He’d felt the loss of Pat as much as any of us, and coming after losing the one guy he’d met who was gay and actually into him too. Then there was the loss of his eye and the deep scars that crossed half his face.
While not especially vain, he still hadn’t been able to look at himself without seeing something repugnant. I reached out to squeeze his arm and when he looked at me with tears shimmered in his eye.
“I think I’m done,” he said in a small voice full of pain. “We can’t beat them. There’s sixty fucking million in the UK alone and how many of us? Less than a thousand actually able to fight.”
“We don’t need to beat them,” I said firmly. “Just outlive them. They are rotting, slowly, but it is happening. Another year, perhaps two and they will be gone.”
“Then why not just sit on our island and wait them out?”
“Because there are still people alive out here,” I said with a wave of my hand that took in the city around us. “Because our people need supplies and I refuse to leave anyone to face the undead alone. That’s why we’re here.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough,” he mumbled and fell silent as he stared down at his hands.
There wasn’t much else I could say to him, nothing to do but be there for him. In truth, he wasn’t the only one having such thoughts. They were unsurprisingly common amongst those we’d managed to save.
Feelings of loss, despair, helplessness and even guilt for having survived when so many others hadn’t. If we ever found a psychiatrist who had survived, that person would be the busiest one on our whole damned island.
“Food, lass,” Ray said and I smiled a greeting to him. “Not much, just some soup.”
“Soup’s fine,” I said as the rich aroma of the vegetable broth came to me, making my stomach rumble embarrassingly loud.
“You, lad?” he asked Gregg as I took the first of the two bowls from him.
“No,” was the only reply, so with a shrug, Ray pulled a spoon from his pocket and settled in beside us.
The food, while simple, was surprisingly good. It was amazing what people could do with limited ingredients and most of them tinned. I slurped down several spoonsful of the delicious soup.
“Mark and Lars?”
“Downstairs,” he said around mouthfuls of his own food. “Mark’s trying to raise Jennings, Lars is brooding somewhere.”
He reached up and touched the ring he wore on a chain around his next and a wistful smile crossed his face. I’d no doubt that he missed his wife terribly, and after a day such as today when we’d lost so many of our friends and come close to death ourselves, she would be close to his thoughts.
“I think you should go back with the transport,” I said as I came to a decision.
“Me, lass! Why?”
He wore such a look of confusion on his broad face that I couldn’t help but smile. Dark stubble covered his face and skull and he had a nose that had been broken several times in the past. He had the sort of face that would be called strong, rather than handsome and he had the muscular frame of a man who had laboured on the docks and at sea.
For all his brutish exterior, he was a surprisingly gentle man and determined to play a part in saving people. First by sailing the coast looking for survivors and then later, by joining the CDF as a foot soldier. A decision his wife had been rather vocal about. How could I tell him that I wanted him to be safe, to make it home to his wife?
“We need to get them to safety,” I said slowly. “They’ve been here for months waiting for us, scared and half starved. They need someone to keep them safe and to help them when they get to the island. You should be one of those to do that.”
“If that’s what you want, lass,” he said with a grimace that suggested he understood what I was doing.
“It is. Consider it an order,” I said.
“Aye, well, fair enough then, lass.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and looked around the almost empty rooftop. “Where’s that pretty dog of yours?”
“I left her in our sleeping area,” I said, lowering my voice. “She needed rest and will keep an eye on the acolytes down there.”
“Report back to you their movements, will she?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Hardly. She’ll stop them if they try to do something they shouldn’t.”
He shook his head and swallowed down another spoonful of soup. I did the same, eating slowly and savouring the hot meal. For once, I had no idea what to do next. The Acolytes were around me constantly. A permanent reminder of Ryan and I couldn’t help but feel an invisible pressure from them to let them return to warn him of what they had found.
I was also pretty sure they had noticed that wherever they were, armed marines were not far away. The Admiral was unsure about them and until we managed to find five minutes to sit down and discuss what had happened out there and who they were, I didn’t think he’d be willing to just let them wander away.
Hell, when he heard what I knew about them, I was pretty much certain that he wouldn’t want them hanging around. A death cult was the last thing we needed to deal with, especially when they seemed to have the strange idea that my ex-boyfriend was the personification of Death.
Which was another bloody problem. Ryan. What the hell was I going to do about him? I honestly didn’t know but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to figure it out without going and seeing him at least once more.
“I miss, Cass,” I said softly. She would have been the perfect person to talk to about everything.
“Yeah, me too,” Gregg said.
“Lieutenant Morgan?” a voice asked.
A soldier stood beside the door that led down into the building. Dressed in the same navy-blue fatigues as the rest of us, he wore a buckler and sheathed poignard on his belt. Not a marine then, one of the CDF.
“Yes?”
“The Admiral is ready for you.”
“Good luck, lass,” Ray said with a grin.
“Boat leaves early tomorrow, be on it,” I said and his smile faded.
“Aye, lass.”
A little happier that at least one of my squad would be returning to their loved ones I pushed myself to my feet and hesitated as I looked down at my friend.
“You go too, Gregg.”
“What?”
“Make sure he gets on the boat,” I told Ray. “That’s an order.”
“Aye, ma’am,” he said with a sudden seriousness.
I left the protesting Gregg with Ray and marched across the roof towards the stairwell. I couldn’t save everyone, but there was no way in hell that I’d let Cass lose another member of her family. Something told me that most if not all of those of us who stayed here wouldn’t make it back.
With a heavy heart, I went for my meeting with the Admiral.
Chapter 22 – Ryan
We were met almost halfway back by a Fist of the faithful that had been sent out by Samuel. The officer dropped the zombie as soon as he saw them and stretched, pressing hands against his lower back.
“About damned time,” he said. “Now they can carry this thing.”
I glanced at him, one eyebrow raised and he looked away. I’d been pretty clear that I was displeased with him when I took away his weapons. Or rather, when I had Alison take them away.
The acolytes broke into a run when they saw us and were soon with us, four of them spreading out around us, facing outwards for any threats while one approached me. His eyes shifted to the officer and I waved dismissively.
“Speak,” I said.
“My Lord De…”
“Yes, yes, get on with it,” I interrupted a little testily.
My shoulder was aching, the wound made by Georgia might have healed but it still ached abysmally when I overused my shoulder, which I did most days. Add to that the pain from the glass embedded in my leg and I was hardly in the mood for the niceties.
“How may we serve?” the acolyte asked with a deep bow.
“Take him,” I said with a nod towards t
he officer. “He goes to the cage.”
“What?” the officer said before two of the faithful turned on him.
He struggled, briefly, but my acolytes were more than capable of dealing with him and a heavy blow from one of them, had him out cold. They pulled plastic zip-ties from their pockets and bound his hands and legs before lifting him easily between them.
They didn’t look back as they set off at a jog towards the base. Samuel would understand that, unlike the faithful, the officer would require a padlock on his chains.
“Take this too,” I said and pointed at the zombie that snapped and growled as the other two acolytes bent to pick it up. “Careful with it. Leave the knife in its neck.”
“My Lord?”
“These things heal and I have no intention of finding out whether it can regain movement in its limbs. At least not until we have it secure.”
“As you command,” the acolyte said with a bow and I held back a sigh.
The zombie was lifted by the two acolytes who followed along after me as I lead the way. It was slow going, my leg sending waves of pain through me with every step I took. I gritted my teeth and did my best not to limp.
As useful as they were, the faithful were just that. Full of faith. While it had been amusing at first, it was fast becoming a burden. They seemed to expect things of me and while I managed to keep them satisfied for the moment, I was only human. I would slip up and their faith would be rocked.
When that happened, they would turn on me. I was pretty sure of that and though I would then get to kill a good number of them, it would be a pain in the backside to have to rebuild. No, I had to keep them believing in me, to keep my mission going.
It took considerably longer to make it back to the base than expected and by the time I arrived, I was drenched with sweat, my limbs trembling almost visibly. Samuel met us at the door and looked curiously at the zombie as we brushed past him.
I almost dropped into the chair that had been set before the door and I breathed deeply as the acolytes stopped before me.
“What should we do with this?” one of them asked, a female judging by the sound of her voice.
“Gather some chains,” I said, pleased that I managed to keep my voice even and steady despite the pain. “Secure it to the wall and then bring me my knives. Let’s see if it heals.”
“We’ll need to feed it,” Samuel said, distaste in his voice. “Won’t heal without food.”
“Plenty of spare bodies around,” I replied with a soft chuckle. “Let it eat its own kind.”
“As you command.”
He barked orders to an acolyte who rushed to obey and with a satisfied grunt, he turned to face Alison.
“This one?”
“She served well,” I said. “She stood firm and fought hard. Many Ferals died beneath her blade. Ensure all know this.”
Samuel nodded and gestured for the girl to follow him. Soon enough, I was all alone in the cavernous room filled with the stench of the undead that hung from the ceiling, save for the acolytes working to chain the zombie leader to a wall.
Once they were done, they returned my blades to me and bowed low before leaving me in blessed peace.
I detested people in general and being around them was exhausting and uncomfortable. I could tolerate the acolytes since they held me in sufficient enough awe that they didn’t tend to speak to me unless required, but even so, that tolerance could only stretch so far.
With a grunt of pain, I pushed myself up from the chair and hobbled over to where the zombie lay. It stared up at me, the only thing it seemed able to move was its head and I grinned down at it.
“Soon you will reveal all your secrets to me,” I said. “Once I know how best to kill you, I will find out just how many of your kind are out there.”
It didn’t reply, of course, just continued its low growl and I laughed. The one I had fought at the lumber yard had been a proto-leader it seemed. Having the control of the others but without fully changing to be like the one before me.
I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been yet another type, or if eventually, it would have begun the changes that I could see in the one I had captured. More to the point, how many more of them were out there and how much of a threat would they be? And, of course, how much fun would it be to kill them?
There was no way to answer those questions just then and I had a need to rest and get some first aid. I left the zombie where it lay and headed into and then through the photo development shop. Up to the second floor and through the living quarters to my own private space.
As I passed through the almost empty living area, those acolytes who were resting after a night of sentry duty, leapt to their feet. They bowed low as I passed and more than one reached for their cloth hood, unsure whether they should wear it or not.
The newer members always drew night duty. They were there to watch for any enemy approaching and during every other waking hour, they trained until they were considered good enough to join a Fist and fight with the others.
They were also the ones still learning the rules and clearly needed more learning. The death shrouds were worn only around the living. When amongst their own kind, they had no need for them. I made a mental note to tell Samuel to hammer those rules home a little harder.
My room, while affording me some privacy was nothing to be excited about. While the entire upper floors had been taken over by my acolytes, breaking holes in walls as our need for more space grew, I had taken a single room for myself.
Small and lacking in personal possessions, there was a thin mattress on the floor along with blankets and pillows. Besides those were the first aid supplies and knife sharpening tools I used to keep my blades sharp. A few changes of clothing and that was pretty much it.
I removed the black hood and leather jacket, letting them fall to the floor as I pulled off my boots. My jeans were removed carefully, so as not to dislodge the piece of glass stuck into my leg and I settled onto the mattress with a grunt as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
The glass wasn’t embedded too deeply and I doubted that anything major had been cut. My biggest problem would be infection, but I had a little antiseptic and plenty of clean bandages.
“Can I help you?” James asked from the doorway.
A thin-faced young man, he was studious and calm under pressure. A large patch of skin had been torn away along with his right ear back near the beginning of the zombie outbreak. He’d survived, barely, and somehow found a safe place to heal over the winter.
Unfortunately, he’d fallen in with a bad group of people and when food had run out, they had resorted to cannibalism. Since joining us, he’d staunchly refused to touch any meat and rarely spoke. Pleasant enough fellow, I tolerated him a little better than some of the others and he was extraordinarily talented with the butcher’s cleaver he tucked behind his belt.
“Sure,” I said and leant back against the wall as he crouched down before me.
With a sure and deft touch, he pulled the glass from my leg and sewed the wound shut, pouring a little more of my small stock of antiseptic over the wound than I’d have preferred, before tying a bandage tightly around it.
“Thank you,” I said as he finished.
He bowed low and left the room without any further speech. It was that kind of behaviour that was probably one of the reasons I could tolerate him.
As the day wore on, the acolytes would return. They would gather for the rite as they did every evening and they would be curious about the zombie chained to the wall. Alison would talk, no command from me would stop her.
She would tell them of the fight, of the Ferals we killed and the battle with the zombie leader and my legend would grow. I was as sure of it as I was that I could do nothing to stop it. As irritating as it was, it would help me maintain control for a little longer, so I could live with it.
The day was coming, though, that it would change. I could almost feel it. They would turn on me and I would die fighting them.
/>
I sighed and pushed myself up from the bed. It was also entirely possible that I was being paranoid. Not that many could survive long in the city without a healthy dose of paranoia, it was easy to let that paranoia run wild.
“Ryan,” Samuel said from the doorway.
He’d removed his hood, a rarity for him. A shock of black hair stood out from his head and thick beard covered his face. His eyes, were almost unblinking as they stared out at me and there was a definite, heavy dose of craziness in them.
“Yes?”
“You are required.”
Required? I eyed him suspiciously as I rose to my feet. He stared back, unblinking as I wondered if he was making a move. Was that why he removed his hood? Would I find a knife in my back as I walked the halls of my own home-base?
I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and then my boots before I gestured for him to lead the way. He pulled his hood on and set off without speaking. I peered cautiously along the hallway before stepping out and following him, my hand resting on the hilt of my long-knife and my muscles tense, as I waited for an attack.
With a shake of my head, I forced myself to untense those muscles and released my hold on the knife. Running a hand down my face, I rubbed at my eyes. Too many hours of constant fighting, too few hours of sleep. I needed a way to relax and as pleasurable as it was to kill the Ferals and occasional people we encountered, it wasn’t enough to take the edge off fully.
No, I needed something else, something to help me relax in those quiet periods when the darkness inside of me refused to be still. When my mind conjured images of betrayal and plotting acolytes.
I needed someone I could trust implicitly because all I saw when I looked around me, were people who were trying far too hard to emulate me. And, I was all too aware that if I were to exchange places with any one of them, I would be planning on how to kill everyone above me and seize control.
“Here,” Samuel said, pulling on his hood as he led me back into the cavernous room we had taken to using for our gatherings.
Killing the Dead (Book 12): Fear the Reaper Page 14
