Strangers in the Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

at the remembrance of that cheesy-feet stench which followed Heinmein around.
    Even when he had slipped out of the kitchen again.
    As he chewed away at his spaghetti, Mitts felt his whole body ache.
    Not just his forearms like he would’ve thought.
    His calves, all the way up to his thighs, and then his stomach, his shoulders.
    Even the soles of his feet seemed to have been straining themselves.
    He wondered if he’d been in such bad physical condition when he’d arrived to the Compound, or if he had got weedy during his time here.
    Still, the aches and pains didn’t dishearten him.
    He knew his family’s safety depended on him getting up into that hatch.
    Even if it cost him his arm, he would do it.
    Like always, Mitts got through with his dinner before his father had really started. Now that there were only two of them at the table for meals, he had only to give his father a wide-eyed look—and his father a dismissive nod—so that he was permitted to go fetch seconds from the pot.
    When Mitts sat back down at the kitchen table, ready to tuck into his second helping of spaghetti, he felt something overpowering within him.
    It seemed so long since he had last seen his mother.
    And it sent a slight pang to the base of his gut.
    In all the silent hours which Mitts spent by himself—about the Compound, in his bedroom—he had had time to think. To think about just what sort of a life they all had here.
    Hiding away from the outside world as if that would make things better.
    Would they ever go outside again?
    Mitts wanted to discuss his mother with his father, but he saw that his father seemed preoccupied.
    His father stared down at his plate of spaghetti, pronging the odd strand here and there, but never really making progress.
    Mitts saw that a single splash of red sauce had landed on the collar of his father’s shirt.
    He thought of telling him about the stain, but supposed that, in the end, his father would find out for himself.
    That when it came time to wash his shirt, his father would see the stain and take care of it.
    Although Mitts still had half his plate remaining, he didn’t feel like having any more. He felt a touch nauseous, actually. He put it down to his exertion this afternoon.
    Mitts laid his fork down on his metal plate with a slight clang . He looked back at his father.
    “Mitts,” his father said, his tone flat, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
    Mitts felt his heart pump harder.
    He felt the blood fizzle up to his brain.
    His vision went a little fuzzy.
    This sounded an awful lot like that day . . . the day when . . .
    “It’s about your mother,” his father continued, “the reason why she’s been in bed for so long.”
    Although Mitts tried his best not to show interest, to widen his eyes so much that his father might see the anxiety which gripped him, he couldn’t help it.
    “What?” he said. “What is it?”
    His father broke off his gaze with Mitts and stared down at his emptied plate.
    Next, he pressed his hands together, almost as if praying.
    He jabbed his index fingers into the underside of his chin.
    Mitts noticed the slight pulse in his father’s throat, the gentle, almost undiscernible beating of the vein just beneath his skin.
    Mitts breathed in the scent of buttery water which clung to the kitchen air. He could still taste the tomato-sauce flavour at the back of his throat, and would continue to do so for much of the night, he was sure.
    “Your mother, we . . .” his father went on, and, as he did, Mitts noticed the slight film of tears in his father’s eyes.
    Mitts stared harder at the side of his father’s face, wondering what he might be about to say next.
    Were they going to leave? Was that what it was?
    Or was it worse . . . had his mother’s condition deteriorated?
    Had Heinmein ‘recommended’ that his mother leave the Compound?
    Mitts felt a tremor pass through his chest, but he forced himself to listen to his father’s words.
    When his father