The Garden of Darkness

They put a bale of hay on the very back of the cart. The goat pulled at wisps of it as they moved on. The road had the same hypnotic effect on Clare as it had before. She felt as if she were shedding parts of herself as she walked—the cheerleader, the princess of the spring dance, the gymnast who practiced back flips on her front lawn. All aspects were peeling away to reveal a hard core of being that she wasn’t sure she recognized.

On the next day they passed two derelict shacks half leaning against each other like a couple of drunks. The tin roofing was dark with rust and moss; the door of one shack opened into darkness, the door of the other was missing entirely, leaving a gap that reminded Clare of a mouth.

“They’re a little creepy,” said Clare.

“There’s a fetid smell coming from them,” said Ramah.

“‘Fetid,’” said Clare. “That’s one for Sarai’s vocab list.”

“We didn’t have many books at my house,” said Ramah. “One day I took to going through the dictionary.”

“Was it fun?”

“No.”

They began to continue to move on when Clare saw a movement from the corner of her eye.

“There’s someone there,” she said. “Should we hide?”

“Well,” said Jem. “Horse. Goat. Dog. Six people. A large wagon. The hiding options are not good.”

“I’m scared,” said Mirri.

“Clare and Jem’ll take care of us,” said Sarai. “And Ramah, too. And I bet Bird Boy’ll scare whoever’s there.”

“I’ll try,” said Bird Boy. He made a serious face but ended up smiling.

“The movement came from the second shack,” said Clare.

“Whatever it is,” said Ramah, “Bear’s noticed it, too.”

Clare looked at Bear and saw that he had come to attention. He was trembling as he focused on the window of the shack.

“It’s not a Cured,” said Clare. “Bear would be a lot more aggressive if it were. Particularly after the last attack.”

Just then the dirty face of a young boy peeked out from an empty window frame.

“Don’t come closer,” he said in a small voice.

Bear began to bark; he wasn’t growling, but even so, Clare could tell he was straining to be gone, to leap at the boy.

“Stay here,” she said to Bear, and he lay down, still trembling.

“What are you doing there?” called out Clare.

“Hiding from you.”

The boy came out of the shack. He was bundled up in clothes that were much too large for him, and he, or someone else, had tried to sew some kind of blanket onto the poncho that hung over his shoulders. The blanket was a lurid pink. There was straw in his hair. A little bit of snow fell from the roof onto his head.

He brushed the straw and snow out of his hair and rubbed quickly at his dirty face.

“Are you hungry?” asked Clare.

“Yes,” he said.

He didn’t move while she dug in her pack for some biscuits. When she held them out, he darted forward to take them.

“Do you have good water you can share?” he asked.

Ramah handed him her water bottle. Clare could tell he was trying not to drink it all, but he was eager, and some of it fell on his poncho as he lifted the bottle to his mouth.

“I’ve been melting snow before now,” he explained. “It takes time. And it’s not always clean.”

“You haven’t told us who you are,” said Ramah.

“My name’s Abel.”

“I’m Clare,” Clare said. Sarai and Mirri clambered out of the wagon, their fear gone. Abel’s gloom, however, seemed to increase with the attention they paid to him.

“I’m actually doing fine,” he said. Another dribble of snow fell onto his head.

“You don’t have any food,” said Ramah.

“I know. You don’t need to harp on about it. Things are lousy enough as it is. If you want me to say ‘thanks for the food,’ then thanks for the food.”

“Just skulking around that shack,” said Clare, “isn’t a good idea.” She looked at him critically. He pulled at the shapeless poncho.

“I’m safe enough here.”

“I doubt it.”

“Hunger will get you,” said Ramah. Her tone was neutral. “Or the Cured.”

He brushed some more straw out of his hair and pulled at the pink poncho.

“I’m used to taking care of myself. Even before Pest.”

“What about your parents?” asked Clare.

Abel’s face darkened. “Don’t ask. Pest was a good enough end for them.” He then said, “wait a minute,” and he went back into the shack before emerging a moment later.

“I needed my satchel. I’ve got canned sardines left,” he said. “That’s all. I was saving them for right before starvation. At least the satchel gets lighter the more I eat. I don’t suppose you’d want to trade for anything?”

“We’re okay.”

“Well, let’s go,” said Abel. “This is all I have.”

“You’re coming with us?” asked Clare. She was taken aback. Jem lifted his eyebrows, but he said nothing.

“Yes,” Abel answered. “No more skulking. You’re right.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” said Jem.

“Okay. Where are you going?”

“We’re going to the Master—the grownup with the cure to Pest,” said Clare.

“Okay.”

Clare and Jem exchanged a look.

“Maybe,” Jem finally said. “Ramah?”

“We’re building a new world,” said Ramah. “We can’t be too picky. But it’s really your say—yours and Clare’s.”

“I’m good at not getting in the way,” said Abel.