him: Forest and Jelly. He drew Porkchop outside.
"You can’t stay here, now that...now that there are no adults," he told her.
Deloran County Law was clear about orphaned children, PC Pierre explained. Decades ago, there had been so many of them — left behind when their infected parents died — that the authorities had passed the law to keep them from overrunning the streets. Unless someone agreed to take the orphans or the owner of the land agreed to let them stay on, children under the age of twenty automatically became wards of the state and were sent to forestry camps, orchards and farms across the county. Most were already used to hard work and, other than the cost of a little food, they were cheap labour. Many of them died in the camps or ran away and died in the forest.
Porkchop looked down at her feet. She dreaded what the Constable would say next. There’s so many of us, she thought. We have to stay together.
"But," the Constable continued, "your grandfather said he’d take you."
"Grandfather?"
"Pater, that's your grandfather. He knew that your Pa and all of you were here."
"But Pa never said anything."
"He didn't know. Pater asked me not to tell him. Told me it wasn’t my place." PC Pierre looked briefly at his own feet. "He's a bit, well he can be a bit difficult. But he has about ten acres of farmland. There’ll be plenty of room for all of you. And who knows? You’ll be twenty in less than two years. Maybe the Landlord will take the family back on here."
Porkchop doubted that.
The Constable stayed the night so that they could get an early start the next day. When he woke up the next morning the children were already packed and ready to go. Nine rucksacks of varying sizes sat in a neat line by the press house door.
After breakfast the Constable fed and watered Josephine and harnessed her to the cart. Porkchop, with Bull and Jones, did a final inspection of the buildings, making sure that everything was in its place. Santa washed the dishes, passing them to the others, who dried them and put them back onto the kitchen shelves. Mixer sat in front of the open press house door, smacking his fist on the ground over and over.
The sun was almost up when they left.
They bumped slowly along the potholed roads. Most were gravel and dirt, but some still had a coating of black tar in places, broken off at the road sides. They said very little. Porkchop and Titania sat up front with the Constable, the younger ones in the back. Bull, Forest and Jones walked alongside the cart.
Jelly sat on her pack watching as the road slowly wound out beneath her. Her pack contained her medicine box, seeds, some small garden tools, a few pieces of clothing, and the two books that Pa had given her.
Left from the orchard. Right at Farrow Road. Straight for about an hour. Left at fork. Right at intersection.
Along the way she spotted anything with writing on it, repeating the words over and over in her mind. She recognized some old road signs, the kind that Pa used to bring home sometimes. Rectangles and octagons and triangles. Some of the triangles still had faded tinges of yellow paint on them and the outline of three black wedges in the middle.
Narrow was also silently memorizing the route. They were heading west. He would update his maps as soon as he got the chance.
Santa sat with her legs stretched out in a V, Mixer nestled between them. He looked miserable. At the start of the journey he had drawn a handful of dirt from his pocket and flung it on the bottom of the cart in front of him. He drew his fingers through it, over and over again. Santa began to hum a tuneless tune and soon Mixer fell asleep.
Josephine took an easy pace. The children had never been away from the orchard and were quiet as they studied their slowly passing surroundings. PC Pierre would occasionally interject with stories.
"Part of this area was carved out by rocks that were hurled after the explosion," the Constable said to Porkchop who sat next to him.
From the back of the cart Narrow asked, "What explosion?"
"Well, the history's not clear. From what I've been able to piece together from the records there was some kind of upheaval or explosion, a few hundred years ago. Some records say it could have been an earthquake or a meteor." He anticipated Narrow's next question. "A meteor's a big hunk of rock that flies around with the stars in space." Narrow looked up into the sky. "You've seen a shooting star, right? That's a meteor."
He explained that whatever the cause, the ground had heaved so badly that it split apart many mountains, shooting boulders in every direction.
"I'm pretty sure that's how Honey Hill got to look the way it does," he said. "I'll show you when we get a little closer."
The Constable steered Josephine along the route that hugged Spoon Valley rather than go through Battery and risk the Landlord seeing the children.
"This is Spoon Valley — "
"Is it true that it's shaped like a soup spoon?" Narrow called from the back of the cart. "Pa told us that."
"He was right."
They stopped on the road and ate a cold supper after which Bull, Forest and Jones clambered into the wagon with the rest of their brothers and sisters. All the children were now asleep, crammed up against one another in the small cart; he took the blanket from under his seat and laid it across the younger ones.
The evening was clear and bright with stars. In the woods along the roadsides the Constable caught a glimpse of glow moss. He didn't see it much anymore but every now and then a patch would pop up. It looked like ordinary water moss during the day, the kind some farmers used to retain moisture in the soil, but at night it would glow, a bright white light at first that would fade as the night progressed. He noticed that the glow was beginning to fade and urged Josephine onward.
"Just make it to the cabin, Josie. It's just a little further," he said quietly.
He had planned on breaking the trip into three legs but Forest had told him that the weather would turn sharply colder overnight. PC Pierre decided it was best to get as close to the farm as possible tonight. Josephine didn't do well in the cold.
It was morning but still dark and the north wind had picked up when he steered Josephine into the yard at the cabin. He woke up Porkchop.
"I'm sorry, there's not much room. I'll sleep in the shed with Josephine. You take the cabin. We'll get to the farm tomorrow."
Porkchop woke her siblings and they shuffled inside. It was smaller than any building they'd ever been in; even the orchard shed was bigger. Porkchop insisted that they all eat, after which the Constable left to bed down with Josephine in the shed. The cabin had only one bed, which Porkchop gave to Titania, Santa and Mixer. The rest of them slept on straw mats on the floor. Porkchop took a spot close to the fireplace and kept it smouldering for warmth through the night.
They all slept in, except for Josephine who'd been awake for hours, pacing around her stall, looking at the sleeping Constable, then out the window, then back at him. Finally, she'd had enough, walked over to him and flapped her lips in his ear; he woke with a start, his hand rising automatically to wipe off the spit.
It was cold and they could see their breath as they started on the final leg of their journey. Josephine was tired and annoyed at the cold and slowed her already slow pace.
Eventually the road turned a corner and, in the distance, Honey Hill came into view.
"Is that it?" asked Narrow, pointing. Porkchop had chosen to walk that morning beside the cart and Narrow had hopped into her empty spot.
The Constable nodded. "Yep. That's Honey Hill. Now, the interesting thing about the hill is — "
"How come it's called Honey Hill? Are there bees?"
"Honeysuckle. But yes, there's plenty of bees."
Narrow expected the Constable to continue but when he didn't he prompted him. "So...?"
"Oh so...why Honey Hill looks that way? See how there's a flat part on the left? That's the plateau." The Constable put the reins between his knees and gestured with both hands. "And then the cliff top? You can climb that but it's pretty steep
. That's not natural. A boulder smashed into it. Took out the whole side."
"How do you know?"
"Remember what I told you yesterday about the explosion? It rocked the ground so badly that things started to shake apart, crack open. Whole mountains got pounded into dust. Honey Hill must have been in the way of a stray boulder. There are lots of big stones in the Valley. They had to have come from somewhere."
"I wonder what it was like."
The Constable smiled. "Probably pretty loud." Narrow laughed.
It was late afternoon when the children finally clambered down from the mule cart. Their tired eyes followed the Constable’s pointed finger down the road to where it opened up into a large bowl shape.
A small wooden house stood, leaned more like, at the bottom of it. Its roof and sides were patched with a hodgepodge of corrugated aluminum and yellowed plastic siding. Wisps of smoke escaped from a skinny metal chimney that poked out of the roof. The front porch, furnished with a wooden folding chair and an oak stump with an axe embedded in it, sagged in the middle. To the right of the house was a path that led into woods; to its far left was an enormous barn, its boards weather-stained a greyish purple. In front of the house was a dilapidated stone well; part of its rounded wall had fallen in. At the back, its outer roof edge just barely visible was the outhouse.
"It’s getting late and I need to get back to Battery," PC Pierre explained to Porkchop. The last pay day of the year for the local lumbermen was in