The Dying & The Dead (Book 2)

by Jack Lewis

  One of the dogs gave a giant bark and jumped up against the fence, rattling the metal. Kim sucked in a shocked breath. She turned to look at the kennels, and as she did, her foot snagged on a stone. Before she could stop herself, she fell to the floor.

  Eric stopped running. He looked behind him and saw that Scarsgill was too busy speaking to Goral to notice. He grabbed Kim’s arm and tried to pull her to her feet, but the older girl was just as heavy as he was.

  “You need to get up,” he said.

  “I can’t.” Tears formed around her eyes.

  Eric glanced behind him. Scarsgill had straightened now. It would only be seconds until he noticed Kim on the floor.

  “Just leave her,” said a man jogging by them.

  Eric took a deep breath. Summoning strength reserves that he didn’t know he had, he lifted her to her feet. She started to walk, but Eric pulled her into a run.

  “Not long now,” he said. “Someone’s bound to stop.”

  Two boys ran in front of him. One of them was a boy who bunked in Eric and Kim’s cabin. His name was Martin Wrench, and at night he liked to lean over his bunk and slap the man below him. When the man stirred, Martin would lie back on his bed and pretend to be asleep.

  Martin and the other boy jogged just metres ahead of them. Martin glanced over to his left. Making sure Scarsgill and Goral were watching, he stuck his leg out in front of the other boy, sending him crashing to the ground.

  “Just keep running,” Eric told Kim.

  She tried to glance behind her, but Eric kept hold of her arm and made sure she only stared straight forward.

  Guards rushed across the track and picked up the boy. His face was grazed from the fall, and when he realised that he was the first to stop, he started crying.

  “That should have been me,” said Kim.

  “Well, thank God it isn’t.”

  They jogged on some more. Ahead of them, an old man slowed to a stop. As Eric and Kim went passed, the old man just lowered himself to the ground, sat on the stone and took deep breaths.

  “Okay,” said Eric. “You’re safe to stop now.”

  “What about you?” Kim said, panting.

  Eric looked behind him as he ran. A few other men and women had stopped running now. He fixed his stare ahead and saw Martin Wrench in the distance.

  “I’m going to win us some food,” he said.

  One by one the others started to drop out. Eric’s lungs burned, and with each step the stones pressed against his feet. Pain stretched across his calves, but he stared straight ahead and imagined returning to Kim with pockets full of food that she could actually eat.

  Soon there were just three of them. Eric thought that it would be one of the men who won, but the adults were given the hardest labour in camp, and it seemed like their bodies had been sapped by it.

  Martin Wrench ran ahead of him, and in front was Allie. Eric couldn’t believe how much energy the small boy seemed to have. Martin sped up until he was next to Allie, and Eric saw him stick a leg out to trip him.

  Unlike the boy before him, Allie saw the outstretched leg and skipped over it. Martin’s face turned red.

  You bastard, thought Eric.

  He sped up until he was level with Martin. The boy turned his head and looked at him, and Eric gave him a big smile.

  “What are you grinning at?” said Martin.

  “This.”

  Eric stuck an elbow into Martin’s stomach and caught him just below the ribs. Martin wheezed, and then fell to the ground. Eric fixed his stare ahead. It was just him and Allie now, but there would be no elbows for Allie. Martin had deserved it, but if Eric was going to beat Allie, then he’d do it fairly.

  The burning in his lungs spread to a blaze, and his calf muscles cried out at him. Allie was in the distance, jogging at an even pace as if he could keep going for hours. Eric thought of the food and the look on Kim’s face, but each breath he took hurt him, and he knew he couldn’t last.

  Scarsgill and Goral watched him on the sidelines. Eric put one foot in front of the other but it became more difficult each time, until finally his legs buckled. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, putting his arms in front of him to shield his face.

  “We have a winner,” he heard Goral shout from the sidelines.

  Eric put his head between his legs and caught his breath. An overwhelming nausea took hold of him, and he became aware of a pounding in his skull.

  Allie looked around him, and seeing that he was the last person running, he slowed to a stop. Goral gave a wide grin and hobbled over to the boy.

  Eric lifted his head and stared at Kim. He watched her as she sat on the ground and clutched her stomach. I’m sorry, he thought.

  Chapter Ten

  Tammuz (Baz)

  Baz was old enough to remember what a real pub used to look like. Things like that were fading memories now, but he remembered long oak bars and bottles of whiskey, felt-lined chairs, and overweight men throwing darts at boards.

  Darwin’s Bar in the east sector of the Dome couldn’t have been any different. It wasn’t, as many people thought, named after the Darwin’s Children. It was named after the man who opened it. His name was Oscar Darwin, and ironically enough, he had turned out to be a DC.

  “Your round,” said the gruff voice next to him.

  Ronnie Alderson sat to his right. Ronnie raised his glass in his right hand, but his left stayed at his side. His left hand was useless, his fingers bent and mangled after being crushed in an accident that he had never spoken about.

  He didn’t know whether he’d call Ronnie a friend. Outside of Darwin’s Bar, away from the glasses of beer and the uncomfortable chairs, they barely knew each other. Ronnie had no idea who Baz really was, and if he did, he wouldn’t have been sat drinking with him.

  Ronnie clicked his fingers.

  “Hello? Baz? It’s your round. Or are you going to make the cripple get another one?”

  “I’m going to make the cripple do it,” said Baz.

  Whenever he was with Ronnie he noticed his Northern accent creeping back into his speech. If they’d ever heard him talking this way in the Grand Hall, Marduk would have snickered until his mask fell off.

  Ronnie sighed and stood up. He walked to the bar, and when he returned minutes later, he slammed two beers onto the table. Pale yellow liquid swilled over the rim of the glasses and splashed the wood. Baz lifted the glass up and inspected it.

  “The home brew’s getting weaker,” he said.

  Ronnie huffed.

  “You know who’s to blame. For all of this expansion the Capita does, we don’t see anything from it. Can’t even get a decent drink.”

  “I guess they’ve got other things on their minds,” said Baz.

  Ronnie dipped his little finger in his drink.

  “Why’d you always do that?” said Baz.

  Ronnie shrugged. “My old man used to do it. He used to check if his pint was cold before he drank it. Something I picked up from him, I guess.”

  He lifted the glass, took a sip, and winced.

  “Anyway, you’re right; they do have other things on their minds. Like taking everything for themselves. Sitting in their Grand Hall and eating the food that they’re taking out of our mouths. I bet they sit there in their big chairs eating trays of apples and figs and God knows what else.”

  Baz felt his cheeks redden. “They probably…nah, they don’t do that.”

  “Someone needs to do something, Baz.”

  Baz looked around him. There was a man sat at the bar staring down at the wood, but he didn’t seem to be listening to their conversation. Two Capita guards strolled past the window outside. One of them glanced in, but two steps later they were gone.

  “I don’t come in here to talk about that stuff,” said Baz. “I come in here to drink this dog piss and forget about everything.”

  “And I come here because it’s the only place I don’t have screaming kids running around my feet. But sometimes it�
�s good to let off a little steam. You’re the only person I can talk to about this stuff, Baz. About the Capita and what they’re doing. You’re the only one I trust not to go sneaking off and telling the Five about it.”

  “Come on, Ronnie,” said Baz.

  He looked down at his glass and saw that it was already half empty. The man at the bar turned his head slightly, and in his paranoid mind, Baz wondered if he was listening to them. It was just like being in the Grand Hall with his Tammuz mask on, and wondering what kind of hidden meaning Marduk and Nabu were reading into his words.

  Ronnie’s glass was even emptier than Baz’s, and the mask around his lips was wet. They really should make the mouthpieces bigger, thought Baz.

  “The only reason I stay in the Dome,” he said, and burped. “Is that it’s the only place I can sleep without thinking an infected is going to chew my arse off. The Five are quick to make their decisions for us, sitting in their little chamber eating their figs…”

  Baz’s cheeks reddened some more.

  “…but they never stop to think about how it’s going to affect people like us, do they? They never get their hands dirty.”

  Baz leaned back into his chair. “Some people need to keep their hands clean and their minds sharp,” he said. “Not everyone can be a fighter. Someone has to make the decisions.”

  Ronnie held his left hand in the air. Baz had seen the misshapen fingers and flattened bones before, but it always made him want to turn his glance away.

  “You ever been near a war, Baz?” he said. “This is what you get. You’re a clever guy, but you could use a bit of time with a rifle. Then you’d know what I mean.”

  I could get him arrested whenever I chose, thought Baz. All he’d have to do was sit in the Grand Hall, use his Tammuz voice and talk about a guy he’d overheard spreading bad rumours about the Capita. He’d never do that, though. Part of him liked listening to Ronnie. He enjoyed hearing a contrary opinion from time to time.

  “Some of the stuff they do is necessary,” Baz said. “Even you must realise that. Take expansion, for instance. Where would we be if we didn’t move on? We can’t spend the rest of eternity in the Dome. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to clear out the Mainland and take it for ourselves.”

  Ronnie tipped the last of his beer into his mouth. The man at the bar moved his head a little more.

  “What about men and women who don’t go home to their families because they’re waving the Capita flag at a bunch of back-water towns?” said Ronnie.

  Baz knew that he was responsible for anyone who died in the name of expanding the Capita’s empire. Or Tammuz was, at least. He wondered where Baz ended and Tammuz began, and whether the sins of one of them stained the conscience of the other. He knew it was for the greater good, though, and that was how he lived with it.

  “I don’t believe you, you know,” said Ronnie. “I see something in you, Baz. Something behind your eyes. You’re like me. You don’t believe in their bullshit. And what’s more, I know other people agree with me, too.”

  Baz glanced at the man at the bar. His head was turned so much that he was almost unashamedly listening to them. Baz looked at Ronnie and widened his eyes, hoping the message to shut up reached him.

  Ronnie opened his mouth to speak when the pub doors opened. Three Capita soldiers walked in. They stood in the entrance and took in the scene around them. The man at the bar turned, and Baz was sure he saw him give them a subtle nod. The Capita guards looked over at Baz and Ronnie.

  “So, like you were saying,” said Baz, keeping his tone light. “You think it’s about time that the Capita raided another town?”

  Ronnie looked confused. “What are you - ?”

  Before he could finish the sentence, the Capita guards were next to them. One of them stood in front of them and put his baton down on the table. He picked up Ronnie’s glass, brought it to his lips and took a sip. He turned and looked at the barman.

  “Your stuff gets worse by the year, Oscar,” he said.

  Ronnie sat up straight. He gripped the table until his knuckles started to turn white. Baz could tell he was a hair away from losing it.

  “Ronnie Alderson?” said the guard, setting the glass down on the table.

  Ronnie nodded.

  The guard picked up his baton.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but we need to have a chat.”

  “Take a seat,” said Ronnie.

  The guard shook his head. “Not here.”

  Ronnie shook his head. “I’ve still got my drink.”

  The guard raised his baton, and then brought it down sharply on Ronnie’s mangled hand. Ronnie cried out and pulled it away. Baz leaned back in surprise. He had always assumed that Ronnie didn’t have any feeling in his left hand.

  Ronnie looked up at the guard. A fire blazed in his eyes.

  “Now just what the hell do you think-”

  In one motion the guard swept the glasses off the table. They fell to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. He gripped the table, tipped it over, and then rolled it over to the side. He nodded at the guards behind him.

  The two men stepped forward and gripped Ronnie. They lifted him to his feet, and Ronnie tried to shove them away.

  “Baz? What the hell’s going on?”

  Baz stood up. His lap was wet from the spilled beer.

  “I don’t know, Ron.”

  The guard poked Ronnie in the chest.

  “Got something to say? Because we know you’ve got a big mouth, fella. We know what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been seeing.”

  Spit bubbled on Ronnie’s lips. He twisted, but the guards kept a firm grip.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  The guard lifted his baton and then hit Ronnie on the kneecap. Ronnie screamed in pain, and his knees would have buckled had the two guards not forced him to stand up.

  “Take him away,” said the main guard. “Find the darkest cell we’ve got.”

  Ronnie looked at Baz with pleading eyes. “Baz, straighten this out. You can tell them. I haven’t done anything. Please, Baz.”

  Baz thought about it. This was one of the times where he missed the weight of his Tammuz mask. At least if he had been wearing that, he could have given the guards an order with the surety that they would follow it. But who was he to them now? Just a man in a pub having a drink.

  “Please, Baz,” said Ronnie.

  Baz knew there wasn’t a thing he could do. If he said anything, the guards would take him away too.

  “Come on,” said the guard. Then he looked at Baz. “This is the second time I’ve seen you. I remember you from the other night. Don’t make it a third.”

  Baz stood back, helpless, and watched as the guards dragged Ronnie out of the pub.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heather

  She wanted to look back and make sure that nobody was following them, but she didn’t. She knew that if she turned around, all she’d see would be the heads impaled on the stakes. They must have been effective in keeping strangers away from Kiele, but she wondered how the residents could look at them every day. Even worse was the question that needed to be asked; which unlucky people had donated their heads for public display?

  Charles tugged on Ken’s reins. The horse carried them across the dirt, responding to the tugs by picking up his speed. The bounty hunter leaned forward, the beak of his plague mask bobbing up and down as the horse ran.

  “Did you really need to stop to get that thing?” she asked him.

  “I thought you might have got sick of looking at my ugly mug,” he said. “Besides, I don’t feel right without it.”

  Charles’s mask used to give her nightmares. She’d dream about waking up in her bedroom and looking over to her door to see the bounty hunter standing in the darkness. The long leather nose of his mask poked over the doorframe. She saw his eyes watching her beneath the mask, gazing at her as she shook herself from sleep. His leather coat brushed against
the walls as he walked toward her and then towered over the end of her bed.

  Once they had gotten out of the cell, leaving Kiele had been simple. They took a route through a few side streets and kept their heads low until they reached the gates. By that point, Max and Rushden must have realised that they were missing. It seemed almost everyone in town had run to the old police station. Rather than guarding the gate to stop them leaving, they had left it unmanned.