Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Waking Up Dead

The world changed with a death. Remarkable even for something so personal as a death. An ordinary-seeming woman had been left to rot unceremoniously in a bayou of New Orleans. She floated in the stagnant water as Ophelia, eyes closed to the night sky that turned above her. The torn remnants of a black bag no longer hemmed in her remains. Her hands were turned toward the sky imploringly. Their fingers were still bloodied, decay and water not yet having had the opportunity to wash them. In some forgotten bow of a nameless stream, she waited to be discovered by the police or some other authority.

They would never get the opportunity.

As a curious or hungry creature made its way down the bank to sniff at the remains, the fingers twitched. A raccoon, by the looks of it, attempted to nibble at the black plastic that ensconced the body. It was driven away shortly after by a rattling gasp from the corpse. Ordinarily, a pathologist would excuse this as a process of decay. What could not be excused was the wracking cough, brackish water spewing forth from her mouth as she rolled onto her front in the shallow waters. She groped about in the mud beneath her with her free hand, the other clinging to a protruding root. When it withdrew, it was to place a dirty pair of glasses upon her nose. She then splashed them aggressively in the water, continuing to cough. Returning to the glasses to her face with a relieved sob, she felt her throat. Angry red skin greeted her fingertips, bloodied and frayed. With consternation, she dragged her soaked form from the river as the creatures of the night sang.

She walked toward what she hoped was a road. She could barely remember the layout of this infernal place. The chill night air dried her clothes fairly quickly though she didn’t seem to shiver, blue eyes searching for a hint of civilization. It was a city it couldn’t be that far. It was only when she found a torn segment of her plastic gown that she realised. Looking up, she saw only the canopy of the trees obscuring her vision of the night sky. Her stomach growled and her throat burned. But they were secondary concerns to the mucky, damp maze she’d been dumped in.

Eventually, the woman picked a direction she felt comfortable with and proceeded to walk straight forward without deviation or alteration. This was America, she reasoned. Eventually, she’d find some backward town named Chastity or something. Hopefully they’d have what passed for food in this abominable country. With regret she berated herself. Foggy recollections of New Orleans sweetly reminded her of short time she’d been staying there.

Her meandering eventually brought her to the hard tarmac of a main road of some kind. The woman could have wept with relief, bleary eyes searching for headlights. Seeing none, she resumed her journey down the road. Eventually, her meandering was stopped by wild waving as a car approached her. It was a modern, professional-looking vehicle driven by a kind looking older woman. The two exchanged pleasantries before the black-bagged of the two asked to be taken to the nearest civilization. She had to see the police, after all.

“You mean New Orleans, honey? Gone and bumped your head real bad, huh?” The woman chuckled as she opened the door to allow her mysterious passenger in. Seeing the state of herself for the first time in the car’s light, she tore the black bag free to reveal the damp chemise and pyjama bottoms she’d been dumped in. With the preliminary littering out of the way, the woman slid into the front seat with wild eyes searching. “In any case, I’m Jemma. What’s your name?” She continued in her broad southern accent.

“Uh, I don’t know.” The woman started with a hand to her head. At the suggestion of the hospital, she shook her head vigorously. “Police first then hospital. Clara. I think my name’s Clara.” She then pointed to the lights that rested on the horizon with an anxious expression. “If that is Orleans, they sure did a bad job.”

“Who did a bad job?” Jemma asked with a concerned stare as she pulled into the road and resumed her journey. Her passenger shook her head, seeming to forget her train of thought before the light between them switched off. In the darkness, Clara felt more comfortable. Something about being seen in this state set her on edge.

“Someone probably dumped me out there.” She posited, suppressing another cough. Her voice was a gargling approximation of what she assumed her normal voice was. “Do you have a drink? My throat is killing me.” She asked with a swallow against the pain. Jemma indicated to the cup holder between them which held a bottle of water. With gusto the younger woman drank it, savouring the soothing cool sensation. She then gave thanks, smiling weakly. Jemma’s green eyes flicked over with a smile before returning to the road.

Her passenger’s eyes did not move. She remained fixated on Jemma almost as if entranced. The blonde curls, expensive clothes and alluring perfume drew Clara’s attention almost magnetically. She heard a heartbeat in her ears, as if her anxiety had intensified. Her eyes once again began to flick to all edges of the blurry world she inhabited. With irritation, she cleaned her glasses on the hem of her chemise. Even when her glasses were replaced, she still could not see. Panic began to grip her. She lived, but what had she given up? Would she never see properly again?

Jemma valiantly tried to make light conversation to take her passenger’s mind off whatever ailed her. But as the lights of the city’s outskirts rolled above them, the reality of her hitchhiker was laid bare. The older woman looked down to see that Clara’s hand, thumb bitten in thought, was covered with blood. It had a congealed, sticky quality as if shed long ago. As she placed her hands on the dashboard, Jemma suppressed a gasp. Chunks of skin had lodged themselves beneath the girl’s fingernails. Her face looked drawn. She would be pretty on any day but for the day she died, it seemed. Clara’s neck looked as if it had been cut, a furrow of curled flesh exposed over the bony cartilage. Jemma was unsure what this spectre was but made a beeline to the police station. She’d seen enough horror films, heard enough ghost stories, to know that disobeying a haunt was taking your life into your hands.

Clara eventually stepped out of the car with a serene smile and a thank you, some way from the police station. Jemma returned the smile tightly before nodding and wishing her a good night. That god be with her. What a strange thing to say, Clara thought. She began to turn the corner as instructed towards the street the police station sat on.

As she began this last leg of her journey, her legs themselves gave out. She fell to the ground, unable to stand as she looked with impotent eyes at the blur of colour and lights before her. She scraped her bare feet against the cold stone, trying to gain purchase before ultimately falling once again, coughing as the exertion taxed her throat.

“You alright sweetheart?” Came a voice above her. A smooth, deeper feminine voice that corresponded with a hand being laid on her shoulder. The woman rolled her over, their eyes meeting. Clara could discern nothing about the woman save that she was quite tall and dark-skinned. Her hair was tied back, blooming behind her like a halo. “Jesus Christ.” The woman swore, hand releasing her as she stepped back. “What the hell you doing out here? We gotta get you to a hospital.” She insisted as she took out her phone. Clara tried to weakly protest, hand clawing at the air above her. She didn’t know why. Her mind only knew that the hospital would be a bad place for her. The woman must have understood her hissed, rasping breaths as she paused her dialling. Her face came close enough for the addled vision of the stricken woman to see her eyes. Pretty, rare, amber eyes. Such warmth. They drew her in just as Jemma’s had done, seeming to sharpen Clara’s vision. She could perceive the striped tank top, the baggy trousers and tattoo of some kind of bird. She was pretty. Her smile was a mixture of worried and reassuring as she knelt down. “Where do you wanna go then?” She asked in a surprisingly understanding voice.

“I don’t know. I wanted the police.” The woman responded in a pained voice. Her saviour tracked through several emotions at once from realisation to consternation before finally settling on resolution. She stooped and with surprising strength lifted the injured woman from the ground and into a bridal lift. With a grunt of exertion, the pair began moving down the street.

She was carried to a beat-up old car, placed into the back seat. The other woman slid into the driver’s seat and looked over her shoulder at the curled-up form that coughed every so often.

You are reading story The Cave at novel35.com

“I dunno what a Brit’s doing in Orleans with a cut up throat, but I know a gal. She’ll fix you up.” The woman reassured in a voice so insistent Clara believed her. Though there was a certain lack of options given what her addled mind wanted. It currently told her to trust this woman who even now began to drive away from the central parts of the city, out into the suburbs. She drove through neighbourhoods that Jemma probably lived in along with the rest of the homeowner’s association. Her saviour seemed to know the way, turning off into a cul de sac of affluent American Dream-styled homes. Clara almost laughed at the white picket fences that surrounded immaculate lawns as strong arms once again enveloped her. She indistinctly internalized the sensation of motion before the roof of a porch presented itself. There was an awkward booted kick of the door before it opened. Light flooded out as the insensible woman’s head rolled with the motion of movement.

“Got a fresh one. Found ‘er crawling to the five-oh.” Her rescuer indicated to the figure inside which Clara was able to discern as having dark hair. Being feminine in shape at least. Soon after, she was placed in a chair in a brightly lit room. She squinted her eyes, looking about in vain at the grey, white and metallic kitchen she was in. Voices spoke as her ability to hear slid in and out of acuity. Eventually, a cup was pressed into her hands which she sniffed experimentally. The only sense that had not betrayed her. There was a snap of a phone’s camera to her right. Her head whipped about to see her rescuer tap away as she sent a text to someone. With her picture.

“What’s that for?” She asked with an edge to her tone. Despite her instincts, she felt a trickle of distrust worm its way under her skin. The cup smelled metallic, and she remembered reading somewhere that certain soporifics had that tang. Soon, rough cloth began to wend its way around her neck. The other woman had been almost invisible in the bright light, her soundless movement hiding her as she got to work. She even lacked a scent. As the bandage began to tighten, Lynn wriggled in place weakly. She attempted to push the house’s owner away with a hiss, teeth bared.

“Relax. We’re friends. I sent your picture to Eddie. He works with the police.” The angel-tattooed woman interjected. “Plus, you’re not gonna believe us later if we don’ take a picture.” She added as the bandages were clipped into place. Thereafter neither woman attempted to touch her neck. Instead, the house owner set about placing a pair of metal tools in Clara’s mouth. She recoiled, only to be told to sit still by an impatient feminine voice.

“Mary, she’s so fresh she hasn’t even got fangs. You sure she’s not just unlucky?” A new voice asked with exasperation. The tank-topped woman leaned forward and stared at Clara’s teeth for a good while before scratching her head in confusion.

“She had her throat open, Hana. Either she got a miracle or she’s fresh.” Mary retorted with extra emphasis on her compatriot’s name as if insulted. Clara didn’t bother with their tiff, reaching up to remove the speculums or whatever they were from her cheeks. There was some weak protest but the look on her face must have driven back the very thought. “Alright, alright. We’ll find out then.” She eventually asserted with a sigh. Suddenly, a toned arm was presented under Clara’s nose. The British woman looked up at Mary’s face or where she thought her face was by the blobs that were slowly becoming ever-more indistinct. Hana seemed triumphant before her partner practically punched Clara’s nose with the underside of her wrist. “Go on. Bite it.” She prodded with an impatient tone. Their charge was about to question her sanity before the scent hit her. A warm, potent smell that set her mouth to water. The heartbeat of anxiety was back, driving her to escape the room. She attempted to move her arms only to discover that her own body refused to move. She hadn’t been given anything, why was this happening?

But the arm remained there. The scent continued to possess her senses, such as they were, and she found her mouth opening. Mary encouraged her with the same demeanour as a nurse encouraging a reluctant patient. Hana gasped before Clara’s teeth dug into the soft flesh of Mary’s arm. She must have bitten far harder than the tepid, appeasing munch she’d planned for. Blood welled into her mouth instantly. She expected the metallic, salty taste but instead felt the most refreshing sensation fill her. It was as if a river had returned to a desert, spreading life wherever it went. She didn’t know anything beyond the source of her life, her recovery. She felt a tug, mumbled words that became more insistent. Clara could not perceive anything beyond the wellspring before her and its intoxicating flow.

“Hana! Get her off me!” Mary shouted, her free hand acting as an impromptu tourniquet. A bestial growl escaped their fresh one, eyes defensively flicking from one woman to the other. With an expert motion, the doctor slid around with a hand on Clara’s forehead and elbow levered against the jaw. With a press, she eventually unhinged the bite that trapped Mary. She pulled free with a grunt of pain, dabbing herself with gauze to stymy the blood. She watched the formerly weakened woman battle ferociously against a struggling Hana, who eventually succeeded in calming her charge down. “Guess that proves it. I’ll get Eddie down here.” Mary relayed through her panicked breaths. She looked to her arm with a wince, wrapping it firmly as her eyes met her attacker’s. “Dunno how she’s that strong. She had me like a goddamn gator. Couldn’t walk when I found ‘er.”

“We’re stronger when frenzied. That was stupid.” Hana noted with disapproval, her voice etched with worry. Clara was vaguely aware of something between them as she felt strength flood her body. She blinked repeatedly as her vision began to sharpen. It continued to sharpen until the flares of her glasses hurt her eyes. With a grunt of pain, she removed them, rubbing at her eyelids. Hana was attending to her again, using cotton swabs to remove the skin under her fingernails. “It’s very rare we get a murder. Usually, I’m counselling some couple.” Hana said, attempting to make conversation while Mary went to call the mysterious Eddie.

Clara could now see in incredible detail the face of her apparent doctor. She was a young-looking Asian woman with dark hair, brown eyes and a stern demeanour. She wore a dressing gown and pyjamas with cute pink slippers that she couldn’t help but smile foolishly at. Hana noticed her eyes and smiled in return, winking as she finished checking some physiology Clara was too addled to know of.

“Wish Mary would let me get her on side.” Hana sighed, eyes flicking to the other room. She’d spoken in a low voice, desperate for her friend or partner not to hear. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking personal things. You just have one of those faces.” She apologized before standing with an appreciative look at her work. Lynn’s blue eyes followed her to the sink where she filled a tumbler of water and presented it to her patient firmly. Apparently, it wouldn’t solve her thirst, but it would soothe it for a little while. Managing it was as important as sating it. “So, anyone I can contact? Boyfriend, girlfriend?” She asked as if from a script, offering her phone with a lackadaisy air. As if victims of attempted murder were a daily occurrence for her.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember if I even like girls.” Lynn replied with a blank expression, attempting to get back to her feet with mixed success. Though she could step just fine, her feet felt as if they were on fire. Pins and needles rained down on her calves and toes. Looking down, she saw that they were blackened and swollen for some reason. Thankfully it seemed to be getting better by the moment. But an anxious look towards her doctor betrayed her.

“Don’t worry that goes away in a few hours. You really should have taken a drink when offered.” Hana advised as she took the small translucent cup back. Clara watched the contents jiggle like off yoghurt as her saviour washed it clean. “Having no memory though. That’s a new one for me.” She suddenly admitted as she turned around, bracing her hands against the counter with a resolute expression.

Clara struggled to find the words to explain as a commotion at the front door drew Hana away. The fresh one canted her head to the side as she heard a man grunt and struggle his way through the hallway that led to the kitchen.

“Your midnight appointment is here! Got a stiffer.” A deep masculine voice called.

You can find story with these keywords: The Cave, Read The Cave, The Cave novel, The Cave book, The Cave story, The Cave full, The Cave Latest Chapter