Chapter 23 #5
Too nice, she said. I mean I know you can’t help it, Mouse.
It’s just how you are, but you can see Freya especially just doesn’t want us.
Not to be nice. Not to be friends. Not to be anywhere near her, if we can help it, not really.
I mean, you see her, she only just tolerates Storm, and she’s her only-one.
Try not to be too nice, and maybe she’ll come to trust you more, even though it seems a backwards way of doing things.
I was remembering that conversation as we tracked our lost goat through the dense overgrowth of the suburbs, because I was pretty sure that I’d been anything but nice to Storm since she’d lost it.
I’d allowed my angry face to show. And strangely, she seemed less hostile, almost like she was trying to be nice to make up for what she had – or hadn’t – done.
My eyes were so busy following the hoof prints and my head was still too busy trying not to be angry with Storm that my other senses must have dulled.
Because my nose had noticed it long before my thinking brain did, and eventually the unthinking part just stopped me walking without knowing why I’d done it.
I should have halted earlier. I could have walked right into them.
That was my mistake. Luckily it wasn’t the fatal one it might have been.
What? said Storm, her voice almost a whisper behind me, so quiet it was nearly inaudible over the wind in the leaves.
I held my hand up and dropped to one knee. She did the same. We both stayed low and very still.
The wind was in our faces. And somewhere ahead of us someone was cooking meat. The smell was unmistakable, woodsmoke and charring fat.
I looked at Storm and mimed sniffing the air. She nodded.
I’m sorry, I whispered.
She looked a question at me.
You did see people, I said. You weren’t lying about that.
We should go, she said.
We stay still until we know where they are, I said. Easiest way to get seen is to move. And anyway, just because you saw people, doesn’t mean they’re dangerous. Doesn’t mean they’re Russians.
They are, she said. We should go.
Not before I take a look at them, I said. I think maybe they found our goat.
I sniffed the air again. It could have been Devil they were roasting.
Storm squatted back on her haunches and glared at me.
Her face was white with tension, whiter than it would have been in daylight because the sun was going down and, as always happens when it dips below the horizon, the first colours that leach out of the day are the red ones.
But even without that you could see from her tight mouth and dark eyes how pale the fear had made her.
It’s not safe to leave it like this, I said quietly. Not knowing what they know. If that is our goat they are cooking, then it was wearing a hobble, and that will have told them there are other people about, won’t it?
She nodded.
And if they know that they may well be out somewhere close looking for us, I said. So we keep still until dark. Then we won’t be seen, and then maybe we can see where they are by seeing the light from that fire.
And then we run away? she said.
Maybe, I said.
She jabbed me in the ribs with her bow and looked an incredulous question at me.
I don’t know, I said. We don’t know if they are Russians. We don’t know if that’s our goat that’s given us away. I think we have to go and spy on them.
You’re crazy, she hissed. We should run.
We should use our brains, I said.
I didn’t really need to think it through.
I’d already made up my mind. I’m good at not being seen.
I’m even better at moving slow and silent.
With the wind in our favour and them with the disadvantage of a campfire to make their ability to look into the dark go away, I had no fear they would spot me.
And though everything I said about it being wise to see if they’d found the goat-hobble and so the evidence of our presence so we could react accordingly, the deep truth of it all was that I was excited.
Looking back, I should have been scared, but I just wasn’t.
I was totally, maybe foolishly confident about my stalking skills, and the prospect of seeing more new humans was too much for me to resist. Even if it was only seeing them to confirm they were dangerous enough to run away from.
It would be stupid to run for ever from something harmless, after all.
Storm crept close enough to whisper in my ear. I felt the heat of her breath as she did so.
You’re being dangerous, she said. Mouse. Please. You’re going to get us killed. Or worse.
It was the rough crack in her voice as she said “or worse” that almost made me change my mind.
She’d always been too proud to show fear, but that’s what it was and I knew why it was there.
If they were actually Russians, then what had happened to Freya might happen to Storm.
I did pause for a moment to consider it from her point of view. I know I did. I must have.
But… said a little voice in my head. But…
I didn’t know it then, but I know it now.
That “but” was where the wanting Cat had talked about got in.
It was such an innocent looking three letter word, but it contained a multitude of possibilities.
But… they might not be Russians. But… they might be kind people.
But… they might be able to help us all. But…
they might be friends. And even as I say this, I can hear Cat snorting in the back of my mind and saying, “Friends, Mouse. Are you sure you didn’t mean family? ”
I didn’t. Not then. Not consciously. But who knows what goes on in the unthinking parts of your brain where the feelings happen instead of thoughts?
I don’t think I was being soft, or dreamy, or hopeful.
I was interested, excited even. And I was so sure I could travel the night woods silent as a badger or a fox.
I was convinced I could be invisible in the dark.
I’ll find them by the light of their fire, I said. And we will hide up and keep a watch on them until they move off. Hopefully away from us. Heading north or east. Anywhere but south.
She shook her head and tugged my arm.
We should just go, she said. Mouse. Please.
There was that crack in her voice again, the one that I’d heard before and it made me pause and look at her in the failing light. I did feel bad. I’m sure I did. But I’d made my mind up. But I decided in that moment that she didn’t have to come with me.
OK, I said.
Beyond the thicket of box we were crouched beneath was a house with dead-eyed holes where the windows had once been that stared at us from behind the thick trunk of a monkey-puzzle tree.
Looking up at the dense tangle of sharp leaved branches spread high overhead, I thought what I always did when we found one.
That it looked sort of prehistoric and more suited to a world full of dinosaurs than people.
But what I especially liked about it right then was that it was unlike any of the other vegetation around us.
It was weirder, and even more importantly it was taller.
About 40 metres high. That made it identifiable. That made it a landmark.
Right, I said to Storm, pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear. You don’t have to come. You stay here. You be careful in that house, in case the floor’s no good, and you stay on the ground floor. Upstairs can always fall in.
You’re going to leave me alone? she said.
I’m going to look at them, I said. I have to. But I promise I won’t be seen, and I promise I will come back and then we’ll go home together.
No, she said.
Even if it’s dawn, I’ll be back, I said, pointing at the tree. I can always find that tree, and if you stay here, at the bottom of it, out of sight, in that house, you’ll be safe.
And what if you don’t come back? she said. What if they are Russians and they get you and they come after me?
I reached down and unbuckled my belt. She watched as I slipped off the sheath that held my knife and held it out to her.
They won’t. But you’ve got a bow, and now you have a knife, I said. I will be back. If I thought this was dangerous, I wouldn’t do it, and I certainly wouldn’t do it without my lucky knife, would I?
Yes, she said, Yes, you are so… Mouse that you probably would.
I don’t know why but that made me grin instead of getting angry. I shoved the knife handle at her.
Take it, I said. It will all be fine. But just stay here or I won’t find you. OK?
She didn’t say anything. She looked up at the monkey-puzzle and then down at the house beyond. She didn’t look convinced.
Storm, I said. You have my word.
She turned back to me. Even now I can see the strange, conflicted look she gave me.
There was a war going on in that face, a fight between stubbornness and fear and pride.
It was poignant, it was brave, and because it was those two things it was also beautiful.
That’s the first time I ever thought that.
You have my word, I said again.
Because she was Storm, the stubbornness won the battle. I could see her swallowing the fear and making up her mind as she reached for the knife.
I don’t want your word, she said. I’d rather have the knife. But Mouse…
Yes, I said.
Don’t get lost. Don’t get caught, she said. And don’t get hurt.