Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2)

by Daryl Banner

  I happen on a dirt path in the woods. I’ve reached it so soon, I almost doubt it is what it is: the path that connects the Whispers to the Trenton north gate. I tell my feet to hurry, faster than Megan’s. I tell my legs to be strong, like Benjamin’s were. I tell my eyes to stay as focused as John’s are when he’s staring deeply into mine, smiling.

  Then the gates of Trenton are before me, and they’re open …

  Oh. They’re open.

  “No,” I whisper, horrified at what this simple scene implies. I absentmindedly set down the twins, then stare at the wide-open gates. Why are they open? This can’t be good news. Not at all.

  Something terrible has happened.

  Without hearing what the twins are asking me, I press on into the city. The streets are vacant. There’s a pair of large spider legs against the front door of a building. A fly wing. A giant cockroach wing. Smears of bug guts. Many windows are shattered, the glass shards splayed out across the cobblestone street.

  I continue on and I don’t see a soul in sight. Not even a corpse. Nothing but stray insect parts and turned-over tables and broken glass and horror. We’re too late.

  I arrive at the Square, and that’s when I see their faces. I run at once. They spot me too, both of them looking up. I wrap my arms around little Megan first, elated that she is okay. I’m psychotic with relief. I let her go so as not to break her, then throw my arms around the other person.

  John. His clothes in tatters. Dirt and blemishes all over his face. A nasty cut running down his arm. He’s missing a shoe. His eyes are heavy, watery, worn.

  What’s happened?

  “John.” I’m so overcome I could cry real tears, I’m sure of it. “The gates were wide open. There’s no one … no one at all in the streets. Where’s Gunner? Where’s Helena and Marigold and the others?”

  “Chief and Gunner are looking for survivors,” answers John, since little Megan appears unable to speak, having been rendered silent and sullen.

  “Survivors?” is all I can say. How many have we lost?

  John pulls me into his arms, bringing my face to his chest. “I thought the worst,” he mutters, his deep voice aching. “I thought you were … gone,” he finishes. His heart races, beating against my cheek as he holds me. It’s like I’ve returned home, just being here in his warmth …

  The silence of the city disturbs me, the strange and terrible emptiness. “What happened?”

  He kisses my forehead, then says: “Grim happened.”

  It’s on the steps of the Town Hall that I’m sat down to have everything explained to my throttled mind. Shortly after the bugs were killed or run off, Grim arrived with his Army Of Fire. John tried to take as many of the Humans as possible into hidden underground chambers beneath the Town Hall, ones that Helena was certain even Grim wouldn’t know about. Many of the Humans did not make it or did not care to trust those in charge. Several of them ran off into the wilderness, including Ann and Jim.

  It’s the next news that disturbed me the worst. The further Grim pressed into the city, our own Undead began to ignite in flame. One by one, Grim entered their minds and, before long, the entire Undead populace of Trenton was enslaved. He only needed to get close to each person to take them—but once they were his, he could control them from any distance. All of them, turned to puppets.

  Including Helena and Marigold. “That Green Psycho has taken everyone,” says John. “We’re the only ones left, apart from six other Living who were willing to hide with us. His Army trampled all our crops. Even the vegetables we’d planted. The greenhouse. Everything.”

  Megan is sitting far away on the edge of the stage with the twins, her legs dangling in the most downcast way. The twins’ faces seem so overwhelmed. I hope this scene hasn’t killed their faith in me completely.

  Then, I realize … “What about Megan’s—?”

  “Her parents were among those who ran away first, though I can’t be sure. Winter, so much was happening all at once. I don’t know whose lives that Green Thing claimed.” He slams a fist into the concrete step, shaking with a rage I can even feel through my body just sitting next to him. “It’s just us now, plus the six others who were too afraid to come out from the chambers. We were ordered to stay behind and guard them while Gunner and the Chief are scouting. I doubt anyone’s left. G-G-Grim’s Army went through every house, seems like.” He can’t say the name without grinding his teeth.

  Doctor Collin, the girls at the Refinery, Roxie, even Brains … Grim’s taken them all. I’d counted on him trying to turn all our Humans into Undead, but I didn’t realize he’d force all the Undead to join his Army as well. After seeing the way he absorbed the populace of After’s Hold, I should’ve expected he’d do the same here.

  I was a fool to think any better of Grimsky. He’s got nothing to lose now. He’s a raging fire that can’t be put out. The self-named death-bringer.

  Then it’s my turn to spill. I tell John what happened to me. How, during the skirmish, I was unexpectedly swept away by a psychotic, friendless creature called Shee. How this creature showed me a big flower, then deposited me in a pit for safekeeping until the twins arrived to save me.

  I fail to mention the walkie-talkie zombies in the field outside the Necropolis through which Grim delivered his little desperate pleas.

  “I can’t believe you’re alive,” I tell him.

  “You were saved,” replies John with half a smile. “That creature kinda saved you, in a way. If you’d been here, that Green-Eyed Fool would’ve taken you too. I’m certain of it.”

  “How’d … How’d you avoid …?”

  He opens his palm. A green stone rests in it. “Chief’s got the other one. Gunner kept close to him. Megan proved immune to Grim’s influence too. But soon, we all had to hide no matter. We might’ve been immune to his power, but we were far outnumbered. They could’ve … done worse things, had we let them too close.”

  I squeeze into John’s arms, unable to bear the thought of being separated again from him. He’s here. I’m here. His heart beats. Mine doesn’t. I’m pretty much back at home in his arms.

  He rests his chin on my head, whispers, “I don’t know what to do, Winter.”

  I’m staring at a turned-over spider carcass, and I’m reminded of what the flying tarantula-lady said about her big bugs, and the big flowers, and the voices in those big flowers. Stay away, they told her. Touch nothing …

  “John, I know where Garden is.”

  C H A P T E R – S I X T E E N

  T H E B E A U T I F U L W I N T E R

  The six surviving Humans emerge from a trapdoor underneath the stage. Four ladies, none of whom I really recognize. Two blondes named Lena and Margie in their forties with faces pale as milk, each as gaunt as a skeleton; sisters, apparently. The third is a tall, slender woman named Ash with thin lips and smooth, dark skin, gashes running down her arm from when she fended off a spider. The fourth’s a short, plump cherry-faced woman named Tina who almost reminds me of Marigold, except devoid of any ounce of cheer; her husband was one of the ones Grim took, I’m saddened to hear.

  Of the men, one is Nelson, a stout, older beast with rough yellowed skin, wrinkly eyes, and no hair at all. The other is none other than Gill, cradling his tiny baby girl in his arms. “Hi,” he says quite sharply, though it sounds a lot more like: “Keep your distance, dead thing.”

  Seven, I realize, counting the baby who, I learn, still remains unnamed. With Gunner, the Chief, John and Megan and the twins, we have a party of thirteen Living. Plus me, the sole surviving Undead.

  Surviving Undead. I’m a regular jokester over here.

  The Humans who hid were smart and quick-thinking; they have two satchels of food and supplies with them, including at least six canisters of that milk substitute from Trenton’s storages for the baby. The food’s enough to modestly feed all the Living mouths present for at least a few days, maybe more. Hopefully that’s all it takes to get there, though I can’t say for sure how far a
way the big purple flower is.

  It’s dark, so we don’t leave until the next morning. As we pass through the gates on our way out, I have very mixed feelings. This is really the only home I’ve known in this Second Life. But recently, so many awful things have happened; only the worse memories seem to linger. The peace of Trenton is gone. I don’t know if someday it might come back … or if this is truly the ultimate end for Trenton. Its streets are empty now, its every store and house abandoned. The Town Hall is a silent crypt. If a stray Human or two were to stumble upon this deserted city, they would pick over the scraps and the shattered glass and the remnants of insects. If they’re lucky, they’ll find the storage of canned goods that have helped the Humans here survive at the beginning; that includes the cans of milk substitute powder that have kept the baby alive, as well as the protein alternatives that I imagine taste nothing nice. Hopefully these make-believe future Human visitors we get to our lovely dwelling know of the lake that lies a couple hours north-east of here, the biggest source of our water.

  But even as they feed themselves, none of them would be able to puzzle out what awful thing transpired here to terminate the peace and happiness that once was. I can only imagine what these hypothetical Humans would make of our lifestyle when they poke through the Refinery building and find a pan full of fingers and toes.

  And let’s not forget Marigold’s bowl full of intestines.

  Suddenly all of that seems like a ghost now, drifting at my back and watching me as I leave. John walks at my side with a sword, Gunner on the other with his bow. The Chief brings up the rear, accompanied by the tall woman Ash and the stout man Nelson as well as Rake, each equipped with a steel sword of varying length. The rest of the Humans walk in the middle, among them Robin and Gill, who still clutches the baby to his chest. He hasn’t stopped eyeing the twins or me, trusting nothing and no one. Perhaps that’s best for now; it’ll keep up his guard, and guard is certainly something we need a lot of.

  “Don’t look back,” John whispers into my ear.

  I don’t listen. I peer over my shoulder and watch as Trenton fades from view. The Dead Woods begin to get in the way, their gangly, frail fingers of wood littering the horizon. Ahead, there is only bone dust and ruin.

  “Told you not to,” he murmurs.

  “I have a habit of doing what I’m told not to.”

  John gave me his stone before we left the city. I kept refusing at first, but he pointed out that if Grim works his necromancy on me, then there will be no Undead left to resist him.

  On top of that, Megan’s power is too unstable and seemed useless on any members of Grim’s Army. This apparently frustrates her to no end. All the excitement and joy that I knew in Megan has turned sour; even as she walks now, her eyes harbor this intensity that almost frightens me. Maybe it’s just the Lock-eye, but something in her seems to have awakened, something dark and ugly. Maybe it’s her parents; I can’t be sure. Apparently Megan thinks the eye is a failure and she’s capable of nothing. Took out her eye for no reason at all, but John …

  “I tried telling her to give it time,” he tells me quietly. “After all, no one was able to affect Brains in any way, but somehow Brains seemed to listen to her.” I don’t bother to correct him and insist that her name is Helen; even I’ve given up on that front.

  “Time’s something we need a lot more of,” I admit. “What if that bug-lady decides to pay me another visit?”

  “It’s simple. We take her down, pull her apart, and then there’ll be no more bug-lady.”

  I wish I could share his optimism.

  The woods give away to another vast expanse of dust and rocks. The land bends downward, terminating at a trench that used to be a river. Unable to feasibly cross the chasm—as it is unsettlingly deep—we walk down its length, hoping to find a spot shallow enough to cross. To our surprise, we find the remnants of a bridge and decide to cross only two at a time, so as not to burden the weak, creaking structure. “Don’t look down,” someone advises.

  Seems to be the best bit of advice lately. Don’t look back, don’t look down … Just don’t look, ever. Deny this is all happening.

  When we enter the next spread of trees, which look more like splinters of worn bone jutting up from the earth in warring, unnatural angles, we stop to give the Humans some rest. Food is rationed and shared, and quietly they eat. Megan accompanies the Chief, discussing something tiredly. Among the others, I only hear chewing. The baby cries and is annoyingly cranky. I love babies, I swear.

  I notice Rake eyeing me from across the group. His sister Robin is paying mind to the baby’s cries, despite the fact that Gill won’t let anyone else hold her. I realize that I’ve never officially explained to Rake and Robin that I’d deceived them—that I am, after all, one of the Undead. They’ve obviously drawn their own conclusions. They’re smart enough. They haven’t confronted me or run away just yet, so I have to take that to be a good thing.

  The more of us there are, the better we all are.

  “He spoke to me through a dead guy,” I finally tell John. We’re seated on the dry, gritty ground with our backs against a tree, if I dare call it one.

  “Grim?” The name sits bitterly on his tongue.

  “On my way back to Trenton, the twins and I passed by the ruins of the Necropolis.” John’s never been there, so he couldn’t even imagine the horrors that transpired in that place, or what might still remain in its depths. “The Dead there still walk, and Grim’s taken their minds, too. He can see through all their eyes. It scares me.”

  “Don’t let him. He’s a sick person. He’s been driven mad, like the Deathless Queen. He’s …” John struggles for the words.

  “Dead inside,” I finish, wondering if those might be adequate words. “All of us Undead are … well, we’re dead in one way. But some of us are dead inside as well. That’s the real tragedy, when all of you’s dead.”

  John takes my hand comfortingly.

  I catch a glimpse of Gunner and two of the women, the sisters Lena and Margie, watching us. I let go of John’s hand, almost ashamed. It’s still too soon. No matter what the other Humans already know or how they feel, it does us no good to stir the already volatile pot.

  John seems a bit annoyed. “Why’d you let go?”

  “Nothing.” I look the other way, annoyed myself.

  Unexpectedly, Robin crawls over to us, takes a seat at my feet and smiles. “I think I know what makes you alive inside.”

  I lift a brow. “What do you mean?”

  “My brother and I know you’re dead. We knew you were dead all along, back when we rescued you from that hole.” She glances back at her twin, who is glaring. He doesn’t seem to like his sister opening up so much so fast. After all, we’ve hardly known each other for a day.

  “And you still …?”

  “Yes,” says Robin. “Dad told us once about these dead people who could talk and speak and act like real people.” Her use of the term “real people” doesn’t hurt my feelings at all; in fact, I find myself smiling, amused. “He said one of them protected him. Still, he warned Rake and I, said we should be careful who we trust. Said some of you like to drink our blood. I don’t know why. It tastes bad.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes. I’ve bitten my tongue before, I know.” She leans in closer. “The thing inside that makes you alive, the same thing that makes me alive … The thing us live-people have in common with you dead-people is called Anima.”

  I smile, giving her a thoughtful nod. “Really?” I know I’ve heard that term before. “Want to tell me more?”

  “Yes.” She pulls down her hood, letting her mop of sandy-blonde hair free. Except for its darker tone, it looks identical to her brother’s. “My dad talked about Anima a lot when his brother died. He said he, like, saw it leaving his brother’s eyes, right in his last moment. Uncle Thom, he took a bad fall and the injury poisoned him, dad said. His bones.” She glances back at her brother again who’s turned away, pulling his
coat over his face sulkily. “I miss Uncle Thom. I miss dad. I hope they’re okay, wherever they are.” Her hazel eyes meet mine again. “Anyway, I think that’s what you got in you. Anima.”

  It hits me. The Deathless Queen, my own mother. She used the term before, back when I was brought to the tower and given the option to cut my maker, Helena, into pieces. It wasn’t my best day. “I’ve heard the word before. So you think someone’s put some Anima into me? You think that’s why I’m … the way I am?”

  “Half-living, my dad would call your kind.”

  I glance over at Megan, whose conversation with the Chief has come to an abrupt end. She’s listening rather intently to Robin’s words now, the Lock’s Eye gleaming.

  “Anima,” I say across the group to Megan, catching her eyes. “Maybe that eye of yours is tapping into some kind of … Anima. Some Locks can give it. Some can take it away. Maybe you can do something else entirely. We just haven’t discovered it yet.” I smile encouragingly.

  Megan nods halfheartedly, then casts her gaze down.

  I lower my voice, intending my words only for Robin now. “We knew a Warlock once. An awful, cruel guy. I think he was able to … destroy Anima. I watched many of my Undead friends turn to dust before my eyes.”

  “I’ve never seen that before,” Robin admits, her voice flat. “I haven’t seen any half-living people. Not until I met you. I always thought it was just another thing my dad would tell me so I could sleep better. Like Garden.”

  I hear an amused snort from John. Yes, I know, he’s been comforted all his life by a similar tale of Garden. From his parents, no less, every night and every day.

  “Well …” I give her a nice, uplifting smile. “Let’s see if we can turn that bedtime story into a reality.” When I see the beam in her eye, I know I’ve said the right thing.

  Soon, we’ve packed up and we’re traveling again. The Livings say we are nearing midday, the sun high up in the sky and bending into its long descent to the west. As our direction of travel is generally east, I wonder if it’ll soon appear to the Humans like the sun is setting our old city on fire, burning the heavens in its path.