Blood Memory: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5) (33 page)

Anne
stared back. She shivered, a feeling of dread gripping her heart. Ugly’s features disappeared in shadow, along with his form as the boat took a corner and headed into the unknown.

The hull nudged the reeds and came to a stop, causing a frog to belly flop into the stream. For all the activity on board it could have been a ghost ship. There was a low grunting noise, and the motorboat rocked lightly as a bleary-eyed Jordan peered up over the side.

His dirty brown hair hung over his bloodshot eyes. His usual smooth natural movements were hindered by his groggy countenance, but there was still the ever-present sense that he was always aware of his surroundings, always perched on the balls of
his feet, always ready to strike at any moment.

A
n early morning mist clothed the uniform cottages poking out from their banks. A duck quacked nearby, shaking its bill in the brisk water before dunking its whole body under. It shook its feathers off in a vigorous display.

On the boat’s floor the women lay with their knees tucked in – Anne and Selena on either side of Jessie like a protective cocoon.
A clutch of Jessie’s long blonde hair laid over the edge of the powerboat, her split ends kissing the water’s surface. She was only fourteen years old but her deep grey-blue eyes the colour of a twilight sea had seen more than most people twice their age.

Stan
was curled up in a ball at the far end of the boat. He stirred. His wispy white hair stood up askance like a sail bracing the wind. He peered around at the uniform gardens that dipped into the stream.

“Where are we?” His breaths formed billowing clouds
in front of his lined face.

“I think we’re on the Norfolk Broads. Here, take this.” Jordan handed Stan an oar. “Let’s see if we can get to that jetty.”

The jetty was twenty feet away, almost entirely obscured by reeds. Jordan reached out a hand and grabbed it, pulling the boat alongside it. The jetty was chipped and soft to the touch. No way it would take their weight. Jordan looked up the short blunt hill the jetty was attached to, and made out the top of a chimney poking up from behind it. They tied up the boat and dragged it into the reeds, out of sight.

Selena lifted her head, peered around at her surroundings without really taking them in, then lay back down to sleep. Anne yawned and stretched, flinching. She rubbed at her joints. She shook Jessie and Selena awake.

“Five more minutes,” Selena whined.

The cottage was made of flint, timber and brick. A number had been written high into the wall using pale white blocks: 1901. The early dawn light caught the overgrown trellis. Anne raised a hand to the giant red roses as they passed underneath. Her hands were rough and muscular from hoisting ropes, swabbing the deck, and carrying out all the tasks necessary to maintain a boat. Her small, lithe, graceful frame belied her underlying strength.

The bright yellow door was locked, but after just a few minutes rummaging Stan found the spare key under a plant pot. “We have the same thing at our house,” he said.

A jingling wooden tonk noise greeted them as he opened the door. As the others stepped inside, Jordan reached up and unhooked the wind chimes. He sat them down on a side table.

They fanned out, searching each of the downstairs rooms. Jordan entered the living room. An antique armchair with the stuffing near hanging out of it sat facing the window. Thick wooden beams that jutted from the ceiling in irregular lines ran widthways. There were secret little crevices and corners hidden in half-concealed shadows like the gaunt eyes
of a skull.

They met back at the front door.
They shook their heads, each having found nothing. They climbed the stairs without a word, each splitting off into a separate room. Jessie, in her comatose state, stayed on the landing.

Jordan opened the bathroom door. It squealed on
arthritic hinges. The room was small and tiled pale blue. There was a toilet and sink barely big enough to wash in. Toothbrushes sat convening in a small plastic pink cup, the bristles curled at the edges.

Jordan returned to the landing. One by one the others joined him, each shaking their head.

“If you guys don’t mind,” Selena said, stifling a yawn, taking Jessie by the hand and leading her to a bedroom, “we’re going to grab forty winks.”

Stan fell heavily on the sofa in the den and wiped a hand over his forehead and asked, “Well, just what are we going to do now?”

“Get back to the boat, I suppose,” Anne said. She picked up the items of clothing left on the floor, folded them and sat them on the coffee table.

“How?” Jordan said. “None of us know the way.”

“We could follow the river back,” Stan said.

Anne nodded. “We could. But what about the Lurchers?”

“What about them?”

“What if they followed us?”

Jordan shook his head. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

Anne arched an eyebrow. “Up until yesterday, you would have been right, but things have changed.”

Jordan nodded. “You’re right. I’m so used to thinking of the Lurchers as thoughtless animals that it’s hard to think of them as anything else.”

“They
are
thoughtless animals,” Stan said. “Always have been, always will be.” He paused. “But that tall one. The ugly one with the blue eyes… He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t like any Lurcher I’ve ever seen.”

“How did this happen?” Jordan said. “A large species can’t evolve that rapidly over the course of a year, can it? It’s not possible.”

“Maybe they haven’t changed,” Anne said. “Maybe they’ve always been like this. We were just so busy running for our lives we never noticed before. Think about it. We all have different intelligence levels. Maybe they do too.”

Stan’s eyes were dark and hollow with fatigue. “You should have said we were meeting Rembrandt earlier. I could have asked for a signature.”

“Queenie,” Jordan said. “The soldiers called him Queenie – as in queen bee. He’s in charge of the others.”

“Do you reckon he’s the one?” Stan said.

“Like you said, he’s not like any Lurcher we’ve ever seen before.”

“If the soldiers know about him, why don’t they go take him out?”

“I got the feeling they’ve been trying.”

Stan shook his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Jordan said, putting a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder, “going to the Indian Ocean really is the best plan.”

“Doesn’t make much difference to us here, does it? We’re miles from the sea now.” He rubbed his grainy bloodshot eyes.

“We’ll get there, Stan. You’ll see.”

Anne put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “You’re tired, Stan. The past few days have been tiring for all of us. Go to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

The light filtered through the net curtains. “It is morning.”

“Later in the morning.”

“All right.” Stan got to his feet and headed up the stairs, his steps slow and heavy.

“Do you think he’ll be all right?” Anne asked.

“He’ll be fine.”

Anne moved to the mantelpiece and picked up a photo frame. A happy family beamed back at her. “They look so happy, don’t they? Beautiful home. Beautiful kids. A promising future.”

Jordan moved up behind her. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“Dream about what could have been.” Jordan took the photo from her hand and set it back. “We’re here now.”

Anne turned around. “I know. It’s just… Do you think it’ll ever be like that again? Where your biggest concern is paying the bills each month?”

“I don’t know. But we can hope.”

Anne smiled weakly. “We’ll have to find another route back to the ocean. We can’t follow the river back to the coast. They’ll be expecting that.”

“We couldn’t have come too far inland. If we head east, we’re bound to find the coast eventually.”

“We could go to another port, find another boat.”

“It was hard enough finding the one we’ve got. There might not be another one out there in good enough condition for us to find.”

Anne nodded. “But what about the Lurchers?”

“What about them?”

“If we assume the worst and they followed us, they could be here already. Or very close by.”

“
If
they chased us. But you’re right. It’s best to be cautious. We have to get back to the cat as soon as we can. The longer we take the surer they are to catch us. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“It is the morning.”

“Don’t you start.”

Anne frowned. “Can I ask you something? Is what they said true? The soldiers. Do you think you used to be in the army canteen in RAF Burgh Castle?”

“I don’t know. But I must have learned how to shoot somewhere.”

“No memories came back to you?”

“No.”

“We’ve been on the land less than a day and we’ve already discovered more about your past than I did in a year of treatment. This
will be good for you. If it wasn’t for Queenie, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Anne became interested in a valance hanging over the curtain. Jordan stepped up close to her.

“Anne?”
he said. “What do you mean?

Anne sighed.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think he wants you, Jordan. He tasted my blood, and then spat it out. But when he tasted yours… There was a look on his face like a kid with his favourite toy. There’s something about your blood he wants.”

“I must taste good, I guess,” Jordan said.
He smiled without any mirth. “With any luck we’ll be long gone before he finds us again. Get some rest, Anne. It’ll be a long journey back and we might not be able to rest for long.”

Anne headed up the stairs. She paused halfway up. “You’re not coming?”

“I’m okay here.”

“You can’t stay up all night, Jordan.”

“I won’t.”

“Make sure you don’t.” Anne’s footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

Jordan climbed into the overstuffed armchair and put his feet up on the equally decrepit ottoman. Through the window Jordan could see houses line the stream on either side. The flowing water made soft soothing noises. Somewhere a duck quacked. His arm hit the armrest, sending up a small puff of dust. Jordan’s chin rested on his chest, and he slept.

Anne started awake.

She looked through sleepy slitted eyes at Selena, who snored lightly in the single bed beside her own. Selena’s hand was outstretched, grasping for something, but found only air.

Anne rolled over and snuggled deeper into the blankets. She sank into it, and immediately began to drift off again.

She heard a sound.

A voice. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. She swung her feet onto the floor, crept out of the room, and onto the landing. She held onto the old worn knob at the top of the stairs with one hand and leaned over the bannister. She listened, but the house was silent, save for the gentle tinkling of the stream outside. She turned back to the bedroom.

The voice came again. She crept down the stairs, placing her feet to make as little noise as possible. The voice was muffled by the living room door. She pushed it open.

Sunlight spilled through the large bay window and caught the niches and crevices of the armchair, casting a shell-shaped shadow across the floor and bookshelf on the back wall. Anne rounded the armchair and found Jordan asleep. His brow was knitted together with deep creases and dimpled with sweat. Jordan grunted again, the word unintelligible with the thickness of sleep.

Anne leaned in close. “Jordan, wake up.”

He didn’t respond.

“Jordan. Wake up.”

He tossed and turned on the armchair.

“Jordan!”

Jordan flew up, eyes wide open. “Run!” he screamed.

His breath came in heavy
pants. He peered around at his surroundings and didn’t notice Anne. He held his head in his hands, body shaking.

“Jordan, it’s okay.”

Jordan started. Anne flinched back, then with hesitancy laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay.”

“Anne…” He took a deep calming breath. “It was the dream.”

“Was it the same dream?”

Jordan nodded, eyes distant.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Jordan looked at Anne. “I think… maybe Mary and Stacey were in the dream.”

“Was the dream different from last time?”

“No, it was the same.”

“Then Mary and Stacey were there the first time?”

“I’m not sure. There were two people standing at the window. A young girl – about Stacey’s age – pressing her hand against the window, and a woman standing beside her.”