Ring of Roses

by Sara Clancy

  Just as she was approaching her limit, he replaced his glasses and squinted through the nearest gap. Her hope swelled again when he quickly checked a few other openings, the ghost of a smile crossing his face.

  “There. Four buildings to our left.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. See the hanging sign? That’s next door.”

  With a bit of effort, she was able to pinpoint a dangling shape that slowly swayed in the breeze. At her hesitation, he absently rubbed his forehead, his lips jerking in an attempt to smile.

  “I hit my head on it last night,” he said.

  Jezebel didn’t attempt to hide her flash of amusement.

  “All the rooftops are connected,” he continued. “We can keep to the shadows most of the way.”

  Something else caught Jezebel’s attention and her smile grew. “The gates are still open.”

  Chapter 12

  The foul stench of sweat and infection lingered in the narrow, dirty trench. Hours of inactivity tormented Annabel’s muscles. She longed to stretch out her legs or straighten her spine. Neither were options. Tension took the group each time the Plague Doctors drifted past the windows. Light would spill across the floorboards they were cowering under, allowing them brief moments to see the terror in each other’s faces. Everyone kept their distance from Annabel, still considering her an infection risk. It had left her as the last one to enter through the broken trap door. She had haphazardly pulled one of the beds over the top but didn’t have the strength to finish the job.

  Auto was the closest to her, a broad splinter buried deep into his forearm. His attempts to keep the others out had led to a brawl. He and a man Annabel couldn’t name had been the ones to crash through the floor, discovering the hidden tunnel. A few had instantly taken to the new development, choosing to take their chances in the tunnel rather than stay. As the hours dragged on and the tension built, others had followed. Annabel had stopped trying to keep count. It didn’t matter how many still remained. She couldn’t follow them. She had to wait. Jezebel will come back, she told herself for the hundredth time. They’ll both be back.

  A beam washed over the floorboards. Bright as a searchlight. Their glow slicing across the pit and creating a series of whimpers and gasps. Annabel squeezed her eyes closed and held her breath, trying to keep still. Tears welled up between her lashes and threatened to fall. Gradually, the light faded. Her breath left her in a puff and she flopped her head forward. They’ll leave soon, she promised herself. It was a battle to keep her logical mind from assessing that. Just stay still. Just for a little while longer.

  A floorboard groaned. Her eyes snapped open. Silence became a physical presence. Holding her breath, Annabel lifted her gaze. Dust drifted between the cracks. Footsteps. A shadow flittered overhead. Tears rolled free, blazing trails down Annabel’s cheeks.

  “Anna?”

  Her head snapped towards the familiar voice. Hope lurched up, tasting honey sweet against the back of her tongue. Jezebel. In the corner of her eyes, she saw the others watching her. Auto shook his head, eyes wide, jaw clenched. He thinks it’s a trick.

  “Anna?” Jezebel whispered again.

  No one was close enough to stop Annabel from reaching up and tapping her finger against the underside of the makeshift bed. Two raps. Then silence. Please let it be her. Auto glared at her as if she had just driven a knife into his chest. Two taps against the floorboards made Annabel almost giddy with relief.

  “Jez,” she whispered.

  The bed moved slowly. Handled as if it were made of crystal. She shuffled to the side as the bed lifted up, creating just enough room for Jezebel to slide down into the pit. The sisters clutched each other, holding on to one another like life rafts.

  “Are you okay?” Jez whispered in her ear, her arms tightening a little more.

  Annabel nodded. All too soon, they had to part. Henry needed help getting in the hiding place without creating a sound. His long limbs ate up the space. With the three critical patients blocking Auto’s path, there was nowhere to go without causing a lot of movement and noise. It forced Henry to fold himself into the minimal ‘quarantine’ space. Jezebel was able to squeeze herself between her sister and the wall. With a bit of effort, they had the bed back in place and silence had returned.

  “Where are the others?” Auto asked.

  Henry shrugged. Nothing he could have said would have made the group more fearful. Are we all that are left? Annabel wondered.

  “Some went down the tunnel,” Annabel whispered. “I don’t know where it goes.”

  “To a well,” Jezebel said.

  “I think that’s just drainage.” Henry seemed surprised to have both sisters turn to look at him. “Well, you don’t want escape tunnels flooding.”

  “Escape tunnels?” Auto cut in.

  “The rich didn’t deal with the plague the same way as the poor,” he explained. “There are a lot of examples of them hiding out in castles and mansions. Just having parties until it was all over. There are cases of them making escape routes out of towns that had been walled up.”

  “And you think this is one of them?” Auto asked.

  The question set off a string of whispers before the group remembered to be quiet.

  “Well, the other one we were in led to a house with really expensive tapestry. This one’s in the doctor’s office,” he trailed off with a shrug.

  Annabel leaned closer. “This tunnel could lead outside?”

  “One of the pathways will,” he said.

  Jezebel was quick to explain. “It’s a maze. The crimson men chased us through before. They could still be in there.”

  “But it’s worth the risk,” Auto pressed.

  “No,” Jezebel and Henry whispered as one.

  “The gate’s open,” Jezebel continued. “We can make a distraction. Try and make a run for it.”

  “With the critical patients?” She couldn’t imagine them getting far. “How did you get in here?”

  “Rooftops,” Henry said.

  Annabel’s interest peeked. “How close are the buildings to the gate wall?”

  Jezebel quickly caught on to what she was suggesting and whipped around to face Henry. His brow furrowed and jaw dropped.

  “They’re right next to each other.”

  “So we’ll go that way. Use the rooftops to get to the gate and rig something up to lower everyone down the other side,” Annabel whispered with growing excitement. “They’re in the tunnels. So, let’s go across the roofs.”

  Jezebel contemplated it for a moment. Annabel knew her big sister was looking for an excuse not to do it, but they couldn’t afford to stay. Not if the crimson spirits were roaming the tunnels. Eventually, she nodded. They turned to the others. It surprised Annabel how many agreed. She supposed anything seemed better than staying in the pit, waiting for death.

  Getting out of the tunnel seemed to take hours. Not just because moving the bed aside without making noise was almost impossible. The children were allowed out first and set by the windows as lookouts as the others pried the broken individuals from the tunnel. Two of the three needed to be strapped to planks if there was any hope for mobility. She used the strips of wet fabric, looping them around the patients and the planks, knotting them as tight as she was could. As she finished, the others carried them carefully up the stairs. The third patient was a problem. There weren’t the resources or manpower left to make a similar rig. No one wanted to carry him by hand. After some hesitation, Henry reluctantly offered to carry the wounded man on his back. It was by no mean a perfect situation. For either person concerned.

  Annabel carefully arranged the wounded man’s legs around Henry’s waist and secured them in place with a cord of twine she had found holding a few medical herbs in place. He’s bleeding internally, a voice in her head noted. Something’s punctured, no way to tell what. One wrong move and that puncture becomes a tear. He’ll bleed out. Annabel ignored it and, having retrieved Auto’s belt, bound t
he patient’s arms round Henry’s neck. There’s a spinal cord injury. If he survives, he’s going to be paralyzed.

  Henry took on the weight without complaint, only rolling his shoulders once to test the new hindrance. But his eyes showed his fear. They asked the questions he refused to voice. What if the man strapped against my spine is infected? What if I am? The only answer Annabel had was one of mutual destruction. All she could do was nod reassuringly. There was nothing she could say to ease his nerves.

  At last, they were gathered on the upper floor, crowded as close as they dared to the only way out.

  The window.

  Auto went first, gripping the chipped overhanging tiles to pull himself up onto the roof. Clothes were shed and tied together to create a rope that he could attach to the chimney. Annabel wasn’t the only one who doubted that it would hold anyone’s weight. That’s not what it’s for, she told herself. It’s just a guide. A placebo. It’s only a few feet to get to the roof. Most of the group could reach the tiles without help. The lantern light had dwindled but remained. One street over, she hoped. With the smoke, there was no way to be sure where they were. The children were sent up next. The process was slow. The seconds grated on Annabel’s raw nerves. Desperately needing a distraction, she checked on the injured. The conscious people kept their distance.

  Annabel could barely think straight by the time a few people were on the roof and it was time to try and get the weakest amongst them out. She checked and rechecked the knots. Secured them repeatedly. It’s the best you can do. Telling herself this didn’t make the task any easier. Jezebel and Henry worked together to thread the top of the plank through the width of the window frame. It tipped forward, half-throwing Jezebel out. She scrambled for purchase as the plank tittered on the windowsill, threatening to fall. Everything was silent chaos, a moment of blind panic where everyone grabbed for the strapped down man.

  Annabel didn’t see who on the roof managed to grab ahold of the brace. It jolted and shook and gradually began to work up. Henry and Jezebel steadied it. All Annabel could do was watch. Even if she had the strength, there wasn’t enough room for her to be anything other than a hindrance. Gradually, the man was out of sight. And we have to do it all over again.

  Once more, she checked the knots and resigned herself to her role as witness. They were better this time. The handover took a toll on their muscles and sapped their strength but went smoothly. The patient was dragged up, hanging limply against the ties that kept them locked into place. Annabel forced herself to watch the sight. They’re going to die. They can’t survive this. She didn’t attempt to stop it. It seemed better to die trying.

  Henry and Jezebel helped the others out. Annabel didn’t bother to keep track of how many were left. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Everything hurt. She just wanted to sleep. So she took this moment, the seconds she was forced to stay put and wait her turn, to stretch her muscles and flex her fingers. It took constant effort to keep herself from weeping. Her hands were on fire. There hadn’t been time to stop the burn and blisters that had begun to swell. The puss filled balloons threatened to burst each time she moved her fingers. Tying the knots had been agony. And it was one of the reasons she kept returning to them, checking and rechecking that they would hold.

  There wasn’t any need to discuss the order for the last of them. Henry, with the last critical patient still strapped to his back, headed up first. Then Jezebel. Annabel was to be last. She’d need the most help getting up. I won’t be able to grip the rope. She edged to the window, sitting on the ledge and reaching up with both hands. The smoke hovered thickly around the roof. Reducing her vision to the point that she could only see hands reaching down from the room. The tiles creaked and clacked. A few hunks chipped off and toppled down to the courtyard floor. The arms latched onto her. Annabel pressed her lips together but couldn’t contain the whimper of sheer pain. The arms began to pull, taking her weight and leaving her feet to dangle in the open air.

  Light washed over the building. Annabel could almost feel it like a solid, blistering weight. She didn’t look down. There was no need. Screams shattered the night. The hands on her arm yanked hard, misjudging in their panic and swinging her into the over-hanging ledge of the roof. The door cracked open. She could hear footsteps pounding against the staircase. They’re coming! Scrambling, kicking, she did what she could to help the unseen helpers drag her onto the roof. People were already running. Bolting across the attached rooftops in a desperate sprint to the wall. It left Jezebel and Annabel to carry one of the patients. Her blisters popped as she gripped the hard edge of the wood. Her knees wanted to buckle and her bare feet slipped over the slick tiles. They ran, jostling the patient violently. Keep going! Don’t let go! Annabel roared it at herself even while her professor whispered, Don’t bring the dead with you.

  Glancing back, she caught flashes of red. Tears burned her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Pale, boney arms latched onto the tiles. They’re moving too fast. Something in her chest shattered as they hobbled onto the next rooftop. Let go! her professor’s voice screamed. With an agonized sob, she released her grip, calling out for Jezebel to do the same. The slab struck the tiles with a resounding thud. Annabel felt it within her chest. Jezebel was beside her in an instant, grabbing her arm and dragging her along. They left the person behind. She didn’t know who it was. Guilt boiled in her like acid and she couldn’t resist taking a glance behind. Just to know. Just to say that she was sorry. The red figures had already swarmed over the plank. The scent of roses filled the air.

  Focusing back in front of her, Annabel ran as fast as her legs would allow. The others had pulled ahead, becoming mere shadows within the mist. Barely seen. Little more than illusions. She ran faster. Pushed harder. Threw every ounce of strength she had left in her body to putting one foot in front of another.

  Then the ground was gone.

  A short plummet.

  A sudden stop.

  And everything was gone.

  Chapter 13

  Crunching gravel.

  It took Annabel a while to place the sound. Once she had, other sensations rushed into her awareness, but it was a struggle to make sense of any of it. The sun warmed her back. Sweat trickled across her scalp, a slight touch that sent explosions of pain. Her head felt full and she couldn’t draw a decent breath. Prying her eyes open, she watched the ground stagger and jerk before her vision. A sudden swirl made her stomach roll. She landed hard on the earth, unable to get off her back before she retched. Spit and bile splattered past her lips, but nothing followed. There was nothing in her stomach to follow.

  “Anna?”

  The voice sounded a million miles away. Muted and hollowed under the constant pounding in her skull.

  “Did you drop her?” Henry asked.

  Annabel winced and tried to form a response, but her brain was sluggish and Jezebel was speaking.

  “I didn’t mean to. She’s heavy.”

  Struggling to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head, Annabel released a pained groan. Sudden movement flashed across her vision and hands grabbed her shoulders. The combination made her sick.

  “Anna!” Jezebel yanked her up into a tight hug, seeming unconcerned by the spit Annabel continued to droll onto her shoulder. “Oh, thank God. You’re awake, right? Say something.”

  “Concussion,” was all Annabel could force out.

  It tapered Jezebel’s enthusiasm somewhat, and after a lot of excruciating shuffling, Annabel found herself propped up against a tree.

  “What happened?”

  “You ran right off a battlement,” Henry said, keeping his voice soft. “The mud saved you. But you hit your head pretty bad. There was a lot of blood.”

  “The ghosts?”

  “I heard them following us for a while,” he said. “They never came close.”

  “We were too far away from the town.” Jezebel spoke the words as if it were an argument she was tired of having.

  Henry carried the same ann
oyance. “We don’t know that.”

  “Fine. They found easier targets, is that what you want to hear?”

  Easier targets? Annabel struggled to sit up a little higher. “The others didn’t get out?”

  “Our group did,” Jezebel said. “But we couldn’t wait around for the others. They might make it. There’s a town, see?”

  Keeping her touch slow and gentle, Jezebel looped an arm around Annabel’s shoulders, steadying her as she pointed into the distance. A rush of clean air left Annabel dizzy and the sunlight stung her eyes. They were on top of a hill, lingering in the last of a tree line that gave way to lush, rolling meadows and golden fields of wheat. A stream cut through the vibrant colors like a vein of crystal. To the left, the ocean sparkled under the afternoon light, creating soft white lines as it lapped against the shore. Before them, down a long serpentine gravel road, was a town. It peeked out from around the edge of a towering mountain, quaint and quiet.

  “We sent Auto ahead to ask for help.” A delighted yelp escaped her when a small dust cloud began to rise up from the far end of the path. “Help’s coming!”

  Jezebel’s enthusiasm spread through the weary group like wildfire. Snippets of conversation worked their way through Annabel’s addled brain. Talk of food and water. Soft beds. Medical help. Painkillers. Above it all, there was talk of home. Of a way off of the island and far away from the ghost town and everything it contained. Annabel slumped with relief, forcing her older sister to take more of her weight.

  “It’ll be okay now,” Jezebel promised. “Help will be were soon. We’ll make a few phone calls. Everything will be okay.”

  Jezebel repeated the statements like a prayer as she lowered Annabel back down against the tree. The motion was slow and careful, but it still made the world swirl before Annabel’s vision. A flash of colors and shapes. Amongst it all, she caught a glimpse of the others. Covered in mud and gore. Stripped of clothing. Starved and sleep deprived. They were all feral remains of the people that had set out on the boat tour. Concussion. Hospital. Her professor’s voice whispered the words in her head. It sounded like a scream to her broken skull.