Savages

10: Guts

Judit had gone when Sannah got back from the well, and the blackhouse was empty. She'd been fast asleep when Sannah left. She still seemed down, which was worrying.

Sannah was thinking of making some lunch, so she decided to go out and find Judit, see if she was ready to eat. Partly as a kindness, partly because she felt licit awkward going to the supply shed to get food, especially since Deera's announcement. She was always terrified she'd get the wrong thing, and that everyone would hate her, she'd suffer the wrath of Merle.

She couldn't see Judit when she went outside. Merle, Lintie and Hegri were by the polytunnel. Brock was sitting on a low wooden bench outside the supply shed, busy with something. It was an easy choice. Sannah walked over to him.

"Hey," Brock said, barely glancing up. He didn't sound happy, but it was clear why. A chicken flopped lifeless on the floor between his legs. He was holding another, and appeared to be hacking off its head with a small pen-knife.

Sannah swallowed. Killing things was licit one of the worst jobs out here. She'd never done it, but Judit had.

Judit'd been so determined, when they got out here, that she wanted to be useful, an important member of the group. When they'd decided to slaughter the first sheep, way back in summer, she'd volunteered straight away.

Sannah remembered it all, and it made her guts clench. The way Judit had studied the book for hours before, her fingers tracing the intricate diagrams of knives on jugulars, butcher's cuts.

The practice was obviously different to the theory. They'd taken the chosen sacrifice far away, to the lonely little meadow on the windy west cliff—Judit was adamant she didn't want the other sheep to see. The rest of the group waited in the village, not talking about it, their ears always cocked to the wind for the sheep's cries. They heard nothing.

That night had been the first time Judit disappeared. Gaen brought back the meat, his arms bloody, his face sullen, but there was no Judit. Not for hours. She didn't come home until well into the night. When she did, her clothes were covered in blood and her face was red and puffy from crying. She'd crawled into bed silently. Sannah could hear her sniffs and sobs, but Judit refused to talk.

She'd never really been the same since, thinking of it. Perhaps that had been the start of it all. Her depression, her renewed lethargy. The cloud of death must hang heavy on a soul.

"Chickens," Sannah observed gently to Brock, aware of all that, the burden of murder. "Are you gonna eat them?"

"It's for the party tonight." Brock looked up, dropped the scrappy severed head in a bucket. The beady black eye stared blindly at Sannah and she averted her gaze. "Lintie and me are having a Hollymas do. You're coming, right?"

"Yeah. Great." Sannah nodded. The thought of eating the dirty, feathery bodies below her was disgusting now, but she knew it would be different when it was cooked. The white flesh, the mouthwatering smell.

"Have you seen Judit?"

"Nope." Brock kept his eyes on the chicken. He cut a small slit in its soft feathery belly, and it opened, the wiggly folds of its guts revealed. Sannah had assumed the innards would be red, but they weren't: they were semi-opaque white, showing dark greens and purples. Steam rose from the guts like breath, dissipating in the cold air.

"Deera and them have gone to the beach to get salt," Brock added. "And Gaen's getting holly. She could be with those guys."

He slid two fingers into the slit of the chicken, and hooked out the contents neatly. Tiny, perfect organs clumped together in his bloody hand. These were red: the deepest, brightest red Sannah had ever seen. Brock threw them in the bucket with a splat. Sannah looked away.

"Hollymas," she said. "That's crazy. Is it actually Hollymas today?"

"We dunno." Brock put down the eviscerated chicken, picked up the next body. "There's a calendar thing in the book, but it's based around a stone circle, and we haven't got one here. It was made for them being in that camp really."

Hollymas. Sannah bit her lip and thought of Saint. What would he be doing? He had no family. Would he even celebrate it? Stuck in his depressing little flat with his nasty little flatmate? The thought made her sad. Then she thought of Mum, and that made her even sadder. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying desperately not to cry.

"Alright."

Sannah's stomach tightened at the sound of the new voice, and she opened her eyes quickly. It was Merle. She realised she should greet her, but then it was too late, and would have been weird. Her mouth felt too dry to speak. She couldn't relax around the abrasive girl.

Merle sat on the bench beside Brock and picked up the gutted chicken. She began pulling out the feathers, one by one, with fast, efficient fingers. Pickpickpick.

The group were silent, and Sannah wondered if she could walk away, if it would be rude. She didn't want to go into the supply shed now, not with Merle about. She would just get away from here, go home, wait for Judit.

"So." Merle stopped her picking and looked up at Sannah. The hostility in her voice was unmistakable. "You looking forward to seeing your boyfriend, then, when you get back?"

A tight rock had formed in Sannah's chest, and she swallowed painfully. What was Merle's deal? Why was she being like this? Had she talked to Judit? Did she know Saint wasn't actually her boyfriend, and was picking Sannah up for being a liar?

"Yeah..." Sannah said, hesitantly. "Well, he's not exactly my boyfriend..."

"I'm sure he's a skitting great guy," Merle said flatly. She returned her attention to her fast fingers. Pickpickpick.

"Okay." Sannah struggled to keep her voice level. "Well. I'll see you later then, at the party."

She turned and walked as fast as she could back to the blackhouse, blinking. As she turned the corner onto their little street, she slipped and fell on the treacherous ice, banging her hip hard on the frozen ground.

The fall winded her, pain radiating down her leg and around her back. She turned back towards the others but she was protected from view by the corner of Gaen and Merle's blackhouse, and no-one had seen.

Sannah hobbled back to the house, whimpering, her breath coming in short painful blasts. When she got in, she slammed the door behind her. Lifting her dirty hands to her cold face, she began to cry. She felt wretchedly, desolately lonely. I hate it here. I hate it here so much.