Dark Inside (24 page)
Authors: Jeyn Roberts
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #General, #Horror & Ghost Stories, #Social Issues, #Death & Dying
Mason snickered.
“And if you ever call me that, I’ll torture you for all existence. Even after I’m dead …” She paused as Paul reached out and took her hand. They stared at each other for several seconds before Chickadee pulled away.
“Not so loud,” Paul said. “We don’t know who is listening.”
Chickadee lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m gonna go get some cough syrup. Why don’t the two of you finish grabbing the food?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Paul asked. “Maybe I should go with you. I don’t like you being alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Only fifty feet away. You’ll hear me if I start screaming.” She turned and scooted off down the aisle before either Mason or Paul could respond.
“I don’t like this,” Paul said. “We’ll just grab whatever and get the hell outta here.”
“Sounds good,” Mason said. He immediately opened up his backpack and started shoving canned food inside, barely even taking the time to read the labels. They split up, him heading off toward the granola bars and trail mix, while Paul headed toward the produce to see if he could find anything worth scavenging.
The store was thoroughly looted, almost empty, but Mason still managed to find some granola bars lying on the shelves. He opened the packages and tossed the individually wrapped bars into his backpack. The secret was to get rid of as much packaging as possible. That way he’d have more room for extras. Reaching down on the floor, he scooped up a few bags of fruit snacks and shoved them in too.
It didn’t take long to fill his bag, and he wandered over to the produce section, where the smell of rotting fruits and
vegetables assaulted his nose. Everything was covered in green mold. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt, he looked around but couldn’t find Paul. Heading over to the pharmacy, he decided to see how Chickadee was doing. He didn’t see her at first, but then he heard the sounds of jars being pulled off the shelves behind the pharmacy counter.
He rounded the corner and saw Paul and her tossing bottles on the floor.
“There’s nothing here,” she said. “They’ve looted everything.”
“That’s it, then,” Paul said.
“That’s not it,” Chickadee said. “We’ll find something. There’s got to be something here. Check the fridge again.”
“It’s empty. Everything’s on the floor.”
“What about this one?”
“Expired. It’s useless.”
She tossed a few bottles aside, breaking one. The sound of glass cracking filled the store.
“What are you guys doing?” Mason asked.
Chickadee jumped. “Don’t do that. You scared the crap outta me.”
“If you’re into hard-core stuff, that’s just not cool. I’m not into that.” Mason stood his ground and glared at Paul, who simply stood up and walked away from the mess.
“We’re not looking for drugs,” Chickadee said. “And I’m really insulted that you’d think that, Mason. Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said? I don’t swing that way. I don’t even drink. I was just looking for some penicillin. I’m worried that this cold could turn to strep throat. It happens to me a lot. That’s all. Honest.”
“And there’s nothing here,” Paul said. He calmly walked over to where Mason stood and grabbed a red-and-white
bottle of cough syrup off the shelf. “You’ll just have to make do, Chee. If you get worse, we’ll deal.”
Mason didn’t know what to do. He wanted to believe them, he really did. But it was awfully suspicious. Neither of them seemed to be the types to do drugs, and he hadn’t caught them behaving oddly or spaced-out since he’d met them. But something was definitely up. He just couldn’t figure out what.
“Don’t be mad, okay?” Chickadee said. She came around the counter, and Mason could see she wasn’t holding anything. She opened her bag and showed him the contents. Nothing but protein bars. “I’m not into drugs. In fact, I’m hurt that you’d think otherwise. Please believe me.”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, okay. I believe you.”
From outside a gunshot sounded. Footsteps pounded on the cement, and one of the store windows shattered.
“Time to go,” Paul said.
They headed around back to the storage area and exited through the loading bay. Outside, the sky glowed red and pink.
“Let’s find a place to spend the night,” Paul said. “There are enough hotels here that we should be able to grab one without being found.”
“Let’s do it,” Chickadee said. She gave Mason a big grin.
They ended up in one of the cabins on the outskirts of town. Mason went into the lobby and found some keys while Paul walked around the perimeter to make sure no one was lurking in the bushes.
The room was small with bunk beds and a couch that folded out.
“I get top bunk,” Chickadee said. She ran over and climbed the ladder to settle in. She bounced up and down on the mattress, her head nearly hitting the ceiling.
Mason sat down on one of the chairs and watched while Paul checked the windows. Pulling the curtains closed, he double-checked the lock on the door before heading into the bathroom to make sure they had an exit strategy.
“I’m exhausted,” Chickadee said. She yawned three times in rapid succession. “It’s been forever since we’ve had a bed. How long has it been since we left Calgary?”
“Four days,” Mason said.
“That’s crazy. I used to make the drive all the time and it only took about an hour and a half. We could make it to Vancouver in two days if we drove fast. Never dawned on me that walking would take so long. No wonder my poor feet hurt. I need a pedicure. I’ll have crusty granny feet if this keeps up.”
“If it weren’t for all the roadblocks we’d be able to drive,” Mason said. “It might get better outside of Banff, but it’ll probably be worse once we hit the Fraser Valley.”
“You know a lot about the area, then?”
Mason shrugged. “A bit. We did go camping there almost every summer. It was Mom’s favorite place.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t kill her.”
“I’m just sorry. Sorry that there won’t be any more camping trips for kids or rock bands or even new books to read. No more movies or fresh bags of popcorn. It really sucks when you think about it. Of course, there is the possibility that we might be able to win this war, but not for a very long time. Probably longer than you and I will ever exist in this world.”
“I try not to think about it.”
“Sometimes it’s all I ever think about.”
“Why? It’ll only bring up bad memories.”
Chickadee jumped off the bed and walked over to where
Mason stood. She paused less than a foot away from him. “There are different types of people in this world. There are people who accept what’s in front of them unquestioningly. They live in the dark. In defeat. Ignoring what the future might bring or how they might help to make things happen. Then there are people like me. Optimists. They too live in the dark, in times like these, but dream of the light. I trust in the possibilities of betterness. I believe there is more to life than this. I have to. There’s no other choice for me.”
She leaned toward him and he could smell her hair. Coconut. One of her braids brushed against his arm and she looked up into his eyes. He realized he wanted her to look up at him like that forever. Her beautiful face, bright and shiny and full of life—there was no one else as truly amazing as her left on the planet. Mom would have loved her.
“Bathroom’s clear,” Paul said as he came back into the room. “There’s a window there, big enough for us to squeeze through if we have to make a quick exit.”
“Excellent.” Chickadee bent down to retrieve her backpack. “So what’s for dinner, then?”
They tossed their findings on the floor and ate a meal of canned beans and granola bars, and split between them two apples that somehow managed to avoid growing moldy. They washed it down with cans of warm root beer and orange Crush. Afterward they sat and listened to the silence while the room steadily grew darker. They were too close to the main road to risk having candles.
“Tell us a story, Paul,” Chickadee said after a while. She turned to Mason. “Paul’s great-grandpa used to be a real storyteller back in the old days. Paul knows all the old legends. They’re really good.”
“Cool.”
“You’ve heard all my stories,” Paul said.
“Yeah, but Mason hasn’t. You’ve got to tell one to him. Tell him about the coyote stealing fire.”
Although the room was dark, there was no mistaking the look Paul gave Chickadee. Mason didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe they had a fight earlier and he missed it. But Paul didn’t really seem angry. He looked hurt, not physically, but mentally. His eyebrows were tight together, and there was a deep longing behind his eyes. Maybe he was in love with Chickadee—that might explain it—but he’d said himself that he thought of her as a sister.
Whatever it was, Mason’s chest tightened when he saw the way Paul looked at her. There was such deep sadness in his eyes.
“I’m going to tell a different story,” Paul began. “Once, thousands of years ago, there was a tribe that lived along the banks of the Pacific Ocean where Vancouver stands today. They were hunters and gatherers. The men would travel the forests and the wives would collect the oysters and clams from the shore. This was before the arrival of the white man, and the people lived somewhat peacefully with their neighboring tribes.
Most of the people in the village were happy, but there was one warrior brave who always wanted more. He wanted to travel and visit the world beyond his borders and fight in wars he knew he’d win, but he came home disillusioned. There was no place impressive enough to claim his heart. He wanted love, but no woman was beautiful enough for him; he wanted to eat great foods, but the oysters tasted like sand and the deer were never tender enough to his tongue. Because of this he became cold and bitter, and he’d spend his days away from his family and tribe,
refusing to help or contribute anything at all to the community.
One day he decided to go for a walk. While down by the ocean shore, he came across a canoe with a strange man. Unbeknownst to him, this stranger was Khaals, the great transformer, a spirit of legend and fear. Khaals had the ability to change people into animals or even trees and rocks. He often punished people for their wrongdoings and was known for not being sympathetic. If a warrior boasted about his kills, Khaals might show up and turn him into a deer so that he’d know what it’s like to flee in fear. If a man chased women other than his wife, Khaals would turn him into a tree so he’d never be able to run again.
“Why do you walk along the sand?” Khaals asked. “I hear your people celebrating in the distance. Why are you not with them?”
“There is nothing worth embracing,” the brave said. “What is the point of living when I know I will just die? What is the point of loving when all the women are shallow and ugly? I have seen all there is to see, and there are no wonders for me to behold. I’ve done everything worth doing. Life is no longer a challenge. I’m bored.”
Now, Khaals was not the type of spirit to anger, and the brave’s words displeased him. He looked down on the warrior and read deeply into his mind.
“You think life is boring? I’ll show you what it’s really about,” Khaals said, and he turned the brave into a wide, polished rock.
“I’ll be back when you find something worth living for,” Khaals said.
The brave lay trapped in his rock prison for thousands of years. The world grew up around him. He watched his people fall to the white man, watched the city grow and surround him, and saw the horrors that mankind was capable of
doing. His mind never softened and his desire never grew.
Then one day a woman appeared. She was an ordinary woman—nothing special about her. But she carried herself on the wind, and the scent of wildflowers blossomed in her hair. She sat down on the rock and brought out a book to read. The softness of her touch moved the warrior, and he found himself missing her when she left a few hours later.
To his delight she returned the next day with book in hand, and the next day after that. Soon he found himself waiting only for her arrival and devastated with each passing. He longed to talk to this ordinary woman, touch her hair, and tell her how important she was to him.
One morning, after several months, the warrior was surprised to see the shape of Khaals’s boat on the water. The transformer had returned for him as promised.
“Do you know why I’ve come back?”
“I’ve found something worth living for,” the brave replied.
“But she is not a great beauty,” Khaals said. “She will not bring the world to you. She will not make the food taste any better. She is nothing but ordinary.”
“Her hair holds the wind and her eyes will see my soul,” the brave said. “The oysters will taste of the ocean instead of sand because she will help me see their true flavor. She is beautiful enough for me.”
With that, Khaals transformed the rock back into his true self. When the woman returned she found the warrior in its place. They instantly fell in love.
For many moons they shared all their time together. And the food did taste better and the rain that fell from the clouds was soft and warm on their skin. The warrior reached up into the skies and plucked the stars from their cushions and placed them in her hands.
But the woman was sick. She was dying.
When the warrior found out, he was beyond angry at Khaals. What was the point of bringing this beautiful woman to him if he would only lose her? Khaals had given him a taste of life, and now he would take that away.
The woman grew weaker. His fury grew, and realizing he couldn’t stand to watch her wither, he did the only thing possible. He told her he no longer loved her. He looked deep into the pain in her eyes, but he couldn’t take back the words.
He left.
He walked back to the ocean shore and called for Khaals.
“Why did you do this?” he asked when the transformer appeared. “You gave me life and then took it away. I was better off as a rock. At least then I didn’t have to feel. You tricked me, and for that I left her.”
“You left her because you couldn’t face the pain,” Khaals said. “You had true love, but you were selfish and turned your back. You are not strong. And because of that I shall leave you as you are. An empty husk to walk for all eternity.”
And the warrior became a rock again, only this time he could move and speak. But he never tasted the ocean or smelled the wildflowers on the wind. He never felt the rain on his face or knew the joy of living.
He was never strong again.
