Sixty: Glass shards

I wasn't sleepy anymore. Mr Cooper had shown that he didn't really care about me. Mr Raring might, but he'd be easily swayed and influenced by his partner who seemed like the warmer person, but was actually just a better actor. I couldn't go back to the Compound. I couldn't stay here.

In the wardrobe, I found my old clothes in a rubbish bag and put them on over the softer cotton of the pyjamas I was wearing. Then, I crept out the door. In a few of my neighbouring rooms, I recognised my neighbours and other prisoners from the Compound. They'd rescued them all. Who would be looking after the plants if everyone was here?

There was a map of the place on the wall and I found my way out. People seemed busy and didn't give me much of a second glance. At risk of sounding like I was pointing out the obvious, it looked like this was a hospital. Just not any hospital I had been to before. There were soldiers here in some beds as well. To tell the truth, it was quite a novelty to see someplace other than the Compound. In fact, it was frightening.

Wandering out past the car park, I took my time recalling where I might be in the city. Once I got my bearings, I realised I was on the other side of that big park I had stopped at the last time I had come out of the other hospital. So, now I knew what direction the Compound was in. I didn't really want to go back there, but I worried over who was looking after my plants. The problem was once I was in there, I might never come out again. Better to stay away. Stay away from the Compound.

My feet took me through the park to cut across the city. I wasn't entirely sure where I was going, but I had a feeling it was to more familiar territory. Somewhere near work or the train station. Surely there was somewhere I could hide over there.

The park grass was long. Weeds grew everywhere and tree branches snarled in the undergrowth tripped me up. On the other side of the park, I wandered into parts of the city that were more and more broken and neglected. Shop fronts had been smashed in. I had to pick my way carefully through the glass and debris with my bare feet. I was glad the soles of my feet had become tough so that the sharp objects on the ground didn't hurt me as much as they might have once upon a time.

When I got tired, I sat down on a bench where there had once been busy shops and restaurants. It looked like there had been fighting here. There were bullet holes and windows high up with splintered glass. There was blood on the sidewalk.

Suddenly the awareness of what sort of place I had wandered to fell on me. Where had I come to? I didn't recognise this place. It wasn't safe here. The war was here.

Trembling, but not sure where else I should go or what to do, I hugged my knees on the bench, burying my face and tears in them. I didn't know how long I sat there, hugging myself and too scared to go anywhere else. There was broken glass everywhere. If the fighting had been here, surely the fighting had moved on by now and this was a relatively safe place to remain. I didn't believe myself, but I hoped someone would come to save me soon.

"Jean," called Mr Raring, running towards me. "Jean, there you are." He was red in the face, lined with worry and puffed out. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Come on. It's not safe here. We have to go back. I can't believe you came so far. It was really hard to track you. Come on," he pulled on my arm and then put his arm around my shoulders when he saw my scared, tear streaked face. "Why did you come here?"

I could only shake my head at him. I didn't know. How could I know? This wasn't my city anymore. Not the same place I used to know.

"Jean," he pleaded. "Come on. We can't stay here."

When I didn't respond, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me.

"We can't stay here," he repeated, puffing as he walked, trying to walk quickly. "This is a dangerous area."

Did that mean the Boskies were still here? That they might see us and shoot us?

Strangely, I was falling asleep again. It wasn't right that I should feel comfortable in this man's arms. He reminded me a bit of my father, although they looked nothing alike.

"Jean," he puffed, "I can't carry you the whole way. I've got to put you down for a moment."

I slapped my face to wake myself up and stood to walk beside him. He took my hand.

"Jean," he was streaked with sweat and eyes were darting everywhere. "Can you walk?"

Nodding, I let him lead me, but his pace was far too fast for me and I kept stumbling. He only slowed down when I began to lag behind too much and he noticed me limping. I looked back behind me and saw a trail of bloody footprints following me. I hadn't felt anything cut me. My feet had felt uncomfortable. I hadn't thought they'd have been injured or cut that badly. Not this badly, anyway.

"Oh, Jean," he said, "I'm sorry." He knelt down to pull the remaining shards of glass from the soles of my feet. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm so sorry. I forgot you didn't have any shoes. I'm an idiot. Come here. I'll carry you a bit. We'll find somewhere to get off the street and hide. I'll call Bevan to come pick us up."

I put my arms around Mr Raring and he carried me piggy back style. The sound of a distant engine made him pause and look around, seeking for somewhere to hide and take cover. There was nowhere to go. There were concrete walls on either side of the street that rose into a steep hill and corrugated iron sealing old car parking areas. There were no gaps between buildings.

Mr Raring hoisted me up higher onto his back and began to run, trying to reach an area where the wall came down lower and there were trees and bushes planted on the higher ground that might hide us from whoever was in the vehicle.