The Dying & The Dead (Book 2)

by Jack Lewis

  Scarsgill stopped walking, and the guard stopped behind him. Eric knew which bed he’d stopped at.

  He stretched out in a way that he hoped seemed like something a person would do when he was asleep. He turned over onto his other side so that he could see the doctor, but for the first minute he kept his eyes closed.

  “So sweet when she’s asleep,” said Scarsgill.

  The guard didn’t say anything.

  “She doesn’t look well at all,” the doctor continued. “Has she been eating?”

  “I don’t work in the canteen,” said the guard.

  “For God’s sake. I asked for someone who actually knew the people in this cabin.”

  “I’ve pulled guard duty in this section for the last month.”

  “Standing there with your baton and waiting for them to cause trouble isn’t the same as knowing these people.”

  Eric risked opening one eye. At first the room was too dark, but his vision adjusted. Scarsgill was sat on the end of Kim’s bed. He didn’t touch her, but he looked at her face with an expression that seemed like concern.

  “Make sure she eats in the morning, and every meal time after that. I want to see at least a little red in those cheeks,” said Scarsgill, talking to the guard. “After that, I want you to bring her to the lab. I need her in there in forty-eight hours. It’s time to start on the girl.”

  With that, he straightened up, nodded at the guard and then walked out of the cabin. As he passed Eric, he felt a cool breeze fall over him, as if a sheet of ice followed the doctor everywhere he went.

  He looked over at Kim. She had slept through the whole thing, oblivious to the plans that Dr. Scarsgill had for her. Eric didn’t know what they were really, but he knew when they would happen, and he felt like they needed to be worried. There was nothing else they could do; he was going to have to bring the escape forward. One way or the other, tomorrow would be their last day in Camp Dam Marsh.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ed

  They heard the tortured wails of the infected as they passed the log cabins and went into the larger building at the edge of the clearing. They found the double doors unlocked. The Savage opened them and stepped inside, followed by Ed and Bethelyn.

  A long corridor stretched ahead of them. It was dark save for where thin streams of light seeped in through broken windows. Lights hung above them fixed in glass casings, but Ed already knew that there was no point trying to find the power. There was a damp smell, and as their footsteps echoed against the walls, he couldn’t help but think that they’d disturbed something.

  “Hello?” said The Savage. He stopped walking and waited, as if he expected an answer.

  Hearing nothing call back in response, they walked on. The building was a central base for Loch-Deep Meditation Retreat. They found rooms with mats and cushions on the floor. Posters covered the walls showing images of blossom-filled forests and mountains greener than anything Ed had ever seen. Some had slogans printed on the bottom, saying things like ‘Harmony isn’t in the destination, it’s in the journey.’

  Bethelyn walked with her hand pressed against her shoulder.

  “I need saline solution for the wound,” she said.

  The Savage patted his coat pockets.

  “I seem to be fresh out.”

  His words echoed back at them through the darkness. Out…Out…Out…

  “There must be a kitchen,” said Bethelyn. “Maybe we could find something in there.”

  Every so often they passed a window. All of them were smashed, and the broken glass littered the ground outside, as if they had all been broken from the inside. Ed thought he heard footsteps crunching on branches and twigs beyond the windows. The wheezes of the infected drifted toward them, growing louder each time they passed another frame of damaged glass.

  “He’s outside,” said Bethelyn.

  “Come on,” said The Savage. “Don’t let your mind get carried away.”

  Ed stopped.

  “I feel it too. I’m sure I heard him walking. Ripeech is nearby, and he knows that we’re here.”

  “You two are losing it. You’re both a couple of Wetgills.”

  The groans grew louder. He couldn’t see them, but the prickles on Ed’s arms told him that infected were walking toward the building. He didn’t know if they were drawn there by the smell of live meat, or if something was leading them. It seemed as if they honed in on their location, guided there by something cognitive that knew where they were.

  They took a turn at the end of the corridor. A hallway stretched out before them. A red-painted box hung off the wall, attached by a golden chain. ‘Suggestion Box,’ it read. Doorways lined the sides of the walls every few metres. Bethelyn walked ahead of them.

  “Slow down, Beth,” said Ed.

  She took a few steps forward, and then stopped outside a doorway. Something was on the floor next to the door. He couldn’t make out what it was in the darkness, but Bethelyn kneeled down and picked it up. She turned to them with the thing in her hands.

  It was a small teddy bear. Its fur was matted and rough, as if it was old and the years had taken a toll on it. One eye was small and black, but there was just a stitch where the other should have been. He couldn’t help feeling that he’d seen something like it somewhere else.

  Ed had never had teddy bears growing up. He’d asked for one once, and he remembered his mum looking at his dad and saying ‘Well?’ Dad shook his head and said ‘Bears are for pansies.’ At the time he hadn’t understood what a small flower would want with a toy animal, and it was only later that he came to realise that pansy was an insult, and that his dad wanted him to be more like James. He liked boys who were smart and strong, who didn’t need stuffed animals for comfort. It was the first in a series of things that made Ed realise that he’d never match up to his brother.

  Bethelyn held the bear close to her. The look in her eyes was strange, and at first he didn’t understand. But then he looked closer at the toy, and realised where he’d seen one like it before.

  “Just give me a minute,” said Bethelyn.

  Her eyes looked heavy, and tears welled on them like water threatening to spill over the edge of a bucket. Ed realised that her daughter, April, used to have a bear just like this one.

  She gripped the handle of the door behind her. A sign next to the door read ‘Room 17.’

  “What are you doing?” said The Savage.

  “Just give me a minute,” she answered, her voice choked.

  She opened the door and walked into the room, taking the bear with her and slamming the door behind her. He and The Savage stood in the corridor. The stale smell hung around them, and Ed heard the growls of the infected that seemed to be surrounding the building.

  “Just leave her,” said Ed.

  “We don’t know what the hell is in that room. She can’t just wander around like that.”

  “Look at her. I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s gone. It hasn’t been Bethelyn walking with us in the forest. It’s like she’s empty.”

  “Thought that was just her way. I don’t know either of you very well.”

  “I wasn’t exactly best friends with her. But since April died, there’s been nothing inside. So just leave her for a minute, okay? She’s gone either way. At least this way, there’s a chance she might come back.”

  “When did you get so insightful?” said The Savage.

  The door opened and Bethelyn stepped out. Bags hung under her eyes, and her cheeks were red and wet. Her hands were empty. She looked up at Ed, and for a second he got the feeling he was staring into an enormous black chasm.

  “I never took anything of hers,” said Bethelyn, voice wobbling. “We didn’t have time. I should have got something before we left Golgoth.”

  “Bethelyn, you didn’t have a choice.”

  She ignored him, lost her in her own thoughts. “And her body. I just left her there like a piece of meat. I should have buried her, at least. I owed her that muc
h.”

  “We didn’t have time. If we’d stayed any longer, we would have died.”

  “I did die, Ed. I don’t see how I’m ever coming back.”

  The Savage sighed.

  “You’re not going to last long in this world,” he said.

  Bethelyn nodded. “I know.”

  They walked through the building. Their footsteps boomed off the porcelain floor, and the stale smell grew the further in they got. Every so often they’d open a door and peer into a room, but all they found were beds left unmade and possessions left untouched. Toothbrushes sat in glass cups, clothes were folded neatly on shelves. If he didn’t know better, he would have guessed that the occupants had all gone out for the day.

  Ed started to notice a pattern. In every room and along every corridor, anything reflective had been smashed. They found cracked mirrors and broken windows, and the crackle of glass underneath their boots soon became as normal as the spluttering hiss of the infected that followed them through every twist and turn in the hallway.

  Finally, they came to the end of the building. There was a door at the end of a dark corridor, and a sign was fixed into the wall next to it.

  ‘Loch-Deep Communal Meditation,’ it read.

  When they opened the door there was a rush of air, as if they’d opened the vacuum-sealed tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh. The room was the size of a school gymnasium. Richly-woven mats covered the floors, and spent incense sticks littered every available surface.

  The walls were covered in drawings like the ones they had seen in the cabin. They were of the same face, repeated over and over in degrading quality until finally they were just a series of lines and scratches. It was as if the artist was trying to capture an image perfectly, but his talent was lacking and his frustration was rising. On one of them, dark eyes stared out from an oval face. Ed made out a roughly-drawn nose and mouth, and most of the face had been shaded so that it looked covered in shadow.

  There were eight windows spread across all sides of the room. The glass was smashed, and Ed saw dew-covered tree branches and overgrown grass. Weeds reached up to some of the window frames, as if the forest was trying to climb inside the building.

  The Savage walked over to a table and picked up a book.

  “Another diary,” he said, holding it up. “I feel like this whole place is the bedroom of a teenage girl.”

  He opened it up and started to read.

  “Day 30. Mind closing, body submitting. Meditation four times a day and finding inner calm, but the infection is always waiting. Skin looks grey. Blisters on my arms, have to stop picking at the scabs. Already survived longer than the incubation period. Mindfulness keeps the infection from destroying my mind, but I feel weak. Want to sleep. Want to eat. Oh, how I want to eat.”

  Bethelyn’s shoulders shivered.

  “This will sound crazy,” she said. “But do you think this is Ripeech?”

  “You’re quick on the uptake,” The Savage answered sarcastically. “Of course it’s him. I just can’t believe it, though. I thought there was only one cure when you were infected, but this crazy bastard tried something else.”

  The groans from outside grew louder. Ed looked out of a window, and his chest tightened as figures emerged from the forest. They took lurching steps toward the grass, stumbling over the fallen logs. Some tripped as their feet became entangled in vines, but a second later they got back up, stares fixed firmly on the room.

  Ed looked around him. The air felt cold, somehow. He imagined this creature, Ripeech, in this room. How long ago had it been? How much time had passed since this thing, this man or whatever it was, had been in here making drawings of its own face and writing a diary of its infection?

  The figures walked closer. At first it seemed like there were dozens, but then more hungry faces emerged from behind the trees and walked toward them, as if drawn there by something.

  The atmosphere turned. Suddenly, it seemed like something else was there. The air became heavier, and the walls became just a shade darker. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and he had the overwhelming sensation that something else was waiting for them outside. He couldn’t see it, but the feeling was impossible to dismiss.

  “He’s here,” said Ed. “Ripeech is here.”

  For a few seconds, they heard nothing but the hungry cries of the infected. And then a voice spoke to them from outside.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Heather

  Glass exploded all over the living room floor. Heather lifted her arm to her face and covered her eyes, but an umbrella would have been more use as the shards rained down on her. She moved her arm away to see the carpet covered by pieces of the front window. On the floor there was a bottle with a burning rag stuffed into it, and black smoke started to seep out of the rim and spread into the air.

  The smell hit her, and her throat closed up. Spikes of glass fell from her hair and shoulders. Charles took hold of Lilly’s wheelchair and pulled her toward the door. Voices shouted outside, and her eyes watered as the smoke spread from the floor and covered the walls and ceiling. Through the black mist, she saw dim figures approach the house.

  Another window smashed. Her vision was impaired by smoke so thick that it was like a gassy tar, and her eyeballs stung. The second smash sounded like it came from the side of the house, though she didn’t know the layout well enough to pin it on a specific room. There was a booming sound, and then the tell-tale clang of a letter box. They’d busted down the front door.

  “It’s in my hair, Dad,” said Lilly.

  Charles wheeled her out of the room and into the hallway. Following him, Heather caught a glimpse of masked Capita soldiers in the doorway, twenty feet down the hall. They seemed to be waiting for the smoke to clear before coming inside, or perhaps the glass bottle and smoke was intended to drive Heather, Charles and Lilly out.

  “I need to get to Ken,” said Charles. “Where’s your horse?”

  “Out back.”

  “Ken’s at the front, but there’s too many of those brainless drones outside. I need you to get on your horse and ride out. Follow the trail at the back of the house. When you get far enough, fire this.”

  He handed her a small pistol. It was so tiny that it was engulfed in his hand, and the barrel was only big enough for one bullet. It was the type of gun that would have looked better in a rich woman’s handbag, rather than in the hands of a bounty hunter.

  “There’s too many of them,” said Heather. With only one bullet, she wasn’t sure her aim would even be good enough to take out a single soldier.

  “It’s to get their attention. I’m taking Lilly to the basement. We’ve got some things down there I need to grab, and there’s a hatch behind the boiler that leads outside. I need you to draw them away. When they’re gone, we’ll scarper. I’ll get Ken and meet you further along the trail, and then we can all sing songs on the way to Mordeline,” said Charles.

  “And what about me?” said Heather. “Won’t they run me down?”

  “Trust me. When we get to Mordeline, they’ll stop following.”

  Lilly looked at her father with a scowl on her face. Her missing nose made every look seem that little bit more brutal.

  “Come on, Dad. Stop wasting time.”

  “What’s so bad about that place?” said Heather.

  “You’ll see.”

  They heard shouting. Smoke drifted out of the living room and filled the hallway, and it was clear that the Capita soldiers were waiting for it to disperse before storming the house. Heather didn’t know if it was really a tactic, or if they just hadn’t thought about what would happen when they threw the burning bottle inside.

  “You’re really going to help me get to camp?” she said.

  Charles looked at his daughter. Her missing nose made every expression a scowl, and the bite marks on her legs looked painful, even though it must have been years since they happened.

  “I don’t have much of a choice.”

  Heather found he
r horse out back. It had the rope in its mouth and it was trying to chew itself free from the tether, but it dropped it when it saw her. You’re learning already, she thought. Maybe the shouting and the smashing had spooked it, though she had thought that Capita horses would be used to a lot worse. She unknotted the rope and stroked the horse’s back to soothe it.

  Judging by the shouting behind her, the Capita soldiers were ready to advance into the house. That didn’t give Charles and Lilly long, and Heather knew she had to draw the soldiers away. She hoped that Charles wasn’t selling her out again, but like him, she didn’t have a choice. She either trusted him and hoped that he led her to Kim, or she went her own way and wasted precious time trying to get there herself.