The Dying & The Dead (Book 2)

by Jack Lewis

  Also by Jack Lewis:

  Fear the Dead 1

  Fear the Dead 2

  Fear the Dead 3

  Fear the Dead 4

  Haunted Shadows

  The Dying & The Dead 1

  Chapter One

  Ed

  The Albusian Sea, Half a Mile Away from the Mainland

  It sounded stupid, but he almost thought that the waves were angry with him. He used to watch them crash against the stone cliffs and chip them away piece by piece, the passage of time eroding something that had seemed indestructible. At least when he stood on the Golgoth Cliffs Ed had known that he was safe, that total erosion would never happen in his lifetime and it would be centuries before the sea fully swallowed the stone.

  He couldn’t say the same for The Savage’s ship. The bow dipped into the sea and then rocked through it, surfacing into the air seconds later. The vessel seemed fragile, and Ed knew it wouldn’t take the water as long to claim the boat as it would the cliffs. The sooner he was on land, the better.

  Back on the island of Golgoth, beyond the main street where the smell of rot hung over the village, was Ed’s house. It was the only one he’d ever known, and he’d shared it with his mum, dad and his brother James. His childhood had been happy, but it seemed like it had faded away as quickly as the closing of his eyelids. One by one his family had died or disappeared, and his house grew colder, the rooms too big. Soon enough, Golgoth Island itself fell to the infection. After that, it wasn’t only Ed’s house that was empty.

  “Wetgills?” said a voice on the deck behind him. He ignored it, letting the hint of mockery get lost in the wind.

  If he returned to the island, walked into his house and went upstairs, he would have found his bedroom. Stepping in, he’d pay no attention to the iron-tinged smell of blood in the air, and swat the flies that buzzed around his head. He’d keep his gaze rigid as he passed April’s body so as not to see the stab mark in the little girl’s temple. He’d ignore the stain of her blood matted on the fibres of the carpet.

  A vision of Bethelyn, the girl’s mother, flashed through his mind. Eyes frozen wide, her fingers uncurling and dropping a knife to the floor. Blood splattering on the carpet.

  “Not being sick again, are you?” said the voice on deck. Ed didn’t answer. The mast made a clapping sound as it flapped above him.

  Back in his room in a drawer beside his bed, there was a passport that he had never used, and an application to a Mainland university that was never filled in. Next to those, still as shiny as the day he took it out of the envelope, was a provisional driving license. He’d never upgraded to the full version because, like the passport and the university form, it was another thread of life that he had never bothered to unravel.

  Even though he was in his twenties, he wasn’t legally allowed to drive a car on his own. Not that the Driving License Agency was still around to give their approval. Yet here he was steering a ship through a black sea, gripping the helm and turning it in the direction of the wind as though he knew what he was doing. The wood was rough and rubbed on his skin, but without something to hold onto, his hands shook. Golgoth was behind them. It was a dead island fading in the rear view of his mind, but a part of it would never leave him.

  He worried that when he thought of Golgoth Island, he wouldn’t remember it as the place where he lived a happy childhood anymore. His memories wouldn’t be sneaking away to smoke stolen cigarettes with his brother James, or throwing stones from the cliffs and trying to hit a buoy that bobbled on the water surface. Instead, he’d remember blood mixing with rain water and staining the cobbled streets. He’d see his neighbours rising from the ground, with skin full of bite marks and clothes splattered with crimson, and walking toward him with faces twisted by hunger.

  Water sprayed over the starboard and onto the deck, seeping into the wood. Old timber always soaked in the smells of the things that passed by, and it held in its grains the emotions of the events that happened around it. The ship must have been decades old, so Ed wondered what these old treads had seen. How many people had died aboard this vessel? How many throats had The Savage cut open until blood dribbled onto the deck?

  As if on cue, a voice called for him again.

  “Getting the hang of it, Wetgills?” said The Savage.

  The Savage joined him at the bow. His shoulder-length black hair was stuck to his head by the water that sprayed up from the sea. His mask melded into the darkness of the night, but Ed could see his eyes. Hungry and alert, always wearing a trace of mockery. Up close, The Savage was two inches taller than Ed, but he didn’t carry much muscle.

  “You’re holding the helm like a clown juggling an anvil,” he said.

  “Well, I’m not exactly Captain Blackbeard.”

  Seafaring wasn’t his thing. His clothes were constantly damp from the salt water that sprayed over the decks, and it seemed like even the air carried moisture in it. His jacket and shirt had been wet and then dried off so many times that his skin felt raw and the fabric chafed on him.

  The Savage had given Ed a rudimentary lesson in steering the ship. He wasn’t a good teacher, always watching Ed and waiting to throw a barbed insult. Ed remembered when James had given him driving lessons when he first got his provisional. His brother seemed to have endless patience, constantly ready with a word of encouragement or helpful tip. The Savage could have learned from him.

  Driving wasn’t the only thing James had taught him. He seemed to revel in the role of wise older sibling, and he’d taught Ed a range of things from playing the guitar to the names of the constellations in the night sky. James had learned them for navigational purposes during his navy training.

  This is what Ed didn’t understand. James always seemed so sure of himself and where he was going, so what had happened to him? For years, after the sea-soaked remnants of his ship washed up on the shores of Golgoth, Ed had thought that his brother was dead. When The Savage told him that he was alive on the Mainland, he couldn’t believe it.

  He looked at the sky. The stars gave a pale glow, and he ran his gaze along them, repeating to himself the names of the constellations he knew. He stopped when he reached one that he had seen many times before. It was a constellation called Algol, named after a demon which was the snake-like head of Medusa. Was it possible that James was sat there somewhere on the Mainland staring up at the same constellation?

  The ship lurched to the right. Ed remembered The Savage’s lessons and steered into the turn, but it only seemed to get worse, and it was hard to keep his footing. He gripped the wheel harder and the wood rubbed against his calloused hands. A wave splashed over the side and water ran across the timber and over his feet. The wind moaned all around him.

  The ship rocked again, and a giant wave crashed over the port side. Ed didn’t have time to brace himself, and he was slapped by a shower of sea water. The force of it was enough to knock him to the floor, and the icy touch of the water pressed against his back. Thunder rumbled from miles away but grew louder as though it was coming for him. The sky flashed blue and Ed saw lightening spit from the sky, so close that he thought he could feel the heat. The ship shook, and the waves battered against the timber. How much more could it take before falling apart?

  The Savage was above him now. He offered out a hand, but Ed ignored it. He got himself to his feet. His back and legs were already freezing into numbness. The Savage looked at him. Ed couldn’t see his mouth, but somehow he knew there was a mocking grin on his face.

  “Daddy’s going to take over for a while,” said The Savage. “Go below deck and rest a little. But don’t be sick down there. I’m not cleaning up after you.”

  “That was once,” said Ed.

&n
bsp; “Once a Wetgill, always a Wetgill.”

  “What does that even mean? If it wasn’t for your ship being a piece of crap, maybe I’d be okay. Is it too much to ask that this thing doesn’t wobble at every wave? I feel like it’s going to fall apart.”

  The Savage gripped the helm. His hands seemed stronger than Ed’s. He turned it ninety degrees clockwise and the ship sailed straighter, but then another wave hit. This time, Ed braced himself. The water hit his shins, and he stayed on his feet.

  “You could do a lot worse than this old thing. I could always take you back to Golgoth if you’d prefer?”

  Ed thought of his old home. The island he knew was gone, and the residents had baser needs these days. They didn’t care about farming or building anymore, they had only one desire. He thought of the tortured sighs, the blood, and the pain-filled screams.

  “No, thanks.”

  The Savage tapped the helm.

  “Then you might want to apologise to the boat. This old thing could sail through a cyclone. Found it anchored a mile away from the coastline a few years ago. Back then I was a Billy-no-mates, hadn’t seen walls and a roof for weeks and my ribs were showing like a carved roast chicken. I remember one morning waking and feeling this tightness in my stomach, and I looked up at the sky and felt snow hit my noggin. Winter was on its way, and it didn’t have good things in store for me. I’m not gonna lie to you, Ed. You might think I’m this happy-go-lucky guy - ”

  “I really don’t.”

  “But back then, I started wondering what the point was. So when I saw this old thing, I dropped my gear on the ground and I swam out to it. I had my knife between my teeth like a commando. You know, from the old action movies?”

  “I got on board dripping wet and ready for a fight, but when I stood on deck it was like being in a mausoleum. The only thing I could hear was the water lapping against the hull, and a seagull screeching above me. Blood was smeared all over the decks, but I couldn’t find a single Tom, Dick or Harry. After that, the ship was mine. I don’t have the legal documents or anything, but I don’t think the owners are coming back for it.”

  “Still, the storm’s getting pretty bad.”

  “This ship will sail through the wrath of God if I want it to.”

  The Savage held the helm with his left hand and turned to face Ed. His scalp showed through his sodden hair.

  “We have worse problems than a bit of wind,” he said. “It’s been 25 days since I last had anything for my condition.”

  Ed thought back to Golgoth. He and Bethelyn had stared out of a bedroom window and watched The Savage and his men chase down one of the Golgoth residents. They had killed him, and The Savage had cut a chunk of flesh away from his body and fed it to one of his people.

  When infection had spread to Golgoth and the residents fell into a coma, the only ones who woke were those who were immune. Some thanked their Gods when they woke up alive and well, but for most, the horror was only beginning. Ed thought the infected were bad, but he never imagined that there were worse things out there.

  “I don’t want to know about your condition,” said Ed. “Just get us to the Mainland and then we can separate.”

  The boat bobbed down into the sea and then rose again like a car trundling over a speed bump. The wind whipped at the mast above them, creating a booming sound as the canvas struck the wood. Ed wiped his runny nose, and a deep cold settled on his skin. Everywhere around them the black of night melded with the utter darkness of the sea.

  The Savage turned the helm. He tutted, then turned it again.

  “I’ve seen you up here, you know. Staring up at the sky like some kid. You appreciate the stars, don’t you? Well, here’s a constellation for you. Follow my finger.”

  The Savage pointed up at the sky.

  “See that one? That’s called the Cannibal.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s named after a Gerekin legend. A guy who was lost in the Wilderness of Torment and had to eat his family so that he could survive. He would do anything to stay alive. Anything. And that’s why it’s the oldest constellation in the sky.”

  “That’s not how stars work,” said Ed. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

  “Just think on,” said The Savage. “My condition is the curse that I bear, but if I don’t get something soon, it’ll be yours too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The Savage shook his head.

  “Come on, Ed. You’ve figured this out already. I need blood or flesh from someone who’s immune, and if I don’t get it, it won’t be long until my skin looks like rotten pork and I’m trying to claw your eyelids off. Luckily for me, there are two immune people on this boat.”

  Ed knew this, of course. Until the infection hit Golgoth he had been sheltered from the true extent of the outbreak, but after seeing The Savage and his men, it hadn’t taken him long to work things out. If you were bitten or scratched by one of the infected, there was a small window of time where you could ingest the flesh or blood of someone who was immune. Trouble was, Ed stood on one side of the window, and The Savage was on the other, staring at him through the glass.

  “How did you get infected?” Ed asked.

  A wave splashed over the deck and sprayed ten feet above them. The Savage tilted his head into it as if he was enjoying a shower. He looked at Ed, water dripping down the plastic of his mask.

  “You better go down, it’s getting bad. Let daddy drive the car.”

  ~

  The air was suffocating below deck, as though the wooden walls were tightening and making the space even smaller. In some ways he preferred being on deck, even if it meant that he’d be hit by a spray of salt water. There were two rooms below. One of them was The Savage’s. The other used to be a cargo hold, but there was nothing in it now save a pile of blankets which Bethelyn slept on. Ed had to make do with the cold floor.

  He found Bethelyn on her make-shift bed. Her eyes were open, and she stared at the ceiling, motionless. Rather than disturb her straight away, Ed looked around. On one wall two rusted hooks were fastened into the timber. The Savage hadn’t done much to make his ship seem homely, and the vessel carried that smell of sodden old wood. On the other wall, there was a paper drawing.

  Bethelyn hadn’t spoken much since leaving the island. One of the only conversations she’d had was to ask if anyone had a pen or pencil. In the hurry to escape the infected neither Ed nor The Savage had thought to pack stationary, so Bethelyn had burned the end of a piece of wood and used the soot to draw on the back of an old poster. After wetting the soot and applying it to the paper, she’d sketched a likeness of her daughter, April, and she stuck it to the cabin wall. Ed had been content to let her grieve in her own way, but it wasn’t healthy. A couple of times, when she thought he was asleep, Ed heard her talking to her soot-drawn little girl.

  She hadn’t left her room much since they had gone on the ship, but Ed could hardly blame her. Losing a child must have been an unimaginable hell, but to have to kill her yourself must have been so much worse.

  “Come on up top,” he said. His words broke the stillness. The old wood of the deck groaned above them. “Take a walk with me. See the storm. Trust me, there’s nothing like a face full of salt water to wake you up.”

  Bethelyn didn’t even look at him.

  “What’s the point? I just want to sleep.”

  “You might want to close your eyes for that.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Since finding out from The Savage that his brother, James, was alive on the Mainland, all Ed had wanted to do was find him and be reunited with his lost sibling. He was the last family he had left; his big brother who he thought would always be there. The idea of looking for him had given him purpose. For Bethelyn, there was no such drive. She had already lost the only person who was important to her on Golgoth, and Ed knew that nothing he could do would change it. A walk on deck wasn’t going to clear everything up for her. He just wished she’d eat and s
leep a little.

  There was a loud crashing sound overhead, as if someone had dropped an anvil on deck. Once again he wondered about the fragility of the boat, and he didn’t feel so confident that the vessel could sail through the wrath of God. Above, filtering down the hatch and dimly meeting his ears, he heard The Savage yelling.

  Ed left the room. He went across the walkway and climbed up the ladder that led up to the deck. Water dripped down from above and pattered on his head, and a rumbling sound drowned out the possibility of hearing anything else. Something crashed again, and as he peered through the hatch, a spread of cold water hit him in the face.

  The wind was swirling around them. It battered the mast so quickly it was like the pulse from a heart ready to burst. The ship rose up for what seemed like twenty feet, and then it fell back onto the surface of the sea with a thud, flooding the timbers with raging sea water.

  As Ed stood on deck and fought to keep his balance, The Savage ran toward him. He couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roar of the sea, but he felt his own heart hammer in his chest. The sea punched at the sides of the ship again and again, driving itself into frenzy and aiming for the knockout blow. Ed’s legs felt unsteady.