Ring of Roses

by Sara Clancy

  Fear made her bold and she glanced over the rim of the well, scanning the area. Everywhere she looked had a twitching, gliding shadow. Slumping back, she met Henry’s eyes. We’re trapped. She tried to express it with her face. He was doing the same. One more glance and she knew, for all the extra light, it would be impossible to spot the crimson figures before they were within reach. The muscles of her legs shook and cramped, making it a battle for her to stand. Seeing the fear mirrored back to her by Henry’s features turned her mind blank, rendering her unable to think, move, or even breathe.

  Henry whipped around, eyes wide and rolling, water flinging from his hair. The droplets landed with barely a whisper. A tiny sound. The figures converged on the sound. Their jerking, drifting motion carried them faster than Jezebel would have expected. Skeletal hands reached out. Scraping at the air in a desperate search for something to latch onto. Jezebel urged Henry to his feet. Once they were up, she realized that that was the extent of her plan. There was nowhere to run. The moment of hesitation cost her. The figures closed in, their thrashing limbs choking off every hope for an exit.

  Henry flung his leg up, straddling the ledge of the well before reaching for Jezebel. A hard yank and he had his arms around her in a crushing grip. There wasn’t time to yell or struggle. He dropped back and they were plummeting down into the abyss.

  Chapter 11

  Jezebel’s stomach lurched. Hot air raced past her face. A scream swelled unheard within her lungs. It was a passing second. A blink in time. But long enough for her to perfectly envision them smashed and broken against the barren floor of the well. Hitting the water came as both a relief and a harbinger of doom. Too loud. They’ll hear. The thoughts screamed inside her pounding skull, bringing with it the certainty that the red figures were already crawling down after them, clinging to walls like spiders, their boney fingers digging into the grooves between the stones.

  The need to breathe snapped her back into the moment. Henry released her and they broke the surface with desperate gasps. They treaded water, bare feet thrashing but unable to find either the ground or the walls of the well. Darkness encased them, smothering the light and echoing every sound. Straining to hear kept her from feeling the true sting of the injuries the impact had caused. Light ghosted across the rim high above them. Too muted to actually help gauge their surroundings.

  “Are you alright?” Henry whispered.

  The water smelled of ash and sludge. It slipped into her mouth and made her wrench as she tried to answer.

  “I’m okay,” she spat and, keeping her voice to a whisper, asked, “You?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. It just seemed like the only place we could go.”

  “How did you know there was water down here?”

  “I didn’t,” he replied. If he hadn’t been huddled close to her side, she wouldn’t have heard his muttered words. “With all the rain, I took the chance.”

  There wasn’t time to decide how she felt about that particular calculated risk. Stones toppled down upon their heads. The water splashed loudly with each bit of rubble. Paranoia ran riot within Jezebel. She was instantly certain that the shifting sounds would give them away. They’ll know exactly where we are! Turning blindly, she sought out Henry, finding him with her hands before she had hope of seeing him.

  “Search the walls,” Henry said in a tense hush. “There has to be a way out of here.”

  “Out of a well? Yeah. It’s up.”

  Light settled as a golden disk above them, illuminating the mist but unable to penetrate more than a few inches. Shadows slipped around the edges. It was impossible to tell how many of the spirits were crowding around the rim, or what they were doing. Jezebel threw herself as best she could against the wall. They’re blind. She told herself. It might be possible to climb out as they come in. She clung to the small hope as her hands scrambled over the moss-covered wall. Her fingertips traced the edges of stones and sunk into the gouges made by time. None of them were enough to be of any use. She worked her way around the large circle, mapping the area out by touch alone. Her feet never skimmed the ground and there was barely enough room to keep from bumping into Henry.

  Discovering a little ledge made her heart pound. The flush of victory and hope gave her arms a moment of strength. She braced against the ledge and pushed up. The momentum of the swing slammed her face against the stone wall. Ignoring the pain, she reached one hand up into the darkness. Groping. Searching. Another matching ledge to the one she was using clicked against her nails. She strained harder, her arms quaking. Cold stone met her fingertips. A little higher and she could grab it.

  The lower stone crumbled and she was dumped back into the water. Remains of the ledge struck her legs as they sunk, sending tendrils of pain coursing along her nerves, making it hard to get back to the surface and stay there. Searching the wall, she found the broken ledge. The rocks had crumbled to the point of being useless.

  “Henry,” she whispered. Maybe he could reach the next ledge.

  A hand fell hard onto her shoulder, pushing her down and dragging her through the filthy liquid. There wasn’t time to struggle. Within a second, she was wrenched back to the surface, the top of her head striking a rock above her.

  “Shh,” Henry whispered.

  His voice sounded strange. Not exactly muffled or echoing, but somewhere in between. Stone crowded in around them. Pressing up under Jezebel’s feet, resting on top of her head, pushing against her back and shoulder. A cave? What well has a cave?

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “This well is man-made. I mean, yeah, they all are. But this one’s fed by an underground stream. I think centuries of erosion made this hole.”

  Jezebel licked her lips, gagging at the taste that lingered on them. “There was a ladder,” she whispered.

  “Ladder?”

  “I broke it,” she said. “But you might be able to reach the next rung.”

  A sound drifted from outside the cave. Barely anything at all, but they both instantly fell silent. The stench of the water, now contained within the small space, was unbearable. Her stomach rolled and her eyes watered. The water settled.

  Without the constant sloshing, silence was quick to rear up and consume them. Jezebel searched the limited space with wide eyes. There was nothing to see. The overhanging ledge smothered what little light smeared the top of the well. Here, there was only darkness and the soft sound of their rapid breaths. She flinched as the first pebble hit the water. A rainstorm of stones followed. One of them is climbing down. She cringed away, her back hitting the sleek sheet of stone. There’s nowhere for us to go. The water stirred, lapping at the side of her face as Henry searched the walls around them, like a trapped animal that couldn’t accept its cage. It might have caused some noise, giving away their position, but she didn’t care. The crimson figures would be down soon enough. While the small ledge might hide them for a moment, there was no illusion that they would remain hidden.

  She ducked under the water. Swam beneath the murky surface as far as her lungs would allow her to go. Clenching her eyes against the water, she swung out with hands and feet, alternating between wanting to find a rock and desperate for the opening. The water comes in here somehow, she reasoned. We might be able to get out the same way. Reality promised her that they would drown long before they made it through any channel that fed the well. Jezebel couldn’t focus on that. Not now. She didn’t want to admit to herself that slowly and painfully drowning was the better option.

  Eventually, her lungs gave out and she was forced back to the surface. Hands grabbed her roughly and she kicked out. Her foot crushed down into soft flesh. The accompanying grunt of pain was distinctly human.

  “Henry?” she whispered.

  Broken rock rained down like hail. Breaking the surface of the water and creating tiny, filthy waves that randomly hit her face. Henry was pulling her again. Then his hands were on her waist and he was trying to push her up out of the water. Without a foothold, the
attempts to lift her mostly succeeded in driving him under the surface. On the second push, it occurred to her that there was something he was trying to push her towards. Something that she had missed, given her significantly smaller reach. She searched blindly. Behind her, a large splash announced the arrival of the first of their pursuers. Her fingernails clawed at the surface, finding a dozen small holes but completely missing whatever Henry was steering her towards.

  One more wild swipe of her wrist crunched against stone. Biting back the pain, she scrambled forward, mapping out the ledge with shaking fingers. A square opening. Unlike the other gaps and crevasses, there was no rippled edge or uneven surface. It was a pristine cut, well above the water and a bit wider than her shoulders. She placed one foot on Henry’s shoulder, and after sucking in a deep breath, stomped down hard. Forcing Henry down only bought her a few inches and they both toppled into the water. The loud splash was met with another. It heard us! She could hear it scraping along the tiny ledge, searching for a way in. Henry gasped as he resurfaced. Neither of them bothered to keep quiet. They grunted and panted, speaking only enough to organize the timing.

  He pushed her up as she stomped down. Clutching and scraping across the wall, she found the gap again and scrambled up towards it. Every muscle screamed in protest. The edge of the ledge scraped across her bare stomach like a razor blade. She kicked at anything that she could find, desperate for a foothold. Just when she was sure that she wasn’t going to get through the gap, one last agonizing tug slid her up. The water below her thrashed. Scraping nails and heavy thuds made the walls tremble. They’re here! They’re all here!

  There was no room to get up, so she crawled forward on her stomach. It was a battle for every inch. Rocks tore at her skin and ground against her bones. A startled scream broke free of her chest as a hand grabbed her ankle.

  “It’s me,” Henry said. “Keep going.”

  It was too dark. She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel the walls scraping against her shoulders. The broken edges of the low roof snagged her hair while the ground became like polished marble. The water that clung to their bodies helped to slick the way and they began to pick up speed. Before her, the pathway started to weave and curl. At some parts, it narrowed to the point where she could barely squeeze through the gap. Then it would abruptly widen. Not all that far, but enough that she had the hope she could soon get on her hands and knees. All the while, the knowledge squatted in the back of her head. They’re following. They’ll be faster than us. They’ll catch us.

  Pain exploded through her head as she ran head first into the wall. She barely felt the sting through the frenzied hysteria that swarmed her mind. A dead end! We’re trapped! Her arms flung out, half in blind panic and half in an attempt to turn around. Neither hand found the wall. Not a dead end, she realized. An intersection. One path stretched out to the left. Another to the right. She froze, completely unsure of which way to go next.

  “Jez?” Henry hissed, his voice anxious and trembling.

  Left. Her body moved with the split-second decision. She whirled around and called back for Henry to follow. Not just Henry, a strangely calm voice whispered in her head. They’d hear you, too. She crawled faster into the oblivion. Henry was always right behind. His hand tapping against her legs every so often. Jezebel couldn’t decide if he was attempting to keep track of her or if he was struggling to keep himself from crawling over her and taking the lead. The next intersection didn’t slow her down. She made no attempt to remember the path she was taking or contemplate where it was leading. Just keep moving, she ranted to herself. Keep going. The unseen path heaved and dipped. Twisted and coiled. A dark labyrinth of sharp turns and sudden drops.

  Then, finally, a soft glow bloomed into existence from somewhere off in the distance. Jezebel’s most primal instinct relished the sight of it. Light promised safety. A reprieve from the monsters chasing her through the buried maze. As she neared, reason reared up to make itself known. The Plague Doctors carry lanterns, it told her. Henry smacked into her back as Jezebel abruptly stopped. That light was still there. Soft but sure.

  “Go,” Henry whispered.

  “It could be a trap.”

  “Maybe. But we know what’s behind us.”

  She surged forward. Iron filled her limbs, dragging her down, begging her to turn and shy away from the light and everything it held. But the scrape and slide of creatures behind her kept her going. The light grew, wider and brighter. It seemed to move as she rushed towards it, lifting to hover above her. Focusing on it left her unprepared for the sudden dip. She tumbled into a shallow pit. Landing hard on a pile of loose dirt. The particles lined her lung with every breath. Her body convulsed with a furious need to dislodge it. Curling into a tight ball, she clenched herself tight, smothering her coughs. Keep quiet. Don’t let them hear you!

  Above her, a series of slats broke up the light, turning them into a series of parallel bars that slashed the shadows. Henry loomed into the gloom. His long legs let him place a foot beside her head and still reach up towards the slats. Bringing his face to one of the gaps, he peeked through. Jezebel watched as he quickly assessed the beam. There was a click and the light increased. Her brow furrowed with confusion. A trap door. We’re under floorboards?

  Henry cautiously widened the gap, and after a heartbeat of hesitation, reached down to take Jezebel’s hand. Something shuffled within the darkened tunnel. Locked in place, barely breathing, they strained to hear the sound. It grew closer. Then shifted. Became muffled and quiet. It went down a different tunnel? Jezebel caught Henry’s gaze. He nodded quickly and she latched onto his hand. Still stifling her coughs, she climbed out onto the floorboards as silently as she could. Every motion was calculated and careful. Neither knew how much noise it would take for the figure to track them down. They weren’t going to risk anything.

  The light that entered the tunnel didn’t originate in the room itself. Instead, it drifted through the boarded-up windows of the house. Smoke overtook the stench of decaying moss. It stung her eyes, making them water as they tried to adjust to the sudden light. Stepping lightly, she crossed the floor and crouched down beside the window. Pulse racing, drenched with slop and sweat, she peeked outside. Light splashed across her eye. She jerked back, her breath locked in her throat like a lump of burning coal. Henry, having replaced the trapdoor, crept up to her side, leaving a trail of mud behind. His legs quivered as he crouched down and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep upright. Water dripped from his dark hair as he hung his head forward, his shoulders heaving and his mouth agape.

  He looks awful. Jezebel’s skin crawled at the thought. Mud covered him head to toe, making it impossible to see his skin. He doesn’t have the marks, she told herself regardless. He’s not infected. Feeling her gaze on him, Henry forced his head up. They couldn’t risk speaking. He could only try to reassure her with a smile. It was tightlipped and faded almost instantly. For all of his effort, he couldn’t suppress the flash of pain that crossed his features. Neither of them wanted to address it, so they turned back to the window, waiting for the light to fade. The only sign they had that the Plague Doctors had moved away.

  Smoke hung as a thick blanket over the outside world. Snuffed orbs of light drifted through the haze, creating shadows only to swallow them again. Her brow furrowed as she took in every bit of limited information. It can’t be. Henry touched her arm. A tip of his head and they both were both heading towards the back of the house. Jezebel treaded delicately. Trying to avoid any creaking boards, unable to spot where the trap door was, constantly aware that the threat wasn’t just beyond the wall but under her feet as well.

  They reached the back wall and Henry swooped down to whisper in her ear. “That’s the courtyard, isn’t it?”

  Hot breath brushed by her face. She bit her lip, trying not to cower under the contact. He’s not infected. It’s fine. Pushing it all down, she nodded. They both headed up the stairs, silently agreeing that they needed to g
et a better look. Gather their bearings. The stairs held solid as they moved, only offering a few gasps and groans, making them freeze in place until they were sure they weren’t discovered. As they climbed higher, it occurred to Jezebel that they might not be the first ones in the house. The crimson monsters could already be here. Waiting. We’re going towards them. Blindly, she reached behind her. Henry didn’t hesitate to take ahold of her hand, squeezing tightly, obviously in need of the same reassurance.

  The clustering shadows made it impossible to be sure that they were alone. As the Plague Doctors went about their rounds, the light of their lanterns shifted, creating the illusion of movement. No matter how she braced for the changes, they still made her flinch. Once more, they crossed the room and crouched down to peer out onto the courtyard. Distance hadn’t thinned the air very much. Everything was just a cluster of shapes imposed on others. No fine edges. No definition.

  Jezebel clenched her teeth, trying to fight back the sudden urge to cry. “I can’t tell.”

  Beside her, Henry vainly tried to clean the water and filth from his glasses using the edge of the ancient curtain. It was a struggle to find a bit of cloth that wasn’t covered in layers of soot. A part of Jezebel found it amusing. What remained wanted to demand that he stop before anyone outside saw the curtains moving. A spike of irritation rushed through her when, after cleaning his glasses, he seemed more interested in the curtains than helping her get a grip on the layout.