Sophie Littlefield - Horizon

“Sage,” she whispered, feeling guilty that they were comfortable here when Phillip was alone, and no doubt frightened. But Sage didn’t stir, didn’t so much as twitch in her sleep, and Sammi lay down-just for a moment-and closed her eyes and felt the warmth on her face and let the thoughts and worries dribble out of her mind like pebbles through a grate until all there was was empty.

When she opened her eyes again the sky outside the sliding glass doors was starting to lighten to a midnight-blue edged with pale pearl-gray. The air smelled of smoke, but not in a nice way like last night.

On the couch, Sage had pulled the blankets up around her face, leaving her ankles and feet exposed. It was cold, cold like it always was, the kind of cold that made you wish you could stay in bed until the sun was high in the sky. Sammi crawled over to the couch and tugged the covers down, but Sage murmured in her sleep and her eyes blinked open before Sammi could finish.

“Hey,” Sammi said, giving Sage what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Sage pushed herself up on her elbows and frowned. “Is it tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, morning?”

“Barely. We’re the only ones up.”

Sage struggled the rest of the way up and yawned, pushing back her hair. In the middle of the yawn she jerked her mouth closed and her eyes widened in horror.

“Phillip-”

“I know,” Sammi said quickly. “Look, I would have gotten you up earlier but I thought you needed your sleep. We can go over there now. No one will see us, and they wouldn’t care anyway. I mean, all we’re going to do is talk, right? Talk through the door?”

“They can’t lock him up like that, Sammi, it’s not right! He’s not fevered, I saw him, he was just like he always is-”

“Don’t worry,” Sammi cut in, gathering up the blankets and folding them quickly, sloppily. Don’t worry- it was a stupid thing to say, it was what everyone always said even when the shit was about to hit the fan. But what else was there?

It nagged at the back of her mind, this unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling of being the responsible one, the one who had to lie to her friend to keep her going.

She raced upstairs and grabbed her own coat that she’d thrown on the floor, plus Sage’s blue puffy one. She had to help Sage put it on, urging her to hurry while she fumbled with the zipper. She practically dragged Sage out into the cold of the morning. A fine drizzle was falling, more mist than rain, but Sage didn’t even seem to notice it.

There were a few women at the green latrine, one of two that served the island. This one had gotten its name from the fact that it had once been a green-painted detached garage. Sammi and Sage and Kyra always used this one because it had a big mirror that they could all three look into while they did their hair and, occasionally, their makeup, when the raiders brought some back. At this hour it was too dim to see much at all in the mirror, and the women looked sleepy and bleary, no doubt on their way back to bed. Some people used jugs and buckets at night so they wouldn’t have to venture out in the cold, but most still made the trip, dressed in flannel pants and winter coats.

They didn’t talk on the way to the quarantine house. Only now, approaching from across the island, did Sammi notice how it was situated as far as possible from the nearest structure. In between were the buildings that were used for the sports-equipment shed, the library and the storehouse. The thought gave her an unpleasant shiver-they were trying to isolate people like Phillip as much as possible. The only way to set them farther apart would be to build a house on North Island, which was mostly wild with a couple of decaying shacks and acres of bramble.

Only when they reached the house and were making their way around to the front, where the windows were open a crack, did they see the figure crouched there. He or she was doing something at the window, either pulling out or pushing in a dark, lumpy something. As they got closer, Sammi saw that it was some sort of fabric, a bedspread or clothing of some sort, and that the person was definitely trying to push it through the slot. Her feet crunched on the gravel and the figure turned toward her, her jacket hood falling back a little to reveal Valerie’s tired, anxious face.

“Oh!” Valerie said, her hands going to her throat as she scrambled to her feet. The object hung from the slot. What looked like sleeves hung limply to the ground. “Sammi? Sage? Is that you?”

“What are you doing? ” It was Sage who answered, her voice shrill. She stalked forward and grabbed the thing from the slot and yanked it savagely out. It caught on a splinter or a nail and ripped, curling lengths of knit fabric tumbling down the wall, and Sage yanked even harder and the sound of the tearing echoed in the still morning as the thing came away in her hands and all three of them stared at each other.

Then Valerie sighed, her hands falling useless to her sides. “It’s his favorite shirt, Sage,” she said unhappily. “I was fixing a torn seam for him…please, give it back. I’ll mend it again.”

“He shouldn’t be here,” Sage said, in that same thin, high voice that didn’t sound like her. “He’s not sick.”

But she allowed Valerie to take the shirt. Sammi and Sage watched her shake it out and squint at the damage, a long rip in the underarm, before folding it with care and stuffing it in the bag she carried over her shoulder.

“I brought a few other things for him,” she said quietly. “Some socks. A…book. I’m going to put them through now.”

Sage didn’t stop her this time, and Valerie crouched down again to slide her gifts through the slot. Sammi saw that the book was a Bible, a small one with a flexible blue plastic cover. It made a muffled slapping sound when it hit the floor inside.

Sage knelt down next to her and tried to look through the slot, but all she saw was darkness.

“I was here earlier,” Valerie said softly. “Around midnight. I stayed with him until he fell asleep, Sage.”

Sammi knew that Valerie was trying to comfort them, but she felt guilty. They’d been in their house, drinking tea and warming themselves at the fire, while only Valerie had come here for him. Was that going to be his future, to be forgotten and left alone each night as people found excuses to be elsewhere?

“Did he ask about me?”

Sage kept her face pressed against the house, so she didn’t see the way Valerie pursed her lips, the sadness that came over her expression. But she didn’t answer the question.

“You must not blame Cass,” she said instead. “This could be anyone’s fault. No, I mean, it’s no one’s fault. The blueleaf could have been so young it was hard to detect the signs, or it could have been from the roots they’ve been drying-they’re throwing out the whole batch now-or it could have been from dried flour, even, or beans from last summer.”

But Sammi had stopped listening. “What do you mean, blame Cass? Why would we blame her?”

Valerie’s eyebrows pinched together, making a line between them.

“No, you know something.” Sammi stared at her face, trying to find the answer in her silence. “What happened? Come on, I’m going to find out anyway-you know I will. What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything, Sammi, other than her job. You know how hard Cass works, she’s out there every day that she isn’t watching the kids, and that’s hard work, bending down between the rows. I mean, I tried it and I couldn’t keep up. It’s hard on your back, and it’s just way too hard to keep staring at the plants and looking for something out of place. It could have happened to any of them-”