Page 82 of The Compound

“What’s the reward?”

“Warm clothes, it said.”

I ate a strawberry and thought about it for a while. When the taps were turned off, we were offered water. If we were being offered warm clothes, the weather was set to turn.

I only had to guess the closer number, and he would be gone. But—amath problem. I had walked into that one. We both looked at each other, thinking. It was clear enough, then, who they wanted to win.

“How long is it until Christmas, do you think?” I asked.

To my surprise, he laughed. “Do you think I’m going to answer, just like that? And you give an answer that’s closer, and I’m banished before I know what’s what. You’re funny, Lily. You’re very funny. I’ll bring the dishes in, you can clean.”

—

Once the disheswere clean, I took my time wandering around downstairs. Tom showered every night before bed for roughly twelve minutes. The shower was high-pressured and extravagantly loud. I could go out then, but not a minute before.

While I was waiting I put the rest of the steaks in a plastic bag and left them on the counter, ready to go as soon as I heard the water turn on. Asquietly as I could, I moved from room to room and closed each window. I found Jacintha’s garden shears, and left them out on the counter too.

While I was waiting, I thought about months and days and hours. What date had Becca said that it was? And how long ago had that been? How could I not know when Sam had left? I had a vague idea, but the numbers became confused in my head. If it was early October, and there were, say, twelve weeks until Christmas, then that would be twelve multiplied by seven, which would then have to be multiplied by twenty-four. I couldn’t think of it: I was too nervous, jumping at every sound from overhead.

At last, I heard the shower turn on. I grabbed the bag of meat and the shears, and ran.

I went out the back, locking the door behind me. I hurried past the delivery area, the tennis court, and on to the southern perimeter. Despite my momentum, despite the blood rushing in my ears like a soldier’s song, I hesitated at the boundary. I didn’t know how far I’d have to go, and I worried that I would be considered banished if I went too far. Hadn’t Susie done it? Couldn’t I, then?

Using the shears, I cut the barbed wire in a number of places, making as wide a gap as I could. In my haste I cut my hand on one of the barbs. I cried out, and tried to swallow any further noises, but it hurt, and I looked at it with panic. The blood fell steadily from my palm, and I thought for a moment, then clenched my jaw and reached out with my other hand, slicing it open on the barbed wire, too. Blood fell in great drops from both hands now, and I ducked out under the wire. The desert beckoned me, the orange moon glowing softly overhead, casting the sand in gold.

Eighteen

Out in the desert Isaw no creature at all, nor any trace of any living thing. Sam had walked this way, and Jacintha, and Ryan, and all the rest, but there was no evidence that they’d ever been here. I ran, using the moon as a guide, trying to count the minutes that went by. I didn’t go far: better to be early than late, and have Tom hear me coming back in. I dropped most of the pieces of meat as far out as I dared, left the shears at the perimeter, then dashed back to the compound, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I placed the last few pieces of meat around the side and front of the house, where Tom and I had just sat for dinner.

My hands were throbbing, still dripping blood. When I came in through the door, the shower was still humming.

“Tom!” I shouted, running up the stairs. “Tom, come quick! Tom!”

The water stopped at once. I heard the shower door slide open. I was standing outside the bathroom door.

“Did you call me?”

“Come quick! Please!”

He wrenched the door open, a towel tied around his waist.

“What is it? What’s happened?” He looked at me properly, my hands red with blood, my face stricken. “What’s happened?”

“Outside, please!” I let my voice be swallowed by sobs. “It’s outside!”

He ran down the stairs, his feet flying. “Stay here!” he yelled.

I checked the bathroom. He had left his knife sitting on the ledge. I took it, holding it behind my back, and followed him down the stairs. When he was through the front door, I closed it behind him. There was no lock on it—we hadn’t anticipated needing one—and so I dragged acabinet from the kitchen and placed it in front of the door. It was heavier than I had thought, still full of random objects, and I struggled for a few moments, adrenaline soaring through me, teeth gritted, before it covered the entrance. I then quickly gathered the heaviest objects I could find—cast-iron skillets and a few pans, plus the weights Tom had been using earlier—and added them to the lower shelves for ballast.

“Grab a light!” he shouted. “I can’t see anything out here!” I kept my back against the cabinet, my heart knocking against my ribs. I heard him moving around, and then he said, “It’s too dark—what was it you saw?”

I said nothing, didn’t move an inch, and he sounded more urgent now. “Lily, can you hear me? What did you see? Lily—what’s out here?”

I sat on the floor. September twentieth, Becca had said: the day Sam left. How long ago had that been? Less than a week? More? Without work, without a schedule, I had no reason to mark the days, and had been living in a strange, timeless limbo that now horrified me. How did I not know what day of the week it was? I closed my eyes and went through the weeks, counting on my fingers. Twelve weeks. Twelve times seven. That was doable, I reasoned. Seventy plus fourteen. Eighty-four. I knew that, at least.

“Lily! Can you hear me? Fetch me a light!”

Eighty-four times twenty-four. I clutched my head. Without a calculator was one thing, but without pen or paper was another.

---