Chapter ten

Ten years later

Rose crept through the forest thicket, bare feet tentatively stepping over fallen branches, eyes vigilant for sharp rocks or stones to be negotiated. She did have some boots, but they were three sizes to big and clumped loudly as she walked. Given this was a mission of stealth she'd taken them up and bundled them with the rest of her supplies in a crude sling made out of an old blanket and carried over her shoulder. She wore a tattered grey boiler suit, the faded logo of some log forgotten engineering company embroidered across he back. She'd cut off much of the legs and sleeves, as despite the growth of her teenage years, it was still designed for a larger man. A piece of fabric, perhaps on old curtain tie, was the only splash of colour, pulling the boiler suit in at the waist.

In her right hand she carried a long pole, almost as tall as she was and sharpened to a point at one end. What was in effect a pointy stick was about as far as technology had got after the events of a decade ago. However, today could signal a change as she paused at a small spiky bush. Just on the other side was the trap she had devised, her own design coupled with what she had learnt from the few torn pages of an old book, "Fifty things for a boy to build". Those few scuffed up pages from a book dating back to the 1950's were the most valuable thing she possessed. After the Event the vast majority of human knowledge, stored electronically, had been lost. Suddenly the remnants of the old paper books her grampa had spoken of became almost priceless.

Almost.

In fact, they had become a means of currency in an age where trillions of virtual dollars, yuan or new deutsche marks had disappeared in an instant. It depended on the book of course; pages from some romantic piece of fiction were worth little, maybe a few potatoes if they described some old piece of machinery. However, the more practical literature could feed a family for a year. Books on plants or wildlife were fought over, some killed over, as starving populations quickly had to adapt to a pastoral life. Of course the few books that had made it to the virtual generations were never going to be enough to support the global population.  Billions perished. Those left behind were hardened, adapted to the new world, but everyday was still a battle for survival.

Rose dropped to all fours as she slowly moved around the bush. Nervous anticipation built in her, painfully empty, stomach. They'd been down to scavenged rations for a few weeks now, the long hot summer having seen many of the planted crops fail. Ferrying water up from the river five miles distant to the gardens and fields took up the days of most of the able bodied; the old stream that had previously irrigated the crops having dried up. Even aside from the ropey vegetables that currently fed them, no one had had meat for months. Animal husbandry wasn't something they had taught at schools in the modern age; the calf they had traded with some travellers that had past through last year for a couple of books and some trinkets had died in mysterious circumstances. Maybe it had been ill to start with, or maybe they hadn't fed it right, no-one really knew, but it's passing yielded little of the meat or milk that a full size cow would have done.

Around the other side of the bush was a small clearing. Rose had studied the area for a few days now, a family of foxes could normally be found scurrying around, their burrow was presumably near by. In the evening they would head toward the village for some scavenging and in the time that let the clearing free, Rose made her move. Her trap was a jumble of bits of wood that made a frame about half a metre cubed. It was interlinked by a web of wire and springs, most of which came from the vehicles that littered the now impassable road network. The Event had rendered them undrivable, the virus frying vital central systems, leaving behind hundreds of thousands of slowly rusting monuments to a bygone age.  With some food scraps placed inside it she hoped to tempt one of the adult foxes, but given her current hunger she'd happily settle for one of the cubs.

What had she become?

Rose could remember her bedroom back then, back before, littered with cuddly toys, including Freddie the Friendly Fox, a companion to one of the virtual early learning courses her parents had downloaded onto her first pair of IR glasses. Freddie had taught her about friendship, sharing and caring, all with some jolly songs with catchy lyrics. Where as now, all she could think about was how Freddie's kin would taste done medium well.

Thoughts of cuddly toys were abandoned as she looked across the clearing. The trap was still there, but more importantly, its spring loaded door had snapped shut. She moved forward a little, almost daring not to hope. But it had worked. Inside the trap was one of the adult foxes. It was lying down, but the scuff marks and bent wire of the surrounding trap implied it had been frantic in trying to escape. And there was a bonus. On the other side of the walls of the trap, and with its back to Rose, was the ensnared fox's mate. Almost without thinking, Rose gripped her pole tighter, shifting it above her shoulder, ready to throw. She dropped her blanket sling to the floor in order to allow freer movement and edged forward. She wasn't great with the pole, never once having managed to hit the rabbits that she had frantically chased in the past. However, this time she was closer to her prey; she silently commended herself for approaching the trap from downwind. Slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, she moved towards her prey.

The foxes weren't the only things being hunted that day

Rose was so fixated on the trap that she had know idea that she was being watched from across the clearing. From around the side of a gnarled old oak a pair of green eyes stared at her, while a mouth sneered, spittle collecting at the edges. It edged forward, shaggy hair stirring in the breeze.

The fox by the trap still hadn't noticed Rose. It was busy scrapping at the dirt floor, trying to find a way in to its mate that remained lying down within the construction. She held the pole over her shoulder, ready to throw, as she continued to close the distance.

The foxes looked up in unison. Rose stopped dead. But they weren't looking at her. She was trying to follow their gaze when the fox on the outside shot off into the undergrowth at the side of the clearing. Cursing, Rose internally debated going after it versus settling for the one in the trap.

Movement at the opposite edge of the clearing.

Rose looked up as it charged from behind the tree. Coming straight at her it leapt over the trap, catching the top corner and knocking it over. The fox within didn't need a second opportunity and fled for freedom. But Rose had no time to curse again as this new threat was almost on top of her in a blur of matted hair and slavering teeth. She moved the pole from the throwing position above her shoulder to one under arm ready to fend off the attack.

But the attack didn't come.

The creature shot past her, grabbing the sling she had left on the floor near the bush and disappearing into the forest.

"OI!" yelled Rose, turning on her heals and shooting off in pursuit. Around the other side of the bush, she could see its small form a few metres ahead. When it had charged at her it had moved quickly and Rose doubted she could have caught up with it if it was moving that fast now. However, the weight of the sling was slowing it down, and the awkward bulk created by her boots inside it made it awkward for the creature to carry comfortably.

She was catching up and the blur of movement from the creature was beginning to resolve itself. But before Rose could puzzle over how it seemed to be running on two legs, it darted to the left and into a small dell densely surrounded by thick foliage. Here the creature had an advantage in that it was smaller than Rose, so could slip between much of the undergrowth. She, meanwhile, got snagged on various prickly branches, tearing her boiler-suit in the process. 

Breaking through the final barrage of thorns Rose emerged into a hollow, dimly lit by the dappled sunlight through the foliage above. It must have been some sort of den for the creature, various detritus littered the small space. She readied her pole, the creature was in the centre of the hollow, with its back to her, somehow oblivious to the cursing and branch snapping that had accompanied Rose's entrance. She edged forward, ready to strike, but also attempting to work out what she had stumbled across. Matted greasy hair spilled down from a small head, but there was no matching fur on it's body, instead a general covering of grime, broken by the occasional graze or weeping wound.

It was a boy

Rose gasped, lowering the pole. She edged around the child, who remained absorbed by the contents of her sling that he had spilled onto the floor of the hollow. From the side she see the distended belly that hinted at the malnutrition he was obviously suffering from. He was frantically chomping down there meagre lunch she had brought with her; two small apples went down, core and all, with a half rotten carrot not far behind. She half wondered if he was going to start on her boots next, but after the carrot was choked down he paused.

"Hello" said Rose tentatively

It was as if he only then became aware of her presence, wide eyes fearful as swung around to looks at her, before edging back across the hollow.

"I'm not going to hurt you" she attempted to move towards him, to maybe brush aside some of the greasy matted hair that had fallen across his face. But, the boy whimpered, trying to edge further back, snagging himself on some of the branches behind him. Rose backed off.

"Sorry. Please don't be scared" she wasn't sure what to do. The boy was young, maybe 6 or 7, although the layers of grime made it hard to estimate. Regardless he was certainly born after the Event. Even though Rose had only distant memories of life before it, those born after were almost a different species, with no common point of reference. If this boy was completely feral, he might not even speak English. Rose pondered, crouching down as she did so, her hand brushing against something on the floor. She looked down; the contents of her sling were scattered around the hollow, the items that weren't edible hurriedly discarded in the search for food. Rose picked up the item that her hand had come to rest upon.

Her robin.

Not _The_ robin, the clockwork one had been left behind in her old life. This one didn't move, carved out of wood as it was, traded for a few items of food that would gladly feed her well now, but she wouldn't reverse that trade. It was just a silly piece of wood, but it reminded her of life as it had been before. Her friends. Her family.

"Birdie"

Rose looked up, puzzled for a second, but then followed the boy's gaze to the robin she now had in her hand. "Er, yes, birdie" she uncertainly replied, then added "tweet tweet". The boy giggled. "Do you like birdies?" she asked, pretending to hop the robin along the floor of the hollow.

"They sing nice" he replied, eyes transfixed on her robin "tweet tweet" he imitated her, giggling again.

"They do sing nice. Do you sing?"

A shake of the head

"Does your mummy sing?" she risked the question, curious of his background

His bottom lip quivered, "Sometimes. Not any more" his gaze dropped. Crap, she was losing him.

"Well my birdie sings a lot" she quickly said "tweety tweet tweet" she added, dancing the robin around

"That's you doing it" the boy was no fool, but his gaze had returned to the wooden robin.

"Maybe. But there are singing birds outside my house. Do you have a house?"

The boy looked around the hollow and shrugged as if to indicate this was it.

"Would you like to come and see the birdies near my house?"

A nervous shake of the head

"Really. That's a shame, because robin was hoping you'd come" she danced the wooden robin around some more

"Are there lots of birdies?"

"Yes, all different sorts" although all with a similar taste for the seeds she'd attempted to grow in the garden Rose inwardly mused

"I like birdies"

"Well, my friend has a book all about birds. She would show it to you if you came to visit" that book, belonging to Doctor Barker, was beautifully illustrated, but not worth that much given its focus on African birds - little use in northern England.

"What's _a book_" he looked puzzled

"It's like magic. The whole world, but in a little box. I'd love to show you, will you come with me?"

A tentative nod