Devouring The Dead (Book 2): Nemesis

by Watts, Russ

  “Oh, my God,” said Heidi outside, looking at the carnage right at their front door. She trod carefully over to the van, not wanting to step on anything organic, and Tom pulled back the van door. He ushered Heidi and her parents inside. The street was still empty, but he didn’t know for how long.

  “We’re going to pick my friend up, okay? Then we’ll go somewhere safe.” Tom put his hand on the door to close it, but Heidi stopped him.

  “We can’t go, not yet,” she said looking at Tom. Her eyes implored Tom to listen to her and he waited.

  “Why? I already said, there’s no time to pack, we have to...” Heidi cut Tom off.

  “The old man. We can’t leave him. He’s in the garage.”

  “What? There’s someone else in there?” asked Tom.

  “Yes,” said Daniel. “There...there was an old man in the garden. He just appeared out of nowhere and frightened Heidi. She screamed and I guess that’s what brought those things to us. I locked him in the garage. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Is he alive, infected? Who is he?” said Tom impatiently. He looked up and down the dark street. He still couldn’t hear anything, but trusted his senses that this was not a safe place to be hanging around right now.

  “He’s alive, but we don’t know anything about him. Like I said, he just appeared.”

  “Shit. How do I get in the garage?” asked Tom.

  “Through the kitchen,” explained Heidi. “The key’s in the door.”

  Tom thought for a moment. He really didn’t have time to go back again. Laurent was waiting for him, relying on him. But knowing there was someone back there, he couldn’t give up on them and leave them to certain death, or a fate worse than death.

  “Wait here,” said Tom and he slung the door shut leaving Heidi, Daniel and Glenda in the back of the van. He ran back inside, into the kitchen and saw the door. The candle had nearly gone out completely, but it still had a faint trace of life left in it. Tom pulled the towels down and knocked on the door to the garage.

  “Hey, you in there, are you okay? I’m here to help.” Tom heard a banging noise and then feet slowly shuffling across the concrete floor. It’s just one of the dead, thought Tom. Those bloody idiots are going to get me and Laurent killed for nothing. A zombie accidentally wound up in their garden and they freaked out. Tom sighed, annoyed that he had wasted his time. Every second wasted was another second jeopardising Laurent’s life. Tom turned around ready to run back to the van when he heard a voice.

  “Please, can you help? I can’t find Billy.”

  It was a man’s voice and the shuffling had stopped.

  “Are you hurt? Answer me or I’m leaving right now. Are you hurt?” demanded Tom.

  “No, I’m fine, I just got lost and I can’t find Billy,” came the pleading response.

  Tom unlocked the door, and just as Heidi had said, an old man was there in the shadows, snot running down his nose. He had been crying and he wore pyjamas and slippers. Tom was taken aback at how thin the man looked. If he hadn’t known better he would’ve thought he was already dead. Tom motioned for the man to come out.

  Leonard walked hesitantly into the kitchen. “Do you know where Billy is?” he asked Tom.

  “I’m sorry I don’t, but we can try to find him later. Can you walk? It’s not very safe in here, Mr..?”

  “Gentle. Leonard Gentle.”

  “Well, Leonard, we need to go now, I’m going to get you somewhere a bit warmer and safer, okay?”

  Leonard looked at the body on the floor and the head. “Okay, yes, let’s go. Billy said he’d find me.”

  Tom took hold of Leonard’s arm and almost dragged him out of the house. Knowing how he had spooked the family earlier, he didn’t want to cause any more unnecessary screaming, so he took Leonard to the passenger seat. Leonard got in and Tom buckled the seatbelt around him. He heard murmurs coming from the back seats and ignored them.

  Tom got in and started the engine. He turned around to face the back. “Listen, me and my friend Laurent have risked our lives to help you, so I need your help now. My friend is waiting for us around the corner. We’re not going to have time to stop for a coffee or a chat, so when we see him, someone needs to pull that door open and yank him in. I’ll only be able to slow the van down for a moment. Got that?”

  Daniel and Glenda kept hold of each other and Heidi leant forward. “I’ll do it,” she said. Tom nodded at her and turned back. He glanced at her in the mirror and saw she was looking at him. Feeling awkward, he turned back to the road.

  “Leonard, just stay there, you’ll be okay.”

  The van roared off leaving Longrock’s last remaining bed and breakfast empty. Tom hoped that Laurent had managed to fend off the dead. They would find out sure enough in about two minutes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Keep listening,” said Lazarus walking away. “If you hear anything you come get me at once, understood?”

  “Yes sir,” said Tim. He knew when his boss wanted a discussion and when to be quiet. This was not the time for a discussion. He sat at the radio controls and put the headphones over his ears. He kept adjusting the frequency, just slightly, trying to tune back in. They had heard nothing except static, but last night, he had finally heard something: just a faint conversation, too quiet to be able to be heard properly. There were two distinct voices. One was a British accent, the other American. Tim had only heard the odd word now again: ‘Tomorrow...nowhere...captured...Admiral...help.’ At one point, he thought he heard the words ‘Abraham Lincoln,’ but he couldn’t be sure. He had tried to lock onto the signal, but it had drifted away, back into the static. The radio they had was old and struggled with long-range frequencies. Tim was no expert either. They had found the equipment and managed to get it working, but they didn’t know what they were doing, not really, not even Lazarus.

  Tim stared as Lazarus slammed the door shut, leaving Tim alone. The room was cold and bare. Hell, the whole house was cold and bare. He wasn’t upset though. If Lazarus hadn’t helped him, he would certainly be dead by now. Tim had been stuck in his car for three days, surrounded by the dead. Three solid days with no food or water, pissing and shitting on the back seat, unable to move. It was three long days of dead bodies slamming themselves against his car as they tried to get at him. In an attempt to escape his home town, he had crashed into a police car going the other way and got jammed in. The car refused to start and Tim found himself a prisoner.

  It was lucky Lazarus had found him when he did. Tim had reasoned he was going to either starve to death or eventually they would get in and he would be so weak he would be unable to fight them off. He was going to be eaten alive.

  Much as the way the static clung to his ears now, Tim had only heard a buzzing grey noise when Lazarus had rescued him. His senses were hazy and without nutrition, water or much sleep he wasn’t far from death. It had been so quick he hadn’t comprehended it at the time. Lazarus and his men had swiftly executed the zombies, freeing Tim from his motorised coffin, and brought him back here to ‘The Mount.’ Tim had been unconscious for most of it, so he wasn’t entirely sure where ‘The Mount’ actually was, or how he got here. It didn’t matter. He was here and he was alive, thanks to Lazarus. He and his men had nurtured Tim back to health, and so here he was, a loyal follower, his life in debt to another man. His old life, as a grocer, seemed like a dream now. The mundane life he had inhabited before was gone. Tim turned the volume up higher on the radio and listened, desperate to hear another voice, to know he hadn’t imagined it, that someone was still out there.

  * * * *

  Lazarus strode out of the small house and let the wind whistle around him. Tim was decent and honest. He wouldn’t have imagined it or lied about it. If he said he had heard talking then he heard it all right. But damn it, he should’ve reported it immediately. Lazarus still bristled at the thought they might have missed their chance, missed out on hearing from the big bad world; missed hearing what was going on out the
re.

  He looked around at the small houses that were in a small circle, all eight of them made of solid stone, created centuries before Lazarus had been born. Heating was an issue. They had little to burn, so fire was restricted to the main castle, and only on the coldest of nights. He also didn’t want people running around lighting fires whenever they felt like it. Apart from the obvious inherent dangers, the smoke could attract unwanted attention. Water was not a problem, however. There was a spring on the island which served them with all the fresh water they needed. Lazarus walked past the houses, aware the occupants were probably watching him. His gait was confident and long, and he pushed his hands deeper into his long black coat. His collar was turned up, but still the cold wind blew around his body, sneaking its way past his coat, sending shivers down his spine. To the onlookers, it appeared as if he was entirely black. His long, jet black hair fell to his shoulders and the coat sucked on it, merging with it. Approaching forty, he felt lucky not to have gone bald like his father. He felt less lucky to have been blessed with such a name as only a Professor of Classics would bestow upon a first child.

  Lazarus walked on, past the houses and the pub from wherein he heard music and laughter. It was after nine and the men often congregated there, regaling each other with stories of their exploits and adventures, their spoils and their finds. Today had been easy. He had sent four of his men out. They had been looking for nothing in particular, as it was a quick trip, there and back, just to see what was what. They had enough food and drink to last months, but it kept the men occupied. If he let them get lethargic they would soon get bored. Boredom could lead to thinking and too much thinking led to grandiose ideas; ideas that might mean his autocracy challenged. It was best to keep the men on a leash, just long enough to let them have a little fun, but not too long that they would stray. Occasionally, if one got out of hand, he would put one down like a dog.

  Ignoring the laughter carried to him on the howling wind, he trudged on, up the rocky slope to the castle. His feet found hold on the tough terrain, avoiding the slate and granite rocks, his boots crunching down the grass underfoot. The grass would spring back. It was strong and undeterred by centuries of gales, storms and floods. The feet of invaders and soldiers had trod this path many times before and Lazarus knew he was not the first. He may be the last though. The era of man seemed to be coming to an end. On their excursions to the mainland, they found less and less survivors, and none at all in the last five days. The infection had taken nearly everyone. Here, on the island, there were twenty two people and one dog.

  Lazarus wondered if this was how it had come about before man. The dinosaurs had been wiped out by a meteor or an explosion that killed all life on Earth, that’s what his father had taught him. What if the meteor had been carrying an infection; one that turned all of those prehistoric creatures into cannibals and carnivores, even after death? Lazarus grinned as he thought of a resurrected dinosaur trying to eat another. It was absurd to think that an infection could bring down a T-rex. No, this must be something new.

  As Lazarus climbed higher, he looked over to the mainland a mere four hundred yards away, but he could see precious little. Blooming storm clouds obscured his view and he could see torrential rain would be heading their way very soon. The tide was high and they would be safe tonight. Nothing would reach them. He might even give whoever was on watch tonight a break. There was only an hour before curfew and the entertainment only worked well in shifts. Honok, Christopher, Grayson and Edward were on watch tonight. He would send Walker to relieve them later and they could then ‘relieve’ themselves. Lazarus chuckled. He might have to relieve himself too shortly.

  He strode up to the castle and walked through the gateway, casting a slight nod at the guard, Grayson. Lazarus continued through the yard and into the castle, through the main doors. Inside, he threw his black coat off and over an axe hanging on the wall. His clash with Tim forgotten, Lazarus walked up the huge stairway. The stone walls of the castle were adorned with relics of a bygone age: axes, swords, flags and pennants. Each one could tell a story of the past, of battles they had seen, grand victories and glorious failures. Lazarus wasn’t interested in the past anymore, only the future. He began whistling as he walked up the stairway, the soft red carpet underneath his boots soiled with dirt and earth from outside. He let his hands drift over the banister, feeling the smooth polished oak beneath his rough, calloused fingers.

  Upon reaching the top level, he headed down a long corridor to his room. Outside was a chair and Walker was sitting upright in it, alert as ever. As Lazarus approached, Walker stood up. As usual, Walker’s hand flinched as he stopped himself from saluting. Lazarus inwardly smiled, knowing it was an old habit he found hard to stop. Walker smoothed out his creased white shirt as best he could and stood to attention. Lazarus stopped whistling.

  “Everything okay, Walker?” Lazarus asked lightly.

  “Absolutely. All quiet on the western front, sir. Any news on the radio? Some of the men have heard and were wondering what the deal is?”

  Lazarus looked at Walker’s blue eyes and Walker found himself being scrutinised. He glanced away, reluctant to look into Lazarus’ eyes. They were a deep dark brown, almost black like his thick hair. Lazarus was a few inches taller than him, at least six foot six, and a simple stare from him could stop you in your tracks.

  Lazarus contemplated his answer briefly. “Tim heard something that’s for sure, but nothing tangible. You can tell the men we are listening and when there is news, I will announce it. In the meantime, try to not let the men gossip. Remember, Walker, when rumours are rife...”

  “...you risk your life,” said Walker. He knew the saying that Lazarus had introduced to them a couple of weeks ago. They had been twenty three then.

  Ricardo had been a good man, ex-army, strong, colourful, but he had started spreading rumours about Lazarus, about how he kept the best finds for himself and didn’t share with the men. Unrest had grown and Walker had informed his boss of the uneasiness spreading throughout their makeshift village. He knew it couldn’t be true. If Lazarus was hiding anything he would know about it. Lazarus had called a meeting in the village square and everyone had been present. There were no scouting parties that day, no entertainment. Lazarus had told everyone quite clearly that he wouldn’t listen to illicit lies or rumours spread by mutinous factions within their community. They survived together because they worked together. Yes, Lazarus was in charge, but without him there would be no order, just chaos, anarchy and death. He had suddenly grabbed Ricardo and with the help of Walker, they had put him in the stocks. Lazarus made an example of Ricardo there and then. Everyone knew it was him that had started the gossip, but no one was prepared for what came next.

  Lazarus had brought a steak knife with him and with Ricardo locked in the stocks he casually sliced our Ricardo’s tongue. Walker had seen blood before, plenty of it, but some of the men had not. Until a few weeks ago, they had been postmen, lorry drivers, the unemployed. Blood spewed from Ricardo’s mouth as Lazarus held the man’s tongue aloft.

  “Hear this. When rumours are rife, you risk your life. If anyone wants to question my judgement or my character, then you should come to me. I am fair. I have helped you all, have I not?”

  There were mutterings from the crowd of mostly men, a few ayes, and then Lazarus threw the tongue down in the dirt. He stomped on it, squashing it and grinding it into the hard ground. He turned back to Ricardo, blood dribbling down his chin. Lazarus raised the steak knife and stabbed it into both of Ricardo’s eyes, blinding him instantly. Ricardo had screamed and screamed. He had tried to get out of the stocks, but there was no way. Lazarus then lopped off both of Ricardo’ ears and threw them to the ground too. He turned to the twenty two men and women still gathered around, and spoke.

  “Mizaru, kikazaru, iwazaru. See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil. What Ricardo has done is not to question me, but you. He has effectively branded you all as cowards. If anyone questions me,
then they question all of us. We are in this together. We have to stick together because we will only survive this as a team. Do we all understand now?”

  With the knife glistening in his hand, blood dripping down and soaking into the ground, the gathered men answered Lazarus with approval. Walker started clapping and before long, they all were. Lazarus smiled.

  “Right, back to work everyone.” He drew the knife across Ricardo’s throat and let the man bleed out, his life draining away into the hard cracked ground beneath the stocks. Ricardo’s body shook violently as bright red blood spurted from his throat and cascaded out of his body.

  “You cannot make a revolution with silk gloves. Throw that piece of garbage away, will you?” Lazarus said, passing Walker on his way back to the castle. The crowd dispersed, leaving Walker to take away Ricardo’s dead, mangled body. Nobody ever forgot that lesson.

  “There’ll be no gossiping on my watch, sir.” Walker stood upright once more and dared a look at Lazarus.

  “Good man,” said Lazarus and he opened the door to his room. “Give me a few minutes, will you? Then you can go and relieve whoever is on watch in the parapets. I think it might be Ed. There’s no need for a look out tonight. There’s a storm coming in and the tides up, so we’ll be safe enough. Go and take the men down for the entertainment, yourself too. Leave Tim though, he’s working.”

  Walker breathed an audible sigh of relief when the door closed and he walked off down the corridor, leaving Lazarus alone. Lazarus knew Walker could do with some fun now and again and the man practically had to be ordered to relax. Lazarus knew Walker respected him, but he was intimidated too and was always on edge when around him. Lazarus smiled again and sat down on the bed. He began pulling off his heavy work boots. It was a large four poster bed, which was added to the castle in the eighties to add some character for the tourists. Now it was only used for what it was intended: sleeping and fucking. Lazarus stretched out behind him and felt a leg, the skin smooth and soft. Smiling, he turned around and saw her there, sleeping. The bruising had gone down around her arms a little, but he could see where the ropes still chafed her wrists and ankles.