After the Devil Has Won Read online

  “Don’t eat too many at once,” she said. “We have to make them last.”

  She knew it was hopeless. He was hungry. They both were, and she knew it. It was far easier when the sun lasted long enough for them to walk through fields and search the woods. Now they had so little light, and she wasn’t able guess the time of day that well when the grey clouds obscured the sun. She was going to have to think of how to protect them both as they fought the weather as well as the monsters.

  A rumble of thunder growled.

  His ears instantly pricked. He stopped eating, staring avidly into the distance.

  “It’s okay,” she told him, her voice as soft as she was able. “It’s just thunder. It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

  Another rumble, this time longer, louder, closer.

  “It’s all right, we have nothing to worry ab–”

  A scream. Distant, far away, but shrill enough to cut across the soft hum of rain and distressing enough to indicate danger.

  His eyes watered.

  Cia had to think fast. Fairly soon, he was going to start whining, and possibly begin one of his meltdowns. If the thunder didn’t do it, the scream would have – she was going to have to calm him before the worst arrived.

  The thunder again, with a scream, and another rumble.

  A tear dribbled out the corner of one of his eyes. He began to lift his hands to his ears, but she grabbed them.

  “You can’t,” she told him.

  “No!”

  “You can’t. You can’t make that noise, they’ll hear us.”

  He struggled against her arms, fought against her strength. He wasn’t strong, but he was stronger than her.

  She had always known that Boy wasn’t like other boys – at least, not in what society used to determine as normal. She knew he was autistic, or something alone those lines. In truth, she’d never asked, he’d never said, and she’d never cared. It made no difference to the way she felt about him.

  But it was here, in life-and-death situations, that her patience had to be as strong as her resolve.

  “Please, Boy. Please don’t.”

  The moment those hands arrived at his ears he’d be rocking back and forth and whining, and that whining would create too much noise. She hated to call it whining, but that’s what it was, a constant noise of distress that would tell everyone where they were.

  A flash of lightning prompted the rain to hit down harder. The soft patter was gone; the heavy bombardment had arrived. This time the thunder wasn’t accompanied by a scream. It was accompanied by a screech. Cia recognised that screech – it was a Maskete.

  Thinking quickly, she pulled herself under the shelter alongside him. There wasn’t enough room, but that didn’t matter; she squeezed in next to him, pressed against him. She put her arms around him, holding his wrists with each arm – preventing him from putting his hands on his ears while giving him reassuring affection.

  It wasn’t enough. He began to whine.

  “Please, don’t. Stop. You have to.”

  It made no difference. His whines grew louder.

  “Please, they’ll hear us,” she whispered in the loudest whisper she could. It went unnoticed.

  Another scream, and there was more than one screech, which meant there was more than one Maskete.

  She rocked him back and forth. Held onto his wrists, kept her arms locked tightly around him, holding him in the tightest embrace she could manage, secure, close. Rocking him. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  Thunder. Screech. Thunder.

  The whining grew louder.

  “The devil has departed,” she tried, between a soft voice and a whisper. “And you are not alone.”

  He stopped whining. Listened. She put her mouth right next to his ear and her voice, smooth, soft, life-changing, recited the poem.

  “Take time to rebuild, Your love in our home.”

  Screams. Screech.

  He listened.

  “Shared time it is slowing, The pace of our heart.”

  Thunder. Screech. Screech. Screech.

  “But from now to the end, We won’t be apart.”

  Screams. Screech.

  The rain began to fall through the shelter she’d made in leaks and dribbles, but she disregarded it. It didn’t matter. They could get wet. Whatever.

  “The devil has departed,” she began again.

  Thunder.

  Her mother’s poem.

  She held onto her tears.

  “And you are not alone.”

  He nestled his head into her neck and closed his eyes. By the third time she’d finished the final line, he was asleep.

  3

  Cia recognised the forest she was in. It was the Lake District. She went here once as a child, with her father. There were still wooden poles displaying arrows that once gave ramblers a route. Now, they just pointed to obscurity and pointlessness. What difference did it make whether they followed the route or not? They weren’t going anywhere.

  Cia held onto Boy’s hand, keeping it securely in hers. He hadn’t been here before, and when he didn’t recognise somewhere, he’d get cautious, and he needed to know she was there.

  She found it fascinating how he could tell if he’d been somewhere before. To her, these were just trees, bushes, plants, nettles. To him, they were a map that he continuously logged in his memory, and he could tell the difference between one set of trees and another without even having to consider it.

  As she looked him up and down, she noticed how grubby he was. The rainwater from the previous night had fallen through the cracks of the shelter until it disintegrated, until it was just Cia holding him, waiting for the weather to relent and morning to arrive. As a result, he was covered in rain water and mud. Even his face had somehow become home to brownish stains, and his hair was sticking to his scalp with rain and grease.

  “I think you need a wash,” she declared.

  “No,” he refuted.

  “I think you do. We’ll find a lake. I’ll wash as well, it will be fine.”

  She knew it wouldn’t be fine.

  Trying to get him into a lake was like trying to get an impudent dog to sit. Still, she couldn’t let him remain in this state.

  He was her responsibility. And sometimes that meant having to get him to do things he wouldn’t always appreciate.

  After a while walking – Cia guessed at about forty minutes, although she had no way to know this – the rain stopped but the clouds remained, and the sun was nowhere to be found. They came to an opening. A wide lake, with a wooden boat that someone had left floating idly far from the shore.

  “Are you ready?” she asked him.

  He folded his arms and shook his head – though he didn’t run away, which showed potential that he might change his mind.

  “Come on, we’ll do it together.”

  He was unmoved.

  “Fine, I’ll go in. And maybe you can join me.”

  She removed her shoes, her socks, her top, her shorts. She watched him to see if he’d notice, but his head was determinedly pointed away, his bottom lip out and his arms folded. She could dance around naked and he wouldn’t even break his stubbornness to notice.

  She removed her bra and her pants and, feeling free, she ran forward and dove into the lake with a splash that licked at his feet. She swam back and forth – then remembered that he couldn’t swim, so stopped, fearing her swimming may put him off. She just hovered, floating, only her head and arms above water, and began to wash herself, ignoring how cold the water was.

  “Are you coming in?”

  “I don’t want to!”

  She lifted her head back and let her hair trickle about the water. It felt good, washing her hair. Like she used to. The only thing that was missing was hot water and shampoo.

  “I think you do!”

  “I don’t want to take my clothes off!”

  Well, that was progress.

  “I won’t look.”

  “Turn around!”
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  With a mischievous smile, she turned around and faced the other way. She couldn’t help but feel a little sense of achievement. Not smugness, per se, but a sense of pride that she’d managed to coerce him into washing.

  She closed her eyes and lifted her head back, feeling the water wave her hair back and forth. She never knew how much she’d miss that feeling.

  After a while, she still hadn’t heard him jump in.

  “Are you ready yet?” she asked.

  No reply.

  She sighed. Smiled.

  “I’m going to turn around, okay?”

  No response.

  “Okay?”

  Nothing.

  She turned around.

  A pile of clothes was folded and placed next to the scruffy pile she’d dumped.

  But no Boy.

  “Where are you?” she asked. She told herself not to panic. She looked around the lake, searching for him. Maybe he was in the water?

  “Boy?” she tried once again.

  What if he’d already jumped in? What if he’d drowned?

  She pulled herself under and, keeping her eyes open, searched beneath the surface of the lake. A complete 360 turn showed her nothing, and she rose above the surface again.

  Now she started to panic.

  “Boy!” she shouted, then realised she’d need to keep her voice down; she didn’t know who or what was nearby. “Boy, where are you?”

  She swam to the side, climbed out. Now, she felt self-conscious. She covered herself up with her arms as she looked around herself.

  “Boy! Please, this isn’t funny!”

  She meandered forward, looking everywhere.

  He wasn’t there.

  Had something taken him?

  Had he run off?

  Had he fallen down somewhere and hurt himself?

  “Boy!” Now she shouted. Really shouted. She didn’t care what she attracted, something could come and eat her if it wanted – she had to find him. “Please, where are you?”

  She ran. Through the trees, between the bushes, searching above, below, around her. She tried doing a circle around the lake, scanning for a glimpse of something, just some kind of sight that would confirm he was there.

  Her ribs vibrated against the punch of her heart. Her breath sped until it ceased.

  Where could he be?

  “Boy!” she screamed.

  She heard a sniff.

  She turned around.

  Nothing.

  “Boy?”

  Another sniff.

  She saw a tuft of hair. She rushed up to it and, sure enough, there he was. Naked, curled into a ball, leant against a tree, his arms tucked around his body so as to cover it.

  Every emotion drained out of her. Sank through her arms, through her chest, weighing down her legs that suddenly felt heavy.

  “What were you doing?”

  He shook his head.

  She crouched in front of him, keeping her arms across herself, feeling even more awkward now she was about to tell him off without any clothes on.

  “What were you thinking!”

  “I – I – I took my clothes off, I was about to jump in, but I felt cold, I looked strange, I – I – I didn’t like it.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. All anger went. All love returned.

  She placed a hand on the side of his face.

  “You silly boy. Don’t you see? We have to stick together, you and me. We can’t lose each other. You are all I’ve got.”

  He stared at her, the same absent way he often did – but deep in there, she felt that he understood.

  “Now, come on. Shall we go get you washed?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “I feel naked,” he said, burying his head under his arm.

  “Well,” she went to speak, then decided there was only one thing to it. She stood and proudly lifted her arms apart. “Well, so am I!”

  He looked up. He giggled.

  “And I don’t feel silly.” Yes, she did. “And I don’t look like a plonker.” She definitely felt like a plonker. “So why don’t you come join me, huh? We’ll go together?”

  That smile returned. He nodded.

  “Come on then.”

  She took his hand and they ran to the lake.

  4

  Cia felt fresh and alert like she hadn’t for days. It was annoying that they had to put dirty clothes back on, but she was sure they’d find the end of the forest and come across a town at some point – or, at least, what used to be a town.

  She finally felt able to let go of Boy’s hand for a little while, letting him interact with his surroundings, to experience the Lake District in the way that she had experienced it when she was younger. She loved watching him inspecting flowers, letting a ladybird crawl up his finger, marvelling at the height of the trees and the way the branches towered over him, crossing and interacting and entwining and creating cell bars for the light.

  Her smile faded as she felt wind. Fearful of a storm, she looked around and considered where they could rest next. But it wasn’t a storm.

  “Boy,” she said, getting his attention. “I need you to wait here.”

  He abruptly became alert, replacing his childish joy with a fearful scowl.

  “It’s okay, I’ll only be a few yards away. Honestly, stay right there, and I’ll be back before you can count to…” She considered this carefully, as she knew he would end up counting. “Thirty. Before you can count to thirty.”

  He still didn’t look convinced.

  “Can you do that for me? One… Two…”

  He nodded. “Three. Four.”

  She ran ahead. Her trainers hurt her feet – they were old, and had been damp too many times. The ground was bumpy through their holes and it dug into the dead skin of her soles.

  Finally, she reached the end of the wooded area and came to an opening.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  It was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  Trees were torn down and discarded along the width and length of the field, surrounding a sea of yellow grass. Upon this vast area of dead meadow were skeletal remains of those who had been killed upon it. There was no blood left, the rain must have washed that away – what was left were skulls and rib cages and spines and collars and… So many remains covering such a large space, but in no sensical order. It was as if these things had been spat out in random places.

  They had no choice. They had to cross it. The wooden signposts had pointed this way, and it could add days to go around it.

  How was he going to handle this?

  She returned in a brisk walk to find him rocking back and forth.

  “Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five,” his voice said, shaking.

  “I’m here,” she said, putting an arm around him. “I’m here.”

  “You lied!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Rosy, you lied!”

  It always felt strange when he called her that. She’d originally told him her full name – Cia Rose. From then on, he had never used her first name, or her last name properly – it had always been Rosy.

  “I promise it’ll never happen again.”

  He hmphed, but that seemed to settle him. She took his hand.

  “I want you to talk to me,” she told him. She had no idea what about, but she knew this was the best way to keep him distracted.

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  What did he like? What could he talk about?

  He could recite square numbers, he could tell you the name of every doctor he’d ever seen, and he could recall every detail of each of the trees he’d passed – but none of it was particularly good for conversation.

  “Do you like dinosaurs?” she asked, no idea where it was coming from. Maybe the monsters made her think about more monsters.

  “Yeah!” he answered.

  That was lucky.

  They approached the clearing.

  “Do you know what m
y favourite dinosaur is?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I love tirianosulus rex.”

  “That’s not how you say it!”

  This was good.

  They were talking.

  She held onto his hand as they walked into the middle of the field. She noticed him noticing, looking around himself, and she saw a change in his face. She had to do something quickly; something to make sure his mind didn’t grasp onto his surroundings and overwhelm him.

  “How do you say it?” she asked.

  “It’s a tyrannosaurus rex.”

  “Ooooh! And that’s the one that eats plants, right?”

  “No! It doesn’t eat plants!”

  “What does it eat?”

  He thought carefully about this. She could see his brain working behind those vulnerable eyes.

  She could also feel the dust brushing off the bones and tickling her face, caught along an angry draught, remnants of murdered people rubbing against her.

  “Animals.”

  “What, like bugs?”

  “No! Like, birds and stuff.”

  “I thought it ate other dinosaurs.”

  “It does sometimes.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The clearing was long gone now.

  “Ow!” She walked straight into a bone, its rough edges scraping her shin.

  In the distance, a growl. Possibly a Thoral.

  Dammit.

  “What did you just walk into–”

  “And what’s your favourite dinosaur?”

  “I like diplodocuses.”

  “A diplowhat?”

  “Diplodocus!” he responded, so playful, as if she was being silly.

  She led him by the hand beneath a large clump of sharp points, forcing them to have to duck.

  The growl again.

  She peered ahead.

  Halfway.

  “And what do they eat? Meat?”

  “No, they eat plants and stuff.”

  “Like a rabbit?”

  “It’s much bigger than a rabbit.”

  “Like, what does a dipliothing look like?”

  “A diplodocus!”

  “Right, a diplodocus.”

  She turned over her shoulder.

  She saw it. In the clearing. Behind her, in the direction from which they’d come.