Blood Memory (Season 1): Books 1-5

by Perrin Briar

  It took him a moment to realise what was on fire: a peak-roofed house that sat on a short bluff of rock overlooking the sea. Footsteps thudded up a staircase inside the house. Inhuman screeches emanated from the house, interspersed with low groans.

  In a large semi-circular window in the house’s loft, a tiny hand pressed against the glass. High above the hand, near the apex of the curve, faceless bright green eyes glowed, mirthless and unyielding.

  Jordan had an overwhelming desire to run into the house, but his legs felt heavy, like they were made of concrete. He managed to take a couple of steps, dragging his feet across the sand. He raised a hand against the unbearable heat. His skin turned red and blistered. The flames rose higher and burned brighter. The blisters popped, covering his skin with yellow pus. Jordan screamed in pain and-

  35.

  He started awake. He felt at his face and hands. The pain had seemed so intense, so real.

  There was the slow languid eddy and scuttle of tiny smoothed pebbles as the sea pulled itself back for a gentle caress. The sea inhaled and breathed out again.

  Jordan rolled onto his side and vomited with a violent heave. His head pounded and his stomach lurched. He wiped his lips with the back of a shaky hand. He sat up with a groan and cleared the sand from his eyes. His tongue felt rough and gritty. He stretched his arms and legs, checking to make sure they were in good working order. He took off his boots and up-ended them. Half the beach fell out.

  He got to his feet and stumbled, not quite falling over. He beat at his clothes to dislodge the sand and floundered down to the seafront. He fell to his knees and washed vigorously.

  The events of the previous night (day? week? month?) came back to him like random pieces of a dozen puzzles. The ocean squeezing into Haven’s bridge, forcing his and Anne’s hands apart, and tossing him out into the sea. He’d cast about and saw a length of wood. He swam over to it. On it was written, ‘HA’. He cast about, looking for the people who had become like a family to him. The lightning illuminated a writhing hell, only fragments remaining. The rain lashed down, the waves beating at him. But he refused to let go of this remaining memento. The lightning flashed again, and he spied a solid mass of shadow in the distance. He paddled toward it, using the board as a float. A wave crashed into him. That was all he could remember.

  Something clunked against his hand. It was a course and splintered length of wood ten inches long, one inch wide. One side was weathered, the grain lightly speckled with green from the salty sea air. On the other side were tally marks.

  Jordan fingered the engravings. He peered around at the beach, but it was devoid of other people. He felt the emotion rise in him, hot tears stinging his eyes. He took a deep breath and with a strong sense of resolution tossed the fragment back into the sea.

  36.

  Summer beach huts with pitched roofs straddled the coast like teeth in a monster’s mouth. Stray newspapers skidded across the asphalt. One caught on Jordan’s leg. He bent to pick it up. ‘The Eastern Daily Press’ was written across the top, a local Norfolk county paper. The headline, ‘DAWN OF THE DEAD!’ and a large fuzzy picture of humanoid shadows walking the streets.

  The wind whipped the page from his hand, revealing the beachfront. Something in the damp sand at the water’s edge caught his eye.

  Jordan’s heart sank and his knees grew weak. He stumbled down toward it.

  Purple veins crisscrossed the pale bloated skin like a roadmap. The faded blue jeans she had been wearing had been torn off, revealing a great purple welt on her left shin.

  Bile reached up and grabbed Jordan by the throat with violent hands. He retched a dozen times before he could stand.

  He brushed the long matted curls back from her face. She looked calm, peaceful. He held her tight, hugging her close. Her skin felt cold on his cheek. Sunlight glinted off something at her neck. A Saint Christopher medal. It fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. He took it off her and put it in his pocket.

  He dug a hole with his bare hands. The sand was soft and easy to dig. The hole was pathetically small. He dragged the tiny body into the hole and covered her over. He found two pieces of wood and fashioned a cross. He stood over the mound and couldn’t think of anything to say.

  37.

  Empty arcades sat silent with slot machines and videogames. Festering fast food stands stood sentinel outside the entrance to queueless attractions.

  Jordan rounded the haunted house ride. Dirty-white tubes hung ornately in the guise of an empty ribcage, chiming soothingly. On the next hook was a more extravagant ornament. This one had red stains and chunks of what was supposed to be meat attached to the ends. Jordan started when he saw what hung from the third hook: a life-size cadaver. It completed the disturbing evolution display of a rotting corpse. Jordan moved a little closer.

  Its skin hung off its bones like the last chicken in a butcher’s window. It had lost an ear at some point and a greenish pus leaked from deep gashes in either side of its cranium. The wind changed direction and blew in Jordan’s face. He cupped a hand over his mouth and nose.

  “Jesus!”

  The Lurcher’s eyes flew open, arm striking out lightning-fast, seizing Jordan’s shirt. He pried at the Lurcher’s stiff fingers and stumbled back, landing hard on his backside.

  The Lurcher wriggled on its hook. It extended its only working arm and gasped in a rasping voice.

  Jordan smacked himself over the head. “Idiot! Rookie mistake.”

  Jordan moved to the black picket fence used for decoration and kicked at it until it snapped. He returned with a lump of wood. He felt the reliable weight in his hands. He smacked the Lurcher over the head. The skull gave way easily, caving in some three inches. The Lurcher continued groping for him. Jordan hit the Lurcher over the head again. This time it stopped moving.

  38.

  Jordan stood before a building with broken window shards jutting like Jolly Roger teeth. Torn red curtains flapped, giving the impression of a monster having recently finished its gruesome meal. A sign out front proudly proclaimed:

  GREAT YARMOUTH DISTRICT COUNCIL

  The wind howled and shadows stretched across the car park. Soon the sun would set and wouldn’t rise again for another nine hours. Nine hours of darkness. He walked inside.

  A threadbare carpet greeted him at the reception desk. Behind it was a large floor plan:

  GROUND FLOOR: EDUCATION, LIBRARIES

  FIRST FLOOR: BENEFITS, WASTE DISPOSAL

  SECOND FLOOR: SOCIAL SERVICES

  Finding the floor he wanted, Jordan made his way up the stairs. Children’s drawings carpeted the walls: of the young helping the old, the old teaching the young. Of a bygone world.

  On the second floor, Jordan followed the directions to the Housing Services department. He came to a dented and buckled door that was somehow still attached to its hinges.

  His hand was clenched into a fist. He relaxed the muscles and reached for the doorknob. His hand was shaking. He couldn’t help wondering what he would do if no one was there. He shut his eyes and pushed the door open.

  Something screamed and launched at him.

  39.

  The scream was a tangled mess of excitement and concern, expressed in a single high-pitched squeal. “Jordeeee!”

  Jessie threw herself at Jordan, almost knocking him off his feet. She buried her face into him. Jordan squeezed her just as tight. Tears of relief streamed down his face.

  “We were so worried!” Jessie said.

  “Me too.” Jordan looked up and saw Anne. His smile grew even wider.

  “I think she’s pleased to see you.” Anne was so excited to see him alive she could hardly keep herself from reacting as Jessie had.

  Jordan freed one arm from Jessie and wrapped it around Anne. He looked into her face, and she back at him, drinking one another in. She had a square piece of gauze on her shoulder. She caught Jordan looking.

  “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “Mmf bwaf mff,” Jessi
e said, her words muffled by Jordan’s clothing.

  Jordan laughed and wiped his face dry. “Mmf bwaf mff? Try again. This time with the vowels.”

  “Did you see Stacey?”

  Jordan’s smile faltered. “Uh, no. I mean, yes.”

  “Is she all right? The last time I saw her she was trapped.”

  “I did see her, but she, uh, found some of her old friends and decided to go with them.”

  Jessie frowned. “She just left?”

  “She wanted to come back to say goodbye, but she couldn’t. It was safer for them to leave straight away. But hey, she asked me to give you something.”

  Jessie accepted the necklace with cupped hands. “It was her favourite,” she said. “She would never have let me have this.”

  “She loves you very much. And hopes she can see you again someday.”

  “I’ll miss her.” Jessie’s tone was sad.

  “I’m sure she’ll miss you too. Turn around. Let me put it on you.”

  “It’s too small. Put it on my wrist.”

  He did. It jingled when she moved.

  “Look, Anne,” Jessie said.

  Anne had a knot so tight in her stomach she found it hard to speak. “It’s great.”

  Jordan sniffed. “Is that stew I can smell?”

  Jessie smiled and took Jordan by the hand. She led him to a large L-shaped desk that ran around the corner of the room. Reams of paper lay piled atop it like someone had been tying to build their own fort. Jessie lifted up the table flap and walked through a door that communicated with a backroom. Anne sidled up beside Jordan.

  Up close, Jordan had dark circles under his eyes, and where there were few wrinkles before, there were now deep spider-webs around his mouth and eyes. He had aged since the previous night.

  “I was worried I was going to be the only one that made it,” Jordan said.

  “We were too,” Anne said. “Did you see anyone else on your way here?”

  “No,” he said.

  “No Lurchers?”

  “Only one, but he wasn’t a threat.”

  “You don’t suppose…”

  “The Lurchers are all gone? The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Maybe they all ate each other, or something.”

  “We can always hope.”

  They came to a door that had seen better days. The paint was peeling and the handle pointed to the floor, where a soft glow drifted out from underneath.

  “Did any of the others get back?” Jordan asked as he stepped into the room.

  “Only your favourite odd couple.”

  40.

  “Well well, if it isn’t Captain Birdseye.” Stan beamed from a kitchen visible only through an oblong hole along the right-hand wall. The room was not large. The tables and chairs had been pushed back and stacked up around the edges, exposing a floor covered in stains. Cushions and blankets had been piled up along the back wall underneath the cracked windows. Stan came out through the door that led to the kitchen, a dirty cloth wrapped around his head and over his left eye.

  “What happened to your eye?” Jordan said.

  “Oh, nothing. I just wanted to look more like the sea-dog I am.” He turned to Jessie and put on his best pirate expression. “Here, me bucko. Take these onions an’ peel ‘em will ya. Arr.”

  Jessie giggled. “Yes, sir!” She ran to a scratched plastic chair attached to an immovable white table.

  The moment she was gone, Stan’s expression changed. A grimace of pain.

  “What happened to you?” Jordan asked.

  Stan waved a hand dismissively. “An iron pole poked me in the eye, that’s all.”

  “It nearly knocked his eye out,” Mary put in.

  “It didn’t nearly knock my eye out!”

  “It stuck out about half an inch.”

  “It sticks out that much when I see you in your lingerie.” Stan winked at Anne and Jordan.

  Mary jabbed him in the ribs with a ladle. “I’d like to know since when!”

  Stan turned to pick up a bowl, but missed it by two inches. It clattered to the floor. “Blast this infernal eye! Mare, let me take it off for five minutes. I swear the air’ll do it some good.”

  “For the last time, no. You’ll put us off our food.” Mary turned to Jordan, her expression serious. “Have you seen either of the others?”

  “He ran into Stacey,” Anne said.

  Mary froze. “How? When?”

  “This morning on the beach,” Jordan said with a glance in Jessie’s direction.

  “So she was knocked free?” Mary said. “We might have been able to save her, Stan.”

  Stan hugged her.

  “They were with her on Haven when she died,” Anne said. “She’d got stuck under a wall unit and they couldn’t get her free.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jordan said.

  “We’re here now. We have to be thankful for that.”

  Mary nodded and wiped away a tear. “You’re right. You’re right. I just can’t stop thinking about her.”

  There was dead silence as they reflected on their collective memories of that darling sweet girl.

  “Can I help you, Mary?” Anne asked, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, dear. You can…”

  Jordan joined Stan, who had moved to one of the tables piled high with brochures. “What’re you reading there, Stan?”

  “Just about an old church. Did you know Saint Nicholas’s is the largest parish church in England? And it’s right here in the city.” He pointed at it out the window. “It’s nearly a thousand years old.”

  The soft moonlight tinted the church with an unearthly quality, like it was in a dream. Its flint walls were craggy and half-cloaked in shadow. A great cube belfry perched atop the short tower like a top hat with four spires jutting out from each corner. It sat crouched, as if hiding behind the low expanse of buildings before it.

  Stan read from a brochure. “The belfry was built for the sun to rise and cast a long winding shadow, sweeping the city beneath it in a wide arc.”

  Jordan smiled. “You can take the teacher out of history, but not the history out of the teacher, huh?”

  Stan shrugged. “The future is in the past. What was will be again.”

  “Good Jesus,” Jordan said, moving to another table. “What is that?”

  “Oh, that,” Stan said with a grin. “That there’s what they call a machete.”

  “Where in God’s name did you find it?” It was over a foot long and light as a feather to lift.

  “In the lost and found box.”

  “In Great Yarmouth?” Jordan shook his head. “You never can tell about a place, can you?”

  “Who would be forgetful enough to misplace it? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Fortunately, the kind of person who did misplace it.”

  Jessie, tears streaming down her face, ran to Mary with her chopping board.

  “Jessie, don’t cry, love,” Mary said.

  “I’m not. It’s these onions. They’re really strong!”

  They all laughed.

  Mary put the chopped onions into the pot. “Everybody get a bowl. I think we’re pretty much done.”

  They picked up lumps of bread – most of it hard as rock – and dipped it in the soup. It softened as it soaked.

  “I’d forgotten what eating something other than fish was like,” Stan said. “This is lovely, Mare.”

  “You’re not eating, Mary?” Jordan asked.

  “I ate earlier,” she said, not meeting his eyes. Stan suddenly became interested in blowing his food down to the temperature of an ice cube.

  “You look tired. You should sleep.”

  “I’m not tired compared to some of us,” Mary said, gesturing to Jessie, who had her spoon halfway to her mouth, head nodding.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You know me, tough as old boots.” Mary moved to Jessie. “Jess. Wake up. Time for bed, love.” She half-led, half-carried Jessie to a cot th
ey had set up in the corner. The moment Jessie’s head touched the pillow she started snoring.

  “Poor tyke,” Stan said. “It’s been a tough day for her.”

  “It’s been a tough day for us all,” Mary said. “So, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

  “We’ll wait three days,” Jordan said. “That’s the rule.”

  “But what if Joel doesn’t show up by then?”

  “We went over this when we made the shipwreck protocol. We stay until the sun rises on the third morning following the shipwreck.”

  “That was then,” Stan said. “This is now.”

  “We all agreed.”

  “We could wait a little longer, Jordan,” Stan said. “A few extra days won’t hurt.”

  “If we stay an extra day we might decide to stay an extra week, or month. When does it end?”

  “You’re being over dramatic,” Mary said. “An extra day won’t hurt.”

  “Jordan’s right,” Anne said. “The longer we stay here, the more time it gives for the Lurchers to find us.”

  “But Anne… It’s Joel.”

  “I know.” This wasn’t easy for Anne to say. “But Joel knows he has to get here by sunrise. He understands that. And if he were here he would say the same thing.”

  Mary gave a look to Stan as if to say, I can’t believe we’re doing this. “Okay,” she said. “If that’s the group’s decision.”

  Silence followed, save for the scraping of spoons on bowl bottoms.

  “In three days what are our plans then?” Stan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said. “Does everyone agree the sea is still the safest place to be?”