Chapter 12 #3
“Good for you,” Laura chuckles. “That’s what I would’ve done too. What I should’ve done all those years ago.” She goes quiet, her eyes distant. “Why did you say that outside? ‘ They’re starving ’?”
The question catches me off guard, though I guess it shouldn't.
It's our shared trauma, after all. The one detail we can both relate to, more than anything.
“There was a girl in there with me. Her name is Hattie—was Hattie,” I correct unhappily.
“Somehow she knew about them, I think? She said that to me multiple times before they got there. And then that night, too. Really, I thought she was just rambling, and I have no idea how she knew.” I toss my hands up in surrender, and then busy myself with picking up the glass of tea.
The ice is already melting, and I swirl the crystal gently in one hand before taking a sip.
“This is amazing,” I say, surprised at how it tastes. “Did you make this? Like, yourself?”
“It’s sun tea.” There’s pride in Laura’s voice that I can’t miss, and she gives me a genuinely grateful smile. “I made it yesterday.”
“It’s amazing,” I reiterate, though I don’t even know what sun tea is. “Thank you.” It’s not every day that I get anything homemade.”
“None of us knew,” Laura tells me after a few moments of tracing her fingers over the crystal glass.
“Even back then we heard the same stories as you, I’m sure.
I made a couple of…friends.” Her voice turns bitter on the word.
“They talked me into trying to get out. It was summer, so they said the weather was mild enough that we’d be fine.
They would’ve been there for a very long time otherwise.
I would’ve been out in a few weeks. But still…
” She sighs. “I was na?ve. Escaping was the easy part. There were staff shortages back then, and we had their shifts memorized.”
The idea of it being understaffed surprises me, given how many orderlies prowled the halls and courtyards at all hours of the day and especially night. But I don’t interrupt her. I worry that if I interrupt her, she won’t finish. Not that I’d blame her, since this isn’t my favorite topic either.
“We escaped and made it to the woods, dressed in some stolen clothes we found. We thought that without the uniforms, no one would recognize us. And since none of us were there for criminal reasons, it wouldn’t be a big deal so long as we made it off the mountain.
Can you believe the ignorance in us thinking that?
” Her laugh is not humorous. It’s an ugly, derisive sound that has me biting my lower lip.
“Within an hour we were lost,” she goes on.
“Hopelessly so. I remember when we started seeing these things in the woods. Jen got scared first. She took off running at the sight of them, and it was so fast. Like she triggered their hunting instincts.” In her eyes, I can see the same horror I felt.
I don’t need the details, and she doesn’t seem interested in giving them.
“Alicia was next. I just stood there, watching. Didn’t know what to do,” she admits, shrugging her frail shoulders.
“I don’t remember much about it, just what I told you and what they printed in that damn article.
” She sits back then, mouth pressed flat.
“Except for one other thing that I’ve never told anyone.
” Her gaze finds mine and holds it. “There was a woman out there, about your age. She wasn’t afraid of them.
I don’t know where she came from, or who she was.
I don’t know if she was human, or maybe I made her up.
But given what you said when you came to my door…
” her voice trails off, eyes going unfocused.
“What did she say?” I prompt. “Or do, or—Did she help you?”
“She told me they were starving.” The words send a shiver down my spine, and I sit upright in my chair. “She said I couldn’t blame them, could I?” Her mouth twists in a sneer. “They’re starving. They can’t help themselves. You shouldn’t be out here, where they suffer.”
I don’t know what most of that means.
“The only things Hattie ever said to me were ‘they’re starving,’ ‘they’re coming,’ and ‘they’re here,’” I admit, feeling like I’ve disappointed her.
“She didn’t know anything else. Or if she did, she didn’t tell me.
” When Laura doesn’t answer, just stares, I give her a few moments to see if that will change.
It doesn’t.
Eventually, I get to my feet, feeling like I should leave.
She seems almost catatonic now, and certainly has no interest in continuing this conversation with me.
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I tell her quietly, drinking the last of my tea.
“And I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.
I just needed to know that I wasn’t alone.
I just…” But I trail off, because I don’t know what else I want. Or what else I even could want.
With a nudge, Moro gets to her feet, but before I can go anywhere, Laura reaches out to grab my arm, her grip surprisingly strong.
“I’ve seen them since, you know,” she tells me, not looking up from her glass.
“I see them in the woods around town sometimes. It always makes me wonder when someone goes missing if it really was just an accident. Then I wonder how they survive when they aren’t attacking and killing humans.
Because they aren’t human.” She finally looks up at me, her eyes sharp.
“But I think they were once. I saw them that night talking, using the voices of my friends when they were looking for me. They’re not normal. Not natural. But I think before they became whatever they are, they were human.”
“Why?” I blurt out, confused.
“Because only humans know how to think like that. An animal wouldn’t consider using another’s voice to trick its prey, would it?
” Her grin is humorless and dark, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
I excuse myself quickly, unable to stay here, and I head to my car so quickly I barely notice the sound of the chimes on the door when I yank it open and close it behind me.
Only when I’m in my car, with my back against my seat, do I let out a breath and sigh. Of everything I’ve considered, this possibility bothers me the most. That these things, these monsters, could’ve ever been human.
What kind of human eats its own kind?