by Sara Clancy
She reacted to the next call as she had the first, unable to stop herself from flinching. There was barely time to react before another crow cawed. It started slow. A few at a time. The numbers kept growing. Slowing to a shuffle, Annabel couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting back up to the cliff walls. Shadows were still draped over the stone, darker than they had been the first time she had studied them. Now, they squirmed. Shifted and pulsed. As her eyes adjusted, a thousand crows came into view. Every ledge and jut of stone was filled with the massive, ebony birds. The flock covered the wall of stone like a swarm. Restless. Screeching at the coming storm.
The stairs became steeper and the first buildings loomed up on either side of their narrow pathway. Annabel would have mistaken them for the walls of a canyon if the lightning hadn’t reflected off of the high set windows. Hope rushed up to fill her chest. It was a moment of peace that died by the next crack of lightning. A change in brick color marked where all the lower windows and doors had once been. They walled it up, she realized. Her eyes scanned the street they were on, her stomach twisting painfully. They’re all walled up.
Before anyone had time to think about what any of that meant, Rocca was moving them along. She kept a smile on her face. Assured them that they couldn’t be far from the hospital now. That thought more than anything kept Annabel moving. A hospital. With doctors and medicine. Just a little further now.
The thunder drew closer, but the wind died down and the rain became lighter. She batted it away as she peeled a scrap of blood-soaked cloth away from a woman’s stomach. Examining the wound held her focus. So much so, that she barely noticed the changing texture of the rain. Of it becoming light and grainy. Securing it back into place, she stood and stretched out her arms, waiting for the rain to wash her hands clean. It was perhaps the only benefit to the downpour. It wasn’t working. Annoyed, she rubbed her hands, feeling a grainy substance crumble apart into the smearing blood. One sniff and the unmistakable scent hit her nose. Ash.
Two more flights of stairs and the lazy rain was replaced by falling ash. Another and they were enveloped in a hazy film of smoke. The murky air reflected the lightning, making the air glow with every strike. Annabel’s eyes watered, further blurring her vision. With every street, visibility weakened, steadily reducing how far she could see. The front of the line was lost. The end followed closely after, until she could only make out the shadows of a few people in each direction. Choking on the smoke, she struggled to keep working. Coughing from aggravated chest injuries, it was impossible to check any open wounds without exposing them to the falling ash.
Street after street, all the buildings were the same. Bricked up tight or closed off by hastily constructed wooden barriers. The ground evened out. Walking became easier. Rounding a corner brought them to yet another narrow road. It was impossible to tell if there were any off-shoot roads or alleyways. The smog covered them all. But before them, seemingly as far as an ocean away, was a light. A golden, flickering glow. They hurried towards it, each one convincing themselves that this new path would reveal the townsfolk.
The glow belonged to a massive bonfire. Constructed in the center of a crossroads, it broke up the haze and allowed them to see for a fair distance. Off to their right, filled with a scattering of other bonfires, was a large town square. Rocca moved towards it as if drawn to the light. They all trailed along behind her.
Rocca called out in English and Sicilian, but neither drew a response. Dread clenched Annabel’s chest like a vice. Quickly, she sought out her sister, finding her towards the front of the pack. Annabel almost sobbed with relief when her sister turned towards her voice.
“Anna,” Jezebel breathed before clutching her tight. “In the ship … I saw… There was …”
Each sentence was abandoned with a tightening of her arms and a violent tremble. Pulling back, Annabel cupped her sister’s face with both hands, forcing her to meet her gaze.
“It’s okay. Everything will be just fine.”
Jezebel sniffed, her childlike voice cracking with tears. “Your bedside manner sucks.”
“I know.”
The moment of stillness settled her nerves slightly. Just enough for her to draw in a deep breath. Instantly Jezebel hunched forward, coughing violently as she tried to work the smoke out of her lungs.
“Come on,” Annabel said, trying not to sound too amused. “We have to keep moving.”
It wasn’t long before the demands of the others called her away from her sister. Having Jezebel tell her it was okay didn’t make it much better.
“I’ll stay with her.”
It was the man’s voice that she remembered; a smooth baritone. The face, not so much.
“Henry,” he said as he placed a hand on his chest.
“Of course.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve met a lot of people today.”
He forced a small smile, one as weak and timid as Jezebel’s. It made Annabel’s skin crawl.
“What happened in the ship?” she asked.
Instantly, his smile vanished. The muscles of his jaw began to twitch and the color drained from his face. He looked a second away from passing out. Fear began to bubble in the pit of Annabel’s stomach as she impatiently waited for the towering man to speak.
Jez has a bad feeling.
The thought came as both a warning and blind panic. From the beginning, Annabel knew to trust her sister above her own senses. Jezebel understood things that, no matter how hard she tried, Annabel couldn’t even notice.
Memories pushed to the front of Annabel’s mind as she continued to wait. The time with the puppy. It was so long ago that the details had faded. But she remembered Jezebel’s fury. The way she had roughly ripped Annabel away from the man. At the time, Annabel had been too young to understand. All she had wanted was to see the puppy the man promised was in his van. She hadn’t had a single moment of mistrust. Jezebel knew instantly.
She always knows when something was wrong, Annabel thought. And she’s scared now.
“Doctor!” Rocca’s sudden cry made her snap around to face her.
By the time she looked back, Henry and Jezebel had already drifted off, talking in whispers amongst themselves. Reluctantly, she jogged around the group, searching for what had started the flush of panic. But nothing had changed. Those that were hovering near death hadn’t improved or crashed. There were a few that she knew were in decline. One or two were worse off than she had supposed, but there was still time. The infant from the ocean now squalled as if nothing had ever touched its lungs. Nothing was different.
Once she had finished her initial examinations, her razor-sharp focus wavered enough for her to notice the rapid thudding. She looked up, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The bonfires crackled wildly, spewing embers into the sky and extending her field of vision. She was able to catch a few shadowy figures running around. The strikes grew louder. More desperate. A breath of wind cleared the smog and she saw it in the gaze. A gigantic wall. Like a castle battlement. It ran as far as she could see, looming over the town, the colossal doors unyielding even as the people battered against them. We’re locked in. The thought shook her to her core. No one is here and we’re locked inside.
“Okay, everybody!” Rocca cried out, clapping her hands a few times to gather the attention of the group. “Everything is okay!”
“Do you think we’re stupid? What part of this is even close to okay?”
Annabel didn’t recall the voice, but the man’s face, now twisted up in fury, was relatively familiar. Egil, her mind supplied. A phantom pain enclosed her throat and the memory. She rubbed her neck absently as he continued to rage.
“We need help. We’re going to have to go all the way back down to the beach.”
“That won’t help anything,” Rocca soothed.
“We can go along the shoreline, work around the peak.” He wasn’t talking to the tour guide now. Instead, he was pleading his case to the group.
“There’s nothing there,” Rocc
a said as Annabel rushed towards the smaller group.
“We have to take the chance,” he declared. “Now, before the storm hits.”
They were removed far enough to create a semblance of privacy.
“Who are you intending to take with you?” she asked.
“Everyone,” Egil snarled. The shadows that clustered under his sharp cheekbones cut his face in half. “I’m not leaving people behind.”
“They’ll die,” she said. “Simple as that.”
“And we’re supposed to take your word for it? You’re not a doctor.”
“And yet, I still know that people with internal bleeding shouldn’t be hiking during a storm,” she countered.
Egil bore his teeth like a rabid dog. “Your advice killed my father.”
She schooled her features, trying to hide the fact that she couldn’t recall who his father was. There had been too many people. Too fast. Too much death.
“I did the best I could.”
“Yeah, I can see you’re really torn up about it.”
“I don’t have the luxury to be ‘torn up’,” she said. “If you’re intent on elaborate suicide, fine. Take a few volunteers. But leave me a couple of able-bodied people and the walking wounded.”
Rocca cut in, “No. We can’t split up.”
“You’re not really in charge,” Egil replied. “What’s a ‘walking wounded’?”
“Pretty much what it sounds like. Injured people that’ll slow you down,” Annabel said.
“And how many fit people will you need?” Egil asked over Rocca’s attempt to regain control of the conversation.
“At least ten.”
“That’s all of them,” Egil protested. “I’ll leave you five.”
“Five and the wounded.”
“Deal.”
They shook on it. He winced at the blood that the rain water hadn’t been able to wash out from under her nails.
“There’s just one little problem with all of this,” Rocca cut in. For the first time, she dropped her pleasant tone in favor of a hiss. “It’s impossible to get around the outcrop you’re talking about. The cliff is too steep. The waves are too strong. Trying to make the journey in the dark? With the water whipped up like that? I’d hate to say it, but Anna’s right. It’s elaborate suicide.”
“So what? We just wait until morning?” Egil turned his sharp glare to Annabel “These people need help, right? Well, no one’s here and we’re locked in.”
“If no one’s here, who started the bonfires?” Rocca asked. “Someone has to be nearby. Now, I’ve spotted a doctor’s office on the other side of the courtyard. Help us get these people inside. Rest, wait out the storm, give me a chance to look around for some help.”
“Help from where? We’re alone.”
“Or everyone has simply bunkered down for the night. Give me time.”
Once more, a thunderous interruption settled the matter. Still full of rage, Egil stalked off with Rocca to open up the building in question. The rain came before they could organize themselves. Pelting sheets drenched them in moments. The bonfires hissed and sparked, violently revolting against the intrusion. For all it threatened to do, the flames never died, proving the only light to see by. While Egil and Rocca had succeeded in prying the boards away from the door, no one who entered seemed able to find a light switch. It left Annabel stuck by the doorway, squinting against rain and smoke, taking advantage of the bottleneck situation the entrance created. Everyone had to pass by her. As they did, she tried to instill some organization. Intensive care to the back left. Those in a critical but stable condition to the back right. Everyone else to the front of the room.
One of the front windows was pried open. Those strong enough used it as an exit, allowing them to return to the wounded without clogging up the line. It was a tight squeeze and there were nowhere near enough beds. Jezebel was the last one to enter. She stared at the threshold, her body shaking even as the warm Mediterranean rain ran off her in streams.
Annabel stretched out her hand to her sister. It was covered with smears of blood and ash, and she quickly pulled it back.
“Come on.”
“I don’t want to go in there,” Jezebel said meekly.
Annabel didn’t know what to say, so she kept her silence. After studying her beseeching expression, Jezebel shuffled forward. She managed to wait until her sister was safely inside to release her exhausted sigh. Without the bustle of life, the courtyard’s still silence chilled Annabel to the bone. She retreated inside, only pausing when she caught a flash of red. Her brow furrowed. Despite herself, an icy dread began trickling into her stomach, filling her up like a well. Carefully, she angled the door so the firelight hit the bug eaten surface. The paint was cracked and flaking with age. But the words were clear. A single sentence sprawled under a large red ‘x’.
Lord, have mercy on this house.
Chapter 4
Jezebel sat by the window. Rain swirled past the hastily replaced slats. It was uncomfortable to have it constantly slicking her face, but she was in desperate need of the fresh air.
When they first arrived, the house hadn't smelled like much. A combination of old dust and the mildew that was growing somewhere unseen. The storm wasn't enough to chase off the heat of the day. With all of them crammed into the room together, and Annabel taking full advantage of the fireplace to boil the sheets, it wasn't long until the humidity was stifling. If it had only been that, she would have easily endured. Jezebel adored the high temperature. But the clammy, sweltering heat made it impossible to ignore the increasing stench of body odor, feces, and urine. The festering smell of death.
There wasn’t much light in the crowded room. The majority was cast in gloomy, dancing shadows. People naturally gravitated towards the fire, seeing the comfort of the golden glow rather than the heat. Their bodies cast deep shadows that annoyed the hell out of Annabel, but Rocca and Egil wouldn't let her chase the traumatized people from the hearth. Their trade-off was that she had full control of the handful of candles they had found. That, they had argued at length, was enough. Especially with the glow of the bonfires pressing in through the windows. Jezebel knew her little sister had only agreed so they would stop following her around, forcing the point.
“It’s enough,” Rocca had said in her sweetly pleasant voice.
“Enough,” Egil had agreed. “If we take this from them, they’re only going to freak out. Then we’ll have to deal with that.”
Annabel had been forced to agree even as she seethed.
“Idiot,” she had hissed when Jezebel was the only one who could hear her. “Make the room as dark as you want. They’re still going to know when someone dies.”
Jezebel had to side with her sister. In the muted light, it was possible to sit beside someone and never notice that they had stopped breathing. The smell, however, never failed to draw attention.
It turned the storm into a blessing, providing them with an ample supply of fresh water to try and wash everything clean. No one really wanted that job to fall on them. The only task considered worse was the removal of the dead bodies.
Annabel had insisted on the corpses being stored in another building. Two of those words, which she insisted on using, never failed to be met with some muttered agitation and narrowed glares. They found the idea of human remains being ‘stored’ revolting. But it was Annabel’s refusal to learn or use anyone’s names that had quickly bred resentment. Ever practical, she had turned to the bare facts. It was a health risk to keep decaying bodies close by, especially in such a humid climate. The increasingly passionate arguments of the grief-stricken didn't shake her direct rationale. And that only fed the hostility. Everyone was ruined, inside and out, and it would have come to blows if it weren’t for the intervention of a few.
Rocca and Egil’s efforts went a long way. Jezebel’s reassurances that the utmost care would be given to their loved ones had played its part. In the end, though, it was fear that had decided the matter. Ther
e was no beauty in death. No blissful repose. The sight didn’t offer a shred of comfort to the living. Skin became discolored and cold. Eyes grew glassy. And the smell. It was a lot harder to pretend that everything was going to be okay when the proof of death was laying a few feet away.
It was decided that the building next door would be used to house the dead for the night. Jezebel had grown to fear the sound of the door opening. The gust of wet wind that swept inside and the way the fire flared and hissed. It ensured that no one ever missed a death. They all knew. Some settled down for restless sleep in an attempt to ignore it. Others took to idle conversation, talking about anything and everything just to keep the silence from rising up to smother them. For Jezebel, work was her salvation. Just like on the beach, following Annabel's orders kept her sane. It let her body work and her mind go blissfully silent. For a while, it was enough. But, inevitably, there was nothing left for her to do, and she was left to her thoughts.
Death had whittled down their numbers. Enough that they were able to put the wounded into more manageable lines. Rocca and Annabel shared an equal drive to keep the headcount accurate. It had become a part of the ritual. The reality of the aftermath. More often than not, Jezebel was close enough to their conversation that the numbers echoed in her head. She knew them by heart. When they had first set out this morning, their group had included forty passengers, three tour guides, and three sailors. Forty-six people in total. After crowding into the small, oppressive room, Rocca had counted over and over. It didn't matter how many times she did. The total had remained at twenty-five.
There was no way to tell what the time was, but sitting by the window, Jezebel found herself desperate to see the first hints of dawn. If only for the night to end. At least to have the squawks of the ravens to cover the whispers. Sixteen. We’re at sixteen now. The numbers, all neatly arranged into Annabel's chosen categories, flittered across her mind and chased away any chance for sleep. Ten able-bodied. Three walking wounded. Three intensive care. Nine dead. The knowledge sat like stones just under her ribs, crushing her from within.
