Devouring The Dead (Book 2): Nemesis

by Watts, Russ

  Christina sat on the end of the bed waiting for Cat to wake and for the others to return, and turned another page of the album. The photo was of the bride and groom again, this time on the church steps with the priest in the middle, grinning foolishly as the sun bounced off his bald head. Christina remembered her own wedding only vaguely now. She thought at the time that she would never be happier, but her marriage only lasted a year. The wedding was at a small church, much like the one in the photo, but she didn’t remember confetti. She could still picture her husband, Karl, looking at her with such love as she walked down the aisle. What she would give to see him again.

  They had met and married within a year, even talked of having children. Karl had been eager to settle down, but Christina focussed on her investment company. It was still in its infancy back then and she dedicated herself to building it up. She wanted it to grow bigger and better than all of the others. Unfortunately, she spent so much time on it that she neglected her marriage. She still felt bitter the way it had ended; how quickly she had divorced the only man she had ever loved and how quickly she immersed herself in the business world instead, telling herself it was for the best. She convinced herself of that for many years.

  She was powerless to stop the wry grin on her face from spreading as an image of her yacht popped into her mind. Was it still anchored or had it been stolen, torn down, drifting away unattended? Both her homes would be empty or burnt down. Her bank balance was most likely still intact, but it may as well be on Mars. A packet of matches was worth more now than a few million pounds in the bank. Would she trade the millions in her bank for a family like this in the album? She looked again at the happy couple. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, she thought. If she had settled down and had children back then with Karl then she wouldn’t be the person she is now. Who knows what would have happened.

  She looked over at Cat, still sleeping. They had forged a bond, no doubt about it. The natural maternal instincts must have been there, buried deep within her and squashed under a pile of banknotes and paperwork. Why had she given up so easily on Karl? Was she scared, ambitious? Did she succumb to peer pressure? No, the truth was it was just greed. Christina looked at a stylish photograph of the wedding cake, a white tower of sugary sweetness. She couldn’t deny the past, couldn’t change it. It was there no matter how you looked at, there for all to see in black and white. Only the future can be changed. She listed to Cat’s peaceful breathing and knew she still had a chance to forge a better future, for both herself and others.

  Christina turned a page and the bride was sitting in the middle of a park, huge trees towering above her with bright green grass beneath her feet. An array of colourful flowers adorned the garden’s edge: roses, hyacinths, rhododendrons and even more that Christina couldn’t name. She began to wonder what would happen to them. No doubt they were now overgrown, the gardener most likely dead or undead. Would the infection leave them alone, let the grass and the trees grown? Would it spread through the animal kingdom, leaving the flora alone? Perhaps the Earth would return to normal, to a more natural state, a world without men or beasts. Her thoughts were interrupted when Caterina stirred and sat up on the bed.

  “What’s the time?” yawned Cat.

  “Nearly suppertime, honey. How’re you feeling?” said Christina closing the album.

  “Not bad actually. I just needed a bit of a snooze, you know?”

  “Well, the others will be back any minute, I expect. We should get ready, see what’s to eat. You get dressed. I’m going to speak to Jackson, all right?”

  Caterina got out of bed and began dressing as Christina silently left the room to go find Jackson. She was worried that it was getting dark and the others weren’t back yet. It was not like them to be late. No sooner had she stepped out onto the hallway than she heard a rap at the door downstairs. Somebody was here.

  * * * *

  Jessica blinked her eyes, but it was difficult trying to figure out the best route. She was not used to reading maps.

  “Rosa, stop it, I can’t concentrate” giggled Jessica, pushing Rosa gently away.

  “Stop kissing you? Never,” said Rosa leaning back.

  They were lying on the bed together, trying to work out the best way from Longrock to Penzance. They needed to avoid the main roads and towns, but still wanted the most direct route they could. As Jessica traced her finger along a small line, a railroad, Rosa nuzzled her lips against the back of Jessica’s neck.

  “Seriously, quit it!” Jessica laughed and sat up, taking the map with her and resting it on her lap.

  “Okay, okay, it’s just boring, is all,” said Rosa. “And lying here with you makes me...you know...”

  “I know, but we’ve got to figure this out, Rosa. There’ll be plenty of time for hanky-panky later,” said Jessica.

  “Hanky-panky?” sniggered Rosa. “How quaint!” She traced her fingers across Jessica’s arm, up to her shoulders before entwining them in her long brown hair. She stroked Jessica’s head and the map slipped onto the floor. Jessica gave up trying to read it and ignore Rosa, and turned over to face her. She pulled Rosa to her and they kissed longingly. Rosa’s hands ran over Jessica’s dress until they came to rest on her bare legs.

  “You know I can’t resist you,” whispered Jessica. She kissed Rosa on the tip of her nose. “So are you going to tell me now?”

  “What?” asked Rosa. She stared into Jessica’s light brown eyes innocently.

  “What we were talking about earlier? You know what.” Jessica pulled her dress down, aware the others would be back soon and that hanky-panky truly would have to wait until later.

  Rosa sighed and licked her lips. “I don’t see why it matters.”

  “It doesn’t matter as such. It’s just...I want to know about you,” said Jessica. “You know about me. You know I go both ways, you know who I’ve dated, who I’ve slept with, what my parents did, where I went to school; everything.” She took Rosa’s hand in hers.

  “Okay well, no I haven’t. So now you know,” said Rosa sitting up in bed. She let go of Jessica’s hand.

  “Not even a kiss? Never been tempted?” said Jessica sitting up too.

  “Nope,” said Rosa plainly. “I’m not attracted to men, never have been, never will be.”

  “Well, that’s fine, who cares right? I mean I don’t know why you have to be so defensive about it.” Jessica tried to look at Rosa, but she was looking the other way through the net curtains to the street below.

  “I’m not defensive. I just don’t like to talk about it. I lost a lot of friends when I came out, and my parents, well...I guess I’m not really used to talking about it. It’s like you’re testing me or something. I know you like men. I’ve seen the way you look at Tom.” Rosa got off the bed and picked the map up. “We should finish looking at this and…”

  “Hey,” said Jessica, “forget the bloody map will you? I’m bi, but I don’t look at Tom like anything! You’re imagining things, Rosa.”

  “Am I? Whatever. I remember him telling me that he thought you were ‘quite something.’ The way he looks at you it’s pretty obvious he loves you.”

  Jessica got off the bed and cupped Rosa’s face forcing Rosa to look at her. “Maybe so, but I don’t love him. I love you.” She leant forward and they kissed.

  Rosa dropped the map. “I love you too,” she said. “But I don’t know what the hell is going on with me.” Rosa sat back down on the bed, “I didn’t mean to get snappy with you, I’m just tired. Actually, that’s not quite true - I’m not tired. I sleep reasonably well. I wake up most nights, yes, but not for too long. I’m just weary. I wish things were normal. I’m fed up of being on the go all the time, having to watch our backs, having to eat out of cans. I’m fed up of not knowing where we’re going to be from one day to the next. This is the longest time we’ve spent in one place and it’s only the third night we’ve slept here. Who knows, tomorrow we could be sleeping on a concrete floor again and then...” Rosa’s shoulders
visibly sank.

  “Look around you, Rosa,” said Jessica. “Go on, I mean it, look. See those photos over there on the bookcase? Well, those people are dead. That canvas over there on the wall of the tropical island and the palm trees? We’ll never go there. You see that diary beside you? It’ll never be written in again. Normal is what this is. I’m just fucking glad to be alive. And to be with you.”

  Rosa smiled, but her face looked tired. Jessica could see the strain was starting to show. Rosa had looked so young and vivacious when they had met last month. She could still vividly remember their first kiss in a church of all places. She hadn’t changed much, but she was right. She looked weary. The last month had taken its toll on them. Rosa was younger than everyone else and a couple of years younger than Jessica. She was struggling to adjust to life on the run. Jessica opened her mouth to speak when there was a short knock on the door.

  “Jessie? Rosa? Harry’s back with Moira.” It was Christina’s voice.

  Jessica got up and opened the door. “Hey, Christina, did they find much?”

  “Um, yeah a bit.” Christina looked worried.

  “What is it, what’s wrong?” said Jessica. Suddenly, she forgot all about Rosa’s insecurities and worries. A vision ran through her mind of Harry being bitten by one of the dead. “Is it Harry, oh please tell me he’s not...”

  “No, no he’s fine,” said Christina. “It’s Tom and Laurent. They’re not back yet. There’s no sign of them.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Dad, Dad, there they are again!”

  “Shush, Jimmy, keep it down. We don’t want to get spotted, do we? We don’t know who they are or what they want. We’re safe enough in here, lad, just quiet down now.”

  David Ireland was sweating, hoping his son would keep his cool. They had been holed up at their house since the outbreak had started and David did not intend to let anyone destroy their refuge now. He had sworn to the boy’s mother he would protect their son from the lunatics outside; from the looters, thieves and murderers. There were worse things patrolling the streets of Longrock than zombies. By God, he had done so for, what, nearly a month? Well he wasn’t about to make a mistake now.

  “But Dad, I think they’re okay. Look, I can see there’s two men in the front and at least two in the back. I can’t really count how many, it’s too dark though.” Jimmy tried to see into the van, but the rain was coming down and without streetlights, it was getting hard to see far beyond his window. He only had a narrow strip to see through. Wood had been nailed over the window except for an inch at the side.

  “Jimmy, get away from that damn window this second, you hear me, lad?”

  Jimmy sank back and pulled the drape across the window obscuring the outside world from view. He knew if he pushed it any further he was likely to feel the back of his father’s hand. He sat at the table opposite his father and took a swig of lemonade. David could tell from the look on his son’s face that trouble was brewing.

  “Dad, we can’t stay in here forever. Mum’s gone. Fuck, the neighbours are gone, the whole country’s gone.”

  “Watch your language,” said David, pointing a thick finger at Jimmy.

  “Sorry, Dad, but come on, how long are we supposed to live like this?” He began picking at the dirt under his fingernails and scrutinised the table, too scared to look up at his father’s face.

  “You want to go back to Belfast, is that it? You think it’s any better over there, lad? You don’t know anything. No, it’s safer here. Your mother - God rest her soul - and I brought you here for a better life. I know things have turned to custard, but there’s nowhere to go, son. Listen to me, Jimmy, we are as safe here as anywhere. We’ve got enough supplies to last us months. Why would you even want to leave?” David had been sharpening a knife and laid it down on the table. There was a solitary candle between the two of them and he was amazed at how old his son looked. He was only fifteen, but in the last month, he seemed to have grown up a lot. Jimmy could probably pass for twenty now, ever since his mother died. That had been tough on him. His mother tried to help a friend, a neighbour, and look where that had got her. A bite on the arm and hours later, she was dead. David had implored her not to go out, but she wouldn’t listen. She had to help, she’d said, she couldn’t just sit around, waiting. Jimmy was just like her.

  “Dad,” said Jimmy calmly, “all I’m saying is think about it. Please. I agree there are psychos out there. The infection didn’t just kill the nasty people as we both know, but those people out there looked good. They weren’t shooting off guns and the two men in that van stopped to help those others. They could’ve driven off, but they didn’t. Hell, if it wasn’t for them that house would’ve burned down with them still in it. And what did we do, Dad? Eh? We just sat here and watched.

  “I saw where they went, you know. We could probably find them. They took a right down Richardson Avenue, then up Patterson Street. They can’t have gone much further than that, there’s nothing there. You know that street leads out to the crop fields. They had a van, Dad, they could help us...maybe they have somewhere safe to go, maybe…?”

  “All right, lad, that’s enough.” David toyed with the knife on the table, twirling the handle around with the sharp point embedded in the table’s wooden surface. “I’ll think about it, but we’re not doing anything tonight. There’s a storm coming in, I can tell. It’s already raining hard and we don’t ever go out at night, right? We’ll sleep on it and talk about it in the morning, right enough?”

  “Okay, Dad.” Jimmy got up, knowing there was no way he was going to be able to convince his father they should leave their home. Any offer to talk about it in the morning meant the matter was closed. There would be no talking and there would be no leaving.

  “I think I’ll turn in. Good night, Dad.” Jimmy left the kitchen and his father behind, and went into his bedroom. It was too early to sleep and his mind was blazing with plans of how they could leave this prison they had built themselves. The hardest part would be changing his father’s mind. He lay down on his bed in the cool darkness. There was a faint flickering on the ceiling as the flames across the street danced their way through the house, through the curtains to his room. The house would burn down to be sure. There was nobody to stop that now. It was on the other side of the road though, so they were in no danger for now.

  He saw the dead burning, walking around, and chasing after those strangers. He knew the infection was unstoppable. It had taken his mother, his friends. If they stayed here at home, it would inevitably take them too. Damn, his father was stubborn. Why could he not see it? So what if they had food enough to last them for months, or years even. You couldn’t live your life in a box. And when the food ran out, then what? Venture outside only to find six million zombies waiting for you? No, those people were good, he knew it. He had to find a way to convince his father, but talking wasn’t going to work. When David Ireland’s mind was made up, it was made up for good.

  Jimmy decided as he lay there that his father might need a prod, just a little nudge in the right direction to make him see that they weren’t invincible. Jimmy lay on his bed watching the orange light on the ceiling above flicker and an idea grew in his head. His father was right, a storm was coming. Perhaps the rain would put the fire out? The wind was picking up too. In the morning, he would do it. His father was not an early riser. Jimmy would be up first, he would make sure of it. He would sneak downstairs and open the door. He could prise out the nails. He knew where the tools were kept (under the sink where David thought they were hidden.) He would leave the door ajar and call out, just so one of the dead, not many, would come. His father would see they weren’t safe. Then they would have to leave. Yes, first thing in the morning.

  Jimmy lay there dreaming of his plans and scheming, whilst his father drank another six bottles of cider alone at the kitchen table, wondering how he was going to be able to keep protecting his son in these conditions. Later, before David fell into his bed, he prayed for his so
n.

  The wind whirled around the house as the storm intensified. By sunrise father and son would be separated, and one of them would be dead.

  * * * *

  Tim carefully laid the headphones down on the desk and stood up slowly. He didn’t want to risk losing the frequency he found. If he lost contact, he knew what Lazarus would do to him. He also knew that he had to report this straight away, never mind that it was approaching midnight.

  He had scribbled down a few notes, but he remembered most of the conversation he heard. He couldn’t believe it. Finally, after hours of listening to nothing but static, he chanced upon it, the transmitter picking up some garbled conversation. With a bit of fine tuning, Tim had managed to hone in on it and heard the conversation perfectly clearly. Tim was under no illusions as to its importance. He had to tell Lazarus about it, right now.

  He opened the door and immediately the raindrops slapped into his face like ice cold pins. He closed the door and began the trudge up the hill toward the castle. The houses were dark and quiet. Everyone would be asleep now. He knew someone would be watching him though. There was always someone on watch at the castle.

  Tim picked his way carefully up the steep slope, not wanting to fall down and twist an ankle on the rocks, or worse still, break his neck. If he was right, then Lazarus would be pleased. Maybe he would be allowed some entertainment instead of being stuck in a cold damp house all day and night listening to a sodding radio.

  Tim tripped on a wet rock and fell into the mud. He held onto the hillside, clutching clumps of grass as the howling wind tore at him. The rain pelted his face and dribbled down his neck. He got up and walked faster to the castle, as eager to be out of the storm as to be standing before Lazarus with some good news.