The Dying & The Dead (Book 2)

by Jack Lewis

  “…and that’s why a place like Camp Dam Marsh is necessary. I might not like the taste, Eric, any more than you do. But if the Capita is to find a cure, then work has to be done.”

  Eric hadn’t heard any of what Scarsgill had said, but he didn’t need to. Nor did he have time to dwell on it. The doctor walked over to the metal tray. He lifted a corner of the cloth that covered it, and Eric saw something underneath. The doctor picked it up and held it in front of him. It was a small tube with a needle on one end and a button on the other, and clear liquid filled the middle.

  “You and your sister are the biggest breakthrough in all my years here, Eric. The key to infection is in your veins.”

  Eric realised that Scarsgill thought he and Kim were brother and sister. He was going to correct him, when the thought hit him. Powerless as he was, there was still a way to protect Kim.

  “Okay,” he said. “Just leave my sister alone. Do whatever you need to do on me.”

  Scarsgill shook his head.

  “If only that were possible. I will need you both.”

  His eyelids drooped as if a weight were pressing down on them. He walked over to Eric and stood over him with the needle.

  “This is to stop the pain,” he said.

  Eric didn’t understand. He didn’t even feel any pain. He looked at the tray and saw the scalpel and the scissors, and he realised that it wasn’t for pain that he felt now, it was for pain that was to come. He couldn’t let it happen. He needed to do something.

  He looked around him. He could struggle until night time and the ropes around his arms and wrists wouldn’t break. He needed to get out of the chair. He needed to get the doctor to untie him.

  He remembered Allie on the train, and about the damp patch that had spread across his groin when he was scared.

  Was he really going to do this?

  He became aware of the pressure near his belly. He closed his eyes, and let the pressure drop. It was just like untying a knot, except this one was around his bladder. As he let it go, his pants became wet. Shame rushed out of him and then soaked into his clothes and over his skin.

  Scarsgill stepped back. Eric’s bottom was damp and he heard liquid patter off the chair and onto the floor. The doctor looked horrified.

  “You stupid little boy,” he said, eyes ablaze. Then he seemed to collect himself. “I know it’s not your fault. I understand. But I can’t work like this.”

  He put the needle down on the chair. He took the scissors and snipped the ropes around Eric’s arms. The pressure left his wrists, though his skin was completely red and the rope had dug gouges into his arm.

  Scarsgill walked across the room to a white cabinet. He opened it, moved aside some clothes hooks, and took out a green gown.

  “You’ll have to wear this,” he said.

  As he crossed the room, Eric had to hold his breath to stop his pulse firing so quickly that it would burst his veins. He held his right hand tightly shut so that the doctor couldn’t see what was in it. He forced himself to stare at Scarsgill and hold his gaze.

  As the doctor reached toward him with the gown, Eric bolted upright. He raised his right hand and stabbed the syringe deep into the man’s neck. Scarsgill screamed in pain, but nothing else happened. He realised that he needed to push the button.

  He pressed it in and then watched as the liquid flowed out of the needle and into the doctor’s neck. Scarsgill clutched his hand to his throat. He stumbled back. He tried to say something, but the words were lost as he hit the floor.

  Chapter Thirty

  Eric

  It wouldn’t be long until they found Scarsgill unconscious on the floor. At least, Eric thought he was unconscious. For all he knew he might have killed him, and somehow that didn’t feel right, no matter what the doctor had done. But didn’t he say that the liquid was just for the pain? It was a pity. As he left the lab and pushed open the door that led to the yard, he could have done with something for the aching in his wrists from where the rope had rubbed away his skin.

  The yard looked normal, as if everyone was oblivious to what had happened in Scarsgill’s lab. One DC man, sleeves rolled up to his scabbed elbows, spread hot tar on the ground with a shovel. Two guards leaned against the wall of a cabin with water bottles in their hands. A group of DCs were lined up with their backs to a fence. They were still a couple of feet away from the infected who reached out through the gaps in the metal, but even that distance would have felt too close.

  It wouldn’t be long until they looked for him. Either a guard would go and check on Scarsgill and find him on the floor, or the chemicals would wear off and the doctor would rush out of the building and tell someone. When that happened, there was no point thinking there’d be any outcome other than Eric being dragged away. He didn’t know what they’d do to him, and he didn’t want to dredge the images up from the darkest part of his brain.

  Their escape plan had been ruined by Martin Wrench’s betrayal, and Eric struggled to improvise. He didn’t really have many options left; they had to escape now. Not tomorrow, not even in a few hours’ time, it had to begin immediately. The problem was, he was just a boy in a camp filled with guards.

  This was the part of the plan that he had already worked out. He knew that if they just tried to sneak out of camp, they’d get halfway to the train before bullets started flying at them. He needed something to distract the guards.

  He crept to the kennels. There was a metal gate at the front, but it was kept unlatched for easy access. Eric pulled back the bolt. It gave a whine as it screeched out of the latch, and he almost dropped to the ground out of instinct, sure that a guard would hear. He looked around, but he didn’t see any Capita uniforms.

  The dogs were kept in cells so small that their tails touched the walls. Some sat on the floor with their paws stretched in front of them, while others chewed on the metal bars that were the only thing keeping them locked away. A few of the hounds looked mean enough that they could chew right through the metal.

  Eric had watched the kennel master sometimes, and he knew that the cells were all connected to a pulley system. All it would take to open them was one pull on a lever that was attached to the side of the first cell.

  He hung back. He didn’t want any of the dogs to see him yet. On his many excursions through camp he’d watched the kennels and studied the guard’s routines, and he knew that the dogs were fed late afternoon. Before that, though, the DCs were all escorted into the canteen for one of their two daily meals. This was the key to everything; if he let the dogs loose while the DCs were in the yard, it wouldn’t be long until the tired men and women had slavering animals attaching themselves to their arms and legs.

  He knew that if he let them out while he was nearby, they would catch his scent and they would be straight after him. The first step in his plan didn’t call for him being torn apart by a pack of dogs, so he needed to do something else.

  There was a storage shed at the back of the kennels. In it were four man-sized plastic containers full of water that was tinted brown and looked as if it had been collected from a nearby river. He guessed that was what they gave to the dogs. Opposite the containers were some shelves, and on them were bags full of dried pellets that looked like dog food.

  He didn’t know if it would work, but he knew he needed to get rid of his smell somehow. So he got undressed. Feeling the chill of the late afternoon wind, he used the water from one container and made sure to wash every inch of his body. The water smelled like an old shoe, and he wasn’t sure this aroma was much better than his old one, but at least the dogs wouldn’t come for him.

  Just as he was going to get dressed, he realised that his clothes would still smell like him. He could wash them too, but they’d never be dry in time, and running around in soaking wet clothes was a sure way to get ill. If they managed to escape, he was going to need his strength for the journey ahead.

  He looked around him. There were leather dog leashes hanging off a hook and a few sticks
with nails on the end and bits of fur stuck on the points. Finally, slung over a wooden chair, he saw a Capita guard uniform that had tears all over it. Maybe that’s what they wear when they trained the dogs, he thought.

  It was adult-sized, but evidently it was measured for a small man. Eric was able to put the trousers on and roll up the bottoms enough so that they didn’t trail on the floor, and he did the same with the sleeves so that he could use his hands.

  Stood in the kennel storeroom with dirty water drying on his skin and the Capita uniform stopping the shivers, he wondered how his life had come to this. Just half a year ago things had seemed like they were going to be okay. Dale and Mum liked each other, and even he and Luna were getting on better. They talked about moving to the south of the Mainland, near the coast where Dale said his Mum and Dad used to take him on holiday. There was even an island just off the Mainland called Golgoth, which Dale thought might have been free from infected.

  And now Dale was gone. Dead, probably. Mum and Luna had been taken by the bounty hunter and seemed to have disappeared, and it wasn’t long before Eric would die, either by the hands of a camp guard or by Scarsgill.

  Thirty minutes later the sun crept behind a cloud. A whistle blew shrilly in the air, and three others followed it. He knew that soon enough the guards would group together and escort the DCs into the canteen.

  He watched as two men in Capita uniforms walked up to one cabin. Eric waited for them to open the door and let the DCs out, but instead, they walked past it.

  His heart started to pound. He couldn’t help the rush of thoughts that came all at once. Why weren’t they sticking to the routine? Had someone found Scarsgill already? Was the whole camp on lockdown until he was caught?

  Another whistle cut through the silence of camp. More guards came out. Stupidly, Eric wondered if his new clothes would fool anyone, and then he realised that to a guard he’d just look like what he really was; a scared boy in clothes much too big for him.

  Two more guards walked to the first cabin and opened the door. One of them stuck his head inside and bellowed at the DCs, who probably waited with empty stomachs. Eric became aware of a dim ache in his own belly, but the feeling of anxiety was stronger. He actually thought he could be sick.

  The cabins emptied and the DCs were all escorted across camp and into the factory, where they would eat their gruel under the watchful eyes of the guards. For some, this would be the last time they’d ever have to eat the slop. Eric wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could free everyone, but he would get as many people on the train as possible.

  With the yard empty except for the guards not on meal duty, he eyed the lever on the side of the kennel. It was a long iron bar, the edges orange through rust, and all he had to do was pull down on it. Just like that, the kennels would open. He already planned that after he opened them, he would dart back into the storeroom for a few minutes so that the dogs didn’t see him.

  He took hold of the lever. The metal felt rough in his hands, and some of the rust crumbled away. He recounted the plan in his head.

  Free the dogs to keep the guards busy.

  Go to the canteen. Get everyone.

  Find Marta.

  Ride the train to freedom.

  It couldn’t have been any more straightforward. Not much could go wrong, except if the dogs turned on some of the DCs, or the guards started shooting everyone. Maybe Kim would be too sick to travel, or they wouldn’t be able to persuade Marta to drive the train. Simple, really.

  Breathing in, he pulled down on the lever. He prepared himself for the hungry barking of the dogs and the scrape of their feet on the gravel.

  Nothing happened. He tugged on the lever until his face grew hot, but the metal was so stiff it wouldn’t budge. At least not under the small force his arms could produce. It was times like this he wished he could just grow up already.

  He clenched his jaw. He needed to think straight, but a headache was building in his skull. He wasn’t going to come up with a plan, only for it to fall apart because of a rusty piece of metal. There was no going back. With Scarsgill unconscious on the floor of his lab, Eric had an hour glass over his head, and once the sand emptied, he’d be dragged away by the guards. There was no telling what they would do to him, but he could almost feel the pain already.

  He tried again. He put all his effort into pulling on the lever, straining himself until blood rushed to his head and his arm muscles started to sting. Nothing happened.

  He walked back to the storeroom. There was a set of keys hanging off a hook, just next to the leather leashes. He knew that they would be for the dog kennels, but the last thing he wanted to do was to have to open them one by one. As soon as the first cell swung open, the dog would leap on him, tear his throat out and then lap up his blood.

  What choice did he really have? It was the dogs or the guards and either way, he wasn’t going to have a nice time. He grabbed the keys. He opened a bag of dog food. They were dried little balls that smelled rotten, and he didn’t even want to know what they were made of. He put a handful of them in his pocket.

  When he walked back around and stood in front of the first cell, he gripped the keys in his fingers. The dog saw him and got off its haunches. Its ears prickled back, and its nose wrinkled up as it smelled the air, showing a set of canine teeth sharp enough to pierce bone. Eric threw a few food pellets into the cage and watched the dog scrabble for them. His hands shook as he opened the cell.

  The dog took a few steps forward and sniffed at Eric’s leg. He forced himself not to cry out, and it seemed like his whole body braced for a bite. It didn’t come. He found that as long as he had enough food to give them, the dogs were content to sniff around. He went from cell to cell and let all of the animals loose.

  With the dogs free, Eric walked over to the main kennel gates. This was the important part, he knew. While the dogs bounded around the yard, he’d need to get across camp to the canteen.

  “What the hell?” he heard a voice shout.

  Two Capita guards stood in front of him. Their uniforms were clean, starched, and fit perfectly over their arms and legs. They stared at him for a few seconds, as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Eric supposed he couldn’t blame them; it wasn’t every day they saw a DC boy in a Capita uniform freeing dogs from the kennel.

  Eric swung the gate open. The dogs barked excitedly around him. He took a fistful of pellets from his pocket and threw them at the guards, then watched as the dogs sprinted forward in a chorus of yelps. One of the guards mistook the dogs’ intentions, and as the first animal reached him he swung his plastic baton. There was a crack as it smashed the dog’s skull, and seeing that, the other dogs’ moods changed. One growled, another bared its teeth. The other guard looked around him as if he expected support to come from somewhere.

  Eric didn’t want to watch. He shut the gate and walked around the back of the kennels. As he turned the corner of the building, he heard the guards scream in pain.

  ~

  It didn’t take long for the rest of the guards to realise what was going on. Eric hung back and watched them run out of the canteen, leaving the DCs unguarded. After that it was a simple matter to sneak across the yard and go into the canteen, and with Kim’s help he explained what was going on.

  Some scoffed, some ignored him, others asked questions, but all of them were scared. Eric saw some of them flinch every time the word ‘escape’ was mentioned. He might as well have been one of the guards waving a baton in their eyes for the way they blinked.

  A handful of people agreed to go with them. Eric made them stand by the door. He was amazed that the adults listened to him and Kim, and that they were content to let a couple of kids take charge.

  “Take them to the train,” he told Kim.

  She nodded and then started to lead the DCs out of the canteen. Eric watched how she walked, back straight and shoulders high despite the pain in her stomach, and he was proud of her. The DCs walked across the yard. So
me took a few steps and then stopped. They looked around them as if they expected this to be a test set up by one of the guards to see who ran.

  “I’ll meet you there,” Eric told Kim. “I need to go and find our driver.”

  As he went in the opposite direction toward Marta’s cabin, a rifle shot cracked through the air. Eric flinched, but the bullet didn’t come anywhere near him. He looked up and saw that the rest of the DCs were okay, too. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a guard at a watchtower with his rifle propped up on the barricade. He must have missed his shot, and Eric looked around for cover to protect himself from the next one.

  He heard a moaning sound. To the right of him, the group of infected banged against the gate on the camp fence. Normally they liked to walk from one side to the other, groaning to themselves and dragging their feet along the gravel. This was different. They had crowded in one section.