by Perrin Briar
“I was studying ancient Middle Eastern history at Port Said University,” Sam said. “It’s a subject that has always fascinated me.”
“What brought you down to these cells?” Anne said.
“I actually don’t know,” Sam said. “During the outbreak I was packing up my things to leave. I was going to travel Europe and the Middle East. If the world’s coming to an end, I thought I might as well do one of my bucket list items, right? If I survived I was going to make my way back home to Mumbai. But the night before I planned on leaving, the guards broke into my room and jumped me – me, and about twenty other foreigners in my dorm. They put us in these cells and wouldn’t let us out.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you why they brought you down here?” Jordan said.
“No,” Sam said.
“You don’t know?” Anne said.
“They never told me,” Sam said. “I banged on my cell door for hours and hours, days and days, asking them to tell me what it was I had done. But eventually I lost my voice and couldn’t speak any more.”
“They just locked you up?” Jordan said.
“They take me from this cell once a day, take my blood, and then toss me back in here,” Sam said. “They did the same for the others too, but they started taking them away. It’s the only time I ever get to leave this room. Some days I get so depressed I don’t even do my exercises. I just lay here, lazy and dumb. They wouldn’t even give me books to read. Listen, if you want to live, I suggest you don’t try to escape. The guards will kill you for even attempting it.”
“It’s not much of a threat,” Jordan said. “The king has already sentenced us to death.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “I’m sorry. You must have done something pretty bad.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Anne said. “We’re innocent.”
“But they think we’re guilty of regicide,” Jordan said.
“Regicide?” Sam said. “I’m sorry, English is my second language.”
“Killing the king,” Anne said.
There was a pause.
“The king is dead?” Sam said. “Then perhaps they might let me go free… Maybe the new king will take pity on me.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Jordan said. “The new king is a chip off the old block.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “I see.”
Anne jabbed Jordan in the ribs with her elbow and glared at him.
“But keep your spirits up,” Anne said. “There’s always hope.”
“That’s the problem,” Sam said. “There’s always hope.”
There was the jangling of keys in a lock at the end of the corridor. Anne blinked. She’d lost track of time. How long before it was sunrise? Night hadn’t passed yet, had it?
“Get ready,” Jordan said to Anne.
They took out their tile knives and hid them under the straw in the corners of the cell nearest the door. Jordan held Anne’s hand, weaving her fingers through his own. They stood side-on to the door, feet shoulder-width apart, prepared to take the water cannon in the shoulder.
The gaoler stepped in front of their prison door. His eyes surveyed the room, and then passed over Jordan and Anne. He was a large, egg-shaped man with a short neck and a bum that reached halfway up his back. He grumbled, perhaps in satisfaction, and then shifted his weight and moved away. He was replaced by another figure, this one shorter and better formed.
“King Haji?” Anne said.
“The one and only,” King Haji said.
Jordan hesitated a moment before getting to his knees and pressing the palms of his hands to the floor. Anne joined him. It never hurt to be supplicant.
“Rise, please,” King Haji said.
Jordan and Anne did, making sure to keep their eyes down. Out the corner of his eye Jordan could see the young king’s smile.
“You don’t need to pretend to be a subject,” King Haji said. “We both know you have no interest in that. And I hardly expect it from someone who murdered my father.”
“But we didn’t-” Jordan said, before noticing the expression on the king’s face. “You already know we didn’t do it.”
“Yes,” King Haji said. “I know.”
“But in the main hall…” Jordan said.
“I’m a newly crowned king with a large contingent of people who want to usurp my throne,” King Haji said. “I need to consolidate my power and make examples of those around me.”
“Lucky us,” Jordan said.
King Haji removed his gloves and pulled a plain wooden stool over from the corner. He sat down. Jordan’s eyes flickered toward the corner where his knife was hidden.
“What are your names?” King Haji said.
“Jordan. This is Anne.”
“Nice to meet you both,” King Haji said. “I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances. I apologise for the way I treated you. You don’t deserve to be locked up in this cage for having done nothing wrong, besides meeting one of our less honourable citizens, of course. I have placed an order for the capture of this Ori Mizrahi of which you spoke. No one with clear wits would suspect out-of-towners to have carried out such a plan. After all, how would you have known about the secret entrances if you’d just arrived?”
The king clasped his hands around his knee and smiled.
“Where are you from?” he said.
“England,” Jordan said. “We both are. If I’m not mistaken, your accent gives you away too.”
“I lived in England for many years, boarding at Eton,” King Haji said, “and was due to start at Oxford in the autumn. But then I was called back home, just when the Incident happened. It began in the Middle East. Did you know? Some say in Afghanistan or Iraq, no doubt part of a weapon program gone astray. You would have thought my father would have wanted me far from the outbreak, wouldn’t you? But no. He wanted me close at hand in case something happened to him. Turns out he was right.”
The king reached into an inside pocket of his robe and took out a piece of folded paper. He extended it toward the prison bars, pinched between his middle and index fingers.
“I have here a free pass for the Suez Canal,” he said. “Hand it to the officer on duty and you will be admitted.”
“Thank you,” Jordan said, reaching for the paper.
The king pulled it back out of reach, smiled, and then let Jordan have it.
“You also have my word that I will lower the canal fee,” King Haji said. “We certainly don’t need a repeat of this event. For what it’s worth, I believe your story. And I rather admire your attempt to help a city of people you had little connection to. My father was not a good man, an even worse father, a terrible king. Fortunately I was raised by my mother. I intend on being a better, kinder ruler than he ever was. But in order for me to do that I will need the food vault key returned to me.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have it,” Jordan said. “Mizrahi does. Find him, and you’ll find your key.”
“I gathered as much,” King Haji said. “I’ve ordered men to guard the food vaults. So far, no sign.”
“Are you certain you know the locations of all the vaults?” Jordan said.
The king turned his head to the side.
“Possibly not,” he said. “My father was a great fan of conspiracies and secrets. Unfortunately, it seems the only secrets he was ever good at hiding were those that harmed another person. The truth is, my power counts for little without that key. If I don’t recover it, the city is doomed.”
“We’d do everything we can to assist if we were released,” Jordan said.
It was a bold move, one that was not lost on the king. He took Jordan and Anne in.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe you would.”
He got to his feet.
“This is goodbye,” he said. “My man will let you out of your cell and lead you to the Moon Door. Should you capture Mazrahi and the key, you can also claim the reward. My father was at least generous in his desire for vengeance.”
“Wait
,” Anne said. “What about Sam?”
“Sam?” King Haji said.
“He’s the last prisoner here,” Anne said, gesturing to the cell opposite.
King Haji crouched down and looked in at the shining eyes on the other side of the door.
“What are you in here for, Sam?” he said.
“I don’t know, Your Highness,” Sam said.
“You don’t know?” King Haji said, frowning. “How long have you been down here?”
“Since the Incident, Your Highness,” Sam said.
“And no one told you why you were here?” King Haji said.
“No, sir,” Sam said. “I mean, Your Highness.”
“Did my father know you were down here?” King Haji said.
“I don’t know, Your Highness,” Sam said. “I never saw him. I don’t think he would have known.”
King Haji frowned.
“And you’re sure you don’t know what caused you to be here?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Sam said.
“Then I’d say you’ve been in here long enough, wouldn’t you?” King Haji said. “You shall be set free too.”
Sam whimpered with joy.
“Thank you, sir!” he said.
“Live a good life, Sam,” King Haji said. “At least you’ll have good company.”
The king took his leave.
“Do you think he’s really letting us go?” Anne said.
“I don’t know,” Jordan said, barely breathing for fear of breaking the spell. “We’ll have to see.”
They bent down and picked up their tile knives and tucked them in the waistbands of their trousers.
The gaoler ambled down the narrow corridor and approached their cell, eyeing Jordan and Anne as if the stench emanated from them. He unlocked their cell. The door squeaked on rusty hinges.
Jordan and Anne stepped from the cell, senses on high alert, expecting an attack at any moment.
Next, the gaoler unlocked Sam’s door. Sam peeked out, timid like a wild animal. He stepped through, onto the wonky cube bricks underfoot. His arms and legs were skeletal thin, his mop of dirty black hair hung about his shoulders. He smelled ripe like fruit left out in the sun, but the smile on his face beamed like a child in a candy shop.
“Thank you!” Sam said, stretching his arms out wide to enjoy the space. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
“Don’t thank us,” Anne said. “We’re not outside yet.”
25.
Jessie’s whole body clenched and expelled a lungful of dirty brown water. Her hair stuck to the side of her face with wads of saliva. She spat lumps of mud out of her mouth as her body convulsed again. Her limbs felt lethargic, unresponsive to her commands, like she was drunk.
The water washed against her feet. One was bare. Ori must have pried her shoe off when she pulled away from him. The thought of that man and what he wanted to do to her sent shivers through her body, and she heaved again, this time bringing up nothing but a hacking cough. She was empty. Her stomach constricted with cramps. She rolled onto her belly and crawled toward the water’s edge. She splashed the murky water on her face.
She lay on her back, closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. After several minutes of deep meditation her body relaxed and she felt calm. But she was exhausted, her muscles aching like she’d been beaten with paddles.
The wire had slipped off her left wrist at some point and dangled from her right, trailing in the mud. Her ankles were still tied together. She loosened the wire, working out the knots, and made circle motions when she’d finished. They throbbed where the wire had cut into her, forming nasty lacerations, but it felt good to have some freedom of movement again.
Jessie rolled onto her knees and pushed herself up onto her feet. She stumbled, and put out a hand to stabilise herself, but there was nothing there to help. She stamped her foot down, driving it into the mud, locking herself into position. She took a step forward, and her whole body worked together to take it. She took another step, and began to make her way up the muddy embankment.
She got to the top and was confronted by groups of people milling about on the street, conversing. Jessie couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she supposed they were discussing what had caused the alarm to go off.
Jessie took careful steps forward. To her right was the dock, the boats parked alongside their quays. One of them would be Hope Tomorrow, but she did not risk turning to look at it for fear Ori would be looking for her. She looked up at the large mansion jutting from the centre of the city. Anne and Jordan were inside. She had to get them out somehow.
A young boy pushed a wheelbarrow down the steep incline of a hill. It was loaded with something that rattled beneath its blanket covering. The boy was going too fast. The wheelbarrow was going to tilt over. Jessie caught it at the front and side so it didn’t topple over.
“Careful,” Jessie said.
The boy spoke in Arabic, but it sounded thankful.
“Go slower,” Jessie said. “Use your weight to pull back on the wheelbarrow.”
The boy didn’t understand.
“Like this,” Jessie said.
She stepped behind the wheelbarrow and showed him what she meant, leaning back as the wheelbarrow pulled her down the incline. The boy’s eyes lit up. He nodded and smiled, itching to get going again. He raised a hand, waving at Jessie as he continued down the steep hill, the wheelbarrow immediately beginning to tilt over again.
Jessie continued on up the hill, forcing one foot in front of the other. The outer layer of her clothes was already dry, but still wet in the crevices where the material was thick and folded over.
Silence swept over the townsfolk. They had stopped gossiping, some with their mouths open, in the middle of a sentence, expressions frozen.
Then Jessie became aware of a rushing sound, like a fountain’s spray splashing over a concrete surface.
Jessie turned.
“Oh my God,” she said.
A dark wall, almost invisible against the black of night, drew through the port. It was unlike anything Jessie had ever seen before. It was gargantuan in size, oars extending out of its twin hulls, scrabbling along the water’s surface like an alien species from another world. They worked in perfect unison, rising and falling like the tide they rode upon. They were going at some pace.
The oars stopped abruptly, rising out of the water at a ninety-degree angle, and then snapped back inside the hulls. The ship headed full-steam ahead for the dock. There wasn’t a quay large enough to support it, but going at the speed it was, Jessie didn’t suppose mooring was its purpose.
The giant ship, not slowing, met the first of the quays, and ran through it, obliterating it in a shower of splinters, like it was a model made of matchsticks, and scythed through the moored boats like tissue paper.
The townspeople jolted back as if given an electric shock. Some turned to run, most stayed put to watch, finding it hard to believe this was really happening.
The ship’s hulls met the earth and ploughed through it, its underside scraping the shallows and tearing up the paved roads. The colossal ship screamed as it ground to a halt.
As the dust settled, Jessie could see the ship too had been damaged. Large holes had been rent in its twin hulls, black and wide, like gaping jaws.
Some of the townsfolk drifted closer for a better look, to take advantage should there be a sudden rush to scavenge anything on board.
The giant ship was silent. Not a soul stirred. No gangplanks were lowered, nor any ropes tossed over the ride. The dockhands edged closer still.
A groan rose up into the night, the town so silent Jessie was certain everyone could hear it. It came again, louder this time. The dockhands, who up until this point had been edging forward, paused, and began to reverse direction.
The hair on the back of Jessie’s neck rose and she shivered. A second groan, this time from the starboard side hull, joined the first. The shadows inside the hull moved, and something stepped o
ut into the moonlight. The dockhands must have witnessed something Jessie couldn’t see, because they turned as one and ran toward the city, shouting a word Jessie vaguely remembered at Ras El-Kanayis. The Arabic word for the undead.
The town erupted into screams. Merchants dumped their wares, and parents scooped up their children, running to higher ground.
A wave of the undead spilled from the broken hulls like a torrent, hissing and moaning and rushing toward the living, moonlight casting crosshatch patterns through their ribs and across the dock. They limped and dragged themselves up the streets in pursuit.
The dockhands pushed back against those behind, their greed at rushing forward now marking their death warrants. They raised their arms in self-defence as the Lurchers fell upon them, tearing at the skin on their exposed arms. The men screamed and hammered at the undead biting into them. The Lurchers released their victims and took after others fleeing the scene.
The victims, thankful at having been spared with only a minor injury, ran away, and then screamed and hit the ground, their bodies thrashing like they were possessed by a demon, hands spasming into birdlike claws and tearing at their clothes and flesh as their backs arched in their death throes. Then they stopped, lying prone and motionless, before their limbs twitched and they began to get back up, this time with slow deliberate movements and a dead-eyed gait. They joined their comrades.
Lurchers threw their weight against blockaded doors, beating at them with their fists, piling on top of one another. The doors snapped under their combined weight. Other Lurchers tore instead at the flimsy windows, hands snapping off chunks of wood. The Lurchers spilled into the house like a flood.
The people on the inside poked back at the monsters with sticks, striking them in the face and eyes. The Lurchers seized the sticks and pulled them away from their aggressors. Some held on, refusing to give up their only means of protection, and were dragged outside. The Lurchers were on them as soon as they were exposed, yanked out like a winkle from its shell.
Screams rose into the night like a hellish opera; a baritone yell here from a bearded man with a Lurcher biting deep into his thigh, a high-pitched scream there from a girl watching her mother’s flesh get stripped from her exposed shoulder. And for every opera there was always a conductor.