The blood oozing from Theo’s scalp dripped down his face and into his eyes. He gingerly explored the mushy spot on his head, encountering a loose flap of skin the size of his palm. He lifted it, and let out a squeak of pain so high-pitched that he inadvertently giggled, amused at how much he sounded like a panicked mouse.
His vision was blurred, partly because he’d lost his glasses and blood had congealed in his eyelashes, but also because he’d lost so much blood that he was woozy and lightheaded. So it took him a few moments to realise someone else was there on the slope, a girl crouched next to another girl sprawled in the dirt. He squinted, and eventually could see that the girl lying down was too twisted and broken to be anything but dead. There were other bodies too. He’d mistaken them for crumpled bundles of clothing.
His mouth was too dry to yell out, so he raised a trembling hand to attract the crouching girl’s attention – he couldn’t quite remember her name – when he realised what she was doing. He stopped, hand in midair, mouth wide. She was going through the dead girl’s pockets.
She suddenly turned and looked in his direction. Theo ducked back behind a clump of flax, the tall seed heads concealing him from view. The girl turned back to the broken body in the dirt, slid something off its arm – a bracelet perhaps, or a watch – and pulled it over her own, holding her wrist up to the sunlight to admire the effect.
Theo watched, stunned, as she leisurely stood up and went over to another body and felt in the jacket pockets. He sank back into the flax feeling sick and dizzy, and when he tried to get up again, found that he couldn’t.
Nobody had ever accused Idelle Watkinson of being sensitive to the needs of others. She had long believed that the world existed purely for her, with her friendships and home life just part of a script that provided background drama for her own starring role. The only thing that mattered to Idelle was Idelle.
Chantelle dying had fascinated her. The way the eyes had glazed over as the living spark within faded, the way the breath had faltered and then stopped, easily and sweetly. It wasn’t at all how Idelle had imagined dying would be. Part of her wished she could watch Chanti do it over again.
As she slid the bangle off Chantelle’s arm (she’d always liked it, and she was sure Chanti wouldn’t mind her having it), she sensed someone behind her. She turned, but there was no one there.
For a long moment, Idelle contemplated the tall flower heads of flax swaying gently in the breeze, and then turned her attention to the other bodies. When she was done with them she’d go through the bags.
She smiled.
It was almost like shopping.
