Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (3 page)

I have
absolutely no idea. I shake my head, too horrified to move from my
chair.

Liss leans
across the table and whispers, “Maybe it’s a branch in the wind?”
But she doesn’t look so sure.

“Maybe,” I say
for her sake, and maybe a little for mine.

“Do we answer
it? Do we say hello?” Kean doesn’t seem to be able to stop asking
questions. “Can we ignore it?”

If it were just
Liss and me, I’d go out the back door and never return. Trouble
glances impatiently from me to the door, his weapon ready for
action.

Why does
everything come down to me?

We can’t answer
because no one can know we’re here. If they do, they’ll want our
sanctuary, our food, and in return they’ll find a way to get us all
killed. But if I could just see who it is, maybe I could make a
plan from there.

I stand up.
Liss and Kean copy. Henry grips the armrests of his wheelchair,
looking like he wants to copy too.

“Don’t tell me
creepies can knock now,” Henry whispers.

I press my
finger to my lips and walk around the table. Everyone watches. I
mime an instruction to Trouble by protecting Liss with my body, and
he moves closer to the door, bat raised, nodding.

I creep up the
stairs in complete silence, just the silver moonlight coming
through the upper windows to guide me. The cicadas have gone
silent. The landing creaks as I step onto it but I don’t pause. I
cross the front bedroom (mine and Liss’) and take a quick breath
before pulling the curtain back a smidgeon.

Some great
ninja I am… I don’t even realise Kean has followed me until he
says, “What do you see?”

I nearly
separate from my bones and I send a glare over my shoulder. He
pretends not to notice, angling for a better view. We look
down.

There’s no
movement, just a dried-out garden full of shadows. I lean closer to
the window, and so does Kean.

One silhouette
stands out against everything else. A real person. Arms crossed,
leaning casually back against the wall. He seems to sense us
watching and he looks up, a smile crossing his lips.

We duck down in
a mess of scrambling arms and whispered curses.

“How did he
find us?” I say, inches from Kean’s face, clutching his arms.

“Maybe he
didn’t see us?” Kean looks up at the windowsill, waiting.

All is quiet
and for a moment I think maybe we weren’t noticed. Maybe he’ll just
go away.

A call from
below reaches us. “Hello, neighbour!”

“Darn,” Kean
says. “Wait, what are you doing?”

I stand, shove
the curtain back and open the window wide. “You’re alive.” I cross
my arms and lean my hip on the sill. “How did you find us?”

“Nice to see
you too.” Jacob’s voice is husky and hard, just as I remember. He
steps forward into the moonlight. His dark hair is a thick tangle,
stubble protrudes from his olive face; he hasn’t changed a bit. His
clothes are clean and crisp. Very pre-apocalypse.

The last time I
saw Jacob was in Arcadium’s surveillance room, when I traded the
door code for a distraction so we could rescue Henry and Trouble
from scientists testing the infection on healthy people. His
distraction almost killed us all.

“What do you
want?” Kean asks over my shoulder.

Jacob moves his
eyes to Kean in his trademark slow and creepy way, like he’s
downloading all your information into his database.

“Seriously,”
Kean says, “What do you want?”

Jacob smirks.
“A cup of sugar?”

“We have
nothing to give you,” Kean says. “And we don’t want any
trouble.”

“Since when
have I ever brought you trouble?”

I scoff. “Oh, I
don’t know, maybe when you set off the self-destruct thing in
Arcadium without even warning us?”

Jacob switches
back to me. “I told
you
.”

“You told me
how long a person would have if blue and red lights flashed. You
didn’t say at any point that we should hurry because we’d soon be
seeing those lights. Arcadium was locked down. We could have all
died.”

“But you
didn’t. You had the door code and I did tell you. And you found
your friends.” Jacobs’s expression stays remarkably calm. “You
cannot blame me for things that didn’t happen.”

I blink. “You
didn’t tell me the door code had to be used backwards to exit.”

Jacob frowns up
at me. “I assumed you knew. Well, that was a close one then.”

Kean leans over
and points at something. “There’s an infected behind you.”

Jacob glances
back at the empty garden. “Funny.”

Kean shrugs at
me. “Worth a try.”

“Where have you
been all this time?” I ask.

“I heard you
calling Kean’s name after the explosion and followed you here in a
car of my own. I moved into number seventeen actually, a few doors
down.”

“That’s not
possible.”

Jacob stares at
me calmly. “You move in the day, I move in the night.”

Kean and I
share an uncomfortable glance.

“Have you been
watching us?” I say.

“No.” He looks
amused. “Not specifically.”

“And why reveal
yourself now?”

“So many
questions, this is exhausting.” Jacob looks away. “I simply came
to… touch base. I’ll go now. I wouldn’t want to overstay my
welcome.” Jacob nods once and with that, he simply turns and melts
into the darkness.

I close the
window and raise my brow at Kean.

“I don’t know
if I should be afraid or invite the man to dinner,” Kean says. “And
I’m really surprised no creepies came and ate him throughout that
whole exchange. Not one.”

“Huh,” is all I
can say.

Downstairs,
Trouble has Liss and Henry backed up against the balcony door,
ready to fight or flee.

I raise my
palms as we cross the room. “It’s okay.”

Liss and Henry
stare at me like frightened little birds. Trouble lowers his bat.
Orange candles glow on the table, and we stand in the shadows.

“Trouble?”
Trouble asks.

“It’s Jacob,
the guy from Arcadium,” I say. Trouble has never met Jacob but
after we found safety we explained the story to him through mime
and referred to Jacob as the man with facial hair by rubbing our
chins. I rub my chin and make an explosion sound and fan out my
hands, trying to explain who it was.

Trouble looks
surprised. He leans on the handle of the cricket bat and nods as he
digests the information.

Henry glances
between Kean and I. “Jacob’s a good guy, right?”

Liss grabs my
hand and squeezes tightly. “Is he gone?”

I nod. “He’s
living down the road, at number seventeen, though.”

“Remember, you
can’t trust anyone,” Kean says. “No matter what they do for you. No
one but us.”

Liss and Henry
nod together.

“What now?
Should we post a sentry?” Kean asks.

I think long
and hard about this. We don’t use a sentry system now because we
feel like our property is secure enough. If we’d had a sentry, they
would have spotted Jacob coming but what could they have done about
it? We have no weapons. Plus they would have missed dinner and the
game.

“I don’t think
so,” I say. “I mean, what’s he going to do? He didn’t exactly try
to break in and cause us harm. He just knocked on the door and said
hello.”

“So he’s either
lonely, deluded or he wants to protect us.”

“The guy can’t
have spoken to anyone in six weeks,” Henry says. “That’d drive me
mad.”

“Yeah, but why
not contact us earlier?” Kean moves away to the table and takes his
seat. He mops the spilled water with a serviette and piles up the
blue glass shards. “What’s he been waiting for?”

I look at
Trouble. His expression is just as confused as mine.

I’m sure we’re
thinking the same thing. Jacob doesn’t need our help to survive;
he’s been fine on his own throughout the apocalypse. So what could
he possibly want from us now?

Liss lets go of
my hand and heads back to the game. She kneels on her chair and
scoops up the dice. “Can we keep playing?”

I glance at
Kean. “Sure,” he says. “I still need to get a job card.”

Liss is still
frowning. She won’t even look at the broken bits. I kneel in front
of her. “We’ll get you a new cup,” I say. “An even better cup.”

“I don’t want
another one. It’ll just break anyway.” She slumps into her seat and
starts shaking the dice.

I share a
surprised look with Kean. My old sister would kick and scream and
demand we buy another one. But now Liss moves on so determinedly,
shoving away her sadness. This is what we’ve become. When loss is
too much to deal with, it’s easier not to get precious about
anything. I know it’s easier, but is it really a solution?

We take our
places around the table and keep playing, but it’s not the same.
The atmosphere has darkened, heavy with the reminder that the
infected aren’t our only threat.

But I suppose
ignoring bad stuff is the easiest way to cope, so we play on.

I CAN’T SLEEP
at all. I lie awake; listening to Liss’ soft, steady breathing. The
moon is shining through the open window. A warm breeze plays with
the lace curtains, spreading spotty patterned light across my bare
feet.

Jacob made it
out of Arcadium alive. We were all so sure that he didn’t survive.
And then… there he is, being his mysterious self.

I don’t know
whether to be happy about it. I mean, he did help us to get Henry
and Trouble back. I can’t deny that. The warning lights emptied the
labs so we could escape. But I know nothing about the man except
that he said he’d been in a similar government-run facility in
Brighton, and that he has perfect and fearless aim with a gun. We
can’t have known him for more than a day before the explosion, so
he’s practically a stranger.

It feels
uncomfortable with Jacob just down the road, like he might
compromise us, attract the infected, do something stupid. We
definitely don’t need the risk of another group member, even if
they’re not living with us. Because either way you cut it, he’s
going to want something from us, whether it’s company or trading
first aid supplies or to be invited round to dinner. How can we
trust him when his intentions are never clear? How can we ignore
him when he’s knocking on our door?

When I’m too
frustrated to lie still anymore, I get up, dress in jeans and
t-shirt and holster a torch in my front jeans pocket. There’s only
one thing to do.

Navigating our
house in the dark has become second nature to all of us. Like, I
know how many steps it is from my room to the bathroom, how many
stairs the staircase holds, I know six paces into the dining room
is the table, and five paces beyond that you have to step over the
lip of the living room rug so you don’t stumble into the glass
sliding door. Sometimes I think it’s a cool skill to have, but
mostly I think it’s more of a sad thing; like how a caged animal
knows every inch of its prison.

I close my
bedroom door with exaggerated slowness, creep a few steps and then
flatten myself quietly against the wall as the door to Kean’s room
opens.

I hold my
breath. I don’t want anyone to catch me. It’s not exactly like I’m
doing anything wrong, wandering the house. But I kind of planned on
leaving the house, just for a bit, and getting caught doing that
would probably alarm the others.

Kean stands
alone on the landing, listening. Henry’s not on his back so that
means he’ll still be sleeping. Still seconds pass.

“Florence?”

I suck in a
breath of air and let it out. “How did you know?” I whisper.

“I always
know.”

I roll my eyes.
“Liar.”

“Where are
you?” He shuffles forward. With all the doors closed the dark is a
bottomless ocean.

“You can’t even
see me. How did you know?”

Kean keeps his
voice low. “It’s your scent. Specifically your soap.”

“I have a
scent?”

Kean’s hand
finds my shoulder and he leans against the wall. “Sure, peppermint.
Henry has ocean breeze, Liss’ is strawberry shortcake, and Trouble
uses coconut soap.”

I put my nose
to my arm and sniff. I can’t tell the difference. I lean over,
close to Kean’s neck, and breath in. He doesn’t move.

“I don’t think
I soaped my neck,” he says on the softest laugh.

I smile. “I
give up.”

“Nothing?”

“You kind of
smell like that bread you made earlier.”

“Unbelievable.
I’ll have to re-think my soap brand after this,” he whispers. “I
should smell like gingerbread dammit.”

The previous
owner left a huge collection of scented soaps tucked away in the
bathroom cupboard. I think they were maybe mother’s day and
birthday presents, which the mother saved liked tokens; all wrapped
in thick paper with designer prints and shiny ribbons. Seems like a
shame to not use them.

“Were you
coming to see me?” Kean asks. He interprets my silence perfectly.
“No, you weren’t…”

I take the
torch from my pocket and shine it on him. He flinches and covers
his face. He’s dressed in jeans, a green short-sleeve shirt and
navy sneakers.

“Going
somewhere?” I ask.

Kean takes his
own torch from his back pocket and shines it on me. “Probably the
same place you are.”

I sigh. “I
couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to talk to him.”

“Alone? What if
you get kidnapped, or fall over? What about the creepies?”

We lower our
torches.

“You’re one to
talk,” I whisper.

“True. I didn’t
want to worry anyone.”

We go
silent.

“Well… are we
going or what?” I say.

“After you,” he
says softly. We switch of our torches and wait for our eyes to
adjust.

The staircase
barely creaks as we reach the ground floor. We keep a stash of
hitting weapons by the door—a golf umbrella, a garden spade, a few
golf clubs, and a crowbar—tucked neatly into an umbrella holder.
The golf clubs clink together as Kean removes the crowbar and a
light goes on behind us. We both spin and end up facing Trouble.
He’s sitting at the end of the long dining table with a
battery-powered lamp and his cricket bat laid out in front of
him.