The Dying & The Dead 2

by Jack Jewis

  “And what’s so bad about that?”

  “To Goral, everything. ‘Don’t encourage them,’ he always tells me. He doesn’t understand. The men in the Vitch family have always had black hearts, you see, Eric. Mine was black too, for a while, but I found a way to clean it.”

  He couldn’t imagine that Marta had ever done anything wrong. In lots of ways, she was just as much a prisoner here as Eric and Kim. Maybe she was treated a little bit better, but he doubted she could ever leave. If Goral could do this to his sister because she gave someone an apple, there was no telling what he’d do if she ever told him that she wanted to go.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “That I’m a sweet old woman. Perhaps in your head you’re comparing me to your grandmother.”

  Eric had never met either of his grandmas. He heard his mum and dad arguing about dad’s mother once. Mum said that she was a ‘mean old bitch,’ and dad had gotten cross.

  He shook his head.

  “No matter,” said Marta. “Whatever the image is in your head, get it out. I’ve done things, Eric.” She lifted her arms. “These hands have caused more suffering than you could imagine.”

  The searchlight swept by again. There was a hiss over in the kitchen as the liquid boiled in the pan.

  Marta got out of her seat. Her knees cracked as she rose, and she winced with each step. As she walked past Eric, she brushed his hair with her fingers. She went into the kitchen and turned off the pan.

  “Nettle tea?” she asked. “Don’t worry, the water boils away the sting.”

  It sounded disgusting. “No thanks.”

  As Marta walked back, she peered out of the window. The darkness outside cast a shadow on her face and for an instant, Eric thought he saw a mean look in her eyes. She hobbled over to her seat and sat down again. An aroma of talcum powder followed her everywhere she went.

  She leaned forward.

  “I used to drive the trains to camp, Eric. Ten times a year we’d bring carriages full of people like you to Dam Marsh. At first I used to hear the screams and the shouting, but eventually I found some earplugs and blocked them out. But they don’t give earplugs that work in your dreams. I can’t tell you the night terrors I had. People passing out in trains because of the heat. Lost souls leering at me from the afterlife, scowling over the bad things I’d done.”

  “I wanted to stop, but Goral wouldn’t let me. I used to cry. There was never any warning; my body would shake and I’d feel the tears well up, and before I knew it I had broken down. It happened in front of the guards once. I’ll never forget their stares. There was no pity in them.”

  “So why did you do it?”

  She hung he head.

  “The same reason anyone else does anything for Goral. Fear.”

  “I thought Scarsgill was in charge?”

  Marta shook her head.

  “His name might be on the door, but Goral pulls his strings.”

  The search beam lit the window. It lingered for just a second too long, and the hairs rose on Eric’s arms. He ducked out of instinct, but then the light passed by.

  “So you know how to drive the train?” he said.

  “For my sins.”

  “And if someone had the keys, could you still drive it?”

  She snapped her head toward him. She stared at him for a few seconds, and then looked away.

  “I’ll never set foot on that train again. The shame I feel will never be washed off while I’m alive. Everything I do now, I do for my afterlife.”

  Parts of the escape plan were starting to slot together. Eric had the keys to the train, and now he knew someone who could drive it. He just needed to figure out a way to get to it without them being spotted. He was also going to have to persuade Marta to help. Maybe Kim would know what to say.

  “Do you feel alone, Eric?” Marta asked him.

  Without the pot bubbling, there was complete silence in the cabin. The camp was muted at night, as if the black sky sucked away anything that might give off light. Marta’s question made him feel strange. It made his chest tighten, and he suddenly felt tears straining at the corner of his eyes.

  “What do you mean? I’m not-”

  “Don’t pretend with me, boy. I’ve told you my darkest secret.”

  He did feel alone. Most of the time, in fact. It didn’t matter that there were other DCs in camp, because they didn’t care about him. Kim did, in her way, but she only chipped away at the loneliness, and it still sat on him as heavy as a boulder. The only people who could shift it would be his mum and his sister.

  There were three taps on the cabin door. Eric turned in his seat. Even Marta looked alarmed. She pointed behind Eric and mouthed at him to move. There was a wardrobe sat against a wall at the back of the cabin.

  The door knocked again. Eric stood up and walked across to the wardrobe, careful that his feet didn’t make any noise on the floor. His heart thumped so loudly in his chest that he was worried it might give him away. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Marta shout.

  “Come in,” she said.

  The door opened, and Eric almost gasped as Goral stepped into the cabin. The old man stood in the doorframe and sniffed. He glanced around the room as if his nose had caught the scent of something.

  He wanted to move as far away from Goral as possible, but there wasn’t much room in the wardrobe. Marta’s clothes hung above him and brushed on his face, and he smelled mildew as they touched his nose. The door was so close to his face that he felt his hot breath blow back at him.

  Goral walked around the cabin. As his tiny eyes scanned every inch of the walls, he lifted his legs and took exaggerated steps. He wore a necklace that clacked as he paced around.

  “There’s tea in the pan, little brother,” said Marta.

  Goral walked over to the pan. He scooped up some of the liquid with a metal spoon and brought it to his lips. He sucked in some of it, and then screwed up his face. He spat the tea back into the pan.

  “You know I hate nettles, Marta.”

  “I know,” she said, and grinned.

  “Someday I’ll tire of your mischief.”

  He walked over to her and sat on the chair that Eric had used just minutes earlier. Eric thought the old man might notice that the seat was warm. His pulse fired, and he had to remind himself to keep still.

  Goral settled into the chair. His face was a pale pink, but Eric saw that there was a spot of dried blood on his wrinkled right arm.

  He could still smell the incense in Goral’s room. He saw Allie naked on the table, arms and legs spread-eagled. He heard the boy gurgle on his own blood. He closed his eyes and wished he could be anywhere else but here.

  “I can’t be thinking about you any more, Marta,” said Goral. His tone was more casual when he spoke with his sister. “You’re a nuisance to me. You bring out the worst in me.”

  Yeah, right, thought Eric. You bring out the worst in yourself. She’s nothing like you.

  “Don’t talk to me like that, little brother,” said Marta. Her bruised skin bulged underneath her eye.

  “I care for you,” said Goral. “The scars and the bruises are trifles. You know that, yes? You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you? I made a promise to Ma and Pa all those years ago.”

  Marta looked up at the ceiling. “Back in Vostock.”

  “I’d give anything to be back there sometimes. The jasmine and the saffron. Ma cooking for us. This place is nothing compared to it.”

  “So why do we stay?” said Marta.

  Goral crossed his legs. “You know why. My work. Some of the children here are special, Marta. You don’t even know how much. But we have a problem. There’s a girl, one of the new arrivals. Scarsgill drained some of her blood and used his little lab to study it.”

  “They do that to everyone, don’t they?” said Marta.

  Goral nodded. “This girl is special. There’s something magnificent in her veins. Blood that could cure the infection, not just fig
ht it off after it has occurred. Scarsgill believes that the makings of a vaccine are in her little body.”

  “Great news.”

  Goral shook his head. He rolled his eyes as if he was having to explain something for the thousandth time.

  “No, sister. As much as it intrigues me, this is bad for us. If she is the key to a vaccine, what do you think happens to Dam Marsh? Do you think they’ll be any need for camp? Do you think the Capita will have any use for us?”

  Marta looked wistfully out of the window. “I suspect not,” she said. “But is that such a bad thing?”

  Goral stood up. Eric saw that his back was slightly bent, and it seemed like the old man would never fully be able to straighten it. He took a step, and his necklace shook. Eric saw it clearly now. It was a collection of fingernails, pierced in the middle and bound together by a length of string.

  “I’m going to kill the girl,” said Goral.

  “Is that wise? What about Scarsgill?”

  “Don’t worry your wrinkled face about that.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Marta, and touched the creases on her forehead.

  “At least I’ve learned something in my age, Marta. You’ve regressed. Your mind is still back in Vostock playing in the fields. Wake up to the real world. Join me in it.”

  Marta leaned over and rubbed her ankle. She hadn’t walked anywhere, but her leg had swollen around the bone. She sighed.

  “Scarsgill will know if you kill her.”

  Goral paced around. “He won’t know a thing. You see, this girl has a condition of the stomach. I have watched her for a while. She can’t eat any of the camp food. If she died, it would merely look like her condition had finally beaten her.”

  Eric almost gasped. He leaned back in the wardrobe, and the sleeve of one of Marta’s blouses brushed over his nose. The musty smell almost made him cough. He knew that Goral was talking about Kim, but he didn’t understand any of it. He looked around him, but there was no way of escaping the cabin until Goral left. He hoped Kim was okay. He prayed that the guards hadn’t stormed the cabin door and dragged her out of her bed.

  Marta glanced over at the wardrobe. Eric hoped he hadn’t made any noise. Don’t look at me, he thought.

  “If he has the girl and uses her blood,” said Goral, “there is no need for us anymore. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Marta looked at the wardrobe again. Eric’s palms were wet.

  Goral followed her glance.

  “Why do you keep looking over there?”

  He started to walk over to the wardrobe. Eric wanted to shrink back, but he knew there was nothing behind him but the wooden side of the wardrobe. He took another noseful of the musty smell.

  “Goral,” said Marta.

  The old man turned around.

  “Are you hiding something from me, Marta?”

  “I need my sleep,” she answered.

  Goral looked at the wardrobe. Eric wondered if the old man could see him through the thin slat in the door.

  He took another step toward Eric.

  Marta heaved her body out of her seat. She winced as she hobbled on her swollen ankle.

  “I want you to leave, Goral,” she said.

  “Just one minute-”

  “I want you to go!”

  Eric wasn’t prepared for the fury in Marta’s voice. She walked over to her brother and started to push him toward the door. Her face turned bright red and spit formed on her lips. Goral looked at her in surprise.

  “My little button…” he said.

  She hit him on the arm.

  “Just get out! The things you make me do. How can you live with yourself?”

  She pushed him toward the exit. Goral seemed to have forgotten the wardrobe. He walked over to the door and then opened it, filling the cabin with the breeze. He paused.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “I have another guest in my cabin tonight. But I won’t forget your temper, Marta.”

  “No,” she answered. “The Vitch men never do.”

  Goral went to leave, and then stopped. He looked at the wardrobe, then back at Marta. Eric’s breath caught in his throat.

  “One final thing,” said Goral. “I seem to have lost my keys. If you were to come across them, let me know.”

  The old man stepped out into the night, and Marta slammed the door shut behind him. Eric knew that the anger had been for his benefit; she had done it to get her brother out of the cabin. Marta put her hand to her face for a few seconds, and tears welled in her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ed

  The further they walked, the bleaker Loch-Deep seemed. It was as though the sun was a figment of their imagination. Rather than walking across a landscape marked by the coming of spring, they wandered through plains choked by winter. The trees stood bald and dark, and the grass crunched under the weight of their boots. Flies buzzed around them, but they looped in slow motions as if the air was too thick for them.

  “How much farther?” said Ed.

  The Savage rested his boot on a rock and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  He glanced around him as if he expected a crowd of infected to be creeping up on him. The Savage had seemed spooked since the attack in the cabin, and Ed was surprised that such a seasoned survivor had reacted that way. He guessed that no matter how many of the monsters you came across, your eyes never really adjusted to the sight.

  “Is something worrying you?” said Ed.

  The Savage scratched his neck. “My hairs are standing up. I keep getting this feeling that something’s looking at us.”

  “It is,” said Bethelyn. “Ripeech. He’s watching us.”

  “That thing can’t be real,” said Ed. “It’s the hunger talking. I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t survive on berries and still have enough in the tank to keep walking.”

  Earlier that morning, The Savage had caught a squirrel and roasted it on a small fire. The meat was chewy and there wasn’t much of it, but it was the best thing Ed had eaten in days. The rest of the time he’d had to make do with whatever mushrooms and berries The Savage found. Ed had a hard time trusting that they were edible.

  “You’re still not grasping it, are you?” said The Savage. “After everything you’ve seen, you’re still looking at the world through the same little boy eyes. Things have changed, Ed. You were safe for a while on Golgoth. You were spared some of the stuff the rest of us had to deal with. But now you’re going to have to face up to it.”

  “So where were you when it all started?” said Bethelyn.

  The Savage lowered himself down and sat on the rock. Sweat wet the ends of his hair. The front of one his boots was torn.

  “At home with my parents, if you must know,” he said.

  It was the first time he’d ever really told them anything about his past. Ed wondered if being in Loch-Deep had broken him.

  “I’d just been laid off at the microchip plant,” he continued. “Some smart bastard found a computer that could do calculations a lot faster than I could, and I guess they preferred its personality to mine.”

  “Never had you down as doing something like that,” said Ed.

  “At least I had a job, Wetgills. It wasn’t easy, you know. Going home to my wife and…”

  Ed was shocked. “You had a wife?”

  “Let him finish,” said Bethelyn.

  The Savage looked down at the ground. “Going back to your wife and saying ‘Hey honey, guess what? I’ve been replaced by a box of circuits and wires, so I guess we’re not going to make our mortgage payment this month. But look on the bright side, at least we can move in with my parents.’”

  “That’s rough,” said Ed.

  “That doesn’t even approach rough,” said Bethelyn. “Try losing your daughter.”

  Even The Savage was silent now. The breeze picked up and blew across a bunch of dandelions, sending their fluffy seeds into the air. A grey cloud smothered the
blue sky above. Somewhere behind them was the cabin. Ed wondered if the infected were still in it. Maybe they had figured out that the three of them had left, and right now they were following them across the plains.

  He thought about the diary that they’d found. He still couldn’t understand it. Someone had written about their infection, and about how they hoped they could survive it by meditating. What a croc. There were some things in life that having a positive attitude and clearing your mind of negativity couldn’t change.