Ring of Roses

by Sara Clancy

  “No.” The honest answer had slipped her lips before it occurred to Annabel to elaborate. “It’s essentially a bacterial infection. Of course it still exists, but it’s completely treatable. Just a simple course of antibiotics.”

  “So give them to us!”

  Annabel was still having trouble picking out the speakers. She had no idea who had made the suggestion but hoped that it was a language barrier making them think that was an option.

  “I don’t have them on me,” she said as gently as she could. It still came out rather patronizing. “We need to get to a hospital.”

  Egil nodded once. “Alright. We’ll find Jim then get out of here. Simple. No need for anyone to panic.”

  Despite his confidence, small murmurs rolled through the crowd. It was Rocca who asked the question, low and hesitant, as if she thought no one but Egil would hear her.

  “With those things out there?”

  Egil’s face paled slightly but he surged through it. “They came at night. It’s barely past dawn. We have time. I know we’re all exhausted. We’re hungry and in pain. But we made it from the shore to here. That’s got to be the worst of the hike.”

  “How are we going to get through the gate?” Henry asked.

  Still standing guard between the sisters and the crowd, Annabel could only see his back. Annabel would have mistaken him for someone else. It was a small change in posture. Straightening to full height, he now towered over the majority of the room. The slight tip of his head accentuated this. Even from behind him, Annabel felt small and weak.

  “We’ll get through it,” Egil said, once more trying to silence him with his tone, while Henry kept his silence and his defiant posture.

  “This is what we’re going to do,” Egil continued. “Anna’s going to move Gwen next door. While she’s doing that, we’re going to check each other. Find out if anyone else is infected.” He lifted his hand to cut off any protest. “It’s just a precaution. But on the off chance we find someone that’s infected, they’ll stay here, and Anna will show them how to disinfect the place. They’ll also get baths set for us when we get back. The rest of us will split into two groups. Rocca will lead group A to look for Jim. Group B will stay with me and we’ll find a way through the gate. We’re working on a buddy system. No one goes anywhere alone. Everyone got it?”

  The people mumbled and nodded hurriedly. Annabel let out a slow breath. Even she felt better now that there was a plan.

  “Good.” Egil turned to look at Annabel. He leaned his weight back to properly meet her gaze around Henry’s torso. “So, what warning signs do we need to look for?”

  Annabel thought back to the passing information one of her lectures had told her. “First symptoms are flu like. Weakness, chills, fever. Headaches.”

  “What about the skin stuff?” Rocca said anxiously.

  “Why don’t we just get her to look at anything we find slightly suspicious skin-wise?” Egil said it with a smile, trying to break the tension with a little humor.

  It worked for a few people. Others chuckled mostly out of a pent-up need to make some noise other than a scream.

  “Okay, everyone,” Egil raised his hands along with his voice to address the crowd. “Pair up with someone and check each other out. If you find anything suspicious, anything at all, head to the back right corner of the room and wait for Anna to get back.”

  People started to shuffle about. Henry didn’t get far before Egil caught his arm.

  “She can’t move Gwen on her own, Henry,” Egil said.

  “I’m getting some of the scrap material,” Henry wrenched his arm out of Egil’s grip. “I figure that we shouldn’t be touching her directly, you know?”

  Jezebel became Annabel’s shadow, sticking close to her side as if she feared someone might try to separate them. Henry didn’t take long to come back with some still steaming strips of material. It was easier to wrap the dripping material around their hands like mittens than to try and cover the corpse. With this small layer of protection, Annabel wrapped the blanket tightly around Gwen, leaving only her hands and feet free. That way, they wouldn’t have to hold the body too close to them to carry her.

  “I’ve got her,” Jezebel said when the time came to lift.

  There was no point in arguing. Jezebel had more upper body strength. So, as Jezebel took Gwen’s ankles and Henry grabbed her arms, Annabel gathered a bucket of water. They’d need to wash up afterwards. It was something so clearly known between them that neither Henry nor Jezebel questioned it. People reeled out of their way. Pressed themselves against the walls to keep as far away from the body as possible. In their fear, not one of the others thought to get the door. Annabel fumbled with it, trying not to lose the contents of the bucket as she worked the bar.

  The wind did most of the work, pushing the door open and welcoming them outside with a fresh wave of rain and smoke. Annabel hadn’t taken off her jacket since last night and it offered her some protection against the onslaught. She had all but forgotten about it. The steady rain had turned the ground into a soft sludge. It swallowed Annabel’s feet as she trudged a straight path to the death house. She left the door for someone else to close. The rushing downpour of rain kept the smoke from completely overpowering them as they battled against the forces. All three of them constantly checked the area around them, waiting for something to stir the clustering bellows of smoke.

  There wasn’t much to distinguish the death house from all of the others. It was thin, with the roof hidden within the blanket of fog. They had kept the shutters drawn. Annabel hadn’t been there when they had broken it down and didn’t know how they had gone about the process. Whatever they had done to get inside had left the door hanging limp on its hinges. Gulping down as deep a breath as she could stomach, she blocked her nose with one hand and grabbed the door handle with the other. Not wanting to deal with the stench an instant before she had to, she waited for the others to come close. Then she drove her shoulder into the door, putting as much force into the motion as she could. It swung open, the bottom of the planks scraping across the floorboards.

  Roses. The scent slammed into her like a solid wall. It left her reeling, and she staggered into the room. No one had left a fire burning here. It reduced her vision to the barely more than pale shadows. None of the darkness touched the flower petals. They glowed under their own power. Red like rich wine. Thousands of them. All brought together to create a perfect circle that pushed against the boundaries of the room, washing the walls in a crimson glow.

  The dead were gone.

  “Where are the bodies?” Jezebel asked.

  Annabel stood as frozen as stone, staring at the room. The empty room. The glowing flowers.

  “This is the right house, isn’t it?” Jezebel asked after no one responded to her first question.

  “Yes,” Henry said numbly.

  Annabel inched forward, careful not to disturb the petals, and stepped into the ring of roses.

  “Anna,” Jezebel’s voice cracked. “Come back here.”

  “There were nine bodies,” Annabel said. “Who would take them?”

  Jezebel twitched. Like she wanted to reach for her sister and only remembered too late that she was still holding onto Gwen’s corpse.

  “Anna. Get out of the circle.”

  Blinking rapidly, Annabel nodded. But questions still gnawed at her, coaxing her closer, tempting her to reach down and take a closer look. There has to be an explanation, the voice of reason whispered to her. Maybe it’s just an elaborate set up with Christmas lights or something. She knelt down. Freeing her fingertips from the makeshift glove, she scraped at the chipped floorboards. Rot had left the edges brittle and she was able to tear a large splinter free. About the length of her finger.

  “What are you doing?” Jezebel asked.

  “I won’t touch it with my skin,” Annabel promised.

  Henry and Jezebel continued to hold the body as if they didn’t know what to do with it. Holding the splint
er with her nails, she glanced up. Both Jezebel and Henry made it clear that they thought touching any of the flowers was a bad idea. It was also apparent that each of them felt the same overpowering curiosity. The unbridled need to see if it was even possible to touch these things that shouldn’t be here. To know if it was real. Swallowing thickly, Annabel poked the broken tip of the splinter into the vivid, luminous petal. The slither of wood pushed into the soft substance. Then it burst.

  Blood, hot and slick, erupted from the petals. It rushed up like a geyser. Without being touched, the others followed suit, spewing and frothing, lashing the ceiling before bucketing down upon them. Annabel hunched around the onslaught, felt the blood hammer around the back of her jacket, washing over her and soaking her hair. It happened in an instant. The blood didn’t have time to settle against the floor before, with a rumbling whoosh, Gwen’s body exploded. The tightly wrapped blanket bucked and rolled with the impact before thick liquid sloshed between the threads. Jezebel and Henry both hurriedly backed away as flesh turned to slop within their grasp. The soaked blanket fell to the ground with a dull squish. What little shape it had left rapidly deflated as the liquefied contents bubbled free.

  Chapter 8

  Shock kept all three of them silent. Still, the room was full of noise. Blood dripped from their clothes, hitting the floorboards like the pounding of drums. Drizzling waterfalls dangled from the exposed beams. And, amongst it all, their erratic, gasping breaths. The glow had vanished and the daylight alone wasn’t enough to illuminate the room. Where the bonfire light could touch, the liquid shone as bright and rich as blood. In the shadows, it became tar. Mucus thick and black.

  Jezebel released a whimpered breath. Bathed in the light of the open door, she looked down to find herself painted in red. Not a single inch of skin or clothes had been spared. She stared at her hands, her brain struggling to understand the sudden shift in sensation. Gwen’s body had been real. She had felt the flesh give under the pressure of her fingers and the hard bone underneath. She was real. I held her. As if to taunt that conviction, thick trails of slop soaked the cloth covering her hands, dripping down in long mucus trails that almost touched the floor. She sucked in a breath and tasted copper.

  Snapping up her eyes, she found Henry a few feet away. The bravado he had shown earlier was gone, replaced with the wide-eyed terror of a child. Jezebel’s shadow didn’t cover him, allowing the bonfire’s light to color him a deep red. It made the whites of his eyes appear painted on. The blue of his iris unnatural. Meeting her gaze, he puffed out a breath, spraying the blood from his lips like a breaching whale.

  “I think I got some in my mouth,” he whispered.

  Annabel surged up. Her feet slipped and she dropped painfully onto one knee. Biting though her pain, she instructed him to wash his mouth out. The command snapped him out of his daze. He bolted for the bucket Annabel had brought. It hadn’t been spared. Chunky blood clots bobbed about on the surface, bleeding thin trails into water and staining it pink. Henry didn’t touch the bucket and instead wrenched and spat on the floor. Annabel didn’t have to order them to strip off what layers they could. None of them wanted the blood-soaked clothes on them. Annabel’s borrowed jacket had worked well. Removing it would have left streaks, but her black dress hid them will. Only her hands and head spoke of what she had been through.

  “The cut on the back of your head,” Jezebel muttered, unable to take her eyes off of her sister’s blood drenched hair. “Would it have gotten in?”

  It. Not the plague. Not the disease that had ravaged Gwen. It, Jezebel thought again. Everything was easier to deal with when it was only a vague it. Annabel swallowed thickly, then cringed. She swallowed some blood. Jezebel realized with a burning spike of fear.

  “Outside.” The word came unbidden from Jezebel’s mouth. A reflex more than a thought. “The rain.”

  The others caught on quickly and they stumbled out into the driving torrents that bucketed down from the sky. The rain began to work trails through the layer of blood. It still took too long. Jezebel shook with the urge to cup her hands, gather a mouthful of water to rinse her mouth. But, even after tearing the strips of bandage free, her skin was stained pink. Alternating between tugging at her clothes and scrubbing her hands furiously only drove her into panic. Images of Gwen flashed across her mind’s eye, both as a plague-ravaged monstrosity and as a mound of dripping flesh bubbling under a blanket. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off!

  “Jez,” Henry said.

  Get it off!

  His hand dropped onto her shoulder and yanked her to the side, back towards the buildings. She fought him until she was forced under a steady stream. A drain? Intentional or not, the water came off the roof in a thick spout, strong enough to finally work the blood from her face. It was stained with ash and tasted of dirt, but she reveled in it. Face. Hands. Where was I cut? Have to clean the cuts.

  Hysteria hit her suddenly, consuming her whole before she even knew it was threatening to strike. She stood under the stream, trembling and whimpering, slowly returning to her senses. It’s okay. I’m okay. The words rang hollow in her stomach. As it festered and churned along with the remains of her panic, a new fear worked its way to the surface.

  “Anna!”

  “I’m here.” Anna’s voice was muffled as she dipped her head under another spout.

  It was only a few feet away but still put Annabel on the edges of Jezebel’s sight. Henry was barely more than a shadow a few paces beyond that. Recognizable only by his height.

  “Are you okay?” Jezebel panted.

  “I think so,” Annabel replied. “Just get clean. Take off everything you can. Wash your hair.”

  By the firelight, Jezebel noticed that her platinum hair was now stained a fleshy pink. It made her wrench and she heaved forward. Her empty stomach ached and strained, trying to find something to spill out onto the mud and stone. She pulled off her dress. Her shoes and socks. Leaving her only in her bra and panties without a passing thought to feeling awkward about it. Her skin prickled under the hot stream of filthy water. Steadily, the sharp edge of her fear began to dull and ebb, allowing her to gather her thoughts, to emerge from the mess. A rhythmic thudding that wasn’t her own heartbeat entered her ears. She stepped back from the stream and peered into the mist. The storm continued, trailing over her skin and running into her eyes.

  Rapid movement made the mist and smoke roll, thinning it enough that she could glimpse figures moving about. Her feet shuffled backwards without thought, one arm reaching blindly for her sister. Egil’s voice cracked over the hard beating. Another roll of mist and the shroud lifted. A few of the able bodied had managed to lift the long beam of wood that kept the gates fastened. Still, the doors wouldn’t open, locked as they were from the outside. Heaving the massive beam, they used it as a battering ram against the colossal gates. The wood cracked and the metal rattled, but the doors refused to open.

  A scream made Jezebel leap. Rocca stood by the doctor’s office door. The fire inside gave her a golden glow. She clawed at her face as she screamed. Annabel started towards her only for the woman to reel back.

  “Egil!” Rocca screamed, her voice cracking on the word. “Egil!”

  Positioned halfway between the gate and the doctor’s office, it was easy to spot the blonde. He stood within the warmth of the bonfire and turned sharply to the cry. Disgust and fear crossed his face instantly. The blood hasn’t washed off, Jezebel realized with a sickly twist of her stomach. Annabel stepped towards him. Egil’s hand shot up as if to fend her off.

  “What happened?”

  “She,” Annabel helplessly groped for a way to explain. “She exploded.”

  A darkness ran thick into Egil’s eyes. “What did you do to her?”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Henry said. “She just ... popped!”

  “People don’t pop,” Rocca snapped.

  She still refused to leave the threshold, blocking the path as others tried to work their way aroun
d her.

  “And they don’t die overnight of the Black Plague,” Annabel countered. “And ghosts aren’t real. But here we are.”

  Egil snorted at the comment and stormed past her, careful to keep some distance. The men had stopped their assault on the door but didn’t dare to come any closer. Others had managed to slip around Rocca and were filing out into the courtyard. They all waited in tense silence as Egil headed towards the building Jezebel had just fled. She held her breath. A deep pit of dread opened up inside her as she watched him come to an abrupt halt. There were still a few feet separating him from the open doorway. He didn’t move. Couldn’t tear his eyes away. He sees it. The thought left her cold. A stubborn part of her brain had hoped it was just an illusion. A nightmare of her fevered brain’s making. He sees it, too.

  Egil’s knees almost gave out as he took a slow step backwards. His hesitation made others bold. They rushed past Jezebel like a stream, each seeking a glimpse at what had left their leader so shell shocked. Accusations whirled around them like wildfire. Some demanded to know where their loved ones’ bodies were. Others instantly believed them responsible. Within the mounting disgust and nausea, one thread of thought took over all the others. It was a voice in a bellowing cry and chanted quickly by the others.

  “They’re infected!”

  Jezebel and Henry closed ranks, positioning themselves to protect the far smaller Annabel. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Henry slip into his persona, arranging his features into a dark, challenging glare. Once again, his height and that powerful glare worked to keep the others from charging. Although it might have had more to do with his attire. The blood hadn’t washed off. While it didn’t cover every inch of him anymore, it still streaked across his bare skin. Panting hard and muscles twitching, he looked like he had just pulled himself out of hell. Jezebel tried not to think about how she looked. A victim or a demon.