The Dead Road

by Seth Patrick

  Her throat.

  Her arm.

  In his mind, the pinprick vanished, and he knew he was making progress. Suddenly he had a clear sense of something he’d never directly observed before in a revival, even though it was surely the most important aspect of the procedure.

  The door.

  With a truly dead subject, the door opened in the background, the reviver too focused on the job in hand to really feel it. Here, it was an intense sensation of opening out into some kind of space.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. There would be no surge, he knew – no sudden rush of Annabel’s thoughts and memories. In a way, he regretted that; but, of course, Annabel was not the one being brought back.

  Tentatively, he reached out, in the way he always did in a revival, only now he had an unnervingly vivid feeling of reaching his arm out through a doorway. The space beyond was intensely cold, but still he reached, stretching further than he’d ever had to.

  And then he touched something, and recoiled.

  Or tried to recoil. But he was stuck, and as he pulled, he, in turn, was pulled, and hard.

  He opened his eyes and felt a deep fear.

  He was nowhere, again. The place with no colour, and all colours. Tess was there, sitting cross-legged, looking to the sky as she had before.

  ‘Was this just a trick, Tess?’ he said. ‘Was it to lure me here?’

  This time, she looked at him. She opened her mouth, and from it flew darkness so total that even the mottled grey of a shadow-creature’s skin was as brilliant as the sun in comparison. It poured from her like thick vomit, and that black mass began to twist and stretch, writhing on what passed for a floor in this bizarre place.

  Jonah stared at it, and he thought back to the shadow-creature as it had detached from Never, attempting to form into a body it could attack with.

  Yet this was different. The squirming substance that streamed from Tess’s mouth had no feel of desperation to it, the slow movement almost languorous. Part of the black seemed to form some kind of thick tendril, which twitched upwards and began to move back and forth as if smelling the air.

  It froze, pointing at Jonah. Without warning it shot forwards, directly at him, too fast to avoid. He cried out as it hit him, engulfing him in nothingness.

  He opened his eyes with a gasp. He was sitting in the bathroom again, Annabel’s cold body lying beside him.

  ‘It is done?’ asked Philip.

  Jonah’s eyes widened. He looked to his own hand, and saw that he’d let go of Annabel’s.

  Was it done? Had he let go in panic, and ruined the entire exercise?

  No.

  He looked at Annabel’s body and knew that, whatever it was that had wanted his help to come into this world, it had achieved its goal.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s done.’ He managed to hide the terrible fear he felt.

  Oh dear God, he thought. Oh dear God, what have I brought back with me?

  22

  Philip replaced the thermometer probe and intubated Annabel again. They dried her and brought her through to the bedroom and laid her on fresh towels, then covered her body. The rewarming process had to be gradual, but without blood flow the temperature rise would be uneven. CPR, Philip hoped, would counter that, and also reduce the risk of hypoxia as Annabel’s temperature lifted.

  As before, Jansin would handle breathing, while Mark, Jonah and Philip took turns with chest compressions.

  ‘This will be a marathon,’ said Philip. ‘We’ll begin with a slow compression rate, one and a half seconds per compression. When she reaches the mid-twenty degrees, we’ll up it to the standard hundred compressions a minute. Jansin, we’ll pause after thirty compressions, and you breathe five times as before. Squeeze the bag, watch the chest, let it fall. Are we good to begin?’

  His three assistants nodded.

  Jonah was glad to be involved. Had he merely stood back and watched, he knew he would be screaming silently: here was the woman he loved, clinically dead as a result of his idea. He’d exposed her to a terrible risk, and a terrible presence.

  As he took his first turn, his mind projected that black living effluent oozing from her mouth. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on his timing.

  Philip called out the numbers, Annabel’s core temperature remaining alarmingly flat. They had an electric fan heater in the room, keeping the air a steady thirty-five Celsius, and the oppressive warmth took its toll on them all. Jonah kept a wary eye on Philip. While the man seemed to have strength that defied his years, Jonah was certain this process was pushing him to his limit.

  After ten minutes, Annabel’s core temperature was making solid gains.

  ‘We can let the room get a little cooler,’ said Philip. He smiled. ‘We’ll all be grateful for that, I think.’ He switched off the heater and opened the door a crack. The slight influx of colder air across Jonah’s face was hugely welcome. Philip took over compressions from Mark.

  A few seconds later, the tiny heart monitor clipped to Annabel’s finger began to chirp rapidly.

  ‘Fibrillation,’ said Philip, stopping compressions immediately. He moved to the side and looked at the prepared syringes he’d placed there.

  ‘Do I keep going?’ said Jansin.

  Philip shook his head. ‘Hold off for now. Jonah, get the defibrillator.’

  Jonah ran to the bathroom and fetched it. ‘Here . . .’ he started to say as he came back into the room, but the others had all backed away from the bed and were staring at Annabel.

  She was sitting upright, eyes open.

  Annabel’s head turned towards Jonah. He felt horribly weak, as he saw nothing in those eyes he recognized.

  Philip was frozen, too, a syringe in his hand.

  The monitor’s rapid chirping continued, her heart still fibrillating. Jonah stepped forwards. ‘She’s not ready yet,’ he said, hoping the entity within her understood. ‘She’s not ready.’ Those eyes remained impassive. ‘You’ll kill her,’ said Jonah. ‘Lie down, or you’ll kill her.’

  The eyes closed. Slowly, she lay back down. Philip had a look of sheer terror on his face, but he snapped out of it. ‘Quickly, Jonah,’ he said, nodding to the defibrillator he was carrying.

  Jonah placed it on the bed. It was fully automatic, but even though Philip was quick to configure the pads, it felt like eternity. ‘Keep back, everyone,’ said Philip. He pressed the activation button, and a calm voice played, giving instructions for use. ‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve done everything already, just fucking do it.’

  At last the machine fired, a deep thump followed by a high-pitched whine as the system recharged in case another use was necessary.

  The chirping monitor settled into a rhythm.

  Jonah looked to Philip and saw relief on his face.

  ‘OK,’ said Philip. He let out a long breath and stepped forwards, removing the defibrillator pads. He put the syringe he had in his hand back on the bedside table. ‘Let’s see how she’s doing before we give her anything else.’ He took her wrist to get her pulse. It struck Jonah as odd for a moment, given that the heart monitor was steadily ticking out the beats, but after a few seconds Philip nodded. ‘Seems good and strong,’ he said. ‘Mark, what’s the temperature reading?’

  ‘Twenty-nine point nine,’ said Mark.

  Philip closed his eyes for a moment, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. ‘I think we should let her breathe unassisted soon, and remove the temperature probe.’ He looked at Jonah. ‘Uh, could we have a quick word in the hallway?’

  Jonah nodded and followed Philip through the door.

  ‘She’s doing well,’ said Philip.

  ‘Thanks to you,’ said Jonah. ‘I know that this whole . . .’

  ‘Cut the small talk, Jonah,’ said Philip. ‘She’s doing better than she should, do you get me? Her body temperature is still deeply hypothermic, but I’ll bet her heartbeat is healthier than anyone else’s in the room.’ He shook his head. ‘I need you to tell me. What do
we have in there?’ ‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Jonah.

  ‘Can we trust it?’ said Philip, looking at him with a mixture of fear and desperation that Jonah could entirely sympathize with. Whatever Annabel had within her, it was their single hope against the darkness that was coming.

  Jonah wanted to say yes, but that was so far from the way he felt, the word died on his lips. ‘I hope so,’ he said at last.

  It was the best he could do.

  *

  Jonah went down to see Never, who was still in the shelter, lying on his makeshift bed with a drip in his arm. Armel was with him when Jonah entered, and Never looked asleep.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ asked Jonah.

  ‘He’s been quiet,’ said Armel. ‘Slept, mostly. Sometimes he’s . . . restless. Wakes up calling for you.’ Armel looked squarely at Jonah. ‘How did it go?’

  Jonah gave a nod. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I think. I really wanted to talk to Never before we left.’ In truth, he’d wanted to say goodbye. Whatever the outcome, he thought there was a very good chance that he wasn’t coming back. He watched his friend for a minute or so, then decided that not waking him saved them both from a difficult parting.

  He wished Armel luck and returned upstairs. Philip stood in the corridor.

  ‘How was he?’ asked Philip of his other patient.

  ‘Sleeping,’ said Jonah. ‘I didn’t wake him. Annabel?’

  Philip raised his arm, pointing to the door. ‘She’s ready for you,’ he said. Jonah moved to enter the room, and Philip suddenly grabbed his arm. ‘Good luck, Jonah,’ he said.

  Jonah nodded, and entered the bedroom. He closed the door as he came in.

  Annabel was standing by the window, looking outside. She was dressed, wearing jeans and a shirt.

  ‘Annabel?’ he said. She didn’t turn. He walked up to her side. Her expression was blank. ‘Annabel?’ he said again. Her eyes turned to him, cold and distant. She raised her hands up and placed her palms on Jonah’s cheeks.

  Suddenly he saw.

  Below him lay a city in ruins, wreathed in the smoke of a thousand fires, too thick to see much except rubble.

  He heard Annabel’s voice: ‘Lisbon.’

  His viewpoint changed. Below now lay an island, half covered by an airport. The vast expanse of concrete and runways was devoid of planes, covered instead by what seemed like a patchwork of some kind. His viewpoint moved closer, and he saw the patchwork was delineated by high wire fences crisscrossing the airport.

  And within the fenced-off squares lay the bodies of tens of thousands. His viewpoint moved even closer, until he could see the terror etched on the dead faces. Terror, and mutilation – limbs torn from bodies, unrecognizable pieces strewn over tarmac.

  Annabel’s voice came again: ‘Rio.’

  She took her hands off his cheeks, and the vision ceased. ‘St Petersburg was destroyed before the visitation could occur,’ she said. ‘They were the lucky ones.’ She was speaking slowly, as if the words took great effort to form, and he knew it was the entity he was hearing.

  ‘It must end.’ Jonah nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Whatever it takes?’ she said.

  He looked at her, and saw emotion in her eyes at last: a deep sorrow, and a determination. He thought of Annabel’s fear, that they would build a new prison. That they would be trapped in the darkness, for eternity. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak. ‘Whatever it takes,’ he said at last.

  ‘Annabel is safe,’ she said. ‘We must go. You and I. To the city.’

  *

  They left without fanfare. Sly hurried out as he and Annabel got into Annabel’s car; she held up one hand in farewell, and Jonah held his up in reply. Annabel, or whatever resided within her now, ignored the gesture.

  To the city.

  Simple words, but so much was locked up within them. Jonah thought of the footage Never had captured, and the aftermath of the attack – bodies and cars abandoned on the roads. He thought of the images he’d had, of burning buildings, of bodies on concrete.

  He drove through the tree-lined countryside route along Wardensville Pike. The day was disconcertingly pleasant. He wound the window down, and slowed for a moment. There were no other vehicles on the road, and the beauty around him almost seemed cruel. Forty minutes on, they reached I-66, but it wasn’t until past Gainesville that traffic started to pick up.

  He wondered who these people were; Never had spoken of the infected venturing out of the city to bring people back, but was that all this was?

  ‘No,’ said Annabel, even though he’d not spoken aloud. ‘You’ll see.’

  His nerves were jangled; he tried to keep his mind blank as they drove. Then, approaching Centreville in the outskirts of the city, things changed. Military vehicles were stationary on the road ahead, and traffic was queuing. Jonah looked into other cars, at the faces of his fellow travellers. Children were common, he saw with dismay, but people didn’t have the oddly blank faces he’d been expecting. They looked variously excited, bored, indifferent: the usual faces in a highway jam. Ahead, the traffic was being reduced to two lanes, and soldiers were in the road speaking to each driver.

  Jonah tensed up. ‘Can they tell?’ he said. ‘Can they tell you’re different?’

  Annabel shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘But shouldn’t we be infected? Shouldn’t we have a shadow? At least one of us, anyway?’

  ‘Not everyone coming back is being betrayed directly, Jonah. Be patient. And relax.’

  As if.

  The queue of cars made its slow way along, and eventually Jonah was looking into the face of a slightly nervous private.

  ‘Welcome,’ said the private, smiling. ‘You’re allocated to Fair Lakes Center, buses will transport everyone in for the festivities. Do you have a leaflet?’ Jonah shook his head and the private handed him a sheet of paper, then waved him on; up ahead, cars were being directed off the interstate, and he went with the flow.

  Jonah glanced at the private in his wing mirror as he drove on, wondering if the young man had a shadow latched to his back somewhere. ‘Festivities?’ he said. Annabel was reading the leaflet that Jonah had been handed.

  ‘Their ploy,’ she said. She read aloud: ‘“American Freedom and Victory Celebration: Today we celebrate the final defeat of the enemy who has attacked our Nation in an unprovoked outrage. The world has seen many such attacks, but under the leadership of this Great Country, Freedom has been re-established throughout the globe! Where attacks have been suffered, rebuilding will begin tomorrow! Now, it is your duty as a patriot to take the greatest pride imaginable and join with us all, as we rejoice and revel in the true victory of our Great Leader! Food and refreshments will be provided free of charge!”’ She paused. ‘The rest is instructions, all the places they’ll be running a bus service from. You see? This has been distributed widely. People have been led to believe that the attacks they have heard rumours of are now defeated.’

  ‘It sounded ludicrous,’ said Jonah. ‘And, Jesus, “join with us all”? They’re being a little too honest with that one. “Our Great Leader” will be having food and refreshments later too.’ He grimaced and swore, then looked at her with a raised eyebrow. ‘What are you?’

  She said nothing.

  ‘I want to talk to Annabel,’ he said.

  ‘The process was difficult for her. She is barely aware. She needs rest.’

  ‘You’re saying she’s asleep?’ he said.

  ‘Would you rather she was awake for this?’

  It was his turn to stay quiet.

  In the vast parking lot of Fair Lakes Shopping Center, they were guided to the next available space. The lot was almost full already, he saw. Jonah turned off the engine. He took a moment to look at the people waiting to get onto buses. There was an air of celebration now, he could see. Happy children taking the hands of their parents, smiles all round. ‘Are many of these folk infected the way Never was?’ he said.

  ‘Some,’ she said. She held u
p the leaflet. ‘But it’s easier to give people a lie they want, and let them condemn themselves.’

  ‘They trust this?’ He looked around again. It all felt so wrong to him, so artificial. But of course it did: he knew what was happening.

  ‘Of course they trust it,’ she said. ‘For now.’

  He looked again at the smiling children, and thought back to the words Never had used: lambs to the slaughter.

  They got out of the car, and Jonah locked it. He almost laughed out loud, realizing what he’d done so automatically, but he suppressed it. It would have been the laughter of desperation, of hopelessness. The buses wouldn’t be bringing him back here, to his car; the buses wouldn’t be bringing anyone back here, and this parking lot would simply be a graveyard, the vehicles a short-lived memorial to those the Beast had taken.

  They queued, but didn’t have to wait long. Most of the buses had the Metro logo on the side, although some were tour coaches. Annabel took his hand, and he almost jumped. There was a sensation, close to chill, when her skin touched his. The presence of whatever was within her.

  She smiled. ‘Look casual,’ she said.

  He gave her a half-hearted nod, but let go of her hand. That was one piece of play-acting that was beyond him.

  On the bus, he sat by the window, looking out at the streets of the city as they drove. The only vehicles on the road were buses and military transports. Occasionally, there were pockets of people at the roadside, waving banners that read WELCOME, and VICTORY. The banners seemed far too well made for supposedly spontaneous outpourings of support. He couldn’t help but look at the windows of the houses and apartment blocks they passed, wondering what had happened to the people of the city.

  Jonah also thought of the people Never had described moving bodies from the road as dawn broke. They’d been cleaning up the mess. The city had been sanitized, and it must have been done quickly, precisely to prepare for this mass influx of unknowing victims.