Elliot was making his carpet suit by sewing squares of rug onto a tan jacket, which Katie had pulled off the body of a soldier half a century ago. His theory was that the heavy fabric would be too thick for any Dead’s teeth to get through. The outfit would be awkward and hot to wear, and he hoped he’d never have to test it.
Elliot worked at his task diligently, but couldn’t shake the thought of his parents’ impending wrath. Sooner or later somebody was going to come and he’d have to stay strong to his convictions.
MEMOIRS OF J. DING, 53 A. Z.
THE INFECTED HAVE decreased or absent urine output. This lack of micturition is possibly due to an acute kidney injury endured during their state of low perfusion while undergoing the trauma of conversion following infection. More likely, though, this anuria or absent urination is a feature of their disease process.
The kidneys are one of the major homeostatic organs of the body, balancing and controlling fluid and electrolyte volumes, and aiding in the normalisation of blood pressure. These two organs help in the removal of metabolic wastes, help control blood pH, and secrete various hormones, such as erythropoietin, which stimulates red blood cell production. They also activate vitamin D so that it can influence calcium absorption in the intestine and strengthen bones, and, finally, they produce urine. Such incredible organs!
When a non-infected person has the misfortune to suffer a catastrophic event, such as a myocardial infarction or a massive haemorrhage, they often endure a period of low perfusion where their blood pressure is dangerously low and the kidneys do not receive adequate blood and oxygen. During this period, tubular necrosis can occur, leading to complete kidney failure. Why do patients infected with the Zombie disease not suffer from the effects of renal failure? How can they survive without the benefits of working kidneys?
Perhaps the essence of the infection, the main adaptation that has made it King of all diseases, is its ability to slow the metabolism of its victims? Many functions within the body that are usually aerobic switch to anaerobic metabolism when possible. Processes that are usually efficient and expedient within the body become slow and fuel-sparing. The Zombie disease is a disaster for the human race, but a true achievement in survival and sophistication for a pathogen.
JESSY, late summer, 62 A. Z.
Dear Xavier,
You won’t believe it, but I met Rose, the girl you’re supposed to marry! You’ve probably heard all about how the top Council Leader’s son has run off with a Blue. Well, that guy is Rose’s older brother, Elliot. The Gunslingers have been asked to hunt him down and bring both him and the Blue in for punishment.
While the adults were talking (they sent me out of the room like a little kid), I was meant to ‘play’ with Rose. She looked sad and unhealthy. She was wearing a nightgown and couldn’t really talk. I think all this stuff with her family and brother has messed with her mind. I could tell she’s really pretty, though — tall, long blonde hair, good skin and a face like a doll. When I saw her, she was pale and looked like she hadn’t eaten a good meal in a long while.
I don’t know why nobody at her house is helping her. They’re strange people. The mother is really uptight and proper, and I felt like she was judging me. After I met Rose, I thought, Lady, you have no right judging me when you don’t even take care of your own daughter. All the time she spent working on her fancy hair she should have spent getting Rose washed and fed and out of her night clothes. How could she not notice what a wreck her daughter is?
Rose, on the other hand, seemed really sweet. She didn’t talk very much — like she was spooked and kind of lost when she first came into the room. She relaxed a bit after a while and we talked a little. I guess everyone deals with bad things differently. When I have bad things happen to me I get angry and boil inside. I think Rose might just close off and shut out the world. I could take a tip from her. My way gets me in more trouble!
So the Gunslingers have been asked to get Elliot, put him in chains and return him to the City. We’re going to start the search tomorrow, going out in a different direction each day, working a grid. When we’ve covered all the area around our outpost, we’re going to move to another station further out and search around that area. That’s the plan so far. Obviously, if Ray picks up a trail, we’ll track Elliot from there.
I was really excited about hunting down a fugitive and getting away from our boring outpost for a while. Now, after talking to Rose, I’ve changed my mind. She said that she thought the Council Leaders were making an ‘example’ of Elliot so that the people in the settlements would become afraid to question the Leaders and break the rules.
She also talked about Elliot — how he was a really good brother and didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. It wasn’t like his actions were putting anyone other than himself in danger. She had a good point. I don’t really want to find him.
Ray is way too excited. He’s been spending a lot of time planning and mapping out possible areas where they could be hiding. I hope for their sake they’ve chosen to hide somewhere far away and well concealed. Even better would be if they just packed their bags and left this area altogether. If they haven’t, Ray will find them. He might not be a nice guy or have any understanding about other people’s feelings, but he can do one thing — and that is track. He sees footsteps where there don’t seem to be any, and can tell which direction they’re going and how long ago they were made. He uses tracking to tell if any Corpses are around and when he’s out hunting game. It would be nice to know how to do it myself, but I’m not going to ask him. He’d just make fun of me if I tried. Maybe Virgil will show me. He’s not bad at tracking either. Virgil is really quiet, but he’s easy to be around and is pretty much the only person here who teaches me anything. I think you’d like him.
I can’t wait to grow up and get out of here.
Anyway, I thought I’d just let you know about Rose. I miss you guys. Say hi to your family for me.
Jessy
VIRGIL, early autumn, 62 A. Z.
THEY’D BEEN WORKING their way across the mountains, checking old buildings for signs of life. Well, Virgil thought, the boy may be foolish when it comes to the company he keeps, but he is certainly proving to be a good fugitive. Two weeks they’d been looking for him and still not a trace.
Ray was getting frustrated, Virgil could tell. Each day without a trail made him a bit more reckless and little more abusive to his crew. Virgil had had to bite his tongue the night before, when an argument between Ray and Jessy ended in Ray grabbing and shaking her until she lost her footing and fell to the ground. If only Jessy had kept her mouth shut! Her strong sense of right and wrong meant she said what she thought, even if it meant going head to head with her father.
‘Maria, make yourself useful for once and bring me a drink,’ Ray had said, lying back in the only comfortable chair at their temporary outpost. He looked disgusting, scoffing a roasted rabbit, breathing loudly through his nostrils as he chewed.
Maria had begun to do as he asked, but Jessy had stopped her and said to Ray, ‘No. Maria’s tired.’
Ray gave her an appraising look and put down the tiny rabbit bone he had been sucking on. ‘Well then, missy, you get me a drink.’
Fierce little Jessy should have done as he’d asked. Ray was testing to see how far he could push her, challenging her to defy him. She gave him what he wanted.
‘Get your own drink,’ she said, her dark eyes locked on him.
Ray looked down, smiled briefly, then lunged across the table. ‘Do as you’re told and get me a drink, you little snot!’ he growled, grabbing her by the throat.
Jessy scrabbled furiously to pull his fingers from her throat, but he just kept squeezing.
The others in the room watched in mute horror. Virgil readied himself to step in, but just then Ray released his chokehold and pushed Jessy from her chair. ‘Now you’re gonna get that drink, aren’t you?’ he sneered.
Jessy stood and stared at Ray with venomous eyes. ‘Sure,
’ she said quietly, almost in a whisper.
Everyone else looked away as she walked from the room, as if trying to distance themselves from the conflict, knowing Ray’s anger could easily swing towards them. But Virgil watched Jessy through the window as she went to the water barrel. Head high, back straight, she filled Ray’s cup, then looked back at the cook room to see if she was being watched. She must have seen Virgil in the window, but she was intuitive enough to know what he thought of Ray. Jessy lifted the cup to her mouth and let a thin stream of saliva trickle down into it. Then she wiped her fingers across her nose, placed them in the water and stirred. She smiled briefly, then walked briskly back towards the cook room.
Virgil knew then that Jessy wasn’t going to be beaten by Ray or let his constant abuse erode her self-esteem. He felt a wave of admiration for her. She was strong. More than that, she was smart and kind-hearted, and already a gifted young Gunslinger. She was growing into a stunning beauty as well, but Virgil knew not to go there. He shook his head — Jessy was out of his league. Virgil was only four years older than her, but he knew his life had made him too hard, too dull, to be attractive to a young woman like her. It was better to never even entertain the thought — it would lead only to heartache and frustration.
Still, he smiled at her craftiness when Ray drank his cup of water without the slightest hesitation, slurping it down noisily, pleased with the way he had gained it. Jessy sat in the corner of the room, pretending to read, her dark eyes glowing like a satisfied cat’s.
LUKAS, autumn, 62 A. Z.
LUKAS HAD BEEN walking along the base of the cliffs, where the brush and vegetation was a bit thicker, when he came across what appeared to be some rudimentary living quarters or way-station built before the Plague. Filthy and infested with rodents, it wasn’t the most appealing place to spend the night, but the prospect of easy meat persuaded him to stop.
He captured a lean, bristly rat by throwing a large piece of canvas on it and then stomping at the bump it made under the heavy cloth. It was a crude execution, Lukas knew, but it worked. He ate his meal raw, and quickly, and set off to explore the building further. Pushing his way through the overgrown scrub, he discovered what must have been a contraption for outdoor cooking: a rusted metal bowl held up by four legs, with a grate on top. Funny, Lukas thought, because Mr Ding said that people cooked indoors in fancy kitchens before the Infection. He was tempted to see if it still worked, but decided the smoke from its fire would be too risky.
Lukas inspected the inside of the building, and found a pick, shovel and axe, as well as a bed frame, its canvas cover now mostly rotted away. It would serve well enough as a place to sleep. Lukas busied himself cleaning a bit, clearing out droppings and balls of chewed wood and paper from abandoned rats’ nests. He pulled the shutters open with a puff of dust and let the shack fill with fresh air and light. Lukas looked around at his new humble home and thought, This isn’t so bad. I could stay for a bit.
VIRGIL, autumn, 62 A. Z.
Most OF THE horses were looking tired and thin from the weeks of searching for the fugitives. Only Jessy’s Bob looked little the worse for wear.
‘He’s good at eating, that’s why,’ Virgil laughed as they readied their mounts for another long day’s ride. ‘And he’s always been a bit of a fatty. But you’re right, this is the best he’s ever looked.’
Jessy ran her hand down the fluff of hair that was Bob’s mane. The animal wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense of a ‘fine horse’. Bob’s muzzle was pink and mottled with grey spots; the whites of his eyes showed, giving him a remarkably angry expression; and his mane never grew longer than a couple of centimetres. But there was something breathtaking about the horse when he was moving. His thick, strong neck, solid shoulders and muscled back-end would collect into a powerful and graceful athleticism. His granite-like coat and spots made him look like a statue come to life. Virgil had always thought the overall effect was both beautiful and poetic. And he saw that Jessy appreciated her horse’s uniqueness, and that this was only adding to her talent as a horsewoman.
Her fighting skills were coming along well too. She was aware of her limitations, but not afraid of them. Her small size put her at a disadvantage, but she compensated for it with a clever mind. On the trip to the old outpost, they’d had a pretty close call with a Variant, which had spooked Greg’s horse, throwing him off. Without a second’s hesitation, Jessy had charged Bob straight at the Corpse, knocking it and slowing it down so that Virgil had time to set up a steady shot and kill it cleanly. That, Virgil thought, had taken more nerve than he’d seen in one so young.
Now they were getting ready to ride out again. To Virgil’s relief, Ray had decided to split the group to cover more ground. Today Virgil would be riding with Owen and Jessy, searching the valley, while Ray would go with Greg and Maria, and take the outside of the northern cliffs. Never had he been so pleased to be free of their leader. Ray pushed the horses too hard and made dangerous decisions. It was only a matter of time before Ray slipped up or his luck ran out and somebody got killed.
KATIE, autumn, 62 A. Z.
I FELT LIKE eating a big bloody steak, but given that there were no longer any grocery stores or cattle to steal, some sort of bird would have to do. Some days I was lucky and didn’t even have to leave my valley to find food. Other days I had to walk for a bit and actually try. Today was one of those trying days. Where were all the stupid birds?
Venturing further afield than usual, I was picking my way along a narrow ledge on a rather steep cliff face when I saw dust and, below it, the distinct forms of horses and riders in the distance. If my heart had been fast enough to skip a beat, it surely would have at that moment. Why on earth would riders be all the way out here? Humans had no reason to venture into these parts: it was far from any travelling roads, without any useful resources, and it had pockets of lowlands filled with the Undead. Still, there was no doubting what I saw.
Luckily, I was wearing an earthen-coloured poncho and in any case was too far away to be seen. (I feel I must explain the poncho. Not usually my style, but I wear it sometimes when I’m feeling earthy.) Nonetheless, I quickly slid down the rocks and tucked myself away under a dense bush and some boulders. A while later, they passed right beside my hiding spot: two dirty-looking cowboys and a girl. Their weapons and air of confidence showed they were definitely Gunslingers. What were they up to out here?
I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
Anxious to know more, and to avoid detection, I slipped from my hiding place and followed them, staying a little off the path and ready to duck for cover if they showed the slightest suspicion of my being nearby. I could catch only snatches of their conversation, most of which seemed to be horse foot-care — ‘Make sure not to take too much off the heel or you’ll put strain on the—’ But these guys weren’t out here for a leisurely stroll. They looked tired, grimy and in need of a shower. Nobody does that to themselves or risks this Dead country unless they have a definite purpose.
Suddenly the man in front called a halt, and they pulled the horses up at the base of a cave. They looked around, but didn’t bother to go inside. This confirmed my fears — they were after a trail.
Keep it cool, Katie, calm down. Think.
I let them get well ahead of my hiding place, then crept along the bush-line till they were a safe distance away. Then I turned and ran for the Tower.
LUKAS, autumn, 62 A. Z.
AFTER WEEKS OF effort, much of it slow because of his single arm, Lukas had the shack looking tidy and liveable. It was good to have a place to call home while he took stock of his desperately changed circumstances. Surprisingly, he could even feel himself beginning to relax. But then he saw the Gunslingers riding over the ridge.
His immediate instinct was to hide, but already it was too late. The men had seen him as he rushed back indoors from the front yard area, and had kicked their horses into a gallop. Why hadn’t he made an escape plan? All he could do now was grab his old bac
kpack and run for the gulley in the hope the men might think twice before following him down into the low-lying areas.
He slid down the hillside, grazing his thighs on the sharp rocks, but not pausing even for breath before getting up and running again. He could hear the Gunslingers yelling directions to each other and the sound of their horses’ hooves on the rock. Lukas forced himself to focus, and willed his legs to run faster and further into the gulley, where the foliage was denser and full of prickly undergrowth.
It was hopeless. He could hear the horses snorting close behind him, their riders growling at them in low voices. One of the animals even squealed as it cut itself on the branches. Lukas heaved himself through the bushes, falling, rolling, and then scrambling back up and running. The ground grew looser and softer the deeper he went into the gulley. It made his running more difficult, impossible to keep the same pace.
The horses kept closing in around him, coming from behind and from the left and right, tightening the net their riders had set for him. He kept pressing on until he sensed he could run no further, and instead searched frantically for somewhere to hide. There was nothing really suitable, but he threw himself into the thickest bit of nearby brush and crouched down, willing the riders to pass by.
The first horse blew straight past him. Foamed sweat covered its chest; its strong haunches dug into the soft ground. Its rider was a woman with a long braid trailing out from below her straw hat. She gripped the reins of her horse in her left hand, and in her right she carried a short sword. Lukas held himself completely motionless until she continued on her way. He couldn’t see what was happening with the other riders, but heard them yelling to each other, and the sounds of the horses pushing through the brush.
Blue Page 11