The Garden of Darkness

“Meat tonight, meat tonight, meat tonight,” the little ones sang.


“I am a provider!” yelled Tork. He waved his good hand in the air, his contemplative mood gone.





CLARE AND JEM got ready to leave early the next day, even though they had been up late feasting on venison. Myra stood and looked at them as they packed. Tork was crying.

They explained they had to rejoin their friends and about the quest for the Master.

“It’s possible he’s found a cure for Pest,” said Jem. “And if he has, you’d all be safe. We could grow into one big family.”

“If he has a cure, he has a price,” said Tork. “Maybe we just ain’t meant to grow up.”

Clare put her arms around Myra and Tork, and suddenly it was a melee of hugs and tears.

“You belong here in the city, I guess,” said Clare. “But we don’t.”

“You can come and join us whenever you want,” said Jem. “I’ll draw you a map before we leave.”

“A map?” asked little Stuffo, as if Jem had casually mentioned building a surface-to-air missile.

“I can figure out a map, Stuffo,” said Tork. Then he looked doubtfully at Jem. “But I would get Clare to help you make it if I was you. You know, so it’s clear.”

“You think Clare’s more accurate?” asked Jem.

“She is with a shovel,” said Tork, admiration in his voice.

It took Sheba a few moments to start moving. The wagon was loaded with as much as it could carry: flour, corn meal, cured meat, cheese, canned vegetables, sugar, salt, kerosene, batteries. And then there was tea for Ramah, a feather mask from a costume shop for Bird Boy and model horses and books for Mirri and Sarai. It had taken Clare a while to find Abel a gift, but she had finally settled on a T-shirt that read: ‘Happiness is a Rainbow.’

Sheba pulled into the harness with a will, and the cart slowly began to move. Clare and Jem walked beside the horse. The street they followed was broad and straight, and every time that Clare looked back, she could see the wild pack standing and watching them. Finally, as the road curved, Clare saw Tork and Myra put some young ones on their shoulders, and they all waved madly. Then they were gone.





AFTER BEING WITH the wild pack, the city was weirdly silent. On the flat, they found they could make good time. When they reached the hilly roads at the edge of the city, however, Sheba strained more and more at the harness. At the top of one of the hills, they had to stop to let Sheba rest and give her water. Going down was even harder than going up. Soon the terrain began to change. Brush grew into the road and there were houses instead of apartments, some of them perched precariously on the hills. As evening came in, they began to leave the houses behind. The road leveled out, and there were fewer obstacles.

Then suddenly Clare stopped walking.

“Jem,” said Clare.

“What is it?”

“I don’t feel very good.”

Jem stepped back and looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I feel weak, I have chills and my head aches.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I just did.”

Jem put his hand on her forehead.

“You’re feverish,” he said. Then he pulled her shirt away from her neck. He sighed with relief.

“No sign of Pest, though.”

And then Clare was sick, right in front of Jem, right in a splotch of withered grass by the side of the road.

“Sorry,” she said.

“We’ll stop for the night. As long as it’s not Pest, we can deal with it.”

“Are you sure it’s not Pest?”

“Sure.”

“I can lie in the wagon, and we can keep moving.”

Jem looked at her. “You’ll puke on our provisions.”

“Point taken.”

Jem got her some water from a nearby stream, and then he unhitched Sheba, and they set up camp for the night. Jem boiled the water carefully before giving it to Clare.

“I’m going to hobble her and let her graze on the new grass for a bit,” he said. He came over to Clare and gently brushed the hair back out of her face.

“I feel awful,” said Clare.

“It isn’t Pest,” Jem repeated.

“Do you think it’s the fever the wild pack talked about? That killed some of them?”

“You’re not going to die. You didn’t come through the first wave of Pest to die of some kind of stomach bug. I’ll make you some soup. I’m betting that venison you were digging into at the feast last night was under-cooked.”

“You’re not sick.”

“I didn’t dig in with quite so much enthusiasm.”

For the next few hours, Clare gave herself up to the fever and vomiting. Finally she slept for a little while.

“I feel better,” she said when she woke.

“Really? You’re the color of cheese.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for travel. Can we stay here tonight and start late tomorrow?”

“Sure.”