on their skin. There could be other humans inside. Bad humans. Vicious humans. Humans with bad intentions.
But the house could also be empty. We could rest here for the night. We could hide—sleep, hopefully… but there could be humans or monsters…It’s so hard to tell the difference between the two sometimes.
So many frightening possibilities.
I see Lilly and I as separate entities from other humans now, since none have proved anything to us but how corrupt their souls really are, showing that they are no better than the monsters we all run from. As if we are the only true living humans left on earth. As if the black poison that grows in other humans, threading and weaving its way through their veins, destroying their bodies, has ruined everything that they are. And perhaps even though they are still physically human, they aren’t really—not where it truly matters: inside. Of course it doesn’t help that we haven’t seen another human in almost a week now. Not since Sarah. Not since she stole all of our things and abandoned Lilly at the roadside. I growl, my nostrils flaring at the memory of what that horrible woman did to us.
Yes, Lilly and I are our own race now. Still human. Still pure and fundamentally good, for the most part. For now, at least.
I stare at the darkened windows of the house, willing my eyes to penetrate through the glass to see inside, to see if there are dangers that lurk within these walls. But of course I can’t see inside. Of course I’ll have to go and look. Of course I’ll have to risk our lives searching for somewhere safe to spend the night. Of course, of course, of course!
I sigh again. The beginnings of a new headache making itself known. Or an old headache. I’m not sure that the previous one ever really went away. They all just sort of roll and tumble into one now, like the days, and weeks. Everything is a blur of facts and things that happen, decisions that are made and not. A big blur of what ifs and whatevers.
“Mama?” Lilly whispers questioningly, urging me to make a decision soon.
“Come on, Honeybee,” I say, pulling on her arm gently as I guide her to the back of the house.
The front yard is full of long, dying brown grass, and I suck in a breath thinking about what could be lurking in those long grasses. The never-ending sunshine has turned the grass to brown straw, crisp and fragile as we walk through it, brittle and snapping as we brush against it. The bright sunshine that scorches my skin and steals my hydration. But I am not allowed to despise it, not even once, because it saves our lives. Every. Single. Day.
I clutch my blunt knife in my left hand and follow the rocky path to the backyard, all the while holding onto Lilly’s small hand tightly. I almost laugh when we reach the backyard, my eyes widening as I take in the image that awaits us. There is no back of the house. At all. The entire back of the house is not there—where it should be. The back walls have collapsed in a heap, and I can’t fathom how the front of the house is even still standing, but standing it still is. It’s unfathomable logic. I finally let loose the laugh as I
see a skeletal body sticking out of some of the debris that was once the bathroom. They never made it out alive, but it doesn’t seem like the monsters got to them, either. This place was possibly safe. Until it wasn’t.
I sigh again, unsure of what to do now, my bitter, sardonic laughter dying on my cracked lips. It’s getting late, we don’t have much time, and yet still the urgency hasn’t hit me. I look down at Lilly, seeing her small curls sticking out from either side of her cow hat, one arm wrapped around the teddy bear with only one eye and her other hand still wrapped in mine. She’s staring straight ahead, looking anxious. And that’s how she should look. That’s how I should look. I bite my lip.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say, my words almost stolen by the wind. At first I think they are, but then slowly she looks up at me. I shrug, because I don’t know what else to do and honesty is the best answer for her. I gesture around us with the hand that holds the knife. “I don’t know what to do,” I say again. I feel bad, guilt eats away at me, because this is not the sort of thing that you drop on a young child. But I can’t help it. I’m lost, and confused, and so very very exhausted. And I really don’t know what to do.
“We need to hide,” she says matter-of-factly, looking at me like I am possibly the stupidest person alive.
“I know that. But where?” I say, feeling frustrated.
Lilly looks around us and then back up to me, understanding our predicament. “Somewhere safe,” she says with a small frown, and I have the urge to laugh again.
Somewhere safe. Is there even such a place?
“There is nowhere safe now,” I say morbidly, feeling bad as soon as the words leave my lips. Because again, this is too much for a child to have to take in. Yet Lilly just blinks up at me, her expression anxious but her eyes calm.
“I’m tired, Mama,” she whispers.
For some reason, those words snap me back to reality. I give one more sigh, just for good measure, and then I give myself a good mental shakedown. I see the setting of the sun. I see the ruins of the collapsed house. I see the long, overgrown grass that hides a multitude of secrets. I feel Lilly’s warmth, the sensation seeping through her small hand and into mine. I hear her shallow breaths. And then I see a pile of something at the back of the garden. I squint, looking closer, and think it might be a car, mostly hidden by wooden fence panels and garbage.