The Garden of Darkness

They were over the fence now and casting about in the grass for signs of Darian, Mirri or the pig. It should have been easy, but the grass was tamped down in all directions.

It was Bear who found the way out of the tangle at the base of the fence.

For a while they followed the trail in silence. Clare was the first to break it. She had been trying to picture Jem with a gun.

“How do you know how to use a gun?”

“One of my brothers liked target shooting.”

“Guns didn’t help anyone against Pest.”

“Darian isn’t Pest.”

“He’s part of the post-Pest world, though,” she said. “Your brother’s world, the old world, where people used microwaves and cell phones and computers, is gone.”

“Guns aren’t gone. Although truthfully, I hate them.” Jem smiled grimly. “I was never really much into what Sarai calls that nacho stuff.”

It was hard going through the thick underbrush at the edge of the woods. Even Bear found negotiating the trail difficult.

They finally found Darian and Mirri in the late afternoon, in a small clearing ringed by a copse of trees. They weren’t far from the road. Mirri lay by a small fire, her ankles bound. She was trying to crawl away from Darian, who stood over her. Her arms were scratched and her shirt was torn. She cried in a steady monotonous tone, as if she had been doing so for some time. When she managed to squirm a small distance from Darian, he reached down and pulled her back by the ankles. Her hair was snarled.

As Jem and Clare inched closer, Clare felt her stomach turn. The area before them looked and smelled like an abattoir. Blood spatter painted Darian’s face and shirt. His hands were caked with blood. He held a long knife. On the edge of the camp, the pig’s head, perched on a high tree stump, presided over the macabre scene. Off to one side was its body, gutted; organs and twisted intestines were heaped in a glistening, slick mass. For no reason that Clare could imagine, Darian had stabbed the rear of the pig again and again.

“It looks like Hell, Clare,” whispered Jem.

“It looks like Lord of the Flies.”

“Worse.”

Jem moved forward, out from under the trees. “We’ve come for Mirri, Darian,” he said. “You can keep the pig.”

Darian was startled by the sound.

“There’s nothing that you can do to me,” Darian snorted. “If you try, I’ll kill you. Better yet, I’ll kill her.” He yanked Mirri towards him by the rope and put a knife to her throat. Bear growled and Clare had to throw herself on him to stop him from going for Darian.

“Wait,” she said. “Just wait.”

“That’s right,” said Darian. “Keep the dog away, or I cut Mirri’s throat, and we all get to watch her bleed out.”

“And then Bear will take you down before your next breath,” said Clare.

“I believe you,” Darian said. “And you would be left with two bodies. Just leave us alone, and I’ll leave you alone. You can have part of your pig, if that’s what you’re after.” He seemed to think for a moment. “But I’ll pick which part.”

“We want Mirri,” said Jem.

“Which part?” Darian waved the knife at them.

Clare sucked in her breath. Jem looked angrier than she had ever seen him.

“Just let her go,” said Clare. “She’ll only slow you down.”

“I’m not planning on making her a traveling companion for long. If you like, I’ll send her back to you in a few days.”

For a moment there was no sound except that of Mirri weeping.

Then Clare saw Mirri look up and beyond Jem. Clare turned and did the same and saw that there was a terrible figure amongst the trees: a woman, her face convulsing uncontrollably. It was, unmistakably, the Cured-in-the-blue-dress, and she was coming up behind Jem.

“Jem!” Clare called, but he paid her no heed. All of his concentration was on Darian. Clare measured the distance between herself and the Cured-in-the-blue-dress, but before she could do anything, before she could hurl herself at this new threat, she saw Mirri’s face transformed. She saw Mirri holding out her arms, not to her, not to Jem—but to the Cured-in-a-blue-dress. Mirri cried out.

“Mama!”

And the Cured-in-the-blue-dress left the shelter of the trees and threw herself, not at Jem, not at Clare, but at Darian.

When Mirri said “Mama,” it all came together for Clare. Mirri stealing food. Mirri in the distance, meeting with the Cured-in-the-blue-dress. She remembered Mirri’s survival story, as told by Jem: Mirri’s mother had gone to the hospital, but she had never returned; Mirri’s mother had become one of the Cured. She must have come back home to search for her daughter, found her with Sarai and Jem, and followed her ever since.