Free The Queen of Sinister by Mark Chadbourn

into the lane, and away.

chapter three  The Lament-Brood
     
    'The human heart is like Indian rubber: a little swells it, but a great deal will not burst it.' Anne Bronte
The New Forest had grown dense and in some areas impassable in the months since the Fall. Without access to petrol, roads were mainly travelled by horse and cart, and on foot, and so vegetation had crowded in or forced its way through the cracking asphalt. In the Forest it was even worse. The ancient broad-leafed trees thrived in a silent world that rebelled at the fall of a human foot. If not for necessity, Crowther would never have ventured into the thick greenwood.
Caitlin had slipped in and out of a daze as they walked, but there were signs that she was becoming more lucid. Yet he was surprised to hear the sound of crying coming from her. He didn't know how to react, hated any show of emotion. Hesitantly, he asked, 'Are you all right?'
When she looked up, the pain in her tear-streaked face made him wince. 'It's not fair,' she said desperately. 'I loved them so much.'
The sound of her sobbing carried with it the weight of complete heartbreak. Crowther rested against a nearby tree, surprised at the overwhelming pity he felt. He had thought it was beyond him. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
As they continued on their way, Caitlin was, for the most part, lost to her own shifting thoughts, but occasionally she would speak either to herself or to ask him a question.
Often Crowther was disturbed to hear that the voice was not her own. He'd read accounts of dissociative identity disorder, but experiencing it at first hand was unnerving. He knew some research had shown that the separate identities, referred to by experts as alters, could exhibit differences in speech, philosophies, mannerisms, whole character traits - even gender. They could also have different physical states, such as allergies, whether they were right or left handed, and some were even shortsighted when the main personality had twenty-twenty vision. There were psychologists who denied the existence of DID, claiming that the personalities were simply fantasies of the patient, but if he had any doubts, here was the evidence.
'Brigid says you're scared.' Caitlin's voice surprised him.
He looked away quickly. 'Does she now.'
'Brigid knows things like that. She's very wise. What are you scared of?'
He laughed hollowly. 'What am I scared of? I'm scared of everything, as all wise men would be. I'm scared because we were taught to live in a world of Reason, and there's no reason anywhere any more. We don't have the tools to thrive here. And I'm scared because we're so far down the food chain, we're just above the bovine.'
'Brigid says you're hiding something in your coat.'
He flinched. 'Brigid should mind her own business.'
'There's a village up ahead.' Caitlin switched the topic of conversation with ease.
'How do you know?'
'I can smell it.'
He sniffed the air but couldn't pick up anything beyond the forest scents, although he knew some people with mental disorders had heightened senses.
Several yards further on, the sickeningly fruity smell of decomposition was unmistakable. Bodies left in the open to rot was a clear warning sign and Crowther was already preparing to skirt the area when Caitlin caught his arm. She had seen something beyond his range.
Fighting his natural instinct, Crowther allowed her to guide him. She ducked low, crawling through the vegetation until they had a view of a sixties-style bungalow. The ruddy glare of fire rose up behind one window, followed by thick black smoke pouring out of every opening. The front door burst open and out came two men clutching a box of food, a shotgun and a few other objects Crowther couldn't make out. They were both wearing some kind of strange uniform, black T-shirts bearing a scarlet V from shoulder to navel.
As the looters hurried away, Crowther edged ahead to get a better view. Further down the street he could see more of the oddly dressed