The Alternative View

  I woke up this morning feeling a vague prickling of guilt. 

  I'd had the same nightmare again, the same one that wound its way into my dreams every so often. 

  His face...His face was the one memory, the one part of the nightmare that would haunt me for the rest of my existence. 

  The way he cried and cried over me...And yet he doesn't realize how very much alive I am.   

  How I am, although half-dead, still able to see him, to be with him like we were in life again.   

  Breaking my reverie, my latest mate came in to wake me up.  

  He had been out hunting all night with the others, but I could tell from his demeanour that the hunt was unsuccessful. 

  It usually was when hunting humans. You could only attack the ones who were low-lives - to attack someone of status would only draw unnecessary attention to our clan. 

  We had a system in the camp of the undead. 

  Hunt humans and transform them into one of us, to build up our reserves. 

  The other part of the usual system was constant reproduction. 

  To find a female human is valued - they can reproduce strong men or child-bearing women. 

  After my mate came in I quickly shrugged on my tan trench coat and clutched at my rounded stomach as I stepped out into camp. 

  One year pregnant I was. I only had another year to go before I would be able to give birth to yet another warrior or child-bearer for my clan. 

  The thought overwhelmed me with a warm sense of pride. 

  I was a valued child-bearer. I was one of the women who enjoyed being pregnant - I had been pregnant for most of the past twelve years. 

  I was a popular person in camp due to the fact, amongst both the men and women.

  We've been moving camps a lot in recent months. 

  At first we were staying in Venice, then suddenly we were told we had to move here to France. 

  Apparently there was a need for more of us - something about tracking a high-status human woman. 

  To this day I'm not sure of her significance. Only the men really seem to know at the moment.  

  But they'll no doubt tell us the whole story when they find her and drag her body back into camp. 

  They tend to do that on the odd occasion they go for a Status Human. 

  Not tell the women anything until they had something to prove their achievements and show off with. 

  As I sat around Camp Fire I listened in to the men’s conversation of their next hunt.  

  Apparently they were going back after that Status Human tonight. 

  I quite wished to escort the men on a hunt myself one day, although they'd never let me. 

  Not because I'm too weak, or that they are sexist - they care only for the protection of our unborn children. 

  We must build up strong, undamaged reserves, they said frequently. 

  You sometimes couldn't shake the feeling of sexism, though. 

  The men were men after all - dead or alive. 

  There are times where I remember my time alive and my deadening heart aches to go back, you know. 

  I fully accept and adore my way of living now, but again I cannot shake the longing in my heart to go back. 

  But I know the reason for that. 

  There is only one reason I long to go back, for being undead is much better than being alive, generally. 

  No food is required, child-birth is not as painful, we may transport virtually to anywhere in the country with a simple brain command, and there is no commitment to each other. 

  Life as an undead is a lot simpler. 

  But even so, the want to return to being alive is growing stronger by each nightmare I have of him.

  And if I let it take over me, it will ruin me.

***

  Sudden cries were heard at Camp Fire several hours later.

  Human cries. Something unusual that alarmed the females around me. 

  I stared intently at the direction of the noise. 

  “What is it that you believe it to be, miss?” asked the teenager, fear in her voice.

  “May you vanish to find out?” asked a new woman. I whipped round to her, annoyance sparkling in my eyes. 

  “You know that is forbidden, Sheila,” I said darkly. “The men would not allow it.”

  As though the word had been said, the men remaining came out of their huts to check up on the disturbance amongst the females. 

  “What is wrong, women?” asked George, a burly older undead. 

  “Some form of disturbance in the north-east,” I replied. “Human cries have been heard.”

  “Shall I rally the other men and vanish to find out of such disturbances?”

  “Not necessary, sir,” I told him gently. “But may you stay on guard? I feel it is unlikely to be a danger.”

  “Certainly Lady Gwennyth,” he said to me respectfully. 

  The human cries drew closer. 

  The men came into a tight knitted group, ready to strike if need be. 

  It was rare to hear of human cries here. The humans were normally transformed as soon as they were found. 

  Worry did sit in my heart despite my gut feeling that there was no danger. 

  The human cries were no longer screams like I thought they were - not at all. 

  In fact, as the sounds came closer, I could make it out to be protesting yells. 

  The women cowered slightly in fear. 

  The men puffed themselves up in their macho manner. 

  Figures began to loom out of the dark and cool trees as twilight veiled above them. 

  Pale figures, some struggling, some dragging. It took them some time to become more in focus as they marched through the clearing. 

  I could make out our men as the ones who were doing the dragging, which was always a good sign. 

  My eyes then fell on those being dragged by the men. 

  One of them was handsome, incredibly handsome, and possessed bright red hair and fine dress-sense. 

  There was something too familiar about him. I am positive that I have seen him before. 

  Another was a girl of striking looks and tumbling waves of mahogany. 

  The third human to be dragged forwards was a terrified but nonetheless charming looking fellow.

  The fourth person I could see nothing but a blondish-yellowish spot of hair at the top of his head as he was pulled presumably unconscious through the grass. 

  My focus strayed back to the other three, uninterested in the human who was likely to be transforming still. 

  The men threw them into Camp Fire at our feet and raised their hands in victory. 

  We cheered loudly. 

  Status Human hunts were very tricky, after all. It was an achievement to bring back four.

  “Let us be explaining to you women,” said one of the men, the rest of Camp Fire falling silent. “We have hunted the relatives of those who killed our mothers and fathers, our sisters, brothers and our friends. We will torture and kill the remaining bloodlines relating to that day, so resistance against undead uprising shall be no more!”

  The others cheered with exhilaration - I paused for thought. 

  There had been legends of undead hunters before my time, but never had there been proof of their existence until now. 

  I was curious to properly see these people, see what one might consider an undead hunter to look like, be like. 

  “Raise their necks and let us view, men,” I requested, to a vague cheer of agreement from my supporters. 

  Instantly the men assigned themselves to the four humans paralyzed on the ground due to their bounds. 

  “Look upon Kate Adams, those who remember!” said Steven, a forty-year old powerful undead with an appetite for destruction. 

  He pulled Kate up by the hair as she gave a scream of pain. 

  The crowds cheered - the other two human men protested emotionally with tears in their eyes.

  “Look upon James Stokes, companion of Kate in destroying us!”

  Another cheer as he wrenched James' head up by his red locks.

  “View the son of the hunter, Ben Lambert!”

  A few gasps from the older generation and slightly uncertain cheers followed Ben's violent introduction.

  “And now ladies and gentleman of the undead, let us view the biggest catch we will ever get on a hunt. Let us speak of how we captured a legend. A terrible, legendary man - ”

  A legend. My dark legend.

  “ - the only person in our history to abandon our traditions and still be an undead. The newer undeads may know of him as the Betrayer, the One Who Got Away...”

  And I knew him as someone else...

  “Varjak Swinton! - ”

   - My husband.

                                                                                 ***

  Everything, absolutely everything in me wanted to scream with rejoice. 

  The one reason I wanted to be alive again, to be with my alive husband again.

  And he arrives here, an undead! 

  For twenty years I have had nightmares of the day we parted, of the day I lost him forever.   

  And now here he is.

  An arch-nemesis of my tribe.

  “Let it be that I raise his head,” I said without thinking. “I would like to take care of him personally. For too long has he burdened my tribe. Let it be that for once a woman slices the flesh of a criminal. It will not cause harm to my child, other than to encourage blood thirst in a son.”

  There was a murmur of uncertainty amongst the men. 

  A woman, performing such a gruesome task? It was suspicious, and I knew it was. 

  But I did not care. 

  “We simply will not allow a female to bloody her hands,” said Steven evenly. “Men, take the pieces of filth to the Caves. There they will truly find out what torture is.”

  No! I cried internally, barely stopping myself from yelling aloud. 

  My beautiful Jack to be taken to the Caves? 

  Jack...Varjak...My roaring mind vaguely reminded me of the strange name Steven used.  

  Surely he was still the same Jack Swinton? Still the man I married all those years ago? In my heart I knew there was only one way to find out.

  To visit the Caves.

  The Caves were essentially torture chambers. 

  We used them for rogue undeads and humans who trespass. 

  What lurked there was deemed to be unspeakable. 

  The Caves contain what we call the Living Dead.  

  If I were to use a human word, the closest comparison is ghosts. But the Living Dead to us are humans who have fully died and died horribly, and are bound to the earth by a desire for revenge. 

  But my problem lies within that description. 

  The Living Dead did not serve the undead. Through their own nature they loved to torture new souls and feasted upon anyone the undead threw in. 

  If I were to visit the Caves then I would be risking me and my unborn child's half-lives.

  But Jack was worth it.

  And I knew he was. 

  I also knew that I would sacrifice my life and my child's for him. 

  Because simply the opportunity to see Jack's beautiful, whole face instead of a swimming memory was too much of a temptation to bear, no matter the cost. 

  I only hope my love can forgive me. 

  All I want is my Jack back. 

  And not even the Living Dead will stop me. 

Reviews

[tynamite]

Reading this it feels like a completely different book. I don't know your reasoning behind this. Just when I thought that the storyline had settled as I didn't have to be bombarded with stuff that Varjak explaining loads of things, it switches to this so it's a surprise. I found it hard to take in all this information all at once. Maybe it's just me.

[w2de35657u687y4324rf]

Hmm, nice idea with the difference between the undead and the living dead. I think the skip from the last chapter to this one is alright, considering we basically know theyre screwed in the hotel. Also, you have given more depth to this character and so I like how you switched to her perspective. The next chapter will certainly be an interesting voyage.