The Garden of Darkness

THE GOODBYES WERE brief except for Mirri’s. She walked with them for the first mile before turning back tearfully.

There was a rise and a dip in the road, and then Clare and Jem were alone together. The only sound was the steady clopping of Sheba’s hooves.

“Do you think the others will run into any trouble?” asked Clare.

“No. Ramah will take care of them. In fact, this sort of has the feel of a vacation to it. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah. We left the kids with a sitter.”

They proceeded down the central highway into the heart of the city. Clare remembered to look out for the spot where her family had stopped and taken a different car. Finally she saw it; the scene looked much smaller than she remembered.

They went over to the car together. When Clare got inside, she thought she could detect the scent she associated with her father. In the glove compartment she found the car registration, a triple A card and a bag of mints. The belongings they had decided they could do without were still lumped together in the backseat, moldering. Clare could make out a few items of her old clothes, including a white leotard she had sometimes worn to cheerleading practice. Somewhere in there, too, were her pom poms.

Imagine.

She couldn’t bring herself to rifle through her old things.

“It all seems so long ago,” she said.

Nature had been busy in the city. Parks, hotel courtyards, parking lots, had all begun to be taken over by the wild. Root systems were breaking up the sidewalks; vegetation burst through park fences, and everywhere there were birds. The windows of most of the stores had been smashed in, although sometimes it looked as if nothing had been taken. On the other hand, one jewelry store had been completely looted. Jem, curious, went into it.

“Almost everything’s gone,” he said when he came out. “But I found this.” He handed her a gold ring. He must have noted her surprise, because he said, rather gruffly, “We’re not engaged or anything.”

Clare found a piece of string in her pocket and looped it through the ring. She then put it around her neck.

“Thanks,” she said.

Later, after they managed to get out of the city, she began to think of the ring as a good-luck talisman and so began to wear it on her finger. The fit was right.

Jem and Clare spoke mostly in whispers. The city was huge around them. Bear seemed restless; he looked at Clare and gave a low whine.

“Go,” she said, and Bear was a nimble black streak down the road.

“Would Bear stay if you asked him to?” asked Jem.

“Of course. Do you think I should? He’s hungry; I thought he should look for food before nightfall.”

“We might want him close. You know.”

“Just in case.”

“Yeah, just in case.”

“We’ll keep him with us when he comes back,” said Clare.

But Bear wasn’t with them when, soon after, they found a prime foraging place. Working in perfect synchrony, they loaded up sacks of flour, cornmeal and beans that they had found in the back of a Mexican restaurant. Jem heaved up a sack to Clare. Clare turned to secure it in the wagon when Sheba shied sideways. Clare, trying to keep her balance, turned towards Jem.

The attack took them by surprise.

Running towards them from the shadows of an alley came a group of children, all about eleven or twelve, all armed with sticks.

“Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!” the largest of them yelled. Before Clare could think about moving, she found herself alone in the wagon as Jem was pulled under the pack of wild children. Their hair was filthy and their clothes were little more than rags.

“Meat tonight,” the largest boy screamed.

“Tork says ‘meat tonight!’” said the others. They were jabbing at Jem with their sticks, ignoring Clare altogether. She didn’t know if Tork meant they were going to eat Sheba or Jem. Perhaps he had plans to eat all of them. Jem was trying to shake them off. Clare took the spade they had found in a hardware store and jumped into the melee. Sheba, no longer held in place, started into a tentative lope before coming to a stop a few yards away. The one named Tork jabbed at Jem and opened an ugly wound on his face.

“I’ll get you!” Clare yelled and swung the spade. With a dull thud, she connected with Tork’s stomach. She then drove the flat of the blade into his face. Tork fell and didn’t get up.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” yelled one of the older girls. “Tork’s down.”

The children ceased fighting as suddenly as they had begun.

“That ain’t fair,” said one of them, addressing Clare.

“You were going to kill us,” she said.

“Not for real. And now you kilt Tork.”

“I don’t think Tork’s dead.”

“Looks dead.” But then Tork groaned.

Jem staggered to his feet. “We’re just here to get supplies. We don’t mean you any harm. And you can’t eat our horse. Or us.” He limped over to the wagon.

A girl with a dirty face and long tangled hair looked hard at them.