White and Other Tales of Ruin

A few carried weapons, some of which I recognised, others I did not. The glinting gold shell, clasped in the fist of one of the women and feeding green tendrils into the veins on her wrist … I had no idea what that was or what it was designed to do. All I could be sure of was that it was bad. The woman’s face told me that, and the scarring around the moist socket where her right eye should have been.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of the men said. He stepped forward until he was standing nose to nose with me. I could smell the sweet rottenness of his breath, stale sweat, and something worse wafting from a dirty bandage on his right shoulder. He carried a serrated knife clotted with dried blood.

“I’m looking for my daughter.” I glanced over his shoulder and past the milling people, trying to see beyond their threat to the trees where I thought Laura hung. They were only a couple of hundred yards away. I could run there in a minute, be holding my dear, dear daughter to my chest within a minute more, nursing, comforting, hoping that I was not too late and would need comforting myself …

“I said, who the fuck are you? Not, what the fuck are you doing? If I want to know what you’re doing for I’ll ask, what the fuck are you looking for? Get it?”

“Fucking right,” I said, wincing inwardly but unable to avoid the sarcasm. “And as for who I am, my name’s Nolan. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

The man stepped back, his eyes went wide and he brought the knife up in what looked like an expert defensive attitude.

If he goes for me now, I thought, that’s it, no hazy knife defences learnt in karate when I was sixteen are going to save me.

“What are you … where are you from?” He looked at Chele as well, and the others suddenly seemed more interested. Even those hunkered pretences at humanity seemed to raise their heads.

I saw something in this madman’s eyes — not fear as such, but caution and … hope? I told him what I was sure he wanted to hear. “We’re visitors here,” I said, “and I’ve just seen my daughter back there between those trees. Strung up.” The man had a pair of wire cutters hanging from his belt. His hands were slashed and scabbed and scarred, as if his favourite hobby was crushing glass bottles by hand. “You did it, didn’t you?”

“You’re from outside?” His eyes went wider and the knife dropped down.

“Yes. Listen, you’ve got to help me — ”

“How did you get in here? Why didn’t the demons stop you? Where are they, are they following, are they coming?”

“I got past one, jumped the coach, that’s all. Chele here offered to help me. I saw my daughter. And if you don’t stand out of my way …” I cast my eyes across the gathered throng. My threat was so weak, it didn’t even warrant finishing. I’d never felt so scared, so downright terrified, not even when I’d seen Janine lying there in her deathbed. Then I had known what was happening, and I’d almost come to terms with the fact that there was no chance for her, just a long, slow end. Now I had no idea what state Laura was really in, whether she was alive, whether she’d recognise me or even want me…

I’d never felt so damn scared.

“Come on!” the man said, reaching out for me. I drew back and he snorted, shook his head. He had long wild hair, black teeth and boils on his face, but his eyes were bright and intelligent. “Come on,” he said, “we’ll help you!”

He turned to his followers — if that’s what they were — and shouted: “Drop the wire! These are from outside!”

“They all are!” an unseen someone shouted.

“Yes, but these shouldn’t be here. They’re alien.”

I pushed past him, sick, angry, desperate to find Laura. Chele came on behind me. The people followed her, I could hear them mumbling and chattering excitedly, but I forged ahead. Nobody seemed willing to stop us.

I broke into a run.

And then I saw Laura.

And the skies darkened, fat drops of rain like spatters of blood hit my skin, a fast, violent wind smashed through from behind the trees, the branches shook, the barbed wire web swayed back and forth, and I heard my daughter’s cries as the wire tore her more. Her dress was wet with blood, which at least showed that she was still bleeding. Dead people don’t bleed.

“Oh Jesus!” I gasped, because my pale-skinned daughter was a red-faced demon, her eyes wide and her mouth foaming. “Oh sweet Jesus, just why …?”

“Hey,” Chele said, hugging me quickly, tightly, before rushing to the foot of the nearest tree. She was a big woman, I noticed that for the first time as she began to climb. Her clothes were baggy and black, designed to hide her size, and she moved up and along the branches with a grace I could scarcely believe.