The Dead Read online

  The guy straightened but didn’t stand quite so tall anymore. “It’s not fake,” he said as the other nodded. “Jacob made a deal with us to get us somewhere new. He got us here on one of his ships and we got him what was left of the cure. People are dying all over the damn place back home.”

  “Go,” Dax said.

  They hesitated, as if trying to sense if it was a trap, before scrambling toward the door.

  People are dying all over the place.

  “Don’t think about it. You can’t. Not now,” Dax said, confirming he was thinking about the exact same thing I was: everyone back at the Rock and the farm. If only it were that easy to push it from my mind. But that was why I was here and I couldn’t stop now.

  The bag sat on the table. I grabbed it and opened the small string that held it closed and peered in. It looked like a shriveled-up black clump. “What do you think?” I asked as Dax peeked in.

  “They smelled like they were telling the truth.”

  I glanced over at him but didn’t ask what a lie would’ve smelled like. It wasn’t important. I held a link to the cure in my hand, and even knowing the Skinner had said it didn’t work, it was as close as I’d ever come to a cure.

  “Since you’re in charge, what’s the plan now?”

  I answered the question as if it weren’t asked with a cutting edge. “I’m going to find a chemist.”

  “There are none in the Wilds.” He held up two fingers to the barkeep.

  “There must be.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “Did Jacob know of any?” he asked as the barkeep placed two whiskeys in front of us, not making any mention of the broken glass. “Bet he didn’t.”

  The eyebrow arch and that certain tilt to his head was infuriating. “Why do people ask questions when they already know the answers?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t answer for everyone, but I’d say it’s my preferred method of gloating.”

  “Seeing that you know everything, do you have a useful suggestion on where to get a chemist, since you said there aren’t any in the Wilds?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Are you going to share it?”

  “I’m going to show you. I might know a guy. Come on,” he said, threw back his whiskey, and got to his feet.

  “Come where?”

  “Back to the boat. We’re going to need a lift.”

  * * *

  Dax swung the door open to Jacob’s cabin without bothering to knock. At least I gave the pretense I wouldn’t barge in.

  Jacob, seated behind his desk, rolled his eyes before placing his sandwich on his plate. “A man can’t even eat a damn meal in peace anymore.”

  “We need you to swing the boat around and take us to Sling City,” Dax ordered, as if he were the one commanding the ship.

  “Where do you want to go?” Jacob asked.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Sling City,” Dax repeated.

  Jacob was shaking his head. “It’s completely out of my way. Even I don’t like to go there.”

  “That’s where this person is? The chemist-type person?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Dax said. “It’s an island off the coast of Cali. It used to be a part of the country of Cali. Sling City soon started to become a problem. The country of Cali let them break off on their own because the manpower needed to police them outpaced the amount of money they were able to get out of the place. The entire island is nothing but holes dedicated to the trade of everything. You’ve got something to sell, that’s where you’ll find a buyer. Gold, oil, people—whatever you need or want.”

  Jacob looked at Dax. “What do you need there? I’m guessing it has something to do with what you picked up from the Skinners.”

  “Yes, and this can’t wait until next week. The stuff we have is already past its prime. The longer we wait, the more it’ll decompose and the tougher it’s going to be.”

  Jacob shoved his plate away from him. “Last time I was in that port, I lost ten crates of whiskey.”

  Dax leaned forward on Jacob’s desk. “Don’t forget how well you stand to do from this. Ten crates of whiskey will be nothing compared to that windfall.”

  The mention of the wealth to come practically danced across Jacob’s face. “I guess we’re changing course. Still going to be a couple of days. I’m a sailor, not a magician.”

  19

  “They’re worse than they used to be,” Dax said from his makeshift bed not far from my bunk.

  It was pitch dark out and I hadn’t even screamed. Dax said he slept, but I wasn’t seeing much evidence of it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

  “If you’re going to wake me every night, I think I deserve to know why.”

  The bunk creaked as I tried to find a comfortable position that didn’t exist. “Like you even sleep. You’re always awake.”

  “I do sleep. I just don’t need as much as you do. You telling me or not?”

  “It’s nothing new. I’ve always woken up at night. A lot of people do.”

  “Not everybody thrashes around like they’re fighting for their lives. You going to tell me or not?”

  “Have I told you yet?” No wonder I was so tired lately. It was worse than even I’d known.

  I turned on my side as if I were going to try and get back to sleep, even though my sleep was done for the night. I was still tired and there were hours before morning, but once I woke to one of those, I could never fall back to sleep.

  “I’ll make you a bet. You lose, you tell me what you dreamt of. I lose, I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

  This had to be a trick. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Curious, is all. Why are you so scared to tell me?”

  “I’m not. What’s the challenge?” I asked, realizing I’d just let him goad me into something else. Why was it that he was the one person in my life that could push and prod me so easily?

  “We both ask the other a question they should know the answer to. Whoever gets it right wins. In case of a draw, we ask another question.” There was a pause before he sweetened the pot: “I’ll even ask first.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What is the color of the gas tank on my bike?”

  I’d only ridden on that thing for countless hours. Was he trying to get out of here? Maybe he’d decided he didn’t like sleeping in my cabin. “Grey.”

  “Wrong. It’s blue.”

  How could I have gotten that wrong? Was I color-blind? Okay, well, he still had to answer one of mine. “What’s the only way I won’t eat eggs, unless of course I’m starving or something, because then I’d eat tree bark if I had to.”

  “Sunnyside up,” he answered almost immediately.

  “How could you possibly know that?” I asked, sitting up in the bunk, feeling like I’d gotten conned but not sure how.

  “The only time I’ve seen them on your plate, you pushed them around and made a mess of them instead of eating with your natural vigor.”

  “And you noticed and remembered that?” It seemed unbelievable that he’d know that, but it wasn’t like Fudge was sitting in the cabin beside him feeding him answers.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t help it. I don’t like how they run all over the place.” Damn me for hating runny eggs. If I could’ve just learned to love them I wouldn’t be screwed right now.

  “Spill.”

  “It used to be the Dark Walkers. Now Bookie is there as well,” I said, giving him the barebones of it without all the nitty-gritty details gumming up the works.

  “You lost the bet,” he reminded me.

  A sigh escaped my lips before I was aware I was doing it. The cabin was still dark but I wasn’t sure what his eyes could see. I knew his hearing was always better than human, so I forced my muscles to remain relaxed as a last-ditch effort to downplay the whole affair. “They’re attacking me, but unlike when it happe
ns in real life, they’re winning,” I told him, not mentioning the fear that always clung to me afterward or the sound of chimes I’d hear. The suffocating fear that everything up until then had been for nothing because the Dark Walkers would drag me back to that life that was as far from living as a person could get without being dead and buried.

  “And Bookie?” he asked.

  And even with all the fear and pain, I could handle it if it weren’t for the newest part. That was the worst. The new addition. “Right before they kill me, they make me watch Bookie die.”

  Every night since Bookie’s death, I relived the loss in my dreams. Then I wondered why I couldn’t get past it. How could I? It was fresh pain every day. As far as Bookie, time stood still.

  He didn’t ask anything else. I closed my eyes and wondered if I should get up or pretend I had fallen back to sleep.

  “You aren’t the reason he’s dead.”

  “I know that,” I snapped. I did, on some deep logical level; I knew the Bloody Death had killed him. Then the thoughts of bringing him with me to the Rock invaded. What if I’d left him at the farm? He might never have been exposed. That was pretty logical as well.

  “He chose to come.”

  Dax didn’t understand. Bookie would’ve never let me go alone after I asked. Even then, I’d known that and I told him anyway. He was the one person who would’ve always been there for me. He was the kind of loyal that didn’t exist in this world. Now because he’d been loyal to me, he was dead.

  “You told me to leave him alone. You wanted him to stay, so don’t lie to me now. I already know what you believe.”

  “And I relented because I knew he was going to follow anyway.”

  I shook my head as I lay in the dark. “He wouldn’t have known where I was.”

  “Bookie knew the Wilds as well as anyone around. He would’ve known right where to look.”

  “I could’ve told him I didn’t want him around.”

  “And he would’ve come anyway because that’s the person he was. You didn’t create the Bloody Death. You aren’t responsible for who it kills.”

  Dax was quick with answers, and I wanted to believe him but I didn’t. I couldn’t argue my guilt anymore either. If I did, I might lose the glue that was holding me together, and I’d been holding on for weeks now. If I did lose it, it would be of epic proportions.

  “Why are you even talking to me about this?” I asked. “It’s not your problem. I’m lethal. For someone who says they know so much, why don’t you know that?”

  When he didn’t speak for a while, I thought that was finally going to be the end of it.

  “Is that what you think?” His voice was soft but clear across the dark cabin.

  I tried to steady my breathing so I could answer without a tremble. “It’s what I know.”

  I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and jumped down off the bunk and over him as I headed out of the cabin, away from Dax and away from the questions.

  * * *

  The bustling port was in the distance as the crew dropped anchor. A few miles was as close as Jacob was willing to bring the ship. A pirate would have to row us the rest of the way in. We climbed the rope ladder down to the dinghy below, with the two pirates who were going to drop us off at shore and return tonight.

  The closer we got to Sling City, the more amazing I realized the place was. I didn’t think I’d seen so many people like this outside of Newco, with the hustle and bustle of stalls and people selling their wares and produce.

  But it was different too. Maybe it was a child’s memory, but there had been an oppressiveness in the Newco cities. People always looking over their shoulder, a subtle sense of a repression that lingered, as if words were never spoken before they were thought over. Come to think of it, even if I hadn’t gotten the Bloody Death and never been branded a Plaguer, I still probably would’ve ended up in trouble.

  There were buildings here too, just like in Newco, but again different. Everything in Newco had been state owned and painted in greys. Not so here. The stores and houses were painted in vibrant colors, plants hanging from rails, creating a kaleidoscope for the eyes.

  I climbed from the boat before it stopped moving, thirsting to get into the crowd and feel the hustle of life around me.

  Dax grabbed my arm. “Don’t go too far.”

  I wrenched my arm away from him without saying a word. He knew I only had one destination in mind, and there was no purpose to his threat other than he was pissed off I’d left him once.

  I turned back to him, loaded with a nasty comeback on my tongue. This wasn’t like the other times. He seemed…different. Like some of the anger I’d seen in him had seeped out a bit. I mentally snapped the safety back in to place, the words left unspent.

  “I’m not kidding around. This place is rougher than it looks,” he said. “Are you hearing me?” he asked when I just stared at him.

  “Yeah, I hear you.” I was afraid to think it, but he seemed more like the Dax I used to know. The one who was there for me, no matter how much I pissed him off. As we stepped forward together, it almost felt like old times, walking into this town with him beside me. Knowing if the shit hit the fan, he’d be at my back.

  “Yahoo!”

  I turned to see where the shout came from, and a young man around my age, dodging in and out of the crowds of people with a burlap bag tucked under his arm, was racing toward us—or, more likely, away from whomever he’d just robbed. A middle-aged woman, who was seriously outpaced, was trying her best to catch up to him, but it was a lost cause.

  Dax stepped to the left just as the kid was about to pass us. The would-be robber went flying through the air before making an awkward spill, face first in the mud, his stolen goods falling on the ground. Dax leaned down and grabbed the bag.

  The kid pushed up and out of the muck and turned to find his attacker. Dax stood there, bag in hand, more than willing to supply a fight if that was what the kid wanted. It didn’t take too long, approximately three seconds, before the kid nodded and said, “Guess you can’t win ’em all, matey.” He took off in the opposite direction, a smile still on his face.

  “Here,” Dax said to the woman slowing down.

  “Thank you so much, mister.” She started digging through her bag that had just been returned and offered him several lemons. Dax shook his head.

  “But I’m looking for a man named Bitters,” he said, and all of a sudden I realized where the good-guy act was going.

  The woman’s hand started fluttering in the sign of the cross, which I recognized from Fudge. She held her bag tight to her but then nodded and gave us vague directions.

  “Would you have helped her if you didn’t need directions?” I asked as we headed toward where she’d said.

  “I helped her. Do the reasons matter?”

  “Sometimes, I think the reasons matter more than the act itself.”

  “Tell that to the woman who went home empty-handed and see what she thinks about it.”

  20

  After wandering around the forest on the outskirts of Sling City and taking a couple of wrong turns, we finally found something that matched the description of the building the woman had given us. It was a small hut that looked no better than some of the holes I’d been in. In the Glory Years, chemists had machines, but this place had no signs of modern technology.

  I remembered what some of the technology looked like from pictures of the Glory Years Bookie had shown me, and fuzzy recollections of seeing some in Newco. They often looked like strange trees that had no branches or leaves, but weird lines of power. The lines of power would have nowhere to run from. There weren’t any great places of mechanical wonder that pumped out that energy here.

  It wasn’t a make or break, but I would’ve felt better if I saw something other than a roof made of grass and sod, and dried leaves hanging in the windows.

  “We sure this is the place?” I whispered to Dax, as if someone or something else might hear me as I l
ooked at the tiny shack that couldn’t contain more than one room.

  “We followed the directions. This is it.”

  “The guy that lives here is going to be a scientist with cutting-edge technology?” I asked, my words dripping in sarcasm. This couldn’t be accurate. We had to have the wrong place.

  When I didn’t get a verbal response I looked at Dax, who was more fluent in face talk than words sometimes. His face-to-English translation said, This is about what I expected.

  He took a few steps forward while I remained behind. I was going to trust the only cure I’d ever had to whoever lived here?

  He stopped walking and turned back to me. “Do you have someone better lined up?”

  He did have a point. I stepped forward and caught up to him.

  The door swung open before we got within five feet, and we heard him before we saw him. “I know we’ve got guests! Don’t you see me opening the door?”

  The man that stepped over the threshold looked like he wasn’t just pushing a hundred, but like he’d already rolled it right off the cliff and took the tumble down with it, wearing the same clothes he was in now.

  “Are you Bitters?” Dax asked.

  The man leaned forward, squinting and with an expression that could only rival Dax’s face. “If you don’t know that then why are you here?” he asked, and then shook his head, the few white hairs still left on his head swaying as he walked back inside.

  He left the door wide open. I didn’t look at Dax before I followed Bitters in. If I could handle a gang of Dark Walkers on my own, I didn’t think this man, with one foot and a couple of toes in the grave, was going to be much of a threat.

  From the look of his home and his clothing, I would’ve imagined him living in poverty, but when I walked inside the dimly lit room, there weren’t many surfaces that didn’t have either animal pelts or dried meats, or any of the other things that were considered so valuable in the Wilds.

  The abundance of wealth stored here, alone with only this old man, made me nervous for him. How was he living in the worst place known and still alive with all this wealth?