Dead Water (8 page)

I glanced left and right at their human-looking faces. But
they were not really human; they just hid beneath human skin. They
were Skin-walkers. With my eyes as yellow as theirs, I looked just
like one of them. They did not suspect there was a traitor amongst
their number. I looked back at the stage.

There was a man standing to the right, a loudspeaker pressed
to his lips.

“
Okay, my friends, please get ready for today’s main event!”
he roared through the speaker. His voice sounded broken and
high-pitched.

The crowd whooped and punched the air.

“
Please welcome to the stage, our executioner!”

The crowd erupted again, whistled and cheered as a hooded man
stepped onto the stage from the right. His black mask had two
narrow slits cut in the front. I could see his eyes blazing out of
those two holes like headlamps. He waved at the crowed as they
waved back at him. I looked over my shoulder. There was a sea of
arms waving back and forth in the air. I looked back at the stage.
The guy with the speaker spoke into it again and said, “So who are
you going to be beheading for us today?”

“
A killer!” the executioner roared at the crowd from beneath
his hood. “A killer of wolves!”

The crowd roared angrily, punching the air with their
fists.

“
But he is not just a killer of wolves, this man is a traitor,
too!” the executioner barked, whipping the crowd into a
frenzy.

The Skin-walkers hissed and booed.

“
He is one of us, but has deceived us all!” the guy with the
speaker almost screeched. The loudhailer made an ear-splitting
whining sound and I covered my ears.

“
Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” the crowd started to
chant.

Who was this traitor the crowd so wanted to see beheaded? I
wondered. Then, from the right, another hooded man was shoved onto
the stage. Unlike the executioner, this man didn’t have eye slits
cut into his mask. He staggered blindly across the stage. His arms
were secured behind his back with chains. The executioner grabbed
him roughly by the arm.

“
Unmask him!” someone roared from the crowd.

“
Show us the traitor’s face!” another yelled.

“
Unmask him! Unmask him! Unmask him!” the crowd wailed as
one.

The guy with the speaker teased the audience by shouting,
“What was that? I can’t hear you!”

“
UNMASK HIM! UNMASK HIM! UNMASK HIM!” they now
screamed.

Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, the guy with
the speaker stepped forward and whipped off the prisoner’s
hood.

I looked in shock at my brother’s emaciated face. Jack Seth
looked defiantly at the crowd.

“
KILL HIM!” the crowd cried.

Then, from somewhere deep in the audience pressed into the
town square, what looked like a big red tomato was hurled at Jack.
It splattered into his chest, and ran in a thick, red stream down
the front of his denim shirt. Once one item had been thrown, more
followed. Jack’s face and body became covered in red... red... oh,
my God... the crowd was throwing human body parts at him! I looked
to my right and watched in horror as the Skin-walker standing next
to me produced a severed human hand from a carrier bag he was
holding. He hurled it at the stage. I watched it fly through the
air like a giant flesh coloured spider with five legs. The hand
slapped against Jack’s face, leaving a bloody red handprint
behind.

“
Hey, you haven’t brought anything to throw?” the Skin-walker
with the carrier bag said.

I looked at him, desperate to hide my revulsion, so as not to
give myself away.

“
I’ve got plenty of stuff in here if you want something to
throw,” he smiled, waving the bag in front of my face. “I’ve got
fingers and toes. There are two hearts in here someplace, and some
brain. Brain is always good at these events – it sticks so
well!”

“
No thanks,” I said, turning away, fighting the urge to puke
my guts up.

“
Suit yourself,” the Skin-walker said, reaching into his bag
and pulling out a human eyeball. He then tossed it at the stage
towards my brother.

Jack stood defiantly. Even though his entire face and body
dripped red with blood, guts, and body tissue, he stood with his
back straight, face turned towards the crowd. A severed foot shot
overhead and smashed into the side of his face. His head rocked
momentarily to the left.

“
Now that was really a kick in the head!” the guy with the
speaker yelled.

The crowd roared with laughter. When they had run out of
human remains to hurl at Jack, the executioner shoved him back
across the stage towards the guillotine.

“
Off with his head!” a Skin-walker screeched from behind
me.

With his hands manacled behind his back, Jack could offer no
resistance. The executioner made a swiping kick at Jack’s long
legs. They buckled beneath him. He sprawled onto the stage, and the
executioner forced Jack’s head beneath the guillotine.

Why were they doing this to him? Jack was one of them. I
edged myself closer to the stage. I had to save him, but how? I was
one against five hundred or more. Still I started to push myself
closer to the stage. But there were just too many people. I pushed
harder, desperate now to save Jack’s life. But I just couldn’t
reach him. The stage didn’t seem to be getting any
nearer.

“
Take off his head!” another of the Skin-walkers
whooped.

They then began to chant over and over. I pushed and shoved
my way through the crowd. I reached the stage as Jack suddenly
looked up. Our eyes met. His were bright and spinning.

“
I love you, sister,” he whispered.

There was a sound of metal slicing against wood as the blade
dropped at speed. Throwing my hands to my face, I watched Jack’s
head drop into the bucket before him.

Chapter Thirteen

Potter

“
Wake up!” a gruff sounding voice bellowed in my
ear.

I opened
my eyes to find Murphy peering at me through a haze of blue pipe
smoke. It smelt pungent, making my eyes water.

“
I’m glad to see the little chat we had last night worked,” he
grunted.

“
What are you talking about?” I groaned, swinging my legs over
the side of the sofa and planting my feet on the floor.

“
I can see you’ve been lying there all night, crying your eyes
out,” he said, shoving a mug of strong black coffee into my
hands.

“
I’m not crying,” I said. “It’s that fucking thing you have
constantly dangling from the corner of your mouth. The smoke is
making my eyes water.”

“
Bollocks,” Murphy said, turning away and heading back towards
the kitchenette. “You’re nothing but a big girl’s
blouse.”

“
Look, I’m really not in the mood for your theatrics this
morning,” I sighed, squinting at him through the trail of pipe
smoke he had left behind. “I went and saw Kiera last
night.”

“
It didn’t go well, then,” Murphy said, pouring himself a mug
of coffee.

“
How do you know?” I asked.

“
You’re sleeping on the couch, aren’t ya?” he said with a
grin.

“
I’m glad that the fact my life is in fucking ruins amuses
you,” I said, looking down at the mug of coffee and taking a sip.
My throat still felt sore. I looked at my trembling hands as they
gripped the mug of coffee. The cracks were back, like faint, watery
veins beneath the skin, but they were there.

Slowly,
Murphy came back towards me, and leaning against the wall by the
door, he said, “Okay, I’m sorry, Potter. What really
happened?”

“
Not a lot really,” I said with a shrug. The room felt cold. My
coat was on the floor so I put it on, covering my bare chest and
arms. Then reaching into the pocket, I pulled the last bottle of
Lot-13 out. “I think I’ve truly blown it this time.”

“
You don’t know that for sure,” Murphy tried to say in his own
unique way to comfort me. “Look at it like this, Kiera is still
here, isn’t she? She hasn’t split on you.”

“
She’s only tagging along in the hopes we will find Kayla and
Sam,” I said, unscrewing the bottle cap. “Once we’ve reached the
Dead Waters, I think she’ll be gone.”

“
We’ll see,” Murphy said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could talk to
her for you?”

“
No thanks,” I said, tilting my head back and taking a gulp of
the red stuff. It tasted bitter and I grimaced. I handed the bottle
to Murphy.

“
Why don’t you want me to talk to her for you?” Murphy
asked.

“
Because somewhere deep inside of me, I hope there is a chance,
however remote, that we might get back together. I don’t want you
fucking things up for me,” I said, pulling back the curtain,
peering out of the caravan window.

“
Thanks,” Murphy grunted, then drank from the
bottle.

“
Save some for Kiera,” I reminded him.

Murphy
took the bottle from his lips, and replaced the cap. A third of the
gloopy-looking stuff sloshed around the bottom of the bottle. I
took it from him and placed it back into my pocket. “So what’s the
plan, Sarge?”

“
We head for the Dead Waters,” Murphy explained. “If the snow
holds off, we could make it by nightfall. Some of those mountain
passes are going to be treacherous, so our progress is going to be
slow in places.”

“
Couldn’t we just fly?” I asked.

“
You know it’s too risky,” he said. “We’re all slowly cracking
up. Flying could be dangerous.”

“
Any more dangerous than navigating those roads in the snow?” I
said, looking back out of the window at the snow-covered world
beyond it.

“
It’s not just the cracks that bother me,” Murphy said, puffing
thoughtfully on his pipe.

“
What then?” I quizzed, taking a cigarette from my pocket and
lighting it. A thick fog of smoke settled over the room like a
low-flying cloud.

“
The statues,” he said, looking at me through the smog. “I
think they’re following us. I think they always have been, ever
since we got
pushed
here.”

“
Even more reason to up, up, and away then,” I said.

“
No,” Murphy grumbled. “I think, like us, they are trying to
get to the Dead Waters. I think that’s why they are following
us.”

“
What are they?” I asked.

“
I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ve taken a good, close-up look
once or twice, and although they are as solid as a pervert’s
hard-on, I think there is a living soul inside.”

“
Kiera thought she saw one of them move,” I told him, taking
down a throat full of smoke.

“
Where?” Murphy asked, sounding startled.

“
Back at Hallowed Manor,” I explained.

“
What did this statue look like?”

“
A statue,” I shrugged.

“
I know it looked like a fucking statue!” Murphy barked. “What
kind of statue? Male? Female? Vampyrus...?”

“
A girl,” I said.

“
A girl?” Murphy said, fixing me with a hard stare. But it was
like he was looking through me rather than at me.

“
Kayla said she was chased by one on the grounds of Ravenwood
School,” I continued.

“
Another girl?” Murphy pushed.

“
No, a boy, I think,” I told him.

Murphy
looked slightly disappointed on hearing this. It was like he had a
secret theory about the statues, and by me telling him that one of
them had been a boy, it had shattered his beliefs
somehow.

“
What are you thinking?” I asked.

“
We don’t fly,” he said, looking at me. “We drive and take it
slow. If my hunch is right, then we don’t want to leave any of the
statues behind.”

“
Why not?”

He
didn’t answer. Murphy pulled open the caravan door and headed
outside. I followed him to the doorway then stopped. Way off in the
distance, I could see Kiera heading out across the field which
stretched away at the back of the campsite. Her head was bowed low
against the wind, her hands thrust into her coat pockets. I knew at
once she was looking for an animal – she was going in search of
some of the red stuff. As I stood and watched her, I had a sudden
idea. I would have to be quick. Working fast, like a blaze of
shadows, I put my plan into action.

Chapter Fourteen

Kiera

I had
been up early. I had hardly slept at all. What little snippets of
sleep I had managed to find, had been haunted by Potter. So I gave
up with the idea of sleeping and had got up at first light. I had
taken the opportunity of having another shower, and once dressed,
had left my caravan. Just like it had been for days, there was a
chill wind, but it had stopped snowing at last. With my hair
blowing about my face, and my hands thrust into my coat pockets, I
headed towards a small, wooded area which circled the land at the
far corner of the campsite. The skin covering the backs of my
hands, arms, shoulders, and back had started to crack again. My
flesh felt taut and brittle. I knew that if I didn’t get hold of
some red stuff, and soon, it would only be an hour or two before I
completely turned to stone. I knew there was only one bottle of
Lot-13 left in Potter’s pocket. I wouldn’t go to him for it. Not
because I was stubborn or didn’t want his help, but why should I
have it? Wasn’t his need as great as mine?