Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) (30 page)

Doctor Collin, the girls at the Refinery, Roxie, even Brains … Grim’s taken them all. I’d counted on him trying to turn all our Humans into Undead, but I didn’t realize he’d force all the Undead to join his Army as well. After seeing the way he absorbed the populace of After’s Hold, I should’ve expected he’d do the same here.

I was a fool to think any better of Grimsky. He’s got nothing to lose now. He’s a raging fire that can’t be put out. The self-named death-bringer.

Then it’s my turn to spill. I tell John what happened to me. How, during the skirmish, I was unexpectedly swept away by a psychotic, friendless creature called Shee. How this creature showed me a big flower, then deposited me in a pit for safekeeping until the twins arrived to save me.

I fail to mention the walkie-talkie zombies in the field outside the Necropolis through which Grim delivered his little desperate pleas.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” I tell him.

“You were saved,” replies John with half a smile. “That creature kinda saved you, in a way. If you’d been here, that Green-Eyed Fool would’ve taken you too. I’m certain of it.”

“How’d … How’d
you
avoid …?”

He opens his palm. A green stone rests in it. “Chief’s got the other one. Gunner kept close to him. Megan proved immune to Grim’s influence too. But soon, we all had to hide no matter. We might’ve been immune to his power, but we were far outnumbered. They could’ve … done worse things, had we let them too close.”

I squeeze into John’s arms, unable to bear the thought of being separated again from him. He’s here. I’m here. His heart beats. Mine doesn’t. I’m pretty much back at home in his arms.

He rests his chin on my head, whispers, “I don’t know what to do, Winter.”

I’m staring at a turned-over spider carcass, and I’m reminded of what the flying tarantula-lady said about her big bugs, and the big flowers, and the voices in those big flowers.
Stay away,
they told her.
Touch nothing
…

“John, I know where Garden is.”

C H A P T E R – S I X T E E N

T H E   B E A U T I F U L   W I N T E R

The six surviving Humans emerge from a trapdoor underneath the stage. Four ladies, none of whom I really recognize. Two blondes named Lena and Margie in their forties with faces pale as milk, each as gaunt as a skeleton; sisters, apparently. The third is a tall, slender woman named Ash with thin lips and smooth, dark skin, gashes running down her arm from when she fended off a spider. The fourth’s a short, plump cherry-faced woman named Tina who almost reminds me of Marigold, except devoid of any ounce of cheer; her husband was one of the ones Grim took, I’m saddened to hear.

Of the men, one is Nelson, a stout, older beast with rough yellowed skin, wrinkly eyes, and no hair at all. The other is none other than Gill, cradling his tiny baby girl in his arms. “Hi,” he says quite sharply, though it sounds a lot more like: “Keep your distance, dead thing.”

Seven, I realize, counting the baby who, I learn, still remains unnamed. With Gunner, the Chief, John and Megan and the twins, we have a party of thirteen Living. Plus me, the sole surviving Undead.

Surviving Undead. I’m a regular jokester over here.

The Humans who hid were smart and quick-thinking; they have two satchels of food and supplies with them, including at least six canisters of that milk substitute from Trenton’s storages for the baby. The food’s enough to modestly feed all the Living mouths present for at least a few days, maybe more. Hopefully that’s all it takes to get there, though I can’t say for sure how far away the big purple flower is.

It’s dark, so we don’t leave until the next morning. As we pass through the gates on our way out, I have very mixed feelings. This is really the only home I’ve known in this Second Life. But recently, so many awful things have happened; only the worse memories seem to linger. The peace of Trenton is gone. I don’t know if someday it might come back … or if this is truly the ultimate end for Trenton. Its streets are empty now, its every store and house abandoned. The Town Hall is a silent crypt. If a stray Human or two were to stumble upon this deserted city, they would pick over the scraps and the shattered glass and the remnants of insects. If they’re lucky, they’ll find the storage of canned goods that have helped the Humans here survive at the beginning; that includes the cans of milk substitute powder that have kept the baby alive, as well as the protein alternatives that I imagine taste nothing nice. Hopefully these make-believe future Human visitors we get to our lovely dwelling know of the lake that lies a couple hours north-east of here, the biggest source of our water.

But even as they feed themselves, none of them would be able to puzzle out what awful thing transpired here to terminate the peace and happiness that once was. I can only imagine what these hypothetical Humans would make of our lifestyle when they poke through the Refinery building and find a pan full of fingers and toes.

And let’s not forget Marigold’s bowl full of intestines.

Suddenly all of that seems like a ghost now, drifting at my back and watching me as I leave. John walks at my side with a sword, Gunner on the other with his bow. The Chief brings up the rear, accompanied by the tall woman Ash and the stout man Nelson as well as Rake, each equipped with a steel sword of varying length. The rest of the Humans walk in the middle, among them Robin and Gill, who still clutches the baby to his chest. He hasn’t stopped eyeing the twins or me, trusting nothing and no one. Perhaps that’s best for now; it’ll keep up his guard, and guard is certainly something we need a lot of.

“Don’t look back,” John whispers into my ear.

I don’t listen. I peer over my shoulder and watch as Trenton fades from view. The Dead Woods begin to get in the way, their gangly, frail fingers of wood littering the horizon. Ahead, there is only bone dust and ruin.

“Told you not to,” he murmurs.

“I have a habit of doing what I’m told not to.”

John gave me his stone before we left the city. I kept refusing at first, but he pointed out that if Grim works his necromancy on me, then there will be no Undead left to resist him.

On top of that, Megan’s power is too unstable and seemed useless on any members of Grim’s Army. This apparently frustrates her to no end. All the excitement and joy that I knew in Megan has turned sour; even as she walks now, her eyes harbor this intensity that almost frightens me. Maybe it’s just the Lock-eye, but something in her seems to have awakened, something dark and ugly. Maybe it’s her parents; I can’t be sure. Apparently Megan thinks the eye is a failure and she’s capable of nothing. Took out her eye for no reason at all, but John …

“I tried telling her to give it time,” he tells me quietly. “After all, no one was able to affect Brains in
any
way, but somehow Brains seemed to listen to her.” I don’t bother to correct him and insist that her name is Helen; even
I’ve
given up on that front.

“Time’s something we need a lot more of,” I admit. “What if that bug-lady decides to pay me another visit?”

“It’s simple. We take her down, pull her apart, and then there’ll be no more bug-lady.”

I wish I could share his optimism.

The woods give away to another vast expanse of dust and rocks. The land bends downward, terminating at a trench that used to be a river. Unable to feasibly cross the chasm—as it is unsettlingly deep—we walk down its length, hoping to find a spot shallow enough to cross. To our surprise, we find the remnants of a bridge and decide to cross only two at a time, so as not to burden the weak, creaking structure. “Don’t look down,” someone advises.

Seems to be the best bit of advice lately.
Don’t look back, don’t look down
… Just don’t look, ever. Deny this is all happening.

When we enter the next spread of trees, which look more like splinters of worn bone jutting up from the earth in warring, unnatural angles, we stop to give the Humans some rest. Food is rationed and shared, and quietly they eat. Megan accompanies the Chief, discussing something tiredly. Among the others, I only hear chewing. The baby cries and is annoyingly cranky.
I love babies, I swear.

I notice Rake eyeing me from across the group. His sister Robin is paying mind to the baby’s cries, despite the fact that Gill won’t let anyone else hold her. I realize that I’ve never officially explained to Rake and Robin that I’d deceived them—that I am, after all, one of the Undead. They’ve obviously drawn their own conclusions. They’re smart enough. They haven’t confronted me or run away just yet, so I have to take that to be a good thing.

The more of us there are, the better we all are.

“He spoke to me through a dead guy,” I finally tell John. We’re seated on the dry, gritty ground with our backs against a tree, if I dare call it one.

“Grim?” The name sits bitterly on his tongue.

“On my way back to Trenton, the twins and I passed by the ruins of the Necropolis.” John’s never been there, so he couldn’t even imagine the horrors that transpired in that place, or what might still remain in its depths. “The Dead there still walk, and Grim’s taken their minds, too. He can see through all their eyes. It scares me.”

“Don’t let him. He’s a sick person. He’s been driven mad, like the Deathless Queen. He’s …” John struggles for the words.

“Dead inside,” I finish, wondering if those might be adequate words. “All of us Undead are … well, we’re dead in one way. But some of us are dead inside as well. That’s the real tragedy, when all of you’s dead.”

John takes my hand comfortingly.

I catch a glimpse of Gunner and two of the women, the sisters Lena and Margie, watching us. I let go of John’s hand, almost ashamed. It’s still too soon. No matter what the other Humans already know or how they feel, it does us no good to stir the already volatile pot.

John seems a bit annoyed. “Why’d you let go?”

“Nothing.” I look the other way, annoyed myself.

Unexpectedly, Robin crawls over to us, takes a seat at my feet and smiles. “I think I know what makes you alive inside.”

I lift a brow. “What do you mean?”

“My brother and I know you’re dead. We knew you were dead all along, back when we rescued you from that hole.” She glances back at her twin, who is glaring. He doesn’t seem to like his sister opening up so much so fast. After all, we’ve hardly known each other for a day.

“And you still …?”

“Yes,” says Robin. “Dad told us once about these dead people who could talk and speak and act like real people.” Her use of the term “real people” doesn’t hurt my feelings at all; in fact, I find myself smiling, amused. “He said one of them protected him. Still, he warned Rake and I, said we should be careful who we trust. Said some of you like to drink our blood. I don’t know why. It tastes bad.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. I’ve bitten my tongue before, I know.” She leans in closer. “The thing inside that makes you alive, the same thing that makes
me
alive … The thing us live-people have in common with you dead-people is called Anima.”

I smile, giving her a thoughtful nod. “Really?” I know I’ve heard that term before. “Want to tell me more?”

“Yes.” She pulls down her hood, letting her mop of sandy-blonde hair free. Except for its darker tone, it looks identical to her brother’s. “My dad talked about Anima a lot when his brother died. He said he, like, saw it leaving his brother’s eyes, right in his last moment. Uncle Thom, he took a bad fall and the injury poisoned him, dad said. His bones.” She glances back at her brother again who’s turned away, pulling his coat over his face sulkily. “I miss Uncle Thom. I miss dad. I hope they’re okay, wherever they are.” Her hazel eyes meet mine again. “Anyway, I think that’s what you got in you. Anima.”

It hits me. The Deathless Queen, my own mother. She used the term before, back when I was brought to the tower and given the option to cut my maker, Helena, into pieces. It wasn’t my best day. “I’ve heard the word before. So you think someone’s put some Anima into me? You think that’s why I’m … the way I am?”

“Half-living, my dad would call your kind.”

I glance over at Megan, whose conversation with the Chief has come to an abrupt end. She’s listening rather intently to Robin’s words now, the Lock’s Eye gleaming.

“Anima,” I say across the group to Megan, catching her eyes. “Maybe that eye of yours is tapping into some kind of … Anima. Some Locks can give it. Some can take it away. Maybe you can do something else entirely. We just haven’t discovered it yet.” I smile encouragingly.

Megan nods halfheartedly, then casts her gaze down.

I lower my voice, intending my words only for Robin now. “We knew a Warlock once. An awful, cruel guy. I think he was able to … destroy Anima. I watched many of my Undead friends turn to dust before my eyes.”

“I’ve never seen that before,” Robin admits, her voice flat. “I haven’t seen any half-living people. Not until I met you. I always thought it was just another
thing
my dad would tell me so I could sleep better. Like Garden.”