14 – 'A Little Medicine'

Alfie was fifteen. He was returning to his family's quarters with his pockets full of spoils. He'd only keep one or two for himself, that was the deal. The rest would go to Marlow, and that scrawny kid he kept seeing in his classes. Evidence of the food shortage was too apparent, but never in the Seabrooke household.

He checked his watch just before pushing his thumb against the access panel on the quarter doors. Classes had finished almost two hours ago. It didn't matter. He could lie as easily as breathing.

Strolling through the door with his satchel still on his shoulder, he barely registered the eerie silence that greeted him. Then, a small, cracked voice, floating down the corridor.

"Alfie?"

"Mom? Where are you?"

He rounded in to the kitchen, laid out just the same as the quarters of every other Council family on that deck. Their worktops were high-finish steel, bright with expensive luminaire lighting, ovens where no cooking was done, and a neat dinette in the same right corner. That was where he found his mother.

Her wheelchair had tilted sideways, tipping her out on to the titanium floor. One of the stools at the dinette lay next to her, evidence that she'd tried to save herself from the fall. A deep purple bruise was blossoming on her cheek.

Alfie dropped his bag, panic swelling inside him. "Mom? What happened? Are you alright?"

She nodded firmly, none of her confidence shaken. "It all happened so fast. I was trying to –"

She looked up, right up, to the dinette and the place where her oxygen mask sat. Not for the first time, Alfie cursed the people who'd built the Ark. Even their own quarters were not adapted to Julia's needs. Everything was too high, too far, too awkwardly shaped for a wheelchair to manoeuvre around.

He saved his worst curses for himself. He'd been the one who'd forgotten to hand her the mask before he left that morning. He'd been too caught up in the detail, maintaining the lie that he was, in fact, going to class.

How long had she been lying there?

Alfie grabbed her arm, but he wasn't strong enough to lift her. She tried to push up with him, to help, but her breathlessness left her weaker than ever. He hooked the mask down to where they sat instead, hosed it up to the tank, adjusted the air flow, and held it gently to her face. She blinked slowly at him, in the way that always meant 'thank you'.

He couldn't even bring himself to acknowledge her gratitude. He hadn't been there, and so this was his fault. He wanted to say so, to tell her why he hadn't been there and that he'd never do it again. His fingers rustled at the stolen ration packs inside his pockets, as though he meant to pull one out in demonstration. But words were strangled down inside him those days, in a way they'd never used to be. There was a time when he would have told his mother anything. He tried to say it now, with a look in place of a promise: This was the last time. I won't leave you again.

After a few moments of Julia's careful breathing, Alfie passed her arm over his shoulders and tried to push her up again. His legs buckled and he gave in. He sat beside her and rested her head in his lap instead of on the cold edge of the floor. That was where his father found them when he strode in a short while later.

Kevin Seabrooke hovered darkly in the kitchen doorway, before swooping forward to snatch Julia from Alfie's hands. He lifted her back into her chair as though she didn't weigh a thing. He stroked her face, her hair, asked her thousand soft questions, all with his back turned to Alfie.

Alfie waited with the oxygen tank in one hand. He held it til his muscles burned, but he refused to put it down. He listened closely to his parents' whispered conversation until something was finally said for his benefit, loud and cutting.

"I just ran into your teacher," his father said. "He said you hadn't been in your classes today. Again."

This wasn't the time for this. "Don't you think –"

"Don't I think what, Alfie? I know what I think, and I know very well what your mother thinks. You're nurturing a very bad attitude at the moment, when what you should be nurturing are your studies."

"It doesn't matter if –"

"Yes, it does matter if you're absent for one day," Kevin said, finally looking him in the eye. A vicious vein in his temple began to throb. "It matters if you're absent for two days, three days, four days, and it certainly matters if you've been playing truant for the last fourteen occasions you've been missing from class."

He doesn't understand, Alfie thought, fixing his stare on his father all because he knew Kevin expected him to look away in shame. How could he understand? He'd never seen the hungry look in that scrawny kid's eyes. He'd never seen the way Marlow's mouth watered the first time she'd seen chocolate. Councillor Kevin Seabrooke had never gone without. He probably didn't even realise a world existed outside of his own personal airspace.

"Do I really need to remind you once again that as our son, you have a reputation to uphold? We're respected public figures and we do not need your discrepancies darkening our careers. Your mother could very well be the next Chancellor. Just imagine what you're doing to our chances!"

Kevin Seabrooke had never had to put up with a bully who made his classmates' lives a living hell. No one had ever told him his mother was a useless cripple, a pointless waste of precious oxygen. He'd never had to bite his tongue so hard he'd tasted blood, as that snivelling weasel denounced the worth of the person who meant more to him than all the life on the Ark combined.

"And if the thought of that doesn't appeal to your selfish nature, think about what you're doing to your own prospects. You think you're going to be allowed a seat on the Council when you can't even find the respect to attend your lessons?"

Kevin Seabrooke had never known how much easier it was to run away, go and steal rations, hang out in the disused docking stations, than to give in to the rising anger he could feel building day by day inside him. This was not Kevin Seabrooke's world, but it was Alfie's. Every hot red choking second of it.

"And I suppose my teacher didn't mention that I've aced every test I've sat since the beginning of the year?" Alfie snapped. "I suppose he didn't mention that I've been mentoring some of the younger kids to help them get better grades? And I suppose no one said a damn thing when I had three weeks out of class to care for Mom after the last bad fall she had?"

Julia looked guilty, but it was as though a wall had gone up between them. He didn't care. Why should he, when she couldn't even speak a word to fight his corner? He always fought hers.

Alfie shoved his hands into his pockets so his father couldn't see his fists clench. They were still full of the chocolates and rations he'd liberated from the stores. To think he'd considered stopping. Why should he? He was helping people, and that was more than he could say for his passionless father.

He stormed out before Kevin found a retort – not because he had anywhere to go, but because he knew it was almost curfew and the fact would drive Kevin crazy.

The next day, he had been arrested for breaking the bully's jaw. His parents would reel from the news, but it would come as no bigger surprise than to Alfie himself.

He awoke with the sticky scent of moonshine clinging to his sweating skin. His mouth felt bone-dry. Outside, the night's frivolities continued without him. Bitter and alone, he'd drank more of the Earth-brewed liquor than he'd intended, still bristling from his argument with Marlow that morning. He'd collapsed in his tent early without much of a word to anyone.

The dream about his parents came back to him in a wash of anger and he hurled his blankets against the canvas as though they had caused it. Suddenly oppressed by the stale air of the tent, he stormed out, back into the night.

The fires were burning low, but the party showed no sign of stopping. People were everywhere. One taste of freedom and their thirst for it became insatiable. Now they were free of the Ark, they craved freedom from other things – freedom from their newfound responsibilities, from their fear of the Grounders. Freedom from their daily fight for survival.

Alfie stalked through the camp, taking shadows to avoid the crowds, until a voice found him in the darkness.

"Yo, Councillor! Where's your girlfriend?"

It was Jareth, from his self-appointed place at the leader's fire. Raucous laughter followed his comment. The group were passing around the rest of the remaining moonshine, taking more than the lion's share.

"Probably off findin' some Grounder to get sweet on," The Pyro continued to his captive audience. "She's made of the same crazy stock, right? She'd fit in better with them than a spoiled council kid." He followed with some lewd gestures, painting a graphic picture of Marlow and an imaginary Grounder lover.

Good, Alfie thought. Someone had been stupid enough to provoke him. The current of his blood was rushing in reverse. A fight was exactly what he needed to shift those lingering hurts of his life before Earth.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't."

He looked around, half expecting Marlow. Who he actually saw was Flo, the camp's medic. "The fight would be ten to one and you're not exactly in a fighting state."

"So I should just sit back and let him get away with this shit?" Alfie retorted. His words were slurring.

"God, no. Not at all," Flo said, leading him gently out of The Pyro's range. "In fact, I've been wondering when you were going to knock him on his ass. Everyone hates his leadership, you know."

Alfie shrugged. "I don't know anyone else who'd want the job. Besides, he's not really hurting anyone. If he wants to call himself a leader to excuse being an ass, let him."

"Alright, so you got me there. But when the time comes for tough decisions, you know as well as I do that he's not gonna make them." Flo cut her brown eyes at him, sideways. "That's when we could use someone with leadership in their blood."

He didn't want to bite at that one. "Why are you here?"

"Business as always," Flo grinned, fidgeting with the frills of her skirt. "Okay so, I don't want you to freak out, but Marlow hasn't come back from the forest."

"She went looking for the medicine chest? Alone?"

"It looks that way. She told me she wouldn't, but… here we are."

He wanted to be angry with her for not asking him to go, but a thick feeling of worry was coiling itself around his stomach. He could feel it underneath the latent tingle of the moonshine. There was something else there too: the memory of the dream, of the last time he'd not been there for someone he cared about.

"I'm going to look for her," he said, slinging his weapon holster over his shoulder.

"Now cool your jets," Flo said, following him to his feet. "Marlow's a big girl, she can last through 'til morning. Heading out in the dark would be suicide."

The word struck a chord with him. "Then it's exactly what she'd expect me to do."

He didn't look back as he walked away, an urgent step in his stride. His mind was already calculating where she would have gone, how long it would take to reach her. He had his machete in his hand by the time Flo caught up.

"Alright, listen. If you're insisting on going, I'm coming with you. Marlow's out there for me, for all of us. I'll be damned if I'm going to leave her to her own devices."

"I'll move faster by myself."

"You'll also cover more ground if there's two of us."

Alfie couldn't argue with her logic, especially not when his faculties were drowning under moonshine. Just as he thought things couldn't get any worse, Will appeared from the shadows.

"I'm coming."

"No," Alfie said, without hesitation.

"I heard what you were saying and I want to help," Will said. "Marlow watched over me while I was unconscious and I need to pay that back somehow."

Flo looked over him searchingly. "Will, speaking as your medic, I can't encourage you to leave the camp with your arm still like that. You need rest until we can determine the cause of your paralysis," she said. "But, speaking as your friend… we'd appreciate the help. Just stay close, alright? Hey! Alfie, wait!"

Alfie had already stepped into the forest, and was immediately blinded by the darkness. Between the trees, the night was thick and full of pitfalls. Then Will followed, with a fiery torch he'd snagged from the camp. Alfie took it from him with a grateful nod, and slowed just enough for his companions to follow.

They traced the breadcrumb trail of debris in the direction Marlow would have gone. Tracks were quickly eaten by the flickering firelight and Alfie was fast without a clue. He whirled around in frustration, searching each tree and bush for a sign of disturbance. The thought of Marlow, lost and alone in this impenetrable night was more than his panicked mind could bear. He quickly sobered in the face of his adrenaline.

"Where the hell is she?" he growled, to no one in particular.

"She can't have just vanished," Will said, ever the frustrating voice of reason. He hadn't done anything wrong, but Alfie suddenly relished the thought of rearranging his face.

"We need a plan," Flo began. "Wandering blind into the dark won't get us anywhere. Firstly, we should… What the hell is that?"

Alfie followed Flo's gaze, thinking she'd spotted something in the trees. But she was looking up, through the treetops, through to the star-filled night. Between the canopy of leaves overhead, a streak of fire split the sky.

"The Ark…?" Will wondered aloud.

But the distant light of their former home still twinkled softly, miles above. Whatever this was, it was descending, and quickly. It was on a collision course with Earth.

Alfie ran towards it with his neck craned skywards, trying to track the trail through the trees. One moment he would lose it, the next it would burn suddenly brighter, marking its position obviously through the forest canopy. Will and Flo ran behind him, but he couldn't stop to check on their progress now. If Marlow could see that, she'd be heading there too. He sprinted, tripping over tree roots, but the falling fire never seemed any closer. The elusive end of the rainbow.

The flames disappeared into the trees and suddenly Alfie was lost. He turned and turned and turned, trying to figure out which way he should run. Then the ground rumbled beneath him and he was nearly knocked off his feet. He had been too close. He hadn't even seen where it had fallen. He felt his confidence shrivel inside him as he floundered, lost and unable to go on.

A tremendous rustle of leaves came like a chorus from behind him.

"This way!" Will was shouting, pointing with his good arm. Off Alfie went, propelled by his urgency. He glanced back only occasionally to check Will's directions until an acrid smell of burning fuel became his guide instead. It wormed its way through the trees, a cloying grey smog following close behind. The deadly trail let him straight to the scene of the crash.

Alfie blundered in without a moment's thought, but Flo caught up to push a square of torn fabric into his hands. A matching piece was covering her nose and mouth. He copied, breathing air deeply through the material. He followed the glowing light through the trees. Blurred out by the smoke, it seemed to be coming from all around them. Alfie pushed through to the centre point, where the heat stung his skin and the light was almost blinding. Whatever had hit the ground was now up in tall, scorching flames, lending its destruction to the trees that surrounded it. A smudged silhouette of a person stood watching the wreckage.

"Drift?" Alfie called out. But the shape was wrong – the hair was short, the build too big.

"Sorry, Councillor. Your girlfriend's not here."

"Jareth? What is this?"

"It fell from the sky," The Pyro explained, his eyes alight with the brightness of the flames. "It's a ship."

Flo pushed forward. "Is there someone inside?"

"If there is, they're beef jerky by now."

Will was coughing and spluttering somewhere behind them. "Over there!" He paused for breath. "Someone… running!"

"Ain't no way," The Pyro said, a dreamlike quality to his voice that made him sound like an old man reminiscing on times gone by. "Ain't no one who could run after this."

Alfie wasn't thinking of the passenger. There was every chance that shadowy figure could be Marlow, and he set out in pursuit. The fire singed the hair on his arms as he ran headlong through the wreck. The trees and the darkness provided cover for the runner, and Alfie struggled to keep pace. He tried to shout out, but the person ignored him. They seemed huge, swaying heavily underneath the weight of something as they sped away, navigating artfully through the trees.

Without even stopping, the person whirled around and threw something in Alfie's direction. He wasn't quick enough to dodge even though the shot was clumsy. The thing grazed his arm. It was a knife, and the person who threw it was a Grounder. The light had just shifted enough for Alfie to get an impression of bright, hostile eyes, and the shape of someone slung over the stranger's shoulder.

They rounded in to a mossy clearing, Alfie almost certain he had cornered them. But the Grounder had slipped away, into whatever rat tunnels those people crawled through.

Alfie kicked the dirt, sending a rabbit with three misshapen ears skittering away in a cloud of dust.

"Anything?" Flo asked, when he returned to the site of the wreckage. Her arms were sooty up to the elbows. No doubt she had been searching for a body in the places where the fire was weakest.

"They got away," Alfie said, clutching his injured arm. "But at least now I know what I have to do."

"And what's that, Councillor?" The Pyro was somehow able to look away from the flames long enough to say. "Don't forget, you don't do anything without my say so."

Alfie's hand held the knife that had hit him, retrieved from the forest floor. It was strikingly familiar, roughly carved and made of wood. "With or without your say so, commander – I'm going to the Grounder camp. They've got Marlow."