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

by Stephen Charlick

  For an hour, the snow fell and with each buffeting gale that swallowed her briefly in its freezing curtain of snow, she knew the chance of losing her sister increased.

  ‘Fuck!’ Liz swore to herself, as the road she was on abruptly bisected another.

  Frantically looking back and forth along the cross road, Liz was at a loss as to which turning the convoy had taken. The falling snow had beaten her. She had lost them. She had let Anne and the others down and as the hopelessness of the situation settled like a weight in her chest, her tears fell unashamedly. Sitting back in her saddle, defeated, with her plumes of breath joining Samson’s in the cold air, she tilted her head, closed her eyes and cried to the heavens. For a briefest of moments, the heavens seemed to hear her. The wind ceased in its constant howling rage to allow the snow to fall silently about her, bathing the land of the Death with its purifying shroud of white.

  ‘I was afraid we’d lost you,’ a man’s voice came, making her jump.

  Liz snapped her head forwards, her hand automatically pulling free her sword from its sheath. There, standing a few meters in front of Samson was one of the soldiers. Or rather it was ‘the’ soldier, the one Sister Josephine had told her about, the one that had seen her at the attic window, the one who was going to help her get Anne back.

  ‘Jesus, you made me jump,’ she said, still a little wary of the stranger. ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘We’ve made camp about three quarters of a mile down the right hand turning,’ he began. ‘You’d better get out of this weather, because it’s not going to get any better and we’re not going anywhere until the morning now anyway. You’ve got to find somewhere secure for the night or you’ll freeze.’

  ‘Where’s my sister?’ Liz said, ignoring his show of concern.

  ‘She’s fine, believe me. They never hurt the children,’ he began, looking nervously back over his shoulder. ‘Look, I’ve got to go back before anyone notices.’

  ‘I thought you were going to help me? Don’t you think we need some sort of plan?’ she asked. ‘There’ll be more of my friends following me, perhaps if we work together?’

  ‘Just be ready for me tomorrow,’ he replied, already backing away from her. ‘I’ll get as many out as I can, okay.’

  The soldier then turned and began to jog down the lane away from her.

  ‘Be ready for me,’ he called, disappearing into the falling snow. ‘You’ll know when.’

  A little stunned that, the soldier should appear out of the blue just when she thought all hope was lost. Liz wiped away her tears with the back of her gloved hand, and took a breath to calm herself. He had been certainly right about one important thing, she needed to find somewhere safe to wait out the blizzard and soon. With a pull on Samson’s reins, Liz turned him around to return the way they had come. About five minutes earlier, she had sped past the dilapidated ruin of a cottage, set just off from the road and with the snow continuing to fall at such a steady pace, it looked like it was going to be her only option for a night’s shelter.

  When she arrived back in front of the cottage, she could tell the fleeting glance she had received as she sped by had been somewhat misleading. The cottage itself was little more than a burnt out shell topped with the remnants of a caved in roof. The garage, attached to one side, seemed to be promising until Liz noticed the door was only loosely attached to its frame by a single hinge. This made the structure useless to her if the Dead decided to attack but it would certainly do as a make shift stable for Samson for the night. Liz was about to give up on the cottage completely when she noticed the bulky shape of a vehicle covered by a tarpaulin at the back of the garage. With a ‘grunt’ Liz swung her leg over Samson’s back and dropped slowly, if a little ungracefully, to the ground.

  Clicking her blade free, Liz walked gingerly to the back of the garage, her senses on edge in case the building harboured any of the Dead. Grateful to find the only moving things in the garage were she, Samson and the odd spider. Liz pulled back the mouldy tarpaulin to uncover the vehicle hidden beneath. Brightly painted faces of happy children and dancing cartoon ice-lollies suddenly stared back at her as the ice-cream van was revealed. Once someone’s livelihood, the van had seemingly sat untouched for the last eight years, waiting for its owner to return. With its windows high off the ground, it would certainly do for the night and Liz reached up to open the back door.

  ‘Please,’ Liz said under her breath, as her hand hovered briefly over the latch.

  Gripping the handle tightly, Liz slowly pulled down, praying it would open. With a satisfying ‘click’, the lock released and the door swung open slightly. Knowing sometimes it wasn’t just shelter you found behind a locked door, she placed her feet apart in a defensive stance and held her blade high, as she reached forward with her free hand to slowly pull the door fully open. With a sigh of relief, Liz lowered her blade. It was empty. Just inside the door was a small concertina stepladder and pulling it into its down position, Liz climbed up into the van’s small galley. The inside of the van smelt of old dry mould and knowing better than to open the long forgotten freezers, Liz gave the overhead cupboards a quick once over before deciding, despite the smell, it would do for the night.

  After she had made sure Samson was sheltered from the wind, she draped the van’s tarpaulin over his body, apologising as she did so, that she couldn’t offer him anything warmer.

  ‘It’s just one night, boy,’ she said, stroking his muzzle before returning to the ice-cream van to settle down for the night.

  Once she had pulled up the small ladder and closed the door, shutting out the worst of the drafts, Liz hunkered down on the floor of the van and listened to the mournful howling winds that buffeted outside the garage, waiting for sleep to come for her.

  ***

  Outside, Dead eyes caught movement, movement too fluid and lithe to be that of their Dead comrades. Although this was the reasoning for their interest, they could not process the thoughts as such. They only knew something had caught their attention, something that promised blood, flesh and perhaps some relief from the burning need that consumed them. So, slowly they dragged their torn and shattered limbs through the snow to the place they knew held this relief, and as they moved, their hungry moans joined those of the wind to fill the sky. They would have their flesh this night. They would feed.

  ***

  ‘Where did you disappear to?’ one of his fellow soldiers asked Steve when he appeared out of the blizzard.

  ‘Thought I saw something,’ Steve replied, breathing onto his cold fingers and stamping his feet. ‘Better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Thought some Dead head had got your arse between his teeth,’ the soldier replied. ‘You could’ve warned me.’

  ‘I did…’ Steve began. ‘What? Didn’t hear me tell you I was checking it out? My ear-mic connection must be a bit jippy.’

  Steve starting tapping the earpiece for effect, counting numbers into the mike for a sound check.

  ‘No. Better get that sorted, mate. Anyway, did you see that blonde piece we got at the Convent?’ the soldier asked, whistling. ‘Nice tits, that one. Certainly wouldn’t say no to a bit of that.’

  Steve stopped pretending to test his ear-mic, his hand frozen mid-movement. He knew the man was referring to Penny, his Penny, and a wave of hot anger suddenly swept over him.

  ‘Don’t let Sarge hear you talking like that on duty,’ he replied, his voice as cold as steel, as he fought to keep the anger within him.

  Immediately, a look of fear flashed behind the soldiers eyes. He knew all too well, what happened to people who stepped out of line in this army. People who caught Sergeant Blackmore’s attention for the wrong reasons had a nasty habit of getting a beating from the three SAS goons, or worse, they went missing entirely.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,’ the soldier added, the panic creeping into his voice.

  ‘Look, forget it,’ Steve began, cutting the man’s apology short as he turned to start walking in
to the makeshift camp. ‘I’m done here. It’s your turn to freeze your balls off for the next four hours.’

  Leaving behind the soldier nervously chewing his lip, Steve walked past the Jackal vehicle positioned as their rear guard against the Dead, shouldering his rifle as he went. The two cold looking soldiers sitting inside were hunched down behind their machine guns, trying to keep out of the worst of the wintery blizzard. One briefly nodded to him as he passed, while the other, who was clearly having a bad time of it being off the island was unable to take his eyes from the hedgerows lining the lane. From his tense expression, it was clear he expected a hoard of the Dead to descend on him at any moment.

  An hour ago, the convoy had made camp at what had once been a small car park. At one time, families out on day trips would have parked there to enjoy a merry picnic as they overlooked the natural beauty of the Cornish countryside but now, overgrown and littered with the rusting remnants of lives lost, Sergeant Blackmore had made it the convoy’s home for the evening.

  With one of each of the Jackals positioned to supply covering fire, the Med-lab, the trailer carrying the civilians and the dozen or so army tents, had all found themselves nestled down for the night within this ring of protection.

  Steve made his way over to one of the tents, the need for something warm to eat almost causing him miss the solider struggling to unlock the civilian lorry, while juggling an armful of MRE packs.

  ‘Need a hand, Dave?’ Steve asked, already taking a half dozen of the packs from the man before he could protest.

  ‘What? Oh thanks, Steve,’ the solider replied, finally able to release the lock. ‘Don’t know which is worse, rescuing them or feeding them this crap, poor bastards.’

  Steve forced a smile but it did little to cover his apprehension. He knew Penny would surely hate him for what had happened and he was about to confront her for the first time. He had already prepared the note he would try to slip her unnoticed and hoped it would start the process of winning back her trust.

  ‘Grub up, people,’ Dave called, as the door opened.

  The door had barely released from its latch when Richard came barrelling through it, his head and shoulders down, rugby style, knocking Dave to the ground.

  ‘Wait!’ Steve called, but Richard was already sprinting away from the lorry, Nicky, Justin and Anne close on his heels.

  It was then that two of the SAS Commandos stepped out from one of the tents and with lightning speed took in the situation. As Richard and his family sped past them, Hills lunged for Nicky, bringing her to the ground in a tumble of limbs.

  ‘Richard!’ she screamed, as the soldier sat across her chest, drew back his hand to give her a fierce back handed slap.

  Instantly, Richard skidded to a stop in the snow and turned, the two scared children stepping behind him for protection.

  ‘Fucking get off her, you bastard!’ he growled, taking an angry step forward.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, shit-for-brains,’ Hills said, turning the muzzle of his rifle to face Nicky.

  Richard froze mid-step. He was so focused on Nicky, he wasn’t even aware of Bill Clarkes, the second Commando, until it was too late. With a harsh jab to his kidneys, Richard fell to the ground as terrible pain exploded across his back. But Clarkes wasn’t satisfied Richard had learnt his lesson and without giving it a second thought, he began to kick viciously at the man who was already curled up in pain at his feet. With a scream, Justin valiantly threw himself at the soldier, landing on his back. Of course, Justin’s small frame was no match for the brute strength the soldier harboured and no sooner had Justin begun his barrage of ineffectual punches on the man, than he was being thrown to the snow covered ground. Clarkes, with lightning reflexes, drew up his rifle and took aim on Justin, the small boy’s eye widening with terror.

  ‘No!’ screamed Nicky, panic flooding her voice.

  ‘Soldier!’ came a cold voice, from the left. ‘Stand down!’

  All heads and eyes turned instantly to Sergeant Blackmore standing by the communications tent, his steely gaze taking in every detail of the scene. Silently, Clarkes lowered his rifle away from Justin.

  ‘Get these civilians inside,’ he continued, glancing down at Richard, his blood turning a growing patch of snow crimson.

  With no more to be said on the matter and knowing this order would be followed to the letter, Sergeant Blackmore, turned on his heels and disappeared back into the tent; the beaten family already forgotten.

  ‘Up!’ Clarkes said, tapping Richard’s hip with his toe of his boot.

  Richard slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing as pain shot through him. He painfully hacked up a mouthful of bloody phlegm and then bracing himself against the pain that was to come, hugged his ribs with one arm as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position.

  ‘Come on,’ the soldier continued, reaching down to roughly pull Richard upright. ‘I haven’t got all night’

  Richard cried out in pain and without thinking, Steve rushed forward to help him, momentarily locking eyes with Nicky as he passed her.

  ‘It’s alright, Dave and I can take it from here,’ he said, gently slipping Richard’s arm over his shoulder.

  ‘Assholes,’ the soldier said, already dismissing the group as beneath his concern.

  ‘Well, I know the MREs are bad but they’re not worth a beating believe me,’ Steve said jokingly, as he helped the beaten and bloody man back to the trailer.

  Steve glanced over to Dave who was leading Nicky and the two children back inside, their arms already full of the dropped MRE meals. Once he was sure Dave wouldn’t hear, Steve spoke seriously to Richard.

  ‘If you’d waited five minutes you could have spared yourself a kicking,’ he said, dropping his voice down to barely a whisper.

  Richard looked up at Steve, questioningly.

  ‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to play this sick game,’ Steve said, pausing briefly to reposition Richard’s arm, ‘but you’ve just got to wait a while, I promise. Please, give Penny this note and tell her… tell her I’m sorry.’

  Richard looked into the young man’s eyes, trying to work out if this was nothing but a sick trap or if he could he really place his hope in this man. There was something there, though. Something honest and apologetic filled his sad eyes, particularly when he said Penny’s name. With a nod, Richard decided he would have to trust him and slipped the folded scrap of paper in his blood splattered trouser pocket.

  ‘Oh, and tell Penny, her sword wielding friend is following us,’ Steve added quietly as Dave appeared at the trailer doorway.

  Richard glanced at Steve, and in that instant, he knew he had been right to trust him. If he knew about Liz and hadn’t done anything about her, he must be truly on their side.

  ***

  ‘We’ve got to after her! Right now!’ said Imran, as he paced back and forth in the refectory, a mix of panic and anger fighting for dominance within him. ‘She’ll freeze to death in this weather, unless she finds somewhere to wait out the night.’

  For what seemed like the hundredth time, his eyes flicked back to the large pink stain on the wall. Despite Sister Rebecca’s best efforts to wash away the splash of Sally’s blood that had arched up the wall, the large pink tinged area was just another reminder of what they were dealing with.

  ‘Now be sensible,’ Phil began. ‘In this weather we’re likely to miss one of her flags and then we’ll never find her. We’ve got to wait till morning.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here!’ Imran shouted, turning on his friend, ‘and what the fuck did she think she was doing putting herself and the baby in danger like that? Leaving without the cart… it’s just suicide.’

  ‘Hey!’ Phil said, grabbing Imran’s shoulders to force him focus on him, ‘Imran! Listen to me… listen! She did what she had to do. You know that. You’d have done exactly the same if you’d been in her shoes and you know it. She had to go after them and there simply wasn’t time to wait for
us to come back with the cart.’

  ‘But Phil,’ Imran said, the worry and fear for Liz finally smothering his anger as he slumped down onto a bench, his head in his hands, ‘I just want her back. I’ve got to get her back.’

  ‘I know, son, I know,’ said Phil, placing his hand affectionately on Imran’s shoulder, ‘Remember, Liz is one tough young lady. If anyone can make it out there just on horseback, it’s her. We’ll get her back safe and sound, don’t you worry. We’ll get them all back.’

  ‘Right, we need to empty the carts now so we’re prepared to leave at first light,’ Patrick said, standing purposefully to address everyone who had gathered in the refectory. ‘J-man, Gabe, I think you two should stay here to keep the numbers of the Dead down.’

  ‘No problem,’ J-man replied with a nod.

  ‘Leon, I know it’s a lot to ask but I think you should come with us? We could really use your knives out there,’ Patrick said, turning to Leon hopefully.

  ‘Patrick, Leon… you don’t have to,’ Phil butted in but Patrick’s simply raised hand stopped him mid-sentence.

  ‘Yes, yes we do. You came for us when we needed you, so now it’s time to return the favour and besides, this is out fight too. We’re part of Lanherne now, for the good and the bad times. Just happens we came along at a particularly shitty time, that’s all,’ Patrick said, shrugging his shoulders with a smile.

  Phil looked at the man who had already naturally taken charge. With Liz and Imran backing him up, he would be a good leader for Lanherne; that is if any of them survived what was to come.