The Dying & The Dead (Book 2)

by Jack Lewis

  Baz heard a din of groans and cries. Lieutenant Hanks trotted around on his horse and shouted orders at his men.

  “I want the women and children taken away. Runts, you’re to carry away the dead bodies of our men and bury them outside town.”

  “What about the others?” asked a soldier.

  “Kiele’s corpses, you mean? Burn them.”

  Thirty minutes later Baz watched as the other Runts poured liquid over a pile of bodies. One of them pressed a torch against the edge, and soon flames leapt among the corpses, the heat scorching skin and bubbling flesh. The smell drifted over to him and made him gag, but he knew that Hanks was watching him, so he didn’t turn his head.

  He’d never be Tammuz again, he realised. He needed to get back to the Dome, but after everything he had seen, he knew he’d never be able to make the same decisions. His Tammuz mask would feel too constricting now, and he knew that the darkness of the Grand Hall would weigh on him. He thought about everything he’d done when he was Tammuz. This was his fault, he realised. What right did he have to inflict this on people?

  Maybe it wasn’t quite true that he’d never be Tammuz again. The fact was that as Baz, he was powerless. As Tammuz, maybe he could do something. He could get back to the Grand Hall and make decisions again but this time he’d make the right ones.

  Later that night, the bonfire of bodies had simmered down and only wisps of smoke drifted from the charred remains. The night sky above them was dark and menacing, and Baz felt it might fall down on him at any moment.

  He’d thought that maybe he could escape in the confusion after the battle and make his way to the Dome, but Hanks was too organised. He didn’t even allow his men an hour to rest before organising watch duties.

  Baz found himself awake in the early hours of the morning, keeping lookout over streets that once would have seen the footfall of the living, but now were stained with blood.

  Ronnie Alderson walked over to him. Baz was happy to see that his friend had survived the fight, but something had happened to his leg. He took limping steps across the streets and stopped a few feet away. It was far enough that if any other soldiers or Runts walked by, the two of them could separate.

  “Never seen it so dark before,” said Ronnie. “You don’t really get a good view of the night sky in the Dome. Something nice about it.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Baz.

  Ronnie nodded. “Darkness like this, someone could just vanish into it. If they chose to, that is. It’d be a while before Hanks or the others even noticed.”

  “I wonder if anyone ever deserts from Hanks’s unit,” said Baz. “Seems like tonight would be the perfect night to do it.”

  He saw movement in the window of a house across from him. A group of Capita soldiers were in a room with two women. He couldn’t see the women’s faces clearly, but it was hard to miss the looks of panic. One soldier crossed the room and drew the curtains. While the Runts were on watch, the officers had other things to do, it seemed.

  “Wishful thinking,” said Ronnie. “A man would be crazy to try and escape. I’ve heard what Hanks does. Apparently they caught a deserter in their last campaign. Think it was in a town called Red Scaife. You know the one?”

  Baz nodded. He knew Red Scaife all too well, because he’d given the go ahead to attack it. Another Tammuz decision made with the benefit of not facing the consequences; of not seeing the blood or hearing the screams.

  “So they caught this guy making a break for it in the middle of the night,” Ronnie continued. “Had two packs with him, one full of rations, the other full of books. They think he was just going to hole up somewhere and read novels and eat like a pig. God knows if he had a plan beyond that. Bugger didn’t get far though. Two officers brought him back. Apparently he begged for his life, and Hanks agreed he could keep it. But he made the officers scoop the guy’s eyes out with their knives. ‘Give him his books back,’ Hanks apparently told him afterwards.”

  This was the kind of man that the Capita used and Baz, or Tammuz, had employed them happily. The Five utilised men like Lieutenant Hanks and Charles Bull to carry out the dirty jobs that they needed doing, but weren’t prepared to do themselves. It was easy to sit in the Grand Hall and order the slaughter of a town, because you didn’t have to smell the blood as it spilled from slit throats or listen to children crying because their father has just been impaled.

  “Anyway, I’ve got better things to worry about,” said Ronnie. “That’s why I can’t just go running into the night. I figure if I’m careful, I’ll be able to get back to Louise and Curtis.”

  Ronnie looked at him. Baz felt sadness welling up in him. How many more men like Ronnie had been conscripted because of his orders? It was easy to look at soldiers as plastic figures on a map, and push them this way and that as you saw fit. Problem was, each of these men had lives. They had families who would miss them.

  “Thing is,” said Ronnie. “What’ll Louise think about me? You know, with what happened to me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m fucking infected, Baz. I’m going to be eating flesh the rest of my life. Think she’s just going to be like ‘That’s ok, honey. Pass the lump of flesh here and I’ll cook it for you with some potatoes.’”

  “No. She’s gonna be disgusted. God knows if she’ll even have me back. And even if she does, what sort of marriage will it be? We won’t be able to have sex again. What if I spread it to her? What if I get a cut and one of my kids accidentally gets my blood on them? Will they get it too?”

  He stood up.

  “I’m sorry, Baz. I’m getting worked up, but I know it’s not your fault. I better get back to my post.”

  As his friend walked away, Baz felt a shiver creep inside his uniform. The fabric of the Capita shirt itched his skin, and his shoulders ached from carrying his pack. The battle had spiked his veins with so much adrenaline that he didn’t think it would ever wash out, and if it did, he worried it would leave him empty.

  Without thinking, he walked away from his post. He went down the street and past what used to be a pub called ‘The Torben Inn.’ He turned left and stepped into a dark alleyway where rainwater dripped from a gutter. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to get away.

  “Where are you going?” called out a voice behind him.

  He turned. A Runt stood in the mouth of the alleyway with the pale moonlight on his face.

  “For a piss,” said Baz. “That okay?”

  “You’re a bit far away from your post.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a shy guy.”

  The Runt laughed.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  When the Runt left, Baz leaned against a wall and felt the cold stone on his back. A raindrop fell onto his scalp, before running down his forehead and over his face. If he’d gone much further away from his post and been caught, the Runt would have gone straight to Hanks. They were all so scared of their commander that they would drop someone else in it without even thinking, just so that they never faced his wrath themselves.

  He thought about everything he’d seen over the last day. The men and women dying in battle. Children stampeded by horses. Capita officers taking wives away from their husbands and using them for night time entertainment. The people of Kiele were fine before the Capita invaded.

  He realised that the Capita weren’t bringing safety to the Mainland. That might have been Tammuz’s motivation when he gave the order, but as Baz he had seen that the men on the ground had different desires. The Capita were expanding their empire in the name of greed, and Tammuz was the one lifting the fork.

  He’d served the Capita for years, and where had it got him? Conscripted in the army and serving as a Runt. He had to do something.

  Across the town square, beyond the houses and the shops, was the police station. He knew that the two Kiele leaders, the man with the smile on his mask and the one with the ginger hair, were being kept there.

  ~

  B
az walked through the police station and toward the cells. He wondered if anyone had seen him leave his post, but he was getting beyond the point of caring. As he approached a door that led to where the two Kiele men were being kept, a Runt stepped in his way.

  He’d seen this Runt before. When the unit stopped for a rest, he’d always sit on his own. He’d eat his rations and then, as if he was still hungry, he’d chew his fingernails down to the skin.

  “Hanks said nobody’s to go back there,” he said.

  Baz smiled.

  “And Hanks is the one who sent me here. We’re moving them to somewhere…more soundproof. I think you know what that means.”

  The Runt seemed unimpressed.

  “Nobody told me.”

  “Sorry,” said Baz. “I forgot that the Capita runs its orders through you. Do you want me to tell Hanks you won’t do what he says? I’m sure he’ll be happy. He might promote you to sergeant just for having balls.”

  The Runt sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled a ring of keys. He handed them to Baz and then stepped aside and walked over to a chair against the wall. He sat in it, and then lifted his index finger to his lips and chewed on the nail.

  Baz pushed the door open. The holding cells reminded him of a zoo, and the smell wasn’t much different. On his right was a wall with a poster on it. It was of a young girl in a dress, and she looked like she was in a bar. Her face was smeared with blood. Two cells were on his left. They were barely big enough for the men in them to pace around. Baz imagined himself locked in them, and he felt his chest start to contract. He’d never liked small spaces, and the only reason he coped with the tunnels under the Grand Hall was because he knew it was the only way to get out.

  “I need to get to Kiela before we do anything,” he heard one of the men saying as he approached them. “She’s gonna be out of her mind.”

  “Since when did you give a shit about her?” said the other.

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “After three years I’m surprised she even remembers you.”

  They stopped talking when they saw Baz.

  The man with the ginger hair walked to the bars of his cell and gripped them. He shook them as if he could pull them part. His face burned red with rage, and spit flew from his lips when he spoke.

  “Think you can make me say anything?” he told Baz.

  Baz put the key in the first cell. Before turning it, he looked at the man with the smile on his mask.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “I’ll get out. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Baz sighed.

  “Just tell me your name.”

  “Max.”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Mary fucking Poppins,” said Ginger Hair. He shook the bars again.

  “Not a good answer,” said Baz.

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “I’m going to let you out, Mary Poppins,” said Baz. “But you need to be quiet. There’s a guy on watch outside, but he won’t be much trouble. It’ll be tougher getting out of Kiele, but I figure if we can put enough miles behind us, we’ll get to the Dome ahead of them.”

  Max stood back in surprise.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m going to get you out of here and to the Dome where you can actually do something.”

  “And what do you want out of this?”

  Baz thought about explaining, but time wasn’t his friend.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

  He unlocked the cells. Max walked out slowly, never taking his eyes off Baz. The other man refused to back away from the bars.

  “Just settle down, Rushden,” said Max.

  Baz looked at Max.

  “Are you going to control your friend?”

  “Friend isn’t the right word for him.”

  “I’m not messing about here. We don’t have long. Are you going to keep him under control?”

  Max nodded.

  “Okay,” said Baz, putting the key in the next cell lock. “I know how this all looks. How you must be feeling. Ignore the Capita uniform for a second, yeah? There’s something we can do.”

  He meant it, too. The plan was vague, but it was there, a glimmer of light in what had become a tunnel of darkness. As Tammuz he’d lost himself in a maze, but he finally saw a way out. If they could just get back to the Dome, he could get the Resistance men into the Grand Hall. He didn’t know what they’d do from there, but somehow it seemed right. The Five had to be stopped.

  The lock clicked as he turned the key. He pulled back the cell door and then stepped back warily, never moving his gaze away from Rushden. The ginger-haired man looked like he could rugby tackle a bear, and Baz knew that he couldn’t turn his back on him.

  “What’s your angle in this?” said Rushden, eyeing Baz’s Capita uniform. “What game are you playing?”

  “It’s no game.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I just want to put things right,” said Baz.

  Something cracked down on the back of his head. Dark spots filled his vision, and before he could even put out a hand, he fell against the floor. His thoughts swam through his mind in a torrent, and he heard a ringing in his ears. He looked up to see the two men above him, dim figures in a scene that was fading around him.

  “Wrong answer,” he heard Max say.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Eric

  There was so much noise around him that he couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts were drowned out by the barking of dogs as they circled the guards, the sound getting more desperate as their excitement grew. Guards around him yelled, and Eric heard the surprise in their voices, as if they couldn’t believe the DCs would have the audacity to try to escape. Infected gurgled as they looked at the people around them, spoiled for choice in a yard full of Capita guards and the immune.

  As Eric made his way through the yard to the train, he saw a guard on the floor. His baton was six feet out of reach, and two dogs advanced on him. Their heads were low, and throaty growls warned that they were not playing. At some point the dogs would have been trained to obey anyone wearing a Capita uniform, but amidst the chaos the animals were attacking anyone.

  Kim and the others had gone ahead of Eric for the train. With Marta missing, there was nobody who could drive it, but he didn’t have the time to look for her. The guards were fighting a battle on three fronts now, using their knives and batons against the dogs, the immune, and the infected. Soon enough they would reclaim control of the camp, and he didn’t want to be here when they did.

  The dogs advanced on the guard. The man looked up at Eric pleadingly, as if in that second he was asking for forgiveness for everything he had done. Eric stopped. It came from nowhere, but he felt a pity for this man that he hadn’t even felt for Martin Wrench. He had to bury the feeling and remember who the man worked for, and how many DCs had died in camp. He deserved nothing.

  As the dogs took more steps forward, noses sniffing the ground and teeth showing with each growl, he heard the crack of a rifle. One of the dogs collapsed to the floor with blood streaming from a wound in its head. The other animal jerked back and looked around. Another crack, and this one fell to the floor with a hole in its back. It whimpered, and then a second bullet put it out of its misery.

  The men in the watchtowers were burning through the camp’s supply of ammunition as they shot bullets from up high. Every few seconds there was a bang or a crack, and another dog or infected would drop. One guard was caught by friendly fire, and he dropped his baton as a bullet drilled into his bicep.

  It reminded Eric of when Dale had brought home some fireworks that he’d found in a nearby town. That night he’d set them off, and they watched red sparkles fizz in the air and then pop. Luna complained that the noise hurt her ears. Mum called Dale a romantic idiot and said they could have one
last firework and then it was time to stop.

  It was different today; instead of blue crackles and yellow streams of light, the sky was getting heavy with darkness as the afternoon faded, and the only illumination were the dim stars that Eric knew were millions of light years away and were probably already dead.

  He reached the gates that led to the lab, and beyond it, the train. The nearer he got the more his heart thumped, and he couldn’t believe that he was so close to escaping. He stopped when he heard a man shout out nearby.

  It was a DC man with two children beside him, each one holding one of his hands. The man had thick eyebrows blacker than oil, and a beard that reached all around his face and covered his neck. Eric recognised the children, but he’d never spoken to them. He knew that the boy was forever trying to get people to play chase with him, but the adults were too busy and the children were too weak.