No Shelter from Darkness (33 page)

Her insides twitched and an intense, localized ache erupted in her gums. On either side of her tongue Beth felt two sharp teeth protracting from above, and another pair pushing upward from below. She gasped. Her mouth snapped shut, sounding to her like a crocodile. Mrs. Humphries stopped mid-sentence and stared at Beth, waiting for an explanation.

Snapped back to the classroom with all the children staring at her, Beth felt her teeth slide back to their dormant position. While they did Beth frantically thought of what to say, before blurting out, “Miss! I'm gonna be sick!” She leaped from her chair, almost taking the affixed desk with her, and ran for the door. She didn't stop running until she reached home.

*   *   *

The early September sun had vanished, leaving in its place a blanket of stars that covered the sky from one end of the horizon to the other. The few clouds that had lingered during the day had thinned out and disappeared. Beth made her way to the wall that she'd jumped almost a fortnight earlier in her attempt to run away, walking beside her shadow cast by the brighter half of the moon.

A week earlier, the moon had been full and shone like a white sun. Tonight only half of that light was available to wash the leaves of the root vegetables with a white sheen, yet Beth was convinced she could see just as well. She sidestepped the mangle, walked around the tin bathtub and was even able to avoid a few twigs that may have invited unwanted attention. With the half-disc higher in the sky this time than last, Beth easily judged the pale pavement below. She was thankful for the difference it made when she was poised at the top of the wall.

It was around midnight, and Beth had been waiting for almost half a day to act on her father's suggestion. She'd begrudgingly accepted that he was right—
again
—and was now flooded with a variety of emotions. The first was comfort, of all things. When her father had first suggested this course of action, he'd said she'd have to do it sooner or later. That gave Beth a little solace that her life wouldn't be quite as short as she'd recently expected. But then came the shame and dread at the sound of the front door signaling the return of Oliver and Mary. It had reminded her of her temptation that day, and the requirement of another lie. Thankfully, her father took care of all of that with a simple exaggeration of the truth: she
was feeling sick, her absence from the house explained away by the desire to keep the germs out.

Now, with everyone in bed and Beth having made her silent escape, she felt anxious, uneasy, and oddly excited. The thought of trying to catch a wild animal seemed like a bit of an adventure, a thrill ride, and it helped her overcome her settling fatigue. What worried her was what she'd have to do if she caught something.

Back in the shelter, her father had suggested how she might go about hunting, explaining wind direction and the need for slow and silent motion. While she tried to take it all in, she was constantly distracted by the obvious reasons as to how he knew all that he did.

Running through her father's advice in her head, Beth walked up the entirety of Cyprus Street. Normally she'd cut through to Old Ford Road, but after hearing the scraping shoes of a warden, she continued onward to the end to avoid detection. The nights had begun to get colder; she now wore a coat over her dress, though unbuttoned. By the time she entered Victoria Park, she was too warm for it, and hung it from a low branch of the first tree that lined the track.

She stood by the thick tree for a short while, hot and bothered with her familiar fatigue. The buzz of the generators in a distant part of the park floated on the air, Beth's ears picking it out more clearly than ever before. She took a second to appreciate her luck that it was the western portion of the park that was open to the public. It was due to all the woodland and foliage here, and that would also benefit her cause immensely. Then it hit her just how bizarre her cause was. She found herself rubbing her neck again, while she tried to come up with some idea of how to proceed; where was she supposed to start? Her father had suggested that her instincts would take over, that it would just come to her. She was still waiting for that to happen.

To her left was the open space where the sports day event had been held and which was lined by thick patches of trees. To her right was the lake, on the bank of which she'd woken that night so long ago. It seemed logical that animals would roam there to drink the water. She wondered if that was what had pulled her there in her sleepwalking state.

Walking across the grass, she headed for a large clump of trees around the corner. The more cover there was, the more chance of
animals being there. That was her thinking, anyway. Her head dipped down as she chose her way, and with each step she began to crouch as she approached the edge of the trees. It was all subconscious. When she realized what she was doing, she almost laughed and straightened herself up.

For the most part, colors were lost in the moonlight, but Beth knew that leaves were browning. Fortunately, they weren't falling just yet, and the ground was still fairly soft. Moving from the grass to the soil remained crackle free. She weaved between tree trunks thick and thin, pushing past low branches and through small bushes. Slowly she felt herself becoming more relaxed, getting into the stride of things. She began to pick up faint scents of animals around her, detected over those of the trees and leaves and soil. A little adrenaline seeped into her system, and her fatigue faded a bit.

Her steps slowed, and without knowing it she began to use the balls of her feet more, lowering her heels under silent control. Every now and then she heard the patter of tiny paws scuttling over sparse fallen leaves and dried twigs, but for the most part her hearing was useless. The ground was so soft that what had aided her silent approach afforded the wildlife the same courtesy. She was surprised by how much she could see, however, even though the faint pain behind her eyes persisted. That she could see anything at all under the canopy of the trees where the moonlight struggled to reach was impressive to her. But she was unable to make out everything.

Suddenly, something close by made a noise.

Beth halted and squinted. The faint headache throbbed. Ahead was a furry ball of something. She leaned forward, but the tip of her shoe snapped a small twig. The sound was almost inaudible, but whatever she was looking at had heard it just as well as Beth had and it scampered off. Immediately she gave chase, dashing through the undergrowth and disregarding any notion of silence. She was almost upon the small furry creature when a stray branch gripped her around the arm and tugged her back. She easily broke free, but that split second was all the leaping animal needed to get ahead. Beth made a last-ditch effort. She dived to the ground, astonished when her hand found and grabbed the thing's tail. Skidding quickly to a halt in the undergrowth, the animal reared and Beth felt small
teeth dig into the skin between her thumb and forefinger. Yelping in pain, she let go, and the thing scuttled off.

She rolled over onto her back and caught her breath, looking up through the gaps in the trees at patches of night sky, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
Damn shoes
, she thought, getting to her feet. Noisily, she made her way back out to the grass, not knowing where she was but not caring.

Back out in the open she sat down. The shoes were too clumsy. She took them off and put her socks inside them. Standing up on bare feet she felt less restrained, more able. She checked her hand in the moonlight. The skin hadn't been broken, but teeth marks were still visible. It angered her. With determination and adrenaline lulling the fatigue into submission, she plowed back into the undergrowth.

Treading carefully, feeling far more in control and at ease on her bare feet, Beth didn't give a second thought to the occasional sharp twig and stone. They merely scratched, but didn't bother or hinder her. She even dared to enjoy the feel of the soil between her toes and it all felt somehow natural, as if in some previous life this was how she had lived.

Though her thoughts wandered, she was soon pulled back to the here and now by the scent and sound of another animal, approaching from the same direction as the last. Beth adhered to the downwind theory. She waited until it got as close as she guessed it would dare, and then she sprang.

The running seemed easier this time and she was able to keep up with the scurrying animal's twists and turns, grabbing branches and thinner tree trunks to aid her turning. It was a different animal, a faster one, but she kept up and felt good about her chances. She was about to dive on top of the creature when it darted to the right and leaped to the entrance of its burrow. It scuttled down and out of Beth's reach despite another spectacular dive that ensured any part of her dress previously untouched was clean no more.

Cursing, she sat up next to the tree and rested, panting hard and trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. It was a hard decision to make. Her breathing returned to normal without so much of a chuckle or a tear. In the silence a tiny vole came sniffing up to her. With the creature no more than a few inches from her motionless
hand, Beth considered her options. With a quickness that startled her as much as the vole, she snatched it up. It was too small for her needs, but out of the darkness, an idea came to her.

It could be used as bait.

It struggled, trying to free itself from her grip. Beth panicked at what to do and in a rush she closed her eyes and squeezed her hand into a fist. She felt the tiny skeleton cracking and popping as the rodent became lifeless. Beth dropped it to the ground and shuddered.

It was the first thing she'd ever consciously killed in her life, and the thought quickly occurred that it wouldn't be the last. She wanted to cry and go home, but the thirst wouldn't let her. Instead she was frozen with sadness and sat motionless, staring at the small lifeless lump, waiting for her craving to overcome her regret. It was a terrible conflict.

At the sound of something bigger approaching, Beth got to her feet. She was no stranger to climbing trees—she'd taught her brother—and even in the dark she made light work of getting to the first, thick branch. Without her shoes, she was able to easily prowl along the branch. Then she waited directly above the dead vole below. Her mind was back in focus; she tried to find that killer instinct which she sickeningly knew had to be somewhere within her.

The animal—the biggest so far—came closer. Her eyes finally made it out to be a fox, warily approaching where the dead vole lay. It was already close enough for her to pounce on, but she kept still and waited for it to take hold of the rodent. The fox traced the smell and picked up the vole in its jaws. Beth fell silently from the branch, with unintentional grace. The fox sensed danger, heard what little sound she'd made, and tried to run. It was too late. Beth landed in the soft soil like a cat. Her right hand grabbed its snout and gripped it shut, while her left arm scooped around its body. Through the fox's whimpering and whining, Beth settled down onto her knees. Her adrenaline rocketed. She smelled soil, bark, wood, the vole, the fox.

And blood.

The fox's teeth must've pierced the small rodent's body and she soon felt the warm fluid running over her fingers that kept the fox's jaws clamped. Her thirst gripped her. Her prey struggled. She wanted to release the snout so she could lick the blood off her hand, but knew it would give the fox too much of a chance to escape.

She looked at the fur of the wild dog's neck. The thirst subsided and she turned away, put off by the thought of its hair in her mouth. But her thirst wasn't put off for long, reasserting itself strongly. She looked back. She twisted the fox's head down and away from her to stretch the neck. Her gums stung as the hidden length of her canines pushed through; a long upper pair and a shorter lower pair. With her tongue, Beth could feel a shallow line of sharp serrations running up the back of them. She didn't need to think to know what they were for; fangs were pointed to penetrate skin but blood-flow would be minimal. The serrations would aid ripping the skin apart, tearing gashes into the hide of any living creature for blood to pour, not drip.

Blood
.

The promise of it, hot and fresh, flooded Beth's senses and she opened her mouth. She gave in to the monster. She was no longer in control, unable to stop herself even if she wanted to. Her head lowered, closing in on the animal's neck. Her eyes were about to close when a light breeze rustled the leaves above her. A thin beam of moonlight pierced the gloom and lit the white of the fox's eye. It strained to look at her with a startled plea. It was defenseless and knew death was upon it.

Its fear looked so human.

Beth lifted her head and closed her mouth. Her fangs rested perfectly over and under each other, but began to slowly recede. The disgust she had over killing the vole returned and she immediately felt horrified that she could even entertain killing a far bigger animal. So ready to rip its throat out only moments earlier, Beth let her grip on the fox weaken, and it kicked free, disappearing into the undergrowth—vole and all.

Beth collapsed backward up against the tree. The thirst inside punished her for her sentimentality. With a tear rolling down her cheek she started to suck the vole's drying blood off her fingers.

And then she doubled over as her first cramp took root.

THIRTY-FOUR

THE GENTLE, RHYTHMIC BREATHING
of the beautiful woman lying with her back turned to him was normally a melody that sent Bill straight to sleep. Before Oliver was born, Lynne was the only anchor he had to the world everyone else believed to be real. It was yet another reason why she could never know the truth. In the past when sleep evaded him, Bill would turn and gaze upon his sleeping wife, admiring her peaceful slumbering and reminding himself how lucky he was to have her love.

On this night, however, Lynne's peacefulness offered no soothing effect, and Bill was in no mood to count his blessings. Instead, he was left to stare into the infinity of the black ceiling above him. Even with his night eyes, the blackout blinds made the bedroom a black void. With no light, claustrophobia could grip the most fearless man. It was no wonder people were generally gloomier due to the restrictions. It sometimes felt like the daylight itself was rationed.