dEaDINBURGH (8 page)

Chapter 7

Joey

Having spent three days, three sleepless days, tracking Bracha from Murrayfield to the West-End of Edinburgh, Joey was exhausted. But hate pushed him onwards. Bracha hadn’t slept in that time either; if he had, Joey would have found him by now. Travelling along the main routes, through Corstorphine and Haymarket, he’d made no attempt to hide his trail. It was plain arrogance on his part. Nothing else would explain his carelessness in taking such an obvious route or in leaving so many signs of his passing. He clearly thought that Joey wasn’t a threat.

Reaching the inner fence-line at the junction of Lothian Road and Princes Street, Joey ignored the urge to push on and follow Bracha into the city-centre. Every cell in him screamed at him to go after Bracha, not just for Jock but to warn the women in The Gardens. They didn’t exactly need his protection, nor would they welcome him from what he’d learned of them, but forewarning of a threat benefited anyone whether they welcomed it or not.

Finally he ignored the urge to pursue, to kill Bracha, and listened to the voice of Jock that had nagged him for to
be safe
,
make the smart choice; no heroics
. He returned to the small, fenced-off garden he’d spotted back at Coates Crescent. Sleep was a must, as was food if he was to be fresh enough to face the madman.

Edinburgh was littered with these gardens, surrounded by fences and often locked gates. They were assigned to residents or individuals who lived in the nearby townhouses. Jock and he had used these types of gardens often, finding that they were perfect for allowing them to relax. They could be confident that one of The Ringed wouldn’t stumble across them in their sleep. They’d only had to worry about the living in these camps and they had plenty of improvised first-warning devices they’d designed for that task.

Jock.
Grief slapped him hard across the face as he realised that he’d be setting up his first camp alone.

Deciding to do Jock proud, he stretched some light nylon rope between the boughs of two trees, draped a camouflaged tarp over it and pegged the edges into the soft mud with the metal spikes he had in his rucksack. He’d considered taking some of Jock’s supplies – he had many items that they’d chosen not to duplicate – but had pushed the notion aside, opting to find new ones on the road rather than disrespect Jock by raking though his rucksack. Jock would have called him an eejit for his decision.

Spreading his second, smaller tarp on the ground, Joey busied himself with building a small fire. He could take the risk of The Ringed seeing the glow, as the fencing would halt their attempts to reach it. Dinner was a few leftover scraps of rabbit meat and some tomatoes he’d taken from a greenhouse in Corstorphine on his journey. Tomorrow, he’d pick up Bracha’s trail.

Chapter 8

Alys

Alys had slept well and had finished packing her own things and Steph’s, when a flash of movement outside the window caught her attention. Raising her eyes, expecting to see her cousin running around, she stiffened as she caught sight of a tall, oddly-dressed man standing a hundred yards or so from the girl playfully swinging a metal pole around.

Dropping her things and performing a quick check of her weapons in transit, she sprinted along the short corridor to the school’s main doors. Halting for a single second to compose herself, she pushed the door open slowly in order to not startle the man. Alys kept her face relaxed.

“You must be Alys,” the man said cheerfully and very politely. He had closed the distance between himself and Steph, who predictably had walked straight towards the stranger, curious about his unusual outfit.

Alys nodded.

“Stephanie, come here,” she said.

“But Mr Bracha was about to tell me a story.”

“Now,” Alys said flatly.

Sighing loudly and making a big show of rolling her eyes and tutting, she stomped back to her cousin.
 

“Inside, and lock the door,” Alys told her huffing cousin, watching the petulant youngster slam the door after her, but keeping her peripheral vision trained on Bracha.

“That wasn’t very welcoming, young lady,” he said, polite as ever, but allowing a little menace to creep into his tone.

“That’s because you’re not welcome here, Mr Bracha.”

Smiling pleasantly at her, he interrupted.

 
“Oh, just Bracha, my dear. And, really, there’s no need to be so rude. I’m just passing through. No harm intended.”

Alys rested her right hand gently on the handle of the Sai on her right thigh. Indicating the direction he’d pointed with a jut of her chin, she replied, “Pass through then.” Her mother’s words coming from her mouth. This man, the way he dressed, moved and spoke, screamed out to her instincts that he was everything her mother had warned her men became in this city.

Abruptly he sat cross-legged on the road surface, resting his elbows on his knees. “Perhaps we could share a meal? I’ve been travelling for a few days without rest and I’m quite exhausted.”

He examined Alys for a few moments, assessing her body, her face.

“No? Perhaps some information then? I’m thinking of introducing myself to a little community of women, along at Princes Street Gardens over there. Perhaps you know them?”

Alys clutched the handle of her Sai but did not unsheathe it.

“Ah, you do know them.” Bracha beamed at her. “A whole community of women; fighters from what I’ve heard. I think that’s worth a visit, don’t you, Alys?”

Alys lifted her head slightly, assessing her options. He had no visible weapons, just the ridiculous-looking metal pole with the fat end he’d been swinging, but the lightness of his step and the flexibility he’d displayed in the smoothness of his movement and in sitting down all told her that he was a dangerous fighter. This was a man who knew how to use his tall, if slight, frame.

“You wouldn’t be made very welcome there, Bracha.”

Standing as quickly as he’d sat earlier, he spread his palms out to either side of his body.

 
“Oh, I’m simply wonderful with people. I make new friends wherever I go. Look how famously we’re getting along, Alys.”

He was trying to provoke her into doing something. She swallowed her anger and spoke in the same calm, flat tone she’d used throughout.

“Pass through.”

Dropping all pretence at friendliness and levity, Bracha lowered his chin. Staring up at Alys, he took a few steps towards her, hands still spread, and smiled horribly.

“Or what?”

Alys gave him a humourless smile of her own.

“Or you don’t get to pass through,” she said softly

Bracha cocked his head to the side again, giving a sad looking expression, before speaking.

“Here’s how I see this playing out,” he began.

 
A fraction of a second later, Alys’ Sai no longer sat resting on her right thigh but had instead travelled the short distance between her and Bracha and struck him dead centre in the forehead, knocking him clean out.

“Creep,” she said to his blank face as she retrieved her Sai.

Darting inside, she pulled her rucksack on and helped her cousin into hers. Grabbing Steph by the left wrist, she yanked the girl towards the rear exit that led into the car park.

 
“I can’t believe you did that, Alys. Why did you hit that poor man; you’re worse than Aunt Jen.”

 
Steph had pulled her arm free from Alys’ grip and was glaring up at her elder cousin with contempt.

“He was only being friendly.”

“We don’t have time for this. Hurry up.” Alys whirled around and headed for the exit. She’d taken three steps when she suddenly registered the sound of her cousin’s footsteps running in the other direction.

“You idiot!” she yelled after Steph.

Racing after her younger cousin, Alys shouted for her to come back but the girl was tearing her way towards the front doors of the former school. Alys desperately yelled again for her to come back and then watched horrified as Bracha calmly stepped through the doors and slipped his arms around Steph, who had run directly into his embrace like he was some kindly uncle.

Alys skidded to a halt and drew her weapons, dropping her rucksack as she moved.

“Mr Bracha, I’m so glad that you’re all right,” Steph beamed.

Bracha held her out at arm’s length.

“Thank you, my sweet girl.”

At that, he spun her around. Clutching the girl to himself, her back to his chest, he looped one arm over her shoulder. With the other hand he produced a stiletto dagger and pressed it to her right lower eyelid.

Steph looked in panic at her older cousin, realisation finally showing in her eyes.

“It’ll be okay, Steph.” Alys spoke to reassure the girl out of reflex. She needed to make sure that Steph didn’t do anything stupid. That she followed Bracha’s instructions.

“Your cousin is correct,” Bracha soothed. “I won’t do anything to hurt you. If you do what you’re told.” Bracha glared at Alys from behind Steph.

Dragging the girl along he backed himself out into the street, positioning his back to the sun so that the light made Alys squint to see him.

Silhouetted against the light at his back, he dropped all pretence.

“As I was saying earlier, Alys, here’s how I see this playing out. Assuming you’re willing to listen this time?” Bracha edged the point of his blade a half centimetre deeper into Steph’s eyelid.

Alys re-sheathed her Sai and adopted a submissive open-palmed gesture, mimicking, mocking the one he’d offered her earlier.

“Okay. How old are you, Alys?” he asked.

The question took her aback.

“Eighteen,” she replied, looking puzzled.

Bracha laughed loudly.

“Bloody eighteen-year-olds.” He shook his head. “Then of course you were born here, Alys. You have no clue what the world was like before… this.” He nodded his head to indicate the streets around them. “It was a horrible place, Alys, too many rules. Don’t do this, don’t say that. People got so uptight at the smallest little differences.”

Alys wanted to yell or launch herself at him, but she had no choice but to stand and listen.

“Most people rushed around full of their own self-importance. They thought that they were invincible; that money, or an education, or status made them untouchable, infallible. Do you know what most people did when the plague came, when the dead rose, Alys?”

She shook her head.

“They tasted delicious. That’s what they did. People like me; we were the ones who did what it took to survive. We adapted. We thrived in this world.”

He laughed at his own insights.

“I’m willing to gamble that you know someone like me. Someone single-minded. Someone in charge. Someone who does what it takes to keep your community safe, to survive.”

Alys felt her cheek twitch as his words hit home, closer than he might have suspected.

“Yes. You wouldn’t be here otherwise, with your lovely Sai and your impressive skills.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“That depends.” He paused for a second, clearly calculating or perhaps deciding something. “Have you heard that there’s a cure?”

Alys narrowed her eyes, trying to work out if he was asking because he knew of one or thought that she did. She decided that, with Bracha’s talent, honesty was best.

“No.”

“Well I have” he beamed. “I learned that it’s out at the Old Royal Infirmary. I learned this from a very reliable source.”

Alys shrugged. “So? Go get it.”

“Ah, that’s where you come in. There are certain people in the south, beyond the inner fence-line, that I’m none too keen to see and who feel the same way about me. I need a little help. A half dozen or so of your fine fighting females would be just the right number. People who can do what needs done. That’s what I need, survivors.”

Alys shook her head. “They’d never help you.”

“I think they will, you see, when I turn up at their gates with this one’s head and you, broken and crying.”

Alys controlled the urge to launch herself at him.

“They’ll just kill you.” She spat out the words.

“Hmm. Maybe you’re right. Perhaps it would be better if I just held onto young Stephanie here as a hostage, whilst you lead me to The Gardens.”

“Not going to happen,” she told him, watching the tears boil from her cousin’s eyes.

“You’re not leaving me much choice here, Alys.”

With a small flick of his wrist, he put the blade into Stephanie’s right eye and flicked, causing it to pull free of the socket and dangle onto her right cheek.

Stephanie crumpled to the tarmac, taking Bracha with her.

Landing on his knees, Bracha propped up the unconscious girl, arm still curled around her. He moved his dagger to the other eye.

Alys had covered half the ground between them in the few seconds that had passed, but came to a full halt as she saw Bracha move towards her cousin’s remaining eye.

“She’s not going to die, Alys, but I’ll take her other eye if you don’t start being a little more pleasant.”

Alys glared at the ridiculously lethal man.

“Okay, I’ll take you there.”

“How perfectly wonderful, Alys.”

He smiled up at her from the road. “This one will just slow us down though.”

Alys screamed as Bracha changed his grip on his dagger and plunged it at her cousin’s chest. There wasn’t enough time to reach him before the blade stabbed into her. Alys ran at him anyway. Drawing her Sai she tore along the road, watching his hand plunge towards the girl’s heart in slow motion, knowing that she’d never make it.