Текст книги "The Knife of Never Letting Go"

Автор книги: Patrick Ness

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

There’s boats in Prentisstown but no one’s used ’em since I can remember. We got the river, sure, this same one that’s sloshing me back and forth, but our stretch is rocky and fast and when it does slow down and spread out, the only peaceful area is a marsh full of crocs. After that, it’s all wooded swamp. So I ain’t never been on a boat and even tho it looks like it should be easy to steer one down a river, it ain’t.

The one bit of luck I got is that the river here is pretty calm, despite some splashing from the wind. The boat drifts out into the current and is taken and moves its way downriver whether I do anything or not so I can put all my coughing energy into trying to keep the boat from spinning around as it goes.

It takes a minute or two before I’m successful.

“Dammit,” I say under my breath. “Effing thing.”

But after some splashing with the oar (and one or two full spins, shut up) I’m figuring out how to keep it more or less pointed the right way and when I look up, I realize I’m probably already halfway there.

I swallow and shake and cough.

This is the plan. It’s probably not a very good one but it’s all that my shimmering, flickering brain’s gonna let me have.

Manchee’ll take the burning stick upwind of Aaron and drop it somewhere to catch fire and make Aaron think I’ve lit up my own campsite. Then Manchee’ll run back to Aaron’s campsite, barking up a storm, pretending he’s trying to tell me he’s found Aaron. This is simple since all he has to do is bark my name, which is what he does all the time anyway.

Aaron’ll chase him. Aaron’ll try to kill him. Manchee’ll be faster (Run and run, Manchee, run and run). Aaron’ll see the smoke. Aaron, who fears me not one tiny little bit, will go off into the woods towards the smoke to finish me off once and for all.

I’ll float downstream, come upon his campsite from the riverside while he’s out in the woods looking for me, and I’ll rescue Viola. I’ll pick up Manchee there, too, when he circles back round ahead of a chasing Aaron (run and run).

Yeah, okay, that’s the plan.

I know.

I know, but if it don’t work, then I’ll have to kill him.

And if it comes to that, it can’t matter what I become and it can’t matter what Viola thinks.

It can’t.

It’ll have to be done and so I’ll have to do it.

I take out the knife.

The blade still has dried blood smeared on it here and there, my blood, Spackle blood, but the rest of it still shines, shimmering and flickering, flickering and shimmering. The tip of it juts out and up like an ugly thumb and the serrashuns along one side spring up like gnashing teeth and the blade edge pulses like a vein full of blood.

The knife is alive.

As long as I hold it, as long as I use it, the knife lives, lives in order to take life, but it has to be commanded, it has to have me to tell it to kill, and it wants to, it wants to plunge and thrust and cut and stab and gouge, but I have to want it to as well, my will has to join with its will.

I’m the one who allows it and I’m the one responsible.

But the knife wanting it makes it easier.

If it comes to it, will I fail?

“No,” whispers the knife.

“Yes,” whispers the wind down the river.

A drop of sweat from my forehead splashes on the blade and the knife is just a knife again, just a tool, just a piece of metal in my hand.

Just a knife.

I lay it on the floor of the boat.

I’m shaking again, still. I cough up more goo. I look up and around me, ignoring the waviness of the world and letting the wind cool me down. The river’s starting to bend and I keep on floating down it.

Here it comes, I think. Ain’t no stopping it.

I look up and over the trees to my left.

My teeth are chattering.

I don’t see no smoke yet.

C’mon, boy, it’s the next thing that has to happen.

And no smoke.

And no smoke.

And the river’s bending more.

C’mon, Manchee.

And no smoke.

And chatter chatter chatter go my teeth. I huddle my arms to myself–

And smoke! The first small puffs of it, coming up like cotton balls farther down the river.

Good dog, I think, holding my teeth together. Good dog.

The boat’s tending a bit mid-river so I row as best I can and guide it back to the river’s edge.

I’m shaking so bad I can barely hang on to the oar.

The river’s bending more.

And there’s the forked tree, the tree struck by lightning, coming up on my left.

The sign that I’m almost there.

Aaron’ll be just beyond it.

Here it comes.

I cough and sweat and tremble but I’m not letting go of the oar. I row some more, closer to the edge. If Viola can’t run for any reason, I’m gonna have to beach it to go get her.

I keep my Noise as blank as I can but the world’s closing up in folds of light and shimmer so there’s no chance of that. I’ll just have to hope the wind’s loud enough and that Manchee–

“Todd! Todd! Todd!” I hear from a distance. My dog, barking my name to lure Aaron away. “Todd! Todd! Todd!”

The wind’s keeping me from hearing Aaron’s Noise so I don’t even know if this is working but I’m moving past the forked tree so there’s nothing for it now–

“Todd! Todd!”

C’mon, c’mon–

The forked tree passing by–

I crouch down in the boat–

“Todd! Todd!” getting fainter, moving back–

Snappings of branches–

And then I hear “TODD HEWITT!!” roared loud as a lion–

As a lion moving away–

“C’mon,” I whisper to myself, “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon–”

My clenched fists trembling around the oar and–

Round the bend and–

Past the tree and–

The campsite comes and–

There she is.

There she is.

Aaron’s gone and there she is.

Lying on the ground in the middle of his campsite.

Not moving.

My heart ratchets up and I cough without even noticing and I say, “Please, please, please,” under my breath and I paddle the board furiously and get the boat closer and closer to the river’s edge and I stand and leap out into the water and I fall on my rump but I still catch the front of the boat in my hands and “please, please, please” and I get up and I drag the boat far enough up the riverbank and I let go and I run and stumble and run to Viola Viola Viola–

“Please,” I say as I run, my chest clenching and coughing and hurting, “Please.”

I get to her and there she is. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open a little and I put my head to her chest, shutting out the buzz of my Noise and the shouting of the wind and the barking and yelling versions of my name coming outta the woods around me.

“Please,” I whisper.

And thump, thump.

She’s alive.

“Viola,” I whisper fiercely. I’m starting to see little flashing spots before my eyes but I ignore them. “Viola!”

I shake her shoulders and take her face in my hand and shake that, too.

“Wake up,” I whisper. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

I can’t carry her. I’m too shaking and lopsided and weak.

But I’ll ruddy well carry her if I have to.

“Todd! Todd! Todd!” I hear Manchee barking from deep in the woods.

“Todd Hewitt!” I hear Aaron yell as he chases my dog.

And then, from below me, I hear, “Todd?”

“Viola?” I say and my throat is clenching and my eyes are blurring.

But she’s looking back at me.

“You don’t look too good,” she says, her voice slurring and her eyes sleepy. I notice some bruising underneath her eyes and my stomach clenches in anger.

“Ya gotta get up,” I whisper.

“He drugged . . .” she says, closing her eyes.

“Viola?” I say, shaking her again. “He’s coming back, Viola. We gotta get outta here.”

I can’t hear no more barking.

“We gotta go,” I say. “Now!”

“I weigh too much,” she says, her words melting together.

“Please, Viola,” I say and I’m practically weeping it. “Please.”

She blinks open her eyes.

She looks into mine.

“You came for me,” she says.

“I did,” I say, coughing.

“You came for me,” she says again, her face crumpling a little.

Which is when Manchee comes flying outta the bushes, barking my name like his life depended on it.

“TODD! TODD! TODD!” he yelps, running towards us and past. “Aaron! Coming! Aaron!”

Viola lets out a little cry and with a push that nearly knocks me over she gets to her feet and catches me as I fall and we steady ourselves against each other and I manage to point to the boat.

“There!” I say, trying hard to catch my breath.

And we run for it–

Across the campsite–

Towards the boat and the river–

Manchee bounding on ahead and clearing the front of the boat with a leap–

Viola’s stumbling ahead of me–

And we’re five–

Four–

Three steps away–

And Aaron comes pounding outta the woods behind us–

His Noise so loud I don’t even need to look–

“TODD HEWITT!!”

And Viola’s reached the front of the boat and is falling in–

And two steps–

And one–

And I reach it and push with all my strength to get it back into the river–

And “TODD HEWITT!!”

And he’s closer–

And the boat don’t move–

“I WILL PUNISH THE WICKED!”

And closer still–

And the boat don’t move–

And his Noise is hitting me as hard as a punch–

And the boat moves–

Step and step and my feet are in the water and the boat’s moving–

And I’m falling–

And I don’t have the strength to get in the boat–

And I’m falling into the water as the boat moves away–

And Viola grabs my shirt and yanks me up till my head and shoulders are over the front–

“NO, YOU DON’T!” Aaron roars–

And Viola calls out as she pulls me again and my front’s in the boat–

And Aaron’s in the water–

And he’s grabbing my feet–

“No!” Viola screams and grips me harder, pulling with all her strength–

And I’m lifted in the air–

And the boat stops–

And Viola’s face is twisted in the effort–

But it’s a tug of war which only Aaron’s ever gonna win–

And then I hear “TODD!” barked in a voice so ferocious I wonder for a minute if a croc’s raised outta the water–

But it’s Manchee–

It’s Manchee–

It’s my dog my dog my dog and he’s leaping past Viola and I feel his feet hit my back and leave it again as he launches himself at Aaron with a snarl and a howl and a “TODD!” and Aaron calls out in anger–

And he lets go of my feet.

Viola lurches back but she don’t let go and I go tumbling into the boat on top of her.

The lurch pushes us farther out into the river.

The boat is starting to pull away.

My head tips and whirls as I spin round and I have to stay on my hands and knees for balance but I’m up as much I can and leaning out the boat and I’m calling, “Manchee!”

Aaron’s fallen back into the soft sand at the river’s edge, his robe getting tangled up in his legs. Manchee’s going for his face, all teeth and claws, growls and roars. Aaron tries to shake him off but Manchee gets a bite either side of Aaron’s nose and gives his head a twist.

He rips Aaron’s nose clean away from his face.

Aaron yells out in pain, blood shooting everywhere.

“Manchee!” I scream. “Hurry, Manchee!”

“Manchee!” Viola yells.

“C’mon, boy!”

And Manchee looks up from Aaron to see me calling him–

And that’s where Aaron takes his chance.

“No!” I scream.

He grabs Manchee violently by his scruff, lifting him off the ground and up in one motion.

“Manchee!”

I hear splashing and I’m dimly aware that Viola’s got the oar and is trying to stop us going any farther into the river and the world is shimmering and throbbing and–

And Aaron has my dog.

“GET BACK HERE!” Aaron yells, holding Manchee out at arm’s length. He’s too heavy to be picked up by his scruff and he’s yelping from the pain but he can’t quite get his head round to bite Aaron’s arm.

“Let him go!” I yell.

Aaron lowers his face–

There’s blood pouring outta the hole where his nose used to be and tho the gash in his cheek is healed you can still see his teeth and it’s this mess that repeats, almost calmly this time, burbling thru the blood and gore, “Come back to me, Todd Hewitt.”

“Todd?” Manchee yelps.

Viola’s rowing furiously to keep us outta the current but she’s weak from the drugs and we’re getting farther and farther away. “No,” I can hear her saying. “No.”

“Let him go!” I scream.

“The girl or the dog, Todd,” Aaron calls, still with the calm that’s so much scarier than when he was shouting. “The choice is yers.”

I reach for the knife and I hold it out in front of me but my head spins too much and I fall off my hands and smack my teeth on the boat seat.

“Todd?” Viola says, still rowing against the current, the boat twisting and turning.

I sit up tasting blood and the world waves so much it nearly knocks me over again.

“I’ll kill you,” I say, but so quietly I might as well be talking to myself.

“Last chance, Todd,” Aaron says, no longer sounding so calm.

“Todd?” Manchee’s still yelping. “Todd?”

And no–

“I’ll kill you,” but my voice is a whisper–

And no–

And there ain’t no choice–

And the boat’s out in the current–

And I look at Viola, still rowing against it, tears dripping off her chin–

She looks back at me–

And there ain’t no choice–

“No,” she says, her voice choking. “Oh, no, Todd–”

And I put my hand on her arm to stop her rowing.

Aaron’s Noise roars up in red and black.

The current takes us.

“I’m sorry!” I cry as the river takes us away, my words ragged things torn from me, my chest pulled so tight I can’t barely breathe. “I’m sorry, Manchee!”

“Todd?” he barks, confused and scared and watching me leave him behind. “Todd?”

“Manchee!” I scream.

Aaron brings his free hand towards my dog.

“MANCHEE!”

“Todd?”

And Aaron wrenches his arms and there’s a CRACK and a scream and a cut-off yelp that tears my heart in two forever and forever.

And the pain is too much it’s too much it’s too much and my hands are on my head and I’m rearing back and my mouth is open in a never-ending wordless wail of all the blackness that’s inside me.

And I fall back into it.

And I know nothing more as the river takes us away and away and away.

The sound of water.

And bird noise.

Where’s my safety? they sing. Where’s my safety?

Behind it, there’s music.

I swear there’s music.

Layers of it, flutey and strange and familiar–

And there’s light against the darkness, sheets of it, white and yellow.

And warmth.

And softness on my skin.

And a silence there next to me, pulling against me as strong as it ever did.

I open my eyes.

I’m in a bed, under a cover, in a small square room with white walls and sunlight pouring in at least two open windows with the sound of the river rushing by outside and birds flitting in the trees (and music, is that music?) and for a minute it’s not just that I don’t know where I am, I also don’t know who I am or what’s happened or why there’s an ache in my–

I see Viola, curled up asleep on a chair next to the bed, breathing thru her mouth, her hands pressed twixt her thighs.

I’m still too groggy to make my own mouth move and say her name just yet but my Noise must say it loud enough cuz her eyes flutter open and catch mine and she’s outta her seat in a flash with her arms wrapped around me and squishing my nose against her collarbone.

“Oh, Jesus, Todd,” she says, holding so tight it kinda hurts.

I put one hand on her back and I inhale her scent.

Flowers.

“I thought you were never coming back,” she says, squeezing tight. “I thought you were dead.”

“Wasn’t I?” I croak, trying to remember.

“You were sick,” Viola says, sitting back, knees still on my bed. “Really sick. Doctor Snow wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up and when a doctor admits that much–”

“Who’s Doctor Snow?” I ask, looking round the little room. “Where are we? Are we in Haven? And what’s that music?”

“We’re in a settlement called Carbonel Downs,” she says. “We floated down the river and–”

She stops cuz she sees me looking at the foot of the bed.

At the space where Manchee ain’t.

I remember.

My chest closes up. My throat clenches shut. I can hear him barking in my Noise. “Todd?” he’s saying, wondering why I’m leaving him behind. “Todd?” with an asking mark, just like that, forever asking where I’m going without him.

“He’s gone,” I say, like I’m saying it to myself.

Viola seems like she’s about to say something but when I glance up at her, her eyes are shiny and all she does is nod, which is the right thing, the thing I’d want.

He’s gone.

He’s gone.

And I don’t know what to say about that.

“Is that Noise I hear?” says a loud voice, preceded by its own Noise thru a door opening itself at the foot of the bed. A man enters, a big man, tall and broad with glasses that make his eyes bug out and a flip in his hair and a crooked smile and Noise coming at me so filled with relief and joy it’s all I can do not to crawl out the window behind me.

“Doctor Snow,” Viola says to me, scooting off the bed to make way.

“Pleased to finally meet you, Todd,” Doctor Snow says, smiling big and sitting down on the bed and taking a device outta his front shirt pocket. He sticks two ends of it into his ears and places the other end on my chest without asking. “Could you take a deep breath for me?”

I don’t do nothing, just look at him.

“I’m checking if your lungs are clear,” he says and I realize what it is I’m noticing. His accent’s the closest to Viola’s I ever heard on New World. “Not exactly the same,” he says, “but close.”

“He’s the one who made you well,” Viola says.

I don’t say nothing but I take a deep breath.

“Good,” Doctor Snow says, placing the end of the device on another part of my chest. “Once more.” I breathe in and out. I find that I can breathe in and out, all the way down to the bottom of my lungs.

“You were a very sick boy,” he says. “I wasn’t sure we were going to be able to beat it. You weren’t even giving off Noise until yesterday.” He looks me in the eye. “Haven’t seen that sort of sickness for a long time.”

“Yeah, well,” I say.

“Haven’t heard of a Spackle attack for a very long time,” he says. I don’t say nothing to this, just breathe deep. “That’s great, Todd,” the doctor says. “Could you take off your shirt, please?”

I look at him, then over to Viola.

“I’ll wait outside,” she says and out she goes.

I reach behind me to pull my shirt over my head and as I do I realize there’s no pain twixt my shoulderblades.

“Took some stitches, that one,” Doctor Snow says, moving around behind me. He puts the device against my back.

I flinch away. “That’s cold.”

“She wouldn’t leave your side,” he says, ignoring me and checking different places for my breath. “Not even to sleep.”

“How long I been here?”

“This is the fifth morning.”

“Five days?” I say and he barely has a chance to say yes before I’m pulling back the covers and getting outta the bed. “We gotta get outta here,” I say, a little unsteady on my feet but standing nonetheless.

Viola leans back in the doorway. “I’ve been trying to tell them that.”

“You’re safe here,” Doctor Snow says.

“We’ve heard that before,” I say. I look to Viola for support but all she does is stifle a smile and I realize I’m standing there in just a pair of holey and seriously worn-out underpants that ain’t covering as much as they should. “Hey!” I say, moving my hands down to the important bits.

“You’re safe as you’re going to be anywhere,” Doctor Snow says behind me, handing me a pair of my trousers from a neatly washed pile by the bed. “We were one of the main fronts in the war. We know how to defend ourselves.”

“That was Spackle.” I turn my back to Viola and shove my legs in the trousers. “This is men. A thousand men.”

“So the rumours say,” Doctor Snow says. “Even though it’s not actually numerically possible.”

“I don’t know nothing from numerickly,” I say, “but they got guns.”

“We have guns.”

“And horses.”

“We’ve got horses.”

“Do you have men who’ll join them?” I say, challenging him.

He don’t say nothing to that, which is satisfying. Then again, it ain’t satisfying at all. I button up my trousers. “We need to go.”

“You need to rest,” the doctor says.

“We ain’t staying and waiting for the army to show up.” I turn to include Viola, turn without thinking to the space where my dog’d be waiting for me to include him too.

There’s a quiet moment when my Noise fills the room with Manchee, just fills it with him, side to side, barking and barking and needing a poo and barking some more.

And dying.

I don’t know what to say about that neither.

(He’s gone, he’s gone.)

I feel empty. All over empty.

“No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to, Todd,” Doctor Snow says gently. “But the eldermen of the village would like to talk to you before you leave us.”

I tighten my mouth. “Bout what?”

“About anything that might help.”

“How can I help?” I say, grabbing a washed shirt to put on. “The army will come and kill everyone here who don’t join it. That’s it.”

“This is our home, Todd,” he says. “We’re going to defend it. We have no choice.”

“Then count me out–” I start to say.

“Daddy?” we hear.

There’s a little boy standing in the doorway next to Viola.

An actual boy.

He’s looking up at me, eyes wide open, his Noise a funny, bright, roomy thing and I can hear myself described as skinny and scar and sleeping boy and at the same time there are all kindsa warm thoughts towards his pa with just the word daddy repeated over and over again, meaning everything you’d want it to: askings about me, identifying his daddy, telling him he loves him, all in one word, repeated forever.

“Hey, fella,” Doctor Snow says. “Jacob, this is Todd. All woke up.”

Jacob looks at me solemnly, a finger in his mouth, and gives a little nod. “Goat’s not milking,” he says quietly.

“Is she not?” Doctor Snow says, standing up. “Well, we’d better go see if we can talk her into it, hadn’t we?”

Daddy daddy daddy says Jacob’s Noise.

“I’ll see to the goat,” Doctor Snow is saying to me, “and then I’ll go round up the rest of the eldermen.”

I can’t stop staring at Jacob. Who can’t stop staring at me.

He’s so much closer than the kids I saw at Farbranch.

And he’s so small.

Was I that small?

Doctor Snow’s still talking. “I’ll bring the eldermen back here, see if you can’t help us.” He leans down till I’m looking at him. “And if we can’t help you.”

His Noise is sincere, truthful. I believe he means what he says. I also believe he’s mistaken.

“Maybe,” he says, with a smile. “Maybe not. You haven’t even seen the place yet. Come on, Jake.” He takes his son’s hand. “There’s food in the kitchen. I’ll bet you’re starved. Be back within the hour.”

I go to the door to watch them leave. Jacob, finger still in his mouth, looks back at me till he and his pa disappear outta the house.

“How old is that?” I ask Viola, still looking down the hallway. “I don’t even know how old that is.”

“He’s four,” she says. “He’s told me about 800 times. Which seems kind of young to be milking goats.”

“Not on New World, it ain’t,” I say. I turn back to her and her hands are on her hips and she’s giving me a serious look.

“Come and eat,” she says. “We need to talk.”