by Simon Clark
‘My refrain exactly.’
Elsa lifted herself to see over the mound of orange sand that blocked the walkway. ‘So what’s happened to Luna?’
‘She might have decided to return to the cafeteria before the shooting started.’
‘Wouldn’t we have passed her on the steps?’
‘Another way down, maybe? Look, there’s a door set in the tower across the way there.’
‘What do you make of that then?’
‘Huh?’
‘The sand.’
Paul turned to look at the mound of builder’s sand just a dozen paces from them. Its orange hue had been dulled by exposure to the weather. Moss had formed on the sides. Even shoots of grass had sprung from the top.
‘What of it?’ Paul asked.
‘Where the mound is closest to the wall. It’s been disturbed. You can see the bright orange where the crust has been pushed away. It’s even been scattered right across the walkway.’
‘Those two will have done it. You have to walk over it to reach the other side of the walkway.’
‘They made a heck of a mess.’ Elsa felt a chill spread through her stomach.
‘Elsa! Don’t!’
Elsa took her chance. In a matter of three seconds she thrust her head between the raised elevations of the parapet and looked down. A second later she ducked back behind the wall. A crackle of gunfire proved that their attackers had been vigilant. Bullets screamed through the gap where here head had been. Chips of stone rained down on them.
‘Good God, Elsa …’ Paul’s protest tailed away. ‘She’s down there, isn’t she?’
Elsa nodded.
‘Poor girl. Poor wee girl.’ His voice was a whisper. ‘She was the one with the dogs, wasn’t she? The golden Labradors?’
Elsa could only manage that same grim nod.
Paul grimaced. ‘I used to see her walking them.’
‘When the soldiers attacked the transit station they killed the animals, too.’ She shook her head. ‘Now Luna.’
‘You sure she’s dead?’
‘Just take one look at her … when those bastards have gone.’
‘Shit.’ He turned to the mound of sand that was scuffed. ‘They must have caught her when she walked over that heap to get to the other side. A lucky shot.’
‘Lucky!’
‘Elsa, you know what I mean. Poor girl must have lost consciousness, then toppled over the wall.’
Paul shuffled along then took his chance. His glimpse at Luna confirmed what Elsa said. ‘I’m sorry. She’s dead. If the shot didn’t kill her the fall did. Her neck’s broken.’
Despite knowing that taking another look wouldn’t help in the slightest, Elsa couldn’t stop herself. Just in case there was even the infinitesimal chance she’d be alive. No. There she was. Luna lay sprawled on the concrete roof of a single storey building at the foot of the wall. The awkward angle of her head in relation to her shoulders broadcast its own diagnosis. Spinal column snapped. Eyes wide open. Staring. No sign of movement; nor respiration.
On this occasion, when she raised her head above the protecting curtain of stone, no one fired at her. Both she and Paul risked another look. She counted seven figures moving between gorse bushes on the cliff top. The mist made it difficult to identify them but they appeared young. Paul was probably right. A group of youths had made their way up to the cliff on the off-chance they could pick off one of the monsters who’d been stupid enough to stick their heads up above the castle wall. Bingo. The saps had struck lucky. One of their shots had found Luna. Now she lay dead. They must have seen her fall but they couldn’t reach the body to take a trophy. Just imagine how valuable a God Scarer ear would be to the prestige of the oh-so brave hunter.
‘We’ve got to retrieve her body,’ Elsa told Paul.
‘It’s a risk going out there.’
‘I’ll do it then.’
‘Elsa, you don’t know if they’ve left someone behind. If they’ve got a rifle … you know what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, the bloody obvious.’ The words came in a bitter flood. ‘You know as well as I do they’ll hack her to pieces. They’ll make souvenirs out of her to impress the local tarts.’
‘Come downstairs, Elsa.’ Paul spoke calmly. ‘We’ll see what we can do. No promises. OK?’
Dominion learnt about Luna’s fate along with the rest of the survivors in the cafeteria.
‘I’ll go fetch her,’ he told them.
When they were satisfied none of the townspeople lay in wait they raised the gigantic lattice work of steel into its stone runners. Dominion left the Pharos as the first rays of the sun touched Scaur Ness.
16
The Various Postures of Death
‘And death shall have no dominion …’ The words of the poet ghosted through Dominion’s skull. A rising sun slammed its bloody light onto the harbour town. Even the mist on the water seemed to bleed deep crimson.
As he followed the outside of the castle wall from the portcullis side that overlooked Scaur Ness to the rear of the building he murmured the words out loud: ‘And death shall have no dominion.’ At the back of the castle there were no houses, only gorse-covered hills that ran back from the cliff, which in turn rose 200 feet above the ocean.
Dominion found Luna on the concrete slab roof of what must have been a wartime observation post. Gently he scooped up her body with one arm beneath her back and one beneath her knees. Her head lolled back, the break in the spinal column meant it swung in an exaggerated way. A flesh and blood pendulum. In moments he had returned to the others who clustered at the gate of the Pharos. Their faces were drawn.
Beech was the only one who displayed anger as he walked beneath the portcullis. ‘As God is my witness I want to hurt the bastard who shot her.’
Dominion paused as he looked down at the red-haired nurse. ‘Luna wasn’t shot. Her neck is broken but not from the fall.’ He scanned the grim faces. ‘One of us killed her.’ With that he carried the body inside. Behind him, they watched, stunned to silence.
Paul knew his laugh was a grim one. ‘Three years at med school. Then twenty years of experience on the wards. Of course, I was treating God Scarers. Men and women who’d died once. But I was trained. I was confident of my own expertise. Now I feel an idiot and, dare I say it? A fool of monstrous proportions.’
Caitlin watched him as he paced about the room in the tower. He’d wanted to come up here alone, then stare broodingly out of the tower, and try and make sense of the crazy twists and turns the last forty-eight hours had flung in his face. Caitlin had followed. Her pale-blue eyes locked onto him as she stood in the room that was furnished with reproduction feasting table and chairs.
Words flooded from his mouth in a sour tide. ‘I worked six days a week at the transit station. They wheeled the corpses in. I pumped drugs through their veins until their dead eyes stood out from their wee corpse heads, then I locked them into the regenerators. And I was there to rebirth them. You know, I got such a feeling of love – that’s the only way I can describe it: a bolt of pure love roaring through me when I saw life come back into their eyes. The same love a father has when they see their newborn for the first time. I always tried to identify that split-second of transition when something that was dead became alive … when the light came back into their eyes … I never could pin-point that death-to-life rebirth. But I found it endlessly fascinating. It was never dull routine. Damn it, it was God’s work. Not the Devil’s. I really believed I was engaged flesh, blood and soul in making the world a better place. We defeated death. Nobody should ever be frightened of dying again. We would fill the world with immortals.’ He sucked in a lungful of air. ‘I couldn’t see what was happening. It took Dominion – a freak of science – to ask what happened to all of those thousands we worked our Lazarus procedures on. Where did they go? I don’t know. Then you asked why the government sacrificed the prosperity of its own people keeping the transit stations going when the rest of the world had destroyed thei
rs? Why did your country allow Scaur Ness to become moribund in order to keep my kind alive? Now Dominion has announced that one of us murdered Luna? Is he right? Dear God. I thought I was smart … I know nothing, I know nothing.’
Paul felt the slap of her body against his. Caitlin’s fragile human lips pressed against his muscular mouth. Her kiss had all the passionate, yet terror-filled fervour of a drowning woman clinging to the wreckage. Her kisses came in surging waves. His nerves seemed to detonate until bursts of incandescent heat filled his entire body.
‘You know this is wrong,’ he panted. ‘It’s not allowed. Nobody will talk to you if they find out … you’ll be an outcast.’
She hissed, ‘Then we’ll burn in hell together.’
With that Caitlin pulled the sling from her arm so she could embrace him. Her passion was relentless. Even though a voice in his head begged, Leave now. Don’t do this to her. Leave. Leave he couldn’t; anymore than he could order the ocean tide not to turn.
Perspiration drenched his back. ‘Oh God, this is wrong. I know it is.’
‘Because they told you?’
She caught hold of the hem of her nightdress. Smoothly she raised it to expose her naked body. To him it shone like a star. Every curve fascinated him. When he touched her bare skin it seemed lightning flashed through his limbs. His heart was its thunder.
Then she whispered the word in his ear: ‘Now.’
Elsa stood at one end of the storeroom with Beech and Saiban. Luna lay on a trestle table. Now that Dominion had straightened her limbs and her head, she appeared to be sleeping on her back. Shafts of grey light fell from the window to alight on her temples.
‘I think,’ Saiban began, his mournful eyes regarding the corpse, ‘you should strip off her clothes.’
Beech hissed, ‘Show Luna respect, or get out of here.’
‘I mean,’ Saiban kept his voice under control, ‘those clothes are dirty. She doesn’t deserve to lie on view like that. If I can find clean fabric, will you and Elsa remove her clothes? Her body should be washed. I’ve a comb for her hair. Then you can cover her with the fabric. She should be beautiful.’
Elsa felt a lurch of surprise in her chest. Was this really Saiban speaking? He’s such a cold snake – at least he was …
Saiban nodded before backing away, his head bowed. ‘Trust me. I’ll find something worthy of Luna.’
When the door closed she and Beech set to work without a word. Elsa eased the zipper down on Luna’s uniform. Her smooth, naked skin beneath could still have been alive … then it would be. God Scarers are hard to kill. Hair, fingernails and eyelashes continue to grow after the second death. Even the cells of the body continue to reproduce. It seemed as if physical corruption having been denied access to the flesh once is reluctant to return a second time. If electrodes are applied to the head it will reveal electrical activity in the brain for some time to come. Our dead really do dream on their return to the grave. What dreams fill that cold brain?
Paul knew this was impossible. It couldn’t happen any more than wings would unfurl from his back to carry him into the sky. This emotional barrier could never be breached. It was impenetrable as the mind of God.
‘Please,’ she whispered into his ear as she sat on the table with her legs wrapped around his waist. ‘Try again.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Push your hips.’
He pushed. His mind spun. This was the same as pushing a hand against a solid wall. You know resistance will be total. Your hand can not pass through a solid barrier, yet that’s exactly what happened; it was as if you find your fingers slip through the brickwork as if it were mist. I’m doing the impossible, he told himself. Excitement mingled with revulsion. Not disgust at this beautiful, naked human woman. No … this was revulsion at his own lust. He could barely bring himself to believe he’d commit this act that was pure blasphemy in the eyes of transients and humanity alike.
But here it is. The irrevocable had happened. He’d pushed his hips against Caitlin. He entered her. An act as old as humanity itself. Only the circumstances together with what he was rendered this simple act of nature shockingly new. He’d broken one of their ultimate taboos. Paul’s life could never be the same again. This knowledge seared itself into his mind. The act could never be erased. But he could never have dreamed of the beauty of this. His eyes fixed on her face that was framed with dark curling hair. Her dark eyebrows arched above her closed eyes. Her pink lips formed an O shape as she inhaled and exhaled to the rhythm of his body pulsing against hers.
Dominion dragged open an iron door set in the side of the chapel, which in turn was located beneath the tower that acted as a lighthouse centuries ago. Relying on the light falling through the doorway alone, Dominion passed down the flight of steps into a crypt. There, lining the walls, of the gloomy vault were the stone sarcophagi of the lords and ladies who had once ruled this province. He approached one tomb of gleaming white alabaster. On top of it, as if sleeping, reclined the marble statue of a regal woman clad in a gown, through which pink veins ran so it resembled the silk of a real dress.
Dominion gripped the lid of the tomb before sliding it to one side. Stone grated on stone with a sound like an agonized shriek. When the aperture was big enough he reached in one massive hand then tore the bones from their resting place.
The orgasm had built deep inside of her. At first the sensation had been distant. It seemed to be buried so far down it would never struggle to the surface. Then all of a sudden it rose, expanding as it did so. The orgasm was so intense all she could do was utter a series of gasping cries as the explosion of sensation expanded within her. Caitlin opened her eyes. Paul thrust into her. His eyes were closed. His lips pressed together. A sheen covered his powerful arms.
As she lay on the table her head rolled to one side. Looking at them both through the doorway that led to the spiral staircase was a man. His cold eyes locked on hers. There was no expression on his face. Nothing to reveal what he might be thinking. He merely looked, without moving. She remembered his name.
Saiban.
When Saiban’s doleful face withdrew she wrapped her arms around Paul as he came. A burst of heat filled her belly. Then he was motionless apart from the rising of his chest.
When she reached up to put her hands around the back of his neck she noticed the gunshot wound had broken open again in her arm. Fresh blood stained the bandage a glistening red.
17
Demands of the Dead
‘You can look at her,’ Elsa told Beech as they stood together in the storeroom. ‘There’s nothing repulsive about her.’
‘I’ve washed bodies before. But they were always failures in transit. Never someone I knew.’
Beech turned to where Luna lay on the trestle table. Her long slender body gleamed in the morning light falling through the window. There was bruising on her neck, but apart from that green mottle her body was unmarked. Hard to kill … despite death her body still automatically responds to the environment. When cool air strokes her flesh her skin turned to gooseflesh. Tips of breasts darken. Nipples become erect. It’s in the textbooks, Elsa told herself. The anatomy of the risen dead who die again. Rational thought gave way to the irrational as she murmured to herself, ‘Breath again, Luna. Please.’
Elsa’s words provoked Beech. ‘She’s dead. Stop asking her to breathe. Can’t you see those bruises? Those are the marks of fingers. Someone snapped her neck then threw from the wall. She’s never going to breathe again … stop asking her!’
‘I’m sorry. I only said it once. It’s just that she looks as if—’
‘Luna’s dead! That’s the end of it!’ A throbbing silence, then: ‘Where’s Saiban? He promised he’d fetch something to cover her. It’s not right she’s left like this. Anyone could stare at her like she’s in a freak show.’ Beech lifted her face to the ceiling. ‘Saiban! Where are you?’
In the tower room Paul dressed Caitlin’s wound. The raw edges of the injury had split open. Blo
od spilled down her arm in crimson rivulets. Every nerve in his body sang out from his flesh. He’d never felt so ashamed at what he’d done. But sex with this beautiful human female had made him feel so alive.
Caitlin kissed him on the face as he worked to bind her arm with the bandage. ‘Paul. I don’t mind having your child.’
‘You won’t.’ He spoke matter-of-factly despite the torrent of raw emotion surging through his body. ‘It’s a normal part of the transition procedure. But we’re all … castrated, is too strong a word. But male and female alike are rendered sterile. So—’ He gave a grim smile. ‘No pitter-patter of tiny God Scarer feet.’
Saiban arrived at the other side of the door. ‘I won’t come in. I’ll pass you what I’ve found through the door.’
Beech scolded, ‘You took your time, Saiban.’
‘I’m sorry. I wanted to find the best I could for Luna.’
Elsa opened the door six inches. His sorrowful face appeared at the other side. Hell, the man could have been a professional mourner.
‘I did my best,’ Saiban told her. ‘I found this in the gift shop. It must have been used to display the souvenirs. It’s not dirty. It was in the bottom drawer.’
She nodded as she took the bolt of creamy material from Saiban. ‘Thank you.’
Elsa closed the door as he said, ‘Luna deserves better. But I did the best I could.’
With the door shut Elsa said, ‘Beech, I can do this by myself, if you wish?’
‘No. I’ll help.’
When they unfolded the fabric it proved to be a sheet of a silky material fifteen feet long by about five wide. It proved ample as a shroud for Luna’s body. When they’d done they called everyone into the room. The group stood at one end in respectful silence in the presence of the supine figure bound in white fabric.
