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  She paused, falling to her knees to rest. She wouldn’t let herself sit down properly for fear she wouldn’t get back up again. If she rested, her legs would grow more weary, and it would be all the harder to get going again. Besides, she couldn’t afford to rest; for all she knew, Harriet had been torn up and eaten by now.

  So she poised, her knees on the ground, her palms flat out on the muddy grass. What did it matter if she became filthy anymore?

  After everything that had happened, a little mud didn’t bother her.

  She turned over her shoulder. Looked at the slope, peered down the hill at how far she’d come. It looked so far, like she should already be at the top – yet, when she twisted her neck to look upwards, she couldn’t even see the top.

  What if she stopped?

  What if she just let herself roll back down that hill? Hide out, get some food, nourish herself. Move on. Get on with her life.

  It was tempting – then again, it wasn’t. The thought was there, but it was never an option.

  There was one thing driving her forward, one thing telling her to propel through her mounting fatigue, to confront this nest of Masketes, to risk her life for everything:

  Boy.

  Harriet knew the poem. Her Breeder must have heard it from somewhere, and it must have been between the time Cia lost Boy and the time she saw Harriet get dragged away – that meant that she had a day, if that, since that poem had been heard.

  She had no idea how he could have survived. But that poem was her mum’s, and only three people knew it: her, Boy, and her dad.

  Then again, what if it was her dad they’d heard it from?

  What if her dad was still alive, being a scientist somewhere, and that’s where they’d heard it, and she was just chasing her dad’s shadow?

  What a disappointment that would be. To seek out Boy and find him.

  The man who never went back for her.

  She stayed in that forest for days, hanging around that area, waiting for him to come out and get her.

  He never did.

  He stayed in his perfect sanctum, did his life’s work, protected from all the evil outside of his underground world.

  He never came back for her.

  She was damn well going to go back for Boy.

  With a surge of determination, a strike of stubborn energy, she pulled herself upwards. Unable to stand upright, she dragged herself upwards by the hands, clawing into the ground and pulling, taking her closer.

  She could hear the screeches. Lots of them. Getting louder.

  She was almost there.

  Ahead were more Masketes. She could see more than she could hear – but from what she could see, this was clearly where they had made their home.

  But no sign of Harriet.

  As she continued to climb, the noise continued to grow. The slope lessened as the multiple screeches bombarded her ears. Someone may as well have reached inside of her mind and dug their fingernails into her brain, such was the churning the noise was causing.

  She was getting closer.

  And, as she crawled even further, she could start to see more of them, except not as big. Most of them were smaller Masketes, about the size of an average person. Babies. They still made her shiver with fear, but compared to the adults, they were less intimidating.

  She crouched, edged toward them, hoping to go unnoticed as she scanned the nests for Harriet – but before she could get a good look, a screech in her ear killed her hearing and she was wrapped in its claws and gliding through the air. She’d been dropped and landed on her back before she’d known what was happening.

  Twigs dug into her spine, into her side, scraping her ankle.

  She sat up.

  It was a nest. She was in a nest. And around her were more nests, full of babies – hungry Maskete babies.

  Then she saw it, at an adjacent nest.

  Hair draped over the side. A feeble body. Limp.

  “Harriet!” Cia shouted.

  Harriet didn’t react.

  Cia didn’t understand why, at first.

  She looked down at the gap between the nest she was on and the one she needed to get to. A twig went tumbling into the abyss below, prompting her legs to wobble under the horror of the height.

  But if she was going to get to Harriet, she couldn’t be fearful of such trivialities. Without overthinking it, she leapt to the next nest, landing on her knees, and crawled to Harriet’s side.

  Harriet’s eyes were wide open, unblinking. They were staring back at her with nothing behind them.

  “Harriet?” Cia asked. Harriet didn’t move, but Cia still tried, though she knew it was pointless.

  She shook Harriet’s body. Shook it with venomous hope. In doing so, she unveiled something sticking out of her back. She turned Harriet over to find her inside out, her bones sticking in obscure directions like they were branches on an ageing tree.

  “No…”

  She wiped her eyes on the back of her arm.

  She shook her again, then wept at her own stupidity.

  She fought reality. Denial seemed more pleasant, seemed a better alternative. But, looking down at the violence decorating Harriet’s back, there was no way that denial would be able to win.

  Harriet was dead.

  Gone.

  And with her, any possible hope of finding Boy.

  The thought repeated around her mind like a box of scorpions, climbing over one another to poison her hope.

  Harriet’s dead. Boy’s gone.

  Harriet is dead. Boy is gone.

  Harriet is dead.

  Boy is gone.

  Boy is gone.

  Boy.

  He’s…

  Gone.

  A screech from behind her told her she wasn’t alone. She stood and turned, looking in the eye of a baby Maskete in the nest with her, come to see what its mummy had brought for it.

  Cia considered whether to fight. Whether to even bother trying to escape this thing.

  What if she let it devour her?

  She could let it eat her alive and it would make no difference whatsoever. No one in this world would care if she was killed. There was no one alive who would be changed or affected by her life ending.

  No one who would mourn her.

  No one who would even know.

  Everything was lost.

  She would never find Boy now.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  She looked into its eyes. Contemplating surrender.

  She wouldn’t be much of a meal. There wasn’t much meat on her. She was a petite girl, always had been. The Maskete wouldn’t gain much satisfaction in consuming her body. In fact, it was about the same size as her. It must have just been hatched – it was scary, yes, but nothing like the huge flying villains she’d run from before. This one was young. Different.

  “Go on then,” she spat. “Go on. Take it.”

  She held her arms open wide. Stood still, waiting, inviting it.

  “Isn’t this what you want?” she asked.

  It looked back at her, as if it was confused – which was nonsense, it was an animal. No, a monster. It didn’t feel confusion, only hunger. Its instinct was to survive, nothing else.

  Not so different to me, really.

  That’s all she’d be doing from here on. Surviving.

  And what would be the point of that?

  Boy wouldn’t be there.

  He was probably dead by now, anyway.

  Or worse.

  He could be sat alone somewhere, afraid, thinking that she had deserted him, like her father had deserted her.

  And in that moment of clarity, she blamed her father entirely. Blamed him for deserting her, blamed him for losing Boy, blamed him for the Breeders, blamed him for having to succumb to a scummy boy’s lust to survive. And, most of all, she blamed him for the Maskete that stood before her.

  The Maskete that was making no move to eat her.

  Just watching her.

  As if it was trying t
o figure her out. Which it wasn’t, of course – but she simply couldn’t understand.

  Why was it just stood there?

  It was the final kick in the teeth; she loses everything, then discovers she isn’t even appetising enough to be eaten alive by one of these godforsaken creatures.

  “Well?” she prompted. “I’m standing here.”

  She heard tears in her voice. She wasn’t aware that she was crying, but she was.

  She looked down. Beneath the nest. At the drop below. She was sure it ended in water. Somewhere below was a blur that looked blue.

  The Maskete screeched a tame screech.

  Yet, it still did not move toward her.

  She met its eyes with hers. She held them, as if searching the monster for a soul, searching it for a reason.

  “Why aren’t you eating me?” she asked.

  She knew it wasn’t going to give her an answer, but that was what it had come to – the only meaningful conversation she’d had in years, and it was with a Maskete.

  She stepped toward it.

  Why she stepped toward it, she didn’t know. But she did.

  It twisted its head to look at her.

  Slowly, her hand lifted out and directed itself toward its face. It didn’t snap at her hand, it didn’t flinch away, it just stayed. Still. Watching her.

  Her hand landed on its chin. Its skin was coarse and rough.

  “I know why you’re not hurting me…” she decided. “It’s because you’re a baby.”

  She smiled.

  “You don’t know you’re meant to kill me.”

  The thing almost looked sweet.

  “Don’t worry. You just haven’t learnt yet. You’ve just been born, and you’re given food and here it stands crying in front of you, and you think you should know you’re supposed to eat it. But you don’t.”

  She stepped toward it again. Placed her other hand on its face.

  Screeches from far off caught her attention. It was a far bigger Maskete, probably its mum. Or its dad. Possibly telling it off. Asking why it hasn’t eaten her yet. Why it’s taking so long. Why it’s being so uncooperative.

  “I was like you once,” Cia said. “I thought the world could be perfect. That I should listen to my dad. That things could be okay, that you didn’t have to kill, that you didn’t have to do these things to survive.”

  The bigger Maskete screeched with pure aggression, coming closer, badgering the smaller Maskete with its anger.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. I know what you have to do.”

  She stood back. Placed her arms open wide.

  The baby Maskete in front of her growled. It was a timid growl, but that was okay – it was its first.

  It walked toward her.

  It knew now. It knew it was supposed to eat her.

  It had learnt what this world was.

  She smiled at it, as if that meant it was okay – as if this baby eating her would be okay, because that was just the way it had to be.

  She closed her eyes.

  And, before the snap of its mouth could reach its meal, she fell backwards.

  Wind rushed through her fingers, her hair, giving her no resistance in her accelerating descent.

  There was water below.

  If she was unfortunate enough to survive the fall, maybe she’d drown instead.

  It didn’t matter.

  She’d failed.

  She’d failed, and now it was over.

  And if these things had crawled out of Hell, then that meant there must be a Heaven.

  And if there was a Heaven, then maybe she’d meet Boy there.

  I’ll meet you there…

  And with that final thought, she fell unconscious and was unable to feel the impact.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Why does an open road seem so discomforting?

  Metaphorically, an open road should be a good thing. It implies a vast, grand space where possibilities are endless. There is no visible end, the future is awaiting, and it is coming soon. You can walk for as long as you need until you find the place in which you are meant to be.

  But when Cia returned to her open road, it wasn’t the endless possibilities, nor was it an awaiting future or fateful location.

  It was the girl.

  That same girl again.

  Young. Blond. Pretty.

  An age Cia once was.

  “I’ve seen you before,” Cia said.

  Last time she saw the girl, Cia had been captured by the Wasters. Cia had been laying in her unconscious state whilst God knows what was happening to her, and she was just here, watching this girl. Watching her holding the hand of a man who once meant everything to Cia.

  “Who are you?” Cia asked.

  The girl sat on the floor, cross-legged. She began to hum, to pick up stones then drop them again, trickling gravel through her fingers like pieces of meteorite thudding to Earth.

  “Do you know who you are?” Cia asked.

  The girl’s eyes remained set upon the pieces of earth she dirtied her hands with. Despite her avoidance of looking at Cia, she graced her with a gentle, non-committal shrug.

  “I saw you. Last time. Just before I…”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence.

  Just before what?

  Before I almost died?

  Was attacked by a gang of Wasters?

  Violated herself to be free of a deluded cult?

  Watched her only hope of finding Boy be torn open and eaten?

  Dropped to her potential death to avoid being ripped apart by a nest of Masketes?

  Cia shook her head.

  Was this just a dream? A delusion?

  Or, God forbid, was this Heaven?

  If those beasts came from Hell, then it could be a possibility. But if this was what Heaven turned out to be then she was to have serious words with God.

  “Are you an omen?”

  Maybe that was it.

  This girl appeared just before previous horrific acts of malice, before Cia endured actions and incidents that tested her to the limits of her mental capacity.

  Was this girl in her subconscious again because more torment was on its way?

  “Speak to me!” Cia growled, surprising herself with her anger.

  All of a sudden, this girl incensed her. Infuriated her. She just sat there, ignoring Cia’s questions, just messing about in the dirt.

  Being a child.

  And maybe that’s what she hated most about this girl.

  That this girl was a child and was acting as such.

  Cia hadn’t been allowed to be a child for years.

  “Would you please just–”

  Cia stepped forward, prompting the girl to abruptly stand. Cia halted, the girl staring back cautiously.

  Cia took another step forward, and the girl mirrored Cia in backward movement.

  “Why are you here? To taunt me?”

  The girl’s face remained an empty space. A vacant expression of nonchalance.

  Cia shook her head. She felt herself crying.

  The girl lifted her hand and placed it in a warm hand above her.

  That warm hand Cia craved so much.

  She couldn’t see the arm that led to the hand, but she felt his presence, felt the company of a man who had taught her right from wrong.

  Albeit, a man who had failed to teach himself the same lessons.

  “I hate you,” Cia muttered. “My God, I hate you.”

  The girl smiled.

  “Stop it! Stop smiling!”

  Cia stepped forward and the girl backed away again, keeping a tight grip on the hand.

  “Stop moving away from me!” Cia screamed, feeling her voice break.

  She collapsed to her knees.

  “What is it you want from me? Why are you here?”

  The girl still just smiled.

  That damn smile.

  Cia’s anger subsided, fading to a calm wave of reflection. A realisation se
ttled upon her, as if she knew who this girl was, and why her mind was presenting this girl to her in such trying circumstances.

  And she hated knowing this almost as much as the knowledge itself.

  “I wish I was you…” Cia whispered.

  This girl nodded. Her long, blond hair, her pure, white skin, her radiant smile. Confirmation.

  This girl had Cia’s father by her side because this girl was not Cia and was nothing like her.

  If Cia had been this girl, then she wouldn’t have had to face the hell she had.

  If Cia had been this girl, she would never have been denied entry.

  If Cia had been this girl, she would still be with him now.

  “I hate him,” Cia told the girl. “I hate him.”

  The girl nodded. Not a nod of confirmation, but a nod that seemed to indicate that Cia was on the right track.

  “I hate him, and I wish I could see him so I could tell him.”

  The girl nodded, a little more eagerly.

  “And I wish I could see him, so I could tell him, as I watch him die.”

  The girl nodded conclusively.

  Then the girl went.

  The road went, the thoughts went, and Cia was left to her vacant coma.

  Left to eventually open her eyes and find her own open road.

  An open road.

  The metaphor for a vast, grand space where possibilities are endless. To a future awaiting. To the place you are meant to be.

  And although Cia’s eyes were tightly closed and her brain was emptying, her open road had never been so clear.

  Chapter Forty

  Dalton and Joe often complained about being the expeditors – but in all honesty, Dalton loved the thrill of the chase. Joe, not so much, but that didn’t matter. The trust between them was such that Joe could relax around Dalton. Despite their protestations, their only source of excitement came from their explorations of the woods nearby – having been adrenaline junkies before the world had gone to hell, they relished the death-defying searches.

  What they were actually searching for wasn’t clear.

  They were told to check out a radius and report back on any creature activity.

  So, basically, look, then go back and say whether any nasty monsters are nearby. Or survivors, for that matter.