Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2)

by Daryl Banner

  “Not really,” he says, enjoying my dark possibility. “In fact, they’re pretty tame. They figure the moat keeps out the Crypters. That is, the Undead that aren’t … like you.” He isn’t sure how else to word it. To be honest, neither would I. “It’s repelling away the Crypters without them even realizing they’re being repelled away from anything. Hiding in plain sight, I think he called it.”

  “He?”

  “Their leader of sorts. His name is Ray. He was told the same story about Garden that we were, growing up.” When I meet John’s eyes, confused, he explains it to me. “He was tired of searching for Garden … if it even exists. So he stopped searching and created his own.”

  “So … this isn’t Garden?” I’m dumbfounded.

  John shrugs. “Who’s to say whether it really is or not? You could call it our Garden.”

  Strange enough, I actually believe that story a lot more than I would the alternative: that we, in our most desperate moment, happened so conveniently upon the legendary Garden that would save us all from the endless despair that is the rest of the planet.

  “And his name … is Ray,” I repeat. Really, though, what was I expecting? King Gardenonia, Emperor Of All That Is Green And Thriving?

  Through the bramble and the deadwood, which I learn is exactly what it seems to be—another keep-the-hell-out for the Crypter-type baddies, John tells me all about the people in the village, and the fact that there are not very many. Nineteen women, seventeen men, and a number of children among them. They even have milk for babies, not the powder substitute we’ve relied on. Others in their village also came from the wilderness and joined, like us. There’s something about rescuing one another from the wasted world that brings people to peace; no longer afraid for their lives, no longer aching the days and nights long. I have to sneer a bit when I hear that, because it sounds an awful lot like Grim’s dream.

  “They know about you and Jasmine,” he finishes just before we arrive at the edge of the crater.

  I lift a brow. “And?”

  “He would like to meet you. Both of you. But not just yet.” John’s face wrinkles, his lips turning pouty as he purses them in thought. “Even though he’s being really, uh, nice to us, I think he’s also being just as cautious. I would be too, if I were him. What he’s built here is so …” He searches for the word.

  “Green,” I offer helpfully, again.

  That gets me the smile I wanted to see from John. “I think we’ve established how green you think it is.”

  “So, we’ll meet him later.” I nod. “That sounds fine. You can let him know that Jasmine and I will … be happy to keep watch. Maybe someday I’ll be fortunate enough to hear that a piece of your Garden has died,” I point out, tasting the bitterness on my tongue. “Then Jasmine and I can … you know, built a cottage and move right in. Hey, then we’ll be neighbors.”

  John studies my face. I don’t know what’s suddenly come over me. I should be happy we’ve found a place for them. I should be relieved that Garden is something real, something tangible, something more than a fantasy. Instead, I’m out here in the death and decay, sulking.

  “Winter …”

  “I know.” I look at Gunner. “Sorry, guys. I’m sorry. I’m really happy for you.”

  Gunner says: “I get it.” He rubs a spot on his cheek. “I get it. You’re here but you’re not welcome. Appreciated but not welcome. I doubt any of us have even properly thanked you.” Gunner’s dark eyes meet mine, his jaw firm. “Let it mean as much or as little as you want, but thank you. Without you, I might be dead.” He takes a breath, then says: “Without you, I would be dead.”

  I wonder if I’ll ever see an emotion from Gunner’s smooth-as-slate, young and untelling face that isn’t just … totally Gunner. Not caring, I put my arms around him and pat his back. “Thanks.” His whole body turns rigid at my hug. I let go and step back. “If you recall a large spider, I believe without you, I wouldn’t be in a kind place either.”

  Gunner nods, I think appreciatively, then turns to John. “Gotta discuss supplies with the Chief.” After a shy secondary sort of nod at me, he swings over the ridge and is gone.

  John’s arms are around me in an instant. He kisses me deep and I let him. Then another feeling consumes me at once, and it may just be the opposite of sulkiness. We fall to the rough, unkind ground, and we’re losing clothes. His breathing turns jagged and he say something in my ear that makes me laugh. I return his words with a kiss that I place on his ear, and then many more kisses follow that are placed on many other parts of our bodies.

  A lot of time goes by. The nearly-indistinguishable shadows shift from one side of the trees to the other. We are wrapped up in each other’s clothes, and the sky is opened up above us, our only witness.

  “I could get used to this,” I decide. “This really isn’t so bad. Maybe I could even come to—” He interrupts me with a deep kiss. I was going to say I could come to love all of this, but I think he knew already.

  When he pulls away, he says, “There’s only one other thing we need to get used to.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Big flies.” He chuckles. “Apparently, the large spiders we dealt with at Trenton were here too—maybe even came from here—but they never endangered the people. They help stimulate the growth of the plants, actually. Big beetles are here too, big ones. Bees to cross-pollinate.” John leans against a tree, looking proud of himself. “I learned a lot in just a few hours. Do you know what cross-pollinate means?”

  I hide a smile. “No,” I tell him innocently. “Explain what it is, John.” Sometimes, John is just too easy to play with. Really, I just love watching his face work, watching him think of his next words, watching him excited about things he’s discovered.

  Watching them live in that bowl of green down there.

  Watching the Humans from afar …

  Watching; it’s all I’ll be doing, now.

  John talks to me about the bugs and the plants and the flowers and the grass. He tells me while we stare into the colors, laying along the ridge in each other’s arms. He watches in awe for a moment, observing the sun as it sets, but all I see is grey and grey and grey. I so wish I could marvel at it with him.

  He kisses me goodnight, then returns to the crater.

  We have many days like this.

  Every midday, Jasmine and I are visited by a few of the Humans. John’s always among them. We get regular reports of things that are developing, which is kinda nice, I guess. Tina apparently is a good cook, though she never tried cooking anything in Trenton. Ash and Nelson have both learned a great deal about farming and tending to the produce. The sisters Lena and Margie are terrified of the bugs—rightfully so, after our incident in Trenton. Gill keeps to himself, but John suspects it’s more out of shame for his recent actions than anything else; when he joins them for meals, he does so reluctantly and says very little.

  The Chief and Megan share a room with two of the Garden natives. John secretly confides in me that Megan cries sometimes at night; she feels guilty about her parents and doesn’t know if they’re alive. Upon hearing that, I feel an awful stab of regret myself. After all, her parents have not really had a proper moment with her since the Lock’s Eye issue. Apparently Megan also had a friend or two she’d made in the last few months, and the fact that none of the other Humans’ whereabouts are known is rather unsettling, considering all the awful possibilities. Nelson had a friend too, who is now lost to the wilderness. Ash was not so lucky; among the Living, she had a significant other who, regrettably, was one of the ones Grim took. No one knew why she would cry out in her sleep, until now; the image of her lover turned Undead is a recurring nightmare for her. Twice, her own screams have woken the baby, who sleeps next door with Gill.

  Three days since we’ve arrived, Megan shows up to join Jasmine on the riverbed. The twins have come along too, and the three of them complain to Jazz about how Ray and the Garden people won’t let her bring Winter a flower. �
�They have hundreds and I only wanted to bring you one. He’s being a meanie and won’t let me.”

  “Don’t worry, Megan.” Jasmine pinches her cheek, which inspires a snort of annoyance. “You oughtn’t pluck a pretty thing in this world. There’s so few of them left, and the world could use a little more pretty.”

  The twins have been competing against one another in knife-throwing. A target was set up against the wall of the crater, and Rake almost consistently won over his sister, who kept accusing him of cheating. Once, Gunner had strolled by, invited a knife to his slippery fingers, and let it go in a flash. Bullseye. Then both the twins were scowling and had a new so-called cheater to accuse.

  One evening when the Humans are all in Garden, Jasmine discovers she is able to walk again, though her every left step is a bit sideways. She accompanies me to the brink of the crater and we watch the evening routine of the Humans. Having finished a meal, some tend to laundry while others scatter to the cottages and tents. Jasmine and I speculate for fun what they are all doing, their little curious activities. The fun in our conversation soon draws flat, and I find myself staring at the life in the crater, feeling far more apart from it than I ever have.

  “I still haven’t met this Ray guy,” I point out, rolling my eyes. “Not that I expected him to show us any certain hospitality, considering we can’t step foot in all that.”

  “He will come when the time is right.”

  I smirk, resting my chin on my hands. “It’ll never be right, Jasmine.”

  “Don’t you find it poetic,” she says wistfully, “that Garden is founded in the deep of a crater? It makes me think on the dinosaurs … of the supposed meteor that took them all out, inspiring thousands of years of winter. This crater, it is evidence of a world ended. And what is our history, but just a series of worlds ending?” She smiles into the side of my face; I know she’s trying to cheer me up, annoyingly intuitive as she is to my thoughts. “The cleverer of us realize there is no true end, not even in death. Every world’s end is another’s beginning.”

  “Jasmine?”

  “Yes, my rabbit?”

  “When Gill’s wife was giving birth, he injured his leg and I got it all over me. The blood. From his leg.” I’m staring off into Garden, not minding Jasmine’s face as I spill. “I ate the blood.”

  There is no response for a moment. Then, gently, she asks, “Why?”

  I shrug. Burying my face in my hands, I say, “I just had to tell someone.” My words are muffled. “I just had to.”

  “Do you feel guilty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  I look at her finally. I’m surprised to see her expression is one of sympathy. As if I ought to expect anything else from kind, patient Jasmine.

  “I did it because I—” Suddenly, I’m smirking at her. “You know damn well why I did it.”

  Jasmine returns my smile. “How did the sun look?”

  “Bright,” I admit.

  “Was it worth it?”

  I look down at the Humans. I’m thinking about the burning of the sun as it rises, as it sets. I’m thinking of the Burning Army, somewhere out there in the world. Then, I’m thinking of real rainbows, stretching across the sky. I think of the blazing blue clear of a midsummer day, and the clouds that are surely in the sky. Real, honest clouds.

  I understand why the Deathless exist. I understand what my mother craved and what she was selling to me. After all I’ve felt, I realize how desperately tempting blood can be. And it’s so easy to forget the temptation. It’s easy to convince myself that it’s a choice, that I had a choice that day in the hospital, that I could’ve chosen not to bring a finger to my mouth. And I realize the existence beyond the pale, secretive sky that always waits, the world I keep pretending to ignore, pretending to forget. And when my fake-heart is beating so fast that I’m convinced this is all a dream … And when my lungs fill with air that isn’t there and I’m screaming to release the emotions I know I can feel … And when my lips are kissed by blood, only then do I remember what it’s like to be almost alive.

  “It was worth every drop,” I whisper. And then at once I’m struck by a realization. “Jasmine, I don’t have the Lock-eye. Did you—?”

  “Oh!” She bites her lip and looks at me uncertainly. “I suppose I left it on the riverbank …?”

  “Actually,” I realize, remembering how I’d set it down next to her. “I think it was me. You stay, I’ll run back.”

  Panic settling into my gut, I dash back to the woods, hurrying through thorns and shadows. On the way, I spot two slithering shadows, only to realize it’s a pair of large spiders skittering up a tree. “Garden’s full of them,” I have to remind myself, out loud. “They’re super good for the plants and stuff. He told me all about it. They help the environment by doing … um … what was that big word John used the other day?”

  When I break out of the trees and onto the riverbank, the little green stone is glowing in her palm. She’s staring at it, puzzled, curious.

  “That’s mine,” I tell her gently.

  She quickly looks up, as if surprised by me. Her brows lift, her bubblegum pink hair jumps, and the insect wings on her back give a little flutter.

  Then she moans the words: “It’s beautiful …”

  The Shee-lady is not her normal self. She seems oddly calm, composed, focused. I take a few cautious steps toward her, my eye on the Warlock’s Eye.

  “Winter,” she says.

  I stop and look into her eyes. Only after a stretch of long, bewildered seconds do I realize whose eyes I’m really peering into.

  “What do you want, Grim?”

  Shee smiles, and it’s Grim smiling.

  Of course, that’s what happened. The half-scorpion lady flew back to Trenton after dropping me in the pit. She must’ve arrived during the invasion of Grim’s Army. She’s Undead, so Grim took her over. Another pet for his arsenal, of course, and this one has wings.

  “Are you okay, my love?” It doesn’t get any less eerie, communicating to Grim through these different voices, these different people. “What are you doing out here, in the middle of nowhere? Are you safe?”

  Is he truly concerned, or is he fishing for information? He already knows. He must know; I’d stupidly spilled our whole plan when he’d assumed control of Jasmine.

  “Yes,” I answer cautiously. “I’m just fine. You can … You can leave me alone now. But I’ll need that back.”

  “I saw Megan,” she says, he says. “Her eye. Is that the plan? Are you turning your Humans into Warlocks, now? To … to protect yourself from me?” Her face looks pained and, impossibly, so like Grim’s face when he is pained. I could almost trick myself into believing it is him I’m speaking to. “Winter, that makes me feel so awful. I feel so awful that Megan did that to herself, just because I—”

  “Because what you’re doing is villainy, Grim.” I speak firmly and calm. “You’re enslaving the Undead. You’re ending lives long before they want to be ended.”

  “Tragedies happen every day,” he reasons, speaking through Shee’s curved, wicked lips, “that Humans have no choice in. But after suffering them, they grow. They are thankful for those tragedies because without them, they would be weaker, they would be lost, they would never learn. I’ve been around for over a hundred years, Winter. I know loss. I know guilt. I know starvation. I’ve seen it. What I have to offer is a gift.”

  I reach her in one quick dash, grabbing the Lock’s Eye, but she’s caught a hold of me just as powerfully, and I find our hands locked, struggling, neither of us relenting.

  “Please, Winter,” she begs me, he begs me, those red-or-violet-or-pink eyes tunneling into my mind. “I’m trying to build an eternity here, please, don’t have me spend it all alone! Please!”

  Her wings begin to flutter. I’m still clinging to her hand, arm-wrestling the scorpion-lady for the Lock-eye in her powerful grasp. The wings flutter faster, and I’m lifted off the ground with her. />
  “He’s a Human,” Grim hollers out, frustrated, angry. “Your love will go nowhere with him! Why him??”

  We’re spiraling now, spinning in the air. Her wings flap harder, more desperate now, and the dead woods fall below us, stretching on and on as we fight in the air.

  “LET GO!” I cry out. “GIVE UP, GRIM!!”

  “I can’t let go, Winter. I need to see you. Please, just come and speak to me face-to-face. You’ll feel it again! What we shared in our meadow, the tulips, our dates. It was real, Winter, it was as real as the blood in their veins …”

  The night air spins around us, and far below, I see the river bending around the awesome, massive crater in which Garden hides. The land dropping farther below me, too far, and I’m clinging to the Lock-eye and screaming for him to let go.

  “Just one more chance. Look in my eyes. You’ll see—”

  And then I reach behind her and, in a moment of madness, I grab her left wing and pull. She starts to spin the wrong way, sharply drifting to the side and grunting. I yank on the stone with a guttural cry, then pull again on the wing, and pull again, and pull again—

  “You’re the only one I will ever love, Winter.”

  The wing breaks off. Shee plummets, only one wing thrashing madly to keep her afloat, and failing. Plunging back down to the earth, I find myself atop her, prying at her long, desperate fingers, until at long last the stone breaks free—but slips from my own and falls out of sight.

  Four seconds later, we crash into the river.

  I thrust myself toward the inner bank with psychotic drive. I don’t even feel the furious burning, nor do I look back. I kick my legs at the Shee-lady in the water, thrust myself onto land and, with an intense sting traveling up and down my legs and spine, I hobble awkwardly toward the mouth of the woods and claim the fallen green stone.

  When I turn around, Shee has drifted to the opposite bank, where the scorpion legs are slowly and so tiredly digging against the mud and the dirt, clawing their way out of the water. An agonizing amount of seconds later, the scorpion legs—almost acting like some separate entity—dumps her upper torso onto dry land.