Heal the Sick, Raise the Dead Page 13

  We had no idea of how many other people were colluding with the bearded man but it had to be at least five or six judging by what I had seen on the way through half glimpsed doorways, which had also showed signs of horror that I had no wish to recall. There had been blood, pained movement and screams, which mercifully I could no longer hear. They were most likely local thugs who had invaded the station when the majority of the force were out trying to maintain order, as surely a station this size wouldn't have had more than around ten or fifteen staff when full anyway.

  When I heard footsteps outside I moved back to the cell door to stand next to Arthur. The window was so small that I could only see a tiny portion of the corridor but it was enough to see the blade, the thick set arm and the features of the tall man standing over Dorothy. His head was shaved, with veins standing out thickly against his temples. His neck was so long and gangly as to look almost crooked, with his Adam’s apple standing out and quivering as he swallowed. He was wearing two or three t-shirts over his thin torso, stained to such an extent that their original colour couldn't be discerned. His jeans were equally grimy, even showing what looked like a hand print in caked blood on his thigh.

  “Not a looker, is she?” he asked. I heard low laughter off to one side, from someone just out of view. “She's on the way out, too. Better to get rid, now.”

  “Wait, no... please wait!” shouted Arthur, ineffectually pawing at the door with his one hand. The tall man turned, his left eye twitching a little as he peered into the window. He sucked his top lip into his mouth, running his teeth over it in a strange nervous habit.

  “She belong to you?” he asked, a dark glint in his eye. Warning signs flashed across my mind, despite my lack of experience with people. This man clearly had desires and sensibilities that were dangerous...

  “She's my wife, please, she's dying,” said Arthur. There was no anger there, simply cold fear, gripping his soul.

  “We can see that,” said the other man, the bearded fat man, coming into view and looking into the window. His eye was even worse up close, a mess of conjunctivitis and puss around a red raw eyeball that must have been agony to bear, though if he felt any pain he didn't show it. I pulled Arthur aside, trying to take the spotlight, in case the men decided to play games with him. It was obvious they would have been able to elicit a strong reaction from him if they hurt Dorothy, though any trauma would most likely kill her when she was in such a state.

  “I'm a doctor,” I said carefully, “and if you let us help her, just... we need some things from the pharmacy, then I'll help you. Your eye, that must bother you,” I said, trying the same tack I had used to defuse the situation with Arthur. The bearded man simply laughed again, his mouth twisting into a leer as he turned to the tall man.

  “That's quite a claim. A doctor... don't that take you back?” he remarked to the taller man, who grinned in reply. “Before, when there were rules. Tell me this, doc,” he said, moving closer to Dorothy and raising the crowbar he still held over her sweat beaded brow. “What colour will this hag's brains be if I crack her skull?”

  I didn't answer, terror gripping my chest. If I made the wrong move, Dorothy would die. The man turned his head, theatrically cocking his ear towards me.

  “No answer, hmmm? See, I know,” he said, lowering the crowbar and walking back up to the window, coming so close that I had to stand back a bit. I saw the man behind him rest a hand on Dorothy's face, turning her head both ways to look at her more closely. I didn't want to think why. The bearded man continued. “I know because I've broken 'em before, women, blokes, a lot of 'em. Not all of 'em were dead, but they all ended up that way, fucking clowns. Ask yourself, really, ask yourself... you should have asked this before you ran in here... ask yourself... what’s the sorta person survives in a world like this?”

  I didn't know what to say. I had no aces up my sleeve, nothing to turn the situation. What could I say that would help?

  I felt a small stab in my neck and pulled my gaze away from the window to see Cato, as small as I had ever seen him, his tiny withered hands grasping at the flesh above my collar. He scrabbled up my face, boots digging painfully into my skin, before swinging himself above my earlobe, clinging to the side of my head. He must have bent his head towards my ear, because I heard his voice, small and insistent. “One that is strong enough to take what he wants.” It was a strange sensation. It was not only Cato that had spoken. The words had come out of my mouth.

  The bearded man moved back slowly, eyes narrowing. The tall man stood up, looking over at me, a little wary.

  “True, true,” said the bearded man finally. “That's us you see. We rule this world now, us guys in this building. We control this town. We control you. We can do whatever we want with you, for as long as you last...” His voice had an almost laughable edge of pride to it, as if he were a child laying out the rules of the playground.

  “But surely,” continued Cato, his words tripping over my tongue without my volition, “there are still things you want? I can get them for you, if you'll let us save her. I'll go out there. If I die, you won't lose anything. No risk. Let me handle your needs.”

  “Handle my needs? That’s quite an offer, I might take you up on that,” said the bearded man, smiling disconcertingly.

  “As for ‘no risk’... I can tell,” said the tall one, wagging his finger, greasy and yellowed, “that you think you're smart, a smart one... but I'm smarter. We'll let you get some supplies, some for you and some for us, but we're keeping them here, your grandma and grandpa. You won’t have any advantage, you know. You'll do what we want and then... we'll see.” This one seemed more dangerous. The bearded man was clearly a thug – all testosterone and instinct – but the taller one was methodical and careful, a dangerous trait in a man clearly capable of horrific deeds.

  “How do I know you'll keep them safe?” I asked. This was my own question, a gut churning fear pushing through Cato's words. The tall man scratched at his neck, a seedy grin creasing his features.

  “You'll have to trust us.”

  “Yeah,” said the bearded man, grinning with the same yellowing, predatory grimace as when we'd first seen him. “Trust us. You don't have a choice, from where I'm standing”

  The men pulled me from the cell, with the taller one pressing a large kitchen knife into the back of my neck. I didn't resist, letting them shove me and paw me all they wanted. It would have just made it worse if I had fought.

  They dragged me down a white painted corridor lined with health and safety noticeboards, the sad remains of a world long gone. Every window we passed was boarded up for safety, with the candles lined up along the window sills, their flames casting a dull orange light on the already hellish surroundings. Blood stains were obvious in many places on the walls and floor, either from initial attacks by the undead or instigated by the station’s new inhabitants. There were rooms to the left and right, maybe offices, though there was the glint of metal in one, the suggestion of pooling blood in another. We passed a man, who was nondescript apart from the two pairs of bloody pliers he was holding in his sweaty palms. His eyes were wide, wild and long past sane. The two men pushed him out of the way, causing him to give out a fit of nervous laughter before he ducked into one of the offices, shutting the door behind him. “Keep walking,” whispered Cato in my ear. “Eyes forward. Survive.”

  As we were walking I also spotted another couple of cells, with other occupants, maybe three altogether, dark shapes huddled in the shadows. More people, more people relying on me. It was a weight I didn't need but also one that steadied my resolve. Did I somehow crave this power over life and death?

  They pushed me against a wall next to a fire escape and thrust an empty sports bag into my hands. The tall man pushed himself up to me, holding the tip of the kitchen knife so close to my eye that I could feel the cold of the blade on my pupil. Cato scrambled onto my shoulder, hiding his face in his hands. The tall man spoke low and methodically, the stench of his hot breath makin
g my eyes water.

  “What we need, doctor, is some methadone. As much as you can carry. See, I like women... but they don't like me, the same as you don't I suppose. That's all right sometimes, but I don't fancy a fight today. I just want...” he sucked his top lip in again, his teeth biting and rubbing the skin, “some affection. Maybe I'll take some methadone myself. I'll be honest, the one we already had, she's not gorgeous anyway...”

  “Worse now... less teeth, heh,” laughed the bearded man, scratching at his eyes with his palm. They were talking about their captive as if she was a piece of meat, a toy made for breaking. I would not be getting anything for his eyes, unless he asked. They deserved no kindness. Bargaining with them was a necessity but I had never felt so sick or so hollow about my actions.

  “She still tried to get at me, wouldn't take it...” said the tall man, glancing at the bearded man before turning back towards me. “So, methadone and... alcohol.”

  “None left in the offy...” said the bearded man. “Cleaned it out last week.”

  “Medicinal then,” said the tall man. “And sweets, I want sugar. They always have those fucking... what are they called... lollipop stand things, at the counter.”

  It was a ludicrous list, dictated by desire and nonsensical greed. The tall man was getting excited about my return now. Hopefully I could use that to my advantage somehow. At the very least, it would hopefully keep Arthur and Dorothy safe.

  The tall man released me and stood back as the bearded man pushed the handle of the fire escape and peered through the gap to make sure it was clear, before grabbing my arm and throwing me forcefully outside. I landed on the flagstones heavily as the bearded man's crowbar clattered onto the ground in front of me.

  “For luck,” he said, before slamming the door shut.

  I slid down onto my knees behind a stack of wooden pallets, trying to gather myself before I moved on. Cato was still there, his little hands occasionally pinching the flesh of my neck as he scrambled around in a blind panic. I could smell rot nearby and spotted a small pile of corpses lying beyond the fire door towards the back of the alley. Limbs and bones, flesh and blood lay festering, mingling together as they broke down into their new form. Flies and maggots crawled across the feast and as I watched, somehow transfixed. I saw one or two of the limbs twitching, whatever infection was causing this epidemic still somehow surviving through the process of decay, defying the stillness of death. In some ways it could almost be seen as a miracle. Was it sending electrical impulses, was it forcing blood without a heartbeat, were muscles really moving without oxygen?

  "We need to run, this is our chance. We can escape all this, leave it all behind, find somewhere strong to hole up. In a few months the dead will be gone, rotted away to nothing. You know this, all we have to do is wait. We should have never left the island..." whispered Cato, his hand stroking my cheek feebly, putting me in mind of the rustling of a moth's wing on my skin.

  “I can't leave, people are relying on me,” I said quietly, hoping I was quiet enough so that only Cato would hear me. Cato was insistent though.

  “If we keep going this way, she'll find us. She wants us all.”

  “Who does? Perdita?”

  “Of course,” hissed Cato, sliding around my neck to the opposite shoulder. “She wants you to find out, to finish it, to make all of this worthwhile.”

  “Finish what? Cato, I'm too tired now, tired of all the games and the secrets... it's too much. Tell me what you mean,” I said, moving my hand up to my shoulder and gently picking him up, before holding him in front of my eyes. His arms were wrapped around his knees as he sat gazing up at me.

  “I've already said too much,” he said in a tiny voice. “She will consume us all.”

  The air seemed to be sucked out of my lungs as a sudden darkness descended upon the alleyway. Perdita stepped around the corner, wearing perfectly clean white shoes instead of walking in her usual bare feet. Yes, she was definitely taller now, and a little older. Her hair was tied up tight behind her head as she stepped slowly and purposefully towards me, her shoes clicking on the flagstones beneath her feet with every step.

  “Perdita please...” I started.

  “Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask...” muttered Cato frantically, crawling up my arm and hiding beside my neck. “She'll give you the answer.”

  “Who are you?”

  Everything froze, monochrome and dead as she placed her hand behind her back, before pulling out the map. She threw it towards me and it floated lazily, unfurling as it came, before lying flat upon the ground. The red line had continued, dots and scratches, still heading towards the centre, the burn. I was closer now but still not quite there. It was somewhere beyond the town, maybe twenty miles away. If only the map was complete then I could see what the destination was. As I crouched down to pick it up, colour bled back into the world and she stepped back out into the street, hands held behind her back. I quickly folded up the map and broke into a jog to follow her but when I reached the street she was gone. I ducked back quickly, careful so that the dead that were still outside didn't spot me, slipping the map into my pocket as I went.

  I went back into the alley, trying to calm my heart and my mind, to think about this puzzle logically. Maybe I could navigate these troubles by reducing it to component parts, dividing my own position into small problems that I could solve, the first of which was how to get into the pharmacy unnoticed...

  I looked at the pile of twitching bodies at the back of the alleyway and an idea formed. It always came back to decomposition. I took one or two deep breaths, trying to prepare myself for the ordeal to come. The smell was already too much and the bile rose in my throat. I crouched behind the pallets, vomiting what little food I had left next to the wall, before standing up and continuing towards the bodies. The buzz of flies started to fill my ears, almost drowning out the ceaseless groaning of the dead, though not quite. The moans were never completely absent, as if they had become the background to the world, as ever present as the horizon. I took a few deep breaths, steadying my nerves as my nose started to almost deaden itself to the stench, before plunging my hands into the rot. I pulled them back out, dragging muscle, black ichor and sickening liquid with them. Hands reached for me instinctively from the pile as I spread the mess across my clothes, caking myself in the dead. If I was right and the majority of the dead had lost their sight, then maybe it was smell, or the absence of a smell that attracted them, as well as noise. If I could stay quiet, then this dead meat might give me a chance of getting in and out of the pharmacy safely.

  I picked up the crowbar and slipped it into the bag, before swinging the strap onto my shoulder as I walked back to the street. The rain was for the most part gone, with only a few drops here and there, though the cloud cover remained, casting a gloom across the shop fronts. I doubted that even if there were bright noon sunshine it would make the view any sweeter. To my right, the road continued down the hill towards the end of the high street and further houses. There were several corpses in the street, dots milling to and fro to their own rhythm, driven by something to keep moving, on and on. To my left, I could see a car that had veered off the road into a toy shop, the bonnet lying buried under bricks and mortar. The windows were smashed but I could just about make out movement within the car, the driver doomed to spend eternity struggling against the seatbelt and door, until decomposition finally and mercifully finished breaking its body down.

  When we had run down the street towards the police station we must have drawn the corpses away from the pharmacy and there was only one left in the entrance, caught between the metal struts of one half of the broken glass double door. It would be as good a test as any, so I moved cautiously across the road, hoping not to attract attention. As I closed with the pharmacy I saw the corpse in more detail. It had been an elderly woman, quite large, with bloated legs and torso well into decomposition. Of course, it would have been the infirm, the slow and the sick who were taken first, unable to escape fro
m the clutches of even the weaker dead. Its eyes were creamy white and largely gone, with larvae crawling throughout its features, slowly consuming it as it struggled helplessly to escape the its prison. I moved closer, watching carefully for any signs of change in its behaviour. As I came within a few feet I saw it slow, almost stopping as it cast its head around, mouth agape and spilling flies into the air. I involuntarily held my breath, my heart beating a steady staccato in my ears. I carefully moved to within two feet before gingerly opening the door next to it, my hand within range of it if it decided to make a sudden lunge, however its only movement was an involuntary jerk around its eyes as the cloudy pupils cast around in indecision. I manoeuvred my body inside, my boot even brushing the skin of its leg as I lost my balance a little, tearing the paper thin necrotic layer and causing a slow drip of clotted blood onto the black and white tiles of the entrance. Still the creature didn't make a move towards me. I breathed a sigh of relief... which was a mistake.

  The difference was immediately obvious, as the arms started jerking in the frame of the door, clattering it against the metal. The corpse's legs scrambled and slipped as the thing tried to turn its huge bulk to face me, it mouth snapping and dripping viscous fluid as it groaned with hunger. I stumbled into the pharmacy in shock, knocking over a display of sun cream, as I turned to scan what remained of the shop for corpses. There was no obvious threat within, so I put as much distance between myself and the corpse as I could, slipping past plastic chairs and rows of plasters and cough medicine, scrambling over the counter door and ducking down behind the cash register. The shop looked for the most part untouched, though there was a distinct lack of bandages or sterile pads on the shelves. Did this mean that the disease had been spread by bite and blood, or was it simply a coincidence? Had there even been enough time for people to get in to the pharmacy before the town was overrun? In some ways, the earlier ones had been the lucky ones, dying before seeing the world descend into a nightmare of dwindling resources, where hope was hard to come by.