‘Yes Ruth,’ the Reverend replied, dumping the baby in Anne’s lap, before nonchalantly pushing open the side hatch to climb out.
Anne cowered back from the open doorway, expecting to be torn to pieces by the Dead she could hear outside. But nothing happened. She could see the back of the Reverend walking away from the cart, up to a wide high metal gate.
‘Hey Marcello!’ the Reverend called to someone beyond her field of vision. ‘Open the gate! We have returned! Marcello!’
As Anne watched, she saw a small dark haired man with a close cropped beard, come running up to open the gate. From his looks he was obviously foreign, though from where Anne couldn’t tell. She had met an Italian family once. They had lived together in the same compound a few years ago. She couldn’t really remember much about them apart from that they were nice to her. But it hadn’t ended well there and she was sure only the mother had escaped alive.
‘My apologies Reverend,’ the man called Marcello said his accent making the way he pronounced the words dance up and down. He was obviously nervous around Nathan. ‘I was helping Daniel and Sonya pray with the children. During the prayers the Holy Spirit descended upon Sonya and she spoke with the tongues of angels. Daniel needed me to help hold her down, so she would not harm herself.’
‘Excuses are for the Devil!’ the Reverend snapped and back handed Marcello across the face, knocking him to the floor. ‘You should have been on guard for Ruth’s return, not pandering to that harlot Sonya.’
Marcello, jumped to his feet, apparently no worse the wear for being struck and pulled the gate wide open so Ruth could drive the horse and cart through. Obviously being struck was an everyday occurrence here, or perhaps Marcello was so afraid of Nathan, that he just took whatever the Reverend doled out without complaint.
Now that she knew there was no danger from the Dead, Anne leant forward out of the hatch as the cart pulled through the gate. The compound was roughly the size of the area behind Lanherne’s walls, and like Lanherne, every available spot had been given over to vegetable production. A few scraggy looking hens pecked hungrily among the plants, following a very pale looking middle aged man with long lank hair, as he worked at the earth with a hoe. Along the far side of the compound rose a sheer cliff face of dark rock, and looking up, Anne wondered if any of the Dead ever plummeted down, to land broken and shattered within the confines of the garden. On its other three sides, the area was enclosed by a high chain link fence, topped with barbed wire. Anne didn’t think it looked very sturdy and certainly wouldn’t hold out the Dead for very long if they attacked on mass. Perhaps the Dead were thin on the ground here, she thought to herself, she certainly hoped so. Perversely, positioned at equal distances from each other were seven more moaning Dead attached to poles. These poles, thankfully had been sunk deep into the ground on the outside of the fence, so even if they escaped their bonds they wouldn’t be inside the compound. Unlike the corpses she had seen on the road, these Dead were bound tightly to their posts about the waist, allowing them to twist their torso’s round just enough to get excited while they glimpsed the living flesh working behind them. Anne didn’t understand how the people living here could cope with the constant moaning of the Dead men and woman, as they strained to get to the flesh they knew was just behind them, already the sound was starting to get under her skin.
As the cart came level with the man Nathan had called Marcello, Anne saw that he had fallen to his knees, waiting with his head bowed and eyes downcast for the cart to pass him by. Looking at the man on his knees, Anne noticed that his wrists had been terribly injured at some time, leaving them both heavily scared. As soon as the cart was through the gate, Marcello jumped to his feet and began to chain the gates together again. Looking about the compound, Anne realised there didn’t seem to be any buildings for them to live in. It wasn’t until she saw the small path leading to an overhang in the rock, that the gated cave entrance became apparent. The entrance, two meters wide and just a bit taller than an average man, had old looking iron bars cemented into the rock through which she could see the flickering of smoky torches lighting the cave. Ruth pulled the cart to a stop and turned to Anne.
‘Pass me the infant,’ she said, holding her arms out to Anne.
Barely glancing at the baby now in her arms, Ruth jumped down from the cart and walked briskly over to Marcello. Again, Marcello fell to one knee. Looking down her nose at the man before her, her obvious contempt bubbling under the surface, Ruth held out her hand which he kissed reverently.
‘This one will be judged shortly, gather the others by the lake,’ she said, before turning on her heels, not waiting for a reply. It was clear to Anne this was a woman who expected others to do as she told them without question. ‘Oh, and take the girl inside. She will wait for her time on the island.’
‘Yes, Ruth,’ Marcello said, keeping his eyes lowered as he rose to stand.
Ruth marched off with Nathan briskly walking two steps behind her, and they both disappeared into the cave.
‘Come on,’ Marcello said, reaching up to help her down, ‘and don’t try to run, there’s nowhere to go. Child, you should fall to your knees and thank the Lord, Ruth found you. You are one of the untainted and after God tells Ruth of His judgement, you will truly be one of the chosen.’
Anne still reluctant to leave the cart, glanced at the scars on Marcello’s extended wrist.
‘What happened to you?’ she said, pointlessly delaying the inevitable.
‘You are not the only ones to be tested,’ Marcello, replied stroking one of his wrists tenderly, ‘the acolytes must also prove they have been judged worthy to serve Ruth. Many fail, their hidden sins damning them for eternity.’
The briefest of glances past the gate told Anne what he meant. The Dead, manacled to the poles along the road, were those who had failed their test, paying the ultimate price for their failure. If Anne needed any further proof these people were crazy, she had it now. These people had been strung up willingly for the Dead to feast on their lower limbs. Judgement didn’t come into it, even Anne knew it would be pure luck that the Dead didn’t wander past while you hung there helpless.
Not wanting to keep Ruth waiting, Marcello got fed up of Anne just sitting there, so he forcibly pulled her from the cart by her arm.
‘Do not try to talk to the chosen ones,’ he said, looking down at her as they made their way along the path, ‘you are unworthy in their presence. Just keep quiet and do as you are told.’
Passing through the iron gates, Anne looked about the cave in wonder. If her whole situation hadn’t been so terrible, she would have thought the cave to be a beautiful and magical place, as it was she could only see the darkness hidden beneath. High above her the hanging rock formations glinted and sparkled, light from the flickering torches catching on their crystal deposits. But Anne could not appreciate their natural beauty and saw only the ominous shadows that moved and danced above her. The cavern had rows of burning torches placed along its uneven walls and although they gave adequate light to manoeuvre by, they still left large areas deep in shadow, not to mention the heavy smoke that drifted about on the cold damp air. Behind her the man, who had been gardening, was bringing in the dilapidated horse to an equally decrepit looking stable on her right. That would explain the almost sweet decaying odour she could smell hiding under the smoke, she thought to herself. They obviously didn’t clean out the stable very often and old manure had become dry and compacted where the horse was tethered. To her left were rows of stone slabs, once used as tables and chairs by customers of the café. The café was a side chamber that had been literally carved out of the rock, its dusty and smoke smeared sign, the only indication of its former use. Now the room had been turned into some sort of dormitory, where the occupants of the cavern slept. Anne could see a woman cooking over a fire pit in front of counter. She was in her forties Anne guessed, heavy set, black skinned and her hair was wild and already greying. When the woman looked up, she smiled at Anne with
a look that teetered on the edge of madness. Anne took a small involuntary step backwards, seeking safety in the relative sanity of Marcello.
‘Hey, Charlotte,’ Marcello called to the woman cooking ‘Ruth says there’s to be a judging shortly, we’re all to go the lake.’
Nodding, the woman called Charlotte stopped what she doing, wiped her hands on her full skirt and walked towards another side chamber, this one had a dirty sign saying ‘Carnglaze Gift Shop’ hanging at an odd angle.
‘I’ll tell Sonya and Adam, they’re with the chosen,’ she called to Marcello, her eyes briefly darting towards Anne again before disappearing from view inside.
At the far end of the cavern was a wide crystal clear lake, its colour was that of the morning sky in summer. Reflected light moved constantly across the cavern walls, as water from the cavern roof dripped into the lake, causing ripples to spread and collide with each other. At the far side of the lake, the rock floor rose up from the water to join the back wall, creating a small rocky island. Anne could see there was an ominous looking tunnel at the base of the wall, leading through to another dark chamber. Moored at the edge of the lake were two small rowing boats, and as Anne struggled to take in her surroundings, Nathan and Ruth, with the baby in one arm and a torch in the other, began to row across to the island. With a creaking sound and the gentle splash of water, the wooden oars rhythmically rose and fell in the water and soon the Reverend had almost made his way to the far side of the lake.
Marcello roughly nudged Anne forward, and she realised that even though she may be about to become one of their chosen, apparently it didn’t mean she was going to get treated any better. As they walked past the gift shop, the black woman who Marcello had called Charlotte appeared through the doorway, trailing two small pale looking children behind her. Close on her heals came a tall man and another woman, each holding the hands of two small children. The new woman, who Anne took to be Sonya, was small with long thick curly black hair that grew to her waist. She would have been pretty had it not been for her wild staring eyes. Even from this distance Anne could tell this woman had something wrong with her. She gave off a feeling of a barely restrained mania and looked as though she could be dangerous if you got on her wrong side. She was wearing a dirty knotted headscarf, which did little to control her thick mane and a simple knee length smock type dress. Around her neck hung a large wooden crucifix, which swung from side to side as she walked. For such a small woman, Sonya had a chest quite out of proportion to her body, her breasts looked far too large for her frame and Anne wondered if that was why the Reverend called her a harlot. She remembered religious people were funny about that sort of thing. Like Marcello, she too had scarring around both her wrists, a testament to surviving her trial on the pole. When Anne looked closer at the two children Sonya pulled along with her, she almost stopped in her tracks. In Sonya’s left hand was a sad looking girl, her face drawn, with dark circles under her frightened little eyes. But it was the boy being pulled in Sonya’s right hand that had caught Anne’s attention. She had only met him once before, but she was sure the scared little boy, his eyes red from crying was Alex Penhaligan. At that moment, Alex looked up and their eyes met. As his eyes widened in surprise, Anne gave her head the smallest shake. For some reason she could not explain, she did not want the adults to know they knew each other. Luckily, Alex understood her meaning and lowered his eyes to the floor again.
The man with Sonya, who must have been Adam, was average looking, his height being the only thing to distinguish him. Being even taller than the Reverend, his long gangly limbs would have made a veritable feast for the Dead if they had found him hanging on the pole but he too wore his scars of survival with pride. In his late forties, his thin sandy hair was patchy in places and grimy looking stubble covered his chin. Adam loped rather than walked towards them, an intense look on his face. The two children following behind him, tripped over themselves to keep up with his wide strides.
‘Another of the blessed?’ Adam said, bending forwards to inspect Anne close up. Like the Reverend, his eyes bore into Anne with an intensity that unnerved her. It was as if he could look through her eyes, straight to her soul and inspect it for sinful imperfections.
‘She is to be judged later,’ Marcello said, urging Anne to carry on walking, ‘Ruth and Nathan are to judge an infant first. We are all to go to the lake and keep vigil.’
When they got to the lake, Marcello told her to get into the small tethered row boat. Gingerly she placed one foot in and once the rocking had subsided, she finally managed to clamber aboard. Turning so she sat facing the shore, Anne watched the other members of this insane community line up for their vigil. Charlotte, Sonya and Adam were soon joined on the rocky shore by the gardener she had seen earlier and another man. Six stolen children were positioned in front of them and told to kneel. Tearful and obviously afraid, they did as they were told. Then as if on some unspoken signal, all five of the adults fell to their knees and began to pray. With their palms raised to the heavens and the scars on their wrists a sign of their obedience to their God or, perhaps more importantly, to Ruth, the acolytes swayed back and forth, giving themselves over to their trance like devotion. With a glance to his fellow acolytes, Marcello joined Anne in the boat and taking the wooden oars in his hands, began to row them across the lake to the island. When they were almost across, Anne looked past Marcello, and caught Alex’s gaze. He looked over the expanse of deep water to her, his large blue eyes were filled with heavy tears that threatened to spill over and at that moment a chill of realisation went through Anne. Alex was not crying for himself or the situation he was in, but for her. Whatever she was about to go through had suddenly become more terrifying and as the boat began to scrape along the rising stone shore of the island, she knew it was too late to do anything about it. Anne’s fate lay somewhere in the cavern beyond the dark tunnel and already the sounds of the Dead echoing through the darkness, had turned her insides to ice.
‘Come,’ Marcello said, jumping from the boat.
Walking ankle deep in the cold water, he went to the front of the boat and began to pull it ashore, ready for their return journey. Once he was satisfied the boat wouldn’t drift off, he grabbed Anne’s hand and pulled her over the rocky shore towards the tunnel. Even as they approached the tunnel entrance, Anne could smell the dry, rotting smell of the Dead, and she tried to pull away from Marcello, desperate not to enter the chamber beyond.
‘You will be one of the chosen, rejoice,’ he said, yanking her arm as they were swallowed by the darkness.
‘But what if I’m not chosen,’ Anne whispered to herself.
Anne had been pulled through the darkness for what seemed like forever, but in reality was less than a minute, when thankfully she began to see the faint dancing light coming from around the next corner. The smell of the Dead was becoming unbearable now, making Anne gag uncontrollably and from the sound they were making, she knew the Dead were already in arm’s reach of something they wanted to eat. Turning the corner, what little hope Anne had left evaporated with a scream. There, in the centre of the torch lit chamber, was a stone pit in the floor, inside which, clamoured a dozen Dead children in various states of decay. Standing by the lip of the pit next to a wooden post, was Ruth. With her eyes closed, she lost herself to her twisted devotion while she held aloft the still infant in her arms. Sensing their arrival, Ruth slowly opened her eyes.
‘Manacle her to the post,’ she said to Marcello, indicating the post to her left.
‘Yes Ruth,’ Marcello said, pulling Anne around the pit to the post.
Pushing herself away as far as she could, Anne looked down at the dozen hungry Dead faces that reached, black and decaying hands, desperately up to her while Marcello roughly manacled her to the post. Anne knew instinctively that Ruth had murdered these children. She had stolen them away from those they loved, leaving nothing but death and the Dead in her wake and brought them here terrified and alone. All of them were her age or younge
r and had been brought here to be killed purely because of that.
‘You may go now, Marcello,’ Ruth said, ignoring him the moment she spoke, to lose herself again in her whispered prayers.
Silently Marcello left the chamber, leaving Anne to her fate, without so much as a second glance. It was then that Anne noticed the Reverend sitting silently on his knees, holding a battered bible to his chest. From the look on his face, Anne thought he considered the book to be the most important thing in the world. But then he opened his eyes and his gaze fell upon Ruth. No, this murderess, this woman who hid her perverse desires behind a God’s will, she was the centre of his universe. Suddenly, Ruth stopped praying and with a nod she met her husband’s gaze.
Taking a deep breath the Reverend gently placed the bible down on the uneven rock floor. Using only the tips of his finger, as if he were touching some delicate blossom, he ran his finger along the edge of the pages. His eyes never left Ruth’s stare and when she again nodded, his hand stopped immediately. With an uncharacteristic gentleness the Reverend looked down at the bible in front of him and opened it at this chosen point. Again his finger began to move slowly about the page, until with a second nod from Ruth, he stopped. Leaning forward the Reverend read the words where his finger had stopped.
‘And Jesus said unto them, Render to Caesar the things that are Caesars and to God the things that are God’s,’ he whispered in voice full of wonder, as he looked up at his wife.
Upon hearing the bible verse that had been so divinely selected, Ruth slowly closed her eyes. As Anne and the Reverend watched, Ruth turned her head this way and that, her brow creasing with concentration, as if she was listening intently to the heavenly whispers that lurked deep within her madness. Then as if everything had suddenly become clear, she opened her clear blue eyes, the reflected torch light, adding demonic flames to their depths and spoke.
Six Days With the Dead Page 31
