Callie's Shadow

The churchyard was quiet. Everywhere was quiet really, now, but after three years I still hadn't fully adjusted to it. Every time I came, the surrounding woods had encroached a little more into the cemetery; the grass was now as tall as the gravestones, and the trees loomed larger at its edges, their roots disturbing the outermost graves. Luckily, it didn't seem there were many people left that cared – I'd never seen another living soul in the churchyard, and it didn't surprise me one bit. Too many people had lost too much too recently to care about the dead of generations past.

In truth, I didn't either. I only came to Sarah's grave for Callie, because I hadn't known where else to go to remember her. They never returned her body, and I could never have brought myself to mourn at the mass grave that I suspected she'd ended up in, so I'd carved her name below her mother's instead. She wasn't here, but every so often, I could make myself believe that she was.

I'd only come because I'd found another rabbit. This one looked almost new, with pastel pink fur and little patchwork ears. It had been nestled at the back of a wardrobe in a house a few miles east, buried at the bottom of a bag full of unopened toys. From the roll of unused wrapping paper, I guessed they were birthday presents for some poor kid that would never get to lay eyes on them. I'd taken the stuffed rabbit and a couple of shirts that looked like they'd fit me, but I couldn't bring myself to linger there. I'd come straight here to drop the rabbit off for Callie. She'd have liked it.

I don't know why I still did it. I knew she was gone, and that she'd never see them. They were never there when I came back, either. For all I knew, there were three years' worth of stuffed rabbits lying in the overgrown grass around me, carried there by weather or curious animals. It didn't really matter. I just liked to bring them.

I worked my way along the path I'd worn through the long grass to the center of the churchyard. I heard nothing but the gentle swoosh of grass against my legs and the squeak of dew underfoot. There was very little wind, but there was a definite chill on the air. Winter was on its way again.

I reached the grave, pulled the rabbit from inside my coat, and placed it gently on the ground in front of the headstone. I tried to smile, but couldn't. I wondered if I'd cry. I didn't. Instead, I looked up at the sky, and I felt nothing.

I stayed as long as I could, but it was getting late. As I left the overgrown cemetery, I thought absently of the days when night hadn't mattered; when fluorescent lights had lined every street, lighting the dark, pushing the shadows back. Now, there were more shadows than ever.

I almost didn't see her. She was moving silently in the trees ahead, and I just caught a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing behind a tree as I looked up from the path.

“Hello?” I called. It had been weeks since I'd spoken aloud, and my voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar.

I heard the shuffling of feet, and one small pale hand reached around the trunk of the tree. A little blonde head followed it.

“It's okay,” I said. “I'm safe.”

She stepped out, eyes wide with fear, a penknife held in one shaking, extended hand. Under her arm was a stuffed rabbit. It looked familiar.

I held my hands out wide, and walked in a slow arc around her.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“I'll use it, if I have to,” she said. Her voice was so small, but it had an edge to it. I didn't doubt that she'd used the knife before.

“I meant the rabbit,” I said.

She shrugged. “I found it.”

“Do you have a home?” I asked. “A family?”

She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

“I just want to help,” I said, stepping forward. I moved slowly but deliberately, keeping my hands out in front of me.

As I approached, she stepped back. “Don't need help. The Doctor looks after me,” she said.

“What doctor? Where?” I asked. I moved again, closing the gap between us.

She stepped back again, panic in her eyes. She hit a root and stumbled backwards, slashing wildly in front of her as she fell. She hit the woodland floor with a thud.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I said, approaching. She'd dropped the knife.

As she turned to look up at me, I noticed two things. She was crying, and she was wearing a locket.

Not just any locket. Callie's locket. I'd had it made for her when Sarah had died, a silver heart with their initials carved into it. Inside, I'd put a picture of Sarah. She'd been wearing it when they took her.

I felt sick. My knees threatened to give way beneath me, and my head span. I choked on the air as I searched desperately for the right emotion, or the right words. Nothing came.

The girl looked up at me, sobbing and helpless. I held out a hand to help her up. “Your locket,” I said, choking back tears I didn't think I had left in me.

“The Doctor gave it to me. She said it's mine now.” She got herself to her feet, but didn't move. I looked away.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I remembered. After they had pumped their poisons into us, they'd taken our children. They said it was to immunise them, that they needed to be protected from whatever it was they'd given us. Callie didn't want to go, she wanted to stay with me, but I made her. I'd promised her that it was okay, they were going to make sure she was safe.

Then, they didn't give her back. The riots started, then the mass graves started appearing. Bodies piled high everywhere you looked – outside the hospitals, thousands of tiny little bodies. Between us and them were soldiers, and hundreds of bodies of parents that had tried to get through. I'd walked away. Callie was gone. I'd known it then, and I knew it now. Callie was gone and this girl had her locket.

“Who is the Doctor?” I asked, gathering myself. The girl studied me for a moment, then slowly picked up her knife. She held it out, but the threat was no longer there. She was just reminding me that she wasn't helpless.

She watched as another tear made its way down my cheek. “She saved me,” she said.

I thought I understood. I nodded. “Can I see her?” I asked.

She cocked her head. “Are you sick?”

“I don't know.”

The girl watched me for another few moments, assessing me. She shrugged, then tucked the locket back inside her faded t-shirt. She turned slowly. “Come on,” she said.

We walked out of the woods and across an overgrown field in silence. The sun was low in the sky now, mostly obscured by the sort of misty cloud that usually spelled rain. In the grey twilight, the little girl's hair looked dark, and for a few moments, I pretended that she was Callie. It hurt more than I'd expected. I stopped pretending.

She ducked through a hedgerow and onto a pathway that ran between the field and a number of deserted houses. She looked over her shoulder at me. “Nearly there.”

I followed her as she led me up the path. It wound uphill, then turned sharply out of the trees. We emerged onto a deserted street. The houses were all dark, and there were no signs of life. Our shadows walked in front of us, made long by the last weak light of the sun. All the houses looked identical, the sort that used to pop up almost overnight in their dozens, little pockets of development that had survived even after society had crumbled.

The girl looked over her shoulder at me once more, then walked casually up the path. “Make sure she can see your hands,” she said, knocking at the door.

No sooner had I raised my hands than the door opened a crack. I saw a single eye peer round, then the door swung quickly open.

She was short, with grey hair scraped back into a dirty ponytail. She was stocky, and there was a hardness behind her eyes. A weariness, too.

She pulled the girl into the house, then stood defensively in the doorway. In one hand, she held a small weathered axe.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I found her in the woods. Wanted to get her safe.”

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I breathed deep, and suppressed a sigh. “I had a daughter once.”

She shifted slightly in her demeanour, but didn't move from the doorway. “I see.”

We stood there, staring at each other. “She said you saved her,” I said.

She nodded.

“And you're a doctor?” I asked.

“Not anymore,” she said.

I nodded, and looked at her. She looked tired.

She sighed. “You'd better come in,” she said.

I followed her into the house, and through into the kitchen, where the girl was already sat at the table, reading by candlelight. She looked up at us as we entered.

“Upstairs,” the woman said.

The girl glared at us, then left. The woman crossed the kitchen to the cabinet, and started rummaging inside.

“What happened?” I asked.

She stopped and stood, placing a bottle of something dark on the counter, but she didn't turn to look at me. “They didn't tell us at first. We didn't know what we were giving you. The adults, I mean. It wasn't until they said the children weren't safe that I suspected something. But even then, I did as I was told. I gave them their injections, because I knew if I didn't, they'd shoot me and have someone else do it.”

I swallowed hard, but I wasn't angry. I was just numb.

“You're a monster,” I said.

She rubbed at her eyes with her palms. “I know. That's why I saved her. I killed thousands, but I hid her, and then when I could, I took her and I ran.”

I had to concentrate just to keep myself breathing steadily. “Why her?”

She turned to me, eyes brimming with tears. “I don't know,” she said. “I killed thousands of children, and I sterilised thousands of adults. I doomed the human race. I just had to save one.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “The locket.”

She closed her eyes as she spoke. “I found it, clenched tight in a little girl's fist. I couldn't let them burn it with the bodies.”

Something shifted inside of me. Something dark and twisted. I could feel it rising in my gut, threatening to spill out.

The woman put a glass in front of me. The liquid inside smelled strong.

“It was my daughter's.” I said.

The woman nodded solemnly, then placed her hatchet on the table between us. Slowly, she turned back to the counter, tears streaming silently down her face.

I looked at the hatchet for a while, thinking of Callie. I could almost see her lying there, hands clenched tight around that locket, thinking of Sarah as she drifted into a dreamless, painless sleep. I thought of all the pain I'd carried with me for the last three years, and for the first time, I felt grateful that they were gone.

I poured the contents of the glass down my throat, then stood. Without another word, I left the kitchen, then the house.

As I walked into the growing shadows of the night, I thought of Callie.