Chapter Eighteen

N

All of us Corpses have taken shelter from the rain beneath an overpass, and I am fervently rubbing my hands over my upper arms in a weak attempt to warm them up. I shuffle from one foot to the other, staring at the group of Corpses clustered in a loose knot beneath the highway. They're all as drenched as I am and it seems like some of them - Gr included - are shivering too.

What on earth is going on?

"B-boneys, chas-se us, aw-way." Gr tilts his head to look up at me. "Wh-where is shhe?"

"H-home," I say weakly, feeling that ache in my chest again.

"Y-you 'kay?"

And this time I don't shrug, because I have an answer. "No," I admit and something catches in my throat again. I have got to figure out what causes that, because it's getting really annoying. "No."

Gr grunts and he reaches out, gripping my shoulder. He looks awkward about it but I appreciate the gesture anyway. When he drops his hand he fixes me with a serious look. "B-boneys loo-ook, for y-you." I shrug, because why the hell should I care? What more do I have to live for anyway? Maybe it's better this way, get it over quick and stop the dull pain that's been lingering in my chest all day. "An-nd her."

That gets my attention and my head snaps up, panic in my eyes. I can handle my life being in danger but I won't stand aside while she is being threatened. "Why?" I ask nervously.

"St-tarted someth-thing," he explains. One of his hands fidgets with his breast pocket like he expects something to be there. "I saw, pic'hurs. Lassst night. H-here." He taps his temple for emphasis. "M-memories. C-cigar-rettes; a wom-man; b-beach; bad-dge; you."

"Me?" I ask in surprise. We have known each other for - well, however long I've been this way. I don't exactly keep track of time, I just know it's been a while. Having memories of me is of no significance, so why should he mention it?

"You," he echoes. "B-befffore. Young." He looks up and his eyes pierce into mine. It occurs to me then that our eyes are the same colour even with the fog. "N-na-than."

It strikes me like a physical blow and I stagger back a step, because no word in the human language has ever affected me like this one. It reaches inside me and stirs something into life, like a spark growing from an ember. There is warmth and comfort and familiarity in the name. I know it. I may have forgotten but it was always there, waiting for me. My name.

"Na-than." I sound it out, rolling the sounds over my languid tongue. It feels right. Real. "Nathan."

"All, us," Gr says, gesturing over his shoulder at the cluster of Corpses that followed him here. "Sllleep. M-memories."

"D-dreams," I tell him and his eyes widen. "We're, ch-changing." Gr nods his agreement. All of this is blowing my mind. Here I always thought I was just the odd one out, but maybe I've just been ahead of the curve. Now all of these others are starting to be like me, to think and dream and feel. Something has happened, something that's caused a change in what we are. We're becoming something different, more than just ordinary Corpses. A little more Living.

People need to know about this. We have to tell them what is happening, make them see that we're not a danger to them anymore. Maybe we aren't monsters after all. But who can I trust to listen? The answer is almost immediate. "Audrey," I say determinedly. "H-have to tell her."

Gr nods. "H-help, you," he says and then looks at the Corpses behind him. "Yeah?"

A chorus of moaned agreements come back and I grin eagerly. "Let's g-go."

We walk through all of the day and halfway through the night, an unending march of staggering steps and soft groans. Just after twilight sets in we get within reach of the Living compound but we give the place a wide berth, circling around it to the side. I need to get inside and there's only one way I know how to do that: the way that Audrey and Chris got out.

Even in the growing darkness it doesn't take me long to find the warehouse from Chris' memories, with its thick wires running from the roof into the compound walls and the dulled scent of rubber and lightning. Whatever Corpses were living there have long since died or been chased off so the place is deserted. It's easy enough from there to backtrack my way across the overgrown field.

...staircase where Audrey slides down the banister with a laugh that makes you smile...

The staircase is tucked behind a slab of collapsed wall and I lead them up into the sprawling lobby of the abandoned football stadium. As the Corpses cluster idly, I turn to Gr. "W-wait here," I instruct. Gr nods and grips my shoulder one more time, murmurs "careful," before I turn and make my way deeper into the stadium.

...vacant football field littered with the remains of squatter camps...

There are levels and levels of circular concrete corridors wrapped around the stadium, echoing the sounds of my footsteps back at me as I weave toward the inner stadium. Through a wide set of double doors I come out onto the proper field, the fake grass dingy and torn up by time and rot. There are still clustered heaps of forgotten belongings, most of them speckled in dried, crusted blood. Odds are the people who had been camped out and hiding in here had gotten eaten before they could move on to safer territory.

I take a moment to stand in the centre of the field and look around at the towering stadium around me. Rows and rows of identical seats reach up into the darkened corners of the ceiling metres above me. At one end of the field there is still an empty goal box, the net missing and leaving just the white frame behind like a ghostly skeleton stripped of all purpose. Then there's a proper skeleton draped over the poster-plastered wall that edges the field, its arms reaching downward to the skull that fell off at some point and is now lying cracked on the floor below.

I wonder if I liked football Before. I don't remember how the game is played, actually, but there are a lot of seats up there and I'm not keen on big crowds. Although that might be just because big crowds mean a higher chance of me getting shot in the head. Whether I liked it Before, I don't think I like it now.

Turning back to the way I was going originally, I pick up my pace a little and head for the exit. Once I'm in the corridors on the other side of the stadium I slip down a service staircase and through a hatch in the floor that's been left half-open.

...half-flooded sewer that smells of dank...

The water sloshes around my calves as I trudge down the long stretch of underground corridor. I wrinkle my oversensitive nose at the oppressive stench of stagnant water, mold, and decay. This place is foul. I can smell the long ago rotted away flesh of a body that's dissolved in the water, along with a few rats and a dog I think. Pipes weave in and out of the walls, broken off and hanging at jarring angles from the ceiling. My ankles and feet are freezing by the time I reach the ladder that leads up out of the sewer.

...tunnel full of debris...

The area beyond the manhole is an open tunnelway, the ground mercifully dry but littered with all kinds of rubbish and cracked stone. The walls are crumbling in several places and dull moonlight sneaks in through the occasional little hole in the ceiling. It's a long, angular track and by the time I finally reach the place where another ladder leads up into a steel and stone wall, my jeans have at least partly dried.

I stop short in front of the slanted piece of sheet metal, knowing that this is the last barrier between me and the Living. This is my last chance to turn back, to go find somewhere safe to hide and just forget about all of this. This could very well be my last moment at all.

But Audrey's in danger.

I pull up the zip on my jacket so the dark stain from the knife wound in my chest is hidden. With the heel of my hand I rub off as much of the grime stuck to my clothes as I can, and then I lift the hood up over my head. Content that I'm as well disguised as I can be, I nudge aside the metal sheet and slip into the fortress called Haven for the first time.

It's nothing at all like I expected; I'm so used to seeing Living houses the way they look in the world outside, that this cramped, ramshackle living style catches me off guard. There are a few normal buildings, houses and towering rectangular business buildings and squat shops, but dozens of new constructions - barracks-style living quarters in dull stone - have cropped up inbetween. The roads have cracked and dissolved into rubble, leaving dirt and stone tracks in their wake. Pastures and gardening plots dot all of the available land that hasn't been claimed by buildings.

The whole place has an air of disarray and I find that I don't stick out near as much as I thought I might. Everyone here looks a little dead - all of them look tired and worn, with shadows beneath their eyes and their clothes ragged and dirty. There's something so determinedly alive about them though, in the spark of their eyes and the strength in their gate. They have purpose. Maybe that's all that separates us; maybe all the Corpses need is a purpose to give them life.

I fall into step behind a group of men carrying boxes through town, keeping my hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket and my head down. We pass an old shop with the enormous front window still in place and something makes me pause. The face reflected off the glass looks familiar, like me but different. There's more colour in the skin and the veins in the neck are less pronounced.

It's no wonder they aren't batting an eye at me here. Except for the bruising around my eyes and lips and the fog in my eyes, I almost look like one of them.

I start walking with more purpose, because this is something pivotal. I need to find Audrey as soon as possible and hear her tell me that I'm not just imagining this change. Audrey described it well enough that when I spot the brick and wood house that stands slightly taller than the others, I know that's where I need to go. I weave through crowds of people and try to remain as inconspicuous as possible until I reach the low wall that surrounds the house.

This house looks more like the ones outside, with its wide windows and colonial shutters. There are even two square hedges sitting on either side of the concrete porch and a tree that looks like it was only planted a year or so ago because it's still a bit flimsy. Almost all of the lights are off in the house, save one glowing from an upstairs window above a wrought iron balcony. A shadow passes in front of the light and I would recognise that figure anywhere. Audrey.