No Shelter from Darkness (36 page)

When she emerged into the dull afternoon from morning lessons, still confused and afraid, she was glad to see Oliver running off with Dave and Charlie. Mrs. Wade was at the hospital, working a rare Saturday shift and none the wiser. But it meant that when she got home, she would be alone with Beth and her father. But she didn't have anywhere else to go.

Reluctantly back in the confines of what now felt an unwelcoming house, Mary remained in Beth's room with the dresser in place, and sat fearfully upright on the bed.
What should I do?
She was wise enough to know that telling the police would be a bad idea. If they saw her as a child, she'd be laughed at; if they saw her as a young woman, she'd be locked away. She should tell Mrs. Wade and Oliver, at least, to try to tell them what they were living with.

She heard the front door being closed, then the back. Mary looked down out of Beth's window and saw the she-devil mope back to her lair, stretching her neck. Mary just wanted to get out of the house again.

Now was her chance.

She hopped up, pushed the dresser back and crept down the stairs.

Feeling relief as soon as she stepped out into the street, she wandered down the road and passed her old address. As it always did, the unexpected light through the front window got her attention. She could see through it, into the kitchen and where the scullery used to be; the rooms were unusually bright due to the missing back half of the house. It really was a wonder the neighboring houses had gotten away with as little damage as they had. Those houses were still habitable; hers wasn't.

She tried the front door and found it to be open, the frame forced by looters. The front of the house remained largely untouched. It had been emptied of most things; what was left had been smashed on the floor. She walked through to what was once the kitchen. Their small table was smashed clean in half by the fallen bricks of the walls and there was no way through to the yard. Returning to the hall, she spotted it: an envelope, lying up against the wall. The postman had been fooled into thinking the house was still being lived in.

She picked up the letter and her eyes widened to find it addressed to her. It had the Wade's number “6” on the front, not her own number “10”. She guessed the postman must have been used to posting by name rather than number.

Stepping back and sitting down on the second step of the stairs, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. It was dated August 27th, a week and a half earlier, and was from her Uncle Patrick. He'd been severely wounded in battle but had returned home safely and had learned from one of Mrs. Wade's old correspondences of his sister's death.

As her eyes moved over the neat words, her heart rose into her throat and a tear of relief rolled down her cheek.

He was inviting her to stay with him, up north in Kellythorpe.

THIRTY-EIGHT

BETH HAD WOKEN IN THE SHELTER
on Sunday morning accompanied by aches and the other familiar symptoms that demanded more blood. She was no longer losing any from her period, but she was still in deficit. What she'd consumed in the middle of the week was enough to satisfy the rage, but not the thirst, and already the fatigue had returned.

In his typical cloak-and-dagger style, her father had disappeared on an errand around midday. He'd gone out the day before on his daily check and came back with news that Jeff had returned. He'd apparently been pulled away on urgent Ministry business, but Beth's suspicion mirrored her father's.

Bill returned, holding the familiar wooden box. By that time she was the only one left in the house, and no clandestine operation was required for her to sneak out to the shelter.

“It's not much,” her father said, handing over the box.

“How much is there?”

“Less than half a pint. How long will that stay your thirst?”

Beth shook her head. “A couple of days, at most.”

“He's getting more, but he needs a few days.”

There wasn't anything else Beth could do or say, so she took the box from her father and went to the shelter. In her cool den, she took out the jar and opened it. The blood had been warmed at the butcher's, but immediately Beth could smell the difference between this and her last meal of human blood. It was like being promised a dessert after dinner and expecting your favorite apple pie but getting a slice of fruitcake.

All too soon it was gone, and Beth relaxed for a few minutes to let the blood soothe her and take the edge off her thirst. The craving monster inside her calmed down. She eyed the interior of the shelter. She was in a sticky situation once more, and once again she'd exiled herself to this tin can that seemed to get a little colder and a little damper with every passing night. The bug that she was supposedly suffering from last week was no longer a viable excuse, and though her mother frowned, Beth was back to convincing her that she needed a little space again; that she liked the solitary confines of the shelter. Despite its dropping temperature, Beth still liked it. The coolness of the night wasn't bothering her yet, even though she knew it should.

What did bother her, though, was that Mary was leaving.

She'd explained over dinner the night before her visit to her old house and the discovery of her uncle's letter, presenting it to Lynne. Her mind had already been made up; she was going to live with him. Beth couldn't help but notice Mary's primary emotion had looked to be relief rather than happiness. After an awkward silence Lynne had gotten up and hugged Mary tightly, repeating over and over how welcome she would always be. It sounded like Mary's uncle had been wounded quite badly and could do with an extra pair of hands. He was also the only living relative Mary had that she was close to. In fact, he was the only other member Beth could ever recall her talking about. Meanwhile, Oliver was obviously distraught at losing his new sister—a better sister, Beth couldn't help thinking—but he had tried to hide it behind a new, gruff exterior. It hadn't worked.

Her father, however, had looked indifferent. She had no doubt he was thinking along similar lines as herself, that it was for Mary's own good. Beth felt guilt and remorse at seeing her friend leaving, especially so eagerly. But it would keep her safe and it would certainly make things easier. One less person to lie to. One less person who could find out.

Her thoughts shot back to that moment in the shelter, of her own, vile fangs snapping at her father's arm. It had been involuntary, but that made it worse. If the thirst could drive her to the point where she was no longer in control … she didn't want to imagine the consequences. This time, she had been saved by a sudden and intense shame that allowed her to take a hold of herself, to remember her humanity.

But what if there's a next time?

How could she possibly move back into the house after Mary's departure … but how could she stay in the shelter, away from them all? There would be questions about her health, worries about the permanency. Her mother would try and fix what she could never know was wrong, and then there would be that look in her eyes again. The painful
I can't help you
look, which up until that first fever hit had never been true.

She was a liability and a burden.

For the first time in her life she wondered if the world would be a better place without her.

THIRTY-NINE

JUST WHEN MARY'S WORLD
had been plunged into horrific darkness, a light was offered to her. It was almost too good to be true, and it had taken a while for her good fortune to sink in. The flood of relief lasted for what felt like days.

By Monday, things had settled down and the solace gave way to worry. She wasn't out of the house yet. And there was also her concern for Lynne and Oliver—especially so for the boy she'd come to consider her little brother. They were clueless as to the danger they lived with; she didn't like the thought of them continuing to live in darkness. She hadn't yet divulged what she knew to Lynne and had been trying to think of how she could say it, but every scenario she imagined ended with Lynne laughing at her. And why wouldn't she? Who, anywhere, would believe that the quiet, well-meaning Elizabeth Wade was anything other than human? Who would believe
anyone
was anything other than human?

She had to prove it somehow.

In the meantime, she had a backup plan to save at least one of them. Oliver had already been evacuated once. It was possible, a very slim chance though it was, that Lynne might let him come with her for safety. The relative peace of recent weeks didn't do her any favors, but the phony war of the year following the declaration had made it clear that silence shouldn't be taken for granted. Mary hoped that if she could convince Oliver, he would convince his mother.

After school that day, Mary grabbed him and managed to talk him into going to the park with her, so she could teach him how to skim
stones across the lake. Even though the sun hadn't been seen for a couple of days now, it was still warm enough to play around outside.

“You gonna miss me then?” she said in a jovial tone as Oliver flicked a stone and managed to get two bounces before it sank.

“Nah,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah, right. You know you love me, really.”

“Suppose I'll miss you a bit. You're okay. For a girl.”

“Wow. Thanks, Ollie.” She picked up a stone. “Try wrapping your finger round the edge of it, like this.” She flicked the stone and it skimmed a good fifteen yards along the surface.

Oliver searched for another flattish stone.

“Y'know,” said Mary, “if you want, you could always come with me. I'm sure my uncle would appreciate the company. There's lots of kids there and it'll be a lot safer.”

“Pffff.” Oliver smirked. “Are you off your rocker? I've already left home once, and it was horrible.”

“Yeah but this won't be. He's got a nice big house and everything.” Mary had never actually been to his house, he'd always come down to them, but she had to give incentives.

“Nah. All my friends are here. I don't want to leave Mum and Dad, anyway. Or Beth.”

Mary hid a shudder at the mention of the girl she was trying to save him from. “Okay. But if you ever want a holiday or something, or if the bombers come back or whatever, you know you can always come and stay. Right?”

“Yeah. Whatever you say, Mary.”

His curtness took her aback.
He doesn't mean it
, she thought with a deep breath.
He just doesn't know.
She wondered if she should tell him the truth, but it could do her more harm than good. “I'll still write every now and then,” she said. “You'll write back, won't you?”

“Okay,” he said, indifferently, before skimming a stone almost to the other side. He raised his hands in victory before searching for another stone. Mary smiled but felt dreadfully sad.

*   *   *

That evening when they got back, Lynne was waiting for her with a grin.

“We have a surprise for you, Mary,” she said, standing next to Bill. “I was able to speak to your Uncle Patrick today and he's happy for you to go as soon as you can. So, to say thank you for everything you've done while you've stayed with us, we've paid for your train ticket. It leaves on Wednesday. You'll have to miss school, but I didn't think you'd have a problem with that.”

Mary was dumbfounded and took a moment to find her voice. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Wade,” Mary replied, almost suffocating under the wave of emotions. She looked sheepishly at Bill and nodded. “Mr. Wade.”

“Not at all, Mary,” he said, his smile painfully genuine.

“I'm sure Beth and Oliver would love to see you off,” continued Lynne, “so I'll let them skip school for the day, too.”

Oliver had clearly overheard his mother as a whoop came from the kitchen. Mary smiled again but this time it was tainted with falsity. She had no wish to have Beth around anymore than was strictly necessary.

The news left Mary with very little time. Her plan for Oliver was always a long shot, and it had fallen through as she'd expected. She still needed to tell Lynne, though. But there was no way she could even try to convince her without proof.

She had to figure out a way to get it.

FORTY

AT TIMES, BETH FELT
like her family was split into two factions. They weren't at war, but they were inexorably different. She couldn't shake the notion that one side was bad, and the other good. Currently the good had the numbers, but soon their strength would be equal.

In truth, she still didn't know if her father belonged on her side of the fence.

His lies and deceptions were what gave Beth the fuel to hate him initially, but over the past few weeks she'd begun to understand how they had been necessary. She hadn't forgiven him, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd called him “Bill”. She'd also come to wonder that if she considered herself to be evil, did that not make her father ultimately the good guy for hunting others like her?

Why couldn't everything be black and white, like it had been before this curse was forced upon her?

These were the kinds of musings she deliberated over during her time in the shelter. Since the week prior, every day had been the same. She got up and had breakfast with the family and went to school alone. In class she was quiet, at lunch she stood by herself and on the way home she held the same company as in the morning. She wasn't quite sure if her daytime solitude was entirely self-imposed; at times Mary seemed just as committed to it as she did. Upon returning home she'd retreat to her dark and chilly sanctuary, going in to the house only for food and use of the toilet.

She was lying in there—still in her worn-looking school dress and shoes—when the back door opened and Bill's uneven footsteps on the soft ground came her way. It was Tuesday, and the small
amount of blood she'd consumed on Sunday no longer kept the edge off her thirst. With the craving getting stronger and symptoms of fatigue setting in, sounds and smells were becoming overpowering. But it wasn't due to her senses getting stronger; it was due to her control of them getting weaker. She was unable to subconsciously ignore the common superficial things.