I have this one memory from when I was fifteen. It was summer, just after Mum told me the facts about Dad's death, and I was struggling – with Alice's unceasing taunting, with the truth, with the pain of knowing he chose suicide over us. One of Mason's friends was holding a party, so I tagged along with the sole intention to get wrecked and piss Mum off.
The rest of the night is a blur. Mason got me home safe. Handled my mother and apologised for the mess my vomit made on the front entrance mat. I don't remember any of that. But I do remember one thing – waking up in a state of disorientation with my duvet a tangled mess around me, my memories nothing but a merge of colours and scents and faces, head thrashing like someone was inside battering a hammer against it. Nothing made sense. The gears in my brain were working at snail's pace, struggling to comprehend the last twelve hours. And I think I might have spewed again.
That's sort of how this feels. A hangover, minus the booze and sick. I'm lying pinned to the ground, trapped under broken branches and debris, staring up at a multi-coloured night sky through the thick canopy of leaves. There's a crackling pop overhead. A lone cry of a stray dog in the distance. They're all just background sounds to the pounding of my head. Another firework is set off somewhere nearby, and I watch it light up the heavens in a kaleidoscopic hue of reds, indigos and violets. Rainbow colours.
For a moment everything hurts, and my head is so messed up I'm unsure I'll ever think clearly again. I struggle to sift through it all, to comprehend, to work past this post-traumatic memory impairment and sort my thoughts. How did this happen? I shove at the rubble on my chest, and it's then the real discomfort hits me – a searing ache in my arm, almost as though I've been burned. . .
Then I remember.
Everything, from Mason's betrayal to Lilith's ritual, rushes at me like a speeding train on the tracks, filling my mind before I can block it all out. I have been burned. More than that: I've been branded. Just like in Daniel's vision.
Only this time round, I'm not dead.
I wince and grit my teeth, struggling to push aside all the weight pinning me down. Then my thoughts flit to Lena, and I stifle a choked sob. Oh God. Where is she? Is she alive? No, no, no, of course she's still alive. This was supposed to be her rescue mission – there's no way I could've come this far only to make it out without her. Life couldn't be that cruel.
Oh yes, it could.
"Lena?" My voice is inaudible, throat dry and pain-filled. Coughing as loud as possible, I roughly shove away some of the branches on top of me and try again. "Lenaaaaaaa!"
I put all my effort into standing and then limp my way through the shallow undergrowth, reaching the hole in the earth, where the ground has cracked and fallen in on itself. The darkness of the night does nothing for my vision, and with only the dim light from the overhead fireworks present to guide me, reaching the opposite side proves a difficult task. Even then, no one appears to get me. No voices cry out for help, and my horror heightens as the possibility of my being the only living person here grows more likely.
Still I continue moving, calling my sister's name, and even Daniel's, at each turn. There are several bodies strewn throughout the cemetery – broken limbs carelessly cast around, like jigsaw pieces left at the hands of a reckless toddler – but none that I know. Relentless November winds blow leaves across the broken yard and toss my dirty hair in all directions, and the sensation of being the sole survivor of a global apocalypse grows stronger. I cast a glance sideways, straining to make out something, anything, that shows I'm not alone. But even the hockey stadium is no longer visible. I'm not even sure if it's still standing, or if it's collapsed on its foundations and is now nothing but rubble.
Eventually, I find the first corpse I recognise.
My breath hitches in my throat. He's lying on the ground, buried under layers of rubble and stone fragments, as motionless as a shattered china doll. His eyes are shut. I know they'll never be open again.
Somewhere, in the smallest corner of my brain, perhaps, I make the connection between the body before me and the woman I tried to destroy. This is good. Mason's new state of demise proves that the necromancer magic has faded and Chassandra must be dead. I did it: I killed her. And this is good. This is what I was hoping for. What I wanted. . .
No.
I gasp and cover my hand with my mouth, as though realisation is only just dawning. My eyes blur, and an overwhelming, sudden horror chokes me. "Mase. . ."
I'm dimly aware of twigs crackling somewhere nearby, of voices filling the once silent void, but I don't hear much else above the rushing of blood in my ears. Sounds become distant and muffled, as though I'm standing in a tunnel and everyone else is waiting on the other side. He's gone. Really gone. I shake and bite down hard on my lip, doing all I can to suppress the tears, to keep them at bay. I should be over this by now. Mason's been dead for months – I've had time to get used to it, to accept it. Yet it's only now that it really hits me. Accepting his murder was easier when he was still here, still solid zombie matter rather than just a figment of memory. But now he really is dead, not undead. And he's not coming back to haunt me.
He's gone for good.
". . .like Wolverine! Oh my gosh, that's it, you're like Wolverine!"
"Pretty sure I'm nothing like Wolverine."
"But you are. You have superpowers. Like som– some mutant."
"I don't have superpowers."
"You kicked that dead guy's ass and you can see the future, how awesome is that?"
Lena's voice breaks through my trance at last, and I'm able to momentarily climb above the rising grief and bask in the relief of her safety. By the time I've located her blurry figure, she and Daniel have already spotted me and are trekking over the dead to reach my side. My sister is limping a little, but other than that looks unharmed. It's Daniel who's the mess, his face swollen and bloody and slashed.
"April, you did it, see!" Lena cries excitedly. "You stopped her!" She pulls me in and attempts to hug me tight, but I don't respond, and as she lets go her eyes fall upon the body. "Oh God . . . Is he. . .?"
"Yeah," I whisper, shaking.
"I think I heard Alice back there," Daniel says, coming over. "We should probably go get . . . April?"
I nod, saying, "Yeah, you're right," but I don't move. All I can see is that lifeless body, and an endless expanse of empty nights ahead of me, with no one to talk with to fill the silence, with my best friend gone from the picture for good.
Daniel must notice where my attention has drifted because he says, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It's what he wanted – before he turned. To move on. It's okay." But it's not. It's really not. Mason's gone. The boy I grew up with is without a doubt dead and he's never coming back –
"Can we move his body? I want him to have a real funeral this time. With a church service, and a reception, and biscuits and cakes – and a fancy buffet. A buffet's good. Yeah. He'd want to be cremated – so this can never happen again. But we need to pull him out the rubble." With faltering footsteps I head towards the debris, determined to get my friend. But someone grabs my wrist and pulls me to a halt before I've gotten far. I look back and Daniel's shaking his head.
"I need to pull him out," I say.
"I don't think you're up to that –"
"I said I need to pull him out!" Grief hits me in a sudden onslaught and I suck in a deep, shaky breath, the world around me dimming out of focus. "I just – I need to help him – I –"
"It's okay. Hey, it's okay." He steers me back towards him and this time I don't resist. "You're allowed to mourn, April. There's nothing wrong with crying. Trust me, you'll feel better if you let it out."
"But I –"
"Holding it in doesn't prove you're any stronger. It's okay."
"Daniel's right," Lena chimes, her tone more than hinting at a heavy sense of admiration. "You don't need to worry about anything else. The medics'll get Mason when they come."
And it's now that I just give up, that I stop trying to fight it and allow the tears to flow freely down my cheeks like a soundless waterfall. Daniel wraps his arm around my shoulders as my whole body goes slack, and guides me over to a patch of grass not covered in any bloody remains. I collapse down on the soil, knees pulled to my chest, and silently grieve for the boy I've lost. The boy who's been at my side and had my back since we were five, whose presence in my life was so standard I saw him as part of my family.
Mason Deveaux. My best friend, zombie traitor or not.
I don't know how long they leave me alone like that, to lament and come to terms with things, but by the time I've pulled myself together the group is gradually gravitating towards me, with Alice in tow. Her face is ashen, shoulders drooping at haggard angles, and more than once I catch her gaze flicking to the spot the hockey stadium once occupied.
"Skye went off to get help," she quickly says when she catches me watching. "Kinda pointless, I reckon, but whatever."
I wipe my face on my dirty sleeve, although I know my skin is already black. It could have been minutes, could have been hours, since the ritual ended. All I know is that, from the wary looks on everyone's faces and exchanged murmurs, we're not going to be alone much longer.
When Lena finally works up the courage to ask the dreaded question, it's Alice who has the answer on the tip of her tongue.
"The earthquake was a natural disaster. Simple as." She says it like it's a fact we've all been too dim to grasp. "Chassandra and the others were part of some messed-up cult who believed they could absolve mankind's sins by blowing up the town and building it again from scratch. They practiced regular rituals that involved sacrificing someone young to pay the price. Mason was a victim. So was that girl they killed beside our school. Lena was gonna be next, but we got here in time and stopped them. Then the tremors started. You ended up with that branding on your arm for trying to interfere."
"What about all the bodies?"
"We blame it on the earthquake, obviously."
"I can go with that," Daniel says.
"Are you really sure it'll work?" Lena asks.
"'Course it will." Alice nods, self-assured. "The bombs and deaths have been confusing the cops in this town for months. And here we are, with a semi-plausible story that explains everything. They'll be relieved to put a lid on this case and shove it in a drawer for good. Trust me."
I'm not sure I believe her on that last part, but for now I'm willing to go with it. Alice, after all, has managed to lie her way out of every sticky situation she's ever found herself in. She's a pro on the field of dishonesty, so if she's saying the story will hold, I'm taking her word for it. And if anyone doubts me, I'll play dumb; acting the part of the traumatised teenager won't be hard, given the circumstances.
As Alice instructs my sister on how to lie convincingly, I notice Daniel eyeing up the wooded area of the graveyard behind us. I know what he's thinking. I'm not surprised. But I still decide to make a meagre attempt at convincing him otherwise.
I cough and say, "You need help."
"What?"
"That slash on your face, it'll need stitches. And your head too, is it still bleeding?"
"I'm fine."
"You could've died."
"But I didn't, so it doesn't matter."
"It's not really over, is it?" I say, and he pauses before shaking his head.
"I don't think so," he murmurs, kicking at a branch on the ground. "Lilith's still out there. You might've knocked down her defences but I don't think you changed her mind."
No, I never. Whatever crimes convinced her to come back for revenge must be stronger than any of us could have presumed. But she's gone right now – and when she does decide to return, I'll make sure I know how to destroy her permanently.
Knowledge is power, they say.
I'm about to say something – something involving Edmund Lawson, and where we go to look for answers next – when I hear it: faint at first, but recognizable all the same. Soon it's piercing the night air and demanding everyone's attention. It's a sound that promises safety and protection, that fills my bones with a sudden lightness.
"Sirens," Lena says, half in shock, relief illuminating her face as she comes over to stand beside me.
"Everything's gonna be alright now, sis," I say, and I know it's not a lie this time – no more lies to her, not again. I squeeze her hand, eyes on the shattered road as our rescue team arrive at last. The vehicles must be left around the corner, as they come by foot, dressed in cop uniforms, luminous vests, fire-fighter work-suits, the full shebang. I've never been gladder to see so many authorities in my life.
They spot us immediately. A team of medics rush over, and Alice bounds to her feet and waves her arms. I give Lena a light push, urging her to follow, and before I know it she's crossing the yard and being sucked into a circle of paramedics and detectives.
Safe at last.
"Lena! April! Oh my God!" Mum's plaintive cry rises above the discord. She rushes into sight with Marshall, Sherriff Marwick and two other cops sprinting at her heels, Aunt Marian presumably somewhere close behind. Lena's eyes fill with tears when she sees her, and I watch as mother and daughter embrace after what must have seemed like an inevitably permanent separation. I can hear their voices rising as they sob and cling to each other, and I'm going to join them, I really am – just not yet. This is their moment and I don't want to intrude, as welcome as I may be.
Teams of medics swarm the yard, working their way through the debris and studying the holes in the ground and piles of dead with wide, disbelieving eyes. I see them retrieve Mason's body from its concrete grave and cover it in a white sheet, and I force myself to watch without succumbing to tears as they load the corpse onto a stretcher and steer it back up the road to where the ambulances must be parked.
"Your friend told us you've got some nasty injuries." A male medic startles me from my trance as he strides over, first aid kit in hand. His name tag reads 'Martin,' and his soft smile assures me I've got nothing to worry about while he's around.
"Just a burn on my forearm," I explain. "I've got a coupla bruises and cuts too, but nothing I can't handle."
"You feeling okay, kid?"
From the look on his face, I don't think he's talking about physical injuries anymore. "I'm fine. Really," I say. And it surprises me when I realise I mean it.
He crouches beside me and shines a torch in my eyes, the light momentarily stunning me. Then he proceeds to check me over for concussion or mental trauma. The size of the crowds only seem to increase tenfold while he works, and by the time he's put the torch away there are at least two more ambulances and God knows how many more cops. The forensics tape is up, and all around us men and women speak frantically into walkie-talkies.
"All clear," Martin the medic says, nodding at me. I manage a faint smile and thank him, partly wishing he'd stay with me. Because out of the corner of my eye, I can see them watching me, readying themselves to pounce. It's interview hour all over again, but this time I won't have Marshall to help me.
As Martin is climbing to his feet, I cast a subtle glance over my shoulder, some part of me already knowing what I'll find. He doesn't disappoint. The graveyard is devoid of the face I'm looking for. Yellow tape cords off the gaping crack in the earth, and the tree branches rustle and sway, casting shadows on the debris-littered ground. Like the wind, he's gone before anyone can register he's leaving. I'm not surprised. It wouldn't be Daniel if he stuck around any longer than he's needed. But I have a hunch, small as it may be, that this isn't the last I've seen of him.
If there's one thing the sketchbook boy is good at doing, it's showing up out the blue.