by Eden Darry
They made their way carefully along the street, stopping every so often to listen out for the telltale groan of an approaching zombie.
Soon they were back at the Squealing Pig. The same place they always ended up. It didn’t matter where they got to, the Pig always seemed to be the destination.
Lane hammered the door shut behind them. They didn’t have much time and they had a lot to plan.
“Drink?” Meg called from the bar.
“Not for me. I want a clear head,” Lane replied.
“Will it bother you if I have one?” Meg asked.
“Not at all. I think the next part is mostly on me anyway,” Lane said.
Meg started to protest, and then closed her mouth. She’d been there back at the Governor. She’d seen what had happened with the knife. For whatever reason, Lane was the one who needed to kill Ivar Sigmarsson with the langseax.
“I need to tell you something,” Lane said. “Both of you.”
Lois was only small but she’d been the one to get them out of the toilet, and she was just as much a part of this as any of them.
“Sounds serious,” Meg said. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”
Lane nodded. “I’m sure. It’s about what happened with the knife.”
“When it lit up and scared the shit out of Sigmarsson?” Meg said.
“Yeah, exactly. Right before it did that, I went…somewhere.”
“Uh-uh. I saw you standing there the whole time,” Lois said.
“I mean, in my mind,” Lane said.
Meg joined them at the table and took a sip of wine. “Sounds interesting, do tell.”
When Lane finished telling them the story of her encounter on the knarr, she felt better. It was a weird story, and she felt lighter for sharing it.
“Well,” Meg said and took a big gulp of wine, “if I hadn’t already seen what I’ve seen today, I’d say you were crazy and probably call the cops.”
“But you believe me?” Lane asked, and it was desperately important that Meg did.
“Shit, why not? If I can believe in zombies and giants shooting blue flames out of their mouths, why not believe that you went back in time and met this guy before he became a zombie?”
“I’m not lying,” Lane said.
Meg reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I know you’re not. But it’s just so crazy.”
“You have to kill him, Lane,” Lois said. “You’re like the hero in my book.”
“What book?” Lane asked.
“My book about a boy who kills a dragon with a special sword. But the sword is only special for him. You’re the hero, Lane.”
“From the mouths of babes,” Meg said and clinked cheers with Lane before knocking back the rest of the wine.
Lane didn’t want to be the hero. She wanted to be back in her penthouse flat on the River Thames drinking expensive wine and talking shit with her stupid friends.
She did not want to be the hero of this story.
She did not want to slay the dragon.
But if not her, then who? Sure, she could do a Wendy and hightail it off in the boat. Forget this had ever happened and leave others to sort the mess out. She could do that, but she’d never be able to look Meg in the eye. All her life, she’d gone along without making any fuss, doing what she was told and living a life on the surface. This was her chance to show what she was really made of. To be Lois’s storybook hero.
She knew there was a good chance she would die—that they would all die—but what other choice did she have?
Lane finally understood she was brave. Where other people gave up and gave in, she persevered. And she had to try. For Meg and for Lois and for the countless other people who had died or who would die because of Ivar Sigmarsson and Wendy Moon.
Lane was ready.
Chapter Seventeen
Meg didn’t like the plan at all. She thought it was the worst plan she’d ever heard. She wanted more wine, but she didn’t want to get drunk.
The plan wasn’t a bad plan at all. In fact, it was probably the only plan. What she didn’t like about it was that it involved Lane going up against Ivar Sigmarsson by herself. Meg didn’t have to be a bookie to know the odds weren’t good. They were still sitting at the table in the Pig, but not for much longer.
“I hate the plan,” Meg said again for the twentieth time.
“I know you do, but it’s the only way it’ll work,” Lane said.
“Not true. You could take me with you. We could wait for the military,” Meg said.
“Because that worked out so well last time? Look, I’m sure they’ll be back, but I’m betting it’s from the sky. With lots of bombs. This way, you and Lois will be safe.”
“And what about you?” Meg asked.
“I reckon it’s fifty-fifty,” Lane said.
Meg punched her lightly on the arm. “You’re supposed to say you’ll be fine. That’s what the hero in the movie always tells the girl.”
“Are you the girl, then? I always thought they were pretty passive. I think you’re better cast as the other hero,” Lane said and grinned.
“So smooth,” Meg said and rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
The three of them, Meg, Lane, and Lois, left the Squealing Pig for the last time. This was it. They’d made their plan, and it would work. It had to work because the alternative was too much to bear.
Meg had realized how much Lane meant to her and what a fool she’d been to throw it all away. Or maybe she was being too hard on herself. Lane seemed different. Meg guessed it was the situation. This crisis had brought out the worst in Wendy, but it had shown Meg who Lane really was. And, Meg suspected, facing this nightmare had probably shown Lane her true self too. Lane had never struck Meg as being all that confident despite her bluster. But maybe Provincetown had shown her just how brave and capable she really was.
And if Lane’s true colours had finally come out, had Meg’s? She wasn’t unlike Wendy in a lot of ways. Obsessed with an idea, with work. Wendy’s had been Vikings, and Meg’s was her bar. Both of them were prepared to make huge sacrifices to get what they wanted. The only difference was Wendy was willing to sacrifice people for her dream.
Meg had been sacrificing herself. For years.
It was time for that to stop. And for her life to start with Lane. If Lane would have her. And if they made it out of this alive.
“We’re here,” Lane said quietly.
Meg was startled to realize they’d walked all the way to MacMillan Pier. “The boat should be up ahead unless Wendy got away.”
They walked a little further. Meg smelled it before she saw it. Blood mixed with salt. She put her hand on Lois’s shoulder. “Wait here just a minute, honey.”
Meg looked at Lane, and by unspoken agreement they walked further down the pier. Meg heard Lane suck in a breath when they saw it.
“You think that was Wendy?” Lane asked.
“Seems like kind of a coincidence if it’s not. Look, the bag is in Teensy’s boat.” Meg pointed to the bag they’d switched back in the bathroom.
Lane nodded. “Looks like they got her pretty bad.”
“But she got up.” Meg pointed to the bloody footprints that went a few feet down the pier before they disappeared.
“Where do you think she went?” Lane asked.
Meg shrugged. “Into the water? Maybe she was injured but managed to get away. I know I’d go into the water.”
“Either way, she’s one of them now,” Lane said.
Meg nodded. Lane started to say something again when a huge bang drowned her out. It was followed by rapid gunfire and more bangs. The steady thump of rotor blades started up overhead.
“Get Lois,” Lane said, but Meg didn’t need to be told and was already running back up the pier.
* * *
Lane zipped up Lois’s life jacket. “I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”
Lois nodded. “You’re the hero, remember? So you can�
�t die.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Lane said and stroked a hand over Lois’s head. She stood up and turned to face Meg. “I’ll see you then,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward.
“This doesn’t seem right. I should be going with you,” Meg said and brushed some nonexistent lint from Lane’s shoulder.
“Someone needs to stay with Lois. If anything happens to me—”
“Don’t say that.”
“But I—”
“Don’t say it, Lane.”
And then Meg kissed her. It was a hard kiss, a claiming kiss that said she belonged to Meg. Lane shut her eyes and forced herself to feel every moment of it.
Meg’s hands drifted down and squeezed her arse. Lane smiled into the kiss.
“This always was my favourite part of you,” Meg said against her lips. And then, “What’s this?”
Lane didn’t know what she was talking about. Meg’s hand pulled something out of her back pocket, and then Meg stepped back, examining the item—a card of some kind.
“Lane, what is this?” Meg asked again. She looked scared and confused.
“I don’t—” Lane started to say. Meg turned the card around.
What the actual fuck? Lane snatched the card out of her hand. It was the tarot card she’d gotten what seemed like a lifetime ago.
The card depicted a woman in shining gold armour. She held a sword in her hand and looked like she was bringing it down on a grey figure below her.
“Lane,” Meg said, “it’s you.”
And Meg was right. The woman on the card was her, but how could that be? What had the tarot reader said to her as she’d stuffed it into her hand? You might need this.
Lane didn’t have time to go into it with Meg. If the cacophony up on Commercial was anything to go by, she was quickly running out of time. She put the card back in the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ll explain later. I have to go.”
Meg nodded. “You have the map I drew?”
“Yes.” Lane nodded. She’d memorized that map back at the Pig. It was too important not to.
“And you have the treasure?” Meg asked.
“Yes, in the bag,” Lane said.
“Okay, then. Good luck. And you’d better come back to me, Lane Boyd, or I swear I’ll never forgive you.”
Instead of answering, Lane kissed Meg hard. And then she turned and jogged back up the pier. She didn’t dare look back in case she lost her nerve. The easiest thing would be to get in the boat with Lois and Meg and head for Boston. But she couldn’t do that.
Whatever this thing was that had woken up, she needed to kill it. If she didn’t, Lane had no doubt that the sickness would spread across the United States and out into the world. It needed to be stopped now.
* * *
Meg sat in the boat and listened to the battle raging out on Commercial. She’d never felt so useless in all her life. She should be out there with Lane, not hiding in a boat.
“You can go if you want. I’ll be okay,” Lois said.
She couldn’t leave her, though. Meg would never forgive herself if something happened to Lois.
“It’s okay, honey. Lane will be fine. We’ll just wait here for her,” Meg said.
Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. Meg looked up to see the helicopter in a ball of flames, hurtling towards the sea. That couldn’t be good. Meg tried not to think about where Lane was and if she’d seen it too.
“Meg, I can hide on the boat. They won’t find me. Then you can go and make sure Lane is okay,” Lois said again.
Could she, though? Was it totally irresponsible to leave Lois here alone? Probably, but then they weren’t exactly in an ideal situation. But Lane was long gone with the magic knife thing, which meant Meg would have to navigate the town alone. It was a risk, and Lane would be furious.
“Okay, get under these life jackets,” Meg said. “Don’t poke your head out for anyone, and if you see zombies coming up the pier, untie the boat. You’re better drifting on the ocean than staying here.”
Lois nodded and disappeared behind a wall of bright yellow plastic. Meg picked up the gun Wendy had thoughtfully left lying on the pier and checked the clip. Four rounds left. She hoped that would be enough to get her to Winthrop Street.
Chapter Eighteen
Lane stopped once to look behind her. The military was back, and this time there were more of them. A lot more of them. The town looked like something out of an action movie.
Zombies were being mown down, blown up, and torn apart all over the place. The problem was, most of them were getting back up. “You have to hit them in the head,” Lane whispered to herself. She wanted to go over and tell them so, but she knew she’d end up getting shot or run over herself.
The best thing for everyone would be if she managed to get to Winthrop Street and rebury the treasure. If that didn’t stop the rampage, it would surely bring Sigmarsson back, and then she would try to kill him.
As though thinking about him summoned him, he was suddenly in the middle of the street. Lane winced as he shot blue flames out of his mouth and sent a tank flipping over and over up the road like a toy. This was what she was up against. It didn’t look good for her.
Lane hurried on up the road. She made sure to keep looking back in case Sigmarsson saw her and decided to come after her. He must know she was still about. And that she had the power to hurt him. Or rather, the knife did.
“Lane.”
Lane stopped. It sounded like Meg calling her name. But that was impossible. Meg was back at the boat with Lois.
“Lane!”
Lane turned and there she was. Lane was equal parts furious and relieved.
“What are you doing here?” Lane asked.
“What do you think? I’ve come to help you,” Meg said.
“Why?”
“Like you said, I’m the other hero in this movie. I can’t very well hide out in a boat, can I?”
Lane laughed. “You might die.”
Meg shrugged. “It’s fifty-fifty.”
Behind them, another explosion. Lane spun round in time to see Sigmarsson wrestling with something his own size. Behind them, a truck was in flames.
For a second, she thought the thing Sigmarsson was wrestling with was some kind of military weapon, but it couldn’t be that. Then she realized…
“Meg, is that a second chief zombie?”
“Yeah, I think so. Wait, is it Wendy?” Meg asked.
Lane squinted and tried to focus. Between the smoke billowing from the wrecked truck and the lousy light, it was hard to make out just who Sigmarsson was fighting with.
Then Lane saw it. Or, rather, saw her. It was Wendy. Somehow she’d come back and, in true Wendy style, not just as a run-of-the-mill zombie, but as a zombie to match the size and power of Ivar Sigmarsson.
Lane clutched the strap of the bag she was carrying. Did this have something to do with the treasure inside? Once you had ownership of it, you found it impossible to let it go?
She thought it might. You didn’t have to look far to see examples throughout history, in every place on earth, of the lengths people would go to possess things. People were slaughtered by the thousands, rainforests decimated, rivers poisoned.
Lane wondered—if it came to it, would she be able to give the treasure up? Or would some human instinct prevent her from doing it? The knife held a lot of power, and the treasure would make her rich in her own right.
Meg squeezed her arm. “Lane, are you all right?”
Lane nodded. “Yeah, it’s Wendy.”
Because Wendy’d only been dead a short time, she wasn’t as decomposed as Sigmarsson. But she was ravaged. Lane guessed from the pasting she’d gotten on the pier. She was still too far away to see properly but could make out that much of Wendy’s throat was missing. It turned her stomach.
“We’d better get out of here before they see us,” Meg said.
Lane nodded. “Yes, we should.”
* * *
Meg led the way
down Bradford. They’d had to cut up here because of World War III down on Commercial between Wendy, Sigmarsson, and the US military.
It was strangely quiet. The sky was growing darker again—not that there was much difference between day and night right now.
The wind was picking up, and Meg was cold. She pulled her jacket tight around herself.
“Cold?” Lane asked from behind her.
Meg glanced back and smiled. “A little. Also tired. It’s been a long couple days.”
“It has,” was all Lane said.
They were here. Meg turned right at Winthrop Street.
The house hadn’t been touched since the treasure was dug up. A bulldozer sat idle on a patch of bare earth and rubble, a deep trench in front of it.
The house was framed but nothing else had been done. It must be costing the owner a fortune in delays. Or maybe not any more. Maybe the owner had gone the way of most of the residents in Provincetown.
Meg thought about all the people who lived and worked in town. How many were still alive? How many were walking around enduring a fate worse than death?
“Meg, is this it? Are we here?” Lane asked quietly.
“Yeah. We’re here.”
“And that hole in the ground?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s where they dug up the Viking treasure,” Meg said. She’d been down to the site like everyone else to look, on the day it happened.
“This is it then. I’d better hurry,” Lane said in an understated way that made Meg laugh.
“I guess we’d better.”
They climbed down into the ditch together. Lane took the bag off her shoulders.
“Should I just tip it out?” Lane asked.
“As opposed to what?”
“I don’t know, place it gently in the dirt.”
“Why does it matter?” Meg asked.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Lane said.
All the same she knelt in the dirt and carefully emptied the bag out. “It’s lovely,” she said.
