The Garden of Darkness

It took a while to get the details out of Mirri. “He was eating cookies,” she said, tearful again. “He offered me one, but I said ‘no’ because he was a stranger. Then I opened the gate, and the pig slipped out, right past both of us. The boy’s already chasing it.”


“All right,” said Jem. “But I’m going after the pig alone. And if you argue, Clare, I’m just going to have to pull rank.”

“You must be kidding,” Clare said. “You must absolutely positively be joking.”

“Someone needs to stay with the kids.”

“You are joking.”

“I’ll take Bear.”

“Bear won’t listen to you. Without me, Bear probably will eat the pig. Or you.”

Clare and Jem started the search at the pig pen. Bear knew the pig’s scent, but, from his excitement, Clare was pretty sure he had picked up the boy’s as well. Following both, they set off into the meadow. The Cured-in-a-blue-dress was by the barn, close enough that Clare could see her face, and, although it seemed an impossible emotion for a Cured, Clare thought she detected fear in those dark and shadowed eyes.

The boy and the pig had cut a wide swath through the long wheat-colored grass of the hay meadow. Clare felt the early morning dew soaking into her shoes and jeans as they ran. She could tell that Bear wanted to race ahead, but she kept him at close range. At the edge of the forest, they came to a place where the grass was flattened in a wide circle.

“It looks like deer spent the night here,” said Clare.

“No,” said Jem. “I don’t think so. I think it looks like someone was wrestling with a pig.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m very highly nervous.”

They finally found the boy sitting in front of a dilapidated woodshed deep in the forest. His clothes were torn, and there was mud on his face. He got to his feet. Bear rushed ahead of Clare, stopped only when she called him twice, and then howled.

“What’s that about?” asked Jem.

Bear backed to Clare, fur raised, and she buried her hand deep in his pelt. “I don’t know,” she said.

The boy was calm. “The pig’s inside,” he said. “And I had a hell of time getting it there, I assure you. I assume it’s Miriam’s pig you’re looking for.”

“How do you know her name?” asked Jem.

“She told me, right before the pig made a dash for freedom.”

He looked up at them as if he were seeing nothing new, as if he saw people every day. As if the world hadn’t come to an end. His dark hair tumbled about his face; his mouth was wide and generous with a quirk at the corner, as if he found everything slightly humorous. And Clare stepped backward in something like horror.

The boy could have been Michael’s brother.

The boy could have been Michael’s twin.

Clare couldn’t help herself. “Michael?”

“Darian. My name is Darian.”

“Sorry,” said Clare. “You look like someone I know. Knew.”

Jem looked up sharply.

“I’ll help with the pig,” said the boy.

Jem and Darian went into the shed. Clare heard a scuffle and a grunt and some mild swearing. Then Jem emerged, the rope securely around the pig’s neck. The pig made a move to charge him, but Clare picked up a small branch and gave it a tap on the rump, and soon it was trotting along in front of them.

Clare now realized that Darian didn’t really look all that much like Michael, not on closer inspection. It was as if Michael’s features had been blurred. Darian was handsome enough, but his face was not as symmetrical as Michael’s, and where Michael had occasionally been (Clare had to admit it) humorless, Darian didn’t look like he took anything very seriously.

On the way back, the woods seemed oppressive. Clare kept Bear at heel. The air was still, and the freshness of the day had worn off.

When they returned to the meadow, the pig, in spite of its apparent desire for liberty, seemed content to return to its pen. Darian looked at it wistfully.

“It looks delicious,” he said.

“We’ll get you some food,” said Jem.

“You’re alone?” asked Clare.

“All alone.”

“There’re four of us,” said Clare. “And a Cured. She’s under our protection.” Clare did not forget her debts.

“We haven’t met any survivors,” said Jem. “Except you.”

“They’re out there,” said Darian. “But some of them are pretty beat up.”

“And they all have the rash?” asked Jem.

“Oh yes. I saw one rash like a map of the world. Mine’s pitiful in comparison. It doesn’t look like a map of anything.”

Clare looked at him carefully—the lock of hair that strayed into his face, his soft mouth. When she caught Jem watching her, she turned away.





ROBIN AND CLARE sat in Clare’s bedroom in a drift of homework papers.

“I don’t like Michael,” Robin said, crumpling a page of algebra formulas.

“Everyone likes Michael,” said Clare.

“Not me,” said Robin

“He’s not using me, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not that way.”

“Which upsets you. Even though you know he’s practically engaged to Laura. Red alert.”

“He loves me. He just doesn’t know it.”