The Watcher - Chapter III

Paul's arms and neck burned with pain. Cursing under his breath, he groped in the darkness for any bleeding, then checked Maisie's prone form.

Fast asleep. That much was good, at least. He smiled before returning to his ministrations.

He'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Maisie still awake; her breathing was silent, far quieter than her usual deep, humid snores.

He'd lain there awhile, wounds throbbing, without giving himself away. It was best for Maisie to rest well and keep her strength between meals, especially now that they were growing sparse, but she was a gentle soul to begin with, and he didn't have the heart to scold her anymore after his failures yesterday.

Her door-opening stunt had stunned him, though; he couldn't afford to be that stupid again. Maisie was too clever for her own good sometimes.

Tensing involuntarily, he pressed his fingers to his neck once more. This one was easily the worst, and it hurt like a bitch.

Searching in the gloom for clean strands of hay, he twined them together into thick braids and pressed the bristly plugs against his gullet. He nearly yelped at the sting, but kept his composure. Maisie needed her sleep.

Wiping errant specks of dried blood from his chest, he watched his sister lie heedlessly, her great shock of hair obscuring her face. Paul could see how her baby fat had begun melting over the past few months.

His heart ached with shame.

He'd known they couldn't stay in the barn forever, but he was hoping for at least a few more weeks of respite, while he figured out where to take them next.

Then autumn had gathered strength, with all its rapid decay; most fruiting trees had already dried up and withered away. Paul had been counting on a small harvest to sun-dry provisions for the coming days, but either the nearby forest had been picked clean long before they even came, or else there wasn't much around here in the first place.

In any case, they’d have to leave again soon. Hunkering down without food was just spitting in the wind, and things would get unimaginably worse once winter took hold.

Begging in town was out of the question; people tried to separate children all the time, and he couldn't keep an eye on Maisie while he was asleep.

It was far worse that she was a girl. Four years was still young, but Paul had heard the stories before. He wasn't a fool.

He finished as much cleaning as he could manage in the dark, feeling the hay-plugs grow damp with his effort. Sighing, Paul flicked the bloody gauze to a corner and collapsed inward, clutching his head in his hands.

Some nights he felt like screaming his lungs out, and others he just wanted to burrow in the earth and sleep forever. He often had dreams of wild escape, of giant birds swooping down from the skies and carrying him somewhere far away. Somewhere safe.

But then he'd remember Maisie and instantly shudder awake, turning over in panic to make sure she was still there.

He knew he couldn't afford to fill his head with this poison: either sibling could endure hunger, but despair would get them both killed, and quickly.

Plus he shouldn't be so heartless around Maisie. He could fend for himself well enough, but where would she be without him?

Paul remembered how her face had crumpled when she'd seen his haul the night before. How she'd tried to hide it. Even that young, she was already worrying more for him than herself.

Every time he failed her, he felt his heart tear further into pieces.

Paul shook his head, sitting up straight. Misery was out of the question; he would forge on ahead. One day at a time.

He owed Maisie all the strength he could muster. For her own sake. For Ma and Pa.

Ma and Pa ...

Pinching his thigh hard to divert his thoughts, he slowly rose to his feet and crept over to Maisie.

Her face glowed pale in the twilight, the cheeks sunken in. One hand was pressed to her lips, the knuckles oddly full for their size.

No baby deserved to look like that.

Gritting his teeth, Paul glanced up at the rafters. The night was ceding to a swell of dark blue, heralding dawn.

Stalking over to his jacket, he secured his every possession, thoughts racing. Each time he'd gone out before, he always saw a window of the farmhouse kept half-open. That family shut it closed at night, but it wasn't night now.

He looked one more time at Maisie. Then his eyes moved to the door, pulse quickening.

*   *   *

"Punkin. Wake up."

Maisie's mind slowly bloomed awake, her shiny dream unraveling within.

It had been such a nice, pretty dream, full of flowers and button-mushrooms. And faeries.

"Punkin! Lookit."

She felt a hand roughly shake her arm. Her eyes creaked open, face stuck into a scowl.

"Wha ..."

Paul loomed over her, wreathed by the pale light of morning. Even shadowed, she could see his teeth gleam in a broad grin.

Maisie felt mad: he shouldn't have woken her up. The dream was so pretty.

"I on' wanna ... lemme sleeep, Paaauuull ..."

"Not a chance, Punkin. Get up."

Paul tickled her chin, flicking her hair into her face.

"'Fore I finish it all myself." He shifted his weight, a loud crackle emanating from his hip.

Maisie frowned. One of his arms was clutching something, the bulge distending his jacket.

"Wh─ " She paused, then sniffed.

Something smelled delicious.

She bolted immediately awake, steel bands of hunger twisting her stomach. Drool pooled in her gums as she sat up, wetting the corners of her mouth.

Paul chuckled knowingly. "Close your eyes, Punkin."

She complied, heart racing.

"Now open wide."

She tilted her head back, maw ajar like a bird's.

"Don't drop any now, y'hear? An' don't breathe it in, neither."

Maisie fumed at the instructions. How could she open and close her mouth at the same time?

"I can'─"

A dense nugget pressed against her tongue, briny and humid. She began chewing automatically.

Golden bliss coated her palate, its warmth echoing through her mind. Her eyes watered at how good it was.

"Don't drop any, like I told you. But there's plenty more here."

Maisie opened her eyes. Paul was sitting across from her now, holding something in his mouth. A large bundle of brown paper rested in his lap, some of the crinkles stained dark.

"I gave you only th’ middle, don't worry. I know you hate the rinds."

It took her a moment to recognize the crust between his teeth.

Bread!

She crawled over to him, amazed. He unwrapped the packet for her, faint steam rising from a tear in the loaf. Its perfume soaked the air.

"Where'dja ... get it?"

"I found it."

Maisie's brows furrowed at their unthinkable fortune. "Found ... it?"

"Never question blessings, Maisie." His tone was curt. "Besides, you don't want t' starve again do ya?"

She shook her head, vigorously.

"Thought not. Now help me finish up, then we go f'r a drink."

Paul scooped out the insides of the loaf, pressing them into a ball and handing it to Maisie. She happily cradled it to her chest and pinched off tiny bites, smiling up at Paul every now and again.

He was working through the entire crust himself, pausing once in a while when his palate dried up.

Maisie felt bad. Usually she would share everything, but she wasn't good at eating crunchy breads yet. Only the nice breads.

Eventually they finished, both siblings sitting back as they savored the aroma left behind. Paul folded a final crust back inside the paper, plunging it deep into his pocket. Maisie was still hungry, but this was more than enough for now.

This was better than her dream. She was sorry she'd gotten so cross at Paul.

"Ready t' drink now, Punkin?"

"Yep!"

Paul laughed at her candor, gesturing toward the door. "C'mon, then."

The two emerged carefully, keeping close to the barn. Paul planted Maisie in place as he moved away to search the farmhouse windows, stock-still.

Eventually he gestured and she ran towards him, wobbling. Tripping in the slick mud, she toppled to her hands and knees with a loud splat.

"Piddle-damn!"

Paul giggled despite himself as he hurried over, pulling Maisie up onto her feet. "Didn't I say not t' use that language?"

Maisie grimaced, wiping both hands on her ruined dress. "You dumb mud ..."

"Don't lose y'r mind over it here, we'll just wash all these clothes at th’ pump. Now let's go─"

"You won't go anywhere, thief."

A loud click rang out behind them. Maisie and Paul wheeled around.

Farmboy was kneeling behind a thick bush, bracing a slim shotgun to his chest. He stood slowly, barrel pointed right at Paul.

The latter's hands shot up straight in the air, arms trembling. Maisie looked at Paul and followed suit, struggling to breathe.

"I can't believe ..." Farmboy shook his crooked hair, blonde strands flopping over his temple. He spat furiously at the ground. "I let you stay here, let you both drink from our well, even hide you from my folks ... and now─"

He gestured at the pair. "This is the thanks you give. That I get."

Paul shifted slowly over to Maisie, shielding her with his thigh. "Now, wait a moment friend ... we were jus' hungry is all."

"Oh, I'm sure." Farmboy grinned, jabbing his chin at Maisie. "So 'hungry' that you've got one already, huh? So hungry you can't even guard your own loins. Don't make no damn sense."

Maisie stared up at Paul in horror, eyes wide with comprehension. "You ... you stoled it?"

"Fine example you set for your daughter, thief. Least she ain't corrupted by your sin. Yet."

Maisie gripped Paul's knee and began crying loudly. A shadow passed over Farmboy's face and he faltered, lowering the gun slightly.

"See, stranger ... I may be firm, but I also fear the Lord. So you just give back whatever you took, and I'll let youse on your way. No need for bloodshed here."

Paul swallowed. "I ... I'm sorry ..."

"Sorry is sweet, but it ain't enough. Give back what you stole. And I ain't mean just the bread."

Weighing the circumstances, Paul took a chance. "We ... ate it already."

Farmboy's eyes narrowed. "You what?"

"It's gone. We've been ... on th' run for months. We can't go back home, and I have t' look after my sister. Please, friend." Paul's voice quavered. "There's noplace else for us. We're all alone."

"Sister, you said?" Farmboy peered at Maisie. "If you can steal, you can lie too. They say your kind breeds like rabbits."

"It's just us, friend. My name’s Paul." Paul gestured. "This is my sister, Maisie."

Farmboy fell quiet for a while. Sighing, he gently planted his gun in the dirt. "I─"

The farmhouse door slammed open; Farmboy's head whipped around. The old man staggered out, balding hair awry as he reached for his son, veins bulging in his neck. "GIVE ME THE GUN, ENOCH!"

Paul took a moment to understand and then yanked Maisie's arm hard, pulling her toward the forest. "RUUN, MAISIE! BACK TO TH' RIVER!"

She took off automatically, sobbing in terror. She tripped again, wailing in despair, but Paul's hands grabbed her tight by the ribs and threw her over his shoulder. He sprinted for the trees.

A gunshot cracked in the gloom, echoing all around them. Maisie's heart stopped.

Severed branches rained from above, cascading over Paul. He clutched Maisie closer to him, legs pumping in long strides as he wheezed. "Don't ... fall off ..."

Guilt lashed at him as he ran. He'd let her down again.