Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) (33 page)

When our party of fourteen crosses through the mess of deadwood and dust, we happen upon the river. Its water is still and gentle, almost like a lake, and green and brown fronds and bristles of grass and weeds grow in sad, modest lumps. After the endless dead lowlands we’ve crossed, I’ll happily accept sad, modest lumps.

And so do the Humans. Rushing to the river, the sisters plunge in their hands, bringing the water to their faces and letting it run down their hair. Ash and Tina share a joke between them as they fill bottles. The twins and Megan explore the river a bit further down, Gunner following somewhat to keep an eye on them.

“Not the cleanest,” remarks the Chief. “Murky waters, these are.” He nods warningly at his people. “I wouldn’t trust to drink it so freely. The water’s stagnant.”

“The water’s stagnant and we’re starved and thirsty,” John says back, caring not to sound too defiant to the more-irritable-than-ever Chief. “Can’t blame a Living for taking every opportunity.” He smiles, turns his eyes to me—which inspires a warm sensation through my whole body, from face to fingertip—then crouches by the riverbank to fill his own.

“Flower!” the voice of Megan calls out from farther down the river.

Music to my ears.

When I rush to her, she’s bent over a flower similar to the one Shee had shown me. Its petals are the purple of plums, each of them the breadth of an outstretched hand.

I glance across the river. It isn’t a very wide river, to be reasonable; about thirty feet across or so, just by eyeing it. On the other side, the thorny trees and bramble grow thick. Even with their dried, dead appearance, I’m convinced there is still life in them, somehow. The trees are too dense, intertwined to create a canopy of nettles and veiny limbs above. At a glance, you can’t even tell where one tree ends and another begins.

The rest of the Humans have caught up, tripping over themselves to observe Megan’s find. When the Chief draws near, less impressed, he mutters: “Which way?”

Trust me, Chief, I’m just as impatient as you are to get to this place. “The river curves around,” I point out. “We head further this way, following the river.”

After Megan spends another moment playing her tiny fingers over the lush, purple blossom and watching it gently respond, we progress further down the riverbank. The rest of it is much of the same, though we encounter no more flowers; only orphaned tufts of grass and spindly weeds. Eager murmurs and whispers are traded among the Humans. Yes, they’re as excited and anxious as I am. I pray we’re moving along the river in the right direction.

“Where the water goes,” Jasmine murmurs in my ear, “the life will follow.”

Nearly two hours pass before the excitement has worn off completely. We might as well be traveling through another dusty waste, for as melancholic as the group has once again turned.

“Another flower!” Megan cries out, rushing to it.

Hope is stirred amongst the others once again, until the Chief raises a hand, stopping them. “No,” he grunts, then points accusingly at the ground. “Footsteps.
Our
footsteps.” Approaching, he leans over the flower, then glares back at us. “Same flower as before.”

“No, it isn’t,” Megan argues, but when she examines it closer, the doubt registers in her face.

“We’ve gone in a circle,” says Ash, despairing. Tina moans in agreement, putting a hand to her cherry cheek.

“How is that possible?” argues Nelson.

“It’s very possible we don’t know where the hell we’re going,” states the Chief, his eyes dark as a storm. “Taking us in circles, by the look of it.”

“No,” grunts Nelson back. “It isn’t possible. Rivers don’t run in circles. Where the hell is it running to?”

As the Humans begin to debate and argue over what’s happened and what’s possible and not possible, I find myself at the riverbank. There has to be an explanation for this. Crouched right by the water, I slowly reach my hand toward it. The still, stagnant water gently pulls away. I move my hand closer. It pulls away even more. Soon, it’s pulled as far as it can possibly pull, repelled by the presence of my Undead hand, until finally my fingers, in fact, break the surface of the murky water.

Submerged, nothing happens at first. Then it begins to sting … a creeping, cold sensation. The subtle sting turns into pain, and then I thrust my hand out, unable to take it.

“Winter?”

Everyone’s paused their bickering quite suddenly to pay attention. It’s John who spoke my name. How the water pulled away, it reminds me of the other lake, the one by which the old Human camp had settled.

This water, this river, it doesn’t flow at all. Like a lake.

I look across it once more, studying the thick bramble and the webbed trees on the other side. Those knobby, earthen fingers that seem to grasp one another, like a ring of old friends … as if to guard something.

“Guys,” I mutter quietly, realizing. “This isn’t a river.” I turn back to look at them. “It’s a moat.”

Comprehension spreads across all their faces—or at least
most
of them, the ones who know what the hell a moat even is.

My eyes jumping between John and the Chief, I go on. “You’ll need to cross it alone. I think the purpose of this river …” I peer into the water, studying my reflection, “is to ward away the Dead.”

Gunner has come up to my side, squinting across the way. Soon, the Chief’s there too. He peers down at me, his expression quizzical. “What you’re telling me is, you think Garden’s in there?”

I nod.

Gunner and the Chief exchange a look. John comes to my side, then says, “There’s no reason we can’t bring you with us. You and Jasmine.” He’s met by several defiant stares, which he appears to ignore, pressing on. “They’ve carried
us
from harm. Why can’t we return the favor?”

A few of the Humans still look confused, so Gunner, who’s kept rather quiet around the Chief, speaks up: “The Dead can’t touch the water. It hurts them. What John’s suggesting is that we carry them over the water.”

“What?” shouts Gill. “Are you serious?”

Of course it’d be that one with the problem.

Gunner glances at the Chief, who nods approvingly, and then says, “Yes. I’m serious.”

“How??”

“Over our heads,” finishes John. He nods at the kids. “Get the young across first. The girls and the boy and the babe,” he says. “Then us older will carry our Undead. Sooner we’re across …”

Gill seems to have another complaint or two on his tongue, but he lets them die there.

Soon, the young ones are aided across. Megan and Rake go with ease, but Robin needs help, as we discover she cannot swim well and panics when the water touches her chin. Gunner jumps in, brings her over on his shoulders. She carries the baby with her while a very anxious, unblinking Gill watches from the other bank.

“Your turn,” says John to me.

I nod. The men—Gunner, Chief, John and Nelson—carry me over their heads. The way is slow, but it is a cautious slow, as they each are careful not to lose their footing below and drop me into the water. I’m holding my hair so it doesn’t get wet, though I’m not sure I’d feel any pain; again, we’re taking all the precautions, even unnecessary ones. When I reach a toe out and step foot on the opposite bank, I sigh with relief. So does John. The women make their way, the Chief and Nelson minding to help Tina in particular, who is short and unable to keep afloat easily; she keeps fighting their efforts, though, even insisting she can swim despite constantly dunking her head too far beneath the water—at one point, only her lips are visible, gasping for air.

When Jasmine is lifted up, it’s only Nelson, John and Gill who take the weight, as the Chief and Gunner are investigating a way through the bramble and Jasmine is smaller than me. The women tend to a whining baby and the twins are discussing something lightly with Megan as the others slowly bring Jasmine across the water, stepping with the same caution.

“What do you think?” asks Megan.

I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, as I watch John cross with Jasmine hoisted up. “Of what?” I ask, still keeping my eyes on the men in the river.

“Garden. Do you think they’ll let us in? Do you think they’ll fight us? I’m ready to fight if they do.”

“I don’t know, Megan.” I guess I’m trying not to think about it, considering I don’t even know if
anything
rests beyond those twisted brambles and trees.

Nelson almost misses a step, their unit jerking to the left slightly, then they resume after regaining balance.

“What if they aren’t our friends?” Megan goes on, and I care for the girl dearly, but her paranoia is getting on my nerves. Considering I have great misgivings of my own, I’d really rather someone tell me something comforting than to constantly flood me with worry. I have plenty of worry enough. “What if they’re our enemies?”

“Sometimes friends can be enemies,” I mutter.

And then Jasmine drops into the water.

“UP, QUICKLY!” shouts John, reaching for Jasmine, who’s violently flinging her arms in every direction. With the help of the other men, they manage to bring her out of the water. More quickly now—and above Jasmine’s screams—they finally deposit her onto the bank.

“What was that?!” John yells, rounding on Gill the instant they set her down.

Jasmine is still screaming. I rush to her side to see if she’s okay. Megan and a pair of the women join me.

“I didn’t do nothing! It was him!” Gill shouts, pointing a finger at Nelson.

“The hell it was!” Nelson shouts back, swatting the finger away. “I watched my every step, you oaf!”

Jasmine’s screaming can’t hope to drown out John’s booming voice. “You dropped her deliberately! I
felt
you let go of her!”

“That’s a lie.”

“Who’s next then? You going to try and harm Winter now? You lay one finger on her and I’ll kill you myself.”

That’s when my head perks up. John’s face is red and he’s breathing so heavy, his chest pumps like a machine. Megan is trying to get Jasmine dry, wiping away the wet with a sleeping blanket she carries, while Jasmine keeps screaming, “It burns! It BURNS!” And I know her pain.

“You’d kill me over a dead person? End a life for a Crypter who don’t even bleed?” Gill spits at John, landing it on his foot.

John’s anger snaps. He grabs Gill and the two of them tumble into the water. Everyone is on their feet now, gasps and shouts of concern ringing through the others. Even the Chief’s demands for them to stop go unheard, and suddenly Gill’s flipped John onto his back, and John’s head is thrust under the water.

I abandon Jasmine, take a broken tree limb to my palm and, before I even know what I’m doing, I have Gill in a chokehold using it. Peeling him off John, I drag the man halfway across the bank, choking him with the tree limb while he rasps and tries to reach backwards for me.

“Winter, let go.” The order comes from Gunner.

“And then what??” I cry out, surprised by the insanity that’s taken
my
voice. John’s back on his feet, and even he looks surprised at the rage in me. “He tried killing Jasmine! And
John
just now! When will this end?? H-He’s a danger to all of us. He shouldn’t have even come with us when we—when we … He shouldn’t even …”

The baby is crying in Robin’s arms, crying and crying without end … and suddenly I find my conviction broken. The memory of Gill’s dead wife Laura, her hand reaching out to me, and the last words I didn’t hear.

Half of Jasmine’s arm has fallen off. Her left foot too. The skin on the right side of her face is sunken in. The sight of it makes me choke.

And then I let him go, dropping the stick. Gill backs away, rasping, rubbing his throat and glaring indignantly at everyone. Jasmine issues a soft moan, still unmoving, and I stare at her detached arm in a sad, furious silence.

“Sorry,” I spit out in half a whisper, half a hiss.

“Don’t be,” says Megan at once, her real eye and her green one both giving Gill a scathing look. He’s backed into a tree now, warily watching everyone, as if daring someone else to come at him. He’s still rubbing his throat. I feel no sympathy for him.

I speak quietly: “Jasmine?”

She’s stopped moaning. Her head tilts ever slightly to the side, as though addressing a sweet grandchild, and she says, “Yes, my rabbit?”

“Your arm. Your foot.” I suck in a bit of air quite unnecessarily, then finish, “They’ve fallen off.”

“Yes,” she agrees slowly. “They have.”

“We have n-no Marigold to … to …” I shake my head, refusing absolutely to look at Gill, the one responsible. I’m afraid of what I might do if I see his dumb, indignant face again.

“On the bright side,” Jasmine points out, stifling a grunt of pain, “I can’t get any deader than I already am.”

An ear falls off.

Unable to stand even his presence any longer, I say, “Chief. Respectfully. You ought to take your
Human
in with you. As far from the bank as possible. If he’s here with my decomposing friend another second, I may be very tempted to dislodge something from
his
face.”