Short Stories

Border Trials

Chase’s life was flawless. Everything he needed was always there, even being cooped up in the small compound didn’t bother him much. Then it wasn’t. Walks in the park to dodging speeding cars. His family to a street urchin called Ellie. Having all the food he wanted to search for scraps.

“Tomorrow then?” Ellie was slumped on the dusty pavement watching as smoke puffed up into the evening sky.

Chase looked away, chest tightening at the thought of it. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t board that dreaded train. Even as he settled down to watch beside her, the steel machine belched smoke and trundled forwards. According to Ellie, it was small for an engine; there were far larger ones in the cities. She should know, she’d been far and wide and even once on a ship. Chase, until a week ago, hadn’t left his village, let alone the land.

As the carriages picked up speed and disappeared among the shacks of the outer city, so did his chance at finding his family. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t see the disappointing look in her eyes.

“You’ll manage later,” she said.

Her words echoed around his head. He wouldn’t manage later. Six days he’d been here, watching his failure pick up speed. “I’m wasting your time, I’m sorry. If you only…”

He started, finding Ellie’s eyes right up close to his, “There is all the time in the world, and besides, I am enjoying your company. Ever since Billy died, it has been lonely here.”

Chase wanted to shift his eyes but he realised he couldn’t. “Billy died trying to do what I want to.”

She sniffed, “He went under the fence, everyone knows you don’t go that way.”

Chase knew the fence. The first day he’d followed the train all the way to the fence. That’s where he’d met Ellie. She’d been staring through them. “You could go anywhere,” he said, “And yet you stay here. With me.”

It was her turn to avoid his gaze. “It’s tiring moving all the time. Here, at least there are no gangs.”

“That’s because it’s only us! I can’t imagine a worse place.”

She shook her head and began trudging back down the dirty street, “Trust me, Chase, there is. And besides, before you came there was Mike.”

Sally who got on the train.

“Mike is now living a great life on the other side. You could be too.”

Chase swallowed, “How do you know he made it the whole way?”

When she gave no reply, Chase pushed himself to his feet again and hurried after her. He should be glad she was there. He would have followed in Billy’s footsteps with a bullet in his head, she was right, the train was the only way to cross the fence.

They were approaching a road, the tarmac lanes cutting through the shacks like a scar, a mass of cars, motorcycles and blaring horns. His stomach tightened but she didn’t look back. A swarm of motorcycles carrying at least two people wove around blacked-out cars, making it almost impossible to cross.

Impossible for him at least, Ellie was already weaving her way through the traffic. Chase did not want to follow. But he had no choice. It was that or starve, that or being alone. He would be alone on the train, but he didn’t have to think about that until the evening.

Chase took one step onto the road. And another. A horn blared somewhere to his left but he kept going. The cars, he avoided, but— He jumped as a motorcycle wheel grazed his back food. He yelped.

“Ellie!”

The noise was too loud. He stepped forward and then, all of a sudden he was off the road again, feet sinking into the dirt street. People peered at them from doorways and between wall panels but thankfully none of them took any real interest. Still, it worried him that he and Ellie were the only ones out of place here.

This time Ellie chose a new place, the alleyway behind a row of street vendors crowded with hungry faces. It was dangerous here, or so he’d learnt but tonight nobody gave them bother as they slunk around piles of rubbish to a bin full of steaming scraps.

When they were finished, Ellie nodded towards the train station. Almost immediately his stomach began to twist. Seven days and it didn’t get any easier, he might as well accept that he was never going to cross the fence or get on the train. Maybe it would have been easier if Ellie hadn’t stopped him that first night. Billy didn’t have to worry anymore.

“Let’s go,” she said when he didn’t move.

Chase looked longingly back at the busy street behind, “Can we try tomorrow?”

“No. Tonight, I will take you as far as I can, maybe even further than is safe. From there, you only have to get on the platform and into the carriage.”

“…And make it past the fence.”

She scoffed, “There are only a few people that check the carriages, they will surely pass over you.”

Chase nodded. She would know.

And so, once again, Chase found himself at Ellie’s heels on the way to the train station. Heart in his throat, he stepped up to the fence leading to the tracks where he’d sat waiting every day for a week. This time she would come too. He wondered why she was still here, why she hid somewhere like this when she was so well-travelled.

She didn’t hesitate as she slid her way under the rusty fence and up onto the tracks. Chase glanced either way but the next train was still at the station. It was now or never. She would take him part of the way. Chase got down on his belly and pushed himself under the fence. He was through! Something he’d never felt coursed through his blood. It made him all giddy inside.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” he said, a little breathlessly.

Together, they slunk along the edge of the tracks, great rusty iron rails leading right up to the platform and the waiting train, smoke belching from its top.

He thought they’d made it unseen when a piercing screech blasted into the air. He looked around and made to jump over the tracks but Ellie was there before he could.

“No,” she said, “We’re doing this. You’re doing this.”

He looked back at the engine but nobody was looking at them. He bobbed his head and Ellie took off at a run, feet pounding over the sharp gravel. Despite being bigger, Chase struggled to keep up and for a few moments, he was alone in the fading light. Then they were in the shadow of the train and its carriages, steam enveloping them as the screeching came again.

“That means it’s about to leave,” she said, “You need to go now.”

Chase turned to face her, heart pounding, “Please, I can’t go alone. Come with me.”

She looked away.

There was another rush of steam and a lesser screech in the distance along with slamming doors.

“Come on! This is your chance too. It will be lonely here and perhaps my family can help you too.”

She looked at him with grave eyes, “I’m sorry, I cannot. I must… I have to stay here.”

Chase stared at his only companion, soon to be his former friend. If only…

“Go!” She said, “It’s about to go without you.”

Then he was leaving, leaping onto the platform, heart in his mouth. It was almost empty, save for a man with a green and red flag hurrying towards them. Even the giddiness didn’t smother the growing sadness as the distance between him and Ellie increased. He should have encouraged her more.

And then he was inside. A slim hallway and a rack full of large suitcases greeted him. Behind was a small space just big enough for him. From the door, he would be hidden.

The door in the next carriage slammed shut. This was his last chance to bail. He didn’t move, for the first time, his fear froze him in the right place. He counted the moments as the footsteps sounded outside.

Chase yelped as a bundle of white turned into Ellie, the door slamming just as she cleared the doorway. She panted heavily, slumping down on the floor.

“You came!”

For a while she just lay there, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What is it?”

“I lied to you.” She averted her gaze.

The unease grew in his stomach. “About what?”

She looked up, speaking in a low voice as the carriages jolted forward, “I have never been on a boat or a train. I came to the city like you, in a car. My family told me to wait and never came back for me. I don’t know what happened to them.”

Chase swallowed, “So you don’t know where we are going?”

She looked down again. Somehow he preferred the part where he’d been sure of his success.

He looked towards the hallway, the one that must lead to the other passengers, the ones who were allowed on the train. “You’re like me then?”

She sighed. “The first day, I tried to cross the fence like you. I was with Billy. I never managed the train.”

“Billy. How long were you here?”

“Five years.”

Five years and she hadn’t caught the train. It made him feel a lot better that it had taken him a week. And yet he felt a little shamed that he would have left her behind.

At that moment, voices came from behind the door towards the end of the carriage. “Come on,” he said, “It doesn’t matter, we have to find a better hiding place.”

They both slipped out from behind the luggage rack and stopped at the start of the long corridor. It was empty, though there were windows on either side, one side showing the tops of tin roofs flashing past and the other, the faces of those inside.

Keeping low, Chase led the way. If they could only find some way to stay on the train long enough to cross the fence—

A shout cut off his thought. He glanced over his shoulder to see someone running down the hallway after them, brandishing a walking sick. He must have come from that door.

They exchanged a glance and bolted, feet pounding on the wooden floor. Then they reached a dead end. A narrow door blocked their exit. Ellie didn’t hesitate, throwing herself against it. It cracked open a little and the din of metal on metal filled Chase’s ears, cool wind ruffling his hair.

He slammed his weight against the door and between them, they shoved it open. As soon as they were out, it slammed shut behind them.

They were alone in between the carriages, struggling to balance as the track hurtled past below them, the only thing stopping them from falling to their deaths, a narrow metal plate and a rail too high to be of any use.

“I got a ride in a truck once,” Ellie shouted over the din, “It was smooth compared to this.”

“How do we get in there?” Chase gestured to the next door. There was no handle, nothing on this side to open.

Ellie wasn’t looking. He followed her gaze out to the tracks. There were no more houses, just barren land full of spiky plants and sand, all whizzing by. And then… passing them in an instant was a high metal fence, the top wrapped in sharp wire. He even caught sight of a watchtower, and people with guns walking up and down.

Then it was gone and the landscape resumed, though the fence now followed the edge of the tracks. Chase’s heart leapt, they were past the first hurdle. He’d never thought further than this, however.

“We’re over,” Ellie whispered.

“Maybe in both ways,” he muttered as the door creaking open, broke them from their trance. It revealed the same man dressed in a long black coat, a cane in one hand and a gleaming gun in the other. He raised it, the barrel pointed directly at Chase’s chest. He froze, eyes widening.

Something soft collided with him just as the bang went off. He was in mid-air. He was rolling, pain shooting up his legs, through his body. The bang rang in his ears. When he finally came to a rest, gravel crunching underneath him, it took several more moments before his body stopped shuddering from the pain.

He could still feel the vibrations of the train, disappearing into the distance. The wind, now a cool breeze, carried dust that stung his eyes. He was alone.

Fear came first. Then horror. Ellie. The bang. No. She had to have made it somehow. And yet, only the plume of smoke visible, Chase was more alone than ever. She never said it would be easy. The fact that Billy had died this way, if only trying to get through the fence…

As the weight of his situation hit him, his legs wobbled. Instead of giving in to them, he forced them to carry him forward.

The sun sank, turning red. Dusk came and went, and darkness began to fall. His legs ached even more as the breeze cooled until he was shivering. Yet nothing was worse than the dread in his stomach, Ellie’s face etched into his memory.

He would find her wherever the train stopped and if he couldn’t, he would find his family and get them to help. They always fixed problems with ease he couldn’t understand. And yet they hadn’t found him. He wondered if they’d waited at the train station for him, for a week.

Night settled over the landscape. A smattering of lights flared to life in the distance. They grew gradually closer and brighter until he could see winding streets lined with them. He wondered why they lit empty streets, it was surely a waste. At one point the track passed over a road, trucks thundering past. Then the track entered a tunnel and he really was in darkness.

Just as he thought his legs might fall off, he stepped past lights set back into the tunnel. A station had to be close. Was this where his family was, was this where Ellie was? He winced. The gunshot.

The platform was lit by bright white lights and the signs scrolled continuously with information he couldn’t understand. He slunk up onto the platform, the smooth surface a welcome change for his feet.

This would be the only way through. However much Ellie had told the truth, her explanation of borders made sense to him.

They wanted to stop people getting across they didn’t want. Ellie. Even if she was still alive, would she even be allowed to cross?

No screeching whistles sounded as he crept through the arched door, entering a room with a polished floor, poles and a glass wall where he could see the blurry outlines of people moving about behind. He had to get there. Red string hung between the poles, perhaps where people would wait.

Two women dressed in short black coats and red trousers leaned against one of the windows, deep in conversation. Two glass doors on the other side of the wall were the only exit.

He looked around but there was no sign of Ellie. He grew more uneasy. She would have waited, wouldn’t she? Chase swallowed, to move those heavy glass doors he would have to run fast and…

Before he could overthink it, he was bounding across the floor towards them. The two women turned at once and shouted, rushing towards him, waving canes.

Another appeared from a small building. His heart leapt into his mouth, it was the same man as before. They closed in, though the man didn’t show his gun. They could run faster than him, and they were closer.

Chase hit the door. For a painstaking moment, he thought it wouldn’t open. Then, with a creak, it moved enough for him to slip through.

The station continued on the other side, platforms stretching in lines into the distance. There was no smell of steam like before, no suit-stained windows. Bright lights hung from a glass ceiling illuminating dozens of sleep train cars, hundreds of people running and walking, pushing trolleys and dragging children by their arms.

Chase ducked through the crowd, but there was little chance the guards would find him here. The excitement wore off quickly. Ellie was nowhere to be seen. And now what? He’d made it to the other side. Alone. He couldn’t be alone, not again. He realised he’d been holding onto the hope that his family would still be waiting for him. He should have come the first day, they wouldn’t know he couldn’t get himself to ride the train.

He turned back towards the glass doors, just visible if he peered through the shifting bodies, that man was still standing there, talking to the two women by the glass doors, now open. He gestured angrily then took off, skirting around the edge of the crowd.

Even as his stomach squirmed, his legs carried him to the edge of the crowd and as soon, as the man exited the doors, he slipped through behind, hoping that he wasn’t going to be trapped inside.

Instead, he found himself on a street. A huge street. There were no ramshackle huts squished between brick buildings, these were all of glass, towering into the darkness. Neon lights flashed on screens everywhere.

The man turned right. Chase followed, looking for potential escape routes. The man had a gun and to one side was a wall and to the other, a steady stream of polished cars. He wondered where the shacks were in the city. For some reason, there were no motorcycles either.

He turned right again and— He would recognise that voice anywhere. He clamped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to shout back. Ellie was there. He couldn’t see her but it had been her shout from that big black truck. The door slammed shut and an engine started.

Chase looked around frantically but there was nowhere to go. He glanced back at the traffic as the truck swung around and approached the intersection. He would run.

Run he did. Chase bounded between cars, over crossings, and between people as the truck sped up, moving further and further from the busiest part of the city. Finally, it slowed and took a turning just before reaching an even bigger road. He huffed in relief, crossing the road and…

Chase gasped. Walking towards him were his family. Two children hurried alongside their parents, one tall and the other small.

His eyes glistened. The city had to be huge and he’d found them quite by accident. The truck was disappearing into the distance but Chase only had eyes for his lost family.

In five steps, he was looking up at them. Then, to his surprise, they just walked past, avoiding looking at him, the father hurrying his children along a little faster.

Chase stared as they approached the intersection. He looked down at himself. He was covered in dirt and… He ran after them, getting in front again. Couldn’t they see? He jumped up and down.

Finally, they stopped and their eyes focused on his. “It’s me,” he said, “I managed to get across the border!”

The man’s face contorted slightly and, to Chase’s utmost surprise, swung his booted shoe at him. He yelped and jumped out of the way.

“It’s me!” He cried out but the man was already moving, glancing over his shoulder with a worried expression.

Chase pursued. He wasn’t going to fail this easily. They reached the crossing but Chase was there before they could step off the pavement.

“I look different,” he said, “But it’s me!”

Finally, the man waved his children and wife across the road, turning to Chase.

Well, at least he remembered. He could forgive the kick.

The man reached into his pocket, just like the guard had, something gleaming in his hand. Chase yelped, heart stopping as the gleam of a half-concealed barrel once again pointed straight at him.

He backed away more, shuddering. “It’s me,” he tried one last time. There was a click from the gun and Chase turned and ran. He ran and ran. His family. They were not like the guard. They couldn’t be.

And yet… What if they hadn’t accidentally left him behind? What if… What if they meant to?

Chase sank to the ground shaking. He’d come all this way and even found his family but all they’d done was try to get rid of them again.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, curled up on the street. He looked up as people passed, but they paid him no attention. He didn’t care. He wondered if Mike had found the same thing. Or maybe he’d never found his family.

A distant call forced him upright. When he looked up, he found himself looking right at the big truck. Half on the pavement, it was parked beside a large garage door.

Ellie.

If his family didn’t want him, then Ellie would have to do it. He pushed himself to his feet. The metal door rattled when he pushed it but didn’t budge so he moved around the corner to the back of the building. A small door, set back in the darkness was propped open with a crate.

Chase entered despite his sudden wariness. The smell threatened to sear his nose. He was in a room full of plastic boxes. He peered into them in the semi-darkness and jumped back. Glistening eyes stared back. He felt sick. Ellie. No, no. Maybe Mike was here.

His stomach twisted as he darted through the lines of boxes and another door. This room was brighter, and the man in the black coat was bent over a metal table.

His heart rose to his mouth and he froze. On the other side of the man was a cage, and staring back at him was Ellie. She wasn’t looking at him, but staring up at the man, eyes wide.

He made to move then stopped himself. He would have to wait until the man, the guard opened the door.

His moment came. The man pulled a key from his pocket and, unlocking the door, slid the door back slightly. As Ellie cowered to the back, Chase leapt. First, he landed on the metal table, scattering tools and pieces of glass before slamming into the man’s back.

He cried out, twisting before crashing against the cage. His face was a picture of surprise as he reached towards his coat. This time, however, Chase was faster, he caught the hand. Ellie was there too.

“Come on, let’s go!” He shouted as the man rolled over, clucking his wrist, now leaking blood at a steady rate.

Ellie bounded after him with no hesitation.

Finally, several streets later, they slowed to a stop.

“How did you find me?”

Chase shook his head, “I followed the man, it was all that I could do.”

“You made it,” she said tiredly, slumping against the wall, “We both made it. Thank you for finding me. I don’t know what he was going to do.”

Chase opened his mouth but stopped himself. “I found my family,” he said instead.

For some reason, she looked slightly disappointed. “That’s good. But thanks for coming back for me, I hope we see each other again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you have your family, I have to find mine.”

Chase swallowed, “They didn’t want me.”

She stared.

“He pointed a gun at me. Like that guy did. I think they left me on purpose.”

She rested her head against his, “We’ll find you another one. Maybe mine will take you.”

He shook his head, “No, I don’t think I will. I want to be like you, to travel and—”

“That was a lie,” she said, “I never did it.”

“You just did! We just crossed the fence. Why should we stop here?”

They exchanged a long glance. Finally, she bobbed her head. “Where do we begin?”

“We stop that man killing dogs.” 

Ester's Storm

“At first, the storm left chaos in its wake, now it leaves ashes. Ester Bennet must decide between safety and ancestral obligations.”

Ester Bennet held a cloth to her nose and mouth as she ran. Wind tore at dead grass, stinging her bare arms. Several stunted trees that had stood for a thousand storms were reduced to splintered stumps. Yet his wasn’t just any storm, it was the Western Cyclone, a huge storm-front that had been slowly swallowing the Westfield for the past two years.

The rhythmic thrum of a military helicopter only added to the din as it fought the cross-wind. In itself, it wasn’t an unusual sight, though it would normally land close just outside the farmyard, the pilots enjoying tea and cakes. Mostly, she liked the way it put the stuffy scientists off guard.

Now those very same scientists ran alongside her as they covered the short distance between the creaking farmhouse and safety. She was leaving. Five years later, she was leaving again. It should feel good; her ancestors would be proud. She’d stayed for as long as she could. Yet she couldn’t rid the feeling that she was running from something.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She glanced at her mother whose knuckles were white as they held up her skirts to run, weathered face set firm in its constant frown.

Ester matched it with practised ease. She wasn’t thinking about it. She was… I’m leaving. Leaving forever. She could have left much earlier, months ago along with everyone else, finally fleeing the plain for the east.

For two years they’d held out as the encroaching storm-front scorched more and more of the Westfield. The only reason they were still here was because of the scientists. The meteorologists as they called themselves. She’d given no complaints, mostly because she’d asked them in the first place. Now that they weren’t keeping her there, she didn’t have to put up with their high noses. Farmers were the backbone, not the dirt of the world.

Hovering just twenty paces above the parched soil, the helicopter’s downdraft whipped up enough dust to partly conceal the ladder dangling below. The bottom of it jerked a meter from the ground, as men and women in camouflaged uniforms moved above trying to keep the craft stable.

It was everything she’d ever dreamed of as a teenager—a dramatic escape from the farm with no need to ever return.

When she’d left, it hadn’t been like this. Her father had not even said goodbye, and her mother had begrudgingly seen her off at the airport with a handful of cash to get her to Eastfield.

And yet…

Ester stumbled to a halt below the helicopter, hands clasped firmly over her ears. She was half afraid that it would tip sideways, the large rotors cutting them to pieces. The scientists climbed up first, only the last standing back for Ester’s mother. He glanced at her, but when she shook her head, he shrugged, leaving her alone in the vortex of dust and grass. Well, maybe they aren’t all lacking manners.

The others peered down at her, but she glanced back to the approaching storm, a purplish mass of high winds and lightning sweeping across the plain towards them. Occasionally plumes of smoke stained the clouds preceding a bright orange flare. No rain in two months, it’s going to kill everything.

At first, the storm had left chaos in its wake. Now it left ashes.

She looked up and met her mother’s gaze.

“Hurry!” She called, “They have to leave now!”

Ester just stared up at them. This is my escape. What she’d always wanted. The old farmhouse, its slatted walls already bowing in the wind wouldn’t survive. And yet, she couldn’t imagine the frame built by her ancestors breaking before a storm.

“Don’t be like him!” Her mother’s voice cut over the helicopter sound, “He was a fool. Don’t you…” Her voice was cut off as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Ester took a step back. And then another. Then she was running, sprinting back towards the farmhouse, shielding her eyes from the dust. Her mother’s scream was muffled as the helicopter rose off the ground.  The great flying beast passed overhead and tilted forward, blasting her once more with a thunderous cloud before growing smaller and smaller as it headed east and towards the spine.

Ester slowed to a walk as she reached the entrance to the yard. She turned looking out to the vast emptiness. This time it really was empty, save for her. This was where she’d last seen him, her father, his hazel crook tucked under his arm. The coat she now wore was filled with odd tools and trinkets passed down through the generations.

She’d come home, cutting her studies short to search for him. Since then she hadn’t left, first for fear that her mother would take it hard and then because what else was she supposed to do? Her once dreams seemed insignificant against her duties as a Bennet.

She swallowed hard, refocusing on the storm. Something of his can be saved. She couldn’t leave it to be burned to ash in the firestorm. And yet, already she was pushing her luck, if she wasn’t fast, she would be swallowed too.

She pushed past the gate and through her mother’s dead flower garden to reach the front door. At first, they’d fed the scientists their remaining produce; then the helicopters came, bringing supplies and water every week.

She pushed on the door, and it swung open easily. She’d never known there to be a key or a need for one. Even before the storm front descended on the Westfield, there hadn’t been many people in the area. Recently there had been just her, her mother and a collection of odd scientists who thought they could predict the storm-front’s unusual weather patterns. It was telling that they were being evacuated at the last minute.

She closed the door and dropped the cloth from her face. Only the distant thunder and the creaking walls signed the coming storm. For a moment she could almost hope it wasn’t coming at all.

She was brought back to the present by a distinct snuffling coming from the kitchen, through the door to her right. She stepped through and there were her two pigs, heads in the overturned bins.

“Bella. Carly. What’s come over you?”

They raised their snouts from the scrap bin and nuzzled wet noses against her as if to say, where did you go? They were the only remaining animals on the farm and had been for some time. The rest had long since run, to what end she didn’t know.

Stupid things belong in a sty, not the house! She could almost hear her father utter those words every time she looked at them. She’d taken pride in raising them despite his complaints—or, maybe, because of them. A wave of sadness washed over her as she thought of the two girls being left for the storm to ravage.

She straightened, reminding herself of her haste and swept her gaze around the kitchen. She grabbed the truck keys from the mantlepiece. If she was going to survive she would need to drive as fast and as far east as she could. The storm moved in waves, every day reaching slightly further, a kilometre, or a few meters. The scorched soil from the previous day was visible only a minute’s walk from the farmhouse. If she could just find an outpost somewhere along there. Weather, military, something!

Above the large kitchen table, among photographs of her and her immediate family, hung a faded charcoal drawing. Two dozen men and women stood in front of a wooden frame that would one day become the farmhouse. She grabbed it, frame and all, and set it on the kitchen table.

The living room, now a mess of wires and equipment, was next. A dozen laptops perched on fold-up tables, lying open where their occupants had sat only minutes before. She wondered if the farmhouse was the only building in the country without electricity, not that anywhere in the West had it now. The power came from large batteries, two of which were stuffed under her father’s desk. The storm-front was almost impossible to predict more than a day ahead but about an hour before, it became clear that it would reach them on its journey eastwards.

She glanced at the graphs and coloured maps on the screens but they were just that. Perhaps if she’d deigned to learn, there might be something of value here. She stepped over the wires to reach the bookshelf at the back, filled with heavy leather-bound tomes along with adventure novels and machine manuals. Pushing empty mugs to the side, she selected by far the oldest, the spine creased from heavy use.

‘The Holy Bible,’ was inscribed in gold foil across the front. Whatever else had been there had long since worn off. She flicked it open, scanning through the first few pages. Scrawled in countless prints were the names, births, and deaths of her entire family. In recent years her father had kept up the tradition and she’d even written his death in afterwards. That was the last time it had been opened and the tear-smudged ink still looked fresh. She snapped it shut and tucked it under her arm.

Next, she took the stairs, two at a time, two flights up until she entered her room, ducking to avoid bumping her head.

She pulled open her wardrobe, flinging clothes out behind her, shirts, heavy trousers, skirts like her mother wore… she paused as something sparkled up at her.

In her hands was a sequenced shirt that was barely more than a stretchy tube of fabric. A feeling, long quashed moved deep within her.   Underneath was a pair of leather trousers, a short skirt, and long leather boots. They wouldn’t fit now but somehow she’d never managed to rid herself of them. The idea that they held. The one she’d lost.

Well, she wasn’t here for reminders of her teenage dreams. She shoved them out of the way, uncovering a small wooden chest. Inside was a collection of old coins, jewellery, and a pile of yellowed paper—the family journal. She knew it was stupid, but she lifted the whole thing onto her hip.

At that moment the house shuddered and she almost lost grip of it. Steadying herself, she retracted her earlier judgement about the stability of the house. Taking a last look at her room of twenty-two years, she pushed out of the door and hurried down the steps two at a time.

Even as she entered the kitchen, the house shuddered again followed by a collective crash as shards of glass skittered across the floor and bits of paper fluttered across the table. “Come on you two,” she said to the girls, placing the framed drawing on top of her growing pile. Catching sight of the family recipe book, she stuffed that on top too.

She hurried out of the room and, balancing everything on one arm, pulled open the front door.

Immediately a gust of wind almost ripped the box from under her arm. She clung to it as she crossed the yard to the cow shed. Missing half of its tin roof, it held only the battered truck. Now it was in the path of the storm and little if anything survived that.

Wincing at the screech of metal as another roof sheet flicked away, Ester opened the passenger door and dropped everything onto the cracked leather. She then turned back to the pigs which now watched her, seemingly unbothered by the wind.

“Come on,” She said, grabbing Bella’s pink collar. She didn’t move.

Ester tried to push her and then drag her but she was far too heavy. Carly, upon seeing her sister’s refusal, set her feet in the dirt.

Ester looked up and was shocked to see the storm front consuming half of the sky, a great wall of swirling clouds. Flashes of lightning illuminated the plain in the distance before it was swallowed. The air felt heavy despite the lack of rain. She turned back to the girls. “Fine, but don’t haunt me for leaving you behind.”

Jumping into the driver’s seat, she tried to imagine the pigs finding somewhere to hide. Due to some miracle, the truck started. Heart pounding, she pushed the stick into first, careful to avoid the pigs. She passed the old windmill, now decked out with wind speed monitors and solar panels, and finally onto the dirt road.

As she picked up speed, glancing over her shoulder all the time she felt a sense of approval. As if her father were sitting beside her urging her on.

Her grin faded as a peal of thunder seemed to shake the truck. In the rear-view mirror, the storm was closing in fast. She wasn’t going to make it. The front would be moving faster than the truck could on the tarmac, even as large a one as they had in the Eastfield.

She glanced at the passenger seat and felt a sudden twang of sadness. A pile of useless junk, not her father. A tear slid down her cheek. What was she doing?

Though her mind screamed at her to continue, she slowed to a stop and yanked the parking break up.

“You don’t care what I do,” she said, “You never did. You only cared about the past. Mother is right, I’m just like you.” Even as the words left her mouth she knew they were true. She was just like him. But she didn’t have to be.

The storm was now all she could see in the mirrors but she couldn’t bring herself to press the gas pedal. Instead, she peered out of the window towards the farmhouse. She swore she could see two pink blotches standing in the yard.

What am I doing? With a deep breath, she shoved the stick into reverse. Careful not to land in the ditch, she turned the truck back to face the storm.

“I’m not like him,” she said. “I won’t die holding onto things that mean nothing to me.”

She slammed her foot to the floor and the truck lurched forward, back towards the farmhouse. Idiot. Her mind shouted at her, but she wasn’t listening. If she was going to die, she would die with Bella and Carly. Not alone in a truck with useless clutter.

When she pulled into the yard, the storm-front was so close that its shadow cast the yard into twilight. She climbed out the passenger door after struggling to lever her own against the wind. “Carly! Bella!”

Bent into the thundering wind, she left the truck, engine still running, as she crossed to the shed which was now roofless. There they were, steady as boulders where she’d left them. She fell to her knees as she reached them, putting one hand on each of their collars.

“Silly girls,” she shouted into the wind, “Did I not teach you any survival skills?”

They just looked at her as if to say, who are you talking about survival?

Ester looked back to the truck but there was no way she would escape the storm now. Her eyes fell on a pile of rubble—materials her father had intended to use to fix up the mill. It seemed almost fitting as she dragged her two girls behind it.

The storm hit, harder than she ever imagined. There was no rain, no torrential downpour. Darkness descended around them so that she could barely see. Her only glimpses came when the lightning struck every few seconds.

One second the shed was there and then it was a tangle of bent metalwork. The wind blew harder and, though, from the almighty crash, she knew the house was gone. Bits of wood flashed past her as she huddled tighter with the two pigs.

They didn’t so much as whimper, but instead watched with steady eyes. She could learn a thing or two from them. At some point, at least twenty minutes in, she saw the truck roll past, smashing into a large pile of rubble and timber that had not been there before. The Mill. She felt no sadness for it and the things inside the truck.

For a moment, she thought she was safe from most of the damage, and then the firestorm hit. Heat like she’d never felt before engulfed them as horizontal flames flickered around the rocks. She pulled her coat up around her mouth as her eyes began to sting.

A red glow grew and grew around her and the sound of roaring flames rose and rose… Sweat dried on her skin and the awful smell of smouldering hair prompted her to pull the jacket up over her head. Huddled between the pigs, she whimpered as heat seared the soles of her feet. Until it didn’t. The heat dissipated slightly and, when she looked up, the glow was further on. A fiery burst marked the end of the truck. The remains of the mill burned longer. Slowly, bit by bit, the firestorm faded. In comparison, the winds before seemed light as they whipped ash and dust past her.

Almost an hour later, the winds had lessened enough that she could stand easily. She was alive! She glanced down at Bella and Carly and while their short hair was a little singed, skin a little red, they were still watching her. She shook her head. Steady as boulders.

Leaning slightly into the wind, Ester surveyed what remained of her ancestral home. The farmhouse over a hundred years old was reduced to its stone foundations with little sign there had been anything else. The shed still held onto its frame, blackened and scorched as it was though the sheeting was mostly gone. Everything else was charred and as the dust and ash cleared there was blackened ground as far as she could see.

Yet as she wandered around, picking through the rubble of the mill and the half-melted remains of the truck, she felt more at peace than ever. She laughed into the steady breeze. There was nothing left for her here. She could move on freely.

Something nuzzled at her trouser leg. Bella and Carly looked up at her with expectant eyes. Smiling, she nodded, “You’re right, there’s still you two.”

Night Walk

Drooping conifers speed past on either side, snow piled up high on either side of the winding road. Long shadows flicker in Susan’s eyes despite her large sunglasses. Just fire him. The whole company will be better without him. She blasts the stereo louder and louder until it swallows the sound of grit being spat up by her tyres.

Unable to drown out her thoughts, she punches the off-button and drives in silence. Whatever she does, Colin will not get out of her mind. The insufferable bastard cannot handle his clients let alone manage the office at weekends.

She takes a long sip from her iced latte and sighs, trying to appreciate the cool sweetness. It’s too watery by far and the girl who made it forgot to add the syrup, but she is determined to have something good in her life.

Her phone pings and she pulls it out of her handbag. It’s Gregory. What does he want now?

She glances up at the road ahead but it is empty for as far as she can see, winding through the snowy forest in the fading light. She taps on the message and a photo pops up. Little Julia is perched on her high chair, holding a bowl of what looks like cake batter.

For a moment she smiles then glances at the time. It’s already six o’clock. She grabs her phone and, with elbows jammed in the steering wheel, punches in her reply. You were meant to be at ballet practice an hour ago! This is the third time you’ve forgotten!  Send.

For a moment she’s content. He doesn’t remember everything to do with her daughter. Their daughter. Then the next message pops up.

Message not sent. Please check your cellular service.

Susan groans but out of the corner of her eye, something moves. Slamming her hand into the horn, she narrowly misses a deer. Before she can right her path, another leaps out from the trees. Dropping her phone, she swerves to the left. There is a shudder and a squeal of tyres as she hits the snowbank. With a bang and a jolt, she’s back in the middle of the road. For a moment everything is fine and she rights herself onto the left. Then a warning light pops up on the dash, flashing. Low tyre pressure.

Cursing, she slams on the brakes and comes to a stop at the edge of the road. Bloody deer.

She climbs out of the vehicle, dropping to the ground. An icy wind immediately cuts through her office-wear and she reaches up to grab a long woollen coat from behind the driver’s seat.

The road is icy and despite the grit, she loses her footing several times before reaching the other side. It doesn’t look good. The large tyre is shredded and the rims are barely above the tarmac. So much for off-road tyres.

She squeezes her eyes shut. This is just what she needs. A long day’s work and all she wants is a quiet house, and a glass of wine.

She pulls open the passenger door and picks up her phone. No cell service. Cursing again, she waves it around. Still no service. Her stomach tightens. Does this truck have a spare tyre? She looks underneath but so far as she can tell there is nowhere one would be stored and even when she pulls open the boot and shoves folders aside. Underneath is just more empty storage.

She suddenly wishes Gregory is there, he’d know what to do. She glances around but she’s easily an hour’s walk from home, maybe longer.

She glances along the road. There are no signs of approaching cars in either direction and the shadow grows longer by the minute. She glances down at her feet which already hurt. Her flat shoes are caked in snow and wet through. When she glances back in the vehicle there is nothing but black leather, scattered files and takeaway cups strewn over the back seats.

She swallows, it will have to be the walk. At least until she gets a signal. Well, there was no point in waiting for it to get dark. Curse you, Gregory, for wanting to live up here. She rounds the vehicle, closing the doors and pulling the keys from the ignition. As soon as she gets service, Gregory can pick her up, since he’s at home anyway.

She looks again either way for signs of other vehicles but there are none. It’s not surprising, few people live this far north of the city and most of them are farmers. They have no business in the city anyway.

She takes one last glance at the truck, sitting against the snow bank and sets off, one slippery step at a time. The cold sets in fast, an icy chill that she didn’t notice before.

As the road climbs higher the trees seem to get denser, and darker. The sun is now below the distant horizon and only the dusk-light illuminates the road around her, the trees like the pale columns of a temple.

She laughs suddenly. She prayed for someone to make her forget about Colin and here was the solution. It worked, with the long night setting in and a long walk ahead if she couldn’t get a signal, it is now the least of her problems.

Her resolve lasts a mere ten seconds until snow crunches to her right. She stops and tries to hold her phone’s torch out in front of her but it barely shrinks the shadows. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she continues.

For the next fifteen minutes, she checks her phone every few moments but as the minutes wear on and the darkness deepens, she watches at the battery. It is already down to 30% and she’s not been going for long.

With still enough light to see by, she shoves it in her pocket and pulls her coat closer, focusing on the road ahead. It curves to the right here, as the slope gets steeper but she can’t quite remember how far it is from there.

A message pings on her phone and she almost whoops in glee. It’s from Gregory. Good thing too, her phone is almost at 10%. The cold must be going for the battery.

Just as she clicks on it a phone call pops up and her heart sinks. Alexander MacAlasdair. She answers it and raises her phone to her ear, grimacing.

“It’s not a good time,” She barks, “I have a flat tyre and I am not home yet!”

Silence. Then… “Susan, I understand but this is important. Regarding our plans to take the company public—”

“Now is not the right time! Honestly… Wait a minute, what do you mean? Everything is well?”

Alexander coughs, “Well, no, I wouldn’t say so. Several of our largest clients are backing out at the last minute. We only need them to stay until tomorrow but…”

“Shit.”

“Yes, it’s certainly that.”

“Get Colin on the phone to them right away. There must be some way we can keep them on. Give them a consulting discount. Something!”

Another cough. “Uh, Susan, Colin just handed in his resignation. Something about finding less stressful work elsewhere. Honestly, I think we’re better off without him.”

She squeezes her eyes shut again. “Fine,” she says, “Just hang on, I’ll get Gregory to run me back, I have a flat tyre. Keep them on for an hour!”

“They are quite sure about leaving, and you have your daughter’s birthday dinner this evening. I’ll handle it.”

Julia’s birthday. Of course. Her stomach twists, how could she forget? Well, it is just a day like any other, she could wait until the weekend.

She swallows, “No, I’ll be back in an hour or so. Just hang on.”

Silence.

“Alexander?”

She glances at her screen but it’s black. She presses the power button several times but only a red battery icon appears. Her breath comes quickly, damn this phone. Damn everything! She resists the sudden urge to throw it into the snow, to jump on top of it. Instead, she looks back up at the road ahead.

Just as she does there is a sudden rustling of leaves and a deer, it had to be, the way it bounds, crosses the road ahead. Another one?

I knew I should have rid myself of Colin ages ago. And now it comes to this!

She shivers as a gust of wind flicks her hair around. There is snow coming, she’s sure. Well, there is just one way to get out of this and that is to walk. With determination not to let her problems get the better of her, she sets off again up the hill as it winds back and forth.

She walks for what feels like hours. At least it keeps her moderately warm though her legs burn from the effort. Finally, however, the slope levels out and in the patchy moonlight she can see the white strip that runs down the middle into the distance.

Not far now. And yet, how far was it? By car she’d never really paid any attention to the journey save when Julia had pointed it out. As soon as she stepped out of the door in the morning, her head was in work mode and it stayed like that until she stepped back through the door. Does it even turn off then?

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she hurries along, trying to ignore her numb does and the chill that quickly cuts through her with every blast of wind.

A branch snaps somewhere in the forest. Susan freezes and glances back but the moon is behind a cloud and she’s barely able to make out the road let alone the dark forest.

“Hello?” Idiot, who would be wandering about in the forest at this time of night? It had to be another deer.

For a moment she lets herself relax and then there is another crunch as something heavy shifts its weight. It’s just the wind. That was bigger than a deer.

Swallowing, breath coming in sharply, she sets off at a stride, glad that she’s no longer on the slope. I should have waited in the car for someone to come, she thought. And yet… She often stayed at the office late, Gregory wouldn’t even think it amiss until much later.

Another crunch, closer this time. Two more. Susan begins to run, heart pounding in her throat. She prays that the snapping sticks won’t follow. They do. And they quicken as well, one, two, three… Silence.

She runs for a few more moments and then slows, glancing back. Nothing, just darkness. She holds her breath. Is that… The moon comes out from behind a cloud and partially illuminates Susan’s worst nightmare. The hulking silhouette can only be of a bear.

She lets out a squeak and runs. After a few steps, she kicks off her stupid little shoes and runs barefoot, cold air searing her lungs with every breath.

She glances back but the moon has gone behind a cloud again. Yet, if she strains her ears she can hear heavy pads on the tarmac. Tears of terror run down her cheeks as she runs for all she’s worth.

The pads grow closer and closer. She knows, deep down she won’t outrun a bear. There was no situation in which she could win against one. Maybe she was supposed to fight back against this type, she had no idea. And yet… Something soft and sharp caught her ankle and she screamed. Yet still, she didn’t fall, with every step her heart rose higher in her throat.

A distant rumble is her only warning and she’s no longer touching the ground. She collided with the tarmac hard, face first. Instinctively she tucked her knees and head in as she came to a rest.

“Please,” she whispered, desperately wracking her brain for any tips on how to act.

A heavy paw slams into her side and she rolls over, losing grip of her knees. A high-pitched screech covers her sobs. Tyres.

Lights suddenly blind her and a horn blares again and again. A car. She squints up just in time to look into the eyes of the beast, its teeth bared in a snarl, dark brown fur framing a huge snout. Then it’s gone.

Susan just lies there, shaking as footsteps approach. When she does look up again, it’s Gregory’s concerned face looking down, his hands pulling her up into his arms. “The bear is gone,” he whispers in her ear, “It’s gone and not coming back.”

She can do nothing but whimper as he holds her.

“Mama.”

“Julia,” she sobs and finally pulls free to crouch down on unsteady feet. Julia, her daughter stands there in just her pyjamas and pink slippers. She pulls her close, squeezing her eyes shut. Slowly her heart slows and her breath comes steady again.

“Susan,” Gregory says, putting a hand around her shoulder, “Come on, we must get you somewhere warm. Gosh, your feet! They’re all bloody.”

His gaze says everything he won’t in front of Julia. She looks away, back to the car, engine and lights still on. “But I’ve got to… I need a lift to get back to…” The words die on her lips as she looks back at her small family. Her only family.

“I’m not too late for the birthday girl, am I?” She says, forcing a smile when all she wants to do is sink back to the ground and cry. She begins to shiver, only now feeling her sweat-soaked shirt. Thankfully, the woollen coat kept it’s claws from touching her skin. 

Julia grins and shakes her head, “We made chocolate cake for you!”

As Gregory lifts Julia back into the back of the car, Susan glances back the way she came, a hand on the bonnet as if it might disappear. There is no sign of the bear, just an empty road flanked by piles of dirty snow.

A hand touches her shoulder and she lets Gregory pull her into an embrace.

“Alexander called,” he says, shrugging her out of her coat and wrapping his own around her. 

“I won’t go back,” she says, “I promise. I know I have been working too much,” she turns to him, gripping his forearms as hard as she can, “We have the whole weekend. I’ll take the week off. I…”

“It’s okay,” he says, “Alexander told me that you had a flat tyre and bad signal. I guessed the rest. He told me… Well that he had everything under control, that you didn’t need to go back.”

She shakes her head, a shrill laugh escaping her mouth. “I almost died, and I am worrying about…” She looks back to the car where Julia wriggles in her child seat. “I sometimes forget the reason I work in the first place.”

He doesn’t reply, only helps her gently into the passenger seat.

Guardian

Edwin Stevenson is almost alone in a room full of sweaty bodies. Almost I say because she is dancing tonight. She dances every night. Edwin comes here every night. But not for her dances. Not like the other men, fat chins resting on glasses of foul smelling liquids, pockets spilling cash. I’m here to work. His task finished an hour ago, he should already be walking.  

He’s not jealous that they stare at her like that, her gleaming legs gracing the pole, twisting in ways humans were never meant to. Why would I be? I don’t care for her. She makes every man feel as if they are alone in the room with her. He tries not imagine what else they imagine. I should go. The deep pull was awakening in the pit of his stomach.  

The man beside him is talking. A voice like granite being dragged across the floor. To him? His hand grasps Edwin’s wrist, touches the skin between his coat and glove and for a moment his sight fades—A hand is tightening around his neck, cutting of any chance to cry for help, his own pudgy fingers scratch uselessly at the attackers face. Then air. He gulps it down before he realises it is rushing past him. Hard ice. Pain. Cold, so cold—Edwin gasps, vision returning. 

The man’s face matches his voice, chins peppered in a weeks worth of stubble, and at this moment, surprised. He takes a swig from a large bottle. Edwin’s sure that it isn’t supposed to be drunk unmixed. 

“What’s got your tongue, boy? Never seen a pair of legs?”

Edwin blinks. Legs? “Yes,” he finds himself saying, “Beautiful, aren’t they? So…” He fails to come up with a word but the man just snorts and rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“When you’re my age, you’ll appreciate it all the more.”

Edwin nods, eyes already wandering to the others at the bar. Some out, some way to avoid the man. 

“I hope you’ve got your balls on you, son,” the man says suddenly looking up, “Looks like she’s come for a bite.”

Edwin resists the urge to look up, instead he scans for somewhere to go. I don’t want to speak to her, not now. But the crowd is already shifting in front of him. The man moves away but Edwin just waits. He should have known better, should have stayed away.

Then she’s there. All long legs and flowing curves, barely hidden beneath tight clothing. He looks up to meet her grey eyes, dreading the way it makes his heart skip. They are lamps in a sun darkened face.  

“Dressing down, I see,” she says, running a finger down the parting of his coat, lips curving upwards. 

“I dress this way every day.” 

She studies him, smile fading. Then she is slumping on the next stool, elbows on the bar. In that moment, she seems to turn from goddess to human. The others around turn back to their drinks or back to the pole where another dancer is taking her place. 

“For someone that likes to go unseen, I can never understand why you dress like… well, that!”

“At least I am dressing,” Edwin mutters swinging around to face the bar. If she’s here, he can’t exactly ignore her. 

She snorts, reaching out to touch his cheek but he gently closes a gloved hand over her fingers before she manages.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, withdrawing her arm, only to pluck a glass of dark liquor from a passing barmaid, ignoring the squeal of protest. She takes it in one then plucks Edwin’s, sniffing it before setting it back on the bar. “You’re always working!”

Edwin looks away and nods. He can’t lie to her face.  

“I’m half convinced you’re not real, the way you appear here every night and yet nobody can tell me anything about you.”

“You’ve been asking?”

It is her turn to look uncomfortable. She taps a finger on the bar, “It started when I kissed you that one time,” she says, nodding, “I’ve never seen you so terrified.”

Edwin loosens his jacket. She was sharper than one might expect. 

She seems to realise she’s close to the truth and leans in closer. Edwin forces himself to remain still. He tries to look at anything but her eyes but they’re so close…

“I will see you tomorrow.” He can feel the sweat running down the back of his neck now. What if she finds out? He was being stupid, he would go to a different club tomorrow, one where she wouldn’t find him. 

“You sound just like them,” she says, her breath brushing his cheek, “But you’re not. And you’re going to tell me what it is that makes you different.” 

Before he can reply, she’s closed the distance and for a moment he can feel her soft lips against his. Then his vision darkens—Misty rain wets her face. Hazy lights make the passing cars seem like boats in the fog. They grow brighter. Something grabs her arm. Someone. A feathered face, a horrified expression crouching over her as pain—Edwin stumbles backwards. Concern covers Yvon’s face. Concern and surprise. 

He stares at her, shaking his head. Does she know? 

For the first time, she seems off balance. She touches her lips with her finger and then studies him intently. 

Feathered face. For the second time. Edwin starts for the door before she can do it again. If she finds out… No, he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t see her again. Not another Nelson.  

“See you tomorrow!”

He is swallowed by the crowd and doesn’t turn back. As men and the occasional women push in the door, he slips out, alone onto the street. Why did she have to do that. It was almost like the pull, this new ache. Nelson. His stomach churns. 

~

Heavy raindrops soak through Edwin’s coat as he hurries along the pavement. Tinted taxis speed past, quickly swallowed by the rain. For a moment his heart stops. She died in the rain. Will die in the rain. But it’s heavier, the raindrops larger. She is safe for now. Forget about her. But he can’t. Not now. Just like Nelson, she will forever be stuck in his mind.

 Despite it being a Saturday night, he only passes a few people as he makes his way to mid-town. Like his, their faces are hidden in the shadow of hoods. He glances over his shoulder and for a moment his heart stops. Someone is following him. He stops but after a few moments whoever it is crosses the street and disappears from view. 

Focus. He is closing in on one of the busiest intersections in the city and many of the cars don’t even stop as people cross. He has to be close now for his face prickles as if bugs were trying to escape his skin. He still can’t keep rid himself of the ache. Keep them out, you know what happened last time. Nelson. Nelson died because of him. Because he ignored what he was. Yvon wasn’t going to die. And yet… the feathered face, the rain. He glanced over his shoulder again but he was alone on the pavement save for an old man, hobbling along with a stick and a woman in a dark suit pulled up to protect her from the rain. 

 Finally the light turns green but he doesn’t move, just watches as the others cross, booted and heeled feet carefully trodding through the puddles. Wipers move back and forth wildly and sirens ring in the distance. It will be easy tonight, accidents happen quickly on nights like these. Feathered face. He checks his hood as his skin prickles further. The cars begin to move again and he takes a step forwards, the pull now almost fully controlling his body. 

“Stop, you idiot!” A hand grasps his arm. 

Before he can stop himself he turns and yanks his arm free. For a moment he meets gazes with the woman. Her jacket falls away but it’s not Yvon, this one is at least ten years her senior and with darker skin. Her face goes white and she stumbles back a few steps. She points and looks around wildly but the old man isn’t looking. “You’re a Guardian, I haven’t…” 

The rest of his words are lost in the sounds of traffic as he steps onto the road, the pull so strong that resisting it would be almost impossible. Don’t resist it. He couldn’t, not if he cared for… I don’t care for her. 

Three times she’s managed to get him to read her and three times he sees the feathered face of a Guardian. Well, she wouldn’t manage again. 

The pull drowns out the horns and squealing tires. He is running now but it is as if he’s taken the back seat. Then he looses his balence and slips in a puddle. His face itches as full feathers sprout from his cheeks, his chin just as he hits the ground. His vision grows sharper, twists. He can see purplish light. 

Pain erupts along his leg as something large, something fast collides with him. There is the hiss of water hitting hot breaks and horns blaring. It seems as if he’s barely hearing them. A high pitched scream cuts off suddenly. His own yell of pain as he yanks his leg back is barely audible. 

Edwin’s senses rush back in full force and he screams as the pain makes his vision flicker. The pull is gone, the feathers are gone, he is human again. Doors slam. Hands reach down towards him.

“I’m fine!” He shouts, pushing himself backwards further into the now stopped traffic. They back off, disappearing into the growing confusion. He pauses, one of those faces… it seemed familiar. 

As the rain intensifies and ambulance sirens approach, Edwin peers in the direction of the scream. He can’t see but there are people there, crowding around, some crying, some shouting. He turns away and, uses the bonnet of the closest car to shuffle off the street.

Twenty minutes it takes him to reach the alleyway and there, standing unprotected against the rain is the man he spoke to earlier, wracking his hands through black, soaked hair. He still wears the same white shirt, plastered to his skin, his jacket forgotten somewhere along the way. He silently shouts at the sky until he catches sight of Edwin, bedraggled and hurt. He rushes up to him and shakes his shoulders not seeming to see his pain. And yet, why should he? 

“Where is she? You saved her? What happened?”

Edwin only nods and, pushing the man away, opens his hands. The man’s face contorts in worry and dashes away, leaving a wad of cash in them before dashing off into the rain. 

Edwin wonders what faith the man was, for he’s didn’t balk when he showed his feathered face. He knew what to do to save his wife. What it would cost. To him, Edwin would be a hero, a saviour. To another, he was an assassin, a killer. Always a balance. 

~

Soaked to the skin, Edwin finally hobbles up to the door to his attic apartment. Morning light streams in through the skylight as he fumbles for his keys. The pain in his leg is less now but he still cannot walk properly.

“How much did he pay you?”

Edwin spins. That voice. No. How did she find this place? 

Yvon steps out from behind the curve in the stairs and ascends to the landing. She wears a black coat and clutches a wooden stick out in front of her as if to hit him if he approaches. 

For a long moment Edwin just stares at her, his stomach sinking ever lower. “You’d better come in,” he said quietly, sliding the key into the lock and pushing open the door.

He hopes she will just leave, deem him too dangerous but she drops the end of the stick to the floor and follows him inside. 

Stooping to avoid the low ceilings, he hangs his sodden coat over the bathroom door. Yvon slips past him, pulling the door closed and stepping into the living room. 

He wishes he could run, could somehow get away from her but with his leg like this, he is lucky to even get back here before someone called an ambulance. Nelson died in an ambulance. He’d not gone to his funeral, could not face his family, not that they knew. 

“These are beautiful,” Yvon says as he steps into the only other room in the apartment. A kitchenette in one corner, a bed in another and the rest strewn with chairs and clutter, paintbrushes and tins of paint.

Yet she points to the ceilings. Hundreds of faces stare down at them, some painted in colour and others with a single continuous line. 

“Am I on here?” She asks suddenly, all fear suddenly forgotten.

Edwin nods stepping past her and gestures to a full colour portrait above the only window, looking out over the rooftops, now shining in the sun. 

She studies it for a long time before her face grows serious again. “You’re going to have to explain what you did, who you are. Money? I can accept that you’re an angel, but—”

“Guardian,” Edwin corrects, slumping onto a wooden chair, “I’m a Guardian.”

She slips her own coat off, hanging it over another chair before perching on the edge of it. She gestures to his bad leg, “You got hit by a car and yet you walked all the way back here. You won’t let me touch you and I saw the feathers, you don’t need to lie to me anymore.”

It was too late now, he couldn’t push her away. He couldn’t lie to her again. “Fine, no lies. You’re right about what happened.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she continued, “But the money? I thought you just made a mistake but then you collected that money. A woman died tonight and then you collected money from a man. Are you an assassin?”

He glances out of the window. “You cannot save a life without taking a life. I am neither an angel or an assassin. At first I did it without getting paid, but people will pay anything to save a loved one. I don’t take much, not in the scheme of things.”

“But why?” She clutches the stick tighter, “Why kill at all, why can you not save someone?”

“I can,” he says, meeting her gaze once more, “But someone must die and it can’t be me.”

“Then who.”

“The closest person to me would die.”

She looks away. “But you have no friends except…”

“You.” There he said it. He couldn’t hide from it any longer.  

“And if you don’t do anything?”

“What I said before wasn’t quite true, they don’t just pay with money, but in days of their life.”

She nods as if she expects it. Then, setting the stick aside she stands.

He wanted to be glad she was going to leave. That she would no longer be a part of his life. But instead of making for the door, she approaches him slowly. 

“Can you show me?” She says softly. 

He stares at her, “Show you?”

She nods, “I want to see what you do. I knew you were not an assassin.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he says gruffly, shaking his head. What is wrong with her? She should be shouting at him, running, getting as far from him as possible. He is not an angel but an indirect assassin. A creature of the devil if anything.

“You can.” 

She tries to help him change, but he retreats to the bathroom with fresh clothes and gloves. When he returns she is perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in his clothes as well. For the first time all of her skin save her face is covered. 

“Come,” she says, smiling up at him, “Let’s get some rest.”

She curls up beside him, head on his chest, pulling the blanket over them both.

Edwin stares at the ceiling, at all the paintings. Never once did he expect, or want someone to see them. To be here. And yet, for the first in a long time he feels complete. And yet, it will end. When she witnesses what he does. He prays it isn’t a bloody death, for her sake. 

~

Edwin hobbles into the club after Yvon. Dressed in flared trousers and a black coat, she occasions no looks from the passers by, not like before. The rhythmic thrum reaches him even before he steps through the second set of doors to be greeted with a familiar sight. 

There are more women tonight, and more younger folk. Still, it will work. It has to, he can’t risk her life, not now. You’re an idiot, falling for her like this. Still, when she loops her arm into his and smiles, he can’t help but return it.

“Let’s dance first,” she says.

He tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. He could use the excuse that his leg is not yet healed but he promised no lies. She will see who I truly am soon enough. I can enjoy one evening. So, when she pulls him onto the floor, supporting half of his weight, he doesn’t resist. Not that he could. 

She loops her arm around his waist and neck, now that she is also wearing gloves and moves them to a beat far slower than the music. One that he can feel in her chest, in his own. For a blissful few moments it’s just the two of them, swaying from side to side, good leg to bad leg. He ignores the pain, that’s something he’s good at doing, inside and out. 

The others come into focus. He’s not here to dance. He glances at his watch. He almost never leaves it this late, it can get messy, hurried. For her sake.

He pulls her over to the bar again, where they sat the night before. Yet as he settles her down on a stool, he presses his gloves into her hands and rolls up his sleeves.

“You really want to see this?”

A slight nod and a reassuring smile. He goes to leave but then turns back to her. He makes note of her grey eyes in her tanned skin. He’s never asked where she’s from, but it surely isn’t such a rainy city. The crowd swallows him. 

Edwin looks around but nobody stands out. And so he dances, not caring how he looks. Years he has done this, a decade even and so the moves come easily to him. He is not fluid like Yvon, not graceful, but the crowd moves with him. 

He only catches sight of a young man’s face with ginger hair before his vision fades—the speedometer is ticking up bit by bit, excitement growing in his chest. Loud music blares in the speakers. He glances over. She sits there, grinning with a giddy smile written across her face, clutching the seatbelt. “See,” he’s saying, “You’re…” 

The smile is replaced with horror, “George, watch out!”

He turns just in time to see a lorry’s front grill meet the windscreen. Crunch. Pain—Edwin stumbles back, and the man, barely an adult, moves away, unaware of what just happened. Unaware of his approaching death.

He takes a few deep breaths, but the quicker he finds someone, the better. 

Cancer, dementia, he feels it all as he moves through the crowd. How little they know of him and how much he knows of them. Sleep is the most disorientating and heart-attacks are usually the least horrifying. Occasionally he doesn’t quite reach the moment of death and sometimes he feels the emptiness beyond. The calm beyond. Sometimes he yearns for it, what he will have to wait decades for. 

Then he finds her, pale hair and pale skin with tattoos snaking up her arms—misty rain wets her face as she hurries across the road. There are no streetlights here but the passing cars provide enough light to give the sense that there are. Still, in the rain everything seems isolated. She could be all alone. Her foot catches on something. She yelps as she slams into the tarmac. 

“What—”

Somebody grabs her shoulder roughly and yanks her over. She’s staring up at a face shadowed by a wide hood. There is a knife in his hand. It’s against her throat. She tries to scream but the pressure increases. 

“Wallet.” The voice is cold and rough. Young. 

She fumbles with her coat. Her finger closes over something thin and sharp. A pen! She moves fast as she was taught, left hand grabbing his—  Pain erupts from her neck and her eyes widen as her breath catches. She coughs blood—Edwin shivers as he continues to dance, though the rhythm seems far away from him now.

She is maybe twenty five years old, with dyed blond hair and lips that cannot be real, still, she is with another woman whom she hands her phone to. A friend? 

She whispers in her ear, giving Edwin a glare and then they are moving away, towards the bathrooms. It would have to do, he was running out of time. 

He returns to the stools where Yvon stands, ignoring the man who is clearly trying to get her attention. “You saw?”

She nods. She’s not smiling but there is still no look of horror or disappointment. He leads her towards the bathrooms, down a set of  draughty stairs. 

“You looked more disturbed every time,” she says suddenly, “I’m really sorry I kissed you those times, I didn’t know it was like that for you… Did you…?”

“Yes,” he says quietly, “I did see it, but I will not say.”

She nods slowly, swallowing. “I don’t want to know anyway.”

“You distract the blond one,” he says as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “I need to talk to the other one alone.” A young man passing gives them an odd look but doesn’t comment. 

It is much colder down here and the smell is less than desirable but at least there are few people. The women appear together out of the women’s bathroom and he nods to Yvon but she’s already moving. 

Just as they approach the bottom of the stairs, she whispers in the blond woman’s ear and pulls her back towards the bathroom, gesturing towards Edwin. He hopes she isn’t saying anything too bad about him. 

The other one, with black curly hair and a similar complexion to Yvon watches him warily. They’re alone. 

He sits on the steps and she pauses, glancing back, “What do you want?”

“Have you ever heard of a Guardian?”

She doesn’t seem to be paying attention. 

“A feathered angel? A demigod?”

“Please,” she says, finally focusing her attention on him alone, “If you want money, sit on the street and hold a cup out, you’re not going to fool me with your saving lives crap.”

She takes a more steady step towards him, making a beeline for the other side of the stairs, he shuffles into the middle. Why nobody believed him until he did the trick was always surprising, surely people were more superstitious than this. 

Feathers sprouted from his face, his hands. The slight traces of fatigue washed away. He could see… He let it fade as he heard footsteps behind him but it had done the trick, her eyes were wide. 

“You’re… One of them?” She hissed, looking around, “Did you see that?” She said over Edwin’s shoulder.

“See what?” a man’s voice said, “Hey, you,” a hand touched Edwin’s shoulder, “You’re bothering our guests, I will have to remove you.”

Edwin sighs and stands up, keeping eye contact with the black haired woman. “If you care about her…” he turned and let himself be led away, through the club and out of the doors. He doesn’t hear the words of the bouncer as he is pushed onto the street. A breeze blows misty rain into his face as he crosses the quiet street. 

He only had to wait outside a few minutes before the woman exits the club in a long dark coat, not unlike his own, glancing each way before settling her eyes on Edwin across the street. He stands up as she approaches.

The only others around were five or six smokers, shading their cigarettes from the wind and rain.

“So,” she says, “Who is it? What do I have to do?”

“Your friend,” he said carefully, “will die soon. I can’t tell you exactly but in the next few hours. The weather is just right. 

She swallowed, “How? I can warn her.”

He shook his head, “That’s not how it works. But you have to be willing to give for it.”

“What’s the price?”

“A day, and three hundred in cash.”

“A day of my life?”

“You catch on quick.”

She stares at him for a long time before nodding, “That’s a good deal.”

Edwin shrugs, “That’s for you to decide.”

She pulls out a wallet and looked inside, her face grows worried, “Can you wait? I need to…”

Edwin waves it away, Yvon has just exited the club. “Consider it a deal, this time I do it for free. He pulls off his glove again and she goes to shake it but he stops her before she can.

“Once you shake on this,” he says, “The deal is done, you cannot stop me or you risk her life.”

She grasps his hand. There is a brief moment where he’s sure his vision is going to fade but instead he feels invigorated. Even as she draws away he feels less tired, more alive. His stomach gnaws less. 

Tears slip from her eyes.

“Wait here,” he says, “I will return when it is done.”

She nods her thanks and takes up his place sitting on the doorstep. 

Edwin doesn’t look either way as he steps out onto the street towards Yvon.

~

It’s still raining and the wind has picked up again. The feeling that there will be a storm soon permeates the air. Yvon hurries along beside him, hand clutched to his elbow as he strides along in the dim lamp-light.

She steers them around large puddles, guiding them across the street. For a blissful half hour he feels normal. Just a couple going for a nighttime walk. There is a park on the west side of town. What it would be like to forget his life for a moment, for once not be always searching for his next candidate. 

He tests his bad leg and the mood is ruined. Better already. That just means it’s close. He can even feel the beginnings of the pull. If only he just did it for money. Everyone else doesn’t know how lucky they are not to have to buy their life every few days. 

“Do you always look so frightened?” She says suddenly when they step onto the pedestrian-only street that leads to the Westside park. From here it is just one step in front of another. Don’t get her killed like Nelson. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Even if she chose to stay, which she wouldn’t, he would continue as he had since Nelson’s death. Keeping her at arms length until she gets bored or frustrated and leaves. And yet, some part of him years for her to stay.

He shrugs, “There is much in this world to be frightened of.”

“But you can’t die, not like we can.”

He glances at her, meeting her expectant gaze. “That is made up, we really cannot live. Not properly.”

She nods, turning away to watch those passing the other way, suits and jeans on their way to work. “I think I get what you mean.”

 “Why do you dance?” he asks suddenly, “You seem to always find yourself at the centre of attention.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time, only when they wait to cross over to the park does she speak. “Everything is out of my control, until I have people’s attention,” her voice grows soft, “As if I can really mean something to…” she stops and sniffs, “Something like that, I guess.”

Edwin nods, he understands but his mind is already slipping away from the conversation. He just wants this over with. 

They step onto the gravel path that disappears into the darkness, snaking its way between grass and flower beds, bedraggled shrubs glinting under the old-style lanterns that light the way. 

It was his favourite place in the city, in the summer at least. Now, a bunch of flowers leans against a gnarled tree that he knows all too well. 

“Are you really going to kill someone tonight?” She asks, “Do you know how you will do it.”

The way she says it so casually unsettles him. She talks like a Guardian. He shakes his head and squeezes her hand tighter beneath the fabric of his glove. She definitely won’t trust him after she sees what happens. 

They exit the park into a residential area that seems all too familiar. A sort of low mist has rolled in that makes headlights look like the lights of distant ships. All too familiar. 

Despite the lack of streetlights, there are still many cars. It must be a through-road as there are at least four lanes and heavy traffic even at this time of night. 

The pull is much stronger now, so much so that he has to almost resist it to carry on at Yvon’s pace. 

“There!” She hisses, pointing in front of them. 

Sure enough, a slight figure hurries along in the darkness, head down against the wind and rain, grey coat dripping wet. The slight glare from a phone, lights her pale face as she glances back. 

The pull is almost too strong now but he stops. This is his last chance. He turns to Yvon who watches him warily as if he were about to sprout feathers. She wouldn’t be wrong. 

“I really enjoyed it while it lasted,” he says quietly, “While you still liked me. You really are a great person.”

She shakes her head, “I am ready to see. I want to, even.”

He shakes his head sadly, “No you don’t. Others have said that right up until the moment. Witnessing death does things to a person.”

She doesn’t say anything and so he bends down and kisses her. His vision fades— The sounds of cars are almost washed away by the rain. A man with a dark hood brushes past—he blinks his eyes open. 

That’s never happened before. The pull is so strong now but he can feel her touch. Maybe that is what happened. He soaks it in, his fingers tracing the lines in her face. Then it’s too much and he breaks away. 

“Promise me you won’t push me away any longer, that you won’t close off yourself again,” she says breathlessly.

He stares at her for a long moment, the pull almost forgotten then nods. When she doesn’t drop her gaze, he nods, “I promise.”

“We have to hurry,” he says, pulling from her grasp and breaking into a run. 

The blond woman’s face is still illuminated by her phone for a few moments as she waits by a set of lights. The cars slow. Amber. Red. 

She begins to cross. Why is it always around cars?

It takes all his effort to glance over his shoulder, “Whatever you do,” he shouts back, “Don’t cross the road.”

With that he is completely in a trance, his legs and body moving alone. A man, so far as he can tell, wearing a dark hood brushes past him just as he steps onto the crossing. 

This is going to be worse than usual. 

His feet stop. Again he is waiting, chest heaving as the man catches up with the woman. She falls to the floor on the other side of the crossing though it is difficult to see. 

He can’t move his head to look for Yvon. The traffic begins to move, faster. It picks up speed. His legs begin to move again. 

He hears a cry from behind but it is all he can do to let his legs dash him between the moving traffic, expertly avoiding the speeding cars among the horns and screech of brakes. 

He is almost at the other side when a louder horn sounds. A lorry. Oh no, this one won’t be pretty. He feels his legs tense. His face sprouts feathers. He moves forwards, the lorry swerves the other direction. Something touches his shoulder. 

Somehow the other lanes are empty and the lorry doesn’t hit anything. 

Edwin’s confused. He turns back to the woman. The man, hood now down stares in shock at him. Then turns to run. I failed. The woman pushes herself to her feet, then screams, backing away.

Edwin shakes his head, it is always a balance… He turns slowly, dreading what he will see. 

He turns and there on the road beside him is the struggling form of Yvon, her hand still outstretched towards him. Edwin drops to the ground and lifts her up in his arms. For a moment he can see through both his and her eyes. His feathers fading as she fades. 

Tears leak from his eyes as cars stop around them, doors slamming. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I should have known.” He looks up at the sky, into the rain, “I will never let anyone—”

“No.” 

He glances down. 

She struggles with her words, “Don’t keep them out,” she finally manages, “You promised.” The double vision fades and he is once again alone, clutching her to him. Not again.

Charlie Will Die

Charlie Rowen rose like he did every day. First with a bash on the door then with cold feet on the floor. Business in a bucket was passed out the door. Naked, he stood staring through the bars at a familiar stone in the opposite wall. The sharp rock had caught many prisoners’ shins as they thrashed their way down the tunnel. Nobody caught it leaving. Nobody struggled when they left.

Rodger’s boots stopped and grew louder again, his booted feet echoing as he strode. It stopped, the slosh of water and the words, “Is it today?”

“Today is not the day.”

The footsteps continued. Slosh.

“Is it today?”

“Today is not the day.”

Slosh.

“Is it today?”

“Today is the day.”

There was no desperate cry for help. The boots just kept coming, the words spinning around his head. When will it be mine? And yet—

Cold water washed over him and he gasped as any remaining sleep was washed out of him. Rodger was skinny for a guard, even those who were kept down here where none of the prisoners could touch them. Not that they would. His stubble put him in his early twenties. Just like Archie. He will be twenty by now. I wonder if he’s learned from his mistakes.

Rodger stood there, patiently holding the bucket by his side, refilled from the channel that ran down the edge of the tunnel. The one that would sometimes rise enough so that Charlie feared it would drown them all. The words.

“Is it today?” He said, shaking his head.

“Today is not the day.”

Still, Rodger stood there, staring at him, considering him. Charlie glanced over his shoulder but there was nothing unusual about his cell.

Then Rodger pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket and sat it on one of the bars. The boots faded and he disappeared from view.

Father

Mother told me what you did. You were wrong about me, I’m not worth saving. You are.

Archie

Fear ripped through Charlie. He read it again, and again.

“Rodger!”

The boots were now too distant to hear.

“Rodger!”

He sank to his knees, forgetting the cold and for the first time in a year, felt tears slide down his cheeks. He’d chosen to die. Archie had a life to live yet. He could not choose to die, not like this.

Day 2.

Cold feet on the floor. He stared at the stones.

“Is it today?”

“Today is not the day.”

“Is it today?”

“Today is not the day.”

“Is it today?”

“Today—”

Charlie sprang forward as the bucket swung forward, catching it as ice-cold water soaked him. His other hand closed over Rodger’s sleeve.

Steep touched his neck. Charlie froze. His breath caught. Charlie grimaced. I am going to die, was the most liberating thought he’d ever had.

He didn’t die.

“Stop him,” Charlie said, staring into those grey eyes. “Tell him I said so.”

Rodger stood stock still, as he had the day before, considering.

“Today is not the day.”

Then he yanked his coat from Charlie’s grasp. His form and footsteps receded.

“Stop him!” Charlie shouted.

“Is it today?”

“Today is not the day.”

Day 3.

Charlie stood by the door before Rodger’s footsteps could be heard. When he passed, he saw him there and moved on without coming close.

“Tell him not to!” Charlie bellowed after him.

The footsteps stopped and began to move back up the tunnel.

“…it today?”

“Today is not the day.”

Rodger stopped outside Charlie’s cell. His forehead was creased and his blade bared.

Water washed over Charlie.

“Please tell him to stop,” he pleaded, “My son doesn’t have to die.”

“Today is the day,” Rodger finally said and continued.

The cold from the water didn’t fade. He grasped ahold of the iron bars and shook them. Today was the day. He may die today. Maybe he could see Archie. Could stop Archie.

They came for him when the water had completely dried off him and he’d stood shivering until his feet and fingers were numb. They dressed him in a rag, sword to his throat. Rodger wasn’t there. For the first time in a year, Charlie saw the hallway he’d been staring at. It wasn’t as long as he’d thought, though the water must go somewhere.

Archie, don’t do it, he thought over and over again as the guards and steps led him out of the tunnel.

Daylight blinded him and he tripped and fell four times before he adjusted to the light. He stared around at the palace courtyard. People. Lots of people. Archie.

His eyes fell on a wooden structure topped with a pole and noose. The gates were open. People filed in, herded by guards with long decorative spears and tassels on their helmets. Soon the prison guards handed him to these new guards. Rodger won’t be here. Archie is going to die. He knew how it would go, he’d watched it a hundred times.

The rope was surprisingly soft around his neck but the crowd looked further away than he’d expected. He searched for the face, then the figure. He would be broader now, did he have a wife? Children? Don’t do it, Archie.

He longed to shout and scream but he had to see him. He was like his mother, stubborn and he wouldn’t change his mind for a mad scream. The gates closed when the last two stragglers filed in, leaving the courtyard only a quarter full.

“Charlie Rowen,” The executioner read, “Sentenced to death by His Majesty, the king. Punishment taken for his son, who…” He coughed and looked around, suddenly appearing very uncomfortable, “For a crime against the crown.”

Charlie searched the crowd one by one. Finally, he rested his eyes on a figure whose hood was pulled up. It had to be—

“This is your last chance for someone to accept punishment for you,” the executioner called, looking up at the crowd for a single moment.”

“Don’t do it!” Charlie shouted with all his might.

There was a shocked silence.

Then the words came, as he’d known but not from the hooded figure but from right in front of him. Stepping out from behind a slim man was Archie. His shoulders were wider and his beard longer but that was Archie.

“I volunteer—” Archie suddenly fell as the tall man turned and tackled him to the floor. The crowd shifted uneasily, all watching the executioner expectantly.

For a long moment, there was nothing.

“I hereby sentence Charlie Rowen to death.”

Relief and fear flooded him from head to toe. He felt lightheaded. He was going to die. Archie was going to live. He searched the crowd and found a familiar face, but not of his son. The slim man turned around. Rodger. He sighed with relief.

The platform fell away beneath Charlie’s feet.

Cordelia the Merciless