Gods of the Dead (Rising Book 1)

by Ward, Tracey

  He nods, the movement jerky. “Yeah, so are we. You really have water?”

  “Yes. I’ll share it with you.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “I don’t have a catch.”

  “There’s always a catch. No one gives anything away for free. What do you want for the water?”

  “To see you survive.”

  “No,” he argues. “Bullshit. What do you want in return?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and think about his question.

  He sways on his feet as he waits for my answer.

  “I’m going to help you today,” I finally tell him, “and someday you can help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  “I don’t know. We’re not there yet.”

  His body slouches under the heavy weight of his brother. I take a step closer to him, feeling his eyes on me as I move.

  “Can I help you with him?” I ask, gesturing to the kid.

  The guy nods warily.

  I step in close to the kid and gently push my arm under his until his armpit is resting on my elbow. He’s too short for me to drape his arm around my neck so I take as much of his weight on my forearm as I can. The other guy follows my lead and we carefully walk forward into the bushes. It’s not easy walking all three of us through the thick underbrush and eventually I get tired of trying and wordlessly hoist the kid up onto my back, slinging him over my shoulders like a deer I’m bringing home for dinner. His brother is too tired to protest and he falls in step behind me as I lead them deep into the woods.

  I can feel the boy’s heartbeat on my back. It’s fast. His breathing too. He’s in bad shape.

  When we reach the clearing where I’ve been camping, I slowly lower the kid down onto my sleeping bag. His brother drops to the ground, sitting next him.

  “Wake him up if you can,” I tell him as I fill my tin cup a quarter of the way with fresh water from my jug.

  “Ryan,” the guy says, gently shaking the kid. “Wake up. We have water.”

  Ryan mumbles and his eyes flutter but he’s clearly not going to be coherent any time soon. I hand his brother the cup and take Ryan by his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position and propping him against a tree. Taking the cup back from his brother, I pull on Ryan’s jaw to open his mouth and tip his head back only slightly. I want him to swallow this naturally, not drown him in his sleep in it.

  I pour a small trickle of water on Ryan’s tongue and watch as it runs back to his throat. He swallows reflexively.

  “Good,” I mumble encouragingly. I add more water to his tongue and he swallows again.

  “Is he drinking it?” the guy asks anxiously.

  “Yes. He’s swallowing it. It’s slow feeding it to him, but we don’t want to give him too much anyway. He could vomit it back up if he gets overfull.” I glance at the guy to find him sitting with his face in his hands. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Me or him?” he asks, his voice muffled by his hands.

  “Both of you.”

  “Him, two days ago. Me, more like three. I think. I don’t know.” He sits up and shakes his head, dropping his hands. “I’ve lost track of the days.”

  “I have deer jerky. Nuts. Some mushrooms. Hopefully we can get him awake enough to eat soon.”

  I finish feeding Ryan the water and slowly ease him back down onto my bag. I refill the cup, this time halfway full, and hand it to the guy. He immediately drinks it down as I pull a jar of Vaseline out of my pack. I put a small daub on my finger and trace it over Ryan’s cracked and bleeding lips, then I offer it to his brother who does the same for himself.

  “Thank you,” he says as he hands it back to me. “For everything. I’m getting kind of worried you’re a mirage and I’m going to wake up and find out I just drank my own urine.”

  I smile. “I’m hoping that doesn’t happen.”

  “Me too. It’d really suck to drink piss.”

  “Not as much as ceasing to exist.”

  He snorts a laugh that turns into a dry cough. “Yeah. I guess not. What’s your name?”

  “Trent. What’s yours?”

  “Kevin.” He gestures to the boy sleeping soundly on my bag. “That’s my brother. Ryan.”

  “I got that.”

  “From what?”

  “When you said it.”

  Kevin frowns. “When did I say it?”

  “When we gave him water.”

  “Wow. I don’t remember any of that. Did he drink it?”

  “Yes. I’ll give him a little more in a few minutes.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He nods his head, his eyes scanning the small campsite. “Okay.”

  I open my Tupperware container of nuts I’ve collected and hand him a fistful of them. “Here. Eat these, have another cup of water, and go to sleep.”

  His eyes widen with fear. “I can’t sleep. I have to watch out for Ryan. I have to keep watch.”

  “I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  I sit down slowly across from him. His eyes are sharper than they were on the road. He’s having a moment of clarity, no matter how short-lived it may be. “What exactly have I done to make you think you can’t?”

  “It’s hard to trust people. Everyone wants something from you.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “How long have you been alone?” he asks, hesitantly taking the handful of nuts from me.

  “Since the quarantine fell.”

  He gapes at me. “That was… years. Over two years ago.”

  “Three.”

  “You’ve been alone for three years?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your family? They died?”

  “It was just my dad and I, and yes. I killed him.”

  He stares at me blankly, my blatant confession rolling around in his brain and looking for a place to land but there’s no ground to take it. It’s not a thing that sits well anywhere with anyone. Least of all me.

  “I killed mine too,” he whispers almost inaudibly. “They turned and they tried to eat Ryan. So I killed them.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Almost four years. Did your dad… did he turn?”

  “I watched it happen.”

  He shakes his head faintly. “I didn’t see it. One minute they were my parents and the next they were trying to kill us. I kind of wonder if it would have been easier to see the change. To say goodbye.”

  I shift uneasily, my spine itching with a restless feeling. A feeling like I need to run or react, but the reflex is an old one. It belongs to a time that’s already come and gone, a decision that was already made. To a bullet that’s already been fired.

  “It doesn’t make it easier,” I say quietly. “I can promise you that.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  He rubs his hand over his face again, digging his fingers into his eyes. “I have no clue.”

  I stand and take the cup to the water jug. “You should sleep.” I hand him the cup and watch as he tosses the nuts in his mouth before drinking. “Take that spot next to your brother. If he wakes up he’ll be confused. He’ll want to see you’re here.”

  “You’re right. Thanks.”

  Kevin lays down next to his brother so they’re face to face. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. Just five minutes until he’s out, and I’m alone again.

  I don’t know what to do with myself. I should go out to hunt, but I can’t leave them unguarded. I should gather more water, but my rain traps are too far away. I’m tethered to the camp, to the bodies on the ground. The live bodies.

  It’s a nice change of pace.

  Night will be on us soon. My only source of warmth is the sleeping bag Ryan is resting on top of so if we’re all going to pass the night down here on the dirt, I’ll need to build a fire. It’s not something I do very often, not unless I’m cooking, but with the state Kevin and Ryan are i
n it’s a necessity. I’m kind of a happy to have a reason to do it. I’m looking forward to the warmth. To the smoky scent.

  To the night being a little less dark.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vin

  Asher and I run for the exit where we’re joined by more members of Marlow’s gang, all of us with weapons at the ready. We sprint in a tight herd toward the gates next door. Normally secured by chains and guards, they’re empty and flung wide open, and even though that’s unsettling, it’s not surprising. They wouldn’t sound the alarm if the wheels hadn’t fallen off.

  We clear the gates and start making our way up the long, winding trail that leads to the outer rim of the building. I can hear the guys around me breathing heavily, their footsteps frantic but falling short of mine. I’m the first to reach the entrance to the field just as the old crank siren set up by the scoreboard goes still. The others pile in behind me and we pause high in the stands looking down on the field. Nothing looks out of place. Scared people are standing in small clusters looking around with wide eyes, but they’re not moving. They’re rooted to the ground next to the gardens when what they should be doing is heading into their homes for cover.

  As I’m opening my mouth to shout down at them I see a parade of people making their way slowly out of the tunnels and out onto the field – another breach in protocol. Another sign things are worse than I thought.

  Then there’s the gun in my back.

  Guns are everywhere. They’re like bones on the street – you can’t walk five feet without finding one – and they’re just as useful. A million guns won’t do you a damn bit of good without bullets, and those are harder to come by. Extremely hard. Most people used up all their ammo in the first days when everyone from their grandmother to their priest was trying to eat them. Now finding a few useful shells is like finding the Holy Grail.

  “Drop the knife,” Reynolds says in my ear, his voice low and his breath hot against my already feverish skin. “Hands in the air. Move forward. Now.”

  I haven’t had time to react but he immediately digs the barrel of the gun painfully into my spine. It’s a reminder not to mess with him because, let’s be real, the guy knows me. Knows how uptight I am about loyalty and betrayal and that my first instinct is to take his face in my hands and pound it to a pulp, whether he has a gun or not.

  But does he have bullets? Has he hoarded the Holy Grail all these years?

  That, I don’t know and I don’t want to take a risk on it because even though a shot in the back might not kill me, it will cripple me and at that point I may as well be dead.

  I drop my knife and raise my hands into the air.

  “Forward,” he reminds me in a stiff bark.

  I take a slow step forward until I’m at the edge. I’m standing over the steps that lead down to the field and the herd of people being brought to the center of it. He nudges me down one step, then another, until I fall into a rhythm he’s happy with.

  I watch the crowd, looking for Marlow but I don’t see him. What I do see is a lot of people holding guns. A lot of people. Easily twenty of our nearly one hundred, all of them people I recognize. Men and women both. People I’ve eaten with, laughed with, fought in the Underground with. I go to turn my head to look behind me, to see who besides Reynolds is holding a gun, but he’s quick to smack me in the face.

  “Eyes forward,” he commands.

  I clench my jaw, balling my fists in the air, but I don’t turn around again.

  By the time we make it to the field it looks like they’ve paraded the entire place out there too. Kids are clinging to their parent’s legs, the kitchen staff is still wearing aprons, and the night shift guards are shirtless and blinking into the bright midday sun.

  And still there’s no sign of Marlow.

  “Good afternoon!”

  All eyes shift to the south end of the stadium where a guy I don’t recognize stands with his arms raised. He’s flanked by two other men, both members of Marlow’s guard. Both carrying guns pointed down at us – their family.

  My blood runs hot at the sight.

  “My name is Daniel,” the guy continues loudly. “You don’t know me, but you know a few of my friends because they’re your friends as well. They’ve lived with you. They’ve fought the plague beside you. They’ve been your family for the last year. Some longer. I hope you’ll remember that as we work through this transition together.”

  “Where’s Marlow?!” a woman calls out frantically. Her frightened eyes scan the crowd, searching for him or some reassurance. Her hands grasp tightly at the worn out t-shirt of the little blond girl next to her. “What have they done with him?!”

  Daniel raises his hand to calm the crowd before it can get going. “Patience. Patience. I promise you that your leader is alive and well. We haven’t hurt him and we don’t plan to. What we want more than anything is for this to go smoothly.”

  “What exactly is this?” Asher demands from behind me.

  I glance back at him, my eyes darting to his hands.

  He gives me an impatient look and raises them for me to see. Empty. No gun.

  “That’s an excellent question,” Daniel answers, addressing the entire stadium. “Plain and simple, this is a change in management. Marlow will be stepping down as the commander of this colony, I will be stepping in, and your lives will carry on as usual. This situation does not need to become violent. In fact, nothing would sadden me more than to see it turn ugly.”

  “Who are you?” an old farmer demands.

  Daniel smiles at him. At all of us. “I’m a shepherd sent to lead your flock.”

  Religious freaks, I think with disgust. Perfect.

  When the world went to hell the religious were quick to stand up and start casting stones. All in the name of God and his holy vengeance for how evil we’d all become. Some fanatics took up together but they didn’t last long. They weren’t in the habit of going out into the world for supplies because they refused to fight the zombies. They felt like the zombies were God’s own personal army here to wipe out the wicked, meaning if they were bitten and turned, it was punishment. If they stayed hidden they stayed holy so they shut their homes up tight and waited for it to blow over. Only it’s three years later and there’s not so much as a breeze.

  Looks like they’re finally getting proactive.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering what this means for all of you,” Daniel continues. “It’s a valid concern and let me quickly put your minds at ease. It means nothing. Nothing in your life will change. You’ll live here and work the way you always have because as I see it, it’s a good system and if it’s not broken why fix it? You’re all thriving and happy. You’re comfortable and safe. Why would I want to change that?”

  “Then why are you taking over?” one of the nurses asks. “Why not just leave us alone?”

  His face falls, becoming dark and serious. “Because there are more people out there, good and strong men, women, and children who have lost their homes. Who need the safety you have here. And I want to give that to them.”

  “You want to push us out to make room for your own people,” I call out.

  He looks at me, his eyes lingering for a beat too long to be comfortable. “No,” he finally answers. “That’s absolutely not what we want. I want to merge the two flocks and lead them as one.”

  “There’s no room for that!” the nurse shouts angrily.

  “Not here, no. That’s why as I stand talking to you here another team is taking control of the baseball stadium as well.”

  The crowd erupts in gasps of shock and surprise, murmurs of confusion and anger. But not from everyone.

  Mixed in with the appalled are the unaffected. The unconcerned. The men and women who have heard the changes and are taking them in stride. Maybe even welcoming them because it’s no secret that Marlow has an ugly past, and whether he wants to admit it or not I know for a fact a lot of people here see him as a slum lord. As much as we’re all thriving compared t
o most of Seattle, not everyone loves Marlow’s swift brand of justice or the fact that we’re not a democracy. Marlow is King and everyone in the stadium knows it.

  At least they used to.

  When they bring him out at gunpoint, we all know his reign has ended. His shoulders are slumped, his long hair falling out of his ponytail. He’s been fighting. Not too much, they obviously didn’t want to rough him up before showing him to the crowd, but you can’t corner a cougar and not get scratched. Three men I’ve never seen before surround him on the south, east, and west, granting the crowd a full frontal view of him in his dirty jeans and tattered sweatshirt.

  It’s then with him standing next to Daniel’s crew that I notice how clean they are. How perfect their clothes are. Not a rip or a hole anywhere to be seen. Each of them has tightly cut hair and either shaved faces or expertly trimmed beards. They look like they stepped right out of the old world or a Tide commercial. It’s unnerving to see and it stirs something in me. Fear and rage. An overwhelming sense of disgust at the injustice of it. The total disregard for the struggles we’re all facing every day and I wonder where the hell they came from. Where have they been living for the last three years and why are they just coming out and laying claim to the new world now?

  “I gave your leader a choice,” Daniel explains, gesturing to the caged animal next to him. “Join us and take a position of authority under me or vacate the premises. He has opted to leave peacefully.”

  “The guns are empty!” Marlow shouts, suddenly stepping forward to address the crowd. “Turn on them! Take back control of your home and punish the ones who—“

  The air is cracked by the rip of a gunshot, piercing and unmistakable. I flinch instinctively and search for who fired the shot. It came from inside the crowd, near the back.

  It came from Nora.

  She’s standing on the fringe of the kitchen crew, all of whom have dropped to the ground. Her arm is pointed at the sky. Her fingers are coiled around a black pistol.

  “They’re not empty,” Daniel clarifies ominously, his kind mood evaporating with the smoke rising and fading over Norah’s gun. “We would rather not use them but if you force our hand we’ll have no other choice. You can either stay and join with us, living your life as you’ve grown accustomed to, or you can go. It’s as simple as that, but the choice has to be made immediately. Everyone choosing to stay please remain here on the field for further announcements and orientation. For those of you who are leaving, we’ll escort you to the exits.”