The Dying & The Dead (Book 2)

by Jack Lewis

  “What’s your name?” said the Runt next to him.

  “Baz.”

  “I’m Lerner.”

  He nodded. It felt strange being Baz. It used to feel liberating knowing that he could make decisions in the Grand Hall as Tammuz, and then walk out of the tunnel and step into Baz's shoes. It was like shedding a heavier skin and stepping into something light. Now though, it was far from liberating. He was powerless.

  Back at the Grand Hall, Marduk and Nabu would be whispering in Ishkur’s ear. They’d be telling him that Tammuz was unreliable and that he’d just left them, and they would say that he should be replaced. Baz needed to get back to the Capita. He looked at the Runts around him and knew that he wasn’t one of them. He was Tammuz, one of the Five; one of the most powerful people in all the Capita. That’s where he needed to be.

  Hanks held his hand in the air, and the unit stopped. Grateful to take the weight off his feet, Baz swung his pack off his back and then sat on it. The rest of the Runts followed suit. Baz looked at their faces. Some of them looked worried, no doubt fretting over the loved ones that they had left at home. Most of the Runts were conscripts, of course. It was rare that someone actually decided to join the army. Another decision that wise old Tammuz had more than a hand in making.

  He saw a familiar face across from him, set apart from the rest of the Runts and fiddling with the straps of his pack. It was Ronnie Alderson.

  Baz got to his feet. Glad to see a face he knew, he walked over to his friend.

  “Mine’s a pint,” he said.

  Ronnie looked up at him, and he flinched in anger.

  “Piss off.”

  Baz scratched the back of his head.

  “Listen, Ronnie. I’m sorry about what happened back at the bar. You know I couldn’t have done anything, right? You know the guards; they never listen.”

  “Think there’s a fart somewhere back there calling out your name,” said Ronnie.

  Baz walked over to his pack. He opened it, took out his rations and grabbed the dessert. It was a crusty granola loaf, and Baz’s stomach ached for the sugar, but he knew that Ronnie had a sweet tooth. He walked back over to him and held it out.

  “Here,” he said.

  “Think a crappy oat bar is going to sort things?”

  “I’ll buy the rounds the next time we’re in Darwin’s Bar.”

  Ronnie snatched the loaf from Baz’s hand. He put it in his pack, and then looked at the ground.

  “They took me away from Louise and Curtis, you know.”

  Baz nodded. He settled down on the ground next to his friend.

  “And you did nothing,” continued Ronnie.

  Baz was going to answer, when he saw something in the distance. A group of figures walked across the wasteland half a mile away. At the front, Hanks rounded his horse and faced the troops.

  “Tighten up,” he growled.

  Baz watched the figures. They lurched instead of walked, and he thought they were going to fall over. He might have lived a sheltered life in the Dome, but he knew what the figures were. He turned to Ronnie.

  “They gave me some top class training. Just handed me this knife,” he said and patted his side where the long knife blade hung in a leather pouch. “Then they told me to stick it into anything that moved. Don’t know if they meant sticking it into Hanks.”

  Ronnie shrugged.

  “Only thing is,” said Baz, “I’m not sure which end I need to stick.”

  He pulled out his knife and held the grip in front of him, as if he was confused which end was the blade. Ronnie gave a begrudging laugh, and it seemed to break the barrier between them. He kicked out at the dirt in front of him.

  “I did sod all wrong, Baz. Absolutely nothing. When the Five sit in their little chairs and decide to attack somewhere, arrests and conscriptions go through the roof. Think that’s a coincidence? I’ve left a wife who’s ready to drop another babe, and I don’t even know if I’ll make it back. Think I’ll get to hold my kid in my arms? I don’t. Some other bloody bloke will get to cut the umbilical cord.”

  Baz stared out into the distance. Somewhere out of sight was the Dome, and in it was the Grand Hall. As Tammuz he was so used to thinking on a high level that he never stopped to wonder who his decisions would affect.

  As the figures got closer, Baz counted. He saw twenty infection-riddled faces staring back, expressions twisted by pain and hunger. Their bodies were thin and their steps were shaky. They got closer, and he could smell them. The mixture of sweat and rot made his nose twitch.

  Hanks ordered them to their feet. The officers galloped forward and circled the infected, keeping their distance so that the monsters couldn’t reach them. The Runts were ordered to engage. With shaky steps, Baz moved forward. He held his knife in his hand and the blade felt heavy. Somehow, he had never thought he would actually have to use it.

  A few adrenaline-soaked minutes later, all but five of the infected were dispatched. Baz didn’t think he’d forget their cries as they reached for the Runts, or the smell of clotted blood as it seeped from their wounds. Five of the infected stood in front of them, heads darting from side to side as if they didn’t know which of the soldiers to attack.

  Hanks pulled on his horse’s reins and trotted over to the Runts. The infected snarled at him as he passed, and one reached out for the horse. The lieutenant stopped in front of the men. Up close, Baz saw how thick his muscles were and how wide his chest spread. He couldn’t believe the man was in his sixties. A sickle hung from his belt, cut down in size so that he could wield it in one hand.

  “Runts,” he said, his voice booming over them. “I need two volunteers.”

  The infected growled and took clumsy steps forward.

  “No one?” said Hanks. “Then I’ll pick. You and you.”

  He pointed at a Runt across from them, the man who had introduced himself to Baz as Lerner. His second pick was Ronnie. Baz’s friend closed his eyes, sighed and then got to his feet.

  “I want you to defang and declaw these fine specimens,” said Hanks. “Do you know why?”

  Ronnie shook his head.

  Hanks grinned. “You’ll see soon enough.” He nodded at one of the officers. “Give them some pliers.”

  An officer explained that it was Ronnie and Lerner’s job to remove the teeth from the infected. After that, they were to pry off their fingernails.

  Ronnie walked over to the first infected. The monster sniffed the air, and Baz saw that its eye sockets were empty. It turned to face Ronnie, nose twitching. The Runt stepped forward and grabbed it by the collar. He pulled the infected back by the hair and lifted the pliers toward its mouth. Baz could see that his friend’s hands were shaking.

  As he fixed the pliers on one of the infected’s canine teeth, the infected swung its arm. It managed to grab hold of Ronnie’s ear, and jerked it so hard that Ronnie shouted out in pain. In a momentary lapse he let go of the infected, and the monster launched its head forward and sunk its teeth into his arm.

  Ronnie shrugged himself free. With his face growing paler by the second, he took his knife out of its pouch and then sank it deep into the infected’s skull.

  “We’ve got a turkey,” shouted one of the officers.

  Ronnie held his hand against his wounded arm. When he pulled it away, his fingers were covered in blood. He edged away from the infected. He looked at the other Runts around him, as if waiting for help. His eyes were so wide that they looked completely white.

  Other Runts were chosen by Hanks to finish defanging the infected. Ten minutes later they were left with a pile of teeth and nails. Next to them were a herd of infected who clacked their gums together like pensioners sucking on lemons.

  Baz walked over to his friend and put an arm on his shoulder. Ronnie winced and then backed away.

  “Stay back, Baz,” he said. “It bit me.”

  Hanks trotted over on his horse. The animal snorted.

  “You’re old enough to know it doesn’t work
like that,” said the lieutenant. He looked at an officer behind him, and nodded.

  The officer wandered over to a supply cart. When he walked back, he had a clear plastic bag in one hand, and a sealed container in the other. In the plastic bag there was a lump of meat with red juice underneath it. In the container, blood swished against the sides.

  Hanks looked at Ronnie. Beneath the lieutenant’s khaki coat, his shirt was unbuttoned to show a hairy chest. Fixed into the pocket of the shirt was a child’s action figure. It was a man with bulging muscles, and its head was chewed.

  “Hope you’re good with decisions,” said Hanks. “Because here’s a doozy. Do you know how infection works?”

  “As much as anyone, I guess,” said Ronnie. He seemed to be thinking clearer now that the initial panic had worn off. He spread his palms in front of him and looked at the blood. Baz had never seen his friend looking so subdued.

  Hanks rested forward on his horse and stroked its head. The sickle swung from his side.

  “Then you’ll know that not long from now you’ll start to get sweaty and feel sick, and after that you’ll fall into a nice long sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be like this lot,” he said, and pointed at the infected. “I don’t want to have to defang you, so I’d suggest you make a choice right now. Is it going to be flesh, or is blood more your thing?”

  The officer at the side held the bag of flesh in the air. It squelched against the sides of the plastic.

  Ronnie’s face turned green. He pressed his hand against his arm and winced.

  “Come on now,” said Hanks.

  Baz knew that more Darwin’s Children died if flesh was used as a cure. A person could be drained of their blood pint by pint and if you were careful, they wouldn’t die. Flesh was different. You could hardly cut a chunk of flesh away from someone and expect them to still be walking.

  The same thought hadn’t occurred to Ronnie, though, because he pointed at the bag.

  “A wise choice,” said Hanks. “Eat it once a month and you’ll be fine. I should know.”

  He rolled up the sleeves of his coat to show his left arm. A blue tattoo spread across his skin, but a chunk of his arm was missing, rendering the tattoo half-finished. Baz wondered why the lieutenant still wore his mask if he was already infected. Maybe it was to set an example to his men.

  The officer walked across to Ronnie. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a clump of soft meat. Even though he wasn’t holding it, Baz thought he could almost feel how cold and slimy it was.

  The officer handed it to Ronnie.

  “Got your canteen?” said Hanks.

  Ronnie nodded.

  “Good. My advice is pinch your nose and wash it down with water.”

  The rest of the Runts and officers watched as Ronnie held the meat between his fingers. He brought it up to his mouth and opened wide. He wavered with the meat just inches away from his lips.

  “I’ve had enough,” said Hanks, slapping his hands down on his horse. “If you’re going to be like this, you’re a liability.” He nodded at the officer across from him. “Sort him out. Don’t bother to bury him.”

  “Wait,” said Ronnie.

  He took a deep breath and put the meat in his mouth. His face screwed up as his lips closed around the flesh. He tried to swallow, but the chunk was too big. He grimaced as he chewed. His hands started to shake. Finally his Adam’s apple rippled as he swallowed it down.

  Seconds later, his cheeks bulged. He bent over and vomited onto the ground. Somewhere in the background a few officers laughed, but the Runts stared at Ronnie with faces whiter than snow.

  Baz never realised what it was like. He knew about infection, he knew about the camps. He had full knowledge of the protection from infection that the DCs provided. Until he’d seen Ronnie eat human flesh, he’d never stopped to think about the consequences. A person had died so that Ronnie could live, he realised. Who were the Capita to decide which life was more important?

  Hanks sighed. His horse stamped a hoof into the ground, as if mirroring the irritation of its owner.

  “Give him some more,” he said to the officer. Then he looked at Ronnie. “Next time you do that, you can eat the vomit. We don’t have enough to waste on some green-faced Runt.”

  ~

  Later in the day, after marching so much that his feet felt like they were on fire, they saw Kiele in the distance. Baz saw a black gate that looked sturdy enough to withstand a battering ram. The circumference of the town was marked by stakes wedged into the dirt, and severed heads had been wedged on top. The Mainland is a beautiful place, he thought.

  Hanks brought them to a halt.

  “Get some rest,” he said. “Have some food, take a shit, and get ready. Because after that we attack.”

  For the first time, Baz realised that he was going to have to fight. He would have to take his blade and use it on another human being. There was no getting out of it, and there was no one else to blame. It wasn’t his fault he was arrested, not really. But it was completely his fault that they were attacking Kiele. He just hoped he could survive the battle.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eric

  When he next saw Marta Vitch in the yard, one of her eyes was bruised and the index and middle fingers of her left hand were bandaged together. Eric wondered if she’d had a fall, but he could tell from her downcast look that it wasn’t the case.

  Later on, when the yard had cleared and the other DCs were in bed, Eric got dressed. He made sure Kim was sleeping and then sneaked out of the cabin. The breeze cooled his arms as he crossed the yard, and twice he had to lie stiff on the ground as the search beam looped over him.

  At Marta’s cabin, he looked over his shoulder and then gave two sharp knocks on the door. There was movement from inside, and then the door opened a touch. When she saw that it was Eric, Marta opened the door wide.

  “You’re a brave boy sneaking over here to see me,” she said. She led him inside.

  Something bubbled in a pot in the kitchen. The smell was sour and sharp. Marta walked over and settled into her chair, giving a huff as she sat. On a table next to her was a book, but the title was written in a foreign language.

  “And I see you brought me a present?” she said.

  Eric had saved some of his daily rations. He didn’t know how well Marta did for food, but her skinny body didn’t inspire much confidence in either her rations or her appetite.

  “I don’t have much,” said Eric. “I thought you might want it.”

  “Take a seat.”

  He dragged the chair over so that he sat in front of her. The search light shone over the window for a second and left them in near darkness, with the only illumination coming from a fire that was dying on the hearth.

  “What happened to you?” he said.

  She put her finger to the corner of her eye and traced it over the bruise. Her skin looked like leather that had shrivelled in the sun. He looked into her eyes and thought that he could see deep into them. There was something sad about Marta. She’d been around a long time and picked up scars over the years. She wasn’t like most adults.

  “You didn’t just come to give me a present, did you?” she said, ignoring the question.

  “I did.”

  “The truth, boy.”

  He realised that she had the same habit as her brother, where she said ‘boy’ a lot. When Goral said it, it sounded sinister, but Marta made the word seem friendly.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “I was hoping you could help me with something. You see, the other night…”

  “Not still thinking of escape, are you?”

  Even though she was Goral’s sister, deep down he felt that he could trust her. There was something honest about Marta, as though she refused to lie and instead would always wear the truth on the surface. He found that most adults, when they were lying, showed it on their face even when they tried to hide it.

  “I think there’s a way,” he said. He thought about Goral’s keys. He’d ripped
a hole in the underside of his mattress and stuffed them inside it, and he hoped that would be enough to fool the guards.

  “There’s always a way,” said Marta. “But the path might not lead where you want it to. Take this, for instance.” She held up her bandaged fingers. “Some people think helping others is a good thing. Others see you doing it, and they reward you like this.”

  “What happened?”

  “Goral found out that I had given an apple to a boy.”