Devouring The Dead (Book 2): Nemesis (7 page)

“What’s the time?” yawned Cat.

“Nearly suppertime, honey. How’re you feeling?” said Christina closing the album.

“Not bad actually. I just needed a bit of a snooze, you know?”

“Well, the others will be back any minute, I expect. We should get ready, see what’s to eat. You get dressed. I’m going to speak to Jackson, all right?”

Caterina got out of bed and began dressing as Christina silently left the room to go find Jackson. She was worried that it was getting dark and the others weren’t back yet. It was not like them to be late. No sooner had she stepped out onto the hallway than she heard a rap at the door downstairs. Somebody was here.

* * * *

Jessica blinked her eyes
, but it was difficult trying to figure out the best route. She was not used to reading maps.

“Rosa, stop it,
I can’t concentrate” giggled Jessica, pushing Rosa gently away.

“Stop kissing you? Never,” said Rosa leaning back.

They were lying on the bed together, trying to work out the best way from Longrock to Penzance. They needed to avoid the main roads and towns, but still wanted the most direct route they could. As Jessica traced her finger along a small line, a railroad, Rosa nuzzled her lips against the back of Jessica’s neck.

“Seriously, quit it!” Jessica laughed and sat up, taking the map with
her and resting it on her lap.

“Okay, okay, it’s just
boring, is all,” said Rosa. “And lying here with you makes me...you know...”

“I know, but we’ve got to figure this
out, Rosa. There’ll be plenty of time for hanky-panky later,” said Jessica.

“
Hanky-panky?” sniggered Rosa. “How quaint!” She traced her fingers across Jessica’s arm, up to her shoulders before entwining them in her long brown hair. She stroked Jessica’s head and the map slipped onto the floor. Jessica gave up trying to read it and ignore Rosa, and turned over to face her. She pulled Rosa to her and they kissed longingly. Rosa’s hands ran over Jessica’s dress until they came to rest on her bare legs.

“You know I can’t resist you,” whispered Jessica. She kissed Rosa on the tip of her nose. “So are you going to tell me now?”

“What?” asked Rosa. She stared into Jessica’s light brown eyes innocently.

“What we were talking about earlier? You know what.” Jessica pulled her dress down, aware the others would be back soon and that hanky-panky truly would have to wait until later.

Rosa sighed and licked her lips. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“It doesn’t
matter
as such. It’s just...I want to know about you,” said Jessica. “You know about me. You know I go both ways, you know who I’ve dated, who I’ve slept with, what my parents did, where I went to school; everything.” She took Rosa’s hand in hers.

“Okay well, no I haven’t. So now you know,” said Rosa sitting up in bed. She let go of Jessica’s hand.

“Not even a kiss? Never been tempted?” said Jessica sitting up too.

“Nope,” said Rosa
plainly. “I’m not attracted to men, never have been, never will be.”

“
Well, that’s fine, who cares right? I mean I don’t know why you have to be so defensive about it.” Jessica tried to look at Rosa, but she was looking the other way through the net curtains to the street below.

“I’m not
defensive. I just don’t like to talk about it. I lost a lot of friends when I came out, and my parents, well...I guess I’m not really used to talking about it. It’s like you’re testing me or something. I know you like men. I’ve seen the way you look at Tom.” Rosa got off the bed and picked the map up. “We should finish looking at this and…”

“Hey,” said Jessica, “forget the bloody map will you? I’m bi
, but I don’t look at Tom like anything! You’re imagining things, Rosa.”

“Am I? Whatever. I remember him telling me that he thought you were ‘quite something.’ The way he looks at you it’s pretty obvious he loves you.”

Jessica got off the bed and cupped Rosa’s face forcing Rosa to look at her. “Maybe so, but I don’t love him. I love
you
.” She leant forward and they kissed.

Rosa dropped the map. “I love you too,” she said
. “But I don’t know what the hell is going on with me.” Rosa sat back down on the bed, “I didn’t mean to get snappy with you, I’m just tired. Actually, that’s not quite true - I’m not tired. I sleep reasonably well. I wake up most nights, yes, but not for too long. I’m just weary. I wish things were normal. I’m fed up of being on the go all the time, having to watch our backs, having to eat out of cans. I’m fed up of not knowing where we’re going to be from one day to the next. This is the longest time we’ve spent in one place and it’s only the third night we’ve slept here. Who knows, tomorrow we could be sleeping on a concrete floor again and then...” Rosa’s shoulders visibly sank.

“Look around
you, Rosa,” said Jessica. “Go on, I mean it, look. See those photos over there on the bookcase? Well, those people are dead. That canvas over there on the wall of the tropical island and the palm trees? We’ll never go there. You see that diary beside you? It’ll never be written in again. Normal is what this is. I’m just fucking glad to be alive. And to be with you.”

Rosa smiled
, but her face looked tired. Jessica could see the strain was starting to show. Rosa had looked so young and vivacious when they had met last month. She could still vividly remember their first kiss in a church of all places. She hadn’t changed much, but she was right. She looked weary. The last month had taken its toll on them. Rosa was younger than everyone else and a couple of years younger than Jessica. She was struggling to adjust to life on the run. Jessica opened her mouth to speak when there was a short knock on the door.

“Jessie? Rosa? Harry’s back with Mo
ira.” It was Christina’s voice.

Jessica got up and opened the door. “
Hey, Christina, did they find much?”

“Um
, yeah a bit.” Christina looked worried.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” said Jessica.
Suddenly, she forgot all about Rosa’s insecurities and worries. A vision ran through her mind of Harry being bitten by one of the dead. “Is it Harry, oh please tell me he’s not...”

“No, no he’s fine,” said Christina. “It’s Tom and Laurent. They’re not back yet. There’s no sign of them.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Dad, Dad, there they are again!”

“
Shush, Jimmy, keep it down. We don’t want to get spotted, do we? We don’t know
who
they are or
what
they want. We’re safe enough in here, lad, just quiet down now.”

David Ireland was sweating, hoping his son would keep his cool. They had been holed up at their house sinc
e the outbreak had started and David did not intend to let anyone destroy their refuge now. He had sworn to the boy’s mother he would protect their son from the lunatics outside; from the looters, thieves and murderers. There were worse things patrolling the streets of Longrock than zombies. By God, he had done so for, what, nearly a month? Well he wasn’t about to make a mistake now.

“But
Dad, I think they’re okay. Look, I can see there’s two men in the front and at least two in the back. I can’t really count how many, it’s too dark though.” Jimmy tried to see into the van, but the rain was coming down and without streetlights, it was getting hard to see far beyond his window. He only had a narrow strip to see through. Wood had been nailed over the window except for an inch at the side.

“Jimmy, get away from that damn window this second, you hear
me, lad?”

Jimmy sank back and pulled the drape across the window obscuring the outside world from view.
He knew if he pushed it any further he was likely to feel the back of his father’s hand. He sat at the table opposite his father and took a swig of lemonade. David could tell from the look on his son’s face that trouble was brewing.

“Dad, we can’t stay in here forever
. Mum’s gone. Fuck, the neighbours are gone, the whole country’s gone.”

“
Watch your language,” said David, pointing a thick finger at Jimmy.

“
Sorry, Dad, but come on, how long are we supposed to live like this?” He began picking at the dirt under his fingernails and scrutinised the table, too scared to look up at his father’s face.

“You want to go back to
Belfast, is that it? You think it’s any better over there, lad? You don’t know anything. No, it’s safer here. Your mother - God rest her soul - and I brought you here for a better life. I know things have turned to custard, but there’s nowhere to go, son. Listen to me, Jimmy, we are as safe here as anywhere. We’ve got enough supplies to last us months. Why would you even want to leave?” David had been sharpening a knife and laid it down on the table. There was a solitary candle between the two of them and he was amazed at how old his son looked. He was only fifteen, but in the last month, he seemed to have grown up a lot. Jimmy could probably pass for twenty now, ever since his mother died. That had been tough on him. His mother tried to help a friend, a neighbour, and look where that had got her. A bite on the arm and hours later, she was dead. David had implored her not to go out, but she wouldn’t listen. She had to help, she’d said, she couldn’t just sit around,
waiting
. Jimmy was just like her.

“Dad,” said Jimmy calmly, “all I’m saying is think about it. Please. I agree there are psycho
s out there. The infection didn’t just kill the nasty people as we both know, but those people out there looked good. They weren’t shooting off guns and the two men in that van stopped to help those others. They could’ve driven off, but they didn’t. Hell, if it wasn’t for them that house would’ve burned down with them still in it. And what did we do, Dad? Eh? We just sat here and watched.

“
I saw where they went, you know. We could probably find them. They took a right down Richardson Avenue, then up Patterson Street. They can’t have gone much further than that, there’s nothing there. You know that street leads out to the crop fields. They had a van, Dad, they could help us...maybe they have somewhere safe to go, maybe…?”

“All
right, lad, that’s enough.” David toyed with the knife on the table, twirling the handle around with the sharp point embedded in the table’s wooden surface. “I’ll think about it, but we’re not doing anything tonight. There’s a storm coming in, I can tell. It’s already raining hard and we don’t ever go out at night, right? We’ll sleep on it and talk about it in the morning, right enough?”

“
Okay, Dad.” Jimmy got up, knowing there was no way he was going to be able to convince his father they should leave their home. Any offer to talk about it in the morning meant the matter was closed. There would be no talking and there would be no leaving.

“I think I’ll turn in.
Good night, Dad.” Jimmy left the kitchen and his father behind, and went into his bedroom. It was too early to sleep and his mind was blazing with plans of how they could leave this prison they had built themselves. The hardest part would be changing his father’s mind. He lay down on his bed in the cool darkness. There was a faint flickering on the ceiling as the flames across the street danced their way through the house, through the curtains to his room. The house would burn down to be sure. There was nobody to stop that now. It was on the other side of the road though, so they were in no danger for now.

He
saw the dead burning, walking around, and chasing after those strangers. He knew the infection was unstoppable. It had taken his mother, his friends. If they stayed here at home, it would inevitably take them too. Damn, his father was stubborn. Why could he not see it? So what if they had food enough to last them for months, or years even. You couldn’t live your life in a box. And when the food ran out, then what? Venture outside only to find six million zombies waiting for you? No, those people were good, he knew it. He had to find a way to convince his father, but talking wasn’t going to work. When David Ireland’s mind was made up, it was made up for good.

Jimmy decided as he lay there
that his father might need a prod, just a little nudge in the right direction to make him see that they weren’t invincible. Jimmy lay on his bed watching the orange light on the ceiling above flicker and an idea grew in his head. His father was right, a storm was coming. Perhaps the rain would put the fire out? The wind was picking up too. In the morning, he would do it. His father was not an early riser. Jimmy would be up first, he would make sure of it. He would sneak downstairs and open the door. He could prise out the nails. He knew where the tools were kept (under the sink where David thought they were hidden.) He would leave the door ajar and call out, just so one of the dead, not many, would come. His father would see they weren’t safe. Then they would
have
to leave. Yes, first thing in the morning.

Jimmy lay there dreaming of his plans and scheming, whilst his father drank another six bottles of cider alone at the kitchen table, wondering how he was going to be able to keep protecting his son in these conditions.
Later, before David fell into his bed, he prayed for his son.

The wind whirled around the house as the storm intensified.
By sunrise father and son would be separated, and one of them would be dead.

*
* * *

Tim carefully laid the headphones down on the desk and stood up slowly. He didn’t want to risk losing the frequency he found. If he lost
contact, he knew what Lazarus would do to him. He also knew that he had to report this straight away, never mind that it was approaching midnight.

He had scribbled down a few notes
, but he remembered most of the conversation he heard. He couldn’t believe it. Finally, after hours of listening to nothing but static, he chanced upon it, the transmitter picking up some garbled conversation. With a bit of fine tuning, Tim had managed to hone in on it and heard the conversation perfectly clearly. Tim was under no illusions as to its importance. He had to tell Lazarus about it, right now.

He opened the door and immediately the raindrops slapped into his face like ice cold pins. He closed the door and began the trudge up the hill toward the castle. The houses were dark and quiet
. Everyone would be asleep now. He knew someone would be watching him though. There was always someone on watch at the castle.

Tim picked his way carefully up the steep slope, not wanting to fall down and
twist an ankle on the rocks, or worse still, break his neck. If he was right, then Lazarus would be pleased. Maybe he would be allowed some entertainment instead of being stuck in a cold damp house all day and night listening to a sodding radio.

Tim tripped on a wet rock and fell into the mud. He held onto the hillside, clutching clumps of grass as the howling wind tore at him. The rain pelted his face and dribbled down his neck. He got up
and walked faster to the castle, as eager to be out of the storm as to be standing before Lazarus with some good news.

When he reached the
castle door, one of Lazarus’ henchmen let him in, a stout surly man by the name of Honok. He had been a labourer before the infection. Now he was a sort of bodyguard, entrusted with the keys to the castle, literally. Honok disliked Tim, thinking he was weak and cowardly.

“What do you
want,
Timmy
, you should be working,” asked Honok curtly.

Tim shook himself dry in the grand entrance, shedding his sodden jumper and using it to dry his face and hair. “Need to see Lazarus. Now. Important news. Very important.” Tim spoke in quick short sentences,
practically hopping from foot to foot so keen was he to see Lazarus before he forgot the radio conversation.

Honok raised one eyebrow. “At this time of night? I think it’ll
wait, don’t you? Get back to work.” He folded his arms and stood before the main stairway that Tim knew led up to Lazarus’ room.

Tim took a step toward Honok. “I said
it’s important
. Do you think I don’t know what’ll happen to me if I disturb him and it’s not. Let me up there or face Lazarus in the morning. Your call.”

Honk thought for a
moment, and then stood aside. “Fine.” He cracked his hairy knuckles. “I’ll be waiting down here for you,
Timmy
.”

Tim bounded up the stairs two at a time and raced toward Lazarus’ room. He almost burst straight
in, but then thought better of it and knocked on the door. He waited a moment then knocked again. He heard grunting sounds inside and began to doubt himself. Perhaps he should’ve waited until morning. Waking his boss up in the middle of the night wasn’t the best idea he had lately. Before he could slink away, the door was thrown open and Lazarus stood before him wearing an unbuttoned black shirt and jeans.

“Tim? What is it?” Lazarus was clearly surprised to see him. “You look terrible.”

Tim looked over Lazarus’ shoulder and saw the figure of a woman on the bed. He heard a faint groan before Lazarus took a step into the corridor and shut the bedroom door.

“I heard
something, sir, on the radio, just now.”

“
Well, I hope it was something important, Tim, for your sake. I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m...busy.” Lazarus’s lips curled into a half smile, but his dark eyes never left Tim’s.

“It was a naval
boat, sir,” Tim went on. He thrust out a handful of soggy papers. “I made a few notes for you. It’s nearly all there. I wrote down what I could. It was the British Navy, sir, they’re here!”

Lazarus motioned for Tim to sit down as he scanned the wet pulp in his hands. “Go on
and tell me what you heard,” he demanded, frowning.

Tim had expected Lazarus to be pleased. He hadn’t imagined he would be jumping up and down with joy
, but he had thought what he had heard was a good thing. Lazarus’ grave demeanour caught Tim off guard. “Well, I came upon it by luck more than anything. I thought I’d tried the CNR bands and at first I got nothing, but then...It was the HMS Daring. They’re somewhere south of here by the sounds of it. I heard an Admiral McCulloch talking. He was corresponding with a Henry Samson, a Captain, I think. It was hard to tell - sometimes the frequency distorted what they were saying. This Henry Samson bloke was definitely American, sir. I’m sure he said he was stationed on the USS Abraham Lincoln.”

“And you heard this, just now?” asked Lazarus.

“Absolutely, and the things they were saying...” Tim’s mouth was open, still in shock at what he had heard.

“
Well, go on then, Tim,” said Lazarus, his patience growing thin.

“
This Henry Samson was talking to the Brit, the Admiral McCulloch. He said they were on a rendezvous with the USS Gerald Ford in the Caribbean. Apparently, both ships were on naval duties in the Atlantic, some kind of war-games or something, when the infection broke out. They were ordered to patrol the US coastline, but a week after the infection started, they had received no further orders or contact from the mainland. They had been in touch with each other and remained out at sea, unsure if they should try to dock or keep their last ordered positions.

“
Samson said he’d been trying various frequencies to get in touch with command, but hadn’t been able to raise anyone. From the sounds of the conversation, I’d say they had only just begun talking with each other, sir. McCulloch had told a pretty similar story. He told the yanks about the evacuation of Britain, but that it largely failed, as there was nowhere to go to. The infection was worldwide. Too many of the evacuation ships the navy used unwittingly took on infected people and were eventually overrun. He said there was only themselves, the HMS Daring and one other ship he had maintained contact with, the HMS Illustrious. Both are somewhere close, I think, but he didn’t say where exactly.”