The Dead by Gatward David

Author:Gatward, David [Gatward, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-10-29T07:00:00+00:00

13 Bloodshot Eyes

Lazarus struggled against the sheets, but he was stuck tight like a fly in a web. Clair was standing at the side of his bed. She looked so normal, so wonderfully human. So why the smell? Why was it coming from her?

Lazarus remembered coming back into the lounge to find Clair opening the rip, and one of the Dead pushing through. He remembered how it had grabbed her, how he’d had to slam the thing with a plank of wood hard enough to knock them both to the ground to make it let go. What the hell had it done to her?

Clair’s head snapped round so hard to face him that Lazarus winced, half expecting the force of the movement to break her neck.

‘I have a message, Lazarus.’

Her voice sounded odd, thought Lazarus, like it was stretched and twisted.

‘We have your father now. Do not follow him. Do not stand in our way!’

Lazarus knew she was talking about the Dead. He also knew that it wasn’t Clair who was talking, but something else. Arielle had said something about his dad being lost, just before she’d shot him. But what did she mean?

Even if it was the last thing he wanted to do, not least because it probably involved actually helping his dad, Lazarus understood at last that he had to get to the bottom of what was going on. It scared the hell out of him, but he had no choice.

The world went black. Not like the lights had gone out, not like someone had shut the curtains, but like the world beyond that one hospital room had been erased. Lazarus had a horrible feeling that whatever happened now in that room, no one outside it would be any the wiser. Not until it was over.

Lazarus struggled again, pushed and pulled his body, but the sheets weren’t about to give. He looked back up at Clair. She was still staring at him, her bloodshot eyes wide open, like they were about to burst out of her skull. Her skin looked strangely taut, like it had shrunk a little and was being pulled horribly across her bones. But why was she still here? Hadn’t she given him a message? What else did she want?

What Clair did next burned itself into Lazarus’s mind. She rammed her hands into her mouth, gripped her cheeks and stretched her mouth impossibly wide, pulling bloody lacerations across her skin, like she was trying to wrench her face off.

Then she screamed.

That awful sound drilled right through Lazarus. He struggled, his skin wet and slick with sweat, but still the sheets wouldn’t give. And Clair was drawing closer now, her mouth getting wider and wider.

The sheets gave way. Lazarus was able to move. Desperately, he pushed himself further up the bed. Pictures were bursting through his brain; images of things in agony being tormented by God knows what, trapped somewhere beyond imagination, the place he’d glimpsed on the night he’d found Red in the living room.

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