‘You’re… you’re hurt,’ Peter slowly said, his dark eyebrows creasing together as he noticed the blood on his sister’s arm.
‘Petey,’ Sharon started to say, gently tilting his face to make him look at her.
Despite the fragile smile she tried to plaster on her shaking lips, her eyes brimmed with heavy mournful tears that eventually spilled over to run slowly down her face.
‘You’re going away… aren’t you,’ whispered Peter, his own bottom lip starting to quiver as his hand moved up to fiddle nervously with his right ear.
‘I’m… I’m so sorry, Petey,’ Sharon whispered in reply, trying to smile though her tears as if to convince him everything was going to be alright while as always reaching up to gently pull his hand away from his ear.
‘No, no, no,’ cried Peter, his features seeming to crumple under the weight of his overwhelming sorrow. ‘Please…please stay, I’ll… I’ll be good… I promise.’
‘Oh, Petey,’ Sharon continued, softly wiping away her brother’s tears, ‘you know it doesn’t work like that… just… just like you know Pops wouldn’t have tried to hurt me or you if he hadn’t… changed… and… and now I’m going to change. I don’t want to, Petey, but I am… I’m going to stop being me and when that happens I don’t want you near me, I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘P… please,’ Peter wept, pulling his sister into a desperate hug that she only half-heartedly fought to be released from.
‘I think we should go,’ said Fran, turning away from the heart breaking scene.
Leaving the brother and sister weeping in each other’s arms while the Alsatian, Bella, looked on forlornly, Fran began to walk wirily back up the beach where the level of sand, rising up the breaker, would make it easier to climb back over.
‘So… what are we going to do?’ she said, looking up at Tom as she plonked herself down on the breaker.
‘I told you,’ he began, sitting down beside her while watching Max reluctantly following them up the beach, ‘we’ll take Peter with us to St Michael’s mount.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ muttered Fran, using the heel of her boot to idly scape a shallow trough in the soft sand.
‘Ah… Sharon,’ said Tom, tugging absentmindedly at a stick that had become wedged between the planks of the breaker.
‘Yeah, Sharon,’ she continued. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘That’s really not for us to decide,’ Tom replied, finally pulling the piece of drift wood free. ‘She knows what’s going to happen to her and it’s up to her whether to cut her losses now or hang on for as long as she can.’
‘Not much of a choice,’ sighed Fran, using the toe of her right boot to nudge at a pebble she had unearthed.
‘No, not really,’ Tom agreed, pushing himself to his feet as Max at last approached them. ‘But if she asks for our help to save herself from the pain, I’ll give it… gladly,’ he continued, tossing aside the piece of wood.
‘He must’ve died in his sleep… a stroke or something,’ said Max looking back at Sharon as she clearly tried to console and comfort her childlike brother. ‘First we knew anything was wrong was when he took a chunk out of Dan and then as usual all hell broke loose.’
‘Did you lose anyone else?’ asked Fran, her eyes flitting briefly to Tom.
‘Nah,’ Max replied, glancing back at Fran,. ‘We were lucky, we dealt with Dan before he could come back.’
‘I doubt Sharon would see any of this as very lucky,’ added Fran.
‘Hey, the retard managed to avoid getting his arse eaten, didn’t he?’ he replied. ‘That’s not just lucky, that’s a bloody miracle.’
‘Christ, you’re all heart,’ Fran muttered, turning away from the man before she gave in to the overwhelming urge building within her to punch him in the face.
‘So, where are you headed?’ Max continued, oblivious to the way he was coming across. ‘We passed your friend with the cart on our way down onto the beach.’
‘St Michael’s mount,’ Tom replied. ‘It’s an island… you can only get to it by a causeway during low tide.’
‘St Michael’s mount,’ Max repeated, running his fingers back and forth across his stubbly head. ‘Yeah, I know it … I didn’t know it was around here though, hadn’t realised we were that close.’
‘The next town… just a few miles down the coast,’ added Tom, his gaze wandering back to Sharon and her brother, who had started to walk slowly towards them.
‘Really,’ Max mumbled to himself, rather to anyone in particular.
Suddenly climbing up onto the wooden breaker, Max shielded his eyes from the early afternoon sun, saw what he was looking for and jumped down on the other side.
‘Back in a minute… I…I just need to discuss with my brother what we’re going to do,’ he called over his shoulder to Tom and Fran before running across the sand to meet the man heading towards them.
Fran briefly watched the two men talking but from what she could see it was obviously less of a balanced discussion than more of a case of Max simply informing his brother what he had decided.
‘I see democracy’s alive and kicking,’ she muttered sarcastically to Tom.
‘Hmmm?’ he replied, not really taking in what Fran was saying as he watched the tragic brother and sister approach, the equally forlorn Alsatian following close on their heels.
‘I said… oh… never mind, it doesn’t matter,’ said Fran, suddenly noticing just where Tom was looking.
‘And you’re going to be brave for me aren’t you, Petey,’ they heard Sharon saying to her still tearful brother as they walked hand in hand. ‘And you’re going to look after Bella and keep her safe and… and make sure you do what Fran tells you… she’s a nice lady, I’m sure you’re going to be best of friends but…but whatever happens, you must remember the rules.’
At the mention of the ‘rules’ Peter sadly nodded his head.
‘And what’s the most important rule, Petey?’ she continued, wiping away a heavy tear rolling down her cheek.
‘To… be… be quiet…’ he said, his words shaky and broken.
‘Yes, well done, Petey… good boy,’ Sharon replied, turning her face slightly away as she tried to stem the wave of sorrow and grief that threatened to consume her.
She knew the time to give herself over to this despair would be on her soon enough but for now she needed to make sure Peter was safe.
‘Here we are, Petey,’ she said, forcing her mouth into a sad smile when they finally reached Tom and Fran. ‘These are the nice people that are going to look after you and take you somewhere safe….this is Fran and this is…’
‘Tom,’ said Tom, smiling at Peter as he knelt down to run his fingers through the dog’s thick fur, all the while holding the young man’s sorrowful gaze. ‘And who do we have here, hey?’
‘Bella,’ Peter softly replied, his hand automatically reaching up to fiddle with his ear again. ‘Her name is Bella.’
‘My, she’s a beauty,’ said Tom, giving the bitch a well-received rub and clap on her side. ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea…’ he continued, moving his hand to scratch Bella under her chin, ‘How about you and Bella come with us in our cart. We’re going to a real live castle… it’s on a big island surrounded by the sea, so you’d both be safe from the bad people… would you like that, Peter? Would you like that for you and Bella?’
‘A castle, Petey,’ said Sharon, trying her best to keep her crumbling emotions in check, ‘does… doesn’t that sound nice.’
‘And Riley will be there as well. You like Riley, don’t you, Petey,’ came Max’s voice unexpectedly from behind them.
Stood next to him was another man; similar in appearance yet somehow different or softer, Fran assumed this was Max’s brother.
‘That is if you’ll take us with you too?’ Max continued, directing his words this time to Tom.
Ignoring Max’s request for the moment, Tom slowly rose to his feet and turned back to Peter.
‘Shar
on just wants you to be safe, Peter,’ he said, while Bella continued to lick and nuzzle at his hand, ‘and… and if there was any way she could stay with you, you know that she would, don’t you?’
Reluctantly nodding his understanding, Peter wiped his runny nose noisily against his sleeve.
‘Are… are you going to send her to Jesus?’ he finally said, his sad childlike eyes looking questioningly at Tom.
‘I…ermm,’ Tom mumbled, looking from Peter to Sharon, unsure what to say.
Without speaking, Sharon closed her eyes and simply nodded.
‘Yes, Peter,’ sighed Tom, realising in a terrible situation like this even those with the innocence of a child deserved the truth, ‘to save her from becoming one of the bad people, I’m… I’m going to send her to Jesus.’
For a moment Peter seemed to process this information, his fingers tugging nervously at his earlobe while he slowly came to a decision.
‘She’ll be with Mum, Dad and Pops,’ he mumbled, a new set of heavy tears filling his eyes.
‘Peter,’ Sharon whispered, turning her brother to face her as she wiped away her own fresh tears. ‘Remember, I will always love you and… and…’
Unable to say any more, she pulled her brother into one last tight hug and then forcibly pushed him away at arm’s length.
‘I…I need you to go with Fran now, Petey,’ she coughed, her words breaking through the ball of grief building in her chest.
‘But…’ Peter began to say.
‘Petey… please… please, I need you to go now,’ she almost begged, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look upon the pain, despair and abandonment inevitably etched upon her brother’s face.
Fran walked over to the young man with the mind of a child and slowly slipped her hand in his.
‘It’s time to go, Peter,’ she said softly, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze of reassurance, ‘come on… let me get you back to our cart… come on.’
Silently Peter let himself be led away, step by slow and reluctant step; Bella at his side, mirroring his movements, unsure why she was leaving Sharon behind.
‘Will…will you tell Mum and Dad I’ve been good,’ he finally said, turning one last time to look at his tearful sister.
‘I’ll…I’ll tell them you’ve been the best,’ Sharon only just managed to say, her shaking fingers dancing across her mouth as if to keep the sobs from breaking past her lips.
With a sad smile flashing briefly across his face, Peter turned and let Fran lead him across the beach away from the scene of just one more life being cut needlessly short.
***
‘You know… when I was a little girl, like seven or eight years old, I… I wanted to be an architect of all things,’ mused Sharon, watching the gently lapping waves cascade rhythmically over her exposed feet. ‘Can you believe it… all my friends wanted to be famous pop-stars or princesses or something… me, I wanted to design houses… can’t even remember anymore why it grabbed me as so interesting… Oh well… guess it doesn’t really matter now I suppose…’
With a shaky sigh escaping her, Sharon lent back cradling her wounded arm, grateful to feel Tom’s reassuring solid body kneeling behind her.
At first Tom had been reluctant about letting any more of this new group come with them to St Michael’s mount. There was certainly something about Max that had instantly annoyed and rubbed him up the wrong way but despite this Tom couldn’t deny the man was clearly doing all he felt best to keep the rest of his group alive; even if he was being a little heavy handed in the process. It had only been once Max had mentioned his brother’s wife and young son, Riley, that they had left with Kai that Tom had eventually agreed to give them safe passage to the island; after all, perhaps it was just that Max had no skills in diplomacy that made him come across as so harsh, he certainly hoped so.
After Max and his brother, Dave, had followed Fran and Peter back to the cart, Tom had been left alone with Sharon and the unsavoury task of asking her how she would like to spend the remainder of her short life or rather how she would like him to end it. She had looked at the curved blades in his hands, her face crumbling with despair, turned and silently walked down to the water’s edge, safe in the knowledge that her executioner followed but a step behind her. Once she had reached the gently crashing waves, Sharon had sat down amid the soft shingle and began to unlace her boots.
‘You’d… you’d better take these…’ she said, the fingers unlacing her boots seeming to move of their own accord. ‘No point in wasting a good pair of boots… perhaps… perhaps Fran will have use for them…’
Once her feet were both free of their confines, Sharon tugged off her socks and let the cool water wash over her tired feet.
‘Oh, you’d better take this too,’ she continued, pulling a long thin knife from a sheath on her calf. ‘It’s good for…’
‘Thanks,’ Tom replied, slowly taking the strange blade that looked more like a piece of cutlery than any sort of hunting knife he had seen before.
‘It’s a letter opener… I think,’ said Sharon, noticing the way Tom looked at the odd knife before she turned back to look out across the endless expanse of lightly rolling water. ‘Use it to…’ she whispered, her fingers slowly enclosing about fistfuls of the cool shingle by her sides.
‘Sharon, I…’ Tom began, wondering just how she wanted him to release her.
‘Sit behind me,’ she muttered, allowing the small wet pebbles to dig welcomingly into her palms, ‘I’m… I’m going to talk, don’t tell me when you’re going to… I’m… I’m just going to talk. Put… put your arm around my neck for leverage…but don’t… don’t tell me when, just let me… let me talk and… and…’
With these last words a heartrending sob threatened to break through her resolve but with a cough, Sharon managed to choke back the almost overwhelming mix of fear, grief and loss and began to speak.
Kneeling behind the doomed woman, Tom felt her slowly lean back against him as she spoke. He wanted to take this brave young woman in his arms, take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright. He wanted to tell her that her lost loved ones awaited her beyond the thin vale of death and he wanted to reassure her that her death would be not be in vain but he could do none of this; all he could he promise her was that her passing would be clean and it would be quick. So, with her back pressing against him, he slowly lifted his left arm to wrap about her neck. For a second her words faulted, her panic bubbling briefly to the surface before she continued. She spoke of childhood memories, she told him of first loves, she listed her regrets and she spoke of the million and one pointless little details of a life finally coming to an end.
‘And… and you will make sure Peter’s safe,’ she continued, glancing down at the final pebble that remained in her left hand, the others having slowly slipped from her grasp one by one while she spoke, ‘because I… I need him to be safe.’
‘Yes, don’t worry we’ll… we’ll take care of him… I promise,’ he said, his words reduced to almost a whisper.
Then with his resolute gaze drifting out over to the crashing waves further off shore and before she could speak again, Tom violently jabbed the paper knife through the base of Sharon’s skull and up into her brain. For a brief second the young woman’s body jolted in his grip, the electrical impulses of her scrambling brain misfiring and then suddenly she was still.
With a sigh, Tom gently pulled the knife free from her skull, lowered her now lifeless body down onto the wave lapped shingle and once he had made sure her eyes were closed, he carefully straightened up her arms and legs. Collecting the donated boots under one arm, Tom then pushed himself wearily up from his knees and without looking back, slowly and silently made his way back up the beach, leaving behind him Sharon’s motionless body for the rising tide to claim one gently breaking wave at a time.
***
‘Are you sure you don’t want one?’ asked Fran, offering Peter one of the large apples.
With hi
s arms wrapped about Bella’s neck and his face buried deep in her dark fur, Peter didn’t look up or speak but simply shook his head in reply.
‘Now, come on, Peter,’ said Jane, Dave’s wife, gently stroking his dark curly hair with her thin delicate fingers, ‘I know you haven’t had anything to eat all day… come on, just a few bites?’
‘I… I’m not hungry,’ Peter mumbled through a moving wall of fur.
Jane’s eyes glanced over at Fran, a look of motherly concern flitting across her face.
‘Just a little, Peter… Please for me?’ she continued, reaching across the cart to take the apple from Fran. ‘Fran, Tom and Kai are being very kind sharing their food… you don’t want them to think you’re ungrateful, do you?’
‘Not hungry,’ he repeated, the statement somewhat belittled by the unexpected and rather loud gurgle from his stomach.
‘Well, it’ll be a while before we get to St Michael’s mount, so how about you just pop it in your pocket and you can eat it when you’re feeling peckish,’ suggested Fran, her voice only a little above that of a whisper just in case the cart was at that moment passing any of the Dead.
‘What… what’s peckish mean?’ Peter whispered in reply, suddenly tilting his face up from Bella’s fur to look over at Fran.
Even with only the criss-crossing beams of light illuminating the cramped interior of the cart, Fran was struck by the innocent and vulnerable beauty of the dark eyes looking back at her. Still a little red from the silent tears he had shed over the last hour, his eyes held the most unusual and changeable colouring Fran had ever seen. They seemed to almost dance from a rich midnight blue to a deep bottle green and then back again, all the while holding onto the tiniest flecks of amber as if to ground them in reality.
‘It means hungry, Peter,’ said Dave, biting into the soft ripe flesh of a golden pear that Fran had given him. ‘Just keep it and eat it when you feel like it, okay?’
‘Yes, Mr Dave,’ Peter nodded, returning his face to the comfort of Bella’s furry solitude.
‘Mr Dave?’ mouthed Fran, her brows creasing questioningly.
Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 6
