Mary gave a snorting laugh to show how much she was concerned about that fact.
Crowther stepped out behind Caitlin, then half-turned. 'One other thing. If I were you, I wouldn't wait around here. Those hunters may decide you're too close to all this to live.'
'Where am I supposed to go?'
He made a couldn't-care-less gesture. 'Not my problem.' And then he put his hand on Caitlin's shoulder to guide her, and they went down the path, into the lane, and away.
Chapter Three
'The human heart is like Indian rubber: a little swells it, but a great deal will not burst it.'
The New Forest had grown dense and in some areas impassable in the months since the Fall. Without access to petrol, roads were mainly travelled by horse and cart, and on foot, and so vegetation had crowded in or forced its way through the cracking asphalt. In the Forest it was even worse. The ancient broad-leafed trees thrived in a silent world that rebelled at the fall of a human foot. If not for necessity, Crowther would never have ventured into the thick greenwood.
Caitlin had slipped in and out of a daze as they walked, but there were signs that she was becoming more lucid. Yet he was surprised to hear the sound of crying coming from her. He didn't know how to react, hated any show of emotion. Hesitantly, he asked, 'Are you all right?'
When she looked up, the pain in her tear-streaked face made him wince. 'It's not fair,' she said desperately. 'I loved them so much.'
The sound of her sobbing carried with it the weight of complete heartbreak. Crowther rested against a nearby tree, surprised at the overwhelming pity he felt. He had thought it was beyond him. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. As they continued on their way, Caitlin was, for the most part, lost to her own shifting thoughts, but occasionally she would speak either to herself or to ask him a question. Often Crowther was disturbed to hear that the voice was not her own. He'd read accounts of dissociative identity disorder, but experiencing it at first hand was unnerving. He knew some research had shown that the separate identities, referred to by experts as alters, could exhibit differences in speech, philosophies, mannerisms, whole character traits — even gender. They could also have different physical states, such as allergies, whether they were right or left handed, and some were even shortsighted when the main personality had twenty-twenty vision. There were psychologists who denied the existence of DID, claiming that the personalities were simply fantasies of the patient, but if he had any doubts, here was the evidence.
'Brigid says you're scared.' Caitlin's voice surprised him.
He looked away quickly. 'Does she now.'
'Brigid knows things like that. She's very wise. What are you scared of?'
He laughed hollowly. 'What am I scared of? I'm scared of everything, as all wise men would be. I'm scared because we were taught to live in a world of Reason, and there's no reason anywhere any more. We don't have the tools to thrive here. And I'm scared because we're so far down the food chain, we're just above the bovine.'
'Brigid says you're hiding something in your coat.'
He flinched. 'Brigid should mind her own business.'
'There's a village up ahead.' Caitlin switched the topic of conversation with ease.
'How do you know?'
'I can smell it.'
He sniffed the air but couldn't pick up anything beyond the forest scents, although he knew some people with mental disorders had heightened senses. Several yards further on, the sickeningly fruity smell of decomposition was unmistakable. Bodies left in the open to rot was a clear warning sign and Crowther was already preparing to skirt the area when Caitlin caught his arm. She had seen something beyond his range.
Fighting his natural instinct, Crowther allowed her to guide him. She ducked low, crawling through the vegetation until they had a view of a sixties-style bungalow. The ruddy glare of fire rose up behind one window, followed by thick black smoke pouring out of every opening. The front door burst open and out came two men clutching a box of food, a shotgun and a few other objects Crowther couldn't make out. They were both wearing some kind of strange uniform, black T-shirts bearing a scarlet V from shoulder to navel.
As the looters hurried away, Crowther edged ahead to get a better view. Further down the street he could see more of the oddly dressed men — some kind of gang, he guessed — coming out of other houses with their swag. They moved quickly and efficiently, taking only what they needed, and left the village in wagons parked at the far end of the main street.
'Well, we certainly don't want to be tangled up with those,' Crowther mused. There was a rustling beside him and before he could react, Caitlin had emerged from hiding and was sliding down a grassy bank into an overgrown field that bordered the main street. 'Wait,' he hissed, but she paid him no attention.
She skipped through the thistle and grass and clambered over a five-bar gate before checking up and down the road. Crowther waited for a long moment to see if she would be attacked, then reluctantly followed. He was weighing the advantages of tying her up for the remainder of the journey when she hailed him from a large detached house that must once have been considered desirable. The front garden was now heavily obscured by a tangle of undergrowth and it didn't look as if any repairs had been made to it since the Fall.
'You don't want to go in there,' he said, pointing to the red X painted roughly on the front door.
'I heard something inside.'
'It's a plague house.'
'This isn't the Dark Ages, Professor,' she said.
'You'd think, wouldn't you?' He turned back down the weed-clogged drive, then sighed as he heard the front door open. This time he wasn't going to follow her. There were limits. The stench inside the house was overwhelming. Caitlin covered her mouth, fighting the urge to retch, not sure why she was in there, though she guessed it had something to do with the strange voices that occasionally surfaced at the back of her head.
She moved through the hall, with its damp, peeling wallpaper, and pushed open the door into the room where she thought she'd heard a noise. The sight that greeted her was horrific, but she felt only overwhelming pity.
Bodies marked with the unmistakable scars of the plague lay all around. At first some attempt had been made to stack them, but the last few had been thrown on the pile haphazardly.
That thought brought a succession of jarring images: the first case brought into her surgery, the sudden realisation, the mounting horror as the bodies piled up in the village hall. The faces… her friends… acquaintances… good people, undeserving people… and then Grant… and Liam… She rammed her fists into her eye sockets to drive out the terrible pictures, the sickening smell of clay and the clammy feel of wet clothes.
The sound was barely audible, but it jolted her out of her emotional state. Something was in the room, alive. Rats? The arm of one of the corpses dropped suddenly and made her jump. Behind it she saw movement — too big for a rodent.
'Come out.' She could barely believe someone was hiding underneath those suppurating bodies.
Vibrations amongst the cadavers suggested a brief struggle was taking place, and then the corpses fell away as a boy of around nine or ten pushed his way out. He was black, his hair shorn to a bristle, and a little overweight, but he had big, expressive eyes that made him seem much younger. He blinked once, twice, his gaze filled with hope.
'Don't worry,' Caitlin said, shocked. 'I won't hurt you.'
There was a sudden rush of falling bodies and another figure emerged: a girl of about sixteen, also black, her features street-smart and hard. 'Don't come any closer,' she said menacingly. She was brandishing a switchblade.