The Spackle keep at it with the rocks, seeming oblivious to the rain, which is good cuz there ain’t room under the tarpaulins for all of ’em to shelter.
“Hey,” I say, raising my voice. “Watch the edge! Watch that–”
A gust of wind rips away the whole sheet of tarpaulin we just pinned down. One of the Spackle keeps hold of it as it flies up, taking him with it and tumbling him hard down to the ground. I leap over him as I chase after the tarpaulin, twisting and rolling away across the muddy field and up a little slope, and I’ve just about got a hand on it–
And I slip badly, skidding right down the other side of the slope on my rump–
And I realize where I’ve run, where I’ve slipped–
I’m heading right down into the bog.
I grab at the mud to stop myself but there’s nothing to hold on to and I drop right in with a splat.
“Gah!” I shout and try to stand. I’m up to my thighs in lime-covered Spackle shit, splattered all up my front and back, the stink of it making me retch–
And I see another flash of Noise.
Of me standing in the bog.
Of a Spackle standing right over me.
I look up.
There’s a wall of Spackle staring.
And right in front of ’em all.
1017.
Above me.
With a huge stone in his hands.
He don’t say nothing, just stands there with the stone, more’n big enough to do a lot of harm if thrown right.
“Yeah?” I say up to him. “That’s what you want, ain’t it?”
He just stares back.
I don’t see the Noise again.
I reach up for my rifle, slowly.
“What’s it gonna be?” I ask and he can see in my Noise just how ready I am, how ready I am to fight him.
How ready I am to–
I’ve got the rifle stock in my hand now.
But he’s just staring at me.
And then he tosses the rock down on the ground and turns back towards the tarpaulin. I watch him go, five steps, then ten, and my body relaxes a bit.
It’s when I’m pulling myself outta the bog that I hear it.
The click.
His rude click.
And I lose it.
I’m running towards him and I’m yelling but I don’t know what I’m saying and Davy’s turning round in shock as I reach the shelter of the tarpaulin just after 1017 and I’m running in with the rifle up above my head like I’m some stupid madman and 1017’s turning to me but I don’t give him a chance to do nothing and I knock him hard in the face with the butt of the rifle and he falls back on the ground and I lift the rifle again and bring it down and he raises his hands to protect himself and I hit him again and again and again–
In the hands–
And the face–
And in those skinny ribs–
And my Noise is raging–
And I hit–
And I hit–
And I hit–
And I’m screaming–
I’m screaming out–
“WHY DID YOU LEAVE?”
“WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?”
And I hear the cold, crisp snick of his arm breaking.
It fills the air, louder than the rain or the wind, turning my stomach upside down, making a thick lump in my throat.
I stop, mid-swing.
Davy’s staring at me, his mouth open.
All the Spackle are edging back, terrified.
And from the ground, 1017 is looking back up at me, red blood pouring from his weird nose and the corner of his too-high eyes but there’s no sound coming from him, no Noise, no thoughts, no clicks, no nothing–
(and we’re in the campsite and there’s a dead Spackle on the ground and Viola’s looking so scared and she’s backing away from me and there’s blood everywhere and I’ve done it again I’ve done it again and why did you go oh jesus dammit Viola why did you leave–)
And 1017 just looks at me.
And I swear to God, it’s a look of triumph.
{VIOLA}
“Water pump’s workin agin, Hildy.”
“Thank you, Wilf.” I hand him a tray of bread, the heat still coming off it. “Could you take these to Jane, please? She’s setting the tables for breakfast.”
He takes the tray, a flat little tune coming from his Noise. As he leaves the kitchen shack, I hear him call out, “Wife!”
“Why does he call you Hildy?” Lee says, appearing at the back door with a basket of flour he just pounded. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and the skin up to his elbows is dusty white.
I look at his bare arms for a second and look away quickly.
Mistress Coyle put us to work together since he can’t go back to New Prentisstown any more either.
No, I will certainly not forgive her.
“Hildy was the name of someone who helped us,” I say. “Someone worth being called after.”
“And by us, you mean–”
“Me and Todd, yes.” I take the basket of flour from him and thump it down heavily on the table.
There’s a silence, as there always seems to be when Todd’s name comes up.
“No one’s seen him, Viola,” Lee says gently. “But they mostly go in at night so that doesn’t–”
“She wouldn’t tell me even if she did.” I start separating the flour into bowls. “She thinks he’s dead.”
Lee shifts from foot to foot out. “But you say different.”
I look at him. He smiles and I can’t help but smile back. “And you believe me, do you?”
He shrugs. “Wilf believes you. And you’d be surprised how far the word of Wilf goes around here.”
“No.” I look out the window to where Wilf disappeared. “No, actually I wouldn’t.”
That day passes like the others and still we cook. That’s our new employment, Lee and me, cooking. All of it, for the entire camp. We’ve learned how to make bread from a starting point of wheat, not even flour. We’ve learned how to skin squirrels, de-shell turtles and gut fish. We’ve learned how much base you need for soup to feed a hundred. We’ve learned how to peel potatoes and pears faster than possibly anyone on this whole stupid planet.
Mistress Coyle swears this is how wars are won.
“This isn’t really why I signed up,” Lee says, pulling another handful of feathers off the sixteenth forest fowl of the afternoon.