No Shelter from Darkness (38 page)

“Think so,” he whimpered, looking in her general direction but not into her eyes; Beth could only tell from the whites of his. His aimless staring reminded her of a blind man.

“How bad does it hurt?”

“Really bad. I think it's broken,” he sobbed.

Without thinking it through, Beth crouched by her brother, put her hands on the side of the hunk of rubble, and pushed. Oliver erupted in a wail of pain.

“Shit! Sorry, Ollie.”

She took her hands away and Oliver calmed back down to his gentle sobbing. From way over, Mary's voice floated through the rain.

“Oliver?” There was a hesitation. “Beth?”

“It's okay, Mary,” Beth shouted back. “He's stuck, but I'm gonna get him out.”

“Please, don't push it again,” sobbed Oliver in her ear.

“I won't.”
But now what
? she wondered. It looked like it was a heavy clump, and though it had only been brief, her push didn't feel like it had any effect. But she could see nothing else to do. She began climbing over her brother, getting her feet into suitable positions.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” Beth had to say again after stepping on his leg. “Right, Ollie. You've gotta be really brave for me now, okay? I'm gonna try and lift it, and as soon as you think you can, you need to pull your arm out.”

“What if it's broken?” he sobbed.

“Then Mum'll fix it. But we need to get it out first. Don't worry, it won't be left behind.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

Beth smiled sympathetically before remembering he wouldn't be able to see it. “Yes,” she said. “But no matter how bad it gets, you've got to pull it out. It'll be a lot worse if you don't.”

Oliver sniffed and nodded. Beth's heart almost broke.

“Okay,” he said.

Beth wrapped her fingers under the edge of the clump of bricks and mortar, either side of Oliver's arm. The nail wound in her right palm stung, but she carried on. She thought it a good sign that there was a gap under the bricks; it meant his arm hadn't been flattened. If it had, she was sure he'd be in a lot more pain. The sound of planes still approached, but she hadn't heard any booms or whistles. She didn't have time to ponder if that was good or not. “Okay, here we go.” Beth took a deep breath. The wound in her hand throbbed. She heaved.

Oliver whimpered, bravely keeping his mouth closed to keep his yell muffled. Beth felt the section of wall pivot slightly at the far end. Her side of it was rising slightly, and feeling it move spurred her on. She needed to stop and breathe, but she continued to put in every last ounce of effort she could muster. Lifting it an inch or two, her strength was fading quickly.

“Pull,” she strained to say under held breath.

Oliver yelled freely, and Beth felt his arm brush her fingers. She looked down, straining her eyes, and saw the dark shape of an arm come free—complete with hand and fingers. She let go, letting out all the breath she'd held in. The rough brickwork scraped down her fingers and made them sting, but nowhere near as badly as the nail wound. There was a deep boom as the wall landed from its two-inch drop and cracked under its own weight.

Beth breathed furiously. She was exhausted, but the air she breathed had a new scent to it. It stopped her short. Her insides jumped in excitement at the rusty metallic scent. Her jaw twitched and her body flinched. She spun her head around, toward the aroma. Oliver had felt his way back to the uneven wall and leant against it cradling his arm. He sobbed and whimpered, while looking aimlessly at it. Beth could see what he couldn't: a jagged edge of bone poking out from his forearm. He was slightly sheltered under the broken floorboards above him, and the rain wasn't washing away the blood that now oozed freely. Beth didn't need to see everything. She could smell it.

Beautiful, delicious, unparalleled and unbeatable human blood.

Her head tipped forward. Her nose flared involuntarily and her lips snarled into a sadistic smile. She felt the four pointed canines being pushed out; unsheathed. The tip of her tongue curled under one of the two fangs that slid down. Her heart deafened the rain and the approaching bombers. Almost subconsciously, she lowered herself into a half-crouch, ready to pounce, and though her nails were trimmed short, her fingers curled into claws. She couldn't even feel the hole in her palm any more. She felt nothing at all except raging bloodlust. Her brother leant there sobbing, oblivious to the bloodthirsty creature no more than a yard away that wanted nothing more than to cover everything with his precious life force. To swim in his blood.

Beth could almost taste it.

Oliver slid down the wall, sobbing, and rested his arm on his knee. Putting the fingers of his working hand on the wrist of his wounded arm, he slowly patted the skin toward the bone. Beth wanted to leap forward, grab that arm with both hands, lift it to her mouth and dig her teeth into it. She'd rip the flesh from the bone and hot blood would surge out. She could already feel it running through her own veins and breathing new life into her.

She leant forward to pounce.

Her stomach flipped.

She leapt, but her feet never left the ground. Her body was frozen. Her mind was telling it what to do but it refused to obey, as if someone had disconnected one from the other.

Oliver's fingers found broken skin and his face scrunched up like he was about to cry. He held it in though, continuing the examination of his arm by touch alone. His fingers touched tacky blood, and Beth tried again to lunge forward, the urge to do so out of her control. But again, frustratingly, she stayed glued to the ground.

What keeps holding me back?

Oliver gasped loudly as his little finger brushed the tip of the exposed bone. A shiver ran up Beth's stiff legs, up her spine and made her hair feel like it was standing on end.

Oliver began to blubber, but felt once more where he now knew the damage was worse. About an inch of bone was exposed and the tips of his fingers touched the smooth surface. He howled. It was a scream, sob and gasp, all in one horrible statement of despair. Beth's snarl dropped and her fingers relaxed. A part of her still wanted the blood, but a stronger part felt sympathy; concern. Love. It was the part that had prevented her from attacking, and it was winning an internal conflict. Beth couldn't bear the pain her brother was in. She wanted to save him.

“Ollie.” Her voice was no more than a whisper and wasn't heard over the rumble of the planes that had drowned out the rain in their proximity. She closed her eyes, swallowed her thirst, and tried again. “Ollie.”

“Beth,” he cried. “My arm, Beth.”

“I know, I know.” Her words were very slightly mispronounced while her fangs slowly slid back into her gums. “I'm gonna get you out of here.”

The scent of blood still filled the air, still made her senses tingle. Her need and desire was strong, but her resolve was stronger. She looked around, trying to spot anything that would help them get out of the pit. On her own it would be easy; with a fit and able brother it would be a bit of a hassle. With Oliver wounded and unable to see where he was going, her challenge seemed impossible. The only way up Beth could think of was via the steps.

“Stay there. I'm gonna try and make a way out.”

“Beth, you're not going to leave me, are you?”

Beth stepped close to her brother and tried not to smell the blood as she put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch. “I would never do that. I said I was gonna get you out, and I will.”

Beth clambered over to the steps and began clearing the lighter debris from them. The heavier stuff she tried to push further up against the wall, or if possible over the side. She worked as quickly as she could and worked up a sweat doing it with the bombers above bearing down. But still, there were no whistles or booms. They were definitely coming this way though, en route to the city by the sound of it.

With the steps cleared as much as possible, leaving a path about a foot wide along the edge, she jumped back down, over the section of wall that Oliver's arm had been trapped under and back to her brother. She knew she should try and wrap the bad arm, but she wasn't going to press her luck.

“I'm going to take your hand, okay? You need to follow me as closely as you can.”

“I can't see anything.”

“I'll be your eyes.”

“How can you see?”

“All the carrots, I guess.”

She led her brother over the rubble, finding solid footholds and instructing him where to step as much as she could.

Leading him slowly up the steps, blurting out instructions to mind sharp wood, she got Oliver to feel the outer edge so as not to fall off. Suddenly, he slipped, and in an instant Beth turned and put out her arm like a barrier. She saved him from a fall, but he hit his fragile arm and cried out in sobbing pain once more. It was the worst sound Beth could think of. It hurt her.

They got to the top step with no further incident and on the way Beth was able to see more and more. It wasn't quite like coming into daylight, but it made a big difference.

But while she could see everything, it meant that Oliver could see enough. His sobs increased, looking at the sharp edge of bone that shone in what little light the moon was sending through the clouds. Beth looked at the blood-covered arm and breathed deeply before bending down slightly.

“Hey. I swear Mum will fix that, and then you can have one of those casts on your arm, and everyone'll be jealous. But for now, I need you to be brave just a little longer.”

Oliver nodded with quivering lips.

Beth turned her attention back to the problem of getting back to the road. They were now on the wrong side of the pit, with a field of rubble to clamber over in one direction and a really hazardous mound of it in the other. Then she heard a cry.

“Beth?”

Beth spun around toward the road. It was Mary. She'd forgotten she was still there. A small sense of relief came to her that they weren't completely alone, along with a little pride that she'd proved Mary wrong. “We're on the other side,” she called. “I don't think we can get across.”

“How's Ollie?”

“He'll survive, but we need to get out of here,” she yelled back.

“What about the house?”

“What?”

“The house. Go through the house.”

Beth couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself. They were practically in the backyard of the neighboring house, with only a few yards of rubble to get over. “Hold my hand and stick close,” she said to Oliver.

They hadn't got half a yard before Oliver tripped over, hitting his arm again and howling out in pain. It would have been hard enough staying upright in daylight and Beth could think of no way to get her brother safely across other than to carry him.

She turned her back and ordered him to jump up. Hesitating, sobbing, Oliver finally jumped and wrapped his good arm around
Beth's neck. She choked for air as she caught the underside of his knees and then shuffled him up before he could topple them both backward. Resting his injured arm over her other shoulder, the bloody bone was inches from Beth's sight and smell. She turned her head and composed herself, before picking her way over the debris, the extra weight demanding more care.

From above came a sudden, piercing whistle. And then another, and another. The bombers were starting their drops early, not having reached the city yet. Suddenly the guns in Victoria Park roared. Even from this distance the flashes of light dimly lit the world, one frame at a time. It stung Beth's eyes. Out of breath and straining under the weight, she got to the edge of the rubble and stepped down onto the neighboring yard. Oliver's arm slid off and she practically dropped him to the ground.

With her hands on her knees, she panted hard for a few moments, before straightening up and walking to the back door of the house.

“No way,” she panted, trying the door handle. “Who locks their bloody door … in a bloody raid?” She went back to the rubble and picked up a smashed brick, throwing it through the small pane of glass. Threading her arm through the sharp and hazardous hole, she felt no key in the lock. “Bloody shitting shit!”

There was a loud bang a few roads over, and the ground vibrated. The thundering bombers were directly overhead and whistles were all around. With no time for anything else, she took a few steps back and then charged at the door, smashing through it in a hail of glass and wood and falling to the floor. She shot up, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, and raced back to grab Oliver's good hand. She pulled her whimpering brother in through the doorframe as a whistle directly overhead abruptly fell silent.

FORTY-ONE

FROM THE WET PAVEMENT
where she stood, Mary could see nothing beyond the rubble that Beth had clambered over. It was only when the cloud that covered the moon thinned slightly that she saw what she thought was a figure poking up, though it was very far away. When Beth returned her call, she then worried why she could only see one figure.

Beth had said that Oliver was okay, but Mary hadn't heard him since his third or fourth painful scream. Soaked through to the bone, she waited, not knowing what to do. When the bombs started to drop, sounding like they were right on top of them, they were met by the guns in the park. And finally, there in a flash of light, Mary saw Beth, with Oliver on her back. It was a single frame, like a snapshot. In the next frame, they were gone.

Mary thought she heard the smashing of a window, and then shortly thereafter a bang of splintering wood and falling glass. She could've been mistaken; she only just heard it above the planes and the falling bombs. But then a whistle overhead ceased. She only had time to think the worst.

Her damp blonde hair was swept back, and beyond the rubble in front of her was a huge flash of light. A thundering explosion took her off her feet. She landed with a thump on the wet road and bits of flaming debris showered down. Her ears were ringing and when she looked up she saw flames grow from the back of the house through which she'd suggested Beth to go.