The Necronomicon

Chapter Thirty Four

"We made it, at least," He said, and she nodded, half-smiling. Pippa was gone — but they had made it, and that was all that mattered, at least to her. For Alfred it was an entirely different story — but she did not know what was going through Alfred's mind: she only knew what she was thinking. How could she know what he was contemplating?

How could she even stop her own busy thoughts to consider what he was pondering?

Meredith stepped away from him. In his mind, he didn't even see her there: all he could think of was Pippa, potentially lying stone cold, dead. He imagined her pale skin, and bloated fingers, chalk-white face and empty eyes. Meredith saw before them only the sturdy wood of the hut, while his eyes formed images of blood and a knife wound through his fiancée's skull. In his mind's eye Frederick was pacing, Pippa's remains at his feet, The Necronomicon a step away, and monsters spilling from its pages...

Alfred wiped his eyes with mud-stained fingers, and sighed before turning to lay himself on the floor. She watched his tears fall down his face in sheets, and he turned his back to her. "Alfred —" She began, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.

She could not know what he saw before him.

But she could guess.

He looked like a slab of meat one might see at the butchers — his head bowed, his arms tucked into himself. Meredith leant forward as if to turn him over; instead she drew back, and let him be.

So she couldn't help him. And she was being fuelled by her need: her hunger; she had to find something to eat, and fast. Meredith glanced over at him — his sniffles had quietened, replaced by the slow, heavy breathing of his snoring.

How could Meredith know that his dream was ugly, and his sleep restless — that all he could see in his stupor was Pippa's grave?

She did know that it wasn't the time to beg for food, and wake him up from his slumber.

All in all, Meredith knew that she shouldn't do what she was about to do: it was putting them all in jeopardy. But she could not wait any longer: Meredith rose to her full height — unlike Alfred, her hair didn't brush the top of the hut — and strode over to the door as quickly as she could. If she was going to do this, she needed to be as swift as possible. She opened the hut's door and left it behind, closing the door almost silently; there was a soft click as it closed after her.

Greenery — grass reaching for her knees, flowers bending to her as if she were their sun... she was coming to like it. The sky was a soft baby blue, though it was a darker orange at the blurring edges: sunset was nearing. Meredith exhaled gently, edging through the fields. She needed to find the storehouse — she'd never been to it before, but somewhere, she knew; there was a place that the rebels used to store their food. Her skin prickled like fire where the sun swept across it, but she ignored it, instead — speedily, she ran for it, across the paths, her feet thudding against the soil. Meredith made quite a pretty picture as she raced along the rolling hills — her red hair flowing out behind her like waves crashing against the shore, her hands punching the air from time to time as she dashed onwards. She heard a chorus of voices to the right — people seemed to be crying. Meredith didn't seem to realise just how noticeable a figure she was; not only was she the most beautiful in the land, she had defining features: her curvaceous hips, her voluptuous figure, her piercing eyes.

Food. She hunted with her eyes, seeing nowhere that looked like a storeroom up ahead. Breathing heavily, she bolted in the opposite direction to the sonorous noises of the rebels chanting together in the hubbub she'd heard earlier: and happened upon a crossroad. Up ahead there seemed to be a patch of forest with no huts; she memorised its location in case she needed to rush into it to escape wary eyes.

Meredith was by a circle of huts now, she saw a rebel leave one, and hurried to hide: but the rebel had surely seen her. She didn't look back, and kept running instead, her legs pounding against the ground rapidly.

Keep. Going. Keep. Going. She repeated it to herself hastily, her mouth opening and closing like a fish as she gulped down air, swallowing it, pushing it down her throat easily. "Come on," She said to herself, the words ragged, catching.

Her pale skin was flooded with sweat: she increased her speed, to herself it seemed to be by tenfold, when really it was just a half step faster, realising she wasn't sure of where she was in the camp. Meredith barely knew her way around anyway — but she'd certainly never been to this part of it. Good. It could mean she was near the storeroom, then —

A building loomed ahead of her. She charged towards it, then screeched to a sudden stop. Outside the building — she was close enough to read the banner hanging on it: 'Storeroom' — stood Dmitri.

What was he doing? His hands were pressing against the door — shutting it? Meredith narrowed her eyes at him, darting away, sincerely grateful that he wasn't facing her. She needed to go somewhere, to hide: she scampered to the left, and divided into the high grass there. There were poppies there — they hid her flaming red hair. There she lay, her stomach growling, hunger fuelling her to remain still, waiting for Dmitri to leave the storeroom behind.

He didn't. Now he was turned, standing before it, facing out: she buried her face into the roots of the tree towering over her and the many flowers that surrounded her. Meredith closed her eyes briefly, her large eyelashes tracing the stem of the blossoms: there was a large booming noise from up ahead — she nearly screamed.

Her face was whiter than a sheet of paper: it was Frederick, dressed neatly, his hair spilling over his brow messily. He looked so... so good. Even more handsome than he had with his hand clutching hers, even more handsome when he had belonged to her.

Had he ever been hers?

She choked on a sob, freezing — both men had turned around at the sound. "Who's there?" Frederick boomed, and Dmitri called out too. He walked towards Frederick, who turned around; Meredith took the opportunity and practically flew away, her feet moving as fast as she could make them.

"Hey!"

Fuck. She galloped onwards, through the saplings, wishing that she had never done it, never succumbed to her stupid needs. She saw the patch of woods she'd noticed earlier and dived into them, scuttling behind a tree. Why had she done this? For food — something Alfred could get for them, easily. Now she had put them all in danger — Alfred could be found out and killed for hiding her — another mishap, like the "animal accident" he had told her of before.

Her breath was swift: Meredith tried to slow it so they wouldn't hear it; Frederick was a born hunter — his ears would be attuned to his prey's squeaks. The tree trunk she hid behind was broad; she sucked in her stomach and stayed stock still, praying a wisp of hair would not give away her location. Meredith remained there for half an hour — with no consequence. Frederick and Dmitri did not stray near her; so, once again, she ran, fleeing the problems she had created.

It was a maze of trees and grass and huts: Meredith made the way up. Out of nowhere, she heard Frederick's strident voice drifting above the crowded boughs, and a response: Olivia's voice. They were getting fainter, yet also rougher; a full scale argument was about to begin. Meredith hurried on, sprinting: fear spurring her on.

Then: she saw it: the hut; Alfred's. She threw open the door —

It was the wrong hut.

Fortunately, there was no one inside. Her red hair was sticking to her forehead from the sweat, and she trotted away, steady like a horse. She needed to calm down: this was why she was getting confused. If she tried, she'd be able to find it. Alfred's hut. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred.

She needed to find out oh my goodness she needed to otherwise -

What if Alfred woke up from his slumber to see her gone? He'd break even more than he already had — she needed to find the hut. Focus, Meredith.

Focus.

It was that one. Up there. It had to be.

She scrambled away, towards the hut — it threw the grass around it in shadow. She stepped inside, swinging the hut's door safely shut behind her: and smiled.

She had found it — and her secret was safe; Alfred had not woken up.