Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2)

by Daryl Banner

  That’s when my head perks up. John’s face is red and he’s breathing so heavy, his chest pumps like a machine. Megan is trying to get Jasmine dry, wiping away the wet with a sleeping blanket she carries, while Jasmine keeps screaming, “It burns! It BURNS!” And I know her pain.

  “You’d kill me over a dead person? End a life for a Crypter who don’t even bleed?” Gill spits at John, landing it on his foot.

  John’s anger snaps. He grabs Gill and the two of them tumble into the water. Everyone is on their feet now, gasps and shouts of concern ringing through the others. Even the Chief’s demands for them to stop go unheard, and suddenly Gill’s flipped John onto his back, and John’s head is thrust under the water.

  I abandon Jasmine, take a broken tree limb to my palm and, before I even know what I’m doing, I have Gill in a chokehold using it. Peeling him off John, I drag the man halfway across the bank, choking him with the tree limb while he rasps and tries to reach backwards for me.

  “Winter, let go.” The order comes from Gunner.

  “And then what??” I cry out, surprised by the insanity that’s taken my voice. John’s back on his feet, and even he looks surprised at the rage in me. “He tried killing Jasmine! And John just now! When will this end?? H-He’s a danger to all of us. He shouldn’t have even come with us when we—when we … He shouldn’t even …”

  The baby is crying in Robin’s arms, crying and crying without end … and suddenly I find my conviction broken. The memory of Gill’s dead wife Laura, her hand reaching out to me, and the last words I didn’t hear.

  Half of Jasmine’s arm has fallen off. Her left foot too. The skin on the right side of her face is sunken in. The sight of it makes me choke.

  And then I let him go, dropping the stick. Gill backs away, rasping, rubbing his throat and glaring indignantly at everyone. Jasmine issues a soft moan, still unmoving, and I stare at her detached arm in a sad, furious silence.

  “Sorry,” I spit out in half a whisper, half a hiss.

  “Don’t be,” says Megan at once, her real eye and her green one both giving Gill a scathing look. He’s backed into a tree now, warily watching everyone, as if daring someone else to come at him. He’s still rubbing his throat. I feel no sympathy for him.

  I speak quietly: “Jasmine?”

  She’s stopped moaning. Her head tilts ever slightly to the side, as though addressing a sweet grandchild, and she says, “Yes, my rabbit?”

  “Your arm. Your foot.” I suck in a bit of air quite unnecessarily, then finish, “They’ve fallen off.”

  “Yes,” she agrees slowly. “They have.”

  “We have n-no Marigold to … to …” I shake my head, refusing absolutely to look at Gill, the one responsible. I’m afraid of what I might do if I see his dumb, indignant face again.

  “On the bright side,” Jasmine points out, stifling a grunt of pain, “I can’t get any deader than I already am.”

  An ear falls off.

  Unable to stand even his presence any longer, I say, “Chief. Respectfully. You ought to take your Human in with you. As far from the bank as possible. If he’s here with my decomposing friend another second, I may be very tempted to dislodge something from his face.”

  “We have a clear way in,” says the Chief, ignoring my demand. “Through this gap in the thorns. Gunner, you and I will scout what’s in this grove. You too, Gill.”

  “And me,” says Rake, rising.

  Robin shakes her head. “No way.”

  “Yes. I want to see it for myself.”

  “Then you’re not going alone.” Robin takes up her knife and draws her hood.

  Gill is less eager. “Why’s it that I head on first? You can take Nelson or John, just as well.”

  The Chief’s voice is steel. “Regardless of what has transpired here, I will not leave you with any Undead. You know you’ve a history. We all know it.”

  Gill’s eyes shift uneasily among the group. Megan is holding Jasmine’s arm in place, trying to reconnect it somehow. The sisters and Ash watch him warily, Tina tending to a sore foot of her own. Nelson and John are wordless, cold. No, mister hothead, I’m afraid you don’t have many friends among us.

  “I can’t leave the baby,” he answers sourly.

  “The women will take care of your little one,” the Chief states. “You’ve known Lena and Margie since camp. Lena saved your dear Laura’s life back at camp, may she rest in peace. Things have been done, things cannot be undone. Now come with me and be done with this.”

  Finally, Gill pushes away from the tree, draws near enough to his little girl to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Daddy’s coming back,” he promises, eyeing the sisters warningly, then heading off with the Chief. He’s followed by the twins, and then Gunner. The sound of their feet crunching in the nettles and the snapping twigs is all we hear for a while until they’ve disappeared into the grove.

  “If Garden’s in there,” Ash starts to say, “just beyond those trees, why don’t we just …?”

  Nelson shakes his head. “No. They ought to go first. We keep watch here. Caution’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it? The whole thing could be a trap.”

  For a moment, I’m about to take that personally, as if he meant that I would lure everyone into some horrible trap. Then I realize how little sense that makes anyway. To be honest, I haven’t seen Garden; only the possible evidence of it in the form of giant purple flowers.

  “I can’t just sit here,” Ash insists, impatient. Her eyes glow longingly, as if reaching with phantom hands at the Garden that might await her through the grove. “We’re idiots to be so close to it and just wait here.”

  “Go.” The order comes from Jasmine, who slowly lifts her head from the riverbank. The agony is in her eyes, but she lifts her brows gently and says, “Go on, my rabbits. I am quite alright. Please. Go on to your … to your destiny. You’ve certainly waited long enough.”

  Ash needs no further prompting. She heads for the opening in the trees and vanishes at once into the thick of it. Suddenly Megan’s on her feet, eyeing me, as if asking whether she ought to go as well. John too, his eyebrows lifted questioningly.

  I ask Jasmine, “Can you walk?”

  She shakes her head. “I think I’d rather enjoy the view here on the river. Please. No more harm can come to me. I’m already dead, for the love of god.” The remark earns a titter and chuckle from the two sisters, who have finally quieted the baby. “Go on, you silly fools. Even you, my rabbit.” She winks at me. “I only ask you come back to tell me what it’s like. Paint me a nice picture.”

  The sisters rise without further discussion and take the baby into the trees. Nelson nods at us, gives a grunt as he rises, then chases the others through the crunching path.

  Just the four of us now, I join John and Megan by the body of my friend, smiling. “Here’s to hoping,” I say.

  “I’m gonna stay with her,” says Megan, taking a seat by Jasmine. “I have my Eye. I can protect her. And, well, I know a thing or two about Upkeep. Maybe I can help get her arm and foot reattached. Sorry Jasmine, not sure if I can do anything about the ear.”

  She lays a hand on Jasmine’s arm, and I’m reminded of this one time when I visited by grandma’s and she was bedridden. I remember sitting by the bed, annoyed that I had to keep her company for some reason, and she started telling me stories about her childhood, times when she was happy, and how she used to have long pretty hair and all the boys would look at her. I remember sighing a lot and checking the clock on the wall, wondering when I’d finally be free.

  She died a week and a half later. That was the last time I ever saw her, and I spent those entire twenty-two minutes rolling my eyes.

  Claire. Claire wasted her life rolling her eyes. It was all Claire. But Winter …

  “Protect her then,” I agree, smiling. “I’ll be back for you, Megan. Just so happens, I’ve an Eye of my own.” I open my palm, flashing the little green thing at her and giving a sly wink.

  Megan wav
es us off, then turns back to Jasmine and starts up a conversation about potatoes and gardening as she inspects her broken parts. John puts his arm around me and by reflex I rest my head on his shoulder as we pass into the woods. One might think we were on vacation, taking a stroll through the park. The thick web of trees and thorny vines and ropes of rotted wood dangle above and lie underfoot, threatening our feet as we press on.

  “What do you hope lies ahead, John?”

  I feel his arm tighten on my waist as he takes in a big lungful of Human air, then answers, “Anything.”

  Every step, I feel him squeezing me tighter. We walk in such perfect sync, it nearly feels like we’re one. Even his heart beats for us both. Through his coat, I feel every ridge and movement of his body. His breath touches me.

  The symphony of John carries us through the woods. Then the dark nettles begin to reveal a curious rise in the land ahead, rocky and jagged, bending abruptly upward, like a wall. As we ascend the curving ridge of stone, the sky seems to open up like a door of silver light on our faces, the web of shadowy nettles falling behind, and a hungry eagerness takes us both as we let go of one another and climb the ridge gently to its peak.

  We peer over the brink. Slowly, John and I drink in the scene. We are, the two of us, stolen of breath.

  It’s a crater. Held deep within its earthen bowl, there is glowing greenery, trees the size of dreams, and colors that defy anything an Undead ought to be allowed to witness. Among the rich greens and blues and yellows of the thriving vegetation, there rests cottages, tree houses, tents, rings of stone. John may not be able to see all of it from this distance, but my Undead eyes see it all.

  “It’s true,” he whispers, awed. I look at the side of John’s face, taken by the tears forming in his eyes, tears that swell, but don’t spill down his face. “It’s true. It was always true. If only they were here and could see this …”

  They. He means his parents, the ones who told him all his life the tales of Garden, every night. The bedtime story that settled a younger, innocent John’s mind before he drifted into another world of dreams. And his dream is now within reach, and it is no longer a dream. It has become reality.

  Crude steps have been carved into the crater’s wall as it descends into the flowing green below. “Let’s go down there, Winter. Let’s meet them.” John doesn’t look at me while he talks, his eyes transfixed to the lush beauty of Mother Nature beaming and bright.

  He doesn’t even realize …

  “You should go on,” I tell him, not wanting to spoil the moment. “Find the Chief and the others. I’m going to head back and check on Jazz and our little Lock.”

  He finally wrests his gaze away, then fixes those two gentle brown eyes on me. I’d melt if I weren’t so scared of water. “You’re going?” He sounds like a disappointed boy.

  There are so many sides to John, I’ve lost count. “Just to check on our friends. I want to make sure they’re okay. It’s really hard to trust anyone on their own for too long, considering what we’ve … recently been through.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll wait for you.”

  “No, no. Go ahead, John. Really.”

  “I’m waiting for you, Winter.”

  “John …”

  He pulls me in for a kiss. When our lips meet, the effect is instant. How does he do that? Nothing worries me when the world becomes just our mouths and the thrashing, beautiful drum in his chest.

  “Come back very quickly,” he whispers when our lips separate. “Come back too quickly, if you want.”

  The smile I return is as real as my heart.

  As I descend the ridge of the crater and plummet back into the deadnettle and thorn, I feel heavy with guilt. How did I ever think this would work? I’ve known how our story ends, ever since the first day I met him. John, with all his excitement, he isn’t seeing the flaw in the plan. He doesn’t realize …

  He doesn’t realize I can’t follow him down there.

  C H A P T E R – E I G H T E E N

  E V E R A F T E R

  I hang with Jasmine and little Megan on the riverbank for a while. Jasmine makes a joke about how peaceful it is, to exist freely in the wilderness without the bother and fuss and worry of a house to uphold, and daily habits to indulge, and books to read to let one’s mind escape …

  “Really, the true escape from life is just running right into it.” She laughs, then winces as a droplet of water runs down her face from her hair.

  Megan managed to reconnect Jasmine’s arm, though its movements are still somewhat awkward. She looks up suddenly, even her green eye seeming to fix on me. “So, it’s true, then? Garden? Just beyond those dead trees?”

  Jasmine closes her eyes and starts to hum a tune.

  “Just beyond and not much further. John’s waiting. I think you ought to go with him,” I tell her, “and explain that I’m staying with Jazz here. Garden awaits.”

  “Won’t you get to see any of it?” asks Megan.

  “I’ve seen it.” I poke her in the leg, then lay a gentle hand on her cheek. “It’s your turn now, Tulip.”

  She smiles. “I’ll bring you back the biggest flower I can find.”

  With that, Megan gets up and bolts into the twisting deadwood. Her quick-footed crunching grows quieter her every step, until nothing but the ringing silence swallows Jasmine and I … a pair of Undead who neither breathe nor beat nor stir. I lay on the riverbank next to my friend and find myself smiling emptily into the endless grey above. I even reach over and hold her hand. I don’t care that the dampness stings a bit; I let it.

  After an hour passes, I know for sure that reality must have set in for John: he’s ventured into Garden without waiting for my return.

  It’s better this way.

  Even long after Jasmine is perfectly dry and able to move without issue, she remains lying on the riverbank, finding herself too at peace to bother moving. “Maybe I’ll grow roots,” she muses, staring languidly into the sky. “Maybe I’ll grow roots and turn into my own Garden.”

  “As long as someone’s around to tend you,” I jape.

  “Haven’t I taught you anything?”

  We both laugh.

  I imagine Grim finding us here. I imagine his whole horrible army stopping at the other side of the river, unable to cross. Isn’t that funny? All their power, all their numbers and promises of the true end of the world, and just a little rope of water stops them. I can see them surrounding the whole crater with their rainbow flames, lining the riverbank in a circle. Among those faces I would see Helena, dead in the eyes. Deader than usual, I mean. I would spot Marigold as well, all the joy gone from her cheeks. Her employees standing at her side, zombified, Roxie and her half-opened eyelids staring listlessly ahead. Brains, for having so little brain in the first place, now even has less than that, the little bit left taken from her. I wonder if Brains ever had a chance. Maybe she was doomed since the day she was Undead-born, screaming in the barren Whispers.

  Maybe I’m the worst thing that happened to her.

  “When I had my Dream,” Jasmine goes on, “it was not the crippling stuff of other’s Dreams. In fact, I felt rather pleasant afterwards. I learned that I was rich and happily married,” she says with a dry chuckle. “We were always traveling. A new country every week. When we’d return home, it’d feel like a vacation from our travels. I realized, of all the jewelry I owned, and the assistants, and the ten-thousand dollar gowns, my life had become just another pretty pair of sunglasses.” She tilts her head, squinting at me. “My favorite pair, but a pair nonetheless. Yet I was happy. I didn’t need to be saving the world. I didn’t need to be the one with the vision or the grand ideas. I just supported my partner and … and I just …”

  “Loved your partner,” I finish for her.

  Jasmine smiles ruefully, then makes her point: “What do you think of your happily-ever after, my rabbit?”

  My gaze detaches. I peer across the river, imagining Grim’s army again. “If it weren’t for t
he big scary fire made of people somewhere out there,” I answer, “I’d say it isn’t half bad.”

  “What I’m really trying to say is, I think sometimes a happily-ever-after is just helping someone else find theirs.”

  I nod. Jasmine knows what I’m going through. She’s so smart, knowing things about me long before even I do. For some reason, hearing a bit about her First Life makes the habits of her Second Life seem so fitting. Nurturing the earth … caring for its fruits … helping Humans find their comfort and peace in order to find her own.

  Still staring at the imaginary army of Grim across the river, waiting, watching, daring … I’m afraid to say I find no peace in myself.

  “Who’s to say this is my happily-ever-after?” I ask, though I wonder if I’m asking her, or myself. “With all of eternity spread out before us, who says we ever get one?”

  It must be nearly nightfall when John returns to the river, Gunner at his side. “Winter. It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything … never seen anything so … so …”

  “Green?” I offer helpfully.

  “Come with me,” says John. I notice even Gunner is wearing an unexpected smile … or at least I think it’s a smile; with Gunner it’s impossible to tell. “I want to show it to you.”

  Is he serious? “John, you know I—”

  “We’ll get as close as possible,” he insists, knowing.

  I shrug. “Jasmine, you done staring at the sky?”

  “No, dear. I think I’ll rest here. I have at least a few more years of dreams left in me, so I have plenty to keep me company.” She smiles with both rows of teeth, her papery face wrinkling in the effort.

  “Good dreams, I hope. Keep this for protection,” I say, setting the Lock’s Eye in her palm.

  “Of course.” She brings it up to her face, inspecting it.

  John and I head into the thicket, Gunner following us. He doesn’t even have his crossbow with him, I notice. Is this place really the paradise they’ve hoped it to be, for Gunner to not even bother being armed? Maybe the people who already occupy it are creepy and militaristic, insisting on taking their weapons away, only to turn on them and bake them into fertilizer for their humungous plants. I humorously suggest this to John.