Blood Memory: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5) (14 page)

It took him a moment to realise what was on fire: a peak-roofed house that sat on a short bluff of rock overlooking the sea.
Footsteps thudded up a staircase inside the house. Inhuman screeches emanated from the house, interspersed with low groans.

In a large semi-circular window in the house’s loft, a tiny hand pressed against the glass. High above the hand
, near the apex of the curve, faceless bright green eyes glowed, mirthless and unyielding.

Jordan had an overwhelming desire to run into the house, but his legs felt heavy
, like they were made of concrete. He managed to take a couple of steps, dragging his feet across the sand. He raised a hand against the unbearable heat. His skin turned red and blistered. The flames rose higher and burned brighter. The blisters popped, covering his skin with yellow pus. Jordan screamed in pain and-

He started awake. He felt at his face and hands. The pain had seemed so intense, so
real
.

There was the slow languid eddy and scuttle of tiny smoothed pebbles as the sea pulled itself back for a gentle caress. The sea inhaled and breathed out
again.

Jordan rolled onto his side and vomited with a violent heave. His head pounded and his stomach lurched. He wiped his lips with the back of a shaky hand. He sat up with a groan and cleared the sand from his eyes. His tongue felt rough and gritty. He stretched his arms and legs, checking to make sure they were in good working order. He took off his boots and up-ended
them. Half the beach fell out.

He got to his feet and stumbled, not quite falling over. He beat at his clothes to dislodge the sand and floundered down to the seafront. He fell to h
is knees and washed vigorously.

The events of the previous night (day? week? month?) came back to him like random pieces of a dozen puzzles. The ocean squeezing into Haven
’s bridge, forcing his and Anne’s hands apart, and tossing him out into the sea. He’d cast about and saw a length of wood. He swam over to it. On it was written, ‘HA’. He cast about, looking for the people who had become like a family to him. The lightning illuminated a writhing hell, only fragments remaining. The rain lashed down, the waves beating at him. But he refused to let go of this remaining memento. The lightning flashed again, and he spied a solid mass of shadow in the distance. He paddled toward it, using the board as a float. A wave crashed into him. That was all he could remember.

Something clunked against his hand. It was a course and splintered length of wood ten inches long, one inch wide. One side was weathered, the grain lightly speckled with green from the salty sea air. On the other
side were tally marks.

Jordan fingered the engravings. He peered around at the beach, but it was devoid of other people. He felt the emotion rise in him, hot tears stinging his eyes. He took a deep breath and
with a strong sense of resolution tossed the fragment back into the sea.

Summer beach huts with pitched roofs straddled the coast like teeth in a monster’s mouth. Stray newspapers skidded across the asphalt. One caught on Jordan’s leg. He bent to pick it up.
‘The Eastern Daily Press’ was written across the top, a local Norfolk county paper. The headline, ‘DAWN OF THE DEAD!’ and a large fuzzy picture of humanoid shadows walking the streets.

The wind whipped the page from his hand
, revealing the beachfront. Something in the damp sand at the water’s edge caught his eye.

Jordan’s heart sank and his knees grew weak.
He stumbled down toward it.

Purple veins crisscrossed the pale bloated skin like a roadmap. The faded blue jeans she had been wearing had been torn off, revealing a great purple welt on her left shin.

Bile reached up and grabbed Jordan by the throat with violent hands. He retched a dozen times before he could stand.

He brushed the long matted curls back from her face. She looked calm, peaceful. He held her tight, hugging her close. Her skin felt cold on his cheek. Sunlight glinted off something at her neck. A Saint Christopher medal
. It fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. He took it off her and put it in his pocket.

He dug a hole with his bare hands. The sand was soft and easy to dig. The hole was pathetically small. He dragged
the tiny body into the hole and covered her over. He found two pieces of wood and fashioned a cross. He stood over the mound and couldn’t think of anything to say.

Empty arcades sat silent with slot machines
and videogames. Festering fast food stands stood sentinel outside the entrance to queueless attractions.

Jordan rounded the haunted house ride. Dirty-white tubes hung ornately in the guise of an empty ribcage, chiming soothingly. On the next hook was a more extravagant ornament. This one had red stains and chunks of what was supposed to be meat attached to the ends. Jordan started when he saw what hung from the third hook: a life-size cadaver. It completed the disturbing evolution display of a rotting corpse. Jordan moved a little
closer.

Its skin hung off its bones like the last chicken in a butcher’s window. It had lost an ear at some point and a greenish pus leaked from deep gashes in either side of its cranium.
The wind changed direction and blew in Jordan’s face. He cupped a hand over his mouth and nose.

“Jesus!”

The Lurcher’s eyes flew open, arm striking out lightning-fast, seizing Jordan’s shirt. He pried at the Lurcher’s stiff fingers and stumbled back, landing hard on his backside.

The Lurcher wriggled on
its hook. It extended its only working arm and gasped in a rasping voice.

Jordan smacked himself over the head. “Idiot! Rookie mistake.”

Jordan moved to the black picket fence used for decoration and kicked at it until it snapped. He returned with a lump of wood. He felt the reliable weight in his hands. He smacked the Lurcher over the head. The skull gave way easily, caving in some three inches. The Lurcher continued groping for him. Jordan hit the Lurcher over the head again. This time it stopped moving.

Jordan stood before a building with broken window shards jutting like Jolly Roger teeth. Torn red curtains flapped, giving the impression of a monster having recently finished its gruesome meal. A sign out front proudly proclaimed
:

GREAT YARMOUTH DISTRICT COUNCIL

The wind howled and shadows stretched across the car park. Soon the sun would set and wouldn’t rise again for another nine hours. Nine hours of darkness. He walked inside.

A threadbare carpet greeted him at the reception desk. Be
hind it was a large floor plan:

GROUND FLOOR: EDUCATION
, LIBRARIES

FIRST FLOOR: BENEFITS
, WASTE DISPOSAL

SECOND FLOOR: SOCIAL SERVICES

Finding the floor he wanted, Jordan made his way up the stairs. Children’s drawings carpeted the walls: of the young helping the old, the old teaching the young. Of a bygone world.

On the second floor, Jordan followed the directions to the Housing Services department. He came to a dented and buckled door that was someho
w still attached to its hinges.

H
is hand was clenched into a fist. He relaxed the muscles and reached for the doorknob. His hand was shaking. He couldn’t help wondering what he would do if no one was there. He shut his eyes and pushed the door open.

Something screamed and launched at him.

The scream was a tangled mess of excitement and concern, expressed in a single high-pitched squeal.
“Jordeeee!”

Jessie threw herself at Jordan, almost knocking him off his feet. She buried her face into him. Jordan squeezed her just as tight. Tears of reli
ef streamed down his face.

“We were so worried!” Jessie said.

“Me too.” Jordan looked up and saw Anne. His smile grew even wider.

“I
think she’s pleased to see you.” Anne was so excited to see him alive she could hardly keep herself from reacting as Jessie had.

Jordan
freed one arm from Jessie and wrapped it around Anne. He looked into her face, and she back at him, drinking one another in. She had a square piece of gauze on her shoulder. She caught Jordan looking.

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“Mmf bwaf mff,” Jessie said, her words muffled by Jordan’s clothing.

Jordan laughed and wiped his face dry. “Mmf bwaf mff? Try again. This time with the vowels.”

“Did you see Stacey?”

Jordan’s smile faltered. “Uh, no. I mean, yes.
”

“Is she all right? The last time I saw her she was trapped.”

“I did see her, but she, uh, found some of her old friends and decided to go with them.”

Jessie frowned.
“She just left?”

“She wanted to come back to say goodbye, but she couldn’t. It was safer for them to leave straight away. But hey, she asked me to give you something
.”

Jessie accepted the necklace with cupped hands. “It was her favourite,” she said. “She would never have let me have this.”

“She loves you very much. And hopes she can see you again someday.”

“I’ll miss her.” Jessie’s tone was sad.

“I’m sure she’ll miss you too. Turn around. Let me put it on you.”

“It’s too small. Put it on my wrist.”

He did. It jingled when she moved.

“Look, Anne,”
Jessie said.

Anne had a knot
so tight in her stomach she found it hard to speak. “It’s great.”

Jordan sniffed.
“Is that stew I can smell?”

Jessie smiled and took Jordan by the hand.
She led him to a large L-shaped desk that ran around the corner of the room. Reams of paper lay piled atop it like someone had been tying to build their own fort. Jessie lifted up the table flap and walked through a door that communicated with a backroom. Anne sidled up beside Jordan.

Up close, Jordan had dark circles under his eyes, and where there were few wrinkles before, there were now deep spider-webs around his mouth and eyes. He had aged since the
previous night.

“I was worried I was going to be the only one that made it,” Jordan said.

“We were too,” Anne said. “Did you see anyone else on your way here?”

“No,” he said.

“No Lurchers?”

“
Only one, but he wasn’t a threat.”

“
You don’t suppose…”

“
The Lurchers are all gone? The thought had crossed my mind.”

“
Maybe they all ate each other, or something.”

“
We can always hope.”

They came to a door that had seen better days. The paint was peeling and the handle pointed to the floor, where a soft
glow drifted out from underneath.

“Did any of the others get back?” Jordan asked as he stepped into the room.

“Only your favourite odd couple.”

“Well well, if it isn’t Captain Birdseye.” Stan beamed from a kitchen visible only through a
n oblong hole along the right-hand wall. The room was not large. The tables and chairs had been pushed back and stacked up around the edges, exposing a floor covered in stains. Cushions and blankets had been piled up along the back wall underneath the cracked windows. Stan came out through the door that led to the kitchen, a dirty cloth wrapped around his head and over his left eye.

“What happened to your eye?”
Jordan said.

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to look more like the sea-dog I am.” He turned to Jessie
and put on his best pirate expression. “Here, me bucko. Take these onions an’ peel ‘em will ya. Arr.”

Jessie giggled. “Yes, sir!” She ran to a scratched plastic chair attached to an immovable white table
.

The moment she was gone, Stan’s expression chan
ged. A grimace of pain.

“What happened
to you?” Jordan asked.

Stan waved a hand dismissively. “An iron pole poked me in the eye, that’s all.”

“It nearly knocked his eye out,” Mary put in.

“It didn’t nearly knock my eye out!”

“It stuck out about half an inch.”

“It sticks out that much when I see you in your lingerie.” Stan winked at Anne and Jordan.

Mary jabbed him in the ribs with a ladle. “I’d like to know since when!”

Stan turned to pick up a bowl, but missed it by two inches. It clattered to the floor. “Blast this infernal eye! Mare, let me take it off for five minutes. I swear the air’ll do it some good.”

“For the last time, no. You’ll put us off our food.” Mary turned to Jordan, her expression serious. “Have you seen either of the others?”

“He ran into Stacey,” Anne said.