Forcan caught her glance. “It’s still there. I’ve not taken anything; you’re my guest. Now if you’d died… that would’ve been different. But here you are as alive as me n’ Whisper there.” He indicated the hound who was licking the stew pot clean. “So you’re a guest at my hearth. Name’s Forcan, I work these woods right up to the Iron Mountains to the southwest.”
“Sabine.” Sabine nodded and saluted the big man. I’m grateful for your help, you’ve saved my life. The gods have smiled on both of us today.
Forcan frowned. “What have the gods got to do with it?” He spat into the fire.
Sabine grinned. “I don’t know. All I know is I should be dead, but I’m not. I’m here with you… and Whisper. Breathing and eating your fine stew.”
A shadow passed across Forcan’s face.
Bastard gods, what next?
Chapter 4: Alternate Reality
Jack clung to his M24 rifle. Broken glass lay at his feet, some of it blood stained. He had made it to the sugar factory. After days of lying low he had spotted the Panther scout. He had followed the boy through Brooklyn’s wasteland streets.
Jack was the last survivor of his group. Six bullets left and a world of hurt in his heart. He had made it to the sugar factory though. His last mark was tricky, but his patience was as deep as night. It had taken five hours. In the end the cigarette had given away the scout’s position.
Bad mistake, last mistake, Panther.
He had loosened the scout’s tongue with his blade. The Panthers were on the verge of something before they were driven out by the infected. Something special, something mad, the boy said. They had found the sky fallen object and brought it back to the factory. Sparks had hooked it up to the generator, it lit up, he said. They had seen fields and trees in the object. They saw people and things, in a world that was vibrant and alive. A world that was not dying, a world with blue skies and clean rivers.
The scout said Sparks had called it a door of sorts. They just had to find a way to open it. Then the infected came and wasted the Panthers; they should’ve seen them coming. They should’ve tightened security, they were so close. The infected were different, changed, not stupid like before, they were evolving, working together in packs. Some new instinct had developed, they were stronger, unpredictable, not like the first days.
Jack finished off the scout, the boy’s words ringing in his ears. Green fields. Blue skies. Clear water. A lie, a dream, propaganda to keep the Panthers united. He had seen it before. Nothing like hope to unite the hopeless. Still, he would raid their supplies, replenish his food and ammunition and move on. The only way to stay alive was to keep running, one step ahead of the infected. He moved silently through the broken glass placing his feet with care, his eyes darting left and right. The light was fading outside, it was not good to be out so late. He would need to find a secure room and soon.
The sugar factory was vast. Jack made good progress, he was used to the wasteland. Two years had passed since terrorists had detonated the germ bombs. God knows where they had got the filth from; in those days you could buy anything on the black market, for the right price.
The screaming sickness was a horrible way to die; he remembered his family; Sam, Ben and Sarah. The pain returned which always surprised him, he tried to kid himself it was just scar tissue. But the pain was just below the surface, burning, infinite. He shut it out and welcomed the cold numbness back into his heart.
Then he saw the object.
It stood at the end of the factory floor; high windows shed feeble light on either side. It was huge; thirty feet high, ten foot wide. If anything, he mused, it looked like an ancient standing stone. Wires were attached at its base and along one side, the wires ran to computers on a table.
Everything was quiet, he could just make out bodies at the back of the room. The stench was overpowering, he fought back a wave of nausea. He estimated he had half an hour of daylight left. He made a decision and approached the object, his eyes followed cables across the floor and through a side door, no doubt to a generator.
He reached the computers and stared at them, they looked top end. All technology was useless in this new world, unless you had a generator or an endless supply of batteries. His fingers flicked across the nearest laptop’s keyboard. To his surprise a LED light came on.
Jack looked around and scanned the factory behind him. Seeing nothing he put his rifle down and knelt in front of the laptop. He held his breath and tapped enter. The screen flickered and he heard a low hum. An image burst out of the screen lighting up his face. An official looking US government insignia flashed across the screen, followed by numbers; endless sequences of ones and zeros. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
He looked up at the monolith and saw faint blue lines, like veins, etched across its surface. They were intensifying, becoming clearer. He grabbed his rifle and stood up, his eyes glued to the blue lines. The boy had been telling the truth. He watched with fascination. Then he saw images in the veins: trees and distant mountains. He saw birds in the sky and people working in fields. Then the laptop died and the blue lines with it. The hall was plunged into darkness. He looked down at his watch, thirty minutes had elapsed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! he admonished himself. He was vulnerable, he was out, unprotected, in their domain now. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. His vision would take a while to accommodate after the brightness of the screen. He forced himself to remain calm and concentrated on his breathing.
A trickle of sweat ran down his back, he was aware of a pulse in his temple. He knew it would not take long for them to find him. After a few minutes he opened his eyes, he could just make out his surroundings. He turned and headed for the doorway on the right, following the cables on the floor. Far back, down the factory floor he heard glass crunch. He froze.
They were here.
They knew he was there. He had twenty seconds at the most before they were on him. They were fast, god they were fast. He acted instinctively and lurched forwards one hand in front the other, clutching the rifle. He entered the corridor, shards of glass underfoot. Time slowed, he followed the cables and came across a room to the left.
He threw himself into the room, found the door and slammed it shut. His fingers searched frantically for the lock and finally, finding the rusted bolt he rammed it home, almost taking his finger off in the process. He collapsed on the floor panting and waited. The stench in the room was almost as bad as it was near the object on the factory floor. His senses were focused on whatever hunted him beyond the door. He strained, listening, seeking any clue.
Then he heard it. A slithering outside, then clicking, agitated and angry. Jack pressed his ear to the door. A pause, then scratching on the other side. God, he had been close before, but never this close. Usually the night stalkers let their smaller brothers do the hunting for them, they rarely came themselves. Hunger must have driven this one out tonight, perhaps it had eaten its weaker brethren. The steel door should hold. Jack knew his rifle would be useless against such a foe.
He listened to it move in the corridor, he heard the clacking of its teeth. Why hadn’t it gone? Usually they gave up once their prey had gone to ground. This one though… then he heard sizzling and knew the thing was spitting acid. He remembered the melted door he had found in the grocery store on Broadway, it all made sense. They were evolving, adapting to their environment.
He backed away from the door and listened as the stalker squirted its acid saliva onto the steel plate. It took ten minutes for a small hole to appear in the door. Jack shone his torch over the spot and saw the stalker’s tongue pressing on the metal on the other side. He lifted the M24, put the barrel into the hole and fired two rounds. He heard the thing fall, then silence. He waited.
Jack woke. He must have drifted off. How long was he out for? He was too old for this, he had to get out of the city. He needed to stick to his original plan, head out to the country, to the hills. But food and medicine was still
to be found in the city. He gritted his teeth and cursed, the air was rank in the store room. Still, he had found some tinned peaches and bottled water courtesy of the departed Panthers.
He stood up and went to the door, daylight filtered through the hole. He listened, nothing. He pulled the rusty bolt and opened the door a fraction. The dead stalker’s bulk pressed the door in, he was lucky the door opened inwards.
He clambered across the threshold and looked at the thing that had tried to kill him. An immature male, twisted skull, suckers… he had seen this type before, it still made him shiver. How had the human race descended to this? Something snapped inside of him, he had to get out. He looked at the floor, found the cables and followed them down the corridor.
They led him through a set of double doors out into a yard, there they disappeared into the back of a truck. He looked around the yard, a body lay off to the right, partially eaten. It was morning, so the night dangers should have receded, but if these creatures were evolving it wouldn’t take long for them to adapt to hunting by day. He held his rifle tightly; four rounds left.
He made it to the truck and looked in the back. There it was, a generator. A beast of a thing, where had the Panthers got it from? He jumped into the truck and checked the generator’s fuel level; half full. He flicked the switch; nothing, he saw a loose connection on the battery. He tightened it, held his breath and tried again. The generator fired up, its noise was shocking, diesel fumes belched out into the confined space.
Jack coughed and climbed out of the truck. He did not like the noise, it would bring unwanted attention, feral dogs at the best but other things would be drawn too. His time was limited. He headed back into the corridor and made his way back to the factory floor and the object.
He gasped. The object had changed with the generator’s power. Blue veins crisscrossed its surface, the air seemed alive. Humming came from the cables attached to it. He drew near and watched with wonder as light sparkled through its substance. He looked closer and saw the blue veins resembled stained glass, he squinted and thought he saw shapes emerging, movement within.
Then everything became clear; he saw a sea of grass. He saw wild horses running across open plains and an ocean, seabirds soaring high. His eyes flitted from image to image across the object’s surface.
Then he saw people. A town, roofs, smoke lazily rising from chimneys, dogs barking, children playing. He reached out his hand, touched the object, stroked the blue veins and felt cold resistance. Then the image changed, he saw a dimly lit room, a flickering fire in a low hearth. Someone sat in front of the fire. He brought his face closer to the seam of blue light.
A low hiss came from behind. He did not notice. His attention instead, focused on the person in the room; their image trapped in the object’s blue veins.
Jack stared at the figure noting every detail; a girl, she had her back to him and wore a shawl. She was hunched forwards at the fire warming herself, hands outstretched. He pressed his face to the blue veins, the girl started turning towards him.
Jack felt a sharp pain as the screecher’s teeth pierced his neck from behind. The thing wrapped its arms around him in a stranglehold. He did not react. He dropped his rifle, the girl was staring at him with unseeing eyes. He felt a connection, his world went from beneath him; light headed and dizzy, he blacked out. The screecher’s sharp tongue hovered over his neck, preparing to pierce his throat.
Jack’s limp form shimmered for a brief moment, then vanished.
The screecher paused, surprised, then let out an angry howl. The generator in the truck spluttered and died. The blue light dimmed and died on the object’s surface. The screecher hurled itself at the object clawing its surface.
The object stood, immovable and silent.
Chapter 5: Raven
Raven heard crackling behind her.
She turned and reached out, her hearing sharp, inner sight keen. Her blind eyes moved aimlessly. She knew her prayers were answered. Sabine failed to return the night before, she knew something was wrong; she was to blame for sending her sister on this job. It was too ambitious, no one had ever broken into the imperial library. What had she been thinking? They’d been riding high on a string of successes; Sabine’s dusk thief reputation had grown, she was in demand.
This contract had been a step too far.
A heavy thud brought Raven’s focus to the back of the room. She rose and crossed the floor. Her foot met resistance, she heard a groan, a man. Without hesitating she bent down and felt for him. Her fingers found a shoulder then his face and neck, she felt a slickness at his neck, she held her hand up to her nose. Blood; he was wounded.
Raven sprang into action dragging him to the rug in front of the fire. She loosened his clothing, noticing the unfamiliar feel of its fabric. She knew he still lived, his breathing was steady but he was unconscious. She checked the rest of his body for injuries but finding none returned to his neck, exploring with her fingers.
She found a deep puncture wound, luckily it had missed the artery. She went to her cupboard and searched for healing herbs. She ground sunsoul with brightwort and added some silversand tincture. Her voice weaved restoration words through the mixture as she made the poultice. She pressed the dressing to the wound packing the hole with the mixture. She wrapped a bandage around the man’s neck, again weaving healing words around him.
She was finished in minutes. She leant back and stretched. He would need water, she went to the jug and poured him a cup. She returned and pressed it to his lips allowing a small amount to trickle down his throat. He swallowed and groaned but did not wake. She would stay with him, keep the fire going. Time would tell if her words had worked. She returned to her chair and rocked back and forth deep in thought.
The gods had sent this man to her. Why was he wounded? Where had he come from? So it began; another puzzle, another scheme of the gods. A knot she would have to unpick to understand. Well, she was good at that, it would unfold, she would get Sabine back. It was a sign. Raven rocked and closed her eyes.
She waited patiently. She listened to his breathing, it steadied and became regular over the next few hours. She gave him sips of water and allowed her words to heal. He started to ramble in the third hour, she felt his forehead, he was running a fever. His mind would be chasing dragons, he was riding the wave of chaos.
She renewed the poultice pressing more of the mixture into the puncture wound. Some of his words she understood, but why was he speaking the old tongue? His turn of phrase was archaic which puzzled her. She understood the words city, blood, food, hide and another word which unsettled her… infected. Raven shivered, had this man been exposed to a plague? Too late now, she would have to wait for the answer.
Raven stilled her breathing and calmed her body. She allowed herself to enter a trance, the state that allowed her to connect with others. Granted, she had not used this ability often, nowadays she occasionally used it with animals. She knew when chicks would hatch, when cows were with calf, when birds sensed a change in the weather.
When they were young she and Sabine had the connection; each knew what the other was thinking, a knowing. Raven lowered herself into second sight and opened her perception. She clasped the man’s hand to her chest and felt his life, his fevered ramblings. She used his words as stepping stones to unlock a bridge between them. The fever created a gulf but also an opportunity which she exploited.
She found the bridge. She gasped in shock at what she saw.
There before her, in a series of fragmented, vivid images lay the scar tissue of a broken life. She saw flashes of his childhood. She did not understand some of the things she saw; tall buildings that pierced the clouds, machines that swept across rivers of stone at speed, machines that flew like birds, but the love of the man’s mother and father she understood. The universal language of community and family she understood.
Then she witnessed a series of images that were painful and brutal. This man was a warrior, he had known killing. Death had c
rossed his path many times and had brushed his shoulder more than once. He was a survivor. Then she saw dark clouds, people, crowds, panic, destruction and death. She saw a ruined city, buildings crumbling, falling into ruin. She saw his memories… of running, of hunting, of being hunted.
And then she saw the infected. Strange, twisted beings that were once men. Beings full of hatred and an insatiable hunger. She felt his fear, his revulsion and determination. To survive, to overcome. She felt his spirit, she saw his light. She knew then, he would help find her sister, Sabine.
Raven pulled back from the man’s memories with a gasp. Such numbness, such damage, such devastation. Here was a scarred soul, a warrior spirit. She breathed heavily and shuddered at the things she had seen. Her hands trembled, sweat glistened on her forehead, the cold of the grave ran through her.
The stranger groaned and moved on the floor. Raven came to her senses and brought water to his lips. He drank eagerly, spluttered and coughed. She waited for him to speak. Then it came.
“Where am I?”
Raven leaned back on her knees and returned to her chair. “You’re in a better place. You’re in my home on the west side, my name’s Raven. The city is New Haven, our king is Reglis the Fourth and the year is the seventh of the fire. What’s your name?”
Silence greeted her words.
He moved, his breathing becoming laboured again. “My name’s Jack… Jack Spence. What’s wrong with me? I feel… real bad. Why can’t I move?”
Raven shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Something attacked you, you’ve a wound in your neck, it’s deep but fortunately has missed the artery. Your back has also been… raked, the muscles there are shorn. I can mend most of the damage with time and the words of my craft. You must fight the pain, use it as an energy to heal and grow in strength.”
Revenant Page 3
