Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(54)

In another life, she and Sid would have lived here, helping them. But her son walked a different path, toward the eternal night, and till her eyes failed, Zara would follow him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t afford the time.”

The man nodded, put his hat on, and rejoined the waiting group.

Another customer who visited her that night was pregnant. Zara gave her a ward for her unborn child, to protect it from the shadows. She turned away the woman’s payment.

The light-carrier’s trade was criminal, she often thought; the people who came to her paid with hope and only got false reassurance.

She carved the wards into pieces of wood and added pieces of glass that would glow at night to deter the shadows. But the wards felt too fragile and her heart broke at seeing the hope of these families. They might not see another year.

She couldn’t make wards as quickly as she used to; her eyes were failing and the charms lacked potency. She busied herself for the night ahead, marking the tarmac with her symbols and wards, estimating space needed for the rituals, positioning candles before darkness reclaimed its territory.

Shortly after Zara finished, a grandmother arrived with her grandson. Zara equipped both of them with wards. The child didn’t question the need for the wards and the protection, but the grandmother looked at her ward, turning it over. “Don’t worry, Mother,” Zara told her. “When you go, the shadows will leave you in peace.”

“Shadow” wasn’t the right name for the creatures, but that was where they hid. They crawled into the empty space left by the soul exiting the body, stopping death, and reclaiming the once-human for the night.

The workers from the fields returned home in groups, carrying lanterns tied to poles. A girl and her mother visited Zara at last light. The girl waited while her mother bought wards from Zara.

When her mother was finished, the girl showed Zara a calendar. “The days have been getting shorter,” she said. “We’ve been tracking the shadows, and it seems like they’re getting stronger, coming out earlier every night. We’ve told the council and they’ve promised to build up stores and defences.”

“We?” asked Zara.

“Me and the other kids,” said the girl. “Our parents are too busy, working in the fields, trying to meet their quotas, and they don’t have time to do this. So we do it instead and compare notes.”

“How old are you?”

“Eleven,” replied the girl.

Sid was 11. Zara looked back at him. He hadn’t moved from his position on the curb, his attention fixed on a line of ants marching across the concrete.

“Be vigilant,” Zara said to her. “It’ll save your life one day. Be vigilant, and protect your family. They’re all you have at the end of the world.” The girl nodded and put the calendar away.

“What are they, really? We’re taught to be afraid, but none of the adults really know why.” The girl’s mother had already started walking away and stopped to call the girl.

Zara wished she could tell her that the shadows could be defeated and life would be set right. But she couldn’t tell her about the greater horror that lived in the North, where it was always night, and humans hadn’t been able to keep their homes. She couldn’t encourage their hope, but if Zara didn’t survive this trip, people like her would need to hold back the shadows.

Zara took the jar with the shadow from her backpack. “This is what I hunt,” she said. “They only have shape in the absence of strong light.” The shadow thrashed in the bottle.

“Is it alive? Is this what the shadows are made of?” The girl touched her finger to the jar. The shadow slammed the side of the jar.

The girl flinched, but didn’t step back. “Where are they from?”

Zara waved to the girl’s mother, telling her it was ok. “They’re from the North. Somewhere beyond Fort McMurray. But they’re all over the world now. Back in the early days, before the War, before all this, someone summoned a being that shouldn’t have ever been on Earth. They’re parasites. They live inside us.”

“What will you do when you find it?”

Zara took out her lighter and flicked it on. The shadow in the jar writhed when the light touched the jar.

“Burn it.”

? ?

Zara wrapped herself in her jacket and waited. Few people would come now, unwilling to risk being outside after sunset. The lights in the nearby houses turned on, flickering like stars.

Evening’s last light had faded, turning to the hour when the world shifted from hope and the warmth of the sun to the lightless shadow-space that Zara haunted.

A woman approached Zara, lantern blazing against the darkness.

“Shadows won’t surface for another hour,” Zara said. “You’re early.”

“I’ve brought food,” the woman said. “You must be hungry.” The light deepened the lines on her face, hiding her in shadows.

Her lantern joined the light cast by Zara’s candles. Zara relaxed as soon as the woman passed the wards. She glanced back to the curb. Sid sat in the darkness, watching them.

“Hello there,” the woman said to Sid.

“You came alone?” Zara asked.

The woman nodded.

“Put out your light,” Zara said.

? ?