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  Pocket of Posies

  The Plague Series Book 2

  Written by Sara Clancy

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2018 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

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  See you in the shadows,

  Sara Clancy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

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  Chapter 1

  The town fell silent at dusk. Gripped by a concussion, Annabel had spent the first night, and most of the day, locked within a deep, unbreakable sleep. This was the first time she was able to get a decent look at the town. An uneasy stillness settled around her as she wandered in search of the hospital. Having been one of the least injured in their group of survivors, she had been taken to a private home rather than overburden their minimal resources. Annabel yelped when two children burst out of a house beside her, a storm of giggles and shrieks. She clenched her teeth and breathed deep, trying to slow her rapid heartbeat. It’s only been a day, she told herself. With time, the memories will fade.

  Her annoyance shifted to curiosity as she watched the children pass. Their bubbling excitement was gone, replaced by somber focus. Carefully, they leaped from one cobblestone to the next, arms flung out for balance and brows furrowed in concentration. Annabel followed the children’s gaze, trying to pinpoint why they looked so concerned. Both wore slippers made of thin, soft leather. Time had battered the material into a second skin and allowed them to move with barely a whisper. They’re avoiding the weeds.

  By the time the children crossed the street, the sky had been set ablaze by the slow summer sunset. What little activity the town had boasted of settled, the murmured voices slipping away on each soft breath of wind. The scent of flowers filled her head, sometimes strong enough to make her eyes water. Dread twisted up in the pit of her stomach. She detested herself for it. Jez needs you to be stronger than this.

  Only a few years separated the sisters, and while Annabel was the youngest, she had always been the composed one. Unflappable and stoic. It was the norm they were both comfortable with. Jezebel was the protective, emotionally intelligent one. Annabel was the one who was always moving forward. Neither of them was comfortable with any change to this dynamic. This, though, was uncharted territory. Dark and foreboding. We got out of that town. We’re safe now, she repeated it like a mantra until she was able to move her feet forward again.

  “Hospital’s this way, isn’t it?” she asked, desperate to break the silence.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Jezebel bite her lip, struggling to contain whatever it was she wanted to say. Henry answered instead. It seemed strange that they had only known the towering, slender man for a few days. A single word hadn’t passed between them before the ghost ship had destroyed their tiny tour vessel. Before they were stranded on the rocky beach. Perhaps that’s just Henry, Annabel thought with a smile. He had a special talent for blending into the background when he wanted to. Like a wall clock. People generally forgot he was there unless they were looking for him. I need to learn how to do that.

  It wasn’t possible to stave off the ominous feeling that was creeping along her nerves. Their footsteps would have echoed off of the medieval buildings if it weren’t for the immense amount of plant life that draped over the walls, a thick blanket of green that muffled the sound and allowed spawning places for the gathering shadows. It was Annabel’s first chance to get a proper look at the town, without the distraction of hunger or fear. Henry was right. Flowers were everywhere. The vines cracked through mortar and wood, weaving in and out of the buildings like snakes. In some places, they had nuzzled up against the windowsill. Instead of pruning them back, windows had been left open to admit them entry at their will. Stems as long as Annabel’s arms marked the foliage. Hundreds of small flowers clustered to the spikes, stark white, unstained by rot or pollen.

  Flowers burst over hanging baskets. Left unattended, they created growing tendrils that squirmed at the slightest breeze. Weeds pushed up through the gaps between the cobblestone walkways, and the dirt roads had been left to the creeping grass. Moss covered the rooftops and mold grew in the corners of the buildings. Everything was bright and lush. Undeniably beautiful. Unmistakably wrong. It was as if everyone had decided to forfeit the town to the plants.

  The sisters shared a glance but neither said a word. The encounters with the Plague Doctors hung fresh in their minds. A demon squatting on the edge of their awareness. Annabel was afraid to speak of them, in case this acknowledgement would somehow call them closer. It wasn’t a paranoia. Annabel had been born stoic. Emotions bubbled under the surface but very rarely showed upon her face. When she spoke, her voice was a flat monotone. Logic was her driving force and a blanket to wrap protectively around her tiny frame. And while she would struggle to explain to anyone who hadn’t experienced it, there was the lingering truth. Ghosts are real. And they can kill. The thought passed in her head as she cringed away from it. Searching for some kind of distraction, she looked back to her sister. A spark of fear lingered in Jezebel’s dark orbs. She’s not ready to talk about it, either.

  Henry seemed to feel the tension, too. He slowed his longer strides to keep in pace with them, ducking and weaving in an attempt to keep from touching the overhanging vines. Every time he failed, he acted as if the leaves had burned him. There was too much life for the town to be considered abandoned, but not enough for the area to feel lived in.

  “Which way do you think now?” Jezebel asked.

  Her voice was naturally childlike. Reaching her twenties hadn’t changed that. It was light and breathless and often had strangers dismiss her as a simpleton.

  “To the left, I think,” Annabel mumbled.

  She really had no idea but couldn’t stand the lingering silence. The three of them shifted to the side and continued down the street. The plants clustered closer, reaching up to entwine together, creating a canopy that breached the narrow gap between the structures. It blotted out the last rays of light, reducing the warm golden glow into thin slits that carved through the shadows. The air was humid. Annabel still shivered.

  Just like all the other buildings, the hospital had been left to the ravages of the encroaching plant life. One wall had been eaten away over time, allowing grass and moss access to the lower floors. Creeping shrubbery clogged up the emergency access and a twine of thorny stems snaked around the front entrance. The sight made Annabel’s stomach squirm. While she could dismiss the other buildings as perhaps a custom or habit, seeing the hospital in such disarray screamed that something was wrong.

  “I’m getting a bad feeling about this place,” Annabel said.

  Jezebel huffed a startled laugh. “I’ve been thinking the same thing since we arrived.”

  The confession took both Annabel and Henry by surprise. After leaving the Plague Doctors behind, Jezebel had obsessively tended to a positive outlook. She guarded her conviction that they were safe like a lioness. It had terrified Annabel to see her strong, big sister clutching so violently to her denial. And although it was a relief to see the old Jezebel again, she worried about what had pulled her older sister back to reality.

  “It doesn’t matter though,” Jezebel continued, aware of the attention focused upon her. “There’s nowhere else to go. This is the only village on the island and they control the boats.”

  Annabel licked her lips, trying to organize her murky thoughts. It wasn’t any use. Even if she had been told the answer she sought, her concussion had robbed her of it.

  “I thought Rocca was going to call her boss,” she asked. “The tour company has to have more than one boat. Shouldn’t they be coming to pick us up? As part of their begging for us not to sue?”

  Jezebel’s lips twisted up bitterly. “If she’s been told anything, she’s keeping it to herself.”

  “No one in town will let her use a phone. They keep putting her off.”

  The sisters turned at Henry’s smooth, baritone, each eyeing him questioningly. He shrugged sheepishly.

  “She was complaining to Egil about it. I don’t think they knew I could hear them.”

  The mention of Egil instantly brought a frown to her face. The Swedish man had appointed himself leader of all the people that had dragged themselves out of the ocean. She was somewhat grateful for that. She didn’t crave any more responsibility than what had already been thrust upon her. She had only just completed her first year of medical school and was the sole medical help of the shipwrecked group. Forced to work completely devoid of resources and proper aid, it had been a crushing burden that had threatened to break her.

  Now that they had made it to the neighboring town, that weight had been lifted. And while the anxiety and drea
d remained, she was relishing the chance to be able to avoid Egil. He had quickly taken a dislike to her, and she knew why. Her naturally unexpressive face was readily mistaken for disdain. In the past, she had tried to change people’s opinion of her. It had always ended the same way, with accusations of her being fake and patronizing. Eventually, she had stopped trying. It had reached a point where it didn’t even bother her that much, where she could easily avoid the stares and insults while getting the job done.

  Being stuck on an island with a half dozen critically injured people hadn’t given her that liberty.

  “Are we going in?” Henry voiced the question as if he were really hoping that the answer would be ‘no’.

  “I want to check on the others,” Annabel said.

  She had purposely avoided learning the names of the injured. With only one year of training, she wasn’t in any way prepared for people under her care dying, especially since she knew she could have saved them with the right equipment and a hospital at hand. Memories of having to pick who she could help and who she left to die constantly plagued her. Doing any of that while knowing their names would have broken her.

  Now that their lives were hanging over her head, she was eager to see what else she could do to help.

  “And we should check in with Rocca,” Jezebel said. “I want her to tell me to my face exactly what’s going on.”

  Henry nodded once and straightened his spine. The slight extra height smacked the back of his skull against one of the hanging plants. Hissing, he ducked down and gripped the back of his head. The basket swayed and he came out of the confrontation with a few of the vivid white flowers poking out of his dark hair. He swatted absently at them as they neared the hospital.

  A path coiled around the worst of the thickets, leading from the sidewalk to the door. It was too narrow to keep a safe distance from the thorns. The thin material of Annabel’s borrowed clothes was thin and offered no protection. Spikes of pain rattled along her calves and thighs, all easy enough to ignore. Then she absentmindedly grasped one of the vines to tug it aside.

  The thorns grazed the blisters that littered her hands. She screamed, doubling over and clutching her hands protectively to her stomach. Large blisters still covered her palms and fingers from her moment of stupidity in the other town. She had been so focused on the items in the pot at the makeshift hospital, that she had completely ignored the boiling water. A second of blind panic that had resulted in third degree burns.

  The salve the town folk had given her had numbed the pain for a while. However, any contact, no matter how soft, was still excruciating. Stupid girl, she hissed at herself as tears welled in her eyes. One of the blisters had popped, leaving puss to seep between her fingers and the now open skin to move against her tender palm.

  “Anna?” Jezebel placed a hand gently on the back, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

  “I’m okay.” It was hard to make that sound convincing while speaking through clenched teeth.

  Forcing herself to straighten, Annabel forced a smile.

  “We’ll get more painkillers,” Henry promised.

  That, more than anything, prompted her to get moving again. Jezebel opened the wooden door with a little effort and they entered the well-lit hallway. The strange layout threw her off for a moment. They stood in the center of a long hallway that stretched out along the front of the building. Doors lined the corridor, each one closed, and there was no reception area. Random holes in the ceiling allowed the sunset to stain the air a rich red. Annabel scanned the area with growing frustration.

  “Where’s the E.R.?” she asked.

  Jezebel turned to her with an arched eyebrow. “That’s what bothers you?”

  “One of the many,” she answered.

  “Hello?” Henry’s voice rolled out in both directions.

  It ebbed into silence without response.

  “They have to be somewhere,” he said. “Egil and Rocca both said they were coming here.”

  He called out again. This time, it was met with a sharp sound. Like the striking of stone.

  “That came from the left,” Jezebel said.

  “I thought from the right,” Annabel countered. “You guys check that way, I’ll check this.”

  “Split up?” Henry asked.

  “It’s a straight hallway. I’ll be in sight the entire time.”

  Henry cracked a small smile. “And how do you plan on opening the doors?”

  “Good point,” she reluctantly acknowledged.

  Jezebel led the way to the left. They drifted closer to each other as they walked, starting at the end of the hall, with Jezebel reaching to open the first door. Shadows clustered within the room. Jezebel retreated, afraid to have the darkness touch her. Nothing but a few rickety beds were in the room. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. A quick glance was all it took to know that was no one there. Leaving the door open, they headed to the next room. This time, Henry opened the door. His long arms allowed him to fling it wide without approaching the threshold.

  “What on earth?” Henry mumbled under his breath.

  Annabel’s stomach squirmed as she inched closer to the door, trying to sneak a decent look around Henry’s torso. There were no windows, allowing dark shadows to cluster tight and hide the floor. Henry and Jezebel shared a quick glance. In unison, they started to rummage in the pockets of their borrowed clothes. It seemed that the island wore variations of the same outfit. Long, shapeless tunics with loose fitting pants, both made of an almost threadbare material. Simple, practical, and sporting deep pockets. Annabel’s brow furrowed as both of her companions pulled out sturdy flashlights.

  “Who gave you those?” Annabel asked. “No one gave me one.”

  Henry tipped his head to the side dismissively while Jezebel shrugged.

  “We weren’t exactly given them,” Jezebel said.

  “We’re borrowing,” Henry added.

  Jezebel hurriedly added, “We’ll give them back when we’re about to leave.”

  They both clicked the flashlights on and trained the slender beams into the room. The strong stark light flashed off of metal and washed over polished wood. They stood at the top of a wide staircase that descended to a stone floor. Half a dozen terraces arched out from the staircase, curling slightly before reaching the far wall.

  “Is this a lecture hall?” Jezebel asked as she drifted the beam of her flashlight over the room.

  Her light fell upon a single slab that sat at the center of the low floor.

  “No, it’s a surgical theatre,” Annabel said. “A crude one.”

  “Circa 1820’s,” Henry said.

  The sisters turned to him. A heartbeat later, he noticed.

  “I saw a setup like this at the medical museum in London,” he said defensively. “It’s not my favorite historical time period, but it’s pretty interesting.”

  “You are such a dork,” Jezebel mumbled.

  Annabel inched closer to the doorway. “Jez, can you shine your light on the back wall? Just behind the table?”

  Both beams scanned the area, working back and forth until Annabel gave a slight grunt. It wasn’t a dignified sound but succeeded in getting them to illuminate the right spot. A tall, slender machine, made from white plastic and shiny metal, all topped with a monitor screen.

  “That’s a DRE Integra SL Anesthesia Machine,” she said.

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Jezebel replied.

  Shaking off her shock and horror, she looked over at her sister. “This is an active operating room. They perform surgery in here.”

  Jezebel’s brow furrowed. “That’s bad?”

  Annabel stammered, not sure how to accurately explain. “It’s incredibly substandard. I mean, that machine is new, yeah, but this setup was considered substandard in …” Puffing out her cheeks, she loosely gestured to Henry,

  “Oh, um, I’d say around 1862,” he said.

  “This is insane. We’re barely a few hours off the coast line. I just don’t understand.”

  Annabel’s statement had barely broken past her lips when a solid thud sounded from the dark recesses of the room. They all jumped back from the door. The light flicked across the walls, flashing upon a door that would have remained hidden. They stood there, staring into the abyss, not sure what to do next.