Reborn

by Alex Scarrow

  Last week, Danielle’s group had been on kitchen duty, with Danielle, specifically, on porridge duty. The hall that morning had echoed with people making surprised gagging sounds as they’d tucked into her salty offering.

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll live dangerously and try your porridge . . . again.’

  Danielle splattered a ladleful into Freya’s bowl.

  ‘Your heart’s really not in this job, is it?’

  She glared at Freya.

  Leon ordered the same as her, and they found a space at the table. He looked around for his sister. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She was still in her bed when I got up,’ said Freya. ‘She’ll miss breakfast if she doesn’t—’

  ‘Ah . . . there she is.’ Leon saw Grace coming down the steps from the gallery floor. He waved his arms to catch her attention.

  Freya grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t talk about last night, Leon, OK? It’s kind of personal and very embarrassing the first time.’

  ‘Hey, c’mon. I’m not a complete idiot.’ He waved to Grace again. She saw him and flashed a smile their way.

  They watched her queue, grab a bowl of porridge and finally she joined them. Freya shuffled sideways to make a space for her between them. ‘How are you feeling this morning, hon?’

  Leon’s jaw hung open and he spread his hands. I thought you just said—

  ‘Leon told me what happened last night,’ Freya carried on quietly. ‘It’s really crappy first time.’

  Grace nodded. ‘I feel horrible.’

  ‘You should go talk to Dr Hahn. She might be able to get you excused from duties today.’ Freya craned her neck to look around for her. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Leon. ‘Not seen her yet.’

  ‘Is she still in bed?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘No. I think she must’ve got up extra early.’

  ‘Well, after breakfast, if you like, I’ll come with you and we’ll go up to her infirmary and get her to write you a note to give to Everett or something.’

  ‘It’s OK. You don’t need to, Freya.’

  ‘Hey, I don’t mind.’

  ‘No. Honestly. You don’t need to. I’m fine.’

  ‘You should be excused today. Seriously . . . it’s not a good idea to—’

  ‘I’ll go see her!’ Grace cut in tersely. ‘OK?’

  Freya recoiled slightly. ‘OK . . . well, good.’

  Leon met Freya’s eyes, his eyebrows arched with surprise and a tight-lipped mouth struggling to keep a smile from spilling out.

  Freya cautioned him with a quick frown. Don’t! Say! Anything! And placed a hand on Grace’s back. ‘We’ll come and check in on you later at lunchtime, if you like?’

  Grace shrugged the hand off and spooned the porridge into her mouth without comment.

  ‘Or do you want some space?’

  Grace nodded, then ate in silence for a minute before finally sitting back and managing a grateful smile. ‘I’m sorry for being crabby with you.’

  ‘No worries,’ Freya replied, and winked.

  ‘I’ll go see her,’ said Grace. ‘And I’ll get a note . . . like you said.’

  Grace slowly ate her breakfast, her head dipped, staring at the bowl on the table in front of her and hoping Leon and Freya would sense that she’d rather opt out of any breakfast chitter-chatter this morning. They got the hint and started talking about what work tasks they had lined up for the day and conducting a post-mortem on a flare-up that had happened yesterday evening in the female dormitory between Danielle and Denise.

  Her mind drifted quickly on to other things. More pressing matters.

  On Claudia Hahn.

  Dr Hahn was upstairs right now. She was lying in the dark, narrow space beneath her dormitory cot. And she was no more . . . not in the ‘outside world’ sense, at least. She was gone. She was now safely absorbed – contained – within the ‘inside world’.

  The thing that was lying beneath the cot wasn’t ready yet. If anyone had been bothered enough to trace the source of the faint yeasty smell, and ducked down on to all fours to look beneath her bed, they would have seen something unfinished.

  A glistening in-progress project: a skeleton. The real bones of Claudia Hahn, slowly being encased in a thickening soup that had once been her soft tissue, rendered down to a bubbling pink broth during the night. And now the community of cells was working as quickly as they possibly could to reassemble a passable facsimile of her.

  By lunchtime, Grace expected the internal organs would be completed, and muscle tissue would be growing like fungus along her abandoned bones. By mid-afternoon, the outer cells would be forming into a thin translucent layer of skin. By dinner time, the skin would have thickened and acquired a suitable amount of pigment to look convincing. The cells hard at work upstairs had learned lessons from other cells, which, in turn, had learned from other cells. Bones could be reused instead of attempting to create a tough resinous skeletal frame, which was the most time-consuming part of the fabrication process. Better still, another shortcut that had been learned over the last year: the keratin-based components, hair and nails, could also be reused. The cells that comprised the skin of Hahn’s scalp had been left untouched and remained anchored to her skull. Last of all, in the final hour of the project, it would be absorbed, carefully replaced, cell by cell, with remade skin, each hair follicle preserved in place.

  Grace had dealt with the stained sheets on her bed. And her chance encounter with Leon earlier this morning had actually been helpful. If there had been any doubts in his mind that she was the sister he once knew, that she was human, then it seemed those doubts had been dispelled.

  But she was still going to need to dispose of Hahn’s bloodstained pyjama bottoms and T-shirt, and then help her put on her day clothes. The copy of Claudia Hahn was going to need a few more hours’ preparation to ready itself for interaction with the others. To learn how to move like she had; to recreate the timbre of her voice. There was no doubt about it, those here who knew her well enough were going to notice she was behaving oddly, differently. Not sounding quite like her old self.

  But, then, none of those people had yet encountered a convincing remade human. Their only experience had been with crude copies from months and months ago.

  None of them have any idea how well we can do this now.

  CHAPTER 27

  ‘No – let me go talk to her first,’ said Freya.

  ‘I just want to see how she is.’ Leon flicked the crumbs of the energy oat-bar off his lap. The others in his work group were still eating theirs, and there was another quarter of an hour before the afternoon work-session horn was going to be sounded. That morning his group had been out in the grounds digging up the remains of the potato crop. Everett was determined that every last scrap of food nearby be brought into the castle in case the virals returned to try their luck again at getting in. It had been drizzling all morning and his hands, arms, sweatshirt and jeans were all caked with mud.

  ‘Girl talk.’ Freya gave him that you wouldn’t understand look of hers. ‘She won’t want to talk about it with her brother, Leon. Trust me.’

  ‘Oh, jeez . . . Fine.’

  Freya planted her hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re somewhat complicated, us ladies.’ Then pushed herself up. ‘I’ll catch you later.’

  She made her way into the keep, across the main hall. It was filled with the clatter of crockery being gathered from the long tables and stacked for washing up, and Danielle’s droning, echoing voice as she bitched about people not bringing their bowls back to the kitchen hatch.

  She took the stairs up to the gallery, then crossed the floor to Hahn’s infirmary. She knocked on the door. ‘Dr Hahn?’

  No answer.

  She knocked again, waited, then tried the door handle. The room was locked. Which was unusual. Hahn’s ‘my door is always open’ mantra, which came at the end of every medical briefing, was clearly not in effect today.

  She’s probably with Grace.


  She made her way across the gallery floor to the women’s dormitory, expecting to find the doctor sitting beside Grace’s cot chatting away with her. The two seemed to have become very close over the last couple of weeks.

  She pushed the door open and poked her head in. ‘Dr Hahn?’

  There was no answer. But she saw Grace in her bed, lying on her side, knees drawn up and her blanket pulled over her. ‘Hey, Grace . . . you OK?’

  She tiptoed over in case Grace was asleep.

  Grace stirred and yawned. ‘Hey, Freya,’ she replied blearily.

  ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘I got tummy cramps.’

  ‘Ouch . . . hate those.’ Freya placed her walking stick on the floor between the cots and sat down heavily on Dr Hahn’s. The springs creaked under her. ‘It’s usually, like, just for the first day, then it gets better. What did Dr Hahn say?’

  ‘Oh, she said I should stay in bed today.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought she probably would.’

  ‘She said I was still quite weak, and then having this happen too . . .’

  ‘I guess she’s let Everett know you’re off?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Think so.’

  Freya leaned forward and stroked Grace’s forehead lightly. Her fingers were close to the ridges of scar tissue. ‘That’s not tender?’

  ‘It’s nice,’ whispered Grace. She closed her eyes. ‘Mom used to do that.’

  Freya listened to the rustle of her even breathing. There was a slight wheezing sound and she wondered if that was a result of scarring inside her throat or nasal passage. She had a flash of memory of that day back at Emerald Park, the screaming coming from the storeroom and the gleeful baying of David Lester.

  It had seemed like some medieval witch hunt – supposedly civilized, educated humans reduced to simple-minded tribal savagery. The memory brought with it the smell.

  That horrible smell. A whiff of diesel and . . .

  Freya clenched her eyes shut and opened them again, as if the simple gesture would scare the memory back into its cage. The smell still lingered, though. An unpleasant meaty odour. It reminded her of the time she’d been on a crowded bus on the way to school, the warm tangy odour of a Cornish pasty drifting through the bus. It had made her tummy rumble with hunger until she’d worked out it was the B.O. wafting off the big hairy man standing right beside her. The same smell . . . one moment, delicious, the next revolting.

  She realized it was coming from Grace. The girl needed a wash. She wasn’t the only one in the castle, to be fair. There were one or two, male of course, who didn’t like splashing themselves with cold water, and left it far too long between visits to the washroom. This, though . . . this was really quite unpleasant.

  She needs to wash more.

  ‘Freya?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Thank you for coming up to see me.’

  ‘Hey, that’s OK. I told Leon to wait till later. He wanted to come up too.’

  Grace held out a hand. She wanted it held. Freya shuffled forward so she could reach it. The soles of her trainers made a snick sound as they unstuck from the tacky floor.

  ‘Ugh . . . what’s that down there?’ She was about to reach down into the dark space and feel the floor, but Grace grabbed her hand first.

  ‘I love you, Freya.’

  She froze. Surprised by that. ‘Well . . . I love you too, sweetie.’

  ‘I mean it. I love you. And Leon.’

  ‘I know. He . . . he really struggled when he thought you were gone. For a while I was worried he’d end up doing something stupid.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame him,’ said Grace. She opened her eyes and looked up at her. ‘I miss how it all used to be.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘It’s really . . .’ Grace frowned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Really hard to keep on going.’

  Freya squeezed her hand firmly. ‘You shouldn’t think like that. We made it. We survived.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a heaven?’

  ‘What?’ Freya laughed uncomfortably. ‘Grace . . . c’mon, lovely – this is a period, that’s all. You’re not going to die!’

  ‘Everyone dies, Freya. One day they do.’

  ‘Yeah, true . . . but I’m in no hurry. Nor should you be.’

  ‘I . . . have nightmares. Nightmares about burning.’

  ‘God . . . Grace, I can’t even begin to imagine how—’

  ‘I don’t want to die like that.’

  ‘No. No you won’t. I promise you, me and Leon are going to keep you safe. We’re never going to let you out of our sight again.’

  Grace smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  She closed her eyes again, and Freya listened to the soft rustle of her breathing for a while.

  ‘I wonder what it’s like,’ Grace whispered presently.

  ‘What what’s like?’

  ‘Being infected by that virus.’

  ‘Jesus . . .’ Freya shook her head. ‘You’re in a grim mood.’

  ‘I saw someone dying of it.’

  ‘We’ve all seen that.’

  ‘No . . . I mean the first bit. When it first gets hold of you.’ Grace opened her eyes again, but this time she was staring past Freya at the row of arched windows at the end of the dormitory. ‘There was this man . . . and this woman. They were with us when we escaped from the train.’

  Freya knew the train story. Leon had told her all about that.

  ‘They seemed . . . happy.’

  Leon had said that too. Like they were drunk or stoned. Endorphins. That’s what Freya had told him: the human brain’s mercy moment, flooding itself with a feel-good chemical when it knows the ship’s going down for sure and there’s not a hope of escape.

  ‘I’m not going to die that way,’ said Freya. ‘If I knew that thing was in me? I’d grab a gun, or if I couldn’t find a gun, I’d jump out of a window.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘Me and Leon, we made a pact, you know, if that happ—’

  ‘But . . . what if it was . . . nice?’

  Freya’s face crumpled with incredulity. ‘Nice?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Freya leaned forward, her trainer snicking again as she moved her foot. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Dr Hahn spilled my soup earlier.’

  Freya wrinkled her nose. Maybe that explained the smell. She resumed what she was going to say, clasping both her hands firmly round Grace’s.

  ‘I’m going to survive this virus. So are you, and so is Leon.’ She realized her voice was beginning to wobble with emotion. Much more of this and she was going to go all mushy.

  Not now, girl.

  ‘However, if it comes to it –’ this she needed to say out loud like a renewed vow – ‘you know, if it comes down to a choice, I’m not going to die that way.’ She shook her head. ‘Not the virus. Not that way.’

  The horn sounded for the end of lunch break.

  Freya’s intense expression vanished like a switch had been flipped. ‘Jeez . . . enough of the morbid talk!’ She patted Grace’s hand. ‘We’re safe right here. Get some rest. Because I’m pretty sure Everett’s not going to give you a day off tomorrow as well.’

  She reached down for her walking stick, picked it up and realized the handle was tacky from the spilled soup. She wiped it on her jeans, then pulled herself up.

  ‘I’ll bring Leon up with me later, OK?’

  Grace nodded. She watched Freya as she made her way out, a lopsided walk that looked tiring to endure, watching her until she disappeared through the door and closed it behind her.

  Then she cried.

  I’m so sorry.

  CHAPTER 28

  Leon saw them sitting in the far corner of the roof on the collapsible chairs someone had taken up from one of the function rooms. The spotlight perched on its tripod by one of the corner battlements would remain on all night, but the lights-out horn – due in about fifteen minutes – meant they’d all have to head downstairs to their dormit
ories, even so. Only the knight on watch duty would be allowed to remain up here.

  Freya waved him over to join them.

  ‘How is she?’

  Leon sat down in the chair she’d saved beside her. ‘Asleep.’

  ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘She was complaining about stomach pains.’ He looked at Freya. ‘Woman thing . . . it’s not that bad normally, is it?’

  Naga overheard that. ‘Yup. It is. She should get Dr Hahn to give her some Nurofen. If we’ve got any left.’

  ‘Where is Hahn?’ said Leon. ‘I haven’t seen her all day.’

  ‘She’s around somewhere,’ said Freya. ‘She was sitting with Grace earlier today.’

  Fish held out one of his battered Nintendos to Leon. ‘Fancy a thrashing before bed?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s all right.’

  ‘Doesn’t have to be Mario Kart. I’ve got Pokemon ?’

  ‘No, I’m good, thanks. I’m exhausted.’ Leon had been digging in mud all day, squatting in the dirt, groping for spuds. After dinner he’d had to hose himself down with cold water and change into spare, uncaked clothes from the laundry pool. Right now he was wearing clothes he’d never have dared wear before: a checked ‘dad’ shirt and dark jeans with bright yellow double-stitched seams down the legs. He felt like a dork.

  ‘I was talking to Gosling earlier,’ said Naga in a lowered voice. ‘Apparently they got ambushed by virals again. Not just ambushed . . . but set up.’

  ‘What do you mean “set up”?’ asked Fish.

  ‘Tricked. Lured. They set a trap.’

  Leon looked at her. ‘Trap?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Used some weak-looking ones to lure them away from the trucks to a stash of food, then some much bigger ones went straight in to trash the trucks.’

  ‘Jesus, that’s smart,’ said Fish.

  ‘That’s exactly what he said. They were trying to cut off their escape.’

  ‘Anyone hurt?’

  ‘Luckily no.’

  ‘The trucks?’

  ‘Well, they drove both back, so . . .’

  ‘That sounds coordinated,’ said Fish. ‘Planned, for sure.’