Out of the Dark (Light & Dark #1) (7 page)

We cross the small island of grass at the front of the house, pass our car, and climb the three steps to the door. I lean Sarah against the wall while I retrieve the key from my pocket and unlock the door, and then I help her into the house. I kick the door shut behind me, making a mental note to come back and lock it as soon as I can, and we stumble down the hallway toward the kitchen, leaving a trail of coppery red blood behind us.

At the kitchen I help Sarah sit on one of the wooden chairs around the breakfast table, and she sighs with relief at getting the pressure off her leg. I watch her for a moment, unsure of what to do now that we are here. Her gray eyes meet mine for a brief moment before she slouches forward, rests her head on the table, and takes a deep shuddering breath. I chew on my lower lip, deciding upon my next move.

A small line of blood is trickling down her leg while another is soaking through the middle of her thin sweater. The blood is trailing down her body and amalgamating around her feet. I don’t want Lilly seeing all this blood—it might frighten her—so I decide the best course of action is to stop her bleeding, bandage her up, and clean the blood away. I jog down the hallway, locking the front door as I pass, and head into the downstairs bathroom. In the lower cabinet there is a small first aid kit, and I take it out and head back to the kitchen. I pause when I get back to the kitchen, because Lilly is standing in the doorway looking at Sarah.

“You should still be hiding, Honeybee,” I say quietly.

She doesn’t look away from Sarah, however, Sarah looks up sharply at the sound of my voice. Her eyes widen at the sight of Lilly, her mouth open in wonder.

“A child,” she gasps.

Because, you see, there has not been a child seen alive in such a long time. The children were the first to go: the weakest, the least immune, the slowest…the easiest to catch. How quickly we gave up our children to save ourselves.

Chapter Nine.

#9. The mystery of life.

“She’s…there’s a…how old is she?” Sarah tries to get to her feet, but her leg is still painful and she is too weak to stand without help. She gasps and falls back into her chair, a shaking hand going up to cover her mouth.

Lilly looks at me, turning her back on Sarah, and then she steps forward and wraps her small arms around my leg. She looks up at me with eyes full of sadness and worry. Because she knows the look Sarah is giving her; she understands the awe that her survival brings out in people.

“It’s okay,” I say to her. But still she clings. “Go sit over there.” I point to the tall stools at the breakfast bar, and she goes automatically without question. I turn back to Sarah. “I need to look at your leg,” I state simply, coldly, “I need to stop the bleeding.”

She nods, but her eyes never leave Lilly, following her across the kitchen.

I kneel by Sarah’s feet and open the first aid box, pulling out gauze and bandages, antiseptic wash and tape. I look up at her face and see her still looking at Lilly, and I don’t like it. It makes me feel nervous and worried. I shouldn’t have brought her here. It was a mistake, I decide. I have to put my knife down to clean and bandage her wound, another thing that I don’t like. But I can’t have her bleeding everywhere, or she’ll die in here and we’ll be trapped with a rotting corpse.

I place the knife down next to me, right next to the bandages so it is easy to grab if I need to, and I grasp the antiseptic solution. I grip Sarah’s leg and tear the dirty material of her jeans away from it. The jeans were already badly torn and hanging open, but now I can see the full extent of the injuries. I pour the solution over the wound without warning, and Sarah yelps and pulls her leg free from me. She looks down at me, her gray eyes full of tears again, her chin quivering.

“Stop staring at her,” I say quietly through gritted teeth. I hadn’t meant to scare her. My action wasn’t supposed to be a threat, but she deems it as one and I’m glad.

Her chin trembles and she blinks, the tears trailing down her cheeks leaving clean tracks on an otherwise dirty face. She nods and looks away from me, but also away from Lilly, and though I continue to scowl, I feel better knowing that she isn’t staring any longer. The wound is bad: the plastic from inside the car has sliced through and up, separating skin from flesh so that it now hangs in one loose flap. I wrap gauze and bandages tightly around the wound after cleaning it and then tape it all in place. The bleeding has stopped, or at least hasn’t seeped through the thick layer of bandages yet. I ask her to lift up her sweater and she does, but the cut there is only minimal, a thin red line across her stomach, and the bleeding has already stopped. I clean it and place a Band-Aid over the top, and then I pack everything back into the first aid box and stand up, grabbing my knife as I do. There is nothing else I can do for this woman. I can’t stitch her skin back together; I can only hope that it doesn’t get infected and possibly her skin might knit itself back together.

I retrieve two of the precious painkillers and hand them to Sarah, and she takes them with a mumbled “thanks.” I don’t like giving out our rations, especially not painkillers, but Lilly is still watching and I don’t want her to think that I am cruel. Lilly brings over water to help Sarah swallow the dry, powdery tablets, though I frown at her until she goes back to her stool.

This world has made me selfish and greedy. When you have nothing, you don’t want to share it.

“You should sleep,” I say abruptly, pulling Sarah up from her chair without waiting for her reply. “You can stay for tonight, but you’ll need to leave tomorrow.” I leave no room for disagreement.

She nods and leans on me again, though I can feel that she isn’t placing all of her weight on me like previously. We move slowly down the hallway, and I see that her blood has trailed all along the wooden floors, and I feel guilty that Lilly had to see any of this.

The stairs are hard to climb, but between pulling herself up using the banister and clinging onto me, Sarah makes it onto the landing. I guide her along to one of the bedrooms and help her into the bed. She’s shaken up by both her accident and the sight of Lilly, but her adrenalin is wearing off and the blood loss was quite substantial, so she’s tiring. I help her under the covers and she stares at me with wide eyes, reminding me in many ways of Lilly, her look of confusion and wariness, uncertainty washing over her features. She lies stiffly in the bed, almost afraid to get comfy or to move in any way.

“How did you crash?” I ask, now that Lilly is out of earshot.

Sarah swallows before replying. “I fell asleep while driving,” she says.

I nod, because I can understand that. I’ve almost done that many a time. I turn to leave but she grabs my arm, and I snatch it back and stare at her in anger.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wondered…is it safe here?”

Her voice is soft and shaky, but her meaning is clear: Is it free of monsters? Will she be okay to sleep with us guarding her? Will we, in fact, guard her at all? I think about all these unspoken questions, deciding for myself what I will do before I speak, before I voice my answer to this stranger.

“It’s been safe so far,” I reply calmly. “You can sleep. I’ll wake you for supper.”

A small smile plays on her lips, not quite giving itself over to a full-mouthed expression of happiness, but close enough. She nods and closes her eyes, and I turn to leave.

“Thank you,” she whispers to my retreating back.

I don’t bother to reply. Her thanks isn’t needed. Her leaving here tomorrow is what I want. Downstairs, Lilly is exactly where I left her: on the stool by the breakfast bar. She’s waiting patiently, scared of strangers but also excited for new company, new interactions. She looks up when I come in, her eyes dancing with eagerness. She waits patiently as I make my way to her, reaching over to hug me when I get within distance. I take her hug, hungry for its warmth, the reassurance that it provides, and I kiss the top of her head.

“She’s sleeping,” I murmur against her hair.

“Is she bad?” she whispers back.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

Silence falls around us, but I know that Lilly is still thinking about what I said. She may be a child, but her brain is more accustomed to this world, to the decisions that a person must make in order to survive. Yet she is much more understanding and forgiving than me.

“She has to leave tomorrow. We’ll give her some food and send her on her way.”

Silence…

“You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mama,” she replies. “You want to keep me safe.”

I pull out of our hug and look down into her pretty face, her large eyes looking up at me unblinking. Like twin pools of darkness, her brown eyes suck me in, absorbing me until I feel lost. I cup her cheeks in my cold hands, finding strength in her as I always do.

“I have to keep you safe,” I croon, hoping that she will understand.

“Okay,” she replies.

I let go of her face and look across at the blood on the floor. “I need to clean this up. I’m sorry that you had to see it.” I gesture to the mess, but I know that she has seen much worse than this. Yet somehow this seems almost as bad. Because she was beginning to soften here, her walls coming down. She was settling, and was almost at peace, but I can feel it now, the iciness in the air. This woman, her blood, they have invaded Lilly’s space, and she is lost again. And that makes me feel bitter resentment toward this woman. Intruding on our lives. Of course it wasn’t by her choice, but I don’t care.

I gather some large towels and wipe the blood away as best as I can. It takes a long time—some of it has already started to dry—and when I stand back up and look along the hallway, I see that the floor still looks stained by the blood. But it’s the best I can do. My back aches as I gather the bloody towels and place them in a clothes hamper in one of the bedrooms, and before I come back down the stairs, I check on Sarah.

She’s sleeping soundly, soft snores only punctuated by the occasional murmur. I click the door closed quietly and contemplate putting a chair under the handle just in case she is dangerous, but at the last minute I decide against it. I can protect Lilly and myself from this woman—of that I am sure.

I clean my hands with some of the hand soap in the downstairs bathroom and stale water from the toilet cistern, watching mesmerized as the bloody water swirls away. There isn’t very much left in there, just enough to cup in my hands. I realize that neither of us have eaten since breakfast, and since our bodies have quickly gotten used to three meals a day since arriving here, I feel desperately hungry and presume that Lilly will feel the same way.

The day is nearly over, and night will be falling soon. I hurry to make both Lilly and myself something to eat—spaghetti and canned Spam —because she likes spaghetti. I don’t use any tomato sauce today, though. I’ve seen enough red. We devour large bowlfuls with greedy smiles, both of us wishing for cheese to sprinkle on the top and make it even more perfect, but at least when we are finished, we are full. Our rumbly tummies are blissfully silent, and I’m once more left feeling like I’ve accomplished something by being able to fill Lilly’s stomach.

Lilly moves back to the table and continues coloring her picture, and I set about cleaning our bowls—which involves wiping them out with a slightly damp cloth. I don’t want to waste what little water we have on properly washing things, but if I don’t clean things, at least a little, we could get sick from infection.

When I’m done with cleaning them, I get the small map book and look at it again, wondering where we will go next. I hope that we can stay here for a little longer, but the time will come when we will have to leave. Of that I am certain.

Sarah comes slowly into the kitchen with a shy smile on her face. She looks pale, but she’s moving easier now. She smiles wider when she sees Lilly, as if she had forgotten about her, or thought that maybe she was a dream. Her smile falls when she sees me watching her closely.

“I smelled food?” She poses it as a question, and from across the room I can hear her stomach growling loudly.

“Mama can make you something,” Lilly says, her words so soft, so innocent.

They’re both looking at me expectantly now, and I incline my head to Sarah to sit at the stool at the end of the breakfast bar, far away from Lilly. She hobbles over and perches on the stool, and I boil her some of the spaghetti. The water bubbles in the pan, the spaghetti softening and dancing in the scorching water. I drain it into an empty pan, intending to use the water tomorrow for some more pasta. Pasta is great: it’s a good source of carbohydrates, it releases the energy slowly, and it’s filling even when you only have a little. But the best part is that we have lots of it. The worst part is that you need water to cook it. I open another can of Spam, chopping half of it and putting it in with the spaghetti, and then I push the bowl toward Sarah.

She takes it with a “thanks,” diving in with her fingers. She’s noisy as she eats, sucking up the pasta with a slurp and licking her fingers hungrily as if she hasn’t eaten for weeks. I watch both transfixed and fascinated as she eats. Her cheekbones are jutting, her eyes hollow, and I don’t understand how I missed that she was quite obviously starving. Had this been us—Lilly and me—only last week? I suddenly feel guilty for withholding food from her and insisting that she sleep. Last week I couldn’t have waited another hour for food. I was weak and tired, aching all over, my head pounding…

“How are you feeling?” I ask, giving her some of our flat orange pop.

She eyes the glass warily, picking it up with greasy fingers and sniffing the contents.

“It’s juice,” Lilly says matter-of-factly, startling both Sarah and me as she comes to stand with us.

Lilly has been watching Sarah too, and she hands her a fork with a shy smile.

Sarah takes it with a soft blush. “I’m sorry, I was just so hungry,” she says by way of explanation. “It’s been days since I ate.” She drinks the flat pop down in one go, but I don’t give her any more. It’s Lilly’s favorite.

Sarah starts to eat again, this time using her fork, though I can see how much it frustrates her to do so. Her stomach grumbles noisily, the food being digested easily as she eats. When the bowl is empty, she looks into it longingly, wanting more but not daring to ask me. I refuse to cook any more of the pasta, though. Things have to be rationed if we are to survive. Instead I grab a handful of the dry crackers from the pantry and let Sarah eat those. They are stale, but I have been eating them and they are better than nothing.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, picking one up and biting down on it.

I fill her glass up with water and watch her take sips in between mouthfuls of dry, stale crackers. She finishes them and looks up with a little more color to her cheeks than before. She gives me a tentative smile, which I don’t return. I want to, though, but I can’t. This woman makes me nervous, though she seems harmless enough and Lilly likes her.

Lilly runs around the breakfast bar and pulls on my top. “I need to pee,” she whispers, glancing with embarrassment at Sarah.

I smile down at her. “Okay.” I take her hand and we leave the kitchen. I give Sarah a wary glance as we go because I don’t like leaving her alone in this house—not with our food so close. I take Lilly to the downstairs bathroom and she quickly squats over the bucket. I do the same after her and pick up the bucket, bringing it back with us to the kitchen. Sarah hasn’t moved from her place at the breakfast bar, and she watches us as we enter. Lilly goes straight back to her coloring book and I go to the back door before glancing over at Lilly.