All The Things You Have To Burn (Grey Corp Book 1)

by Abbey, Kit

  William stomach was squirming. “Yes I remember. Why the hell do you think I joined? So I would have never have to feel like that again.”

  “I joined so I could take them down from within,” said Jones.

  William turned to stare at him.

  Jones shrugged. “Admittedly it didn’t work out so well.”

  “See,” said Gwen, as if this somehow proved her point. As if Jones hadn’t done things that made William’s worst acts look positively saintly.

  “Well what else was I going to do,” said William. “My Aunt was kicking me out, my grades were shit, I had no money, nothing. At least Grey Corp would feed and clothe and pay me.”

  “You Aunt? Where are your parents?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh.” Gwen softened, just a little. “Mine tossed me out when I got pregnant.”

  “My parents named me Caspien,” said Jones.

  “Oh, you win,” said Gwen.

  “Yeah,” said William. “Yeah, that’s really terrible.”

  If Gwen wasn’t ready to concede that William was all bad, as least she was willing to drop the subject. They drove in silence for a time, before Jones pulled into a dingy and neglected service station. He filled the Charger’s tank and returned to the car with snacks, a scuffed pair of joggers roughly William’s size and some information about Lachlan Chase.

  “Did you... Buy these?” William gingerly inspected the shoes. They did not smell good.

  Jones looked at him. “Sure.”

  Well. It was nice of Jones to have thought of his feet. By Jones standards it was practically a grand gesture. He pulled the shoes on while Gwen tried to convince Daisy to eat some chips. She took one and nibbled on it.

  “I asked inside if they knew a Lachlan Chase,” said Jones as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the station.

  “And?”

  “Not by that name, but there’s apparently a crazy hermit bastard living in the woods. I think that’s our guy.”

  “Excellent,” said William. “Let’s go.”

  Jones shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

  After another hour’s driving on increasingly less road like roads, (William suspected they’d been lost at least once but Jones was never going to admit and he wasn’t dumb enough to ask), they finally came a sad little house crouched in a small clearing. Well, shack. Maybe not quite a shack but at least better than a hovel. One room with rough wood walls, a tin roof and a rusty rain water tank next to it.

  It started to lightly rain and the drops plinked noisily against the roof. Gwen wrapped her coat around Daisy. “Should we... Should we knock?”

  “He’s not in there,” said Jones.

  “Then where?”

  William followed Jones gaze, and jumped back as an old man seemingly melted out of the trees. He looked as wild as the bushland that surrounded them, with his hair stark white and matted and his limbs as gnarled as tree branches. He was also holding a rifle, and it was aimed right at them.

  William looked back at Jones. He’d pulled his knife from somewhere and held it loosely in his hand. The knife wasn’t going to be much good in a game of knife vs rifle, but Jones didn’t seem to bothered. He took one small step towards the old guy, and then another. William wanted to tell him to stop. Lachlan seemed to be hovering just this side of deranged, if he started firing things were going to get nasty fast. William knew for a fact that Daisy’s life would go a lot better if she did not have to see her mother die.

  Daisy chose that exact moment to abruptly wake up, with an all body jerk like she was coming out of a nightmare. Gwen staggered and almost dropped her, and Daisy made a sad little noise. William looked back to Lachlan, who had lowered his rifle and was looking at Daisy with a curious expression upon his face.

  “Ah now,” he said, in a voice more gravelly than the Jamison-Smith driveway, “I bet Nathaniel Grey would cut out both his hearts to get his hands on you.”

  Chapter 65.

  The inside of Lachlan’s shack was as small as it looked, especially once they were all crammed inside. It helped that he seemed to live without any furniture. There was a small pile of blankets, a stack of books, a pile of fat envelopes and a little fire and cookpot. There was a little fire burning away, and the rain beat a constant drum against the roof. In other circumstances it might have been cosy.

  Lachlan propped the rifle against the wall and after he painstakingly lowered himself to the floor he pulled it close again.

  “You’re Nathaniel’s little puppy, aren’t you,” he finally said. “You’re a long way from home, little puppy. Does your master know you’ve dug a hole under the fence?”

  “Put the gun down,” said Jones.

  “Caspien.” Lachlan drew the word out, the gravel in this voice even more pronounced. “I’m not good at names, but that’s not one you’d forget.”

  “The gun,” growled Jones.

  “My sister says you’ve quite a liking for blood. I remember Mr. Grey’s old puppy.... John, maybe? I daresay I would’ve remembered his name if it was Caspien. But I remember he liked the blood too. All you puppy’s like the blood.”

  “Get rid of the gun,” said Jones, “I will not say it again.”

  Lachlan grinned, and the rifle was suddenly nothing more than an ornately carved walking stick. He tapped it against the floor, a counter beat to the rain.

  “Question I’ve often asked myself, which comes first? The wolf, or the blood lust? Albert’s blood doesn’t turn just anyone into a puppy, I say there must something inside you that welcomes it.”

  Jones fists were clenched, and William was certain he was about to deck Lachlan, which would probably be enough to kill the old guy. William wondered how on earth he was going to be able to stop Jones from doing it. They needed Lachlan alive, and preferably in a good mood.

  Thankfully, Gwen diffused the situation by blurting out, “can you take her powers away? He says you’ve done it before.” The he was William, and she pointed at him to make it clear.

  “And who are you?” asked Lachlan, looking at him.

  “William Black.”

  Lachlan titled his head. “My sister wrote me about William Black. Come here, boy.”

  As soon as William was close enough Lachlan jabbed him in the chest with his walking stick. Hard. With a startled cry William fell. There wasn’t really enough room for it in the shack and he half fell on Jones, who shoved him onto the floor. Jones shifted like the was going to grab Lachlan, but Gwen reached over William and grabbed is shoulder to stop him.

  “You say you’re William Black,” said Lachlan, “but there’s not a jolt of Illuding in you.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said William, sitting back up. “We were told you’d know how to give my powers back.”

  “And how to take hers away,” added Gwen.

  Lachlan took that in, then he said, “my sister hasn’t written me in a month.” He gestured at the stack of letters with his walking stick. “I’m starting to think I’m a little out of the loop. Caspien has bitten the hand that feeds him, as we always knew he eventually would. Nathaniel’s newest toy has about as much Illuding skill as your average numbat. And most interestingly of all, here is the well Nathaniel has been so desperate to find. Madeline was starting to think it would never be found.”

  If working with Rowan for the better part of a year had not desensitised William to being glared at he might have quailed under the look Gwen gave him.

  “She wouldn’t have been if it wasn’t for him.” Daisy shifted in Gwen’s lap. She was so pale, aside from the two bright red circles burning on her cheeks.

  Lachlan nodded at her. “Madeline would get like that if we strayed too far from the City for too long. Albert and the well, it goes both ways. Albert feeds from the well, but the well needs Albert just as much.”

  Gwen didn’t look hugely surprised to hear this. William had thought it strange she’d s
tayed in the City knowing Grey Corp wanted Daisy so badly, but if she fell so ill every time they tried to leave it made more sense.

  “If you take her powers away, will that stop it? Will we be able to finally leave?”

  Before Lachlan could answer Jones jumped suddenly to his feet and stuck his head out of the door. He pulled it back in and turned to look at Lachlan, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “What did you do?”

  Lachlan cackled.

  Now William could hear something, just faintly over the rain.

  “What is that?” said Gwen, at the same time as William said, “is that a helicopter?”

  “You made a mistake by coming here,” said Lachlan. “Nathaniel’s been mad at me for a long time, but I think your three heads and a well will make one hell of olive branch.”

  Jones snarled and advanced towards him, but just like that Lachlan’s walking stick was a rifle again. “Heel, puppy,” he said.

  Everything was deteriorating too fast.

  “Can you restore my powers,” he William quickly. “Please. We know you’ve done it before.”

  “Even if I wanted to, which I assure you I do not, the only one who can give your powers back is whoever took them in the first place.”

  “Great, awesome.” William felt like crying, and he scrubbed angrily at his face. “So all I need to do is give your sister a complete personality transplant.”

  Lachlan’s nasty grin faded. “Madeline did this to you?” His Illuded rifle started to flicker. Walking stick, gun, walking stick.

  “Yeah, she did,” said William.

  Lachlan seemed to suddenly realise he was aiming a walking stick at them. He lowered it slowly. He kept shaking his head, as though trying to clear it.

  “No,” he said, “you’re lying.”

  “No I’m not,” said William, “Madeline took my powers away.”

  “You’re lying!” Lachlan shrieked.

  “I’m not lying!” yelled William, because he was furious at everything, and because the sound of the helicopter was growing louder and louder, “why would I lie about it? What possible purpose could it serve?”

  “She would not.” Lachlan’s voice regained some of its lost composure. “She has felt it first hand. She knows…” He shook his head again, one gnarled hand clutching at his hair, “I gave up everything, everything! I gave it all up to give back what they made me take from her, she would not inflict it upon someone else! She wouldn’t, damn you, she wouldn’t!”

  “She did,” said William.

  “That’s enough,” said Jones. “We need to go. Now. Now!” He hauled William to his feet by his collar, and held a hand out to help pull Gwen to hers. “He’s not going to tell us anything else.”

  Lachlan had turned his back on them. He was pulling at his hair and muttering to himself, but his words could not be heard over the rain and the helicopter.

  Outside in the clearing the rain was really coming down. The ground had turned to mud, and it sucked hungrily at William’s shoes with every step he took. The trees were blocking the helicopter from sight, but the sound seemed to be pounding them from every angle at once.

  “What should we do?” shouted Gwen, “run?”

  “My sister asked me that,” announced Lachlan. He had joined them outside and now seemed calm. Too calm. Crazy person calm. “Right before I stole her powers away. What are we going to do, Lochie? Run?” He laughed, and it was a sound so bitter and depressing that William thought it really didn’t deserve to be called a laugh at all. “She thought I had gone down to the cells to help her escape, she thought I had somehow gotten free and was going to free her too!” He pressed the palm of his hands into his useless eyes. “When Mr. Grey offers you a choice, for the love of God, choose death. Always choose death.” He laughed that awful laugh again. “Don’t you agree with me puppy? Do you wish you chosen death and-”

  The rest of his words were drowned out, because the helicopter was upon them. It was black and fat and shiny, like the leeches that lurked in the river. Chains swung from its belly, and attached to them was a large wooden crate. The trees twisted and moved beneath it.

  “Does it see us?” Gwen shouted over the roar.

  Oh it saw them, William was sure of that. It circled around, and then with a metallic clang the chains that held the wooden crate were released, and it fell. The distance between it and the ground was not far, but the impact still cracked it open like an egg. An egg filled with dead people. Gwen covered her mouth and took a few stumbling steps backwards.

  There was time only for a few seconds of confusion before, horribly, impossibly, awfully, the bodies started to shift and rise.

  Lachlan laughed. “Waste not want not!” he called out, right before he stepped back inside his hut and slammed the door.

  “Get in the car,” said Jones. Which was solid advice when you’ve got a hundred or so dead bodies getting to their feet and starting to shamble towards you, but the bodies were between them and the car.

  “We’ll outrun them and double back around,” said Jones. Without asking he plucked Daisy from Gwen’s arms. “Go! Run!”

  And they ran.

  Chapter 66.

  Tree branches grabbed and scratched at William’s face and his already torn up t-shirt, roots and rocks and low shrubs tried their hardest to trip him with every step. Rain and sweat ran down his face and blurred his vision and he thought maybe Gwen was screaming but he couldn’t quite hear it over the noise of the helicopters. The one they’d seen had not been acting alone, there were more, so many more. The air throbbed with the sound of them, a deep noise William felt in his bones as much as heard with his ears.

  William didn’t bother to look over his shoulder for the zombies. (Because they were zombies, weren’t they? Jesus Gwen was right, Grey Corp was messed up). If the zombies were right behind him, what could he do? He certainly couldn’t go any faster, and he couldn’t slow down. He literally could not slow down, not even if he wanted to. The relentless sound of the helicopters spoke directly to the thing inside William that made adrenalin, and it was pumping the chemical into William’s blood with abandon. His entire body was thrumming in time with his madly beating heart, the sound of it in his ears almost drowned out the sound of the choppers.

  And if he looked behind, he would have to take his eyes off Jones’s back, and risk losing him. Fleeing from the undead through this godforsaken bushland was bad enough, doing it alone could only be worse.

  A chopper passed directly overhead, bathing William in shadow. He half ducked, more of a reflex than anything else. He didn’t look away from Jones to glance upwards. The helicopter would either be weighed down by another crate full of zombies, or crateless chains would dance spasmodically bellow it. William didn’t know which was worse. Zombies in the air were much better than zombies on the ground, but if the zombies were already on the ground then at least they weren’t about to rain down on their heads.

  Gwen, who was running in front of William, was apparently not as attached to the sight of Jones back as he was. She looked upwards, and it was a good thing she did.

  “Watch out!” she yelled, coming to a halt so abrupt she skidded on the muddy ground and fell backwards. William stumbled over her and went sprawling as well. The wind was knocked from his lungs and mud went up his nose.

  The crate hit the ground not a metre from him, a broken piece of planking whizzing just a breath over his head. He scrabbled backwards, torn between wanting to put distance between himself and these new zombies rising slowly in front of him, and wanting to keep the distance between himself and the old zombies behind.

  Jones had continued on without them, but now he reappeared through the trees. Whereas William and Gwen’s chests were both heaving, Jones was breathing easily, even with Daisy still in his arms. He looked at the latest spillage of bodies and swore.

  “Another crate got dropped just up ahead.”

  “What are we going to do,” said Gwen
, “they’re everywhere!”

  “They’ll have marked out a perimeter,” said Jones, shifting Daisy from one hip to the other. “They’ll be guarding to keep these things contained. We just need to make it out.”

  “Oh sure,” said William, voice shriller than he would have liked. “Great, not a problem! Never mind the teeming hoards of zombies and us with no weapons at all!”

  “We need to go!” Gwen pointed at the bodies slowly standing bodies.

  “And they’re catching up,” said Jones, nodding his head in William’s direction.

  William spun around, and sure enough he zombies they’d originally been running from were moving steadily towards them through the trees. They didn’t bother to bush branches out of the way. Their faces and clothes and arms were ripped, a black, thick substance dribbling sluggishly from the multitude of cuts. William’s chest began to tighten. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stop reaching for his absent powers.

  Jones took off running to the left, and Gwen and William followed. Everywhere William looked he saw zombies. They were slow moving and awkward and easy enough to dodge around but there were just so many off them, with grasping hands and mouths. He stumbled over a tree root and hit the ground with a thump and a curse. One of the pursuing zombies tripped over him and two fell on him in a more purpose filled way. William thrashed like a vampire sprayed with holy water, but the zombies were not dislodged. Instead, they set about pinning him firmly to the ground; a whole bunch more pausing in their pursuit of Gwen and Jones to help out. One of them grasped William’s hair, and peered blankly down at his face. William gasped and forgot to struggle. The greying hair was filthy and matted, the green eyes were dulled, but there was no denying it. It was the dentist he’d killed. Or at least dentist’s reanimated corpse. William screamed, and shoved frantically at the corpse.