After the Devil Has Won Page 3

Drool dripping from its fangs. Four beefy legs. Grisly fur. About the size of the average bungalow.

  Its eyes were scanning the remains.

  “It’s got a long neck.”

  “Duck down!”

  She grabbed hold of him and brought him to the floor. He snatched his hand away and stood tall.

  “I don’t want to go down on the floor!”

  “Please, come on.”

  “I can’t. It’s dirty.”

  She rubbed her hand over her head, through her hair, turned over her shoulder, saw the Thoral’s eyes scanning, turning. It was going to find them.

  “Please!”

  “No!”

  Could they make it?

  Could they get to the other side before it got to them?

  Fine.

  She stood and put her hands firmly on his shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes.

  “What’s the fastest dinosaur?” she asked.

  “A velociraptor.”

  “Right, we’re going to pretend to be–”

  “I don’t like pretending.”

  “Fine, we’re going to be velociraptors. Okay? We are going to run like we’re velociraptors, to the other side, you see, over there?” She pointed. He looked. “Can we do that?”

  “I guess…”

  “Okay.” She looked nervously to the Thoral. Its eyes were hovering in their direction. “How does a velociraptor run?”

  He put his arms by the side of his chest and stuck out two fingers on each. She copied him.

  “Okay, are you ready?”

  “Yeah!” he replied enthusiastically, suddenly on board with the idea.

  “Okay, go!”

  She ran. He ran. She felt exceedingly stupid with her hands poking two fingers out beneath her breasts as she was running for their lives, but it seemed to work.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  The Thoral jumped from the clearing into the graveyard.

  “I bet I’m a faster velociraptor than you!” she shouted, and tried increasing the pace. He laughed as he kept up.

  “I’m faster than you, Rosy, I’m faster than you!”

  The growl.

  “Don’t worry, that’s just a tyrannosaurus, we best get away.”

  “Okay!”

  She glanced over her shoulder once more. It was prowling forward. Not running. Not chasing. They may have made it.

  That was when it did begin to run.

  Run in their direction.

  They made it out of the open field and into the wooded area and she grabbed his hand and pulled him in deeper, in further, into the cover of the trees.

  The ground thudded under the Thoral’s steps.

  She found a large log with enough room beneath it for them to hide.

  “Oh no!” she cried out, trying to keep the genuine fear from her eyes, keeping up the facade. “The tyrannosaurus got me!”

  He laughed.

  “And it got you too!”

  She rolled onto the floor and under the log.

  He walked up to her and peered at her peculiarly.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him in close. To her relief, he came, and she lay behind him with both arms wrapped around him.

  “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “Now, we wait,” she told him, listening carefully. “We wait until the bigger dinosaurs have gone, and we wait as quietly as we can.”

  And as the next growl trembled the earth, she could smell the foul stench of its breath.

  THEN

  5

  She curled like a perfect circle entwined with her father’s shape, her head rested on his shoulder, her smile curving with his.

  “Tell me more,” she said.

  “Okay, well – what about eggs?” he said, pointing to the discarded remains of their scrambled egg on toast, left on a tray that sat out of reach on the floor.

  “What about them?”

  “Well, have you ever seen an egg in water?”

  She grew perplexed. “No, but isn’t it still an egg?”

  “I don’t mean inside the shell, I mean, if you cracked it open.”

  “It would just, like, disperse.”

  He chuckled. What kind of twelve-year-old uses the word disperse?

  Only his.

  “No, in fact, it actually spreads out like a jellyfish.”

  She looked at him, delightfully confused. She tried to picture it – an egg, spreading through water. How weird.

  “Could it sting you?” she asked.

  “No, no, it’s still just an egg.”

  Keeping her head resting on his shoulder, she turned toward him and smiled, feeling the prickles on his chin gently scratching her forehead.

  “Another one,” she requested.

  He sighed a grateful sigh. He could have had a daughter that was interested in ponies, in Barbies, in sports – but no, he happened to have a daughter who had the same fascination with science that had turned his own childish curiosity into a successful adult career. He wondered if she, too, would someday own a laboratory of her own.

  “Okay. What about black holes?”

  “Yes, I know all about them, Dad, you’ve done this before.”

  “Yes, I have – but what about existence, and what a far away black hole can do to us?”

  “How could it affect us? Aren’t they, like, really far away?”

  “Yes, but time ripples. Just like if you dropped a stone into water, then that water would ripple. If you smash two black holes together, then existence ripples.”

  “How does existence ripple?”

  He paused. How could you explain such theories to someone so young?

  Then again, maybe he shouldn’t underestimate her understanding. She could evidently comprehend more than other girls her age.

  “They collide, even if only at half the speed of light, they still slam together so hard that three whole solar masses are converted into gravitational wave energy.”

  He held out his arm and created a wave motion. She sat up and turned to him.

  “But wouldn’t we feel it?”

  “We did, actually – it happened last week.”

  “What? When?”

  “On September 14th. Every cell in your body was gentle squeezed by a black hole.”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re having me on. I’m not stupid.”

  “I would never think you are, my darling.”

  “Sure. This coming from the guy who said that eggs look like jellyfish.”

  He grinned.

  “Fine. I’ll show you.”

  He leapt to his feet and marched to the kitchen, and she couldn’t help but follow. By the time she’d caught up with him, he’d already taken a pack of eggs from the fridge and was hurrying up the stairs.

  “Dad, wait!” she shouted excitedly.

  His wife would never have let him do this. Don’t be mistaken, he missed her more than anything – but they were a team, Cia and him. As they had been for a long time.

  He began pouring water in the bath, waiting for it to fill. As he sat there, he looked to Cia, and felt proud. Her excitement was palpable – she was practically giddy, jumping on the spot, looking over his shoulder as the bath filled with water.

  Imagine that. A child getting excited about cracking an egg into a bath.

  And that’s why they were a team.

  The perfect team.

  The bath filled, and he turned the water off.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes! Do it!”

  He took the first egg, cracked it against the tap, then opened it and allowed the yoke to fall into the water. Sure enough, the large ball of yellow sat in the middle of its transparent protection, floating around the water like a jellyfish.

  “It worked!” she yelped. “It actually worked!”

  “Of course it did.”

  He took another egg, cracked it on the tap, and produced another one.

  “Can I have a go? Can I
?”

  He handed her the packet of eggs. So much for a fry-up in the morning!

  She took one, cracked it against the tap, and dropped it into the water.

  Sure enough, it happened again. Dropped and bounced like he said it would.

  He watched her exhilaration. Her enthusiasm. And he put his arm around her, consolidating his team.

  Him and her.

  Team Rose.

  NOW

  6

  Laying there, just listening to the growls, her body shaking with the pounding ground of the Thoral’s thudding footsteps, was an experience Cia was getting used to. Being terrified was now like the annoyance that homework used to be, or the disappointed feeling of a Monday morning; constant terror was an irritating part of daily life.

  They were hidden, at least – and Boy had somehow managed to fall asleep following the excitement. How he managed it, she had no idea – but at least it meant he was quiet, that he was not going to panic.

  She felt its breath behind her. Her hair flickered under a burst of wind, accompanied by a smell like rotting meat and ageing broccoli. They were concealed by the log, but the thought never left her: if it finds us here, we’re as good as dead.

  Her arms remained securely around Boy until it was over. She sat there, praying. Not literally praying – enough had happened to tell her that, if there was a God, he was definitely not listening – but more of a deep, deep hoping that they would survive it.

  It growled into her ears and she put her hand around Boy’s mouth, just in case, just to be sure. But he stayed asleep. Peacefully unaware.

  A rustle from a far bush caught its interest. It leapt over them, clearing the log, its giant feet causing a rumble that pushed her from the ground.

  As it ran she managed to get a clear, unobscured view, up close like she’d never been before. Its paws led to claws bigger than her arm, its eyes narrowed as if its anger gave it focus, its body hard and strong beneath its bristled fur. It was big, bigger than she had realised from seeing them from afar. It could probably swallow her in one gulp.

  Boy groaned. She covered his mouth harder.

  It pounced on a far bush, and from it withdrew a woman in its jaw. A hiding place discovered. The beast waved its screaming food in the air as its sharp curved teeth sank through her chest and her legs and her face and her arms and everything until he was oozing blood like moisture from a damp cloth.

  She watched, feeling bad for this woman, but not that much. She’d seen this kind of violence. She was used to it. And she knew too well that she had only just escaped that woman’s fate.

  That could have been me.

  She looked to Boy, still somehow asleep.

  That could have been us.

  The Thoral turned and meandered away, dropping a few limbs as it munched on its late-afternoon snack.

  She waited for it to disappear and listened, listened out, listened carefully, reaching out to see if there was anything else near.

  After a while, she decided they were safe. Somehow, they remained hidden, and her relief attacked her from all angles. She realised she’d been holding her breath, and she finally allowed herself to let it go.

  But they couldn’t get complacent. The light was fading, and the day would be over soon.

  “Boy,” she prompted, softly shaking him. “Wake up.”

  He stirred and turned to look at her.

  “Rosy?” he said, as if confused.

  “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

  “What happened? I feel cold.”

  He was shivering.

  “Let’s go find somewhere warm. Come on.”

  She stood and took his hand, helping to lift him up.

  She decided to take him the opposite direction to the discarded pieces of mutilated corpse. He didn’t need to see that.

  “Come on,” she said, guiding him away.

  The air smelt like rain, but none arrived. A cold breeze made her dried sweat hard.

  He rubbed his eyes.

  She needed to find somewhere for him to rest. But where? And what then? She hadn’t thought about it much – but what was their end game? Was it simply survival? Was that it?

  Or was there some community somewhere that would let them in? Maybe she’d find one once they left the forest, once they rediscover the remnants of a town. Somewhere that wouldn’t discard her as unworthy based on her heritage or financial capabilities or–

  A rustle.

  She slowed down. Didn’t stop, didn’t want to alert him, but she’d heard something, she knew she had.

  A twig snapped.

  She looked over her shoulder.

  A shadow ran past, but somewhere far and elusive, somewhere she couldn’t be sure was real. It could just have been a trick of the mind, or a movement of the clouds.

  A figure ran past a set of trees in the distance.

  Now she knew she saw that.

  And she realised, in a sudden moment of dreaded clarity, what it was.

  Wasters.

  Things that used to be human. They sacrificed their consciousness to keep their lives at the price of being a slave to the creatures. They sought out offerings and ate whatever flesh they could find. They were feral, mindless, Neanderthal beings, with less awareness than the dumbest of animals, but with hunting skills of the sharpest.

  And they always hunted in packs.

  She sped up.

  “You’re going too fast,” he moaned.

  “I know, but we need to hurry.”

  “I don’t want to hurry, I’m too tired.”

  “I know, but we have to–”

  Too late. Ominous silhouettes walked behind her.

  Cia and Boy came to a sudden stop.

  Directly before them was the face of a Waster. Scarred and vicious, broken yet alive. Its muscular, grazed torso led to a stale hand that gripped a wooden spike. Its yellow teeth oozed discoloured saliva, its scabbed lips curled into a growl, and its eyes boasted nothing but lethal hunger.

  And it was stood right in front of them, a few steps away, staring right into her eyes.

  7

  The Waster laughed a slow, low-pitched, lecherous laugh that made Cia feel disgusting. His beady eyes – she assumed it was a he – scanned her up and down and, despite being fully dressed, she had never felt more exposed.

  She pushed Boy behind her, keeping him protected, putting herself between them and the vile piece of filth eyeing her up like a juicy steak, done medium rare so the blood still squeezes out when you bite.

  “Please don’t hurt us,” she said, and she could hear terror in the wobble of her own voice.

  His flaking lips curved, and a dollop of drool slithered down his chin. He looked as little like a human as a human could; its hair greasy, long, and unkempt, its face curled into the snarl of a predator, and its chest heaving like a heavy animal struggling to breathe.

  Another rustle. Her head shot to her right.

  There were three more of them. All stood, yards away, looking at her with those same prying eyes, like she was a filthy whore or a delicious meal and they could do anything they wanted with her.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up into a solitary ball on the floor and whimper until it all went away. But she knew she couldn’t do that. She had to protect herself, and she had to protect Boy.

  The Waster closest to her took a step forward and she mirrored the step backwards. She was just waiting, helpless to do anything, cautious yet aware of how little defence she could put up against this cretin.

  “Please, we don’t have anything you’ll want.”

  He leered, and she regretted saying it as soon as she did. If anything, she knew it just spurred him on further. Hell, she didn’t even know if the thing understood her – but it damn well knew what it wanted.

  “There’s not much of me,” she said. “You won’t get much meat out of me. I’m sure there’s someone else you’d rather have.”

  She felt so stupid trying to reason
with it. Just waiting for it to pounce, hoping it understood her, knowing that even if it did it would make no difference.

  She turned her head slightly toward Boy, whispering to him.

  “On the count of three, we are going to run.”

  Boy made his whiny noise, as if he didn’t like that request, as if running was something he didn’t want to do.

  “I know you’re tired, but you are just going to have to listen to me.”

  His whine again.

  “Stop it!”

  That was the first time she’d ever snapped at him. She knew it would just make things worse. Maybe if she just tried to explain it logically?

  “These people are going to hurt us unless we run, do you understand me?”

  She just had to do it.

  Count. And hope that when she did reach three, he would follow her.

  “One,” she said.

  The few to her left took a step closer. There was more rustling behind her. In the distance, she saw more of them. At least ten. At least.

  “Two.”

  She held onto Boy’s hand with everything she had. He moaned like it hurt, but she didn’t care, she would drag him if she had to.

  “Three.”

  She turned and ran.

  He stood like a pile of bricks.

  “Come on!”

  She dragged him, surprising herself with how much strength her adrenaline supplied her with, and gave him no choice.

  They ran, sprinting as fast as they could, Cia leading the way so Boy could see which logs she leapt over and which branches she ducked, so he could follow her lead.

  Then the noises started.

  Noises of savages. Low-pitched growls that rumbled through her body. High-pitched cackling designed to torment. But most disturbing was the sound of their breathing, each one a grunt of mucus; drawn-out, deep, a coughing boom sending vibrations through the trees.

  She could hear them running. She could hear the leaves being trampled, the bushes being ripped out of their way. A glance over her shoulder and she saw that some were even in the trees, jumping from one to the other with as much speed as she was running at.

  The noise built. It built and built and built into a crescendo, multiplying into a mass of shouts.