The Garden of Darkness

“Of course it’s written,” said Jem. He caught Clare’s hand. “Right, Clare?”


“Right.”

It was a moment that Clare was never to forget. She realized for the first time that maybe it was possible to form a new community as well as a new family.

“We would like to come,” said Ramah. “It’s kind of you to open your family to us.”

Bird Boy made a sound like a dove.

And so then they were six.





IN THE EVENING, Sarai and Mirri huddled with Jem and Clare, as if to reassure themselves that all was well. When their eyes started to close, Jem sent them to bed. Ramah and Bird Boy, meanwhile, had gone outside to stand guard over Sheba, in case the other Cured came back. Bird Boy had Jem’s hammer. Ramah had her bow and arrows and, much more practical at close range, an axe.

“She doesn’t mess around,” said Jem when Ramah and Bird Boy strode out the door. There was admiration in his voice, and Clare looked over at him thoughtfully.

A little while later, Clare checked on the Cured. And she discovered that sometime, while they had all been thinking and talking and planning, the Cured had quietly died. Perhaps the Cured had been more badly hurt than they had realized; perhaps she needed the patch to live; perhaps, simply, her time had come. That last thought scared Clare more than anything else.





THEY HITCHED UP Sheba in the dawn frost. Sarai and Mirri were both yawning. Clare’s throat hurt, and she was still hoarse. Jem looked at her, concerned. Ramah and Bird Boy watched with great interest as they put the harness on Sheba.

“That must be complicated,” said Bird Boy.

“You make it look easy,” said Ramah.

“You have no idea,” said Clare.

“I wonder what would happen if we used the Cured’s patch on ourselves,” said Mirri.

“Very bad things,” said Ramah.

“There’s nothing worse than being a Cured,” announced Sarai.

“There’s Pest,” said Mirri.

“Pest is better than being a Cured,” said Jem. And Ramah nodded her head in agreement.

“But then you’d be dead,” said Mirri.

“Some things are worse than dead, Mirri,” said Jem.

Ramah and Bird Boy went into the house to collect their bundles, leaving the four of them alone.

Mirri and Sarai looked at Jem anxiously.

“Now that you know Ramah,” asked Mirri, “am I still your favorite?”

“That’s not nice, Mirri,” said Sarai. “What about me?”

“You and Sarai are both my favorites,” said Jem. “And nothing’s going to change that.”

“What about Clare?” asked Sarai. “Is she your favorite, too?”

“Also,” said Jem.

“It’s different with them,” said Mirri to Sarai. “You know.”

They talked and waited for Ramah and Bird Boy. Finally Sarai and Mirri tired of the conversation, and went to the shed in the front yard.

It wasn’t long before Jem and Clare heard a cry. Jem was in the yard in an instant, with Clare close behind him. Bear lolloped along by Clare’s side; his ears were pricked forward, but he showed no signs of aggression. They burst into the shed.

Sarai and Mirri were squatting in front of an open trunk.

“What is it?” asked Jem. “Are you all right?”

“Board games!” said Sarai.

“They even have Chutes and Ladders,” said Mirri happily. “I’ve been looking for Chutes and Ladders everywhere.”

“Please don’t yell like that again,” said Jem. He left them setting up Chutes and Ladders and went back to the cart with Clare.

“They wear me out,” said Jem.

“You love them,” said Clare.

That evening on the trail again, this time with Ramah and Bird Boy and the goat, Clare took out her tablet of paper and sat for a long time looking at a blank page. She couldn’t think of anything to write at all. Instead, she thought of sitting on the rock in the garden she had, half-awake, dreamt about. She hadn’t told Jem about the aching sadness of the vision—an ache so deep that even its echo made her want to weep. She thought of how someone had walked towards her and how the pain had lessened. Then Clare looked up at the sliver of moon, and the sliver of moon, sailing in and out of the clouds, seemed to look back at her.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR





WASTELAND





THEY CAME TO the place where the dirt track converged with the old highway to the city, the road that had been neglected ever since the new highway had been built. The new highway was a wide four-lane ribbon of asphalt with elegant clover leaves that provided exits and entrances: a transport system dotted with service areas and rest stops. But now the old way seemed the safer way. Once the only wide road in the area, now this highway was obscure, a place marked by decaying motels and abandoned gas stations. A wasteland, thought Clare.

Sheba took a step forward and paused as though surveying the way ahead before she pulled the wagon down onto the road.