Demons chased him across the field, then in to town and across the square. No amount of running could shake them off, but no matter how many hiding places Zan knew, the demons could always find him. They seemed to possess unnatural speed, closing in on him with outstretched arms gnarled all the way to the claws. Then suddenly he found himself at home, surrounded by his family. It was time for dinner, but the food smelled strange. He looked down, and saw a beating heart on his plate, surrounded by potato and onion and cabbage. When he looked up, his family were lifeless in their chairs, blood covering their faces and clothes. Something began pushing against his face, an unseen force…
He woke with a start, his body frozen and rigid with terror. Looking around, he saw Zami jabbing her elbow in his jaw. She was wide awake and attempting to rouse him by flinging limbs across his face. "Food," she said, pointing to her mouth.
Zan let out a sigh of relief, his breath swirling across the room in a cloud of mist, and he placed his hands on his face. His skin felt cold yet sweat was dripping from his chin. His mind still scarred from his nightmare, he shuffled awkwardly over to the box where the remnants of the stolen bread was kept. Upon opening, he discovered the partial loaf had disappeared, and he turned to look at Zami. "You ate it all, didn't you?" He struggled to keep his voice down. "How many times? We need to make it last!"
He wiped the condensation and dirt from the window. It was dusk and the stars were just starting to appear in the sky between the clouds. "And now it's too late to get any more," he said, sighing at the thought of going hungry that night and a little annoyed that his fatigue had caused him to waste most of the day.
He ran his fingers across Zami's forehead. A crack in her skin had appeared, like a fault line running from one temple to the other. There was no blood, and she didn't appear to be in any pain. But Zan knew – she was starting to show the physical effects of the disease. It was a natural progression of the deterioration, and most of the scarring appeared on the face and arms.
"Let's go and get some air, we may not be able to go outside for much longer," Zan said. He knew it was dangerous in the city at nightfall, but if he stayed close to the hut and the river, no-one could see. It wasn’t good for Zami to be confined in such a small space permanently, and it was only for a short time. "Let me check it's clear." He wrapped himself in a blanket, and stepped outside. The snow crunched beneath his feet and although nothing was falling, it was several inches deep in places and the top of it glistened under the light of the crescent moon. The breath rose from his mouth and danced away into the sky as he looked around and over the top of the platform. Not a soul lurked around that his eyes could tell, and he beckoned his sister to come out.
She emerged from the hut wearing only her thin dress, which was laced with various spillages at different stages of congealment, not to mention a big tear down one side.
"You can't just come out in that," Zan said as he spoke to her like a mother would, and hurriedly took off his blanket to wrap around her. He kissed the top of her head as he held her. "Do you feel like a little walk?" He began meandering down the lower level platform, holding her hand with a vice like grip.
They strolled by the side of the estuary for some minutes. "Do you remember running up that hill when we were kids Zami?" He pointed across the river to the lower wastelands on the other side in the distance. Beyond there, a hill rose from the ground and the thousands of stars that twinkled behind it created a silhouette. "You used to cheat and get a head start when I wasn't looking," he added, smiling.
"Hills," Zami said, looking up at Zan. She was twelve years old, and Zan had watched in agony as her mind had regressed gradually into that of a small child. And he knew it wouldn't stop there.
"Yes," Zan said. "Do you remember? We used to play in the woods at the top, and when the snows came we'd sledge down to the bottom. Then mother would slap my head for letting you get dirty." He stopped and looked across at the river lapping on the shoreline. "I wish I could go back to those days."
The bitter night air was beginning to pierce Zan's thick skin. He didn't usually feel the cold much but the sweat from his nightmare had given him a chill. "Let's go back," he said.
As they approached the hut, a torch suddenly shone in Zan's face, blinding him momentarily.
"I knew it - thought I heard voices," a man bellowed. "What are you doing out after dark?"
He moved the torch away to reveal his face. The man was crouched down on the ledge above, and he wore a cap strapped around his chin, and a uniform buttoned up to the top. He was a city guardsman on patrol.
"We were just going home," Zan said as he ushered Zami to stand behind him. The guardsman shone the torch at them once more, and Zami peered around from Zan's back.
The guardsman took a step back. "That young lass has a Zottens scar. She's diseased!" His face contorted with a look of disgust and his back straightened. “Don’t worry son, I’ll inform The Patrol. We’ll see to her now. Just keep her right there until I get back.”
Zan scrunched his face and his panic gave rise to irrational and impulsive thoughts. He shoved Zami inside the hut before racing outside and jumping up onto the platform. The guard was at the other end of the clear road and he disappeared down a side alley.
He stayed hidden in the shadows whenever the guardsman glanced back. He'd managed to gain some ground, but time was running out as they neared The Patrol House. He removed his shoes and jogged forwards, taking strides that were long and yet his feet only grazed the ground fleetingly. Around another corner, he put himself within reaching distance.
Leaping into the air, he grabbed the guardsman around the neck with his arm and pulled him to the ground. The man struggled and, despite his inferior size, Zan managed to keep him in a strong hold, crushing his neck before twisting it suddenly.
He watched as the man grappled, limbs flailing and mouth gargling and panting in a desperate fight. After a few seconds, the struggling faded away and his eyes became vacant.
Zan sat back. The hairs on his arms and neck stood on end, but it wasn't the cold. Blood rushed to his head and adrenaline caused his spine to tingle. He felt alive for the first time in years.
As his mind raced and the magnitude of his actions struck him, he caught sight of a figure stepping out of the shadows – the outline of a portly man, with a crooked walking stick. Zan could barely make him out, and he made no sound but as his eyes followed the silhouette from his boots to his head, he saw two bright yellow swirling eyes.
He shot up and ran like the wind back to the ferry house, slipping in the snow and ice as he went.
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