Planet Purgatory Read Free Page B

running the width of my forearm.
    “See this? Got it when I was fifteen when I fell through a plate glass window.”
    I watched with satisfaction as the significance of my statement trickled into the Scavenger’s brain.
    “So, is he any different?” he asked, turning to my father. My father merely shrugged, meeting the Scavenger’s gaze with that faraway look he wore when he didn’t feel like answering something.
    “I’m a better farmer,” I said.
    The Scavenger looked at me with surprise.
    “It’s true. It’s like I can feel the plants talking to me. The soil, too.”
    “You were like that before,” said my dad.
    “But not like this. It’s different. If I close my eyes, I can feel the energy in the ground. And if I really concentrate, I can feel the whales.”
    The Scavengers eyes widened. “Get out!”
    My dad hated it when I talked about this, and he picked up his mug of cider, shaking his head in frowny-faced disapproval.
    “When I’m standing in the fields, and I close my eyes, I can feel them swimming around below. And they can feel me too. It’s like we’re connected.”
    My dad was getting well and truly bothered now, and he called out to mother. “Mummy. Is that stew ready?”
    Almost immediately we were each given a steaming wooden bowl of beef stew, complete with a hunk of freshly baked bread.
    The Scavenger wasted no time, hungrily ripping off a piece of bread and dipping it into his stew before stuffing it into his mouth. It was graceless, and I watched in irritation as he went about emptying his bowl, holding his spoon like a farm implement.
    “What about those two?” my mother asked, referring to the zombies rocking to and fro.
    “Forget about ’em,” mumbled the Scavenger through a mouthful of bread. “I’ve got some old biscuits in the wagon they can have.”
    My mother paid him no heed, placing before them their very own bowls of piping hot stew. She even offered them spoons.
    “You’re wasting your time,” said the Scavenger.
    “I’ll just leave them here, then,” she said.
    She hadn’t even put them on the ground when one of the zombies scooped up some stew with its hand and brought it to its mouth. It was hot, nearly boiling, yet it ate as though there was nothing wrong.
    “Oh, dear,” my mother exclaimed.
    “Told you,” said the Scavenger.
    The second zombie did the very same thing, licking the still scalding liquid from its gnarled fingers like melted ice-cream.
    It was horrible to watch, yet there was something about the awfulness of their condition that kept me from looking away.
    “Eat, Davey! Before it gets cold.”
    My mother’s voice ripped me from my daze, and I took my bread, diverting my gaze to the bowl of stew in front of me.
    “They bother you, don’t they?” I heard the Scavenger say.
    I looked at him, or should I say, at his yellow-toothed grin.
    “It’s not right, what you’re doing. The state they’re in, it’s not natural. They should be dead.”
    The Scavenger laughed. “The same could be said about you.”
    It got very quiet, the only sound being the tunk of our spoons hitting our bowls until the Scavenger leaned back and patted his stomach.
    “Mm-mm! I haven’t had a meal like that in a very long time. Since Earth. Yes, your culinary skills are otherworldly, Mrs. Eno. Otherworldly.”
    Mother cackled. “You’re very kind. But it isn’t me you should be thanking. It’s Davey. It’s his vegetables what make my food special. Now, I hope you left yourself some room, because I made some pumpkin pie for dessert.”
    The Scavenger’s eyebrows nearly leapt from his forehead. “Pumpkin pie? Surely you’re teasing me.”
    My mother disappeared into her trailer, returning with a perfectly baked pie, which she then proceeded to cut into even pieces. The Scavenger was mesmerized, following her movements with wide-eyed anticipation.
    “Oh, my goodness,” he breathed, as she placed a piece in front of him.
    My farm was the only one that