Blood Memory: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5)

by Perrin Briar

  “I said we have to turn back.”

  Stan sat up and looked at Jordan. “Why?”

  “Come take a look.”

  Stan and Anne stepped up beside Jordan. The bridge on either side reached out about four feet, and then abruptly ended in a series of jagged flint rocks that had been scorched black. The gap between them was a good forty feet.

  Stan bent down and touched the scorched stones with his fingers. “Judging by the rocks it looks like some kind of fire or explosion might have done it.”

  “How are we going to cross it?” Anne said.

  “We can’t,” Jordan said. “We either have to keep going and hope there’s another bridge or turn back.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Stan said as he stood up. “What good will turning back do us? We need to keep moving. For all we know Queenie’s right behind us. How do we know there isn’t another bridge just up ahead?”

  “I looked. There isn’t one.”

  “A bit further, then.”

  “And we would never know about it. Or we could walk the entire length of the river without there being another one.”

  “We could swim.”

  This time Anne shook her head. “That’s fast flowing water. How would Jess get across?”

  “You and Jordan are strong swimmers,” Stan said. “Maybe you can take her between you.”

  Jordan shook his head. “She might drown. I wouldn’t want to take the risk.”

  Stan turned to the trees around them. “We’ll build a raft, then. Nothing fancy. Just something that will carry us downriver.”

  “With what?” Jordan spread his empty hands. “We don’t have any tools.”

  Stan frowned. Then he smiled. “We’ll fashion some out of flint.” He bent down to pick up a large rock. “We’ll carve this into an axe head and then tie it to a sturdy stick.”

  Jordan and Anne exchanged a concerned look.

  “Stan,” Jordan said, “even if we did make our own tools and even if we did build a raft that could go down the river, and if we had time for all of that, we don’t know where this river leads, if it goes anywhere. There might be a dam a mile ahead. There might be a pack of Lurchers over the next rise.”

  “Or it might lead straight back to the sea. We have to try something.”

  “You’re right, Stan, we do. And we have to keep moving. But for the sake of a few hours extra walking, I say we walk back the way we came and find another crossing. Maybe that marsh we came to earlier.”

  “The marsh?” Anne said. “It went on for miles. It’d take us hours to cross it.”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do, but what other choice do we have?”

  119.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time they got back to the marshland. The earth made loud slurping noises as they extricated their limbs, flies buzzing about their faces. Within minutes they were out of breath. Sweat beaded their brows and rolled down their faces.

  Stan made a “Whoa!” noise, fell backward and hit the marsh with a hard slap. His back and neck were covered in mud.

  Jordan waded over to him and helped him back up. “Good for your skin, so they say.”

  Stan glared at him.

  Cranes fishing nearby paid them no attention as they struggled through the marsh, legs sinking to the knee in some places.

  Jordan froze. Something moved in the corner of his eye. He held out a hand, and the others stopped. Jordan peered closer at a particular patch of mud not five feet away. There was no movement. He took a step forward. Thin slivers of mud shot up, reaching for his leg. The bloodshot eyes glared. It stretched with an arm whose bone was exposed to the shoulder. It flailed at Jordan, but had sunk to its waist. A creaking groan escaped its throat.

  “Great,” Stan said. “As if this wasn’t hard enough already.”

  Jordan looked out at the marshland with wary eyes. There were a hundred similar jutting objects. They couldn’t all be Lurchers, could they?

  “Be careful where you step,” Jordan said.

  It was slow, exhausting work as Jordan checked each footfall before he placed it. To their right, mud splayed aside as a large bubble formed beneath the surface. It popped and sprayed mud in a circle. There was a strong rotten egg smell. A new bubble began to form. They pressed on.

  “Does this marsh even have an end, do you think?” Anne said as the sun began to set. “Will we even get to the end before the sun sets?”

  “The only way to know is to keep going, I guess,” Jordan said.

  “‘Suck it and see’. Not my favourite way to live life, I must admit.”

  “At least we are living. And every step we take gets us closer to safety.”

  A hand snapped around Jordan’s ankle like a bear trap. A mouth chomped at the air, the only part of it visible above the mud. Jordan reached down and pulled at the Lurcher’s arm. The bone was rotten and came away with a damp snap. The fingers spasmed, clenching tight into a first.

  “Maybe not that step,” Anne said.

  “No,” Jordan said, tossing the arm aside. “Not that one.”

  The third Lurcher they came across had managed to snag himself on a tree branch that jutted out from the mud. They gave him a wide berth. The last Lurcher, closest to the edge of the marshland, was still a good five metres from dry land. Mud spilled from its mouth as it reached for them. It didn’t moan, but instead gargled an infinite supply of mud through its severed windpipe. It had bright blue and red spots on its face and torso.

  As Jordan stepped from the sludge and onto solid ground, he stumbled forward, the hard earth unexpectedly taking his weight. It was like he’d taken off heavy boots after a hard day of skiing, his muscles meeting no resistance. He helped pull Anne, Stan and Jessie from the sludge. Out of breath and tired from their exertions, they fell onto the ground.

  “I certainly hope… that’s the only time… we ever have… to do that,” Stan said between deep gulps of air.

  “I second that,” Anne said.

  The sun set and a dark velvet blanket lay across the world. The first frog croaks came from a dozen places at once, and then everywhere.

  “We’d better find somewhere safe to camp,” Jordan said.

  “I suppose that’s the good thing about the marsh,” Stan said. “It’s a kind of natural defence.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” a voice said.

  A man and woman stood behind them. The woman wore a long white robe that flared at the wrists and was stained brown around the hem. She had flaming red hair that spilled below her shoulders. She looked to be in her early forties, but good for it. Her body was shapely and firm like someone used to using it.

  The man beside her wore civvies and was in similarly good shape. His muscular forearms were covered in course black hair that matched that on his head. There were flecks of grey in his beard that added gravitas to his bearing. There was something animalistic and aggressive about his stance.

  “I am Lindsay,” the woman said in light, dulcet tones. “This is Roland. Our camp is only a short distance this way, if you’ll follow me.”

  She left without waiting for their response. Roland turned to follow her.

  Jordan, Anne and Stan shared a look.

  Stan shrugged. “Can’t be worse than sleeping out in the open.”

  “Knowing our luck,” Anne said, getting to her feet, “it almost certainly is.”

  120.

  A series of squat canvas tents clung to the earth like barnacles on a hull, glimmering with an amalgamation of green, brown, yellow and blue light from a bonfire at the centre of the camp. The inhabitants stood in a long line holding hands in what was no doubt meant to be a show of warm greetings. The women wore the same unadorned white robes as Lindsay, the men in civvies. The women outnumbered the men at least ten to one. They all wore plastic smiles that did not touch their eyes.

  “This isn’t weird,” Jordan said as they approached. He eyed the people with trepidation.

  “Looks like we’re not
too late for the hippy convention, at least,” Stan said.

  “Stop it you two,” Anne said. “They’re welcoming us. We’re guests. Behave yourself.”

  Lindsay stood to one side, slightly apart from the others. Roland was at her shoulder.

  “Welcome to Eden,” Lindsay said. “I have been chosen as leader here. I welcome you to our humble home. You must be tired after your journey.”

  A buxom blonde with what looked like Scandinavian ancestry stepped from the line.

  “Erica will show you to your accommodations where you can wash and change your clothes,” Lindsay continued. “You arrived just in time for tonight’s celebration. We will have a small feast to welcome you. Please feel relaxed. You are in no danger here.”

  The town was a sprawling mass, but well organised. It had been arranged in a giant circle. Homes had been placed in the centre, while the outside was used for social buildings. There was a garden for the growing of food, a play area for kids and adults, and some kind of shed made from tree trunks. There was also a large tent about five times the size of the others. It was multi-coloured from where they’d sewn several tents together. Anne was intrigued about what its purpose was, but was too tired to ask.

  They got more than a few glances from the people who stood outside their tents. They smiled and nodded as they passed.

  “This is the Visitor Centre,” Erica said, gesturing to two large tents that sat a stone’s throw from the main homes. Erica indicated for Anne and Jessie to enter the blue tent, the dark green one for Jordan and Stan.

  Jordan pulled up sharp. “Sorry, but we all sleep together.”

  Erica smiled. “Our camp rules state that new visitors must be divided by sex.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s our rule.”

  “Then we won’t sleep here,” Jordan said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Jordan led the others toward the camp exit.

  Erica stood staring at their departing backs, biting her bottom lip.

  “Wait!” Erica said, jogging over. “Wait, please! Normally we don’t allow such coupling but perhaps we can make an exception. However, we must make a small request.”

  “What request?”

  “For you not to have intercourse with one another.”

  Jordan blinked. “Intercourse?”

  “Yes. Sex.”

  “I know what the word means. It’s just… We, uh, don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  Erica looked from Jordan to Anne and back again. She smiled, visibly relieved. “Thank heavens. We assumed… Anyway, of course you can all stay together. Please, follow me.”

  Jordan and Anne looked at one another but said nothing.

  Erica led them into the dark green tent. There were six beds, three along each side with matching cabinets for clothes and belongings. Small candles had been placed around the tent, giving off a soft glow. There was a wash basin on a table with soap, a jug of water and clean towels. The wind rustled the canopy reminding Anne of the sails of their catamaran. It felt like a distant memory.

  “When you are washed and ready,” Erica said. “I will take you to the feast.” She left.

  They dumped their bags on the floor. Anne collapsed on a bed. Stan got to the wash basin first. He poured in some clean water from the jug and began scrubbing the mud off his head and shoulders.

  “What do you think of this place?” Anne asked, staring up at the canopy.

  Jordan shrugged. “People seem nice. Seems quite safe.”

  “What about their request?”

  “A bit odd. They never checked us for weapons, and yet they don’t want us sleeping together?”

  Anne shrugged. “If it’s how they’ve managed to survive this long who are we to say it’s wrong?”

  “I’m not saying it’s wrong. I’m saying it’s weird.”

  “I imagine people would turn to almost anything if they believed it would help them survive.”

  “That’s what scares me.”

  Anne sat up on her elbows to look at him.

  Stan straightened up, drying his face with a towel. His skin was clean, fresh and pink. “That’s better. Who’s up next?”

  Jordan chanced to look up and found a young girl no older than thirteen or fourteen peeking into the tent from the entrance flap. She had big brown eyes and puppy fat cheeks. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail. Her eyes went wide when she saw Jordan had seen her. She turned and ran away.

  Anne smiled. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

  121.

  They emerged outside washed and changed. Anne wore a yellow dress that was only a little too roomy in the hips. Stan had found a pale blue shirt and flat cap. He looked ten years younger. Anne teased it was because of his recent mud body pack. Jordan wore a nearly new pair of 501s and a grey polo shirt. Anne had dressed Jessie in a cute pink dress.

  Erica led them through the camp. The tents they passed were empty. Shadows danced and flickered, becoming firm and less active the closer to the centre they got. Anne could feel the heat long before she saw the fire.

  They rounded the final tent to find all the inhabitants sat on benches. There was a small inner circle close to the fire, and a wider circle that ran around it. Women with swollen stomachs sat on the outer benches, fanning themselves with old magazine pages and lumps of card.

  On the inner benches sat the men. There were only four of them. Two, including Roland, were in their mid to late forties. Another man, silver-haired and apparently proud of it with his shirt half unbuttoned and a fuzzy matt protruding like an angry squirrel, could not have been less than seventy. The last man wasn’t a man at all but a boy of fifteen. They all sat eager and excited, a palpable tension in the air.

  Muttered conversations dried up the moment Jordan and the others entered the circle.

  Erica turned to Jordan and Stan. “Wait here a moment, please.” To Anne and Jessie she said, “Follow me,” and led them toward the outer circle bench.

  Jordan stepped forward to argue.

  “We’ll be all right,” Anne said, alleviating his concern.

  As she took a seat and arranged Jessie’s skirt on the bench, she noticed the women around her watch Jordan and Stan with hungry eyes as if they were Greek gods. A tiny trickle of unease wormed into her stomach.

  The moment Jordan and Stan sat down on the centre bench, Lindsay stepped forward and nodded. Food was brought out on plastic plates: a leafy salad with some kind of vinegar dressing. It was the best thing any of them had tasted after the past few days of snacks.

  A stool was brought out for Lindsay and placed opposite Jordan and Stan. “Please, eat as much as you want,” she said.

  “You don’t need to tell us twice,” Stan said. “It’s delicious.”

  “We grow everything ourselves. Completely organic and free of pesticide.” Lindsay’s voice was soft and well-spoken, her words clipped, short and to the point.

  “What were you?” Jordan said around a mouthful of lettuce. “Before the Incident?”

  “A poor misguided fool. A slave to the rat race. At the moment of the Incident we were on a short weekend break away from the city. If we hadn’t been away… well, it’s difficult to say what might have happened. Like everyone else we were taken completely by surprise.”

  “You keep saying ‘we’,” Stan said. “Who were you with?”

  “Roland and I.” She looked over at the large bearded man, who stared back, expressionless. He was already halfway through his vegetables. “We were husband and wife, once.”

  “But no longer?”

  “We have other responsibilities now,” Roland said, tossing a cherry tomato into his mouth and glaring at Stan.

  “How did you come to be here?” Jordan asked Lindsay.

  “We stumbled out into the wild because the towns and cities were so dangerous,” Lindsay said. “We survived for a while in the treetops, living like Robin Hood and his Merry Men. We were halfway through building our little floati
ng village when the Biters came. Their combined weight pushed the trees over, crushing the people inside their homes. We hoped they’d have their fill and leave, but they didn’t. After three treehouses had been pushed over in as many days we decided to make a break for it.

  “We were chased by a pack of Biters through the woods to the marsh. We thought it was the end. We stumbled through the bog, and they followed us. The old and the infirm and the children couldn’t keep up. The Biters were gaining, and it was all we could do to keep in front of them. They kept coming and wouldn’t stop. Every few minutes we heard someone scream and we knew they’d caught another one of us. We daren’t look back for fear it would be someone we knew, someone we loved, so we pushed on.

  “Eventually the screams stopped. There was just the sound of us fighting for breath and the slurp of the mud that pulled at our boots, and the horrible deep moan of the Biters…”

  She shook her head, slid her hands under the wide cuffs of her robe and rubbed her forearms.

  “I lost my boots but kept going, barefoot. I cut my foot on a rock or piece of discarded rubbish or something. The smell drove the Biters crazy and they chased us even harder. And then we got across and crawled onto the dry land. That was when we finally stopped and looked back. We had no more energy to keep going. If they were going to fall on us, they might as well do it. But they didn’t come. They were trapped like bugs on flypaper. I can’t begin to tell you the relief we felt at that moment.

  “And when we turned around and saw the beautiful scene before us… I can still remember it now. The sun was behind a big fluffy white cloud, the rays of sunlight falling over the landscape of rolling green hills. It was like God was smiling down on us. Between the fast-flowing river and boggy marsh, we were safe.

  “I’d never been much of a churchgoer before that day, but I knew then that He had chosen us for a great purpose. Those deemed unworthy had entered through the cleansing bog and had not resurfaced on the other side. Of course, Eden wasn’t perfect – there were still man-made constructions that permitted entry.”