Winter Castle (Winter Plague Book 2)

by Isla Jones

  “So you—”

  “Shut up.” I hardened my words by flicking off the safety on the gun. “You talk too much. Just sit there and look pretty.”

  His false grin faded and the mask slipped. I was faced with the monster he’d tried to hide; the one I’d recognised anyway.

  Castle burst through the door.

  My gaze swerved to him, and took in the rage that scowled his face. But that anger wasn’t directed at me—his deadly eyes were on Billy.

  Billy craned his neck to see Castle. He didn’t have to.

  Castle stormed over to him, and just I was about to ask what had happened, his fist reeled back and—crunch.

  My hands slapped to my open mouth as he pulled back, then punched Billy again. His fist connected with the same sickening sound as before.

  “Castle!” I jumped off the shelf and limped, fast, over to him. “Castle, what the hell!”

  My hands snatched out for his arm, and he stilled as if only just realising I was there. Castle looked over his shoulder at me, a fierce rage simmering behind the coldness of his green eyes.

  “What are you doing?” I spat, though my words shook—I didn’t want to know the cause for the outburst. I didn’t want to know what Castle had found to release his rage.

  Castle turned and grabbed my shoulders. A battle clashed in his eyes; calmness fighting bloodlust. “Go to the storage room,” he said. “Go there, and wait for me.”

  “What?” I looked between him and Billy, whose nose had flattened like a crushed can. “Why? Castle, what’s going on?”

  He shook his head; he didn’t want to tell me, or he couldn’t tell me. “Just go.”

  I knew that if I left that room, Castle would really hurt Billy. It’s not that I cared about the creep, but he really hadn’t done anything to us—It didn’t sit well in my heart knowing that if I walked through that door, he probably wouldn’t live.

  “Storage room,” said Castle steadily. “Now.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Tell me what’s going on first.”

  Castle clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t used to being challenged all the time, I knew. But I wasn’t his puppet, and I wasn’t going to treat him like everyone else had back at the group. He’d saved my life and I’d saved his.

  We were even.

  We were equals.

  “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s happened.” I folded my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “So talk.”

  Billy’s wheezing was almost drowned out by the sound of Castle’s internal screaming. Sometimes, in moments like these, I truly think he hates me. Really hates me.

  “This piece of shit,” spat Castle, “has a disturbing collection of photographs. I found them in the study. He deserves to die.”

  Billy spat blood onto the floor. It almost touched my shoes, and I slid a step away. “They ain’t mine,” said Billy. “I swear, they ain’t mine.”

  Castle slid his fierce stare to Billy. “You’re in the pictures.”

  “I just…” Billy shook his hanging head. “I was there, but I didn’t do nothin’.”

  Bile burned my throat. My eyes closed and I tried to block it out.

  Castle, still holding onto my shoulders, pulled me closer. I kept my eyes shut.

  “Storage room,” he whispered. “And wait for me.”

  I opened my eyes, revealing the tears that had welled in them. My conscience left me—I nodded and limped over to the counter. My bag sat on top of it, beside a men’s magazine that I’d been reading. I took both and walked through the door. When I shut it behind me, I pressed my hands to my ears and quickly made my way down the corridor, as far from the shop-front as possible.

  Fifteen minutes had passed as I waited in the back room.

  I didn’t hear cries or screams. I suspected that Castle had muzzled him.

  Cries would attract the rotters.

  The thought of the photographs haunted me. I could only imagine what they showed, but they haunted me nonetheless.

  I got tired of waiting in there, alone. I flicked on the key-ring flashlight attached to my bag and aimed it at the door. Leaving the magazine on the floor, I slung my bag over my shoulder and crept out of the room. It was dark, even with the weak light of the small torch.

  My hand stretched out for the wall and I felt my way down the corridor until I reached the office. Castle had left the door open. I ducked inside and aimed the small flashlight at the desk.

  A manila folder was open on top of the desk. A bunch of polaroids were spread over it, their glossy surfaces reflecting the slither of light.

  I edged closer to the desk. A sick curiosity drew me in. I didn’t want to see the pictures, but I had to know I’d done the right thing by walking out of that shop-front. I had to know he was the monster Castle had told me he was.

  Billy’s eyes had betrayed the ugliness within him. But monsters who didn’t hurt anyone didn’t have to die. Did they? Even if they were dark and twisted inside of the deepest parts of their souls, were they really that bad if they didn’t act on their urges? Before now, I would have said yes. I would have said every bad person, whether in action or thought should be culled from the world. But now, after leaving Castle with Billy … I wasn’t so sure. Because now, it was on my conscience.

  I reached the edge of the desk. My flashlight aimed down at the pictures. But my eyes looked straight ahead at the bland wall with chipped paint.

  If I looked at those pictures, and they really did show what Castle had implied—it would be forever burned into my mind. It would live with me forever. Was that worth the risk for someone like Billy?

  I shook my head.

  It wasn’t.

  With a heavy sigh, I turned my back on the desk and walked out of the office. I shut the door behind me, and perhaps on the scraps of goodness I had left.

  The door to the shop swung open.

  Castle stood in the doorway, and he froze at the sight of me by the office. His expression of shock swiftly melted into panic. Then, he was striding towards me.

  “Tell me you didn’t go in there,” he said. “Tell me you didn’t look at the pictures.”

  I gave him a tight, forced smile. “I went in, but … I didn’t look. I changed my mind.”

  Castle seemed to relax. His shoulders slumped and I heard the whisper of a breath come from his lips. He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans.

  “Good,” he said. “It’s not something you’d want to see.”

  “What were the pictures?” I asked. “I can’t look at them, but I have to know.”

  Castle bowed his head and looked at me. The shadows of his eyelashes stretched down his cheeks. “If I wasn’t here with you,” he said carefully. But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Ok.” My whispered word ended the conversation.

  I trusted him, I realised. And why shouldn’t I? We might not like each other all of the time, or ever, but we’d formed something. Not a friendship, but a partnership. A bond.

  Castle checked his watch. There were spots of blood on it. I wondered, for a moment, if he tortured and killed people often in his line of work. Or was that darkness just in him?

  “Sun will be up soon,” he said.

  “When?”

  “An hour, maybe,” he said, and pulled his sleeve over the watch. “You’ve got the map?”

  I patted my bag. It was tucked inside.

  “We’ll find where we are,” he said, “and discern the fastest route to somewhere we can find gas. We don’t have much fuel.”

  “Just under half a tank,” I said. “How far will that get us?”

  Castle sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Not far.”

  THE SHIFT

  ENTRY TEN

  At dawn, Castle reorganised our luggage at the Jeep. I stood at the hood, reading the map.

  With a red pen, I circled where we were and searched for the nearest mark that was worth checking out. There was a café a f
ew miles down the road, but it didn’t promise anything we needed, which was petrol. But in the other direction was a town.

  “It’s far,” said Castle. “We’ll drain the tank to get there.”

  He loaded cardboard boxes onto the railing above the car. He would tie them there before we left. The ammo and guns were safer in the backseat, and I didn’t complain. I’d rather keep the boot free for us to sleep in.

  “But if we go to the café and we don’t find gas, we won’t have enough fuel to turn around and make it to the town,” I said. “At least at the town, we know there will be cars to syphon from. And we have all day, now. The rotters are back to their nests.”

  “People aren’t as predictable,” he said, draping tarp over the boxes. “There could be survivors in that town.”

  The implications were clear. Survivors like Billy.

  I huffed and ran my finger over the map, trailing the long road that curved around the green. We weren’t too far in the forest, not as far as I’d thought. But with less than a half-tank of gas and no guarantee of finding any, I felt as though we were stranded in there.

  “There’s a wildlife management centre,” I said. “But it’s in the direction we don’t want to go. Even if we found a bit of fuel, it doesn’t mean it will be enough to get us out of the woods.”

  Castle didn’t acknowledge my pun.

  I rolled my eyes and watched him loop rope around the boxes.

  The words stung the tip of my tongue—words that sprung to mind and I desperately wanted to say. But I didn’t. I kept them to myself and glanced back down at the map.

  Leo would know what to do.

  Castle settled on the wildlife management centre.

  I protested, but he argued that it was closer and away from the town where there could be survivors or nests. With just the two of us, other groups weren’t ideal for us to cross paths with.

  I relented and gave him directions as he drove. I wonder if he likes to drive. He never asks to take turns.

  It took twenty minutes to reach the centre. It was as I’d imagined it would be—a faded wooden exterior, overgrown grass licking up the sides of it, and completely abandoned. What I hadn’t expected were the three ranger 4WDs parked at the side of the building.

  Castle turned his face towards me, and while he didn’t smirk I sensed the gloating. I snubbed him and got out of the car.

  We took turns siphoning the fuel from the 4-Wheel-Drives. By the end of it, we had enough to fill our tank and two cannisters. Castle raided the centre before we left. The loot was decent—fresh bandages, syringes, medicines and a packet of anti-biotics for me. It would help keep infection away from my shoulder.

  I smiled at him in thanks. He inclined his head.

  Then, we drove in silence.

  It’s embarrassing.

  But it’s also something you should know if you are to have any chance of understanding my relationship with Castle. Not that I truly understand it myself.

  We’d been stuck in the car for days. Whenever and wherever we could, we siphoned fuel. But we always kept moving. It had been 13 days since we’d been separated from the others. If anyone had made it to the meet-up point, they would move on to the next in a week. Three weeks of waiting at one meet-up point—those were the rules, Castle had told me.

  The meet-point was somewhere in the small town of Heaven, Oklahoma. I hoped it lived up to its name. And we’d make it there early morning if we didn’t face any obstacles. Yet, that’s all we’d faced since that night at the farmhouse.

  As dusk fell on our third day on the road, Castle drove to find a place for us to stay for the night. We would sleep in the car.

  I pointed to the right. “Over there.”

  Castle traced my finger to where I pointed. It was a curve of bushes on soggy grassland.

  “Adequate.” He turned the steering wheel and drove over the grass. He parked in the curve and jumped out. I followed. We had to move quickly.

  With my hunting knife—Castle used his machete—we hacked off branches and leaves to camouflage the car. It was far enough from the road to blend in with the bushes.

  Apparently, it reminded Castle of the trick I’d taught him. When we climbed into the boot and tucked ourselves into the cramped space, he asked; “How did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  He propped up a pillow behind him. Our legs crossed. There was no avoiding it in there. “How did you know that covering yourself in another’s blood would shield you from the infectees?”

  I rolled onto my side and studied his unreadable face. It was too dark to see the outline of his nose or cheeks but his eyes were the candles in the shadows. “I killed someone.”

  He shifted to lay on his side, facing me.

  “It ...” My voice threatened to break off. I’d never told anyone before. Not even Leo. “I was alone, back west. I’d found a cottage to stay in for the night and … I’d found my first diary there. Me and Cleo spent the night. And in the morning, I searched the other cottages for food and supplies.” I paused and curled up into myself. It was a tight space in the boot; my feet still touched Castle’s shins. “There was a man in one of the houses,” I said. “A man like Billy. He attacked me. I didn’t see him come up behind me until I was on the ground.”

  The glow of green darkened, and the image of Leo’s forest-green eyes sprung to mind. I couldn’t throw Leo from my mind. The thoughts of him crept back in every day. But by now, I’d spent more time with Castle than I had with Leo. I’d only been with the group—with Leo—for eleven days before we were pried apart.

  Castle and I had been alone together for two weeks.

  “What happened?” he said, his voice a low whisper. It reminded me of the growl to his voice when he’d found me by the office door at the gun shop.

  “We fought,” I said. “And he tried to …” I couldn’t say it. I don’t think I had to. “But I had a knife in my boot. I got it and I stabbed him. A lot. He was on top of me and I just kept stabbing him. When I stopped, I was covered in his blood. Cleo was too—she’d been trying to bite him. There was nowhere to clean up. I had to leave. I got Cleo and I ran out to the street. But our fight had been too loud.”

  I sighed and stretched out my legs. They pushed against Castle’s.

  “There were rotters, about half a dozen of them,” I said. “They looked at me and I just froze. I had nowhere to run. I didn’t have the energy to run. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t move. And then, they just kept moving. I stood there and watched them, and it was if I wasn’t there at all.”

  “You were camouflaged,” he whispered. I nodded. “Does it work with rotter blood?”

  I shrugged. “Never tried it. I always thought that putting rotter blood on your body was a risk. If a drop of it gets in your eyes, mouth, ears or even a cut, you’re done for. But I tried it with mud. That worked.”

  “I forget that about you sometimes,” he said. His eyes washed over me, and I got that feeling again, the one I’d felt when I told him what was wrong with the Jeep. It was as if he’d never seen me before, as if we’d only just met. “You were alone for a long time,” he said. “I don’t give you enough credit for what you’ve been through.”

  I’d learned that Castle rarely said what he thought or meant. The meaning was to be found between the words, in the inflictions of how he said it. A skill of mine was deciphering his veiled words.

  It’s dangerous for a woman to be alone in these times. I respect that you survived and fought your way here.

  Castle closed his eyes. He’d been driving all day.

  Sleep took him quickly, and I followed shortly after.

  When I awoke, the duvet was draped over my body.

  It was cold in the boot of the car. We weren’t in the sun-beaten west anymore. And the further east we drove, the closer we got to the cusp of winter. The nights were the worst. I could see the wisps of my breath in front of me, merging with Castle’s.

  Castle still slept on his si
de. The goose-pimples on his skin showed that he was cold, but he didn’t clutch the duvet to his body.

  I shimmied closer to him. My arm stretched over his and I tucked the quilt around us both. Castle dipped forward, pushing his arm underneath my head. I rested on it like it was a pillow and shut my eyes.

  I kept them shut when the warmth of his breath washed over my face. I kept them shut when the tip of his nose touched mine. As we drew closer together, I kept my eyes shut.

  I only opened them when his breath grew warmer on my lips.

  My lips tingled and I looked at him. The green gleamed beneath hooded eyelids. Something tugged me toward him; the steady, secure sensation that enveloped me. I inched closer as he dipped his head; our eyes betrayed our sleepiness, the pull of dreams fighting for control. But before we fell into our sleeps again, our lips touched.

  It wasn’t the kind of kiss that ignited fire within me. There were no tongue wars, no gripping each other’s clothes, no wandering hands. It was firm; our lips stayed connected, unmoving, unsure. And then, Castle planted a gentle, final touch to my lips.

  He pulled back, guiding me with him.

  Castle rested his chin on my head as I melted against him.

  We slept, entwined, together.

  THE GREAT FALL

  ENTRY ELEVEN

  We were to link up with the others at the auto repair shop on the outskirts of the small town. It was on a long road that was dusted in a greying white already. The early snowfall of winter was creeping closer.

  It was midday when Castle parked far up on a dirt-road just off the main one. It was best to keep hidden, in case no one was there from the group. We’d have to stay for another week. But with the defected deltas out there, we couldn’t be too close to the main road.

  The cold was quick to fill the car after the engine turned off and took the heating with it.

  We stayed in the Jeep for a moment, rummaging through our bags for spare clothes. I tugged on a black parka. It reached down to my knees where my socks ended, and the hood was lined with fur. Even with socks, jeans, boots, a jumper and a winter coat, the cold shook my body. Its grasp reached my icy bones and prickled my skin.