‘Sidney!’ Natalie suddenly wailed, snapping his attention back to the last male cadaver that somehow had used the remaining guide rope to drag itself the final step onto the decking.
‘Christ!’ he gasped, nervously stepping forward to meet the corpse head on; the crowbar visibly shaking in his grasp.
With its hungry glare glued to the approaching living flesh, the Dead man briefly lurched to one side before steadying itself on the flat surface of the decking; its blackened hands, minus a few fingers, already reaching out to embrace this glowing beacon of life. Sadly its mind could not fathom the danger that the warm thing in front of it posed. It could not process the actions of this creature, the way it held something long and glinting aloft, the way it momentarily batted away the grasping hands that simply wanted to tear into it and rip free a chunk to feast upon or the way that it swung the object it held, hitting it with as much force as it could muster. For the Dead man could process none of this and as Sidney struck its head again and again with the crowbar, it held no comprehension that its very existence was about to cease.
‘Yaahhh!’ cried Sidney, swinging the crowbar one final time; the muscles in his arms protesting against this sudden and unexpected exercise. ‘Jesus… thank… God!’ he panted, as his shaking hands slipped from the metal bar that had finally smashed its way through the Dead man’s skull, destroying the brain within and sending the corpse dropping lifeless to the deck. ‘I… I thought it was never… going to die,’ he continued, turning as the young woman behind him collapsed to the floor in overwhelming relief, sobbing. ‘It’s okay, Natalie, we’re okay…’ he went on to say, falling to his knees by her side, ‘we’re okay… we can use the ropes to climb over... we’ll find a way to get by… you’re safe, Natalie… we’re safe.’
Though even as he said the words he knew they were far from it and as he wrapped his arms about her, her panic fuelled tears falling uncontrollably, he let his gaze wander back across the destroyed walkway to the other decking.
‘How long have you given us?’ he silently thought, watching the young woman disappear into the shadows once more. ‘A week? A month? More? You’ve left us to chance… but we don’t have one…not really,’ he continued, looking down at the emotionally fragile woman in his arms and knowing the inevitable had only been postponed for a while, ‘but then I guess you knew that … didn’t you…’ he finally added, his eyes flicking back over to the empty decking; wishing with all of his being that things had been different.
***
Fran wasn’t sure just why she had left Natalie’s and Sidney’s punishment to fate but as she had watched the older man plea for mercy, not only for himself but for Natalie too, she found something bubbling up within her; something she knew was now at odds with this new person she had been forced to become. Whatever it was it sought to find a reason to spare these two a death by her hand, it offered excuses and small kernels of understanding and even a hint of leniency but it was only as a voice in the back of her mind asked her what Kai would do if he were here that she realised it was in fact some part of her old self.
‘Kai,’ she found herself whispering, the simple word tearing at her heart as his smiling face flashed across her mind.
And in that instant she knew. She could not condemn this man and woman; she would not be the one whose blade parted their flesh and stole their lives from them and despite her promise to move among the residence of White Oak Park like an angel of death, leaving vengeance and retribution in her wake, she knew that in truth Sidney had indeed tried to warn her. It was this one fact, this one small piece of knowledge that allowed her look past her vow and recognise the truth of the situation before her. Yes, she would not be the immediate cause of their demise but they would still fall nonetheless. For many before them, many better equipped and better skilled to survive, had had their lives cut short, snatched from them by the Dead and so as she turned away, knowing the spirit of her promise to Kai, Sam and Mike was still intact, she pushed that small part of old herself back into the corners of mind; safe in the knowledge it would be there, hidden behind her grief, when she needed it.
***
Angela Doyle looked blankly down at the infant lying next to her on the small sofa, the child’s large innocent eyes staring up at her, pleading with unspoken words while tiny hands reached out demanding attention, demanding contact, and Angela realised she felt nothing.
‘Nothing,’ whispered Angela, somehow scared of her own admission as she absentmindedly began to fiddle with a loose button on her cardigan; trying to remember the last time she truly felt something, felt anything.
‘I’m… empty,’ she thought, glancing back at the little girl kicking her legs back and forth, ‘I’m totally empty… there’s… there’s nothing… nothing.’
Angela watched Poppy and tried to remember how it felt all those years ago with her own daughters, when they had been babies.
‘I… I did love them… I… I remember I did…’ she whispered, her hand tentatively reaching out to touch the infant’s stomach. ‘I felt… something then… back then… back before… before…’ she continued, her words becoming clouded in shame. ‘Harry.’
Closing her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear even a baby to witness her humiliation, Angela wished things had been different, wished she had been different. Before the Dead, in another life, she had often heard other mothers talking about the simple normalcy of their lives, of husbands that doted upon their children and of moments of simple pleasure that they spent as a family and all the while she wondered why she had had none of this. Why did these other women deserve their ‘Happy ever after’ while her life was full of shame, deception and soul crippling fear. After her first husband had died she thought perhaps now, perhaps this was her chance to be like all the others and to find a man that would love her and her girls. But life had other plans for her and instead Harry Doyle came into her life. He had been like a shark smelling blood in the water, she could see that now. He had circled her, sensing her weakness, using it against her, waiting for that one moment when he could go in for the kill. And then just like before, she was his, totally, and Angela ceased to be a person again. Of course she had seen the way he looked at Emma, his filthy desires barely held in check; but then the world fell apart and the Dead came to rule their lives and with them the terrible price her daughter paid for Harry’s protection. But even then she couldn’t stop him, she simply didn’t have the fight left in her; for after all those years of being beaten down and broken there was simply nothing left of her but her fear.
‘And now even that’s gone,’ she muttered to the darkness, her hand slipping from the infant as she rose from the sofa and slowly walked to the window.
Standing there, looking out at the moonlit forest, Angela watched as the young woman lowered the ramp and beckoned the Dead to ascend. She watched as she crisscrossed back and forth along the walkways, the Dead following in her wake and she watched as this one woman’s need for revenge tore her world apart bit by bit; and yet still he felt nothing.
Angela didn’t know how long she had stood by the Hub’s living room window, somehow detached from her own life, watching as the Dead breached their meagre defences; the sounds of carnage and terror they inevitably brought with them filling the air.
‘I… I think it’s time,’ she mumbled, at last turning away from the window. ‘You… you might as well come too,’ she went on to say, slowly moving to the sofa to peer down at Poppy. ‘Don’t worry…’ she muttered, bending down to gather the infant in her arms. ‘Mummy’s here.’
And with that Angela walked over to the front door and stepped out into the cold night.
‘Put her down!’ came a woman’s voice almost immediately from behind her; the sharp jabbing in her back telling Angela that Fran thought using some sort of knife as a threat would give her leverage; the idea causing a sad but bitter smile to flit across Angela’s lips. ‘I said put Poppy down,’ Fran repeated, her hatred cold and razor sharp, ‘nic
e and slow, Mrs Doyle… and then move… over there.’
‘Do you know what it’s like to wake up each and every day and feel nothing… nothing at all,’ said Angela, turning round to look at Fran; shifting Poppy over to one shoulder as she spoke.
‘I said put Poppy down,’ growled Fran though her gritted teeth, ignoring the woman’s bizarre ramblings.
‘To know that you’ve failed those that depended on you most... to know that you’ve failed yourself,’ continued Angela, as if Fran hadn’t even spoken. ‘I…I just can’t do this anymore, Fran,’ she went on to say with a heavy sigh; her tearful gaze wondering down the machete pointed at her, ‘I’m just so tired… tired of feeling nothing... of being nothing.’
And then without warning Angela abruptly stepped forward, pulling Fran into a fierce embrace; impaling herself on the long blade with a cry. For a moment, as Fran struggled to support the older woman’s weight and take hold of Poppy at the same time, Angela turned her head to look at her; her breath coming rapid and shallow, her eyes holding a strange mix of fear and release.
‘It… it’s not their…fault…’ she gasped tearfully, her shaking hands reaching up to take Fran’s shoulders, ‘They… they didn’t… didn’t stand a chance… either of them… aarrgghh!’ she continued, suddenly crying out as she used Fran’s body for leverage to push herself backwards; the bloody blade slipping slowly from her stomach. ‘Please...’ she coughed, blood flecking across her lips and chin. ‘Please… believe me… I... I… ggnnnww!’ Angela grunted, her face contorting in pain as she staggered backwards towards the railing, her bloody hands reaching out to steady herself. ‘It’s my fault…’ she panted, looking back at Fran. ‘All my fault… they… they didn’t stand a chance.’
‘There’s no excuse for what they’ve done,’ spat Fran in reply, cutting off Angela’s words. ‘I don’t care what shit they’ve had to put up… you get over it… cause I don’t know whether you noticed but that’s all there is now, shit and more fucking shit…. and instead of making this place a haven from all that crap and death and fucking horror that’s out there,’ she continued, feeling her anger bubbling up, threatening to overwhelm her, ‘they butchered… they fucking took what they wanted and butchered innocent people…’
‘You… you… don’t… understand…’ panted Angela, shaking her head, desperate to deny the truth of Fran’s accusations; her ragged breath pluming in the cold night air. ‘It’s… it’s my fault they’re… they’re the way they are… Emma… she…’
And as she spoke, the pain from her wound cutting through her words, Angela slowly turned away from Fran and began to pull herself up onto the railing.
‘She… was just… just protecting… her sister,’ she finally panted, swaying as she looked back at Fran, the light breeze ruffling her hair, her tear streaked face pale and drawn in the moonlight, ‘she…’
‘Mum!’ shouted a voice from the darkness, halting Angela’s excuses.
Suddenly Fran heard the creaking of boards and sound of running footsteps coming across one of the connecting walkways. Looking to her left, past the lowered ramp, where even now another two corpses, eager to join the treetop carnage, were slowly shambling their way aloft, Fran saw Emma, Wendy and with sickening dread, Tom, following up the rear; his drawn blades already dripping in the dark blood of the Dead.
‘Mum!’ Wendy cried again, running past the opening to the ramp, barely sparing the approaching cadavers a glance of concern as she darted across the decking.
‘No, Wendy!’ said Angela, letting go of railing with one hand to halt her daughter’s approach; her palm slick with blood. ‘Stop! It’s… time to stop…’
‘What the fuck, Mum?’ said Wendy, confused by her mother’s actions; her eyes flicking briefly to her blood drenched cardigan as she tentatively took another step closer.
‘No… no… Wendy,’ Angela panted, her gaze drifting from Wendy to focus on Emma, ‘it’s got to stop… please,’ she continued, the pain of simply talking evident on her pale face, ‘you’ve… you’ve got to stop this.’
Without saying a word of reply, Emma’s cold gaze briefly flitted from her mother to Fran; a look of pure hatred burning in her eyes. While behind her Tom’s gore covered sickles flashed through the air once more, rendering first a Dead man and then the ruined corpse of an old woman to little more than a pile of flesh that slowly rolled back down the ramp to the forest floor.
‘Get down from the railing,’ said Emma, cautiously taking a step closer to her sister, knowing Tom would deal with any more of the Dead should they arrive. ‘We… we can fix this… just come down, okay?’
‘Oh… baby…we… we’re beyond fixing,’ Angela replied, sadly shaking her head; the realisation cutting as deep and as painful as the physical wound she now suffered. ‘I… I’m sorry, baby… for... for everything. I’m… sorry.’
And with these last whispered words passing her lips, Angela Doyle, mother of Emma and Wendy Doyle, widow to her late and abusive husband Harry Doyle and a woman whose life seemed never blessed with a moment of true happiness, closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall forwards, over the railing and down to the forest floor some seven metres below.
‘Mum!’ screamed Wendy, bolting forwards, her arms impotently reaching out too late to grab her falling mother.
For a moment Wendy simply stood there, stunned, gripping the blood smeared railing, her knuckles turning white as she stared out into the darkness; and then she slowly turned to face Fran.
‘Wendy,’ whispered Emma, tentatively reaching out to her sister, ‘come…’
‘You’re dead, you fucking bitch!’ Wendy snarled at Fran ignoring her sister.
‘Bigger cunts than you have tried!’ Fran growled in reply, pointing at her with the blood covered machete as she held Poppy close with her free arm; her hate for this young woman and what she had done to the man she loved burning through her, chasing away all reason.
‘I bet they have,’ spat Wendy, her sneer transforming into a sick and malicious smile as she took a small step backwards, ‘but then why do the job myself when I can get someone to do it for me…’ she continued, taking another step back, a sadistic glint in her eye. ‘Someone who’ll make it all the more fun to watch…’
Fran knew what was coming, it was what she had feared most of all and even as Wendy opened her mouth to speak she already knew what single word was about to be said.
‘Daddy!’ Wendy called over her shoulder, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, her spiteful smile unwavering. ‘Daddy, she wants to hurt me…’
‘No one’s going to hurt you, baby…’ said Tom, striding past Emma, menacingly flicking dark blood from his sickles as he went. ‘Daddy’s here… Daddy will always look after you.’
‘Tom,’ whispered Fran, shaking her head, praying he would see her before him for who she really was, ‘Tom, it’s… it’s me…’
‘She’s killed people, Daddy… lots of people…’ Wendy interrupted, clinging to the large man’s arm like a frightened child, her innocent tone at odds with the cruel and determined look in her eye. ‘And now she wants to kill me. Look at her big knife, it’s covered in blood…fresh blood… she’s going to hurt me, Daddy… she’s going to hurt your little girl.’
‘Tom, please…’ Fran tried to reason, already knowing Wendy’s words were feeding his guilt driven psychosis.
‘You need to stop her, Daddy,’ Wendy continued, stepping behind Tom; subtly edging him forward. ‘Stop her before she hurts me… I’m scared, Daddy… I’m so scared… and look…’ she added, flashing Fran a sick smile. ‘She’s going to hurt that baby too… stop her Daddy, don’t let her kill the little baby… the poor baby.’
‘You need to put the child down,’ said Tom, his words full of menace and warning, ‘and back away.’
‘Tom, it’s me, Fran… please, Tom…’ Fran started to say as he took a step closer, his body purposefully moving in front of Wendy.
‘Don’t make me hurt you,’
Tom growled, reaching back his right hand to slip the sickle into the harness on his back, his free hand now gesturing to Fran to pass over the infant. ‘Come on… hand it over…’
‘No,’ Fran simply replied, determined Wendy would never get her hands on Poppy again. ‘That psycho-bitch killed Poppy’s parents… she killed Sam and Mike… remember them, Tom? Wendy butchered them, slit their throats and left them to turn…’
‘She’s lying…’ whined Wendy, talking over Fran as she shot Emma a glance. ‘She probably killed them herself to get the baby… and now she wants to kill me.’
‘No one’s going to hurt you,’ mumbled Tom, stepping closer to Fran, his face as emotionless as stone as he glared down at her. ‘Daddy, will keep you… safe.’
‘Kill her, Daddy,’ snarled Wendy, through her gritted teeth, ‘kill her and give me the baby... I’ll look after the baby… kill her, kill her!’
‘Tom, you’ve got to remember!’ begged Fran, trying to drown out Wendy’s lies.
‘Daddy, will always keep you safe,’ Tom continued to mutter, Fran’s pleas going unheard as he closed the gap between them.
‘You’ve got to remember, Tom!’ she shouted again, finding herself backed up against the railing with nowhere left to go, while in her arms Poppy began to wail. ‘Remember your family… your real family, your wife and your daughters… how you lost them, how you searched for them among the Dead, not stopping until you found them… remember, Tom, remember… Remember how you dug their graves with your bare hands, the mud, the smell of their torn bodies,’ she rushed on. ‘You dug their graves and you mourned… you must remember the pain, Tom… your pain… you lost them and your world fell apart... For fuck’s sake, Tom, remember. Tom!’
Star Drawn Saga (Book 2): Lost Among The Dead Page 34
