Blood Memory (Season 1): Books 1-5

by Perrin Briar

  “Mary was always saying how we should go on a little trip to better waters,” Stan said with a smile. “Maybe she suddenly remembered the perfect place.”

  “What we’re talking about here is more than just a little trip. It’s a journey halfway round the world!”

  “There is another reason she might have said it,” Anne said. She looked nervous. “There have been reports of people at the end of their lives, particularly at the end of a long illness, where their synapses fire off randomly in the brain.”

  Stan shook his head. “No.”

  “Mary might have accessed some random piece of information she saw once.”

  “What are you saying?” Stan said. “That it wasn’t her? That it was just random words?”

  “No, I’m not saying that-”

  “I don’t believe that. I can’t believe that.”

  “All I’m saying is she might not have been in complete control.”

  “She was in control when she was speaking with me. When she told me-”

  “When she told you what, Stan?” Jordan asked.

  Stan turned away. “Never mind.”

  Anne frowned. “The thing that I’m struggling with is understanding why she chose the Indian Ocean. A place she’d never experienced before.”

  Stan’s eyes pricked up. “Wait… She has experienced it. I just remembered.”

  “You said she hadn’t been there before,” Jordan said.

  “She hasn’t. But her brother has. He was an oil rig worker. He was stationed over there for the ten years leading up to the Incident. He sent us letters every month, letting us know how he was getting on.”

  Anne leaned forward. “What did he say about it?”

  “He loved it. Said the water was emerald blue and the fish were more numerous and delicious than anywhere else. He said the sea was calm all-year round. And…” Stan’s eyes twinkled. “There were almost never any storms.”

  Anne closed her eyes and smiled at the thought of it. “Sounds like heaven.”

  “Sounds too good to be true,” Jordan said. “You guys, if we make this decision – if we decide to go to the Indian Ocean – you know what it means, don’t you? We’ll be leaving everything we know here behind. Everything we’ve grown up with. There’ll be no coming back.”

  Stan shook his head. “Oh, Jordan. Everything we know is already gone.” His lip trembled. “There’s nothing left for us here now.”

  “We’ll need to do a lot of planning. We’ll need maps, emergency food, medical equipment – if we can find it. And we’ll need the right boat.”

  “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “Big Daddy is okay for short trips, but a thousand mile journey? We’ll never find enough fuel. We’d need a sailing ship. And weapons. There might be pirates or traders along the way. Or something else we’ve never encountered before. We’ll need spare parts in case we break down. That’s not to mention if we don’t run into a storm on the way. Who knows what’ll be lurking on the journey?”

  “We’ll take supplies with us,” Anne said.

  “And if we run out? We’ll be stranded.”

  Stan stood up and raised his voice. “What would you prefer? We wait out here for the next storm? The last storm killed half of us, Jordan. Half! The next time it might all be over.”

  Jordan kept his voice low. “We’d be risking our lives for something that may or may not be out there. How do we know the Indian Ocean isn’t worse than it is here?”

  “Clyde – Mare’s brother – worked those rigs for ten years and not once did he see a storm like the one we saw.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s any safer there than here. What if we’re wrong and the Indian Ocean isn’t what we thought?”

  “So that’s it?” Stan said, throwing up his hands. “Is this how it’s going to go on? Waking up each day and finding another one of us dead?”

  “It’s always been that way,” Jordan said. “It was like that in the Old World, and it’s like that now.”

  Stan slammed his fist on the table, causing a plate to slip off the edge and smash on the floor. He pointed at Jordan with a stiff finger. “That’s not true, and you know it. There used to be a reason to live. To go on. I might not have one anymore, but you all do.”

  The necklace in Jessie’s hands rang frantically as her fingers worked overtime.

  “Stan, calm down,” Anne said.

  “No, I won’t calm down. Don’t you see? Mary was right about one thing: we can’t stay here. We can’t risk another storm.”

  Stan looked over at Jessie, saw how scared she was with her fingers working the way they were, and the anger drained out of him. “We can’t stay here, Jordan. The next time there’s a storm, who knows what might happen. I guess it comes down to one decision: die here in a way we know, or die out there in a way we might not. But if we live, we live happy.”

  Stan dropped into his seat and looked at his hands. “I’m old.” And suddenly he looked it. “I’ve lived my life. But you, Anne and Jess, you can make a new life for yourselves. Somewhere safe, where there are no storms, where there is always plenty of food. That place exists. It’s got to be worth taking a risk for, hasn’t it?”

  His eyes found everyone in the room. “Well, hasn’t it?” He blew out an exasperated puff of air and stood up. “You know my opinion. Let me know yours when you’re ready.”

  “Stan,” Anne said, but he breezed past her and headed outside.

  Jordan got to his feet, walked a few steps, realised he had nowhere to go, then sat back down again. He put his head in his hands.

  Anne put a comforting hand on Jordan’s knee. “Jordan…”

  “I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

  “I know. And the decision isn’t an easy one to make.”

  Jordan looked up at Anne. “What do you think we should do? Should we go?”

  Anne shook her head. “No. But I don’t think we should stay either.” She brushed her fingers through Jessie’s hair. “But when it really comes down to it, so long as we all agree we shouldn’t be here, does it really matter where we go? There’s an awful lot of places we could go. If we aim for somewhere further afield we might end up coming across one we like on the way.”

  Jordan smiled, leaned back in his chair. “You have a way with words, did you know that?”

  Anne shrugged. “Of course I do. I’m a woman.”

  58.

  The sky bled from red to orange to yellow in a burst that stretched across the whole sky. A few wispy clouds draped in shadow lay strewn like tinsel.

  In the hull was a fifth gouge mark, longer, deeper and more aggressively cut than the others. An axe might have been used.

  Stan stood looking out to sea in a south easterly direction. He saw Jordan approach, then turned back to the ocean.

  Jordan leaned against the railing. “Red sky at night…”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Stan waved away Jordan’s apologies. “No, no, no. I’m the one who’s sorry. I get over emotional sometimes. If you and Anne want to stay, we’ll stay. I can’t say I’m all that happy about it, but it’s your decision.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all our decision. Mary’s gone, but you’re still part of our family. Your opinion is worth as much as anyone else’s.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t suppose I made much difference.”

  “More than you might think. We decided to go.”

  Stan did a comical double take. “You did?”

  Jordan nodded.

  “You won’t regret it.” Stan beamed and wrapped his arms around Jordan in a bear hug, swinging him round. “Ah!” And then plopped him back down on the deck. Stan grimaced, putting a hand to his back. “Although I regret doing that already.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  “So, are you going to tell me what Mary told you o
r not?”

  Stan thought for a moment. “I might tell you. One day.”

  Jordan pushed himself away from the railing. “We’d best be getting to bed.”

  “What for? It’s hardly dark.”

  “Tomorrow we go shopping.”

  Stan grimaced. “On the land?”

  Jordan shook his head. “Not if we can help it.”

  “Then where…?” Stan came to the answer. He flinched like he’d been hit. “No…”

  “He’s got the largest collection of boats in the North Sea. If anyone will have what we need, he will.”

  Stan sighed. “I guess he is better than the Lurchers. Just.”

  59.

  Terry drew the heavy curtain aside. Sunlight spilled into his chambers and glinted off a dozen rare objects: a five hundred-year-old Ming vase, a tyrannosaurus tooth, King George IV’s own personal cutlery. On the walls hung original Picassos and Monets, compliments of the capitol’s fine art museums.

  Terry breathed in the fresh salty sea air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He put his hands on his naked hips and looked out the window, letting the wind wrap him in its cool embrace. The ocean – his ocean – stretched out before him. It went on and on as if without end. His flag: a golden ring on a field of purple, billowed in the wind. He reached down and itched his balls with the tyrannosaurus tooth and groaned with joy as the liquid evacuated his body, pooled, and spilled out over the balcony. There were angry shouts from below. Terry smiled, shook himself off and turned back to his four-poster bed, shipped in especially from Buckingham Palace.

  A girl no older than twelve slept soundly on top of the silk sheets. She wasn’t bad looking, but nothing to write home about. He cupped the girl’s tiny breast in one hand and squeezed her nipple. She groaned. He pinched harder, and she groaned again, this time unable to disguise the pain as pleasure. She put her hand on his forearm and pushed him away with the weak strength of a child.

  Terry grabbed her arm in a flabby fist. In the crook of her elbow were a series of five or six puncture holes. “You’ve got some fight in you, girl, I’ll give you that.” He picked up a syringe from the bedside table, flicked the end, allowing a little liquid to dribble out, and put the needle to her arm. “But we’ll soon drive that out of you.”

  He was about to compress the syringe and send the medicine into her body when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come.”

  A servant opened the door. He didn’t blink once at Terry’s naked form, or the girl’s.

  “What is it?” Terry asked in vexation.

  “Traders, sir.”

  “So get them to deal with Barry.”

  “They asked to deal with you personally, sir. They’re interested in a new boat.”

  Terry sighed and tossed the syringe back on the bedside table. He kissed the girl on the nipple, biting it hard with his teeth. “We’ll finish up later.” He moved to the wardrobe. “Did they show you what they had with them?”

  “No sir, but they were carrying some mighty big bags.”

  “Were they searched?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thoroughly?”

  “I could ask the men to search them again, sir.”

  Terry put the smock on over his head. Daniel pulled the smock down and smoothed out any wrinkles. “Do it. We can never be too careful, can we Daniel?”

  “No, sir.”

  Terry stopped at the door. “Oh, and Daniel. Give your sister here a double dose. Perhaps next time she’ll perform with a little more vigour – for your sake.”

  “Yes, sir. My apologies.” Daniel scowled at his sister. “It won’t happen again.”

  60.

  Terry waddled into the large reception room he used for receiving guests. The room had high arched ceilings, looking more like the innards of a cathedral than a boat. Priceless portraits hung from the walls. A crystal chandelier tinkled with the fort’s gentle movements. The wood panels in the floor and walls creaked and groaned as if it were having a conversation with itself.

  Two men stood beside the antique Georgian fireplace. One was old, around retirement age. The other man was young. There was something about the way he held himself that belied an easy confidence.

  Two of Terry’s armed guards stood to one side. Barry, his head of security, was just finishing performing the second search of the men’s personal effects. The armed guards wore a uniform of sorts; long earthy brown coats brushing the top of army-issue boots. Powerful assault rifles slung across their shoulders from leather straps. The dress code stretched to include facial expressions: serious deep brow-creasing frowns. But everything looked like a toy on Barry’s large frame.

  Terry spread his arms wide in welcome, the fabric of his tunic stretching over his girth. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He embraced the two men, looking at them expectantly.

  The young man caught on first. “I’m Jordan. This is Stan.”

  “Excellent. Please, take a seat.”

  Terry eased himself into his favourite armchair, shipped from the Winston Churchill museum. It was snug. “Would you like something to eat? Drink?”

  Jordan shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  Terry rang a small bell. A young dark-skinned beauty wearing semi-transparent clothing sat a silver platter with three cups and a bunch of grapes on the polished mahogany table. Terry slapped the woman hard on the backside, and lounged back with a contented smile. The woman didn’t make a sound.

  Terry swirled the wine around in its glass. “You know, I don’t recall ever seeing you two here before. And I thought I knew all the North Sea dwellers. You must have either had an unbearably uneventful time or,” Terry peered at Jordan over the top of his goblet, “sought the council of another trader.”

  Jordan met his gaze. “We weren’t aware there were any other traders in the area.”

  Terry laughed. “Sure there are. If you look closely enough.”

  “You must get a lot of visitors. I’m surprised you can remember them all.”

  Terry tapped his temple with a chunky finger. “The ever-changing catacombs of London were an unforgiving training ground. A taxi driver had to know every nook and cranny of the streets if he was to make a living. It endowed me with a marvellous memory.”

  Terry plucked a few ripe grapes and tossed them into his mouth.

  “There are opportunities in the New World that didn’t exist in the old. Take me for instance. Once upon a time, I was a lowly black cab driver. Now look at me.” He raised his hands at his beautiful surroundings. “I always knew my day would come. I just didn’t realise it would take a whole new world to achieve it. Thank God for the Incident. While everyone else got busy dyin’, I got busy thrivin’. In the Old World you needed an education. You needed qualifications. Today all you need is your gut.” He rubbed his belly delicately and smiled. “And I got a hell of a good one. You must too, to have survived this long. How did you cope with the storm?”

  “We lost a few members. Now there’s only us.”

  Almost imperceptibly, Terry’s stomach grumbled. He was lying. Terry’s gut was rarely wrong. He had learned to trust it, to listen to it, to translate each and every melodious tone into a decision.

  “How many did you lose?” Terry asked.

  “Three.”

  The stomach was silent. They lost three but there were more than two of them remaining… Terry forced a smile onto his face.

  “Bloody storm has been terrible for business, let me tell you. I lost several boats myself. As a result, some of our stocks are low, so the prices, unfortunately, have to go up. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  A scruffy man in rags shambled into the room. He saw Terry and headed over. He bowed his head in a deferential manner. “Sir, I did as you asked. It came at great personal loss to me to discover that the rumours are true. The Lurchers are changing-”

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Terry barked, thumping the armrest with a fist.


  The scruffy man looked at Stan and Jordan as if seeing them for the first time. His eyes were gaunt and cast in shadow. “I… I’m sorry, sir.”

  “We’ll discuss business once we’re done here.”

  The man frowned. “But sir…”

  Terry stood up. “Remove yourself, unless you’d prefer to trade with someone else.”

  The man dropped to his knees and kissed Terry’s hands and forearms. “No, no. No. Uh-uh. I’ll only ever trade with you, sir. I promise.”

  Terry extracted his hands. “Not the hands! What have I told you?”

  “S… Sorry. Sorry.” The man kissed Terry’s feet instead. An armed guard escorted him away.

  “Druggies,” Terry said, shaking his head with an amused smile. “You can never know where they’ve been.”

  The young serving woman brought in a golden bowl of water and a thick towel. Terry scrubbed aggressively at his hands and arms. “At first I was surprised so many addicts survived. Then it occurred to me that either the infected couldn’t distinguish addicts from themselves – dubious – or the addicts had already learned all the tools necessary for surviving long before the Incident took place. They probably don’t even realise the world has changed.”

  “They work for you?” Jordan asked.

  “Of course. They make excellent scavengers and are the most loyal of subjects – so long as their favourite poison is on hand.” Terry dried himself with the towel. “So, what do you need? Food? Water? Woman? Boy?”

  “We need a new boat.”

  “Ah, that’s right.”

  “It has to be fairly large to cope with the headwinds up there. We might need to go quite far out to sea to get to the good fishing grounds. Preferably a cat.”

  “What’s wrong with the one you have?”

  “We need something a little more… spacious.”

  “More spacious? I thought there were just the two of you?”

  “We want a fishing ship. Sails.”

  “You planning on going somewhere?”

  “We want to fish for ourselves. Anything we catch extra, we’ll deal only with you.”

  “I already have plenty of fishing ships.”