Epilogue

Lucinda had stopped running. She was well clear of New Elizabeth; it seemed silly to carry on like she was being hunted, especially with the pain she was in from the hits she'd taken earlier in the interrogation room. Her nose had started to bleed again. She held the sleeve of Prentiss' white jacket up to her face. It smelled like him, cedarwood and rose water. Pleasant smells though they were, she was certain that from now on they would only ever make her feel sick.

She thought instead of his son Davy. He was a sweet boy on the verge of being twisted into a sour one by his tyrant of a father. Had he been anyone else's son, she would have implored him to come with her. Surely the people of Farbranch wouldn't turn on an innocent child, but she doubted that the son of the self-appointed Mayor would be welcomed with open arms, and God knows what hell Prentiss would wreak upon their town if she had spirited his son away to a better life.

Still, she had seen that there was plenty of good in the boy, and he was still only young. With someone to guide him and a stroke of good luck, he might turn into a fine young man.

Lucinda didn't have faith that much would happen. But she had hope.

She was still in disbelief that the man who called himself Mayor had let her go. If he had struck her as anything, he had struck her as tenacious. He had been very insistent upon her singing for him. At first she had thought it some freak of his or just another power play until she had realised that hers would be the first female voice he's heard in more than a decade. It was a surprisingly tender request from such a man as he was.

Cinda's heart ached for Byron. His loss still felt unreal, like some strange dream she was still waiting to wake up from. She slowed her pace as she thought of Larina and Avery, his brother and sister, and how she would tell them that their brother was gone. She would become like a mother to them now, just as Byron had been like their father. What a loss, if their real father was somewhere in the crowd of that town; then again, perhaps they were better off without such a man.

Cinda was grateful that her brother would be there to support her when she returned home; no doubt there had been a fight to keep him on the right side of the bridge, once he had realised where she and Byron had gone. He would curse them both for their stupidity, as would the rest of the people of Farbranch, Hildy and Francia and all the others. How stupid they had been in venturing near that cursed place, how hopeful. How she wished they'd had more sense and less courage.

There would be no retaliation from Farbranch, no retribution for her fiance's death or the violence she herself had faced. The laws were clear that the exiles of New Elizabeth would stay on their side of the ravine, and that the rest of New World's communities would do the same. Any action taken by either party against one foolish enough to cross the borders was deemed completely within the law.

"I'm sorry, Byron," Cinda whispered to the air. She thought again of how she would tell the children, and she wept.

Soon enough Cinda came upon the clearing which led to the bridge. She heard the sound of a man's Noise, familiar and frightening, and stopped at the tree line. There, stood just before the bridge, was the manic Preacher, twisting a length of rope in his hands.

The gateway to hell, his Noise was whispering. Here they fall, fall, fall.

He had not seen her yet. Lucinda stepped back, the branches cracking beneath her feet. The smell of smoke hit her nostrils, and she heard another breath of Noise coming from behind her. As Lucinda turned a man stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed at her arm.

Got you.

It was Mr. Hammar. He grinned at her through the smoke.

"He'll be wanting his jacket back," the man said. The smile never seemed to leave his face. It had been there as he had killed Byron. It had been there as he beaten her just for the hell of it in the interrogation room. Fear crept into her veins like a frost. She could hear the Preacher coming up from behind her, his rackety Noise getting louder. Her nose began to bleed again.

"That boyfriend of yours wasn't a very fast runner," Hammar said, releasing her from his hold. He held the cigarette between his teeth and reached for the rifle on his back, letting out a steady stream of smoke.

"Reckon you're any quicker?"

Cinda backed away from them both, and away from the blocked bridge, her only real chance of escape. She felt her heart freeze over in her chest. She thought of Byron, and of bullets, and of the boy who had tried to save her.

And she ran.

AN: Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed; with such a small fan base as Chaos Walking has it's so hard to find an audience for these stories, and every review helps! The sequel to this story, set a few years later during the first two books of the series, can be found on my page. Stay safe Whirlers!