No Shelter from Darkness (6 page)

When Mary opened her eyes, Julie was already halfway back up the playground. She looked toward the end of the walkway at Mrs. Humphries, unsurprised to find her looking the other way. A couple of girls gasped and giggled as Mary got to her feet and walked shamefully toward her teacher.

“My goodness, Mary. How did this happen?”

“Don't know, Miss. Someone threw it.”

“Who?”

“Didn't see, Miss.” Everyone knew better than to tell on Susan or her so-called gang. The punishment simply wasn't worth it.

Mrs. Humphries hummed to herself, clearly doubting Mary's honesty. “Well, we'd better get this cleaned up before it sets. Come on, child.” The teacher passed her and walked to the doors with unspoken instruction for Mary to follow. As they both entered the short hall to the staircase, Mary glanced at Beth. She was tentatively biting into the apple.

The lavatories were in a separate block outside, downstairs by the boys' playground. The main building was a simple construction and difficult to get lost in, but it was some kind of rule that children weren't allowed inside without supervision.

When they'd gotten to the bottom of the three-story building, Mrs. Humphries held the door open for Mary to go through. “Once you've cleaned yourself up, ask Mr. Nichols to bring you back through.”

“Yes, Miss,” replied Mary, and turned toward the toilet block. Behind her she heard the door squeak as it began to close, but before it clicked, a shrill scream came from above, echoing over the rooftop.

It was joined by a second.

And a third.

Mary spun around and looked up as the door opened again and the teacher stepped out. Mrs. Humphries followed Mary's gaze upward as if all would be answered. They looked back down at each other, and a second later they were both rushing back up the stairs, Mary leading the teacher. “Slow down!” she heard coming from behind, but Mary powered on up the stairs as quickly as she could, knowing in her gut that Beth was involved in the ruckus. Reaching the top out of breath, she carried on regardless, down the corridor and bursting through the doors at the end.

She stopped herself at the top of the steps that led down to the playground. A group of girls circled something, and when Mary looked to her right and saw Beth's discarded lunchbox and gas-mask case in a puddle of water, she knew that the some
thing
was a some
one
. Panting, Mary shuffled down the steps and barged into the thin circle of bodies, looked at the ground … and gasped.

Beth sat upright, the shoulder of her dress torn and her elbows grazed. Her right leg was stretched out in front of her, her left was bent at the knee and propped up slightly. Girls around the circle carried on, groaning and turning away, while Beth sat silently, mesmerized by the deep-red line that ran down the side of her shin.

It looked like her leg had been held down and dragged across stony tarmac, and in the middle of the mess was a definite gash from which blood oozed. It trickled in lines like bright red paint down the side of her leg, finding the lowest point before running down and soaking into an off-white sock. The fibers tried to keep up with flow, but the red patch on the cloth grew in the sunlight and soon glistened just as much as the cut on her leg.

Mary bent down, looking at Beth. She put a hand on her shoulder. There was no acknowledgement; she didn't turn, didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. She just continued staring in wonder. There was no sign of tears, and Mary knew that not one of the screams she'd heard came from her. If the blood hadn't been enough to unsettle Mary's stomach, Beth's disturbing reaction surely was.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” Mrs. Humphries frantically burst through the doors, out of breath. As the circle broke and scattered, Mary stayed with Beth, looking up to catch Susan's smug face as she left the scene.

FIVE

BETH WASN'T ASLEEP,
but her whole body flinched when the front door was closed. Her mind had been drifting through various scenes from her recent past, thoughts now altered by the presence of people who hadn't been there or things happening that hadn't taken place. She'd been walking down the road to school with Oliver and Mary, acutely aware that her father was following. She'd won a race but still felt sad, not realizing until she'd been pulled from her cozy daydream that she hadn't been running over lovely green grass, but through the empty shells of bombed-out houses.

Back in the here and now, she remembered that she was sitting in the parlor, that it was Tuesday, that her mother had just left to do a hospital shift, and that the house was now empty. With the wireless quietly on in the background, she propped her leg up on a chair from the kitchen and leant forward in the armchair to look closer at her bandaged shin.

A rather neat line about two inches long and so darkly red it was almost black ran beneath the gauze, like a seam running through marble. The grazed area surrounding the wound no longer bled, but the gash still oozed slightly through the stitches—or at least it had; the bandage hadn't been changed for two days.

The accident, as Beth had described it to her mother, had put a definite end to her school attendance, at least for the foreseeable future. The bruising around the wound meant she was still limping slightly, but even if her leg were healed completely, Beth was now too weak to get herself to school, let alone last the day. The air raid the night before had highlighted how slow she was, even in an emergency.

Her mother was certain she had some kind of summer cold or fever, made worse due to the wounded leg straining her immune system. She'd given her some antibiotics to be sure her body could handle any infection. Now all Beth could do was sit or lie down and wait for this strange virus to pass.

Another sharp, deeply unpleasant whiff caused her to scrunch her nose and flick her head away. She knew what it was immediately: her leg. It smelt un-fresh, not-living. Dead. She realized it wasn't so much her leg, but the bandage that covered it. It was repulsive, and for a few seconds it quashed the constant craving that had almost become part of her. Leaning back into the chair brought a small surge of relief through her aching spine, but only for a moment. After it passed, her back ached just as much as the rest of her. She closed her eyes, trying to think of something—
any
thing—to distract herself.

Whether sparked as a related memory to the gauze wrapped around her leg, or from the thirst that she'd just had a brief reprieve from, Beth's darkened world was soon lit up with the remembered vision of Angela walking up to the walkway in the playground.

“Come down here.”

Still chewing on the first bite of apple, Beth half-glanced at Angela to acknowledge she'd said something, and then looked away.

“Have it your way,” said Angela. She placed a small canteen on the side of the walkway and then tipped it over toward Beth. The water sloshed out into an ever-growing puddle, which inched closer to her. The thought of spending the rest of the day with a wet bum was enough to make her move, but not quick enough to prevent the water soaking into the hem of her dress while she used the wall to get to her feet.

This had already happened, but even as a daydream Beth could feel the anger that flowed through her once more. It was enough to make her want to go down the steps and slap Angela, not thinking or caring what would happen after that. But as soon as she got to the top of the steps her gut told her something was wrong. Beth felt two hands on her back, and she started to turn to see who they belonged to.

As if she didn't already know.

Susan shoved her as hard as she could, and Beth's fatigued legs gave way. Her hands went up and clutched for her enemy, but instead
grabbed thin air. And then she was falling. Twisting. She didn't know how she fell; in her dream it was just as blurred and frantic as it had been at the time. But she relived the instinct to protect her head, thrusting her hands out in front and cushioning her landing as best she could. And then there was the intense pain of her shin as her leg scraped down the top corner of the low brick wall by the side of the steps.

When the world was still again, Beth was lying on her front and she lifted her head. She sniffed a gentle sob and her tired eyes grew hot with tears. Her arms stung, her hands burned, and when she propped herself up she looked at the dozens of black spots that covered her red palms; bits of stone stuck in her grazed skin.

She was faintly aware of a scream, maybe it was more than one, and she felt the need to roll over and sit up. When she did the playground was deserted, she was completely alone in the warm sun. The world had been silenced, and around her in the air was the perfume of rusting metal. Propping her leg up, she gazed upon the molten iron that was running down her leg. Its heat on her skin was distinct, and she was sure that were she to close her eyes she'd feel the course of every river, every drip.

Maybe it was adrenaline, or perhaps her anger, but something had managed to blind her to the aches and pains, and in their place was an oddly soothing calm. In a silent, empty world Beth saw what she wanted, and leaned forward to taste it.

Her stomach convulsed and she heaved. She grabbed the arm of the chair and leaned over the side, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up. A string of saliva swung like a pendulum close to the floor, daring to bridge the rug to Beth's lower lip, but at the last second the band snapped and a large drop spattered on the floor and soaked into the fibers.

She sat back up and coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, finding just enough energy to get up and fetch a glass of water. She stayed in the scullery and leant over the deep square porcelain sink, until the nausea passed. When she felt able, she slowly made her way up the stairs and into her bed, letting the coolness of the sheets calm her nerves while an afternoon sun lit up her bedside table.

*   *   *

Beth opened her heavy eyes and stared up at the ceiling, with its thousands of minuscule shadows showing off its painted imperfections. It took her a few seconds to adjust, but she realized now that her room wasn't how she'd left it. The sun had set, but her curtains had been drawn and the blackout blind pulled down. From the far corner of the room at the foot of her bed, a dirty orange light illuminated the flowery wallpaper. There had been no lamp there before, and the one on her wonky bedside table was still present, though not illuminated. Wincing as her aches persisted, she propped herself up on her stiff elbows and looked down beyond her bed. The new light was one of the two table lamps from the sitting room, and its unfamiliar glow made everything seem surreal.

Something about the world didn't feel quite right.

Beside her the small clock ticked away. Nine-fifty. The time only added to the surrealism; she felt like she'd been asleep for more than just a few hours. She slid her wounded left leg under the sheets and off the side of the bed, followed by her right. Taking a deep breath, she stood up on the squeaky floorboard. But a pain shot through her bones and she collapsed back onto the bed. The floor squeaked again and the bedsprings creaked as she bounced, and through the quiet riot she heard someone step quietly up the stairs.

Her mother came in and closed the door gently, so as not to wake Oliver or Mary. She wore a sympathetic smile. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Bet—” Beth's mouth was dry and nothing more than a whisper escaped. She coughed quietly and tried to moisten her mouth. “Better.”

“There's some water there.”

Her mother gestured to the bedside table, and Beth took her silent advice. “I didn't hear you come in earlier.” Beth glanced at the corner.

“You mean with the lamp?”

Beth nodded.

“That was last night,” said her mother. Beth froze, glass in hand, staring at her. “You've been asleep for two days. It's Wednesday.”

That explained the confusion and displacement, as much as the profound emptiness in her stomach. As always, the thirst escorted the hunger.

“This morning, when I still couldn't wake you, I called the doctor,” her mother continued.

Beth jolted her head back slightly in surprise. “The doctor's been, too?”

“He came late this morning.”

“And?” asked Beth, anxiously. “What did he say?”

Her mother's brow furrowed slightly. “He thinks it might be a combination of things, a form of fatigue or extreme exhaustion among them. It's still possible it's just an infection or virus. He took some blood, but the results won't be back for a few days.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and took Beth's free hand. “He said the only thing we can do right now is wait.” Her mother felt her forehead, shaking her head slightly. “It's just the damnedest thing. You don't seem to be burning up. If anything, you're cooling down.”

“So … it's not a fever?”

“I really don't know, darling. We just have to wait for the blood results.”

“But if it's not … what if it's permanent?” The tears began to well as she said the word, unable to stop the scenario of never again being sprightly from flooding her emotions.

“Beth, at this stage we simply don't know what exactly is wrong. But even if it is a condition and not a bug, we'll find a way to manage it.”

Beth nodded, but wasn't consoled by her mother's positive words. She'd gone to sleep with a fever or a cold or a virus, but had woken to the threat of having a permanent condition that would take away her sport, her running, and her freedom. Taking the glass from her hand, her mother placed it back on the bedside table and hugged her tightly, which made the tears flow more freely. But Beth's wakeful window wasn't wasted on her mother. As soon as she had her tears under control, her mother disappeared downstairs to heat up some soup on the stove. Hesitantly, Beth leant over the side of the bed and looked into the mirror on her dresser. She almost gasped at the pale face that stared back. A ghost. She looked as bad as she felt, worse even, and the reflection brought forth another flood of tears.
She sat back and wiped her eyes with the rough blankets as the stairs creaked.