Blood Memory (Season 1): Books 1-5

by Perrin Briar

  Anne’s smile never faltered. “It’s a somewhat… personal issue. I’d prefer to speak with the commander about it.”

  “It’s not in relation to the fella who was grabbed today is it?” He might be stern, but he wasn’t stupid.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

  “He’s not available,” the stern soldier said.

  “What my friend means to say,” the kind soldier said, “is that the commander is currently making his rounds.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Sometime this evening. If you come back then-”

  “That’s too late. I need to speak with him now. You must know which wall he went to inspect.”

  “It’s entirely random.”

  “There are only four walls,” Anne insisted. “It can’t be that difficult to ascertain.”

  “Four walls, yes.” The stern soldier said in a mocking tone. “But do you have any idea how many teams there are on each wall?”

  “No,” Anne said, her smile never slipping. “Please enlighten me.”

  “Dozens.”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  The kind soldier stepped forward. “It could take a long time, miss. Please return to your accommodation and I’ll send for you the moment the commander returns.”

  “Thank you,” Anne said, staring daggers at the stern soldier, “but I’ll wait.”

  With each minute that passed, Anne’s stomach twisted tighter like a windup clock. She got to her feet decisively a half dozen times, and then sat back down again. Finally, after what felt like days, a group of arm-banded officers approached the Command Centre. The men that approached now were senior, so far as she could tell. A figure at their centre gave quick orders, and the messengers took off to deliver them. Anne got to her feet.

  “Excuse me, sir. Commander?” Her voice was lost amongst the others. “Sir? Sir?”

  The commander said something, and the soldiers laughed. It wasn’t aimed at her, but she felt the sting of ridicule all the same. The commander made his way up the ramp, a small contingency of officers following him. Anne moved to follow him, but the stern soldier blocked her.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  “The commander’s busy.”

  Anne turned to the kind soldier, who looked apprehensively up at the departing commander’s back. “I’m sorry, but he’s busy right now. If you could just-”

  “You said I could speak with him when he returned.”

  “I meant when he wasn’t busy.”

  Anne’s anger bubbled over, out of her mouth. “Oi!”

  The officers on the ramp stopped and turned.

  Anne gathered herself. “I need to speak with the commander.”

  The ramp wobbled. The officers parted, and a heavy-set man, short but powerful-looking, stomped down the ramp toward her. His head was twice the size of any other man. His eyes, though of a standard size, looked tiny, but they were blue and bright with intelligence. His hair, though thinning, was perfectly cut. It only seemed to have the courage to stretch halfway across his great dome. He raised his oversized hand, and for a moment, Anne thought he was going to strike her. Instead, he tapped his cap with his fingertips. “Can I help you, miss?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to bother you, sir. I wanted to speak with you, but it wasn’t proving easy.”

  The commander turned to look at the two guards. They shied away from his glare. “My door is always open to our inhabitants, understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said, louder.

  The commander turned his eyes back on Anne. They were blue as ice. “What did you want to see me about, my dear?”

  “I know you’re busy, but just before I arrived here this morning one of my party was kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “By Lurchers.”

  “You mean attacked?”

  “Kidnapped.”

  His smile stretched from ear-to-ear over his massive face. It wasn’t unkind. “And what makes you think it was a kidnap and not an attack?”

  “Because they’ve been chasing us for over a week.”

  His smile faltered, but did not disappear. “Is that so.”

  Anne had gone over and over in her mind what she’d wanted to say, but now that the time had come the words tumbled out of her mouth. “About a week ago we ran into your Sergeant Marsh. He and Corporal Nasser died protecting us, but the Lurchers caught us all the same. They didn’t bite us. They held us and waited for something. Then another Lurcher came – who we believe is your Queenie – and tasted Jordan’s blood. He found something he liked. He chased us. Then a few hours ago he caught Jordan and carried him off.” Anne panted for breath.

  “That’s quite a story,” the commander said once she’d finished. “What do you recommend I do about it?”

  Anne blinked. “Isn’t it obvious? Send a rescue team. Get him out before Queenie finds whatever it is he’s looking for.”

  “If we sent soldiers out to look for every man, woman and child who’d been taken, we wouldn’t have a force left to defend these walls.”

  “But if Queenie gets whatever he’s looking for, defence might be useless.”

  “It’s the only weapon we have. Besides, if what you say is true-”

  “It is true.”

  “We don’t even know what Queenie is after. It might have nothing to do with us.”

  “So you’re not going to do anything?”

  “No, not nothing. Defend. Wait. Survive.”

  Anne set her jaw. “Then I’ll go by myself.”

  “Help yourself to our supplies. Every Lurcher you take down aids us. But I strongly suggest you consider waiting. You could do more good here, with us.”

  “I won’t give up on him.”

  “Getting yourself killed trying to rescue him isn’t giving up? It appears our meaning of giving up is very different.” He turned his great bulk away. “Good luck in whatever you decide to do.”

  Anne half growled, half screamed in anger. “I thought this place was supposed to be the last vestige of humanity? But when someone actually needs your help, you do nothing?”

  The commander stopped, turned, and appraised her. “Perhaps I can scramble a small team together. But their mission will be extraction, nothing more. I will not risk harm to any soldier in the attempt to save your friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  “This friend of yours is very lucky to have you. What’s his full name?”

  “Grant. Jordan Grant.”

  There was the faintest flicker of something behind the commander’s eyes. He smiled and was about to say something when-

  OOOOO-ooooo-OOOOO-ooooo.

  Megaphones affixed to poles exploded into being.

  “What’s that?” Anne asked.

  “Lurcher attack.”

  They shared a look, and Anne knew they had the same thought.

  A man dripping with sweat skidded to a halt, saluted and presented a message to the commander.

  “Catch your breath,” the commander said as he read the report. The soldier doubled up, exhausted. The commander turned on his heel and headed for the Command Centre.

  “Wait,” Anne said. “What about the rescue?”

  “I’m afraid it must be put on hold for the moment. I will send a small contingent after we deal with the Lurcher attack.”

  Anne ground her teeth and kicked a crate.

  176.

  There was a sense of rehearsal about it.

  Masked soldiers marched to the walls, the young and ancient carrying spare weapons and ammunition in their wake. Screens of wood and wire link fences snapped into place over shop fronts. The merry expressions were replaced by grim determination.

  Amongst it all, Anne and Jessie stood, lost. They stepped back while a cart with supplies pushed past them.

  “We should be helping,” Jessie said. “Not standing aro
und, getting in the way.”

  A train of children and handicapped people walked past carrying medical supplies. At their head, Doreen yelled orders. Anne approached her.

  “Doreen. We feel like fifth wheels around here. What can we do?”

  “I don’t know,” Doreen said, straightening a kid’s clumsy grip on a bag of medical supplies. “What can you do?”

  “I have a degree in psychoanalysis.”

  “Psycho what?”

  Anne frowned. “I can sew.”

  “Stitches?”

  “Yes.”

  “Squeamish?” Anne shook her head. “Good. Go to the med tent. It’s on the other side of the Command Centre. It’s got a big red cross on it. You can’t miss it.” She turned to Jessie. “And what about you, dearie? What are you good at?”

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  “She’s a great shot,” Anne said. “She can shoot a can dead-centre at five hundred yards.”

  “We don’t shoot cans here, darlin’. You can join the other children,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  Jessie’s jaw grew stiff. “I’m not a child.”

  “We won’t be sitting around keeping the benches warm, believe you me. There’s plenty to do.”

  “Why can’t I carry weapons to the walls?”

  “You could. But do you know where each team is located?”

  “I just arrived here.”

  “Then you’ll only get in the way.”

  “Give me a gun, then. I’ll fight. I’ve been trained.”

  “Not by our soldiers. Heaven knows what bad habits you’ve picked up. I won’t have your death on my conscience. Sorry, dearie. Perhaps next time.”

  “She can come with me to the med tent,” Anne said.

  “And get in everyone’s way? I don’t think so.”

  Anne gritted her teeth. “We’ve survived a lot of difficult situations together-”

  “It’s okay, Anne,” Jessie said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go with the others.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” They hugged.

  “You take care of yourself, okay?” Anne said. “After all this is over, we’re heading for the boat and out to sea and live the rest of our lives in peace. You be careful. If anything comes, you run and hide, okay? I’ll come find you.”

  Doreen led the children, disabled, and Jessie away. They turned a corner, and Anne was gone.

  Soldiers marched purposefully in every direction with murder in their eyes, preparing for battle. Jessie dodged left and right to avoid them or else risk getting trampled underfoot.

  Jessie came to a fork in the road. Down one path Doreen and her motley crew headed to a quieter part of the camp, while down the other, soldiers marched, on their way to their designated posts. Jessie considered them both, and then made her decision.

  177.

  Anne had everything she needed: a dozen needles and thread of varying width, cotton buds, gauze, towels, and torn rags to soak up blood. The thinnest thread was thinner than her hair and was best used for small cuts. The thickest was about the width of a fat shoelace and was best used for… well, she hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.

  Empty cots ran four across and twenty long under the largest tarpaulin Anne had ever seen. It rustled and cracked in the wind, reminding her of the soft slap of waves on a ship’s hull. She was one of fifteen nurses and by far the least experienced. There was an element of repetition, of rote in their movements. But there was also a palpable tension that made Anne sick to her stomach.

  “This’ll be the time, you mark my words,” an old man said. He sat perched on a wheelchair with his hands resting on a cane walking stick. “This’ll be the one.”

  Anne wasn’t sure if he was addressing her – his eyes looked at two different spots on the ceiling at the same time.

  “Don’t mind Felix,” the nurse pushing his wheelchair said. “He says that with every attack.”

  “What does he mean by ‘the one’?”

  “Some believe one day a big attack will come – one we won’t be able to defend against. But we’ve held our own all these months, and not one Lurcher has successfully breached. Felix is just a rebel, that’s all. Aren’t you, Felix?”

  Felix jittered, his eyes fixed on the tarpaulin roof. The nurse pushed him away.

  “Now there’s someone with a lot on her mind,” a smooth voice said.

  Anne turned to find a tall man in army greens – one of the few – looking at her. His mask covered the bottom half of his face. Someone had drawn fangs on it. He clutched his arm close, but gave no outward sign of pain.

  “Do you want me to take a look at that?” she said, gesturing to his arm.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Anne helped him to take his jacket off, exposing a deep gash on his shoulder.

  “Ouch,” she said. She threaded the medium-length thread.

  “It’s not so bad,” the soldier said. He removed his mask. He was an attractive man with matching brown hair and eyes. His features consisted of bare blunt lines as if God had designed him using only a ruler. “I just need a patch up.”

  “How did you manage to get injured already? The fighting hasn’t even started yet.”

  “I tripped. Thought I should get myself seen to in case some of that Lurcher blood gets into my system.”

  “Are you always so clumsy?”

  “How did you know I didn’t do it on purpose?”

  “Why would you do that?”

  He arched his eyebrow and gave her what he no doubt considered a smouldering look. “To see the beautiful nurses, of course.”

  “I doubt even a soldier is that stupid. Injuring himself to see a nurse.”

  “You’d be surprised. It’s about time they got some young blood in here. I was beginning to think being a pensioner was a prerequisite for the job.”

  Anne smiled. She cast an eye over the other nurses. Not one of them was under fifty. “They probably want you to keep your mind on the fighting.”

  “They spoiled that with you, didn’t they.”

  Anne blushed. “Are you always so forward?”

  “In the New World, a man doesn’t have the luxury of time.” He turned his head to one side. “You’re the one that was with the guy who got taken this morning, right?”

  Anne nodded. “He’ll come back.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I know him.”

  “Some of the bravest soldiers I ever met turned tail at the sight of a Lurcher. Sometimes their courage falters. It’s better not to expect too much.”

  “He’ll come. I know he will.”

  The soldier smiled and touched her shoulder. “Hey, I’m sure you’re right. If I had you come to back to, I’d move heaven and hell to get back too. I guess I was just hoping he wouldn’t so then you’d be available… God, that came out wrong.”

  “Could it come out right?” Anne tugged unnecessarily hard on the thread.

  “Ow! Be careful. I’d prefer to go out in fewer pieces than I came in, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Sorry.” She wasn’t sorry.

  He was silent a moment. “This must be your first compound defence. Don’t worry, you probably won’t have to do much more than sew a few cuts closed on clumsy soldiers. The Lurchers usually give up long before they breach the wall.”

  Anne snipped the thread and tied a knot. “Done.”

  He appraised it. “You do good work. You must have had a lot of practice at this.”

  “Some.”

  He hopped down off the seat and put his jacket back on. The sound of gunfire ripped through the night.

  “Showtime.” He walked toward the exit, then stopped and turned. “Say, what’s your name?”

  “What?”

  “I said, what’s your name?”

  “Why?”

  “Is it a secret?”

  “Anne. My name’s Anne.”

  He shook her hand. �
��Gary.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gary.”

  “I always like to know who’s about to sew me back together again so I can complain about them later.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Catch you later, Anne.”

  “I hope not!” Anne called after him. Despite herself, she found she was smiling.

  178.

  She found herself outside a large unlovely square breezeblock of a building. Men went inside empty-handed and came out carrying weapons. It appeared to be so easy. There was no ID check, no salutes. Most of the soldiers didn’t even wear uniforms.

  Jessie adopted the confident strut of the soldiers and looked straight ahead, making no eye contact with the guard that stood outside. Her heart beat a mile a minute, but her walk was steady and sure. She could feel the guard’s eyes on her, but he didn’t move to stop her.

  Inside she found the largest cache of weapons she’d ever seen. Row upon row of pistols, UZIs, grenades, machine guns, and a plethora of others she had no name for. She walked down the aisles until she found what she was looking for.

  She ran a hand over the long, graceful lines, the large sight loaded on the barrel, and the detachable stand for camping positions. It was larger than the one Jordan had taught her to shoot with, but there was no mistaking it. She picked it up and, to her surprise, found it lighter than she expected. She slung it over her shoulder and grabbed a large box of ammo. And a second, just in case.

  She turned and, startled, dropped one of the boxes. It popped open and shells rolled all over the floor, bumping into a heavy regulation boot. The guard from outside stared down at her. She felt self-conscious. Then she remembered Jordan’s behaviour with Sergeant Marsh and the other soldiers. The stern expression, the short, sharp replies. The aggression. The attitude. She made herself look this man – no, not a man, but a boy – a baby boy square in the eye.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  The man blinked. “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m baking a cake. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “You’re trying to take a weapon from the armoury, is what it looks like.”

  “Give that man ten points. It’s for Sergeant Marsh, if you must know.”