I Remember You

Chapter 23

The pain in Katrín’s foot was so piercing that she had no doubt whatsoever that it was broken. Her foot had swollen fast and it had hurt so much when Líf and Garðar tried to remove her shoe that they’d had to cut it off instead. For some reason she was also colder than she should have been, shivering terribly despite being dressed warmly and wrapped in a blanket. She constantly had to fend off the thought that now she was in the same situation as long-past generations who ran the risk of developing gangrene in wounded limbs, losing them or even dying of septicaemia as a result. She was so tired and beaten up that she had trouble forming an opinion as to which would be worse. Compared to her current condition, her injuries after falling down the stairs had been mere trifles. ‘Coffee’s ready.’ Garðar handed her a steaming cup. ‘Drink this, it should warm you up a bit.’ His face was swollen around the cuts he’d received and in the eerie light of the torch he looked like a stranger.

‘Why didn’t I bring ibuprofen? I always have some in my bag, but now when I actually need it, it’s not there.’ Líf rummaged in a big, shiny black leather handbag and it wasn’t clear to Katrín whether she was searching so frantically for the painkillers for herself or for Katrín. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘I’ve got to go down to the doctor’s. Maybe there’s a first-aid kit there with medicine and bandages.’ Garðar spoke softly, his voice oddly distorted by the swelling in his cheek.

‘You’re not going anywhere. I’ll survive until morning.’ Katrín meant what she said. Although she was in more pain than she’d ever experienced, a terrible, sleepless night would be a hundred times better than Garðar going out alone into the pitch-black that had descended upon them as they inched their way back to the abandoned village. It was only a short distance to the doctor’s house but Katrín hadn’t been able to go any further than to theirs, and Garðar and Líf had actually had to carry her the final stretch. It had exhausted them, and Putti was tired as well. The plan had been to rest for a few minutes but then continue at a gentle pace to the doctor’s with as much firewood as they could carry, and sleep there that night. Their sleeping bags were there, as well as candles and security: the three things they needed most. But after Katrín’s shoe was removed, it was clear that she wouldn’t be going any further for now. None of them had stated the fact; they didn’t need to. It was only now that a trip over to the doctor’s was mentioned. ‘Why are you suggesting that? No one’s expecting you to go off by yourself and there’s no need to offer. We’ll be fine until morning without you playing the hero.’ Katrín’s fear of him rushing off into the unknown burst out of her as anger.

‘Nothing’s going to happen to me and it’ll take me half an hour at most to get there and back. We’ll freeze to death tonight without our sleeping bags, and the torch won’t last much longer. Do you want to sit here tonight shivering in the darkness?’ Garðar spoke with almost no inflection or animation, as if he were a mechanical version of himself. ‘I’m not playing the hero; this is just something that needs to be done.’

‘Why don’t you go, Líf?’ Katrín’s question was absurd, as Líf was the least likely of the three of them to go anywhere alone. ‘The sleeping bags are light, and you could carry them here just as easily as Garðar.’

The yellow light from the torch illuminated Líf’s face when she looked up from her bag in surprise. ‘You’re joking! Do you have concussion? I’m not going anywhere.’ Her bottom lip stuck out a little, making her look like a sulky child.

‘Stop this nonsense.’ Garðar had stood up. ‘I’m going and you wait here; I’ll be back before you know it.’ The torch dimmed and flickered. ‘It’s the only solution. The sooner I go, the more likely it is that the torch battery will last for the time I’m gone.’

Líf looked at Katrín, who found it difficult to tell whether her cheeks were so red from the hike or whether it was an effect of the faint light. They looked each other in the eye and Líf proposed a solution that at first sounded very much unlike her. ‘Would you be okay here alone if I go with him?’ She glanced at the dog sleeping at the foot of Katrín’s chair. ‘Putti’s here too, of course.’

Katrín opened her mouth to answer unhesitatingly in the affirmative, but changed her mind in almost the same second and shut it again. Of course she would feel much better if Garðar didn’t go alone; it wouldn’t take them long, but the proposal was still better than his original idea, the only difference being that it would be she rather than he who would be entirely dependent on herself. Líf was the only one whose position remained unaffected: she would have company at all times either way. ‘What if something happens?’

‘I don’t think anything worse could happen today. You were lucky to get out of that alive.’ Líf held up a hand to silence Garðar, who seemed about to speak, probably to say that he was going alone. ‘If you hadn’t jumped back, all the bricks would have hit you on the head, not just one on your foot.’

‘Did you hear a noise before the wall fell, Katrín?’ Garðar had tried to ask her this on the way back but Katrín hadn’t wanted to answer, so afraid was she that he would leave them alone, go back and look the place over in the hope of finding the boy. Since Katrín was now convinced that this was no ordinary flesh-and-blood child, she didn’t dare imagine what would happen if Garðar confronted him, let alone if the creature or whatever it was lured him into the ruins and killed him. ‘Maybe you saw a movement out of the corner of your eye, in time for you to get out? Líf’s absolutely right – your quick reaction saved you. It’s pretty clear what would have happened if you hadn’t moved.’

‘I saw the boy.’ Katrín remained stony faced. She was risking nothing by admitting it now; Garðar wasn’t about to go all the way back to the factory with things as they were. ‘I didn’t hear anything; I was just startled and jumped away. He was in there.’

Garðar’s expression suggested that he needed a moment to digest this. ‘He was in the ruins?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Are you saying that he’s staying there, that he lives there?’

‘I’m not saying anything other than that I saw him. Or about as well as we see him in general. He was standing hunched over, far back in the darkness.’ Katrín rubbed her knee; it had started to stiffen because of the unnatural position of her foot, which she tried to keep continually protected, even while sitting down. ‘Who knows, maybe he pushed the wall down somehow, but he certainly wasn’t anywhere near it.’

‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ Líf’s voice grew louder with every word. ‘Let’s go, like I suggested. I’m not staying here tonight.’ She stood up and Putti stirred at the screech of the chair as it was dragged across the floor. He lifted his head, looked at his owner and then went back to sleep, apparently accustomed to such disturbances.

‘You can see I’m not going anywhere on foot, Líf.’ Katrín moved her foot carefully and the pain shot up through her leg so forcefully that she winced. Of course this looked like a theatrical performance, but she felt so bad that she didn’t care what Líf thought. ‘Maybe you want me to stay behind and wait while you go to get help?’ She spoke through clenched teeth, her leg still burning.

‘Stop bickering.’ Garðar walked off towards the door. ‘You can argue as much as you want after I’m gone, but I’m in no mood to listen to this. I don’t want to waste any more time.’ He turned back towards them in the doorway. ‘I’m going – you wait here. It’s not safe for you to be here alone, Kata.’ He didn’t wait for an answer but left the room with a resolute expression, without turning around again. He’d hardly gone out of the door when Katrín made a snap decision that she knew she’d regret, yet also knew was right. ‘Go with him, Líf. I’ll be okay. Just hurry.’

The torch flickered again. At that Líf decided she didn’t need to be told twice, sprang to her feet and ran after Garðar. She turned around in the doorway, went back to Katrín and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. ‘Sorry. I’d forgotten about your foot when I suggested we get out of here. I didn’t mean that you would have to stay behind. This situation is just driving me crazy and I’m dying for a cigarette.’ She smiled at Katrín, who tried to smile back, although it came out awkwardly because of the pain, which seemed to be getting worse. ‘Putti will look after you.’ Líf ran out so as not to lose Garðar, who could be heard putting his coat on noisily in the dark front entrance. Katrín remained behind with Putti, who had opened his eyes to watch Líf leave the room. He closed his eyes again after the front door shut, at approximately the same moment as the torch went out.

The heavy, slow breathing of the sleeping dog granted Katrín little peace of mind. The torch refused to turn on again, despite her repeated attempts. The bulb had lit once but the light was barely noticeable and lasted only a few seconds. Time passed slowly and Katrín was painfully aware that under these circumstances each minute would feel like ten or a hundred or even a thousand. If she’d been out having dinner, in good company, the same amount of time would have gone by in a flash, but now she passed the time by repeatedly counting up to sixty, keeping track of every minute that passed. But she kept speeding up the count, ruining her timekeeping.

‘I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now, Putti.’ Her voice sounded silly to her in the silence and emptiness. Yet it was better listening to herself than to no one. ‘Don’t you think so?’ The dog didn’t make a sound in response, and judging by his breathing he hadn’t even woken. Katrín considered stretching out her uninjured foot and wiggling it a bit, but stopped for fear that the movement would somehow jar the injured one. Still, she desperately wanted to wake Putti; she found it a bit unfair that he was lost in his dreams. She might just as well be alone. Besides, he was a good monitor of the environment; his senses were better adjusted and more powerful than hers. If he were on guard and didn’t utter so much as a growl she could relax in the knowledge that everything was all right. Now it would take an entire boys’ choir to burst in and start singing to disturb him, since he was unused to long treks through heavy snow. Katrín hadn’t even finished this thought before Putti’s breathing changed and he gave a curt bark. What had she been thinking? It was much worse to have the dog awake and imagine terrible things at each noise that emerged from his throat. The bark seemed to hang in the air long after the dog had fallen silent again, and Katrín fought the temptation to cover her ears. When it came down to it, she wanted to hear it if there was anything to hear, not wait unknowingly for something bad to happen. Although she wasn’t in a fit state to be any kind of action hero, she was fairly sure she could defend herself if necessary.

A soft rustling noise reached her ears, followed by a vague creak. Katrín was startled when she realized it seemed to come from inside the house. Putti growled softly and then barked, now at full force. ‘Hush!’ If the dog continued, she wouldn’t be able to hear anything but his noise, nor would she be able to determine where the sound came from when and if it came again. The dog barked again, now much more quietly, before falling silent. Katrín listened carefully and then wrinkled her nose when she smelled an unpleasant odour, like rotting fish. Suddenly she felt as if someone were standing behind her. Again she heard a creak and the noise repeated itself almost immediately, as if someone were shuffling his feet on the rotten floorboards. Katrín swivelled very slowly towards the sound, certain that out of the corner of her eye she would see the expected figure standing behind her chair. But there was nothing to be seen in the darkness. She focused on the place she felt most likely, prepared for any movement. But when the creak came again she wasn’t aware of any and realized she’d miscalculated where it had come from. It hadn’t originated inside, but rather outside on the porch, and she turned her head slightly to the right to look out of the window.

Katrín’s heart stopped, only to start again so violently that her chest heaved. Although the darkness was black and thick as soot, her eyes had grown sufficiently accustomed to it for her to see a pale hand up against the glass, its fingers spread as if expecting a pen to draw the hand’s outline on the pane. The short, skinny fingers suggested it was the hand of a child, and although it was difficult to distinguish colours, the fingertips were clearly darkened. The colour was unpleasant in some indefinable way that didn’t seem related to simple dirt; she felt it was something different, and worse. Putti also appeared to have spotted the hand on the glass and he whined piteously. Katrín tried to breathe normally but her breaths felt too deep, and the air wouldn’t leave her lungs when she tried to expel it. The disgusting smell of fish offal had intensified and she felt sick, then sicker still when she heard the owner of the hand start to mutter something outside. She wanted to cover her ears, shut her eyes and start counting down the seconds again until one of two things happened: either Garðar and Líf returned, or a cold little hand tore her back to full consciousness. But then she thought she could distinguish the words:

‘Run, Kata, run.’ She gave in, clapped her hands over her ears and shut her eyes. She didn’t want to know what awaited her.