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  Dead World

  Shaun Jeffrey

  Long after a pandemic swept the world, society has crumbled. A remnant of human civilization ekes out an existence in a closed community called Sanctuary. To control their population, the ruling brethren use a lottery, the winners of which join the new gods that reside beyond the walls. But when her daughter is chosen, Anna Charles discovers the lottery is fixed by despotic church leader, Roman Quail. Now in a frantic bid to save her family, she flees into the hostile environment outside Sanctuary where only the strongest survive, and where all their gods are dead. Literally.

  (Novella approximately 23,000 words long)

  Shaun Jeffrey

  DEAD WORLD

  I’d like to give my thanks to the following people for their help and continued support: Debra Platt, Callum Jeffrey, Brenda Jeffrey, Darren Jeffrey, J.G. Faherty, Rhonda Wilson, Jim Mcleod, Neil Illing, Lorraine Arndell, Patti Elliott and the rest of the crew at the UK Amazon Kindle Forum. My friends at the Renegade Writers’ Group. And finally last but not least, my fans, whoever and wherever you may be.

  PROLOGUE

  The Past

  A scream shattered the silence of the Institute.

  Tony Collins looked up from the complex algorithms on his computer screen and frowned. The sound had broken his concentration and he had been so close to working out the formula that had evaded him all morning. He pushed his leather chair back and stood up. The Post-it notes decorating his office walls fluttered slightly in the draft emitted from the air-conditioning unit. Mathematical equations covered the bits of paper, written in Tony’s almost illegible scrawl, markings most people would need the services of a code breaker to decipher.

  As he headed towards the door a siren blared out, the deafening sound making him jump. Tony cringed. What the hell is going on?

  At the door, he grabbed the handle but then hesitated. Despite the ear piercing wail of the alarm, he discerned more screaming. Multiple voices combined in a chilling cacophony.

  Knowing he had to find out what was happening, he opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The sound was louder outside the confines of his office and the red lights in the ceiling flashed, turning the pristine white walls into a hellish canvas.

  The emergency protocols had been activated, something had obviously gone wrong. Something disastrous. Tony tried to swallow but his throat constricted. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  The flashing lights made him feel a little dizzy and his pulse raced.

  Before he moved, a figure ran into the corridor ahead, dressed from head to toe in a white coverall with a full face mask, the insect-like eye pieces creating a sinister ensemble.

  “What’s happened?” Tony shouted, trying to make himself heard above the alarm. Then he noticed the figure’s sleeve was ripped and there was blood around the tear.

  The figure ran towards him. “There’s been an accident. It’s all gone wrong.”

  An accident. The words froze Tony’s blood. “What sort of accident?”

  The figure reached him and tore the mask off to reveal a face whiter than snow. It took Tony a couple of seconds to recognise Barry Jones, one of the scientists assigned to the hub.

  “They’ve escaped,” Barry said.

  “How? I thought… I thought they were secured.”

  “Don’t know.” Barry stood panting.

  “Where are the security men?”

  Barry shook his head. “It’s too late. They caught them off guard.”

  Although the situation didn’t warrant it, Tony thought Barry’s choice of words somewhat comical. “But we haven’t perfected the process yet. We need more time.”

  Barry didn’t reply. Tony stared at him and noticed that his eyes had started to glaze over, giving him a vacant expression. He backed away towards his office, saw a man stagger around the corner into the corridor. The man was naked, his skin ashen grey, mottled blue patches visible where blood had pooled beneath the surface. Electrodes protruded from the man’s skull, wires trailing from them like strange multicoloured strands of hair. Blood dribbled from his mouth, blood that couldn’t be his own because his had congealed long ago.

  Another figure appeared behind the man. A naked woman, her skin like parchment, torn in places to reveal the desiccated organs beneath. Fresh blood coated her fingers. Half of her face was missing, leaving her jawbone evident and giving her a sinister grin. The skin on one of her feet had rotted away and the bones clicked against the stone floor as she hobbled forwards, arms outstretched.

  Tony’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. Blood pumped at his temples as he turned and scrambled to grab the door handle, seeking safety within the confines of his office.

  The deafening alarm continued to wail, drowning out Tony’s screams as one of the figures grabbed him from behind with cold, dead hands.

  “Needed more time,” Tony wailed before teeth sank into his flesh.

  CHAPTER 1

  The present.

  Anna Charles weaved through the crowds in the market, apologising as she bumped people with the wicker baskets she carried in each hand. The baskets showed signs of age, the original handles replaced by rope and even that was beginning to wear away. The baskets had been in her family as long as she could remember but they still served their purpose well and were a precious commodity.

  The people bustling around the market wore clothes that had seen better days. Anna’s own dress had traces of blue around some of the frayed stitching, but the material had mainly faded to a dull grey after thousands of washes.

  Bright sunlight cast long shadows from the guard towers that surrounded the high stone walls of Sanctuary. Some of the guards sat while others leaned against the tower walls, crossbows and ancient guns propped beside them. In the far corner of Sanctuary sat an ancient metal box someone once told her was called a car and used as a form of transportation. Now rusted, kids used it as a play thing. Other play equipment stood around the car, including a swing and a slide. With space at a premium the area was tiny, but the kids liked it. She recalled her own siblings, Zeke, Lucy, and Ben, spending many an hour playing on the equipment.

  Anna joined a queue of women in front of one of the stalls and slowly shuffled forwards. Once she reached the front, Anna handed the man some food tokens made from lead and stamped with a seal. She also passed him some tokens made from iron.

  The stall sold fruit and vegetables but after a recent drought the meagre stock was small and withered. The man proceeded to place some produce in one of the baskets. Once he had finished, he reached beneath the counter and withdrew some better quality food that he placed in the other basket.

  “Something to be said for being on the Council.” He eyed the produce appreciatively then said, “Next.”

  Anna picked up the baskets and stepped aside to allow the next person through.

  Other stalls on the market offered various items, such as handmade clothing and crockery. One stall even sold chicken eggs, but they took too many tokens so Anna would only buy them if it was a special occasion.

  She walked back towards the main building, its grey walls crumbling in places and patched up with wattle and daub. She passed through the entrance and walked past the barred gates that lined the hallway. Anna couldn’t remember them ever having been closed. Inside, a central metal staircase allowed access to the first and second floor. Large metal beams supported the stairs. Metal beams also lined the ceiling, the central glass dome of which was cleaned regularly, allowing light to flood the floor below. Balconies ran around the interior which was about three hundred feet long by a couple of hundred feet wide. Sixty doors were situated on each level, each allowing access to the cells where the various families lived. Further annexes housing more people lead off from the central
core in a star shaped pattern. People wandered around the interior and leaned over the balconies, conversing with their neighbours opposite. The cacophony of noise would continue throughout the day. Anna lived in a ground floor cell. As she approached her residence, her neighbour, Frank Vine, stepped out from next door. He was an elderly gentleman of about seventy, his grey hair like frost around his crown.

  “Mornin’ Anna. Been to market I see.”

  “Yes, but there’s not much choice.”

  “Ah this damn weather’s playing hell with the crops. I’d better get out to the gardens and find what’s ready to be harvested.”

  Anna nodded and then entered her cell. Although the interior only measured ten feet by eight, every available space had been utilised. Collapsible bunk beds lined the walls. Anna and her husband, Isaiah, shared a large one on the bottom, while their kids took the upper ones. A ladder attached to the wall allowed them access. Paintings done by the children decorated the brick walls and a few wood carvings sat on a small shelf. Clothes were kept in boxes. There was a toilet in the corner of the room which had to be emptied every day — sometimes more than once. For the sake of privacy a screen could be pulled around the toilet. Candles dotted the room, many of them almost burnt out.

  A small desk occupied the back wall, surrounded by ancient books. Isaiah sat there at the moment. He was so preoccupied with his reading, head bowed over a book that he didn’t look up when Anna entered. She placed the baskets on the floor and started putting the fruit and vegetables in a cupboard. Most of the food was eaten raw, but there was a communal cooking area outside where they could cook over fire pits.

  Once she had finished, Anna sat on the bed and stared at Isaiah. His brown hair fell across his face and he chuckled at something he had just read, his shoulders falling and rising.

  “Want to share the joke?”

  Isaiah looked up. “Anna. I didn’t hear you come back.”

  “Obviously. So what’s so funny?”

  “Nothing really. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Isaiah shrugged. “It’s nothing.” He closed the book and stood up, stretching his arms as he did so. Tall and slim, his fingers brushed the ceiling.

  Anna sighed impatiently. “When are you going to get rid of all those books? We need the room and they’re just in the way. You should burn them. At least that way they’ll be useful.”

  Isaiah’s jaw dropped momentarily and his eyes widened. “I’ll be calling you Captain Beatty next.”

  Anna frowned.

  “He’s the protagonist in Fahrenheit 451 who hates books.”

  Anna shook her head. “Get a life, Isaiah. There’s proper work to be done rather than burying your nose in books.”

  “Reading and writing is important. My job is to teach people.”

  “That’s not a job. Tending the gardens. Guarding Sanctuary. Making clothes. Selling items. Cleaning. Those are all worthwhile jobs.”

  Isaiah shrugged. “One day I’ll prove to you how important my work is.”

  “Well the boys need more of your attention. We never see you. You’re gone before we wake up, and you hole up in here all day.”

  “You know my work here is important.”

  “And we aren’t?”

  Isaiah reared back as if receiving a physical blow.

  “How can you say such a thing? You and the children mean the world to me.”

  Anna bowed her head and composed herself before looking back up at her husband. “I know you love us, but actions speak louder than words, Isaiah. The things you say aren’t going to teach Ben how to tend the land. Words won’t help Lucy with her cooking; you know those are things only you can do.” She bowed her head again and whispered, “And words certainly won’t keep me warm at night.”

  Isaiah sucked in a breath. “I’m not talking about this. Certainly not here. Certainly not now.”

  “If not here, where? If not now, when? As I said, it’s not as if you make yourself available…to any of us.”

  Isaiah threw his hands up in defeat and turned back to his books, effectively dismissing his wife. Anna sat in silence for a moment. She felt a rush of heat from her cheeks; wrung her hands together in her lap, then without another word she stood, smoothed her skirt, grabbed the basket with the better quality food she hadn’t unpacked, and walked out of the room.

  She stormed towards one of the annexes, free arm swinging wildly, fingers clenched into a fist. Sensing her ire, people stepped aside to let her pass. Towards the end of the corridor she stopped outside a door, composed herself with a couple of deep breaths and then knocked. Not receiving a reply, she opened the door and stepped inside.

  An old woman sat in a rocking chair below the high window. She had a faraway look on her wrinkled face, her lips moving rapidly as though in a silent prayer. The woman had thinning grey hair scraped back from her face, giving her a severe expression.

  “Good morning, Mother Charles.”

  Mother Charles stopped rocking and her steely eyed gaze came into focus as she stared at Anna. Her lips continued to move in silence for a moment or two, her stony expression cold enough to make Anna shiver.

  “What?” Anna asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “As though judging me.”

  Mother Charles snorted. “It’s not for me to judge. That’s God’s job.”

  “Which one?”

  “The true one.”

  Anna stepped closer and placed the basket on the floor.

  “I always say exactly what I mean, child. You of all people should know that by now.” Mother Charles leaned in close, the old wooden chair creaking, and grabbed Anna’s wrist, making her wince. The old woman’s grip was surprisingly strong. “You recognise what I’m saying is the truth.”

  Anna stared open mouthed, eyes wide. “That’s blasphemy.”

  “And what would you call what you do with the priest?”

  Anna froze.

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

  Mother Charles chuckled. She released her grip and stared back into space, lips moving in silence. A second later, the rocking chair began squeaking again as she resumed her previous activity.

  “Mother Charles? Did you hear me? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” She hated the way Isaiah’s mother could be so cynical. She also hated the privileges afforded her as a member of the Council, such as the better quality food. “Anyway, whether you’re listening or not, I brought your rations for the day. I’ll send one of the children to check in on you later. Or perhaps your son can come and visit for a change.”

  Mother Charles continued to rock without responding. Anna sighed and exited the room. The moment she reached the hallway, she leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Her hands were shaking and she let out a little groan. If Isaiah’s mother knew the truth…

  CHAPTER 2

  Anna set the cutlery out on the wooden table top. The implements were ancient, their dull patina showing the signs of age. A breeze blew through the open arched window, bringing with it a faint, musky, rotten stench. Candles spluttered in their holders, adding the smell of melting wax to the potpourri. Wooden rafters held aloft the vaulted ceiling. Anna shivered. She didn’t like the church with its echo of ghosts.

  She set down a fork, jumping when someone ran a hand up her arm. She spun around and stared at Roman Quail, the leader of the religious order. His short black hair framed dark eyes and emphasised his square face. Dressed in a long red robe, he stood before her, his grin revealing predatory teeth.

  Anna glanced nervously towards the door. “Roman, please. We can’t do this anymore. What we’re doing is not right. And… and sooner or later, someone is going to notice. If we’re caught—”

  Roman’s grin widened. “No one would dare speak out against me.” He ran his hand back up her arm.

  Anna flinched, his touch leaving goose bumps in its wake.

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nbsp; “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t been enjoying yourself.”

  Anna bit her lip and ducked her head to hide the blush that coloured her cheeks. She tried to pull away, but Roman grabbed her arm tightly.

  “I could always let your husband know what’s been going on.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. Please, Roman. Listen to me. I made a mistake. I never should have allowed you to…” She paused then lifted her face to look at him. “This is wrong. I betrayed my husband, betrayed my vows. Please. Think about what you have to lose here. It’s not worth it.”

  Roman laughed and reached for her face but she turned her head aside.

  “There are plenty of other women to choose from.”

  “I don’t want other women. I want you, Anna.”

  “Well I’m sorry, but you can’t have me.”

  Before Roman could answer, a cleric dressed in a similar red robe rushed into the room. Anna saw him glance at Roman, his gaze snapped to Roman’s grip on her arm and a knowing expression crept across his face.

  Roman released his grip.

  “Pardon my intrusion, Father Quail, but it’s been a month since Marion Vickers gave birth and as both mother and child are doing well it’s time to perform the ceremony.”

  Anna took the opportunity to take her leave. “If you’ll excuse me.” She sensed Roman’s gaze burrowing into her back before she heard him say: “Make the lottery announcement. Out with the old, in with the new.”

  Anna hurried back to her room. Isaiah was still seated where she had left him, nose deep in a book. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t love her husband; just that they’d grown apart. She remembered with fondness what he had been like when they had been courting. He doted on her in those days and was always giving her gifts, usually something he had made himself. Then he started to ignore her in favour of his books and along came Roman. The temptation had been too great. Here was someone who appreciated her as a woman again, not just as a wife and mother. Here was someone who wanted to seduce her, to make love to her. Someone to make her feel special.