Page 49 of The Compound

Sixteen

We went to the dusty patch of ground where we had done all our tasks, back when we still cared to look after the compound.

Tom marked out what he thought was one hundred meters, placing a stone as the finishing line.

I was pleased to see him stagger a little at one point, though I found it infuriating that even in the state he was in he had to be the one in charge.

For a brief time it had felt like Becca and I held the power—yet we were back, now, to our old routine, because Tom had found us, and Tom was stronger than we were.

We were all panting before we’d even begun.

We stood at the starting line that Tom had drawn in the sand, and stared at the stone, one hundred meters away from us.

It seemed impossible. Not one of us was in the condition to race.

Becca, who an hour ago had been the strongest, was now clutching her leg, blood dripping down her face.

“We don’t need to do an amazing job,” Tom said. “We just need to do it. It’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Andrew nodded, though his head didn’t remain still after, but seemed to float around a bit, drifting up and to the side. I thought that it must be killing him not to be the one to give a pep talk.

“You okay, Becca?” Tom asked.

“Let’s just do it,” she said.

Tom looked at us. “We know from before that if someone cheats then it doesn’t count. We really, really don’t want to have to do this over. Does everyone understand?”

The other two nodded, and Andrew’s head again dipped all over the place. “Lily? Do you understand?” Tom asked.

“Fuck you,” I said.

“On the count of three.”

We positioned ourselves as well as we could. We were near the perimeter, and I thought, in the far distance, I could see movement. I couldn’t tell if it was an animal looking for food, or members of the crew, checking to make sure we didn’t die.

“One. Two. Three!”

For a few seconds, we all kept pace with each other.

As I moved forward, I kept my face slightly turned so that I could see the position of the others.

Andrew stumbled almost immediately, zombielike, shuffling, falling, picking himself up, falling again.

Becca was ahead of him, but only by a small margin: she had tried to run, but after a few steps had to slow to a jagged, choppy walk.

Tom was racing ahead, and so was I, the two of us neck and neck.

I was not soft. I wasn’t strong, but I was fast. I was making a strange noise, like the sound a baby makes when they’re gearing up to wail, but I couldn’t stop.

Tom was grunting too, his teeth bared in pain, but his legs still moved, quickly, quickly, and so did mine.

Becca cried out in pain, and I saw Tom’s head twitch, and then turn to look behind his shoulder.

He didn’t stop, but he was distracted, and for a fraction of a second he slowed.

I pushed forward, the stone before me, almost there, and I heard him grunt again, his arms reaching out, as though to stop me, but I was ahead of him now.

I wasn’t going home, I wouldn’t go home…

I made it to the stone and fell to the ground wheezing, every breath an effort.

A second after me, Tom slammed his hand on the rock, and promptly vomited on his shoes.

My vision was blurry, and my head felt heavy, but I looked up and saw Andrew and Becca, leaning on each other as they staggered across the dusty ground, Becca’s face drawn in pain, Andrew with his mouth open and his eyes wheeling around in his head.

They were twenty feet away, then ten, and then, without warning, Andrew pulled away from Becca, who cried out and fell.

“I’m sorry, Becca,” he said, and loped forward the final few feet to put his hand on the rock.

Becca didn’t try to rush the final stretch. She stood and walked toward us, her limp pronounced, though she moved with a certain dignity that was impossible not to admire. Andrew looked away as Becca took one final stride and sat down on the rock.

The irrigation system came on, and water spouted into the air in great, triumphant streams, silver under the moonlight. We sat and watched it lifelessly. In only a few days the land had become dry and hard, and as the water hit the earth it fell with an audible, drumlike thump.

We helped each other inside, my arm around Becca, Tom’s around Andrew.

The house was close; it seemed like we would never make it, but then we were standing under the kitchen lights, and it felt like a different world.

We smelled of sweat and vomit and blood, and I gagged once we closed the door behind us.

We were disgusting. We were vile. Andrew lurched toward the sink, but Tom said, “Lily won the race. Let her have the first drink.” I didn’t stop to consider Tom’s distorted ideas on what constituted fair and honorable—I rushed to the sink, no thought in my head but water, water, water.

I drank it straight from the tap, and the room was filled with the sound of my gasping and gulping and the water splashing.

There were taps all around the house, but I think the others were too tired or injured to get to them.

I moved to the side, and Tom took his turn, then Andrew, then Becca, and then I took bottles from the drawers, filled them, and gave them to the others.

“I should go,” Becca said. She was sitting on a chair, and looked terrible—pale and bloody, covered in dust.

Andrew was sitting on the floor. I felt poorly, but definitely better after having drunk the water. Andrew looked no better at all. He couldn’t look at Becca. Tom said, “You can’t go out into the desert covered in blood.”

“They need the—the banished person—gone by sunrise,” Andrew said. “Have a shower and rest for a couple of hours, and then we can take you out.”

“I’ll go on my own,” she said. “I don’t need your help.” She hesitated. “But I do need a shower. I’ll take the downstairs one.”

I got up, my joints aching, and helped her to the bathroom. I was ready to go in with her, but she shook her head and closed the door firmly in my face.

—

We showered and took two bottles of water each with us to bed.

I would have slept in the living room, but the truth was I’d grown worried that Andrew might die.

I had never seen anyone look so ill. His skin was gray and his lips were chapped to the point of bleeding.

Despite everything, I couldn’t help but stay close and check on him.

I slept fitfully, waking up, looking around me as though in a dream.

Becca was still there, and Andrew was still alive, but his breathing was heavy, and each inhalation seemed to go on forever.

Tom was snoring: he had fallen asleep first. He had vomited copiously after his second bottle of water, and then had stayed outside, sipping a third bottle slowly.

When I did sleep, I had strange dreams, of ghouls, white and ghastly, dripping saliva and reaching out their translucent hands, and Tom, looming over me, his hand on my throat, asking me if I was all right.

I woke suddenly. It was only a slight noise that woke me, but I jerked upright as though an alarm had rung out. It was Becca: she was standing at the foot of my bed.

“Becca,” I whispered. She looked at me and raised a finger to her lips.

She took the silk belt of my dressing gown and moved across the room.

She stood over Tom’s sleeping form, slipped the belt around his neck, and pulled.

He woke instantly, arms thrown out, but Becca was beyond his reach, and he was confused, pulling at the silk at his throat, his fingers scrabbling but finding no purchase.

His eyes were bulging, and he was making terrible noises, his hands now flailing behind him to grab at Becca.

His elbow caught her in the ribs, but she kept pulling.

Absurdly, I looked at Andrew, as though he might sort the situation out.

He was lying on his side, on top of his covers, mouth moving, but still asleep.

Above Tom’s strangled sounds, I heard something I had not heard in months—the sound of a car, screeching to a stop outside.

The sound was a live wire through me—jarring beyond reason, a siren warning that someone was actually dying, and a reminder that although the rules were gone we still lived at the mercy of others.

The rational part of me knew that if they were here, it was to help—but at the sound of the car, I felt pure, unadulterated terror.

A car door slammed, and there were quick footsteps on the patio.

“Becca, stop!” I cried. “They’re here! They’re here!”

I threw myself off the bed to run toward them. But just as I had my feet on the floor, the silk cord around Tom’s neck snapped, and the room filled with the sound of his wild gasps. Becca fell to the ground. The footsteps outside stopped, and came no closer.

Tom wasted no time. He turned to Becca and jerked her to her feet, his hands wrapping around her arms, tiny in his grasp.

“Stupid—fucking—bitch—this, after you left us for dead with no water! After I kept you safe for months ! Ungrateful bitch—spiteful, pathetic cunt ! What have I done, but keep you safe?”

She cried out, and I thought the bones in her arms would surely snap.

He kept one hand on her arm and brought the other to her throat.

I tried to prize his hands from her, my nails sinking into his flesh, but he only released her arm briefly to shove me away.

His strength was, even now, shocking, and I careened backward and onto the floor.

I could hear more footsteps, and shouting, too, and the door to the kitchen opening.

“Tom,” I said. “ Tom. ” Becca was clutching at his hand, turning purple.

“They’re here. Tom. Listen! They’re downstairs! ”

“Who?”

“ Them! ”

He looked perturbed.

“She tried to kill me,” he said.

“Look at what you’re doing! Let go of her!”