The Dying & The Dead (Book1): The Dying & The Dead

by Jack Lewis

  “We don’t exactly have many to choose from. What else can we do?”

  Her forehead creased.

  “Not give up, perhaps?” she said.

  He limped over to the wall that wasn’t connected to anything, and despite how pointless a structure it was, he was glad of something to rest against. The infected walked toward them without urgency, like predators sure they would have their feast.

  “At least we could talk to them,” he said, looking at the strangers who approached them from the cliff.

  “And I bet a fish could talk to a shark.”

  “We might be able to reason with them. We can’t reason with the dead.”

  Bethelyn looked at the infected. Ed followed her gaze and saw that they were closing in on them, an army regiment with dead eyes but a never-ending hunger. Behind them the strangers trampled along the grass. The vice was closing on them.

  “They aren’t dead,” said Bethelyn. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Might as well be.”

  Bethelyn nodded. “Okay,” she said. “There doesn’t seem to be anything else left to do, does there?”

  Bethelyn took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. The movement made him feel helpless, but he realised that her support was something he would just have to accept. They walked away from the village and back toward the cliffs. The strangers headed directly toward them now so that they became two armies meeting in the middle of a battle field, though one was outnumbered beyond hope.

  The sky was clearer that Ed had expected to it to be. For the last sky he might ever see, it wasn’t such a bad one. If only the day before hadn’t brought the infected winds. He wished for a time when Golgoth was still untouched, but he wished that he could have lived differently. Instead of shutting himself away when he found himself alone, he should have opened his doors. It was still true that people could come and go without warning, but if you never let them in then there was never a chance they would stay.

  As they walked he looked at the ground. He had to say something, but couldn’t look at Bethelyn while he did.

  “I just want to say thank you, and stuff.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

  “You didn’t have to try and help me.”

  “I always thought about it, Ed. when your brother went I was going to knock on your door. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner.”

  Only a narrow section of the plain separated them from the strangers now. The cliff edge was behind the men in furs, and from this angle it looked like one push could send them all toppling into the sea. Ed knew that it was a trick of the sight and that there was at least ten feet separating them from the chalky edges.

  Now, closer than he wanted to get, he could see their faces. Some had beards that grew over their cheeks and necks and had started to puff away from their face like dirty candyfloss. A couple of the men had shaved, and from the red slashes on their cheeks it was clear they’d sheared their growth with the edge of their weapons. The men had the eyes of youth but wrinkles that you could only get with age, and some were so creased that their faces looked like folded leather. He wondered how their eyes could retain that youthful glimmer when their skin had taken a battering. Perhaps it was due to the life they now led. Maybe away from the trappings of office jobs and factory work, they had found a purer way of life. It was tougher, sure, but it made them feel more alive.

  There were a couple of women in the group, and their faces fared demonstrably better than the men’s. Though smaller in frame they were no less imposing, and a woman with thick eyebrows and hair that curled across her face carried an axe that Ed wouldn’t even have been able to lift.

  Despite the furs that made them seem like wild animals, Ed got the sense it was all costume. Years ago, before the outbreak, these men and women were normal like him. The world had changed in the years since and no doubt it had altered these men and women, but they were still people.

  The Savage pointed at Ed and Bethelyn. The strangers held their weapons in the air, screamed into the sky and then ran at him. This was it now. The doors had closed and left them trapped, and there was nothing to do but meet their end. Ed was just glad he had someone to face it with, and he couldn’t have imagined having that thought a few days earlier. As if thinking the same thing, Bethelyn tightened her grip around his shoulder.

  The strangers ran across the plain, but when they met Ed and Bethelyn they didn’t stop. They didn’t swing their weapons at his neck, didn’t try to cleave him in two. Instead there was the strong smell of sweat and something animal, like the floor of a zoo cage, and then they ran beyond Ed and toward the village.

  Ed turned. He saw the infected walking out of the outskirts of the village. Leading them was Izzy Foxroll, the school headmistress, science teacher, lunch lady and cleaner all in one, and behind her were the all of the children and adults of Golgoth.

  The Savage stopped walking when he was five feet in front of Ed and Bethelyn. Behind them the strangers battled the infected, but the sounds of the fight were muted as they travelled over the plains so that the screams and groans came from a TV with the volume turned down.

  The Savage had long dark hair that would have been the envy of most women, and the silky locks blew over his face with each gust of wind. He wore a black mask that covered his nose and mouth, but there was a metal zipper on the mouthpiece. His fur coat was patchy in most places and a lot of the hairs had stuck together to form clumps. At the edges, where the lining spread across his thighs, the coat was torn and ragged. His pockets bulged, though Ed couldn’t see what was in them. On his back, The Savage had a brown leather pouch that Ed saw was a quiver for arrows that he must have altered. He held a spear in his hand.

  The Savage stopped and lifted his spear. Ed felt cold sweat on his forehead and braced for the blow. The Savage drove the top of the spear into the ground like a cricket wicket.

  “Nowhere to run,” he said. “And that’s good, because I’m knackered. Do you know what your existence means?”

  His voice sounded unusually rough, as though he were making a big effort for it to appear that way. Maybe it was because he was talking through a mask, but something about it didn’t seem right. From the ways his eyes widened, Ed could tell that The Savage was smiling.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he carried on. “Do you know what you are worth? What people will pay for you? For your flesh, that is. On the mainland you’ll buy me a room full of boys and enough beer to drown a whale.”

  “You’re sick,” said Bethelyn.

  The Savage shook his head from died to side dramatically as if trying to shake fleas from his scalp.

  “No no no no. No. I was sick, once. But not anymore.”

  Bethelyn gave Ed a sideways look. “Seems like we’re out of options.”

  He looked over to the cliff. He couldn’t see the immediate drop from here, but beyond it he saw the grey sea with a frothy white crust where the waves had crashed. It was beginning to send itself into a frenzy again as the tide picked up. If they were going to escape over the sea, they would need to do it soon.

  “All except one,” said Ed.

  “Hope you’re a strong swimmer,” said Bethelyn.

  The Savage began to laugh. It started in an exaggerated way, and he put his hand on his chest and tipped back as if it was so funny he might fall over. Ed could see that his eyes didn’t follow the laugh at first. As he carried on the laugh grew softer, almost like a schoolboy’s, and finally his eyes joined in.

  “Suppose you don’t die of hypothermia and you manage to reach the dump across the channel. You have no idea what is happening there. You haven’t left this cosy patch of soil since the infected stopped scratching their arses. You might find me distasteful, but there are things on the mainland that make me a saint. Do you know of the Capita?”

  Ed shook his head. He looked at Bethelyn and she seemed equally confused.

  “This is too perfect,” said The Savage. “You
’re like Rip Van Winkles waking from years of sleep. How the world has changed since you napped under your rock. The mainland would be too much for you, little Winkles, and you would suffer. Come. Come to me, and I’ll show you the mercy here that you won’t find across the waters.”

  Ed took a step back. He looked again at the cliff edge and the drop seemed inviting, though this time for different reasons. He thought about James, and wondered if he was waiting for him down there at the bottom of the sea. Was there a place you went when you drowned? Somewhere under the suffocating waves where your body sunk to and found peace?

  “How far to the mainland?” said Ed.

  “Too far,” answered Bethelyn.

  “I’m not ready to give up.”

  The Savage gripped the end of his spear and tore it from the ground, spraying little flecks of mud over their feet. The metal tip was covered in brown soil.

  “You won’t have to give up,” said The Savage., “I can take the choice away from you.”

  He stepped forward in a movement quicker than Ed would have expected given his heavy furs. He gripped Ed by the collar, heaved him away from Bethelyn and threw him to the ground. Ed felt pain explode in his shoulder.

  The Savage walked around Ed so that he stood above him. Ed grabbed the man’s boot and felt that it was wet. He tried to pull on it in an effort to make him lose balance, but it was like pulling on tree roots. Bethelyn raised her knife and ran at The Savage, but her punched her in the face so hard that she fell to the floor. The impact of the back of her head on the ground made Ed feel sick.

  The Savage raised his spear and started to drive it slowly toward Ed’s throat. With every inch close the spear came, Ed felt his skin itch and his body grow cold. He grabbed hold of it and tried to push it back, but The Savage was too strong for him. Finally Ed felt the metal press against his throat, and the tip threatened to cut into his Adam’s apple. With the slightest application of weight, The Savage could puncture a hole in Ed’s neck.

  Ed stared into The Savage’s eyes. He wanted to talk but the spear was so close to his vocal chords that he didn’t dare. The Savage seemed to be looking deeply at Ed’s face with the thoughtful expression of a man contemplating how to deliver bad news.

  The Savage started to apply more pressure. When Ed felt the metal tip start to drill his skin, he knew that his neck would puncture as sure as a balloon against a pin. All the while, The Savage’s eyes never left his. It was as though he wouldn’t kill a man without giving him the honour of meeting his stare.

  Suddenly, The Savage’s expression broke. The creases on his forehead softened, and Ed felt relief as the pressure on his neck lightened. The Savage drew away the spear and stepped back, and now his eyes were alive.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said.

  His voice was airy now, the deep growl dropped as though it had been an act. The Savage dropped his spear to the floor, got to his knees and straddled himself over Ed’s chest so that their faces were inches apart. Ed could smell the stink of the man; the musk of sweat and the sour, leathery smell of the fur. The Savage grabbed Ed’s cheeks with cold hands and twisted and turned his face like a dog show judge inspecting a puppy.

  “This can’t be right,” said The Savage.

  Bethelyn stirred. She scrambled to her feet and picked up the discarded spear, though The Savage didn’t seem to mind. Bethelyn stood over him and then stopped when it became clear that The Savage wasn’t even paying attention to her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” said Bethelyn.

  The Savage gave a laugh. The tone was excitable, a schoolboy playing prank.

  “I felt like I’m on camera,” he said.

  “What are you talking about, you creep?” said Bethlem.

  The Savage turned to Ed and stared at his face again.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said, and turned Ed’s right cheek toward him. “You’re the spit of him. You’re so alike it’s uncanny.”

  Ed waited for the killing blow to fall, but instead The Savage stood up, grabbed his spear from Bethelyn’s hands and leant on it. He put his hand to his forehead.

  “He spoke about you sometimes,” he said, “But James didn’t tell me his brother was such a runt.”

  26

  Heather

  The end of the tracks

  The crowd of infected at the front of the cabin gave Heather and the DC’s enough cover to slip around the side of the building. Ahead of them, across a vast forecourt that had lines painted on it in the fashion of a school playground, was a warehouse. Its width ran beyond the fenced area of the compound. At some point it had probably been the home of some Capitalist enterprise but now, Heather had no idea what was hidden inside. The only thing she knew was that she needed to get away from Charles, and going through the warehouse seemed to be the only way. The exit behind her was blocked by the soldiers and their guns, and all along the sides of the compound were steel gates and hungry infected.

  Mary and the others lagged behind her as she approached the warehouse, but Heather wouldn’t stop. Kim and Eric were on the train, wherever that was, and unless she got to it before it set off, it was likely she’d never find it. That was the only reason she’d even consider stepping inside a suspicious looking warehouse.

  The double doors had rusted hinges and flaky paint, and a thick bolt ran through the middle and barred them shut. Heather grabbed the bolt and pulled, but the metal wouldn’t budge. Behind her, over the courtyard, she heard the cracks of rifles and the shouts of the soldiers.

  Mary caught up to her now. The woman rolled her sleeves up to show bony arms, but as she grabbed the bolt and helped heave it away, the years seemed to drop off her.

  “Put your back into it,” she said.

  If Heather didn’t feel she was going out of her mind with worry, she could have laughed. It felt like time was ticking away, that the seconds were grains of sand falling through the glass and burying her. If she didn’t hurry she would miss her chance. She’d spent so long scared of the Capita, and it had never gotten her anywhere. It was time to find the kids and then stand up to Charles and the other bastards.

  The bolt screeched. Feeling buoyed, Heather pulled harder on the metal until she felt her muscles burn. Sprinkles of orange rust fell to the ground as the bolt squealed against its metal support, and Mary made the sounds of a panting dog as she strained with effort. Another DC, a man with glasses held together by tape, joined them at the door and added to the effort.

  As a hole exploded into the wood of the door four feet above them, the bolt slid free. Heather saw that the soldiers had moved around the cabin now. They hadn’t dealt with all of the infected, but it seemed that Charles had ordered them to pursue the escaping DC’s.

  They stepped inside the warehouse. A cold draught hit her face with a whoosh as though they had disturbed an ancient tomb. The windows were all blacked out by paint and it took a while for the daylight to creep over the darkened walls and floors. When it covered enough for Heather to see the warehouse around her, she almost fell to the ground.

  Everything that had once been in the warehouse had been stripped away. At some point it had no doubt housed all manner of machinery and tools. It was all gone. In its place the Capita had installed steel pens and cages, enough to cover most of the warehouse floor and leaving just a few narrow walkways that twisted further into the building. Some infected were in the pens, and they gradually turned to see the newcomers. They shook the bars of their cages and cried out, their bodies thin but eyes wild. The infected weren’t the worst of it.

  In other cages were people who obviously weren’t infected. They were immune men, women and children. Some lay on the floor in the foetal position. Others paced the small span of their pens in circles, with their eyes staring at the floor. Heather looked at one cage and felt the need to vomit the contents of her stomach. She bent over, but nothing would come.

  Mary rubbed a hand on her back.

  Heather spat on the floor. She looke
d up at the old woman and wiped her lips.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  In a cage across from them, four wooden stakes stood on the ground. Two men, a scared-looking woman and a whimpering child were tied to them. One of the men had pin pricks all over his body as though he had been injected by a thousand needles. The woman had a stump on her shoulder where her arm should have been, with the end of it cauterised. The child had a tube on her arm, from which blood drained out of her and ran into a see-through container a few metres away.

  Mary carried on rubbing Heather’s back and started to speak.

  “Bet you thought the world couldn’t get any worse, didn’t you? I thought so too, honey. I remember being sat in the dark eating rotten food, too scared to open the curtains and let in a crack of light because I thought a monster might see me. I sat there listening to my neighbours scream when they broke through their barricades. There were times when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. But it isn’t dark out there, Heather, despite what you think. Out there is the light. This, though, this is the worst of it. Welcome to hell.”