The creature let out a howl. Arielle slammed through the air towards it. The thing swept one of its enormous arms at her and tried to swat her. Arielle ducked, spiralled in the air, then brought her sword down hard. Two fingers split from the hand and fell to the floor. They wriggled around on the ground like giant worms, then bubbled, spat and melted.
The creature howled again, only this time Lazarus heard a deeper growl behind it, like the sound of rocks falling. It swept again at Arielle. This time it was luckier, and sent her spinning across the cavern and into the rock, which shattered on impact.
Lazarus had no idea what to do. This was nothing like the thing he’d seen in Clair, or the blacksmith. What was he supposed to do? He had no weapons. And he had a feeling that even if he could lay his hands on it, the creature would be too strong for him to have any effect.
He glanced over to Arielle, convinced the impact of hitting the cavern wall would have killed her. He was amazed to see her pull herself out and brush herself down.
‘What the hell is it?’ he yelled, pointing at the creature.
He saw Arielle’s mouth move in answer, but heard nothing as the creature bellowed and arched its back. Arielle charged, sword swinging murderously. The creature reached out with an arm, but, as it shot towards Arielle, the limb suddenly split in two with the sound of bones snapping and crunching and skin bursting open. From the hideous wound, a snake of bone and sinew and flesh raced out. Arielle dived, but the thing wound round her in an instant and lifted her up, her sword clattering to the floor.
Arielle screamed as Lazarus saw the rope of bones tighten. One of the faces on the creature’s body burst from it like a cork from a bottle. Lazarus ducked. The thing flew over his head and landed at Craig’s feet. Before Craig could even react, it had flipped over, grinned and pounced on him.
Craig screamed.
Lazarus ran to his friend. When he got there, the thing was nothing more than a slick grey mass spreading over Craig’s face and leaking into his mouth. He tried to wipe the stuff off, but it was thick and slippery. No matter what he did, he couldn’t dislodge it.
Arielle’s voice called out in pain. Lazarus ignored it, his fingers pushed deep into the grey slick, trying to release Craig. Craig’s eyes snapped open. Lazarus felt himself launched across the cavern to land on his back and have the wind thumped out of him.
Lazarus sat up, coughed, tasted blood. Craig was walking towards him, his face pale, his eyes wild. It took Lazarus straight back to how Clair had looked in the hospital. God no … he realised, one of the Dead has him …
With ferocious speed, Craig ran at Lazarus, his face pulled into an impossible and awful grimace. Lazarus tried to dodge out of the way, but Craig was on him, his fingers round his neck, squeezing hard. Lazarus was choking, saw stars burst in front of his eyes.
‘Stop it!’ he screamed, digging his fingers into Craig’s hands, drawing blood. ‘You’re strangling me!’
He tried to push away, kicked his heels into the ground to get some purchase, pulled at Craig’s hands. Nothing was working. He could feel his head starting to spin.
A shout from Arielle made him turn.
‘Evict the Dead inside him!’ she yelled, pain in every word as she struggled in the creature’s grip. ‘Now! Before it’s too late!’
But Lazarus didn’t have the strength. Craig’s hands were winning and he could feel himself losing consciousness. It would be easy now, he though, to just give up.
Something clattered to Lazarus’s side. He opened his eyes, twisted his head. He could see Arielle fighting against the creature. Her wings look tattered and broken, but she’d managed to get one arm free and was pointing at the thing that had landed next to Lazarus – the spike he’d used in the hospital. But hadn’t he left it in Arielle’s truck? She must have brought it with her, he realised.
‘Do it, Lazarus! NOW!’
Lazarus looked back up into Craig’s face. It was twisted into a snarl, eyes sunken and black. He wasn’t going to let the dead bastard take his friend…
With a yell that felt like it would rip open his rib cage, Lazarus brought his hands up to Craig’s head, clamping it firmly between them. When they touched he felt a jolt like electricity. Craig let out a shriek that could’ve shattered glass. Now Lazarus could see the thing inside him. It snarled and tried to pull Craig free, but Lazarus wasn’t letting go – couldn’t even if he’d tried.
The Dead made Craig attack Lazarus with everything he had, biting and scratching and thumping him. Lazarus felt Craig’s teeth sink into his arm, was caught in the face by a left hook, but still he couldn’t let go. The more the thing made Craig attack, the more determined Lazarus became. He pulled himself up to his feet, dragging Craig with him, until he was face-to-face with his friend. Then he swung him round and slammed him into the cavern wall. Craig’s body convulsed, his mouth opened and a black torrent of goo burst out on to the floor. Lazarus felt him go limp.
Allowing his friend to slump to the floor, Lazarus stood back and bent down for the spike, his eyes on the unconscious Craig. He knew this wasn’t over yet. As he expected, and just like it had happened with Clair, something started to push from Craig’s body, hands and head first. When it was fully out, Lazarus stood over it, calm and cold.
‘We are many!’ it sneered, dragging its pallid body towards Lazarus.
Lazarus cocked his head to one side.
‘Now you’re one less,’ he said, and brought the spike down, right through the thing’s head. It didn’t even get a chance to squeal.
Lazarus heard Arielle fall to the ground as Legion shook in pain and anger. Pulling the spike from what was left of the Dead that he’d evicted from Craig, he watched her push herself to her knees and look over at him. She was in a bad state, her wings tattered and torn, her face bruised and bloodied.
‘You must close the veil, Lazarus,’ she coughed, rising to one knee and reaching for her sword. ‘I’ll deal with Legion. You aren’t strong enough, not for this.’
‘But what is it?’ asked Lazarus, glancing back at Legion, gripping the spike hard in his hand. ‘How can it be one of the Dead? I thought they were human souls – nothing like this!’
Arielle rose to her feet. ‘Some demons consume souls, Lazarus,’ she said. ‘They feed on their energy.’
‘Demon?’ said Lazarus. ‘But I thought-’
Arielle cut him off. ‘Forget what you think! Just understand that Legion did not come from the land of the Dead. It came from somewhere much, much worse – Hell!’
Lazarus went to reply but saw Legion coming before Arielle did. The thick rope of bones and blood caught her across the side of her head. She slammed into the ground and was still. The rope came again, grabbing at Lazarus. He dodged it, dodged it again, then swiped at it with the spike. Legion screamed. When it came again with the rope, it went instead for Craig.
‘No!’ yelled Lazarus as his friend, now almost conscious, was lifted high into the air. ‘You let him down now, you bastard! Let him down!’
The thing paid no heed. Craig was whirled around until, with a throw that snapped the rope of blood and bones in two, Lazarus’s friend was sent silently, helplessly through the veil.
24 Into the Rift
Staring at where Craig had disappeared, Lazarus was unable to comprehend what had just happened. Now not only had he lost his dad, but his best friend too. He wanted to yell and shout and scream, but he knew it would do no good. Never did.
Lazarus turned from the veil to face Legion. He was gripping the spike so hard that the metal thorns on the handle bit through the cloth wrapped around it, piercing his skin. He could feel the warmth of his own blood flowing between his fingers to slide down the spike’s blade and drip onto the floor. But he felt no pain.
He took a step towards Legion. Every face on its awful torso laughed, their mouths black, their eyes like dead pools of stagnant water. With each step, the monstrous thing laughed louder and louder.
A movement to his lef
t made Lazarus turn. Arielle had uncrumpled herself. She looked worse than ever. Blood was gathering in pools around her.
‘Not on your own, Lazarus,’ she said, trying to stand. ‘You’re not strong enough. Not for something like this.’
Another voice joined in. Lazarus turned to find every single face in Legion’s body was still, eyes closed. Except for one. A woman. She smiled darkly at Lazarus and started to push out from among the rest.
Lazarus stared as first the head, then the shoulders, emerged. When the woman was free to her waist, she simply slipped out and landed on the floor in a pool of dark slime. For a moment she didn’t move, just lay there breathing. Then, slowly, she got to her feet.
Lazarus stared at her. How normal she looked. She was slim and tall and black hair ran down her back. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but Lazarus thought how she looked like she’d just taken a bath fully clothed; everything was soaked, and liquid dripped into pools on the floor as she walked forward.
Lazarus stumbled back, just out of reach of her two pale hands, unable to take in what he was seeing.
It can’t be … It just can’t be …
Arielle, now on her feet, limped across the cavern, her wings dragging behind her. ‘It’s not what you think, Lazarus! Don’t believe what you’re seeing! It’s trying to trick you!’
The woman smiled. Lazarus felt what was left of his world collapse around him.
Mom …
He took another step back, but a rock on the floor caught his heel and he tripped and fell to the ground.
‘You’re not my mom,’ he cried, scrambling backwards as the dead woman drew nearer. ‘You’re not her!’
But it was. He recognized her, not from memory but from all the photos of her around the house.
The woman smiled. ‘I miss you,’ she said, and opened her arms like she was reaching out to hug him.
Lazarus could feel tears coursing down his face. It couldn’t be his mom, could it? What if it was? What if she’d been trapped inside that thing called Legion and was now free?
He tried to move again, but felt his back thump into the cavern wall.
‘I miss you,’ the woman said again, only this time Lazarus saw her eyes widen horribly, like they were stretching.
A shout from Arielle slapped Lazarus hard.
‘Duck!’
He had just enough time to register the blade of the sword zipping through the air before he flattened himself on the floor. Arielle had thrown it from where she stood.
The woman screamed, her right arm cut clean through by Arielle’s sword. It spun across the cavern. When it landed on the floor, it flapped like a freshly caught fish and started to steam and dissolve.
The woman snarled and pounced towards Arielle, who leapt backwards. Lazarus took the chance to get himself to his feet.
‘It’s not your mom, Lazarus!’ shouted Arielle, as the woman faced her. ‘It’s feeding off your emotions to get you to see what it wants you to see!’
‘But how do you know that?’ Lazarus replied, his voice breaking. ‘How can you be sure?’
The woman turned back to Lazarus. He could see the stump where her arm had been. There was a deep cut in her side where Arielle’s blade had made contact. She stared at him, her face blank. Then a black grin slipped across her face. With ferocious speed she sprang across the cavern towards him.
Lazarus had nowhere to go – the cavern wall was behind him. He raised his arms to protect himself. The impact of the woman knocked him to the floor and he cracked his head hard. He tried to push her off, but something wasn’t right; she was stuck to him somehow, unable to get off.
The spike …
Lazarus glanced down to see the spike still clasped in his hand. The rest of it was buried deep inside the woman. She screamed and thrashed against the metal, her face twisting and contorting, but it did no good; she couldn’t pull away. Lazarus kicked her off. She flipped on to her back and the spike stayed where it had thrust, deep into her chest. Her hands were on it and she was pulling at it and thrashing, but nothing she did could shift it. Deep splits grew on either side of the wound, spreading across her body as it fell apart in great steaming chunks. Then the spike slipped further in, disappearing completely, and what was left of the woman popped like a bag of pus.
Lazarus stared at what was left of the woman. He reached down and picked up the spike. For some reason, he realized, the spike was capable of destroying the Dead. He didn’t know why, but that didn’t matter for now. Not with what he was about to do next.
Lazarus snapped around and hurled the spike at Legion. He heard Arielle gasp, but that was the only sound in the cavern as the terrible piece of metal sped through the air, then hit its target. The spike sank into Legion completely, piercing an eye of one of the faces covering its torso. For a second, all the faces were still, shock etched into each of them, their mouths open in fear. Then they all screamed. The sound only ended when, from the place where the spike had entered, Legion’s body was suddenly riven by deep bloody gullies.
‘Lazarus!’ shouted Arielle. ‘Get down!’
The explosion lifted Lazarus off his feet and sent him spinning through the air to land next to Arielle. For a few seconds, he could hear bits of what had been Legion landing around them, wet and reeking.
‘You OK?’
Lazarus sat up and nodded.
‘That was …’
‘I know,’ said Lazarus.
He stood up, walked over to where Legion had been standing, and in a pile of what looked and smelled like rotting meat, found the spike. He pulled it free, then headed towards where he’d seen Craig disappear through the veil.
‘You can’t go through there,’ said Arielle, her voice strained as she lifted herself from the floor and stretched out her wings. ‘You have to close it. Now.’
‘My best friend and my dad are on the other side,’ Lazarus replied.
‘I know,’ said Arielle. ‘But if you don’t shut it now, Legion will be like a picnic compared to what will soon follow. Red has failed, Lazarus. Hell has broken free.’
‘I can’t leave them,’ said Lazarus. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Arielle picked up her sword. ‘You have to close the rift, Lazarus!’
Lazarus smiled. ‘I know,’ he said.
And then, before he had a chance to change his mind, he dashed up the steps to the room in which he’d fought the blacksmith. When he returned a few minutes later, Arielle saw what he was carrying and stepped in front of him, resting her hand on his chest.
‘Don’t do this, Lazarus.’
Lazarus held up what he’d brought down from the room above – rags of clothes he’d found in the other coffins. ‘If it worked for Dad, there’s a chance it’ll work for me and Craig.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said Arielle.
But Lazarus wasn’t listening. He slipped into the torn, dirty, stale clothes: an old jacket with ripped sleeves and trousers that had once been smart but were now musty and spotted with mold. He then walked towards the rift.
‘Lazarus!’ Arielle called. ‘Don’t do it!’
‘You know,’ said Lazarus, pausing briefly, ‘you never did answer my question.’
‘Which one?’
‘What are you?’
‘Aren’t the wings enough of a hint?’
Lazarus shrugged, raised an eyebrow. ‘Funny way for an angel to make a living.’
‘The pension’s good,’ said Arielle.
Then, before he had a chance to change his mind, or Arielle could stop him, Lazarus stepped into the rift. And as the darkness swallowed him, the last thing he heard was Arielle yelling his name.
The adventure continues in Book 2 of THE DEAD:
THE DARK
Turn the page for a sneak peek…
It could smell blood and flesh. And it wanted to burrow into it, like a worm into an apple.
The creature had only the faintest of memories of what it was to be alive. But that had been
so long ago that the memories were no longer images, simply sensations; like phantom pain after an amputation. Yet it could remember the things it had lusted for. It made it breathless to even think about them.
What it had been, man or woman, old or young, it had no idea at all. It could summon up a faint recollection of pain around its neck, but nothing more than that. It had tried to work out what this pain meant. Perhaps it had been hanged? Beheaded even? But it had never discovered anything deep inside, no clue. Nothing. And it had changed so much over the years, into something so far beyond what it had looked like or been, that even a reflection would not have given enough of a clue.
But its basic instincts hadn’t changed. Or its tastes. These drove it forward, licking and sniffing the air. It knew only the thirst that could not be quenched, for true life. Blood was pulling it forward. It would find the body that it coursed through, slip inside and live!
It just had to get to it before anyone – anything – else did …
As it shuffled and scuffled forward, it couldn’t shake a dull sense of confusion. How could the smell of blood be in this place? Everything was dead, fresh blood did not belong. Perhaps it was a gust from the other side? New arrivals of fresh-faced Dead often brought with them the faintest of smells of the Living. But that always faded so quickly. Yet this … it wasn’t fading at all …
The house was cracked and broken; black brick and stone and shattered glass, like a building slammed by an earthquake. But the creature wasn’t concerned; everything looked like that here. It slipped forward, glided up the path to the remains of a front door. The garden was dead earth and dust, dried and split like sunburned mud or scorched, blackened skin.
Glancing back to the street to check it wasn’t being followed, the creature eased through the door: a gaping mouth of sharp, broken teeth, the thick wood planks split and charred. The hallway swept around past a door on the left leading to a room at the front of the house, and to a staircase that pulled itself up to the first floor on a rotten, crumbling banister, forever caught in its last moment before total collapse. A death freeze.
The Dead Page 13
