Read Online Foreverland Is Dead by Tony Bertauski - Free Book Online
Authors: Tony Bertauski
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know. I could stay in here until you’re all cold and dead, when you’ve all cheated each other out of food and clothing.”
Roc shifts her weight. Her hands grip the end of the stick like a bat. Miranda is too close to the fence. Roc turns as if she’s going to walk away, fed up with the injustice, disgusted with looking at a clean and comfortable young girl who is providing them with clothes and food.
The stick settles on her shoulder, both hands still firmly grasping the end. She plants her right foot, the bamboo levels out and begins to arch — Cyn strikes out with rigid fingers, catching the tendon in Roc’s elbow.
Roc’s left hand opens. The bamboo cane falters in her right hand. She loses momentum, accidentally strikes Cyn across the back instead of cracking Miranda on the side of the head.
Roc is stunned.
It all happened so fast. It would’ve been easy to knock Shiny out, drag her across the fence line. Her lips thin out. The bamboo cane lands softly in the grass. She grabs two fistfuls of Cyn’s poncho.
“T ouch me again, I’ll throw you into the fence.”
Rain spits off her lips, spatters Cyn’s face.
“This time you’ll never wake up, bitch.”
Roc throws her close to the fence. Cyn feels it in her neck.
“And if I even see you again,” she says, pointing at Miranda, “I’ll throw a rock through every window. You’d better hope that fence stays up.”
Roc walks off. Her form blends into the rain and gray dusk. She goes inside the dinner house through the kitchen door. Cyn will have to correct the inventory in the morning.
“Thank you, Miranda.” She zips up the bag.
Miranda nods. She goes inside, closes the door behind her.
Cyn lugs the bag through the rain, the strap cutting into weeping blisters.
15
Miranda presses against the door, mouthing the lyrics to Carl Orff’s O Fortuna . The words are Latin, but she knows them. The poem of fate and tragedy. The string instruments draw her out of her body, out of this world, away from these feelings.
The music is her source of sanity, masking the haunting sounds in the house. It smothers her thoughts, transforms her emotions. Allows her the strength to stay inside the brick house. Without it, she’d be out there, with them.
And she can’t do that.
Not now.
Miranda’s hands tremble over her lips, brush the hair from her face. She cups them over her mouth, tries to slow her breathing. She’s hyperventilating.
Why does the Dagger Queen have to be such an ungrateful, ragged bitch? Miranda went through every bedroom, searched every closet just so they wouldn’t freeze. The two downstairs bedrooms are the largest, but there are four more upstairs. She doesn’t go up there at night, not anymore. Too many strange sounds.
She spent days picking out clothing that will fit them, coats to keep them warm. They think they’ll survive a real winter in those dirty rags? If they want to live, they need Miranda.
Why do I have to suffer?
O Fortuna ends with a flurry of applause, followed by Ode to Joy.
She peeks between her fingers, staring down the end of the hall. The one room she hasn’t explored. The room with the smell. It took every bit of Miranda’s courage for her to climb the stairs during the day, but there wasn’t enough courage in the universe to open the metal door.
If she hadn’t found the shelf of candles, she’s not sure how long she would’ve lasted. It takes six Yankee Candles of evergreen, vanilla, and apple-cinnamon to battle the odor. Smells like the Gingerbread Man’s corpse.
Miranda crawls into the kitchen, candles on the counters, and leans against the industrial-sized refrigerator to the left. Her breathing has slowed. She lets Beethoven finish Ode to Joy before eating something.
16
Cyn isn’t the first one awake .
Kat is stoking the fire. Jen and Mad sit cross-legged, sorting through clothes. It looks like they just struck gold. Cyn curls up beneath the blankets. The windows are dark. Rain patters
Roc shifts her weight. Her hands grip the end of the stick like a bat. Miranda is too close to the fence. Roc turns as if she’s going to walk away, fed up with the injustice, disgusted with looking at a clean and comfortable young girl who is providing them with clothes and food.
The stick settles on her shoulder, both hands still firmly grasping the end. She plants her right foot, the bamboo levels out and begins to arch — Cyn strikes out with rigid fingers, catching the tendon in Roc’s elbow.
Roc’s left hand opens. The bamboo cane falters in her right hand. She loses momentum, accidentally strikes Cyn across the back instead of cracking Miranda on the side of the head.
Roc is stunned.
It all happened so fast. It would’ve been easy to knock Shiny out, drag her across the fence line. Her lips thin out. The bamboo cane lands softly in the grass. She grabs two fistfuls of Cyn’s poncho.
“T ouch me again, I’ll throw you into the fence.”
Rain spits off her lips, spatters Cyn’s face.
“This time you’ll never wake up, bitch.”
Roc throws her close to the fence. Cyn feels it in her neck.
“And if I even see you again,” she says, pointing at Miranda, “I’ll throw a rock through every window. You’d better hope that fence stays up.”
Roc walks off. Her form blends into the rain and gray dusk. She goes inside the dinner house through the kitchen door. Cyn will have to correct the inventory in the morning.
“Thank you, Miranda.” She zips up the bag.
Miranda nods. She goes inside, closes the door behind her.
Cyn lugs the bag through the rain, the strap cutting into weeping blisters.
15
Miranda presses against the door, mouthing the lyrics to Carl Orff’s O Fortuna . The words are Latin, but she knows them. The poem of fate and tragedy. The string instruments draw her out of her body, out of this world, away from these feelings.
The music is her source of sanity, masking the haunting sounds in the house. It smothers her thoughts, transforms her emotions. Allows her the strength to stay inside the brick house. Without it, she’d be out there, with them.
And she can’t do that.
Not now.
Miranda’s hands tremble over her lips, brush the hair from her face. She cups them over her mouth, tries to slow her breathing. She’s hyperventilating.
Why does the Dagger Queen have to be such an ungrateful, ragged bitch? Miranda went through every bedroom, searched every closet just so they wouldn’t freeze. The two downstairs bedrooms are the largest, but there are four more upstairs. She doesn’t go up there at night, not anymore. Too many strange sounds.
She spent days picking out clothing that will fit them, coats to keep them warm. They think they’ll survive a real winter in those dirty rags? If they want to live, they need Miranda.
Why do I have to suffer?
O Fortuna ends with a flurry of applause, followed by Ode to Joy.
She peeks between her fingers, staring down the end of the hall. The one room she hasn’t explored. The room with the smell. It took every bit of Miranda’s courage for her to climb the stairs during the day, but there wasn’t enough courage in the universe to open the metal door.
If she hadn’t found the shelf of candles, she’s not sure how long she would’ve lasted. It takes six Yankee Candles of evergreen, vanilla, and apple-cinnamon to battle the odor. Smells like the Gingerbread Man’s corpse.
Miranda crawls into the kitchen, candles on the counters, and leans against the industrial-sized refrigerator to the left. Her breathing has slowed. She lets Beethoven finish Ode to Joy before eating something.
16
Cyn isn’t the first one awake .
Kat is stoking the fire. Jen and Mad sit cross-legged, sorting through clothes. It looks like they just struck gold. Cyn curls up beneath the blankets. The windows are dark. Rain patters
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