Blood Memory (Season 1): Books 1-5

by Perrin Briar

  “What are you doing?” Jordan shouted to Anne and Stan. “Just lift it!”

  “Don’t you think we tried that?” Anne said. “It’s stuck!”

  Jordan ran down the gangplank and moved to grab the knife from Anne, but she pulled away from him. “Take Stan’s!” she said.

  “Bollocks you’ll take mine!” Stan was moving visibly slower than Anne, his moves heavy and sluggish.

  “Give it here, Stan,” Jordan said.

  “No.”

  “Mary’s lying on the deck up there. You should help her.”

  Stan hesitated. “You’d best not be lying.”

  “I’m not. Get up there. Help your wife. Then get to the bridge. You’ll have to drive us out of here.”

  Stan handed the machete over. “I already did all the hard work anyway.”

  The Lurchers were halfway down the quay now. Their tongues lolled from their mouths like dead snakes. One Lurcher’s jaws slammed shut on its tongue and sliced through the muscle. Blood spurted from its mouth. Several of the other Lurchers fell on him. Another seized his sliced tongue and ate it. One jaw hung loose, flapping to the side. Drool dribbled down its perforated cheekbone.

  Jordan froze. Those mad eyes… That insane gape… Jordan was suddenly back in his nightmare, the house on fire, and he was frozen stiff. He almost dropped the machete in terror.

  “A little help?” Anne shouted, sweat rolling down her face.

  Jordan blinked and shook his head. He hacked at the rope. The engine revved and the boat lurched forward but was stuck fast.

  The Lurchers produced a scream that sounded like it could never have issued from a human throat.

  Anne slashed at the rope, putting her whole bodyweight behind each blow. The blade in Jordan’s hand was already blunt but he continued to hack. Big Daddy revved again and pulled forward. Made taught, the rope was easier to chop.

  The Lurchers screamed again, closing fast.

  “We can’t do it in time!” Anne screamed.

  “Keep going!”

  Big Daddy jumped like it had been stung, but still couldn’t pull away.

  The Lurchers were just twenty yards away now. They bared their teeth like hungry wolves, growling from deep in their chests.

  Big Daddy pulled forward once more. There was an ominous groan. Dirty black smoke erupted.

  The rope creaked and twisted.

  The Lurchers were almost on them.

  Jordan swung the machete.

  Crack! The rope snapped.

  The boat jerked forward. Working on instinct, Jordan grabbed Anne by the arm and pulled her onto the gangplank. They ran across it. The end was slipping free from Big Daddy’s deck.

  The Lurchers made it to the gangplank. They limped up it. Jordan felt their combined weight on the flimsy board, making it wobble to and fro. Anne jumped, suddenly in the air, flying, and so was Jordan.

  The boat jerked back, picking up speed, tossing up frothy wash onto the quay. The gangplank inched its way toward the edge. Big Daddy’s engine roared. Anne landed on the deck with a grunt, followed by Jordan.

  The gangplank gave way, but not before the front Lurcher leapt – more of a staggering fall. The other Lurchers fell into the sea.

  Jordan looked back. The lead Lurcher flew toward them, teeth bared, eyes red with rage. It reached the apex of its flight and fell, arms outstretched. The tips of his fingers brushed the sole of Jordan’s boot, curled for grip but found none until they came to the edge of the deck. It gripped tight.

  Jordan raised his leg to kick it, but the Lurcher’s body smacked into the side of the boat and his fingers lost their grip, leaving deep gouges. The Lurcher screamed as he plummeted into the sea.

  Jordan lowered his leg and turned to Anne. “Are you all right?”

  Anne was directly under him. Her breath was soft and warm against his cheek. “I’m fine.”

  The Lurchers flapped their limbs uselessly in the water, finding neither buoyancy, nor movement. The Lurchers on the quay reached stupidly for the rapidly disappearing boat.

  All the Lurchers, but one. He alone watched the boat drift away and made no attempt to reach for it.

  48.

  A slender arm shook him awake. Jordan muttered the end of a sentence he had been speaking in his dream and looked up with groggy eyes. It was Stan.

  A flock of geese honked as they flew over the boat toward the sun that hung low over the horizon. Jordan guessed he must have slept around six hours. Telling the time by the sun had become second nature to them all.

  The sunlight kissed the yacht’s white skin, causing Jordan to shield his eyes with a hand. Despite the unyielding hardwood deck, it had been a peaceful sleep. No screams or burning houses this time. His dreams always were peaceful at sea.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Stan said, stirring Jordan for the second time. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “But I need to speak with you.”

  Jordan forced himself to sit up. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Mary. She’s, uh-” He wringed his hands. “God, how do I say this? I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Promised who?”

  “Mary.”

  Jordan stifled a yawn. “What did you promise her?”

  Stan directed a look over his shoulder, toward the cabin. Anne was showing Jess how to steer the boat. They were well out of earshot but Stan lowered his voice anyway. “It’s Mary. She’s sick, Jordan. Really sick.”

  Jordan snapped awake. “Is it the virus? Is she infected?”

  “No,” Stan said waving his hands. “It’s not that. It’s a little more… complicated than that.”

  Jordan relaxed. “Then it’s probably nothing to worry about. I’m sure we can find some way to help.”

  “There’s no way to help.” It was the finality of Stan’s words that grabbed Jordan’s attention.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s best if you come with me,” Stan said as he walked toward the bridge.

  49.

  The sea was calm as a spring pond. Hardly a ripple dappled its smooth surface. The hull of Big Daddy knifed through the water like a shark’s fin. High up on the deck behind a tinted window, Anne stood behind Jessie, who was at the wheel.

  “Turn left, Jessie,” Anne said.

  Jessie didn’t reply. She only stared out the window.

  Anne took the wheel. “Like this. See?”

  Jordan and Stan stepped into the cabin. Stan disappeared downstairs immediately without so much as a backward glance, while Jordan turned and offered a distracted smile.

  “Woke up finally did you?” Anne said.

  Jordan’s hair stuck up like an unnurtured hedge. “Yeah,” he said, clearing the corner of his eyes of sleep. “When did you get up?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “You’re showing Jess how to drive?”

  “Trying. I’m not the best teacher.”

  “You can’t be worse than Stan.”

  Anne chuckled, stepped away from Jessie, and said in a low voice, “I need to talk to you about Jessie.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m worried about her condition. Jessie’s lack of reaction concerns me. A shock could do incalculable damage to the brain, rendering the patient distant and unresponsive, unable to register emotive feelings or physical responses. There’s little I can do.”

  “You said it might take a little time for her to recover.”

  “But usually there’s a gradual improvement. It’s not sudden, like switching on a light bulb.”

  Jordan frowned. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying Jess might have a serious problem. And it might last for a very long time.”

  “When will we know for sure?”

  Anne shrugged. “A couple of days, a month. It’s hard to say.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Jordan,” Stan said. He stood impatiently in the stairwell.

  “Sorry, Stan. I’ll be there in a minute
.”

  Stan headed back down the stairs.

  “Is Stan all right?” Anne asked.

  “He’s fine. If we need to make a visit to a hospital for her, let me know.”

  50.

  The main living area was a kitchen-cum-living-room-cum-dining-room-cum-every-room. It was designed to be the main congregation point of the entire boat. Everything was polished white with sparkly red trim for extra flavour. It was a shaggin’ wagon on the sea. The sofas still smelled like fresh leather, the cutlery in the cabinets had never been used. The mirrors didn’t have a smudge on them.

  Stan stood in the middle of the floor, nervous energy impersonate, his hands never still. One second they were in his pockets, then wringing themselves, and then running through his hair. He moved to the door leading to the main bedroom. Stan’s hand shook when he reached for the door handle and turned it in an arc that seemed to take forever. Finally the door swung open.

  Against the back wall was an empty bed worked in three different kinds of wood. The headboard was in the shape of two bulls in the midst of battle with ‘DADDY’ written across the top in glittering gold. Draped across the bed were blankets of zebra, tiger and bear skins.

  Then Jordan realized the bed wasn’t empty.

  Poking out from the covers and barely making a dent on the pillow was Mary’s head. Her skin was so pallid and drawn that she was almost invisible against the pillowcases. There was a gasping sound as she inhaled, a faint whistle when she exhaled. She was so thin. How did he not notice before? She had probably lost weight gradually over the weeks and he hadn’t picked up on her bodyweight fluctuations. But that was no excuse. A friend should have noticed.

  Stan sat in the chair beside the bed. He took Mary’s hand and brushed her hair back from her face. “Mary,” he said. “Mary… Jordan’s here.”

  Mary’s eyes flickered open. Her lips moved in what might have been words. Her eyes were thin and strained. She spoke in a voice whisper-thin that Jordan couldn’t hear.

  “I’m sorry, Mary,” Stan said. “I had to tell him. I had to tell someone. I couldn’t hide this from the others forever.”

  “What’s wrong with her, Stan?” Jordan asked.

  Stan looked from Jordan to Mary, as if asking her for permission. “It’s cancer, Jordan.”

  Jordan blinked with surprise. “Cancer?”

  “She was diagnosed about fifteen months ago. It’s funny, really. Of all the things to die of in the New World, she’s going to die of an illness from the old one.” He smiled. “She always did have to do things her own way.”

  “Oh, Stan.” Jordan took a step forward and rested a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We went to see the doctor after Mary complained of feeling lethargic. Mary’s always been an active person. She could never sit still for more than five minutes. At first, they thought it was her age. Everyone has to slow down eventually, they said. And then one day we went into the doctor’s office to get the result. I held Mary’s hand like I am now and the doctor told us. Afterwards, we couldn’t believe it. ‘But she’s just a little tired,’ I said. I even accused the doctors of mixing the records up. Maybe we had someone else’s results. Then Mary put her hand on mine.”

  He looked down at the fragile woman in the bed.

  “Somehow, on some level, I think she knew. We worked our whole lives scrimping and saving so that one day we could travel round the world together.” Stan’s voice cracked and he took a moment to compose himself. “It was so unfair. But God was just getting warmed up. Mary was due to begin treatments two weeks later when all this madness kicked off. Every day she was on Haven she had a purpose, and I think that’s what kept her alive, kept her going. But whatever fight she had was taken by the storm. She’s got nothing left.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “I’ve been giving her medicine. Personal stuff we brought with us. But it’s only a matter of time now. With the therapy she wouldn’t’ve had to suffer like this. She might have even made a full recovery.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Jordan asked, keeping the anger he felt out of his voice. “We could’ve gone to the hospitals, found medicine, something…”

  “That’s exactly why she didn’t want you to know. You might get ideas and go onto the land, risking your lives for hers. She wouldn’t allow it. You know Mary. Sometimes she can be as stubborn as an old mule.” He wiped his eyes with a sleeve.

  “We must be able to do something.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried everything I can think of?” Stan barked. He heard himself and calmed down. “There’s no changing the past. You don’t need to be a history teacher to know that.”

  Mary grunted, her eyes clenched in pain.

  Stan checked his watch. “No more medicine for another two hours, Mare.”

  Mary’s lips moved.

  Stan leaned in close. He shook his head. “Mare, you’re not strong enough.”

  Mary spoke again.

  Stan sat there for a moment and then nodded. “Okay.” He stood and turned to Jordan. “She wants to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “You’ll have to ask her.”

  51.

  With Stan gone the room suddenly felt empty and large. Mary lay still, unmoving.

  Jordan looked back toward the door. He dragged himself over to the chair beside the bed. Mary’s breaths, slow and shallow, counted down what remained of her life. Jordan leaned in close.

  “Uh, Mary? You wanted to speak with me?”

  Nothing.

  Jordan leaned in closer. “Mary?”

  Nothing.

  Jordan shivered. A faint mist billowed in front of his mouth and nose. The temperature must have dropped. He looked around the room but saw no air conditioner vents. Jordan looked toward the door again. He shook his head. He stood, but before he got to his full height, Mary’s hand seized him by the wrist. Her fingers dug into his skin, her eyes wide open. Unnaturally wide. Impossibly wide. And so was her mouth, filled with empty darkness. Whispered words escaped with the barest of movement of her lips.

  “Sit… down.”

  Jordan’s eyes didn’t leave hers as he did so. Mary loosened her grip. Loosened, but didn’t let go.

  “Calmer seas…” the voice said, sounding like it echoed from somewhere far and distant. “We must find… calmer seas.”

  “Calmer seas?” Jordan said. He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking. “Where?”

  “Out past… the Channel… and across… the blue emerald sea. They will tempt you… but you shall not be tempted. You must make your way… past them, past them… and continue on.”

  Mary raised her head. There was a tearing sound.

  Jordan bent forward and saw that great clumps of Mary’s hair had stuck to the pillow and come away from her scalp. “Mary, your hair…”

  “Here, there is only… Death. And though you may… outrun Him… it will not be… forever. Go to… the ocean. It will… protect you.”

  Jordan wanted to call out to Stan, but something about Mary demanded his whole attention. Her eyes stared at him, no, not at him, but through him.

  “Where? Which ocean?”

  Mary’s eyes returned to his. She blinked, and it was like that children’s game where you moved your hand in front of your face and your expression changed. Mary, as if waking, looked around at her surroundings.

  “Jordan?” she said, her normal voice issuing forth. “Where are we? Are we on the boat?”

  “Yes. We made it.”

  Mary smiled. “Good.”

  “I’ll get Stan,” Jordan said.

  Mary’s grip on Jordan’s arm tightened. “No. You must listen. I was a fortune teller. I was blessed with the Sight. I see your future, Jordan. All of you. You must leave this place.” She smiled widely. “Oh Jordan, it’s so beautiful.”

  “What is? What’s beautiful?”

  “The sea, Jordan. The sea. I
t could have been heaven, it was so beautiful.”

  She grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him closer. He was surprised by her strength. She raised her lips to his ear. “You must go there.”

  “Go where? I don’t understand.”

  “The Ocean. The Indian Ocean.”

  “What? Why? Why there?”

  “The water is so blue. The fish, plenty. The weather, gentle. It is heaven and the ocean, all in one. Promise me, Jordan. Promise me you will tell them about this place.”

  “I promise,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  Mary smiled. Her grip on his collar relaxed, and her hand slowly returned to the bed. Her grip slackened. Her breaths, so weak and frail became quieter until they were silent.

  “Mary?” He leaned closer. “Mary? Mary?”

  She didn’t stir. Her eyes were fixed on the same spot on the ceiling. Her lips were turned up in a smile.

  The air had warmed and no longer left their misty footprints.

  Jordan got up, walked to the door and opened it. Stan stood a discreet distance away in an effort not to eavesdrop.

  “Mary? Is she…?” Stan said, before seeing the expression on Jordan’s face. He looked over at the bed, heard the absence of wheezing breath. “No…”

  Stan ran into the room and fell to his knees beside the bed, clasping Mary’s hands. “Mary. Mary!” He put his head on her chest, but felt no movement. “It’s Stan. Please… Wake up. Please.” He held her hand against his face and sobbed.

  52.

  The dawn sunlight streamed through the clouds and illuminated nature’s treasures: the earthy emerald sliver of land sandwiched between two sparkling amethysts of sea and sky.

  They wore an assortment of dark blues, browns and greens, the closest colours to black they could find.

  A wooden box hastily, but lovingly, assembled from doors and torn wall panels floated beside Big Daddy like a calf whale beside its mother. It was tethered by a short length of rope.

  Anne and Jessie had threaded plastic flowers in Mary’s hair. A crown of roses, bluebells and lavender. Anne had searched through the women’s clothing wardrobes below deck. Most of it was not appropriate for any woman to wear, never mind an elegant lady on her deathbed. But among the kinky costumes was a long, discreet grey dress. Why it was amongst the other gaudy clothing was anybody’s guess.