“Don’t worry,” his voice calls back to me from the pitch darkness ahead. “Not much further now.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Damn it!” I hiss, as I drop the sticks.
Fumbling in the darkness, I manage to find them again, and I quickly get back to work. I need to get a fire started, but I’m shivering so much, I can barely keep my hands steady. Finally, however, I manage to get a few sparks, and the mix of dry grass and wood flickers to life. It’s not much, but at least it’s something.
After leaning down and gently blowing onto the flames, I glance over my shoulder and watch the darkness of the forest. Having spent five years at Steadfall and then the time before that with Jude, I’d forgotten what it’s like to be out here alone. Every faint noise feels like a threat, no matter how much I try to tell myself that there’s no-one watching me.
As the fire starts to grow, I reach my hands closer and start to warm the palms. I hear a scratching sound nearby, but I refuse to turn and look. It’s nothing, it’s just a natural sound of the forest. I need to calm down and keep my head together. Not everything out here is a threat.
I just wish I wasn’t so cold.
Chapter Twenty-six
“You’re wise to be cautious!” Walter calls back to me from up ahead. “How long have you been on the island?”
He glances toward me as we pass through a patch of clear moonlight, and I hold my left hand up to indicate the number five.
“Five what?” he asks. “Weeks? No, you’re clearly not that green. Not five months, either. You’re hardened and tough. I think you mean five years.”
I nod.
He stops and stares at me for a moment.
“Huh,” he mutters finally. “You look like a stringy little thing, but if you’ve survived that long…” He pauses again. “Have you been with people? Don’t take this the wrong way, it’s just… No-one lasts five years in this place if they’re on their own. You found yourself some friends?”
I hesitate for a moment, before nodding.
“But now you’re out alone again,” he continues, with a faint frown. “What’s wrong? Did you get sick of hanging around with other people all the time?”
Even if I had a tongue, I’m not sure I could answer that. Explaining the whole story, about how I came out to look for signs of another town, would take too long.
“I like people who know how to survive,” he continues, turning away from me and setting off through the forest again. “Most of the new arrivals here end up getting killed almost immediately. There are actually people who lurk around the most common drop sites, waiting to kill newbies so they can take their canopies. Human nature can be a very dark thing when people think no-one’s watching them.”
“You’re taking an unnecessary risk,” Della’s voice whispers.
“I can look after myself,” I reply in my head as I walk after the old man.
“That’s what people always think,” she continues, “right before something bad happens.”
“I’ve got the knife,” I imagine myself telling her. At the same time, I tighten my grip on the handle, just to be sure. “He’s just an old man and I’m—”
Suddenly, as I take another step forward, the ground gives way beneath my right foot. I try to turn, but it’s too late and I fall through a layer of leaves, bumping hard against the wall of some kind of pit and then tumbling further down into the darkness. I try to grab hold of the muddy wall, but I’m powerless to stop until finally I splash down into freezing cold, waste-high water. Dropping my knife in the process, I reach around but quickly find that it must have already sunk. Trying not to panic, I wade forward through the darkness until I reach a damp, muddy wall, but when I reach up I find that I can’t find the top.
“You okay down there?” Walter calls out.
Looking up, I can just about see him silhouetted against the night sky. He must be at least twenty feet above me.
“Cold down there, huh?” he continues. “Yeah, the soup only gets heated after I bring it up.”
I reach under the surface of the water, hoping to find the knife, but instead my fingers bump against something much larger, something soft and ragged but with a firm center. As I reach out and grab the object, my fingers sink through the mulchy surface until I feel the bone at the center. Strands of flesh seem to be trailing in the icy water, brushing delicately against my wrist. I freeze for a moment and then, before I can react, the object seems to pull away. Turning, I try not to panic as I once again look up and see Walter smiling down at me.
“I see you found where I make my soup,” he says with a grin, as he starts pulling the rest of the leaf-cover away, letting more moonlight down into the pit in the process. “Harold and the others’ll be very happy when they get back and find that I’ve managed to add a new ingredient. Always make the soup much richer for a few days. More nutritious.”
Hearing a faint groaning sound nearby, I turn and see that there’s someone else down here. Most of the pit is completely dark, but a line of moonlight is just about picking out a pale and bloated man just a few feet away, naked and leaning against the muddy wall opposite. The moonlight makes the water seem to almost glow with an ethereal gray energy, and I can see scraps of loose skin floating in the sickly mixture. A moment later I spot movement to my right, and I spot a woman’s face barely poking out from beneath the surface, gasping for air as sheets of her skin drift half-attached to her cheeks in the water. Looking down, I realize there are yet more bodies, with rotting corpses down in the depths of the pit. Beneath my feet, I can feel piles of bare bones resting at the bottom of the mixture. Pulling back, I feel my heart pounding in my chest as I realize that the filthy, flesh-filled water looks and smells exactly like the soup I was given earlier.
Reaching up, I try to dig my hands into the muddy wall and climb up, but I can’t get a firm grip. At the same time, I try to cry out, but all that emerges from my mouth is a faint wail.
“Don’t worry,” Walter continues from above. “Most people die within three or four days. Five at most. You won’t be wasted, though. Like I told you earlier, all of human existence is basically a kind of soup. When you die, you leave a little extra added to the pot! Nice to be useful, eh?”
Again I try to scream, but again I succeed only in making a brief gurgling sound, like some kind of monster.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Who’s there?” I call out, turning as soon as I hear movement nearby.
I’ve been out here alone out here for several hours now, with just the warmth of the small fire to keep me company. I know I heard someone a moment ago, however, and I instinctively grab my knife, ready to defend myself in case someone from town has come to attack me. After a few seconds, I spot a dark figure heading this way, but I feel a rush of relief when I see that it’s Harold. I shouldn’t be relieved to see him, but I am.
“Hey there,” he says with a faint smile as he stops close to me. “You got room for someone to share the warmth for a few minutes?”