I approach the guard at the door to the research lab. “Any problems?”
He shakes his head. “It’s been a quiet evening, sir.”
As I open the door, he speaks again. “The woman is in there.”
I turn back with a frown. “Dr. Summers?”
“No, the other one. The pretty blond. Tall, sad.”
Hannah.
I nod and continue into the lab.
Sure enough, Hannah is sitting inside Silas’ cell, curled on the bed, her zombie husband’s head in her lap as she strokes his greasy hair.
She notices me but says nothing.
Silas looks to be sleeping, or unconscious. Whatever zombies do when they’re not awake. Come to think of it, do zombies sleep? I’ve never seen it. They’re always alert, always hunting. I should mention this to the doctor, see what she thinks. If they do sleep or rest, it might be to our advantage to find out more about their natural rhythms. Use it against them. Attack while they’re unconscious.
I let myself into the glass-walled room. “Get out.”
Hannah looks up at me. Her eyes are bright and feverish.
Her obsession with Silas concerns me.
I’m not surprised by it. She was obsessed with him when he was Warlord. I’d long suspected she ran the harem so she could have control of the other women in contact with her husband. I’d thought she might take issue with Skye when the fiery woman first entered the harem, but the two had quickly settled into a friendship, their opposite personalities complementing each other and the Warlord.
Now, she seems unstable.
She shakes her head. “I’d rather stay.”
“Leave, now.” I harden my voice.
She looks at me resentfully and slides Silas’ head off her lap so she can slip off the bed.
As she walks stiffly past me, I take hold of her arm, stopping her. “Don’t come back.”
She gasps in anger. “He’s my husband. I have every right to be with him, to take care of him. He needs me!”
I glare down at her and she blanches, then staggers away from me, despite my hold on her arm. I tighten my grip, then release her, confident that she’ll comply. I don’t need some love-struck twit deciding to adopt a zombie.
I wait until I hear the outer door close before I step up to the hospital bed. I examine my former Warlord. Pathetic would be too kind of a description for what this man has become. I would rather die than become such a creature. He sickens me.
I pull my blade from my belt and nudge his shoulder.
His reaction is swift, telling me he wasn’t asleep, but enjoying the comfort of his former wife’s lap. He lunges back, hard enough to hit the wall behind him, and flings his arms up protectively.
He looks at me, fear and defiance in his expression.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask him, curious.
He nods.
“Speak,” I demand.
He licks his cracked lips and croaks the word, “Wolfe.”
I nod my satisfaction. Despite myself, I’m fascinated by the process that seems to have turned a Primitive into a human. I’m not convinced, but I’m willing to observe and learn.
I sit in a chair near the bed. My intent is to appear less threatening, though I can be across the room with my blade buried in his throat within seconds. If the old Silas is in there, then he knows this.
He watches me warily, pushing himself into a more comfortable position.
“S-Sanctuary?”
I can tell by the inflection that he’s asking me a question. His voice has grown stronger since he saw Skye and spoke her name. At the reminder of his attachment to my woman, I tighten my grip on the handle of my knife.
“Yes, you’re in Sanctuary,” I tell him, then pause, studying him.
I’d had a loose plan to come here and confront him, provoke the Primitive into attacking so I could dispose of him. Now, I’m curious about his so-called recovery. Perhaps there is more to the doctor’s treatment than I gave her credit for. “Do you remember anything?”
He thinks about my question and nods slightly.
“I was Warlord.” His voice sounds rusty, but he’s coherent.
“Not anymore,” I assure him.
His lips twitch in a horrific, grim smile. The sunken skin of his cheeks stretches over bones, giving him a skeletal appearance. The missing nose is less grotesque now that his skin is turning a healthy colour, but still gives his face a misshapen appearance.
“You took it.” His tone suggests that he’s reconciled to this, even expected it.
“No, Skye is Warlord.”
His head snaps up and I see a spark of intelligence in his eyes, hope even. “Good.”
I lunge toward him, gripping him by the throat and slamming him into the wall so hard his head makes a cracking sound. He winces but doesn’t make a sound. His arms dangle beside his body and he lays limp in my hold.
My lips curl in disgust.
“She is mine.”
I say the words one at a time, clear and unmistakable. I don’t say anything else. I don’t need to. If there’s anything left of the old Silas, then he understands what I’m saying.
I drop him back onto the bed and step away.
He rolls his head to the side and stares up at me. “Why didn’t you…” he coughs, spit flying from his mouth. He licks his lips and tries again. “You could have taken her, become Warlord. Why didn’t you?”
I stare at him coldly and then turn to leave.
“Wait,” he calls out, his voice stronger. “Tell me.”
I stop, but I don’t turn back.
I’m not answering him because I don’t want to admit it out loud. The truth reveals weakness, and that is something I have vowed never to do. But it’s only the two of us in this locked cage, and I suspect the former Warlord won’t last much longer.
“I made a mistake.”
I leave the room, locking him inside his brightly lit cell.
Twenty-Two
Skye
“Council, come to order.” I wait a few seconds as everyone takes their seats and falls silent. “Thank you for attending this unscheduled meeting. We’ve had a lot happen in the past week that should be addressed.”
There’s nodding and murmuring before Christine pushes a tray of treats toward me. “You’re still too pale from your illness. Please, eat something.”
I smile and take a biscuit, biting down into the flaky treat. I have no idea how Christine creates such delicious food items out of the sparse supplies we have in our Sanctuary, but I’m grateful for her ingenuity.
“First order of business,” I begin. “Thanks to the medicines provided by our mountain friends, we’ve slowed the spread of this virus significantly.”
Cheers erupt around the table, and everyone grins at each other. The doctor receives her fair share of accolades and congratulations. She blushes and accepts the compliments.
“We would’ve had many more casualties if it weren’t for the mountain tribe.” She looks gratefully at Alfie, who nods. “Your herbs worked magic. We lost thirty-seven citizens, but I’m convinced that number would have been much higher if you hadn’t helped us. Now, dozens are at home and on the mend, becoming stronger by the day.”
“Which strengthens our Sanctuary.” I look to Alfie. “We’re in your debt. You must let us know if there’s anything we can do in return.”
He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter, his face colouring over the praise. “There is something.” His gaze goes to the doctor. “We have several members of our group with chronic conditions. Nothing serious, I don’t think, but it would help if you could come look.”
“Of course,” she said brightly, smiling wider than I’ve seen her do in weeks. “I’ve been meaning to get out there. If you’re okay with it, we can work out a schedule where I’m visiting monthly, or however often you need.” She glances toward me. “With our Warlord’s permission, of course.”
I dip my head in acknowledgement of h
er deference. “Sanctuary comes first, but of course, we must also share resources.” I look at Alfie. “If you ever need to bring anyone to Sanctuary for treatment, please don’t hesitate. Our home must be your Sanctuary too, when needed.”
He looks somewhat sceptical but murmurs his acceptance. I understand. Survival is individual. We all must decide for ourselves how to survive. If we choose Sanctuary, then we agree to abide by the laws of the Sanctuary. Alfie’s people have chosen the mountains as their home, rejecting the idea of Sanctuary. One day, I’ll have to find the time to sit down and gain more history on his people.
I move the meeting on to our next topic.
“Kingston brought up the next item on our list.” I look at my personal guard. “He has questioned who should receive Sanctuary and who should be turned away.”
I detect a movement to my right and look out of the corner of my eye. Wolfe is now fully listening to the council meeting. He’s in charge of our Sanctuary’s security, but I am the Warlord. The final decision on who should receive Sanctuary will always rest with the Warlord.
“I want to be completely clear.” Though I look at the table in general, I intend my words to fall on the two soldiers in the room: Kingston and Wolfe. “We will offer Sanctuary to any who ask for it. Everyone must contribute once they become a citizen, but even the oldest amongst us can offer something. Knowledge, skills, history. We will turn no one away.”
A silence falls on the room, and I can feel the eyes of the others go to Wolfe. When he was Silas’ head of security, he’d given instructions to turn away anyone who couldn’t contribute manual labour to the well-being of Sanctuary. Similar to Tucson, he’d turned away people who were over a certain age. It was a heartless law that I would never allow while in charge of my Sanctuary.
I expect to hear an objection, but none come.
Perhaps the people assembled in front of me are as weary of the brutal laws of survival that have become commonplace as I am.
“Next order of business,” I say briskly when no one speaks, “is to promote a loyal member of my guard.”
I turn to Kingston, who straightens in his seat, surprise written all over his face.
Wolfe had come to me earlier with the suggestion that my personal guard receive a higher rank and a title. I will discuss the details with him after the meeting, but I want to make his movement within my budding organization public.
“Kingston…” I pause. I don’t actually know if he goes by another name.
He grins at me. “It’s Samuel Kingston.”
I smile at him. “Please stand, Samuel Kingston.”
He pushes his seat back and stands proudly before me.
I place my hand on his right shoulder. “Samuel Kingston, you are promoted to the position of Palace Commander. You will be responsible for all security within the palace, including my personal guard. You will continue to answer to Commander Wolfe.”
I drop my hand to shake his.
He grins and shakes my hand enthusiastically.
Wolfe steps to my side and shakes Kingston’s hand as well. “Well earned.”
“Thanks, Commander.”
Once the noise of the congratulations coming from around the table dies down, I say, “I think that’s all. Does anyone else have anything left to discuss?”
No one speaks for a moment, and then the last person in the room I expected to contribute to the conversation stands up.
I turn my head to the right and look at Wolfe.
He’s not looking at me, though. His one-eyed gaze is on the doctor and Hannah, who are sitting next to each other.
“We need to talk about your zombie experiment.”
I’m surprised by the flash of malevolence on Hannah’s face before she glances away. Did something happen between Wolfe and Hannah? As far as I know she’s always had respect for him, and he’s been mostly indifferent to her, if sometimes impatient.
Dr. Summers nods. “That’s a good idea.”
I’m surprised. I thought the experiment had been going well. I remain silent though as Dr. Summers and Wolfe talk, while everyone else listens.
“Silas is coherent,” Wolfe comments.
“Yes, our Primitives are recovering quicker than I thought they would. It took the woman in Tucson months to fully turn back and she died anyway. Silas and the others aren’t showing any signs of deterioration. In fact…” she pauses and looks at me before continuing, “Now that I’m able to approach him with some confidence, I’ve been able to do some preliminary tests and it looks like he no longer has a glioblastoma.”
“Again, for the non-medical people in the room,” Tabitha says, an edge of sarcasm in her voice.
Sheela smiles at her friend. “He appears to no longer have a brain tumour. I wasn’t his doctor before he was turned, but my understanding is that he was nearing the end of his life. That is no longer the case.”
Silence falls as the implication of our discussion settles around the room. I speak first. “So, what you’re saying is that the only thing wrong with him now is that he used to be a Primitive?”
I can feel Wolfe shift next to me. He doesn’t like my terminology. In his mind, once a Primitive, always a Primitive. Silas will never be allowed to live a normal life. There will always be the pall of distrust shadowing his steps.
“That’s correct,” Sheela agrees with my assessment. “It would appear that the virus Necrotitis Primeval may have cured his brain tumour. There could be wider implications to this revelation. If we were to gain enough information to confirm my suspicion, that Necrotitis Primeval can cure the critically ill, this could be revolutionary to the medical field. Especially after all the losses we’ve experienced since the Great Fall.”
Murmurs rise up around the table, some angrier than others. We’ve all lost to this virus. That we could use it for any kind of good is a tough pill to swallow.
Sheela appears to hear the tone of the conversation and rushes to assure everyone, “This is an untested theory. We have only one subject to base this conclusion on, which is not even close to enough. Ideally, we would need hundreds or thousands of cured Primitives to prove this theory, and even then, for most of them we wouldn’t know if they had an illness before being turned unless their friends and family recognized them. With our current level of technology, or lack thereof, we aren’t capable of experimentation on this level.”
As I stare at her, I can swear I see the gears working in her brain. This woman is one of the most intelligent people I’ve come into contact with, and I’m just now realizing what a privilege it is to work with her.
“What if we’re able to coordinate Sanctuaries across the region,” I say thoughtfully. “Hell, across the continent or even the world.”
Sheela’s eyes glow with purpose, and a slight smile lifts her lips. “We’ll have to study our three here in the long term. Make sure they make a full recovery before proposing such an ambitious project to other Sanctuaries.”
“You’re going to run into a lot of resistance,” Tabitha pipes up, munching on a biscuit. “We’re used to seeing Primitives as the enemy. Warlords are notoriously stubborn and combative, but they’re usually intelligent. Once they get past their initial resistance, they may see the benefits of this.”
Tabitha hits the nail on the head with her assessment of Warlords. In order to rise to the top, we have to be strong, warlike and cunning. I fit into most of the categories she described, but I’m not as stubborn as most. I listen to my advisors and make changes based on their advice. I don’t just go with gut instinct. We are descended from primitives, which we named our zombies after, we’re hard-wired to fear change. Yet, throughout history, change has driven humans to progress.
Dolly speaks next, her voice softer but no less purposeful. “It’s appealing to me… this idea of taking control of a virus that destroyed our world. Of using it for our purposes, rather than running from it.”
The table falls silent again as each of us grapples with our feelings. Th
is is a heavy subject and one not easily decided on. As the doctor pointed out, we’ll need to see how our zombies progress.
“How far from Sanctuary did you find your former Warlord?” Alfie asks thoughtfully.
“Not far,” Wolfe tells him. “Less than a day’s drive.”
“Why do you ask?” Sheela’s sharp gaze is on the mountain outsider.
“We have this theory on the mountain,” he speaks slowly, as if hesitant to share this information. “More of a legend really… that our loved ones who have been turned don’t go far. They stay near their homes because it’s what they know and recognize. I always thought of this idea as wishful thinking from people who didn’t want to lose their bitten family members. But there is some evidence in the legends that it could be true.”
“Sightings,” Anita says, looking completely riveted. “I’ve heard of it, too. I’m from the New York Sanctuary. Once in a while there would be sightings in the sewers and occasionally a rumour would emerge of people recognizing them.”
“How come I’ve never heard of that?” Tabitha says accusingly.
Anita shrugs. “It’s just a rumour, and not a strong one at that.”
“Yes, sightings,” Alfie confirms. “Obviously it’s hard to tell, the ravages of the disease make them almost unrecognizable. I have people that swear they’ve seen their loved ones after they’ve been turned. A few times it’s led to disaster because they got too close and were bitten.”
“Interesting,” I murmur.
“If Primitives did hunt near their original homes, it would make capturing and studying them easier.”
Wolfe looks at me but remains silent. I can see the war brewing behind his beautiful golden eye, and I wonder if this will be another battle between us. I see the value in progress, but my love is so firmly anti-Primitive, he’d rather see the lot of them slaughtered.
I wonder why he’s made me Warlord. I thought I knew, but at moments like this, I doubt his motives. He’s given me a position of power, of ultimate power within our region. My power means nothing if he takes it back. He’s the next highest authority, and he has the might of the security force behind him.
Skye's Sanctuary (The Sanctuary Series Book 5) Page 13
