Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
At half past six in the morning, I attended to Wendy by candlelight, sitting cross-legged on the platform.
Wendy bleeped with happiness as I fed her breakfast.
“Looks much yummier than mine,” I said, opening one of the energy bars I’d scavenged yesterday.
Cardboard would be tastier.
Beep. Beep.
“I know, I know. I should be grateful.” I gave my virtual pet a smile, one I hoped reached her through the digital screen and orange casing.
Every day I checked her age and weight. For the past six months, it remained the same.
21 yrs. 23lbs
I had no idea why.
Wendy stayed on her silent setting most of time, only allowed to beep at me in places like this, away from dead ears.
The blob with ears and blinking eyes moved up and down in her little animation loop in her little world away from this hell hole.
“If only I could join you,” I said, popping her back in my coat pocket for a moment.
I’d found her three months into the apocalypse beeping in a shoe box under a bed in a house near Waterloo station.
Kept her with me ever since, never having to change her batteries.
Like her age and weight, I had no idea how it was possible for her to keep going.
She was a tiny miracle of resistance, and I was thankful for her digital company.
After a mouthful of energy bar and a sip from my precious, almost empty water bottle, I made a note to find more marshmallows on my reporter’s notepad with one of my five glittery pencils. The gold one was my favorite, close to becoming a nub after all its turns on my sharpener.
After scrawling the note, I played with Wendy some more, her happiness meter at maximum after winning each round of the catch game and being fed three snacks in a row. By the time we were done it was almost eight o’clock.
“Good morning, Orion.”
I squeaked, kicking over a candle in panic at the vampire’s voice.
“Pixie balls!” I dove at the candle, quickly righting it, banging my knees on the concrete. “Sorry, Daria.” I coughed. “Sorry.”
“You’re as clumsy as you are nervous.”
A temporary clumsiness brought on by a vampire creeping up on me.
“I guess it’s time for me to leave?” I asked.
“Yes. The street is clear, so no need to panic.”
I don’t plan to. “That’s great.”
“I will walk you out.”
She took me back to the concourse without saying a word, leaving me to climb to the exit with the instruction to not make too much noise.
As I went to open the makeshift door, she spoke from the darkness to my right.
I almost tumbled off the ledge in surprise, swallowing a curse.
“Take this.”
Cold fingers found my hand, a piece of paper placed into my palm.
“I think you will like this, Orion. It is of no use to me.”
“Thank you.” I put it in my pocket.
No answer.
“Daria?”
Gone.
The pink smoke of Dawn drifted through the sunlit streets. I stilled on the glass awning, always wary of the cursed stuff. A pretty yet deadly world-ending smoke would give anyone pause.
The late September air was cool, crisper than yesterday. A fine frost had formed overnight, a sheet of diamonds sparkling in the light to beautify some of the gloom.
Just a smidge.
Morning used to be my favorite part of the day. Deep down, it still was, and when Dawn cleared around the ten o’clock mark, I always relaxed. Well, not totally. I could never truly relax.
I climbed down from the awning, landing in the pink fog. Tendrils licked at my ankles, rejecting me, disappointed by my blood.
“That makes you and her in there.” I jutted a thumb behind me.
By the stars, I wished for insight into Dawn, as did every other survivor. Where did it come from? Why did it only target humans? How could it still remain a mystery after wreaking its destruction for so long?
“Where to, Wendy?” I asked my pocket.
Good question. There were plenty of buildings around me, plenty of places to attempt to set up shelter.
Wait. The paper in my hand.
I unfolded the crumpled, lined parchment to read the words.
Community for the lost.
Brimmington Park, Peckham.
Old Kent Road/Queens Road Peckham Station: closest landmarks.
Wait in the park. Someone will approach you.
Stay safe.
What was Daria doing with this? Had she found it?
Probably pointless trying to figure out the answer, and I certainly wasn’t about to climb back into the station.
“What do you think, Wendy? Shall we try for these people?”
A trap? Some nefarious group waiting to make me their prisoner?
In my time here in the city, I hadn’t come across any such groups. In fact, after the first year, encountering the living decreased significantly. Months went by without seeing another soul, and when I did, they avoided me.
No sense of sticking together here.
But this community for the lost might just be what I was looking for.
I was lost. I wanted some community.
Ducking into an empty alleyway and disturbing a couple of rats, I pulled out my dog-eared London A to Z. Found my current position on the maps within the pages then worked out a route to Brimmington Park.
“I’m doing it, Wendy,” I declared.
There could be power and water and potential cups of tea with these people. If they accepted me.
Stars, please let them want me!
Ah, a cup of tea. Bliss. My mouth pined for a sip. Back home, tea leaves were a major import in our trading with Earth. Our tea leaves never quite grew right, but here… What was the phrase? Ah, yes. Chef’s kiss.
Who were these people who wrote this note? Shifters? Trolls? I didn’t mind as long as they weren’t mean or blood magi. They creeped me out, which was probably terribly judgmental, but they did.
Taking a deep breath, shoulders back, the sun on my face, I got moving. Resolute in my decision—I would find a place to call home. At least until the end of Dawn.
Because there had to be an end.
There just had to be.
Stupid zombies.
Seven of them lurked in the road to my right, heads bowed, swaying in that weird stasis zombies fell into with no fleshy nibbles around.
All it would take was for me to make a noise, catch their eyes, and I’d be running for my life once again.
The risk of a few of them being speedies wasn’t worth it.
Okay, so the park might be tantalizingly close, but this end was only one part of it. It ran past a series of houses down to what looked to be small football pitches and railway arches.
I’d go around. Approach the park from the other side.
Welcome to Plan B.
I took a street away from the speedies, circling around the park and navigating a zig-zagging route through residential streets, avoiding a few slowies until I reached Old Kent Road.
A gauntlet of vehicles and the walking dead awaited. Plenty of slowies shambled amongst the chaos with no sign of their swifter counterparts so far, though there would be a few around. There always were.
The stink stung the back of my throat worse here than anywhere else I’d walked this morning.
Now what? Go back and formulate a Plan C?
I hid behind two overturned vans, thinking, a stray thought annoying me.
What if this note was out of date? What if this community had moved on? This didn’t seem the safest place to set up shop, if the shop were actually around here.
Rolling my shoulders, I shook off my panic. It got me nowhere.
Focus on the goal.
Get to the park.
Run like crazy if it’s a damp squib.
I can do this.
Scanning my surroundings and seeing only a few zombies groaning but making no moves in my direction, I aimed for a row of buildings close to the railway bridge up ahead. If I could get on a roof, I might be able to jump to the railway and get a view of the park from an elevated position.
The park was so close, just across the road behind some trees.
Stupid zombies complicated everything.
Never mind.
Let’s do this, Wendy, I thought at my companion, not daring to speak.
Ducking, crawling, sweat rising, I carefully moved through the gauntlet, every step meticulous.
Slow and steady wins the race to keep flesh on bone.
Unlike vampires, zombies would love to chew down on me.
“Hey!” a sharp whisper stopped me dead in my tracks as I crawled out from under a lorry close to the row of buildings.
“Over here!”
Crouched in an open gateway leading into the back yard of a corner shop, a troll waved me over with a big hand. A golden ring piercing his nose glinted in the daylight.
I hurried over, holding my breath, the big creature moving into the garden. He led us out of view into the messy yard of vines and rubbish and pigeon skeletons.
Then I remembered to breathe.
“Hey there,” he said, keeping his voice below a whisper.
Violet-skinned with a mass of black curls on his head, he wore a gray bomber jacket, dirty blue jeans, and boots caked in mud. He reeked of sweat and weeks of dirt like me.
He didn’t offer his meaty, filthy hands in greeting.
Phew.
“I’m Trev,” he said. “Thanks for coming over. You’re fae, right? I can tell.”
My glitter-flecked green eyes were a big giveaway—a trait of all fae, our irises swimming with sparkles.
I nodded. “Orion. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. What you up to, mate?”
Trolls were spread across Earth and Faery, built for heavy labor and construction, living lucrative lives with such in-demand skills.
I slept with one once. Nice guy, a free spirt, strictly a one-night thing.
Okay, maybe eight nights.
“I’m trying to get into Brimmington Park.”
A moan sounded from the other side of the wall. Trev brought a big finger to his lips, his pointed ears twitching in response to the shuffling.
The zombie moved past, no others trailing it.
Once again, I remembered to use my lungs.
“Fuckers, right?” he said.
“Absolutely.”
“Understatement. Anyway, so did you get a note?” He pulled out a napkin from his pocket, the same words as on my piece of paper written in black crayon.
I showed him mine. “Do you think it’s legit?”
“Hope so. A dying werelion gave this to me.”
“You met a werelion?” They were quite a rare breed of shifter.