Chapter Twelve
Abraham refused to leave Murien. He held her hand on the hill outside of the city.
New Carrington was still being destroyed from within, and the main gates remained closed, sealing up the massacre. Only the river gate was open, but the flow of refugees from that passage had ceased. The merchants in the nearby camp had hurried to escape, packing their things and whipping their horses to set off as soon as they could. There were still a few wagons left, but Abraham was certain they’d be gone soon as well. He would be stranded here, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Murien’s side.
It wasn’t until the dead started to pull themselves up from the depths of the tributary and onto the shore that Abraham knew he had to leave. The first corpse clawed her way up the shore, digging at the muddy embankment until she was free of the water, and then crawling up onto the grass. She must’ve been standing on a mound of other corpses or debris in the deep river, and she was just the first to surface. She opened her mouth, but only a weak gasp came forth. There was a slit on her throat, still open, with water pouring forth instead of blood. Her eyes were cloudy, and her black hair clung to her grey flesh as she staggered up the hill. Her dress had been torn, revealing her bony legs beneath as she climbed. Behind her, another creature emerged from the tributary, focused on Abraham as well.
“Murien, I’m sorry,” said Abraham as he took her sword. It was an offense to use another Sword’s weapon, but he’d lost his own when he fled the city. He was determined to fight off the creatures to keep them away from Murien’s body.
He quickly realized that would be nearly impossible as more of the monsters began to climb out of the river. His footing was uncertain on the slick hill, and he wished that he’d dragged Murien up further to where the land leveled. His body was already weary, and the sword shook in his grasp as he prepared for battle.
The first creature struggled on the hill, and her bare feet slipped in the mud. Abraham took the opportunity to chop down at her, splitting the creature’s head and driving her into the earth where she then slid back down a few feet towards the river.
Abraham’s will strengthened as he prepared to fend off another of the creatures. This time it was a male, tall and fat, and he looked like a freshly turned corpse. His neck wasn’t slit, and it appeared that he’d been eaten by the zombies before turning. His skin was riddled with bite marks, many of which had ripped off long strips of flesh. The creature had a long beard that was tied with twine at the end, and Abraham knew him.
“Tully?” asked Abraham as if his recognition might give the tavern owner pause.
Tully lunged, and Abraham tried to step back to get a better defensive position. However, the slick earth pulled away and Abraham fell to his right side. The only thing he could do to avoid being tackled was roll, and Tully collapsed down beside him. The big man’s teeth snapped at him, and then he started to grasp at Abraham’s wet clothes.
More zombies were trudging up the hill, enticed by Abraham’s struggle to survive. Tully had a grip on Abraham’s hauberk and was pulling relentlessly. Murien’s sword was in the mud between them, and Abraham decided the only way to free himself would be to take off his chainmail shirt and then try to get the sword and run away to gain space between him and the zombies advancing from the river. He slid out of his hauberk and then grasped blindly at the sword, mistaking the location of the hilt and gripping the blade instead. The edge sliced into his palm, and he retreated in pain. Tully tore at the shirt, and then dropped it as he crawled closer to Abraham and over the blade. The zombie was flailing maniacally, grasping in desperation at the meal that was so close at hand.
Abraham had to run, which meant leaving Murien and her sword behind. He didn’t want to do it, but there was no other choice. He got to his knees and crawled before launching himself to his feet and bounding away. As he was moving up the hill, he glanced back at Murien, hoping to get one last look at her.
Her eyes blinked as she looked at him.
He assumed she’d turned, and that in minutes she would join the horde chasing him. Murien sat up, with the zombies streaming past her, and she yelled out to Abraham, “Run!”
Panic and dread overwhelmed him. She wasn’t dead, and he’d left her there to be devoured by the horde. He stopped long enough for Tully to catch up with him, and the tavern keeper tackled Abraham, driving him back down hard to the dirt. The zombie was relentless and strong, pressing down on his victim with the intention of chewing the flesh from his bones. Abraham managed to get his hand on Tully’s throat and was pushing the man away, but he was losing this fight. Tully was too heavy to restrain for much longer.
A boot smashed into the side of Tully’s head, and Murien said, “Get off him!” She stabbed her sword into the ear of the zombie, silencing the big man for good as the blade sunk deep.
Abraham crawled out from beneath the zombie with Murien’s help and then looked back at the horde she’d cut down to get to him. He huffed, exhausted, and then asked, “How?”
“They’re not attacking me,” said Murien, confused but happy as she flicked the blood and brains from her sword. “I don’t know why, but they were just after you. I guess they like it when their food screams.” She smirked at him, but he didn’t share her lightheartedness. “It wasn’t until I started to cut them down that they even noticed I was there, but it was too late for them to defend themselves.”
“You…” He stammered. “You were dead.”
“Fairly certain I’m not,” she said. “Now get yourself together and let’s get moving.”
Abraham grabbed Murien’s hand and kept her where she stood. He looked at the wound on her neck and said, “You’re a half-dead.”
“I am not,” she said, offended.
“You are,” said Abraham, although he wasn’t frightened. They’d both been taught to fear and despise the half-deads, but Abraham was just happy Murien was still alive, or half-alive as the case may be.
Murien touched the wound on her neck, and her previous zeal faded. “No, I… I can’t be. Abe, I can’t be a half-dead. You’re wrong.”
“Why else would the zombies leave you there and focus on me? They won’t eat a half-dead. I was there with you,” he pointed back down the hill. “You died in my arms.”
“I didn’t,” said Murien, but her resolve was nearly lost as the realization of her fate sunk in. “You’re no physician. What do you know?”
“You were dead, Murien. The infection took you.”
She shook her head and said, “This can’t be.”
“It’s okay,” said Abraham, trying to ease her mounting concern. “All that matters is that you’re all right now.”
“No,” she said and pushed him away. “If I’m a halfie, then you… You need to leave me here. Let me fight off as many of these things as I can before I die. Let me do some good.”
“You can’t,” he said and reached out for her. She moved away from his grasp, but he came for her again, grabbing at her hands to stop her from running back into battle. “Listen to me. Stop for a second and just listen. If anyone finds out you’re a half-dead, they’ll burn you on a pyre. And the zombies won’t ignore you if you fight them. They’ll turn on you to defend themselves. You can’t go back in there.”
“I can’t just leave either,” said Murien. “If you’re right, and I’m a half-dead, then it’s better off I die. I’m a walking disease. There’s no place for me anymore.”
“Yes there is. There are plenty of half-deads in the plains. They hide in the smuggler’s towns, like Sailor’s Rock. We could go there.”
“We?” she asked.
“Yes, there’s no way I’m leaving you again. The last time I tried I nearly died and you had to get up from the dead and come save me.”
“You can’t stay with me,” she said and pulled away from his grasp. “I won’t let you.”
“I love you, Murien.”
“Stop it,” she said. “That’s not true.”
“I
t is, and I’ve been meaning to say it for a long time, I just never had the courage.”
“Abe,” she said his name woefully. “Don’t.”
“I love you, and I’m not leaving you again. We can go to Sailor’s Rock, and if they won’t welcome us then we’ll go to the plains and figure out how to survive there.”
“I don’t want to live as a half-dead,” said Murien.
“And I don’t want to live without you. So where does that leave us?” He held out his hand to her and said, “Come with me. There’s still a merchant’s wagon over there at the camp. Let’s see if we can take it and head out north.”
Murien didn’t respond, and Abraham was frightened she’d refuse. They locked eyes, and then Murien nodded and took his hand, silently accepting, though he knew it broke her heart to leave.