In Constant Fear (17 page)

“So how did you end up out here?” I asked.

“Just happened,” Sheila replied. “When we finally got outta that hellhole of a city we kept going 'til we couldn't smell it anymore—over the mountains, the hills, across the plain, 'til finally we stopped. There were five of us then, three of us Island escapees. Since then—you've probably noticed—we've become something of a haven for those desperately in need of shelter.”

I don't know why, but despite taking an immediate liking to her, I found that a little odd. It was a nice enough spot, and I guess there was plenty of food around—I'd seen deer being smoked on our way in—but I still didn't fully understand. Why
there
? So many
challenged
folk, and for some reason they apparently all felt safe and secure. Did it have anything to do with that atmosphere we'd felt when we arrived? Was that part of the attraction?

“Where're the rest of ya?” Sheila asked. “The mad little guy—?”

“Jimmy,” I said.

“Yeah.” She grinned. “God, did he move the world ten yards sideways.”

“They're back a ways,” Lena said, jumping into the conversation, I guessed 'cuz she wanted to ensure I didn't tell Sheila why we'd headed off on our own. “On a farm.”

“Well, if you're out here looking for somewhere else to settle, you're more than welcome. All of you.”

“Thanks,” I said, though still nagged by the idea that we weren't getting the whole story; that she wasn't letting on about something.

“We gotta few characters—a few oddballs,” she added, “but all told, it works pretty well.”

I hesitated but decided that if there was something she wasn't telling us, the best way to earn a confidence was to give one. I related just about our entire story, right from when we got off the Island: being trapped in the City, Lena being kidnapped, Arturo being killed, and of course, busting into the Infinity building and confronting the Bitch.

“Thank God you're outta that,” Sheila commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed, deciding I wouldn't say anything about implants for the moment.

She offered us something to eat, and we gratefully accepted, following her back outside and sitting around the fire in front of her hut. The small dark woman—Sheila introduced her as Isobel—came over with several others, wanting to see the baby again, but Sheila shooed them away.

One thing I gotta say about Sheila: I don't know where she learned, but she sure could cook. In fact, she had that air about her, like she'd excel at just about anything she put her mind to. I reckoned she could probably shoot a deer from a thousand paces so it suffered no pain at all, whip you up a gourmet meal and serenade you with a coupla bawdy drinking songs at the same time. Even allowing for how hungry we were, I swear it was the most delicious meat I'd ever tasted, and though I ain't never been much of a salad guy, that wild stuff she'd picked, well, I'd happily eat it anytime.

Lena also made a bit of a pig of herself, accepting Sheila's offer of more meat, the pair of us sitting there chomping away with well-satisfied smiles on our faces. Thomas was propped up in Lena's lap, studying everything going on, even sampling a little of his ma's food, though he immediately made this revolted face and spat it out.

I tell ya, what with the warmth of the fire, the unusually rich food, how little we'd slept those last few days, and yeah, maybe a feeling
that we were safe and amongst friends, it was no time at all before we fell asleep.

I don't know how long we were there exactly; an hour or so, I'd guess. All I did know was suddenly being awakened by Lena screaming and yelling at the top of her voice.

“Where's Thomas?” she wailed, groping all around her, blindly fumbling her way across the ground. “
Where's my baby?
”

It was one of those moments when you could believe the whole world had stopped to listen. That everywhere, from pole to pole, people were still and silent, standing with horrified expressions on their faces, waiting to hear what would happen next. The only sound to be heard was Lena screaming, all that you knew, the absolute terror of a mother who'd lost her child.

I scrambled to my feet, instantly realizing that I should've been more careful, that I'd been far too quick to let my guard down. I'd
known
there was something odd about that place. And where the hell was Sheila, for chrissake? Had
she
taken Thomas? I looked all around, spinning left and right, being her eyes, hoping for a glimpse of something that might help us, in that moment seeing Isobel hurrying our way, Thomas in her arms.

“It's all right! It's all right—! He's here!” she cried, running over and putting him in Lena's arms.

I thought Lena was gonna deck her—I truly did. “What the fuck!” she screamed.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Isobel wailed, promptly bursting into tears.

“How dare you!”

“I'm sorry!” Isobel repeated. “You were sleeping, he was wriggling around, trying to turn over—I was scared he might get burned by the fire.”

“Don't
ever
take my baby!” Lena yelled. “Not for
any
reason!”

“Lena . . . He's all right,” I said, trying to calm things down, realizing it was her blindness speaking as much as anything, her helplessness in such an immediate situation. “It was my fault—I should've stayed awake.”

Sheila came hurrying back, alerted by the screams, carrying a couple of cans I guessed she used for fetching water from the nearby stream. “What's going on?”

“Nothing, just a misunderstanding,” I told her.

“Isobel!” she challenged, turning on her like a mother who always thinks her child's the one who's done something wrong.

“
I'm sorry!
” she wailed, her face all white and wide-open with distress.

“It's okay! Really,” I insisted, a little alarmed at just how upset she was. “No harm done.”

In the end, everyone calmed down: Lena apologized to Isobel, Isobel kept apologizing to her, and I think Sheila and me threw in a couple more just for good measure. I mean, it was nothing if not understandable: any mother would be fiercely protective of her child, let alone under these circumstances.

For the rest of the afternoon, Lena wouldn't let go of Thomas—even I had to fight for my turn with the little guy. Sheila told us we could stay as long as we wanted, that she would make up a shelter for herself and we could use her place, but we were much too mindful of the implants and what we might bring down on them. Finally we agreed to stay for the night, and 'cuz of her kindness, I insisted on spending the last hours of daylight building up her pile of firewood.

The clearing wasn't entirely natural: they'd chopped down a few trees, but only for building materials, firewood had to be gathered the traditional way. Lena and me wandered out into the forest, picking up as much dry and dead wood as we could. Thomas was making it a little difficult for her, but she still brought back the best part of an armful, throwing it on the pile and going back out again. We had to go further out the second time, the natural regeneration of the forest obviously not able to keep up with the demands of the growing Commune.

In the middle of this dense, dark concentration of trees, we came across this small open area—I mean, in its own way it was kinda magical. There was a rather dirty-looking pond, but it was plainly the waterhole of choice, for all around various animals and birds
were waiting their turns to drink, all obeying some kinda instinctive hierarchy. You could almost imagine it as a social gathering, that at any moment they were gonna burst into a song-and-dance routine from one of those old cartoons.

There was a fair amount of noisy fleeing and flapping when we appeared, but most didn't go very far. Lena walked Thomas forward, listening to the various screeching and snorting sounds she could hear and giving him a cooing rundown on who she thought was making them.

At first the little guy cottoned onto her enthusiasm, but it wasn't long before he started thinking about other things, giving out with noisy demands to be fed that appeared to take even some of the louder wildlife by surprise.

Lena squatted down next to a tree and taking out a breast, silenced him, and for a few moments I just stood there watching Mother Nature from the front row—then I decided I might be better employed carrying on looking for firewood.

I walked in a semicircle around the clearing, meeting this kinda cliff-face that formed a back wall to the area. Bearing in mind we were in the middle of a forest, there was a surprising shortage of anything to burn. Every now and then I'd glance back through the trees at Lena, just to make sure her and Thomas were all right, that I still had them in my sight, but I guess I got distracted, just for a few moments.

There was this large broken branch hanging onto a tree by a sinew or two, ideal for firewood. I had to jump up and give it a real tug and a twist, dragging it down 'til eventually it broke off. I glanced back toward Lena, wondering what she'd made of the noise—if she'd guessed at my clumsy antics and was having a little chuckle to herself. She was still squatting next to the tree, Thomas in her arms, but it was the way she was locked absolutely still, listening so intently, that alerted me. At first I didn't get it, then I saw this figure slipping through the trees toward her.

I think I hesitated for a moment 'cuz of what happened earlier with Isobel, 'cuz of that misunderstanding and not wanting to have another, but something about the purposeful way that guy was
moving made me forget all about that and I started to run, shouting to Lena, warning her. She momentarily turned my way, as if assessing how far I was from being able to help, then turned back in the direction of the advancing figure, sensing there was danger even though she couldn't see the heavy club raised over his head, nor know who it was holding it.

She didn't stand a chance. She had the baby in her arms, his defense her first priority; she was blind, she couldn't have been more vulnerable—and George must've known it. I wasn't gonna get to her in time; I could see that already. I couldn't take those blows for her; I couldn't fight her fight. He drew the club back, ready to smash it down on her defenseless head, and she instinctively crouched over Thomas, putting a hand up to protect herself. I screamed out in protest, even in that moment realizing I was dealing with a madman, that it would do no good, then suddenly—
oh my God!
—I heard a frighteningly familiar sound.

I couldn't believe it . . .
What the hell?
George was lying there, damaged to death, his body violently twitching, the excess power in him finding its way out of every pore. It couldn't be—! It just couldn't—! Surely they'd all been destroyed . . .

I grabbed Lena and helped her up while she clutched Thomas to her body like some over-protective marsupial.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It was George—he must've followed us,” I told her, staring down at that frozen face of horror, his eyes so wide they were leaking blood.

“But what
happened
to him?”

I paused for a moment, still not believing it even as I spoke the word. “. . . satellite.”

“
What?
” she gasped, every bit as shocked as I was.

“Looks like it.”

I could see people running through the trees toward us, Sheila in the lead, wearing a kinda vest, like she'd been working out. It was only when they reached us, when they were all gathered around, that I realized something: they were concerned all right—but they weren't that surprised.

So that was it: that was what was so unusual about that place; that was what Sheila had been offering us: an old form of policing and protection.

“What the hell happened?” she asked.

“He must've been following us,” I told her. “George.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah. Friend of mine's boy—great kid—or at least, he used to be.”

“Jesus—”

“Why didn't you tell us?” I interrupted.

She looked a little embarrassed, for a moment not knowing how to reply. “We decided—when we first found out—we wouldn't tell anyone. People would make their own fates.”

I saw immediately what she meant. “So if they behave themselves, they don't need to know; if they don't, they find out soon enough?”

“Something like that.”

“How d'you find out?” Lena asked.

“Originally we'd just camped here for a few days, then there was a fight and someone pulled a knife—out of the blue he got zapped. It came as big a shock to us as it did you. I reckon it got hit, like all the rest, but it didn't come down, just got knocked off its orbit. For sure it's damaged—it doesn't always work—but it's up there, limping around, watching over us . . . Anyway, we talked it over and decided to stay.”

“I thought I'd seen the last of them,” I muttered.

“Thing is,” Sheila continued, “word's starting to get out. That's why a lot of those who feel especially vulnerable have ended up here.”

I could've almost burst out laughing: all those years of trying to get away from those things and now people were gathering to shelter under one. And yet, bearing in mind what was going on—the Bitch and her Bodyguard, all the implant crazies—it did make a kinda sense.

Some of the villagers were getting a little upset at the sight of George's body, whining and pointing, and Sheila asked a couple of guys—I didn't recognize them, but I bet they were the old soldiers from the Island—if they'd mind burying it in the forest. We
walked back with her to the Commune and her hut, my arm still firmly around Lena. I mean, can you imagine how that must've felt? For someone to have attacked you and your baby, hell-bent on battering you both to death, then being zapped by a satellite right next to you—and you didn't see any of it? Not to mention
who
it was. And that was another question that needed answering:
What the hell had happened to George?