-2-

 

TIME WAS INCONSEQUENTIAL IN THE WASTES. There were no clocks. No deadlines for homework or impending tests. Only the rise and fall of a distant sun marked the changes in days.

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Hannah drew an “X” in the calendar she’d made one week after Advent Arathena. She carried the yellowed notebook as she walked south, occasionally looking up to make sure of their path. There were dozens and dozens of those X’s in her book. Pages full. The first mark was scratched into existence the day after the soldiers came through. Now, when no-one else bothered to keep track of time, Hannah kept a strict record. Today is April 3rd. Next week I will have a birthday. Somehow, the thought was depressing.

 

Hannah slipped the little notebook into her almost-empty backpack and held Sable’s hand a little tighter. He was falling behind.

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“Come on. I know your feet hurt. Mine do, too. But we need to speed up.”

 

Hannah ignored the blistering mounds on her heels and the pads of her feet. They needed to find food. There was a graph in Hannah’s mind, one where the curve of distance and speed crossed the curve of food and water. The two were conjoined. With more resources, they went further, faster. As their food and water decreased, they made less progress. By Hannah’s estimation, they would only be able to travel six more miles before sundown. That was it. Just six miles. Whatever chances they had for food and water and shelter fell within that distance. After that, they’d have to hole up somewhere. 

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They walked for an hour before finally breaking for a rest. Sable was slumping over as he walked and Hannah knew that he needed a break. They found a wide tree and sat beneath its heavy branches as it caught the dust from the air. Under the natural roof, they were able to keep most of the dust from falling into their mouths as they drank the small rations of water. Hannah tipped the plastic bottle back and watched closely as Sable sipped it. Hannah wouldn’t let Sable touch the bottle himself, since every bit of it was calculated for longevity. Hannah let Sable take a final sip before pulling the bottle back. She read the measured dashes she’d made in the bottle’s side which showed their daily ration. Sable just had half of his. He’d get the other when they stopped for the night.

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“We’ll have to cut our water intake by half tomorrow,” Hannah said as she counted the dashes. “We need our water to stretch until we find more.”

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They continued southward, seeing the same sights over and over. Dead trees… hills… rocks… dust. Mostly dust. Hannah took off her glasses to clean the dust from them with the inside of her coat. She had the worst vision in the world, she’d swear. Without her thick bottle-cap glasses, everything was out of focus. Even the tips of her fingers were blurry without them. On the day of the Advent, the left lens of her glasses cracked. Her left eye was constantly looking through a thick, splintered spiderweb, which meant her right eye had to put in overtime. She had headaches for months. Headaches galore. 

Sable pulled away and stood still. Hannah, hungry and irritable, bit her tongue before she snapped at Sable for stopping again. Hannah knew the kid was exhausted and didn’t have enough energy to… keep… 

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What was he looking at?

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Hannah followed Sable’s steady gaze. There was a square silhouette visible through the trees. A building. 

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Hannah drew the knife from her belt, then motioned for Sable to climb onto her back. She moved swiftly, spending precious calories and hoping that it was worth the investment. Adrenaline fed her weary body, which now shook a little with anticipation.

 

The barn became more barn-like as she approached. Hannah set Sable down beside the tall gray beams and peered through the cracks in the door. Little beams of sickly light shone through the old roof. If anything had been kept in the stalls within, it was dead and gone. There was nothing inside but more dust. 

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Hannah felt a tug at her sleeve. She turned. Sable pointed to another structure, not ten yards away. Hannah nodded and motioned for the boy to stay where he was. She crept forward, following the tree line toward the house. Her bad eyes could now see the slanted roof, the dual chimneys, the stone and plaster walls, the four windows… Hannah slowed. The windows were boarded. Someone was here after the Advent. Hannah ducked down behind one of the trees. She squinted. She couldn’t see any light behind the boards. Abandoned? Occupied? Hannah felt her stomach do a backflip. She was almost weak with hunger. She turned back to Sable, who was huddled down beside a broken barrel. Pitiful. The boy needed food. Hannah needed to get into the house.

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She went to the door and listened intently, waiting to hear someone or something stir within the house. Nothing. She turned the knob and the door opened. It was unlocked. A good sign no-one was here. 

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With the windows boarded, there was barely any light inside. Her eyes adjusted and she walked carefully along the old carpet floor. There was a layer of dust over everything. The furniture was in disarray--bookshelves knocked over, broken dishes scattered. It didn't seem like anyone was here anymore. Hannah relaxed just a little. 

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She moved quickly and quietly toward the little kitchen, which would have been more appropriate for a single-wide trailer than an old brick home. She opened the cupboards. Cutlery, cobwebs and two empty bean cans. That's it. Hannah opened the old fridge door and a rank stench breathed into the room. She closed it before the contents tried to kill her. Nasty. 

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Hannah's heart sank… then her stomach rumbled. She held her belly. Just as she imagined Sable’s pitiful face, he came rushing inside the house, his feet thumping on the old floor as he ran in. Hannah’s heart nearly stopped. 

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"What are you doing?" she whispered angrily as Sable ran to her. "Shhhh! Stop stomping!"

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Sable looked back through the half-open door, mortified. There was a shadow near the barn, standing between the trees. A man rocking on two thin, long legs.

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Hannah rushed to the door and locked the deadbolt. She grabbed Sable and pulled him down so that they were crouched behind the ragged recliner.

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"Did it see you?"

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Sable opened his mouth, but nothing came out. There was a sudden rattle at one of the boarded windows. Hannah flinched and ducked a little lower. She heard a soft scraping sound, as though someone was dragging a knife across a cutting board. She drew up the courage to peek around the back of the recliner. Three gnarled fingers slowly withdrew through the crack. Something was sniffing the air. 

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It quieted. Hannah stared at the boarded windows and the slivers of light shining through the cracks. She waited. She didn't hear anything anymore. Maybe it lost interest in them. Maybe it was gone.

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No.

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A little black beak stabbed through the wood. The bird clawed and bit at the opening, trying to force its way inside. It let out an abysmal call. 

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Helllllllllllooooooooo?

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Hannah grabbed her mouth, trapping an unformed scream. The Bird flapped around the window, biting bits of the board off and making the crack bigger and bigger. Hannah held her breath, praying she could kill it before it killed her. The little creature was coming in, singing as it wriggled through the new little hole. It was nearly through. 

 

It exploded in a blast of feathers and blood. This time Hannah couldn’t keep her scream in. A gray-bearded man to their left was holding a smoking black pistol. He turned it on them.

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"Get up." 

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Hannah pulled Sable to his feet. Hannah pulled Sable to his feet. Where did the man come from? The door was locked. Hannah’s eyes darted from the gun to a cramped set of stairs in the corner of the next room. She should have been more careful. She should have checked there.

 

The man gestured and they came out from behind the recliner. Hannah’s legs shook. Stop. Stop shaking.

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"Ditch the knife."

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She dropped it. Her blade clattered to the floor.

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"Lift your shirt."

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Hannah quickly opened her coat and pulled her shirt up to her bra, so the old man could study her ribs. No holes, no beady eyes peering out from her, just a starved set of bones. The man gave her a short nod and she pulled her shirt back down. 

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He turned his eyes to Sable.

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Hannah bristled. “He’s too small. The Shrikes wouldn’t inhabit him.”

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She and the man stared each other down for a hard, cold second. He gave another uncertain look at Sable. Then the old man let the pistol's nose drift toward the floor. He scowled at them. His crawling eyebrows came together in thought. 

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"Go through that door and sit on the stairs. Don't go up. When I'm done patching the hole, I'll find you food."

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Hannah thanked the man but kept a sharp watch over his every movement. The man was probably three times her weight and had a gun. Humans were as dangerous as the Shrikes: another lesson from the Wastes. 

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The man slid his weapon into his belt and went to retrieve his tools. Hannah returned her knife into its makeshift sheath under her coat and stared at the hole in the boards. It was clogged with blood and feathers. Hannah followed Sable to the stairs where they waited impatiently to be fed.

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