My Name is Stab

Chapter Sixteen - Hunger

From Boxing Day, I was spending at least four hours a day in 'the trenches'. Winter had now well and truly set in and spending four hours in a freezing, snowy trench was no fun, even with my shiny new uniform. On a couple of the colder days, Mike insisted that we run split shifts - two hours on and two off then repeat. It meant that you had almost thawed yourself out before you had to go back out into it.

At least with my brand new combat boots, my feet were never cold.

I was also spending a couple of hours a day in other forms of training; learning to use all the weapons and running through the responses to various threats.

After about a week, I got to experience one of the attacks first hand. There was a single, unarmed vagrant and, though I knew the rules, I was still quite shocked when James shot him as soon as he set foot on the bridge.

I guess the guy didn't believe the signs that warned him about what would happen.

He was not going to make that mistake again.

While the shooting itself was bad, the cold efficiency of the clean-up was even worse. It was all over in twenty minutes. These people had done this plenty of times before.

I did understand that we really did need to shoot these people if we were not going to all starve to death but it was still shocking to see James do the shooting. I know he's a good person.

Even more shocking was realising that I was going to have to do the same.

As we moved into the New Year, memories of Christmas and that indulgent meal soon faded. There simply wasn't enough food for all the people they were trying to feed and all the work we were trying to do.

Then Susan lost her baby. Mam and I were the only two women in the house at the time and so I got volunteered to be an assistant midwife. Mam is not someone you can say 'No' to.

That is not an experience I would ever want to repeat. There were screams and blood and pain and tears and, at the end of it, the poor little mite only lived for a couple of minutes.

I guess starvation and pregnancy just don't mix.

Phil had rushed up to the bedroom as soon as he got home but Mam had unceremoniously chucked James out and he was anxiously pacing the living room floor when I made it downstairs.

"How are they?" he demanded.

"Your mum is as well as can be expected but the baby died," I answered. I didn't know whether that was the technically correct way of putting it but it was true enough. The poor tiny thing had definitely been moving for a little bit after it was born so I guess it must have been alive for a couple of minutes. I don't know anything about it but my guess is that it was just too little to breathe on its own.

I suppose that, given a proper hospital and incubators and things, the tiny thing might just have survived. Susan would have known that, of course. You can ask her about it, if you want.

I'm certainly not going to.

James just collapsed to the floor and started making funny noises that turned into some sort of desperate sobs. I looked at him for a while. I knew I had to do something but I didn't know what. I was just not capable of coping with this sort of emotional situation.

So I had to let Theodora out of her box for a little while.

She sat on the floor next to him and pulled his head onto her lap and held him as if he was Jennifer, rocking him gently and making quiet singing-type noises.

I thought I would never cry again after they made me eat my little sister.

I was wrong. Comforting my sort-of-brother after the death of his sort of sister fixed that.