Dimensions

Chapter 13: A Body in the Bungalow

Written by @futurepresentpast

I wake to painful screams, shouts, and thundering feet on worn floorboards. I am lying in a hard bed, twisted uncomfortably in the heat, wearing plain grey servant's clothes which rub against my pale skin. I have no idea where I am, or why. And those screams- they send a shiver down my spine- whose are they?

Then I remember.

After the escape, we split off open our separate routes. I half walked, half jogged to Jonas' house with him, drunk on happiness and laughing like mad at his crazy jokes. Alise, struggling under the weight of her huge pregnant stomach, said I could stay over for the night, so I'm in their spare bedroom.

But the screams?

Alise's, I can tell. "OH MY SWEET GOD IT HURTS SO BAD! JONAS!"

Then I hear shouts, Jonas' and another man's. What's going on? Still woozy with tiredness, I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and yawning loudly. For the minute, I don't care what's going on. Just for once, it's probably not my problem. I don't need to help. They can do fine without me...

A thought comes into my mind, although it takes a while for me to process it.

Heavily pregnant Alise screaming like hell, shouts and thundering feet belonging to Jonas and another, middle aged man by the sound of it. Alise has gone into labour, and I probably slept through most of it.

I leap out of bed, quickly pulling on a cotton jumper over my crumpled clothes. Throwing the door open, I almost crash into the older man as he rushes to the main bedroom holding a pile of towels. I assume he's Alise's dad, as Jonas' parents live miles away. I follow him into the master bedroom, where Alise lies red faced and screaming on the bed, her white sheets stained with blood. I don't know what to do- I've never had to deal with anything more drastic than a paper cut, always having servants on hand to do the dirty work. She's screaming all sorts of obscenities, holding tightly onto Jonas' hand as he tries to help her through it. He kisses her gently, stroking her face and letting her crush his fingers. A thin, greying woman kneels at the other end, holding a wet and slightly blood stained towel ready to clean the baby.

I don't know what to do, so I just try to keep out of the way as much as possible, occasionally handing a tissue out to Jonas so he can wipe Alise's sweaty face. She's burning up, but I know it's just exhaustion rather than a fever. I pour some cold water over a flannel, and place it on her forehead to cool her.

It takes about another hour for the baby to finally come. As soon as it does, a high pitched screaming fills the room, as everyone else breathes a deep sigh of relief. Alise cries into Jonas, shoulder, and her parents cradle the baby gently in the towel.

Once its crying has settled down slightly, they hand it to Alise, who is still red and panting, with tears of joy streaming down her face. Even Jonas is looking a bit tearful.

"Its a girl, Alise. A beautiful baby girl," Alise's mum stokes her face, smiling gently, "I'm so proud of you my sweetheart."

Everyone's eyes are glistening with tears, even mine, I have to admit.

"I'm calling her Clara," my heart flips in my chest as Alise finally speaks, "As without her this moment would have been impossible. And I know she's the only one who kept my Jonas sane whilst he was stuck in the palace, not knowing when the baby would come."

I'm still trying to take it all in. I barely know the family, but I'm grateful all the same. "Thank you. I don't deserve it but thank you," I pause, still in shock, "And I wish you all the best luck in the future."

I feel like I'm interrupting a private moment, and although I know they don't mind me being here, I quietly excuse myself and head for the stairs into the kitchen. Alise has left me some clothes, and a bottle of water. I told her yesterday I was going to leave pretty much as soon as I woke up.

I change quickly in the loo, before checking on the red patch which is slowly growing up my neck. Two more wavering forks have trailed up towards my chin, joining the other strand that is now heading for my ear. The further they get from the main patch, the fainter they become, so the ones on my face are barely noticeable, but I know they will darken in time.

I fold up my old clothes and shove them into an old canvas bag along with the water, slinging it over my shoulder as I close the front door behind me

---------------

I head straight out into the wasteland, hoping Dylan and Carina aren't too far away. I see tell-tale signs of acid rain on the ground. Small puddles slowly eating through the hard mud, and what else is left burnt yellow. The though of an acid rain shower doesn't fill me with hope. If someone is caught off guard in the acid rain, especially somewhere as remote as the wastelands where there aren't houses to dive straight in to, they rarely survive without serious injuries.

The biggest danger are the puddles. Holes in the ground left by previous showers are relatively small but about a foot deep. They fill up quickly, the acid running right over the hard ground until it reaches a dip in the surface.

People have lost legs in rainstorms.

After about half an hour of brisk walking, I see a patch of blood. I track it carefully back to a deep puddle, still half full of acid. There are signs of a struggle around the edge, like someone trying to climb out as their legs are being burnt off. I follow the scrapes and trail of blood in the other direction, and they seem to be following another set of footprints.

I'm no tracker, but it looks like the person walking ahead was small, and light on their feet, and left this place a long time before the other person managed to drag themselves from the pool.

My heart sinks. The drag marks look like they belong to someone heavy, or at least heavier than the walking person. What if Carina or Dylan were hurt? If they were, I'm to blame. If I hadn't just walked off like that they'd be absolutely fine. I dread to think of the other orphans. There were only two people walking along here, so if it was Carina and Dylan, the other kids would be far away by now.

I track the footprints for another ten minutes, maybe more. I reach a small village, seemingly abandoned. I know better than to go into a place like this. This is where gangs hang out, taking advantage of people who moved to the city for a better life.

But, the tracks lead straight to it, into a small cottage on the outskirts of this rundown collection of houses. Cautiously, I step inside. The front door is open, only a crack, and I step inside.

It looks normal at a single glance, but then I am hit, completely unaware, by a wall of smell. It is a sickly stench. Of death and rotting flesh.

Then I see the body.

I wouldn't recognise it, if it weren't for the small tufts of hair that weren't burnt off by the rain.

Black, jet black.

"Dylan?"

He doesn't move. I turn his body over, fighting against the vomit-inducing smell. His face is pale, almost blue. His body is completely lifeless.

"Dylan!"

His forehead is hot and feverish, and I feel a weak breath tickle my hand. He's alive, for now. I look down, to the source of the blood.

His legs are burnt badly by the acid, and the injuries stop at his knees. Small places of his ankle and calf have been worn away, and I can see his bone shine through white on his shin.

I throw up. Retching into the corner of the room until nothing more is left. I kneel, panting and dizzy, but manage to calm myself enough to start dealing with the wounds. I fill a bowl with warm water, and take a towel from the bathroom.

Dipping the towel into the water, I begin to gently clean Dylan's legs. Thankfully, he remains unconscious. I fight back waves of nausea as I see the true extent of the injuries. Pus-filled blisters pop under my hands, and I see flashes of flesh and bone.

Suddenly I hear a floorboard creak, and turn my head to the stairs. There's no one there.

Maybe it was just your imagination, I tell myself.

I calm down. I'm just going mad with all this smell and blood and I just need to concentrate.

Concentrate. Concentrate.Concentrate.Concentrate.

Concentrate. That's what I'm thinking as the white cloth covers my mouth and chloroform sends me into a fitful sleep.