The Humanarium.

Chapter 15. A plan.

Fascinating. Only once I have separated them can I see how much they vary as a species. I do not want to have them interbreed. I think twenty or so containers will suffice.

Harl held the arrow fully drawn on the bow, the tension in his arms threatening to give way as he made tiny adjustments to the angle. The deer crept into sight again, its ears twitching for suspicious sounds. They had tracked it through the forest and it was only by Sonora's skill that they had not spooked it. She had suggested a path to cut through the trees that intersected perfectly with where the deer now cropped at the lush grass. He released the arrow and watched as the deer toppled sideways, the arrow lodged deep in its head. Sonora let out a cry of triumph, hunching low as she slipped past Harl into the clearing and knelt beside the crumpled animal, pulling a knife from her belt.

'A clean kill,' she said, tucking the knife away, obviously pleased she did not have to finish it off. She tugged the arrow free and inspected the head before handing it to Harl.

'I couldn't have done it without you,' Harl said, looping the bow over his shoulder as he bent to pick up the carcass. He slung the heavy load over his other shoulder and walked back through the woods.

Gorman had sent them out to hunt knowing that it would save Sonora a trip into town to buy food and supplies. Harl's own work had dried up due to the lack of farmers tending the fields. Whatever had happened, he did not want to go down to find out.

They headed for a spot just on the edge of the forest that overlooked the rolling fields around the town. Harl placed the deer on the ground and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sonora as she stared down across the calm river. Something was out of place, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

'There is no one in the fields,' Sonora said.'Usually the Fallows would have at least a dozen oxen ploughing fields and if they're not out there then something is up.'

She was right. Usually the fields around the town were a bustle of workers and oxen but he couldn't see anyone weeding, ploughing or gathering in the over-ripe harvest.

'No guards at the gate either,' he said, shielding his eyes from the light and peering to the end of the bridge where it ended by the gates.

They could still see a scattering of people moving around below, but compared to forty cycles ago it was desolate. Tall weeds sprouted above the neat rows of plants and the water mills along the river bank stood still.

The fear of going down into town to find out the truth knotted his stomach. When he didn't think of the disease, life up in the forest was idyllic. But when he thought about town and the disease festering in the streets he just shivered all over. He wished the three of them could survive up here alone forever, but he knew in his heart that they would have to deal with town in the end.

They reached the cottage just as the light above the world cut out. Harl opened the door to let Sonora pass and light the candles. He squeezed through sideways to avoid knocking the deer on the door frame and used his foot to close the door.

'Any luck?' Gorman asked from his chair by the fireplace.

'Yes,' Harl said, slinging the deer on the stone floor. 'But it was difficult. The fields around town are completely deserted, but we did spot a few people in the streets.'

'I meant for dinner,' Gorman said, chuckling to himself. 'But I can smell something. What is that?'

'A deer, grandpa,' Sonora said as she finished the candles and sagged into a chair.

'Well done, both of you,' Gorman said, raising his flask in tribute and taking a long swig. 'Start a stew going, my child, and we'll talk about what you saw down in the valley.'

Sonora smiled, but it failed to cover up the tiredness in her blue eyes. She rose and headed for the kitchen counter as Harl grabbed a handful of vegetables from a bucket in the pantry and began chopping.

Gorman sat in silence after the meal. When their tale had finished, he had walked over to his fireside chair and slumped into it, his face clouded with worry. Sonora was clearing empty plates from the table and kept glancing at Harl in concern as Gorman's silence continued.

'Gorman?' Harl asked.

The old man sighed. 'I'm sorry, my lad. I didn't realise that the disease had grown as bad as that. It has shaken me.'

Without saying a word, Harl and Sonora moved over to sit down next to him.

'The time for action is nearing,' he said, 'but I must ask a favour of you both. It is essential that you make one final trip into town before the rule of law breaks down and looting begins, if it hasn't already. You must take the cart and bring back all the supplies you can. Don't let anyone know what you're doing. We will need food and equipment for what we must do. Purchase sturdy clothing and satchels to carry what you need if you must leave.'

'But,' interrupted Harl, 'we have no way to escape. We've talked for many cycles about it. There's no way to leave this damned prison.'

Harl slumped back in his chair and pulled his knees up under his chin. Just waiting to be struck ill by the blackness chilled him to the bone, but the thought of watching Sonora and Gorman blacken and die from the sickness... He had to clench his fists to stop them from trembling.

Gorman must have heard the strain in his voice.

'Don't worry, my lad,' he said. 'I have a plan, but first you must find the supplies.' He leant forward in the chair. 'This blacking disease will be the end of our world. There is no fighting it. But men's souls will blacken long before their bodies. In the final days people will turn to dark deeds.'

Sonora looked as worried as Harl felt. He moved his hand into hers and she gripped him back tightly.

'Take what you need from my valuables,' Gorman said. 'The trade prices will be excessive, I'm sure, but it will not matter any more.'

'We'll leave early,' Harl said.

Gorman leant back into his chair and closed his eyes. Harl had never seen him look so old and frail. The old man turned towards the window and opened his eyes to gaze sightlessly out into the dark.

'We are racing death, Harl, and I fear we have already lost.'