Dead Girl Walking | (rewriting in new book)

Tell It to the Frogs - The Grey Area

28.03.2017

chapter thirteen | the grey area

 Carl and August decided to help with the search of the bucket after a few failed minutes left nothing but dirt and rocks being brought up from the ground. Even as they probed under the water with their nets, there was no immediate sign of the metal tin anywhere to be found.

 They worked together as Shane maintained the search area around him, both of them went either side of him with their nets, prodding against the gravel and sand beneath their feet until they were certain they couldn't find it. The loss was not that great as they had a spare sitting up on the bank, but two buckets were always better than one.

 Their little giggles echoed across the big blue to the women who had stopped their conversation only minutes ago, all too vastly intimidated by the mountain of work they were putting their wrinkled fingers through to continue a conversation, at least without complaining that their male companions were overlooking the meagre duty of keeping things sanitary and clean. 

 Cathrine didn't really mind offering her help, but they politely declined it. They were not expecting her to jump head first into their duty and tag along with the grilling of their IQ's. She was injured, and they all took into account that she had exerted herself after charging first into danger to rescue not only her children, but the strangers she didn't know well enough to protect. 

 It was not a great reward, only settling enough to know that despite feeling civilian like still, they registered that this world was not overly safe from the hands of death. Every breath they took was dangerous, so Cathrine remained on the rock where she had been beached for the last half an hour, head craned back towards the sun, abdomen exposed to beady eyes overlooking the women doing such a mainstream job. 

 Cathrine was used to people looking, three months in a hole where all those eyes belonged to cruel hands and vile words, she learned to accept that her scars were her battlefield of warnings not to mess with her. Some people just didn't get the memo, so when she found Ed's eyes oozing from his skull as he wandered her petite frame from nearby, her jaw clenched. 

 There was a disgusting way man would undress a woman with their eyes while their mouths sexually puffed on a cigarette. He took in every curve of her body, every bruise and scar that he could see from his angle; he only seemed to look away when she finally seized fresh padding and her bandage from nearby to cover the wound back up again, skillful fingers pulling taunt the hold until he had nothing left to look at.

 "I do miss my Maytag," Carol announced, brushing a child's shirt against her washboard.

 "I miss my Benz," added Andrea, placing the shirt she had in her hands onto her knee, looking down with a sigh. "My sat-nav."

 "My fluffy pillows," Cathrine dropped her head back and chuckled. "My lawnmower."

 "Your lawnmower?" Amy looked at her. 

 "Oh, darling, I would spend hours out in my garden mowing the lawn," Cathrine glanced at her and grinned, "trying to encourage others to do it for me."

 "What others?" grinned Andrea. 

 "The boy next door," she sat up a little and smiled, though it was somewhat taunting and sad at the same time, "Joesph's friend. He had a little boy-crush on me."

 "You tease," chortled Jacqui. 

 "Hey, it worked," shrugged Cathrine

 "I miss my coffee maker," mused the other, her eyes closed as she imagined that old thing sitting on her kitchen side, brewing her a beautiful cup in the morning before work called her in, "with that dual-drip filter and built in grinder, honey."