Five More Days With The Dead (Lanherne Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Charlick

  Reaching the base of the pylon, Patrick absentmindedly patted one of the support struts. Whether it was to reassure himself everything was as it should be, the completion of a subconscious lucky ritual or a simple ‘hello’ to the object that had become a home for them all, he didn’t really know, but every time he returned to the Substation, he would find himself giving the pylon a friendly pat.

  ‘Hey hot stuff,’ a woman’s voice high came from above him.

  Looking up, he could see Helen’s smiling face leaning over the railing. Helen was even more beautiful to him now than the day he met her. With her dark rich coffee coloured skin and her eyes always full of mischief, he was hard pressed to resist her. Patrick had fought and killed for Helen’s right to say ‘No’ and won her heart in the process, but at a slight cost. Although Patrick thought the large angry scar that ran down the side of his face had ruined his looks, it was a small price to pay for the love of the woman that had become the centre of his world. In fact, Helen herself could only see the scar as a symbol to the world of how much he loved her and each time she saw the scar, she realised she loved him even more for it.

  ‘Hey,’ he called back, waving to her with his free hand, his smile broadening as Helen lifted Jasmine up for him to see.

  Waving up to his infant daughter, Patrick realised there was a slight tingle coming from the fingertips of his left hand. Glancing down at the hand resting on the pylon strut, he noticed that, one by one, the hairs on the back of his hand began to rise. Yes, he could definitely hear a low hum just at the edge of his range. As time seemed to slow, the realisation of what was wrong took form.

  ‘My God, no… It can’t be,’ Patrick said to himself, his words escaping him in barely a whisper.

  Feeling as if he was moving through treacle, Patrick turned his head to look back up at his wife and daughter. The moment their eyes met, Helen knew something had changed; she could see the terror in his eyes. The smile fell from her lips and knowing something was wrong, she took a painfully slow step towards the ramp. With a loud popping noise, something in the stable building sparked. Patrick subconsciously registered the flash of light sparking in the corner of his eye. With the pounding of his heart deafening in his ears, he removed his hand from the Pylon. Even now, he could almost sense something building in the air. The hum that had begun as a barely audible background sound was now quite obvious. With each thud of his heart, the hum increased in depth and Helen took another slow step towards the ramp. Then in a blink, time sped up again.

  ‘RUN!’ screamed Patrick, his panic and fear adding something horrific and desperate to the word.

  In an instant, heads with scared questioning looks began to appear over the many pylon platform rails.

  ‘Get off the pylon! Get off the pylon! Run!’ Patrick shouted, as even more long forgotten circuits popped and sparked in the stable.

  Knowing he was helpless to save his woman and child, all he could do was watch. With Helen’s eyes widening in terror, she caught his gaze once more before she clutched Jasmine to her, turned and ran. The hum had now drowned out all other sounds in Patrick’s mind. His whole world consisted of Helen’s frantic flee to safety and the building buzz that promised only death for all those on the pylon. Helen was two steps from the top of the ramp when the rowboats hanging from the electric cables high above her exploded in a shower of sparks and flame. One step from the ramp and the world above her erupted in a storm of fire and debris. Clutching the side of his head in despair, Patrick could do nothing but watch as the cabins on the platforms exploded, raining wreckage burning down upon him. She wasn’t going to make it, he knew it, there was no way she could get down the metal ramp before she was electrocuted. As a large section of one of the cabin walls hurtled down towards him unnoticed, Patrick was unable to tear his gaze from the figure of Helen clutching Jasmine tightly to her. In that instant, he prayed to every god that had ever existed. With one whispered word, he beseeched them all to spare her.

  ‘Please!’ Then with a flash of pain, the wreckage hit him, knocking him to the floor.

  Helen had a fraction of a second left but she knew she wasn’t going to make it, so placing her foot on the edge of the ramp, she pushed hard, throwing herself and Jasmine off into space. The word, ‘Please!’ escaped her lips.

  ***

  In the refectory at Lanherne convent, two heavily pregnant women and a Carmelite Sister stared in disbelief at the small glowing bulb on the wall sconce, which had flared back to life only moments before.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Alice asked, voicing the question they all wanted to ask.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Liz, her hand moving in large circles over her stomach, comforting the unborn child, ‘but I hope it means things are going to change for the better.’

  Suddenly, the bulb brightness increased and then with a pop, shards of thin glass were suddenly falling to the floor.

  ‘Oh,’ was all Sister Rebecca could say, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  Before Sister Rebecca could bend down to collect the bits of broken light bulb from the floor, Imran appeared in the doorway, panting, out of breath and with an excited look on his face.

  ‘You’ll never guess what happened on the way to the courtyard,’ he panted.

  ‘We know,’ Liz said, nodding towards the broken bulb. She felt a bit of a spoilsport, watching the excitement drain from the face of the man she loved. ‘Sorry,’ she continued, shrugging her shoulders and giving him a smile.

  ‘Oh,’ Imran continued.

  With the wind suddenly taken from his sails and with no more amazing news to pass on, he took a few moments to catch his breath. Pulling off his cream Kufie cap, Imran ran his fingers absentmindedly through his hair. Despite being a Carmelite convent, the remaining Sisters of Lanherne had proven to be very welcoming and accepting to all who sought refuge behind their walls. Imran only wished previous communities had been as tolerant of his Muslim faith. Most of his family had fallen victim to bigots looking for someone to blame for the horrors forced upon them. He and his now dead twin brother, Mohammed, had only just escaped that time with their lives. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they had stumbled upon Charlie’s convoy of survivors and he gave thanks to the heavens they had. Not only had he found a second father in Charlie but also Liz, the woman he loved, had been among their number.

  ‘Anyway, it can only be good news, can’t it?’ He asked, his breathing now back to normal. ‘Someone somewhere is trying to get the electricity back on, and that’s good, yes?’

  ‘I don’t know?’ answered Liz, a concerned look on her face. ‘I think we should call a meeting about this.’

  Alice, who had been silently thinking things over, stopped nervously chewing her lip.

  ‘I agree with Liz,’ she said. ‘This could be anything. Good or bad, we should come up with some sort of contingency plans, just in case. We have too many children here to think about.’

  Mirroring Liz’s subconscious actions, Alice also began to stroke her own distended stomach. Unlike Liz, the father of her baby would never see his child’s first steps or hear their first words. Charlie, Alice’s love, had been taken from her by the Dead six months ago at the cavern home of a religious cult. At times, she was still angry at Charlie for not being here but she knew even if he had known the rescue mission was going to be a one way trip he still would have gone. She knew he had loved Liz and her little sister, Anne, as daughters and nothing in the world could have stopped him from saving her. As it turned out, they had actually rescued five other small children at the same time as Anne, so she knew his death had certainly not been in vain. As if thinking of them conjured them up, two little faces appeared around the doorway to the refectory. Catching her eye, the two five year olds giggled and disappeared from sight.

  ‘I saw you, you wicked children,’ Sister Rebecca called after them, her laugh softening the words. ‘Jimmy and Samantha, you’ve escaped your lessons again, haven’t you. You just wait
till I catch you.’

  ‘I’ll let everyone know about the meeting, once I get these two scamps back to Nadine and Lars,’ Sister Rebecca said, turning to the others before running after the two escaping toddlers.

  Within seconds, squeals of childish laughter could be heard from down the corridor as the old nun caught up with her fleeing truants.

  Jimmy and Samantha had both been lucky to survive the deadly test sent them by the twisted religious group. As brother and sister, they at least still had each other for comfort. The three other children had not been so lucky, not by a long shot. They knew that little Alex had witnessed the cult leaders murdering both his parents and older sister, all because they had decided that only children under the age of seven were pure. Of Bailey, they knew very little, apart from his name and that he was six, but they could only assume what had become of his family. Of their last foundling child, they knew nothing at all. At only three, the poor little boy was unable to tell them anything, not even his name, so they called him Danny. Nadine thought the child might even have a hearing problem, as even now, despite that he was settled and safe, he could still be found staring off into the air, lost in a world of his own, completely unaware that someone was talking to him. However, the people of Lanherne had grown used to this type of behaviour a long time ago. After all, they had had to deal with Penny.

  Penny had been just a teenager when she saw her classmates torn apart by the Dead. If it hadn’t been for Lars, her geography teacher, pulling her over the side of a bridge into the river below, she surely would have suffered the same fate. However, unable to deal with what she had witnessed, Penny retreated into the child-like world inside her head and it had seemed she would stay there for ever. It wasn’t until Lars himself was fighting for his life with one of the Dead that she managed to force herself through this foggy dream world, back to reality and back to save him. Since then, Penny had become the confident, intelligent young woman she was always meant to be. When she wasn’t tinkering with some homemade device with Duncan, their resident engineer, she could be found looking after the community’s horses. She once shared this work with Lars but now the arthritis in his hands had gotten to a point that he was unable to even buckle or unbuckle any of the tack without causing himself great pain. So still wanting to be a useful member of the community, he had fallen back on his former career as a teacher. Joining forces with Nadine, their local bookworm, they had formed a school of sorts, for the seven children now living among them.

  ‘You two might as well take the weight off those ankles while we wait,’ Imran said, trying to lead Liz back to a seat.

  ‘Oh, stop fussing, Imran,’ Liz said, regretting the tone of her words as soon as she said them.

  Although she couldn’t wait to hold her baby in her arms, pregnancy itself was not at all enjoyable. She tried not to take her irritation out on the man she loved but sometimes it just slipped out.

  ‘Sorry,’ she quickly added, as she gave into his concerned pestering.

  Once Liz and Alice had managed to manoeuvre their increasingly awkward bodies back down into the chairs, they both let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Right, that’s it. I’m not moving again until I go to bed,’ Alice said looking down her bulge. ‘In fact, just throw a blanket over me and I’ll stay here till this one pops.’

  ‘I might just join you,’ Liz said, sharing in her friend’s irritation.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Alice said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. ‘I need a wee now. Help me back up, will you, Imran.’

  With a smile, Imran helped Alice hoist herself back up from the seat. Once she was upright, Alice slowly began the walk to the bathroom. As she left the refectory, she passed Nicki and her husband Richard.

  ‘Sister Rebecca said there was a meeting,’ Richard said, sitting down at one of the long wooden tables. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘They’ll fill you in,’ Alice said, cocking her thumb in Imran and Liz’s direction. ‘Back in a mo, I’m busting.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’ Nicki called after Alice.

  Nicki had been a mother herself before the Dead came, so she knew how difficult getting up and down off the toilet could be so late in the pregnancy. As she watched Alice disappear down the corridor, she thought of her own son taken from her so long ago. Even now, all these years later, to think of him was like a knife twisting in her heart. The fact that she had not been with him when he needed her most just added bitter salt to her emotional wound. At least Richard’s brother, Barry, had not allowed him to return as one of those abominations; that would have been more than she could bear. At the time and for years afterwards, she blamed Barry for her loss and hated him for it. It hadn’t been until Barry had sacrificed himself to ensure the safety of Justin, her adopted foundling, that she could really understand what he had done for her all those years ago.

  ‘Nicki,’ Richard called to her, snapping her from her painful memories.

  He could see from the look in her eyes what thoughts had been running through her mind. So, as she came to sit next to him, he gently took her hand and kissed it. He was about to say something when Justin appeared through the doorway leading almost all of the other members of their little community. He immediately gave his new parents a beaming smile before running over to them to tell them something hysterical that had happened with Stinky, the pig he had been given charge over. As always, wherever Justin went, the old Golden retriever plodded behind him. Reaching down to give the old beast a welcoming pat, Richard pretended to look engrossed in Justin’s report. Pulling all the appropriate facial expressions in all the right places, Richard let Justin complete his tale before sitting him down next to Nicki. He knew she needed the contact of the young boy she loved to prevent the spectres of the past overwhelming her and as he suspected, she immediately put her arm protectively around the boy.

  ‘Nadine’s going to stay with the young ones,’ reported Lars, taking a seat next to Richard. ‘Bryon or I will fill her in later. Oh, and we’ve left Cam and William on wall duty, just in case.’

  ‘So what’s this about?’ Bryon asked, looking from one face to the next as he walked awkwardly to one of the seats at the end of the table.

  Bryon had broken his leg a few years back and despite doing the best she could, Nadine had been unable to reset the bones properly, resulting in the limp Bryon was forced to endure.

  As Liz glanced about the room, mentally checking everybody off the list, she realised that apart from Nadine, Cam and William, everyone else was now there. Damien and Sally were sitting apart, obviously midway through another argument. Since the children had arrived at Lanherne, Sally had changed. Not only had she taken to the role of foster mother to Alex wonderfully but also she had realised she could prove her worth to the community on her own. She no longer needed a man, namely Damien, or his attentions as her back up plan.

  When Phil caught Liz’s gaze, he gave her a sly wink. He knew that, even though the community was a democracy now that Charlie was gone, she was the lynch pin that held them all together. Imran, Alice and her sister, Anne, followed her without question, as did Nadine and Lars and so by association did Bryon, Duncan and Penny. He didn’t think even Richard and Nicki would really question her judgement, though he could tell Richard felt a little emasculated being told what to do by an eighteen year old girl. As for him, he knew she had a wise head on those young shoulders. He had entrusted the blade of her sword with his own life on countless occasions. She wouldn’t guide them wrong now.

  ‘Yes, what’s the matter?’ Sister Josephine asked, concern on the mother superior’s kind face.

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Liz said, glancing up at Imran for reassurance. ‘A few minutes ago, some of the light bulbs flared up. It was only for a few seconds but the electricity definitely came on.’

  For a second there was stunned silence as people processed what she was saying. Then as one, people began talking, excited as to what this might mean. As she waited for the furore t
o subside, she noticed Duncan quietly walking over to the large detailed map of Cornwall they had put on one wall. Slowly, his fingers danced from one area on the map to another, a look of concentration on his face as he fought to resolve some inner conundrum.

  ‘Duncan? Duncan!’ called Liz, almost having to shout so she could hear her over the talking of the group.

  One by one, people fell silent and turned toward Duncan, his finger tapping against his chin as he intently studied the map in front of him.

  ‘Duncan, what are you thinking?’ Alice asked, unable to wait for him to speak as she lowered herself slowly back down into her seat.

  Only realising he was the centre of attention when he turned back to the group to answer Alice, Duncan’s face did not mirror the joy felt by the rest of the group.

  ‘What is it?’ Liz said, knowing something bad was about to be said.

  With a cough, Duncan cleared his throat and pointed to a point on the far south west point of the Cornwall peninsula.

  ‘There’s a hydro-electric power station here that would have fed into our grid system,’ he said. ‘It is feasible that if someone had enough man power to clear all the Dead in that area, they could have gotten it up and running, assuming of course they had someone with them who knew what they were doing.’

  ‘So why did it go off again?’ Sally asked.

  ‘My guess is it must have been in such bad repair after all these years that the capacitors burnt themselves out almost instantly,’ Duncan replied. ‘Which is why the bulbs flared brightly before the brief surge totally fried the system.’