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

by Stephen Charlick

  ‘On it,’ Patrick said, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘Leon, watch our backs.’

  With a nod, Leon ran back to the door to stand by Samson, one of his knives held ready in each hand.

  ‘All clear,’ he called back to Phil and Patrick, as they cautiously made their way to the ice-cream van’s shattered window. ‘The rest have followed Imran down the road.’

  Inside the van’s small galley, three of the Dread jostled and pushed against each other, their focus still on the warm flesh they had seen disappearing through the hole above them.

  ‘Right, I think the easiest way to deal with them is the open to open the back door and let them tumble out. What do you think?’ Phil asked, turning to Patrick.

  ‘Sounds like a plan, big man,’ Patrick replied, raising his club ready to strike.

  On the count of three, Phil gave the door handle at the back of the van a sharp tug and quickly stepped back. The door, now that its lock had been released, could no longer stay closed against the movements of the three Dead inside and as one of them was knocked against it, it slowly swung open.

  ‘Hey, pus bags! Dinner time,’ called Phil to the three corpses, who one by one, turned their hungry gaze upon him.

  Disposing of them proved to be easier than they had first thought. In their hurry to get to the Patrick and Phil, they tried to push past each other and literally fell through the door to the garage floor in a tangle of rotten limbs and animated dead flesh. Stepping forward, Phil instantly brought his heavy booted foot down hard on the skull of one of the Dead, as it tried to pull itself free of its Dead companions. Before he had pulled his foot free of the now shattered and misshapen skull, Patrick was bringing his club forcefully down to end the unnatural life of another of the Dead. The last of Dead was once a woman and even in her decayed state, Patrick could still see the shadow of her once striking beauty. Her large eyes, presumably doe-like and entrancing in life, now held nothing but her unceasing hunger and as she pushed aside the still corpse of one of the other Dead, she reached towards him with long delicate fingers.

  ‘Not today, sweetheart,’ Patrick said, pulling his gaze away from her imploring stare to focus on a patch of her forehead.

  With a ‘crack’ Patrick’s club connected forcefully with the Dead woman’s head, splitting skin and cracking bone to turn the rancid brain to a useless mass of pulp. As her delicate hand fell, now forever lifeless, to the garage floor, Patrick noticed a small gold chain about her wrist.

  ‘Rest in peace, Katie,’ he said sadly, reading the swirling letters of gold hanging on the delicate gold chain.

  ‘Right, let’s get you down from there, Missy,’ Phil said up to Liz. ‘You want to jump into my arms or climb back down?’

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t drop me,’ Liz began, already swinging her legs over the side of the roof of the van. ‘Ready?’

  Holding his strong arms aloft, Phil caught hold of Liz’s legs and Liz slowly shimmied herself down into his grasp.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Phil said, pulling Liz into a tight hug. ‘We could have lost you.’

  ‘I didn’t really have much choice,’ she replied softly, finally letting go of the large man. ‘They took them and it was all I could think of, so I had to follow.’

  ‘Shit!’ Leon shouted back to the others in the garage. ‘Imran’s in trouble! They’re surrounding him.’

  Before he could stop her, Liz pulled herself free from Phil’s embrace and ran to the garage door.

  ‘No,’ she said, the word catching in her throat.

  Imran’s plan to draw the Dead away from the garage had worked a little too well. A hundred meters along the road, Imran could be seen battling for his life. As well as those who had been outside the garage, a crowd of the Dead had also been drawn to his shouts from further down the road, effectively cutting off his escape route. Surrounded on all sides, Imran was spinning wildly and firing arrows at the approaching Dead as fast as he could pull them from his quiver. As manic as his defence was, even from the garage, Liz could see he would run out of arrows long before the Dead were cleared enough for him to get past.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Liz was running down the driveway to the cart with only one thought shouting in her mind; she had to save him. The cries from Patrick and Phil for her to stop didn’t even register, she was so focused on this need to do something. As she reached the cart, she paused for a split second to look at the route along the road she would need to take. In that briefest of moments, Leon appeared at her side, panting.

  ‘Liz, wait!’ he said, reaching for her arm.

  With the contact of his hand on her, sanity returned and Liz realised if she sped to Imran’s rescue in the cart she would be condemning the others to possible attack.

  ‘Get in!’ she shouted, as she clambered into the front seat and gathered up Delilah’s reins.

  Patrick and Phil, who were already half way down the driveway, put on an extra spurt of speed. Phil knew Liz was showing great restraint as it was, for every second she waited for them was a second Dead teeth could be ripping into the man she loved.

  ‘Come on, come on…’ Liz said under her breath, her tight hold on the reins turning her knuckles white.

  Patrick and Leon were already inside and with Phil halfway in she knew she could wait no longer.

  ‘Hold tight!’ she shouted over her shoulder, causing Patrick to make a grab for Phil whose legs were still hanging out the open hatchway.

  With a scream of encouragement, Liz snapped Delilah’s reins, sending the cart lurching forward. Immediately, the cart was barrelling down the road towards Imran with Delilah’s thundering hooves kicking up snow in their wake. They were some thirty meters away now and Liz could see Imran was not only down to his last couple of arrows but more importantly, the Dead had almost gotten to within grabbing distance. If she didn’t get there within the next few seconds, it would be all over for Imran. The Dead would be on him and she would have to watch helplessly while they tore him apart. Suddenly, with a barrage of flying hooves and pluming nostrils, a large shape tore surprisingly past the cart. Shocked by his appearance, Liz swerved the cart abruptly to the left, as Samson, free of the extra weight of the cart and its occupants flew past them and into the Dead crowd. Whether he just didn’t want to be left behind or was actually making an attempt to rescue Imran, Liz had no idea, but as the animated corpses were knocked to the ground to be trampled on, she knew Samson had just given Imran the slim chance he needed.

  Kicking out hard at a Dead man that had grabbed hold of his jacket, Imran realised there was now, thanks to Samson, a small window of opportunity and he knew it might ultimately be his only chance of survival. Turning quickly to push aside the withered corpse of an emaciated woman that had been reaching for him, Imran threw himself in the sudden gap in the Dead mob that Samson had created. As he did so, Samson reared up to bring his hooves crashing down on more of the Dead and with the sickening sound of breaking bones audible even over their terrible moaning, more of the hungry corpses finally met the oblivion that had been denied them. Even as Imran pushed aside more desperately reaching hands and bodies to get to Samson’s side, the Dead refused to give up their claim on him. They had hungered for so long, they could not let this creature, whose living flesh called out to them, escape their putrid bite so easily. A corpse that had once been a young teenage girl, threw herself at Imran’s back. Knowing that even the smallest of bites would mean his death, Imran grabbed helplessly behind him to pull her off. However, the struggling girl was just out of his reach and with each second he fought to remove her, more of the Dead shambled towards him. Then suddenly the cart thundered to a halt behind him, crushing more of the Dead in its wake. Two of the closest Dead had been trapped beneath its wheels but even now, they continued to paw the snow-covered road, hoping uselessly to pull their shattered bodies to Imran. With a bang, a side hatch opened and the girl was yanked violently from Imran’s back and onto the wickedly serrated blade of a
large hunting knife. Without a second thought, Patrick quickly threw the girl’s now motionless body to the ground.

  ‘Get in!’ he shouted, while more of the Dead pushed their way round the side of the cart, knowing mouthfuls of warm bloody flesh awaited them there.

  Imran glanced to the open hatch, Patrick’s hand reaching for him to get in and then he turned quickly back to the stamping agitated horse.

  ‘What about Samson?’ he called, concerned they would lose the faithful beast that had saved his life.

  ‘He’ll follow us. Just get in, you idiot!’ Patrick yelled, grabbing for Imran and pulling him to the hatch.

  ‘For Fucks sake, Imran, get in the fucking cart!’ Liz screamed, her nerves almost fried by the horrors of the last half an hour.

  Knowing from her tone that he had better do as she said, Imran threw himself through opening to land in a heap among the men already inside the cart.

  ‘Go!’ Patrick shouted, pulling the hatch closed as soon as Imran was inside.

  Immediately, Liz flicked Delilah’s reins again, spurring her into action. Bumping over bodies and debris, the cart bolted toward the cross roads that Liz knew lay just up ahead. Once they were finally clear of the Dead and with their deathly moaning fading behind them, Imran was relieved to hear the hammering of Samson’s gallop alongside them. Just as he had saved his life, the beast had also chosen to follow them in their flight from the Dead.

  Despite the cart, and Imran and Samson putting a lot of the Dead permanently out of action, Liz knew there must still be twenty to thirty of the Dead behind them; each now slowly turning to follow the meal that had so narrowly escaped them. Thankfully, their pursuit would be slow and if she could just put some distance between them, they could catch their breath to come up with a plan. As the crossroads came into view, Liz quickly weighed up her options. It would be risky but she would just have to hope the convoy was far enough down the right hand turn as to not notice as the cart sped across the road junction. Tossing a silent prayer to the heavens, the cart thundered across the open space and carried on for another hundred metres.

  ‘Hey, easy now, Lizzy, easy, easy… We’ll break a wheel if we keep up this pace,’ Phil calmly said, trying to pry the reins from her tight fists. ‘They’re a while behind us now, so we can stop…. We can stop.’

  It wasn’t until Phil managed pull Delilah to a halt and force open her fingers that Liz realised just how fast her heart was hammering in her chest. Phil gently took hold of her face at look into her eyes.

  ‘He’s okay, sweetheart. No one’s been bitten, he’s okay,’ he said softly. ‘We’re all okay.’

  ‘Lizzy,’ came Imran’s soft voice from behind her.

  Liz instantly spun and after less than gently pushing Phil aside, threw herself into his arms, a wave of relief sweeping over both of them. When Liz stopped crying, she pushed herself away from Imran to look into the face of the man she loved beyond words and slapped him hard across the face.

  ‘Don’t you ever pull a stupid stunt like that again,’ she said. ‘If it wasn’t for Shadow…’

  However, love and relief washed away her anger before she could finish and she pulled him to her in a passionate kiss.

  ‘You’re one crazy woman. You do know that, don’t you?’ Imran mumbled through their crushed lips.

  ‘And don’t you forget it,’ she said, pulling out of the kiss to give him a more friendly slap on the cheek.

  ‘When you two have quite finished,’ Phil said, feeling a bit of a killjoy for breaking up the lover’s happy reunion, ‘Liz, what have you found out about the convoy? Any ideas how we’re going to get everyone back?’

  ‘Well…’ she began and told them all about Private Steven Blackmore.

  ***

  ‘On your feet, solider,’ barked Streiber, roughly pulling Steve from his seat in the Med lab while two other soldiers from the squadron carried an unconscious Dave and a groggy Matt over to the narrow bunks that lined one side.

  Grabbing Steve’s chin, the solider turned his bruised face back and forth. He was obviously inspecting his handiwork and from the look in his eyes, what he saw gave him some sick sense of pleasure.

  ‘You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?’ he said pinching Steve’s face hard. ‘Attacking two of your squadron, attempting desertion and worst of all, trying to escape with that bitch with the hot ass. Very greedy of you, mate… very greedy indeed. Frankly I don’t appreciate that at all.’

  Steve looked blankly up at the man through a swollen eye. Knowing it was pointless to talk back to the man and just as pointless to try to reason with him, he simply pulled his face from the man’s grasp and stepped silently towards the doorway and the Court Marshal that awaited him. However, the man decided he would not be denied his fun so easily.

  ‘Don’t fucking ignore me when I’m talking to you, you little shit,’ he spat, jabbing Steve hard in his already cracked ribs.

  With a grunt of pain, Steve’s legs buckled beneath him but the solider held him up, not letting him fall.

  ‘Need a hand?’ Hills said, standing just outside the doorway, his rifle resting casually in his arms.

  ‘Nah, this one’s no problem,’ Streiber replied, pushing Steve through the door, causing him to fall face down to the stamped down snow outside.

  Spitting gravel and dirty snow from his mouth, Steve cradled his ribs as he slowly pushed himself up. Looking around, he saw that camp had been dismantled while the doctor had done what little he could for this condemned man. Steve held no illusions that he was nothing but already condemned. He knew for certain his father would show him no mercy. Discipline among his men and being seen to be in control was far more important to his father than any vague paternal considerations. Sure enough, just like with the doomed Private Jones, his father had gathered all of the squadron and the captured civilians to witness just what happened to those who disobeyed the rule of command. Looking over to the sorry looking civilians being held at gunpoint, Steve’s eyes automatically found Penny. Seeing his bruised and battered face, Penny’s hand rose to cover her mouth in shock while heavy tears began to spill silently over her eyelashes.

  ‘Private Steven Blackmore,’ came his father’s cold voice, snapping Steve’s attention from Penny’s distraught gaze to the man in front of him. ‘You have been accused of assault, aiding and abetting the escape of civilian detainees and more seriously of desertion and dereliction of duty. Have you anything to say?’

  Steve knew this was nothing even remotely resembling a trial and his father was simply going through the motions as a show for those under his command and the new civilians. The sentence had already been chosen for his betrayal and no pleading for mercy would alter the outcome.

  ‘Look at what we’ve become!’ he shouted to the gathered men and woman in uniform, making a point to ignore his father. ‘We’re meant to be helping these people, but we’re treating them like objects to be collected and used!’

  ‘You have been found guilty of all charges,’ his father continued, talking loudly over Steve’s call for sanity from his fellow soldiers.

  ‘Now they’re going to murder that woman’s baby just to test a new virus,’ Steve shouted, hoping the woman inside the Med lab could hear him and use the blade he had given her wisely.

  ‘And the sentence is death,’ Sergeant Blackmore said, Steve’s words suddenly falling silent.

  ‘No!’ cried Penny, darting forward only to be met with the rifle muzzle being raised towards her.

  With a flick of his hand, Hills and Streiber swiftly moved forward and pulled Steve to his feet. Using a zip lock tie they bound his hands together in front of him, pulling it so tightly that it dug painfully into his skin. Then they threaded a thin rope through the makeshift handcuffs to lead him over to a large tree at the side of the road.

  ‘Wait!’ said Sergeant Blackmore, his word stopping everyone.

  The gaze of all those assembled flicked between the Sergeant and the beaten form of his son,
wondering if he was to be given a last minute reprieve. However, Steve knew better than to expect anything other than cold detachment from this man. So when his father stood in front of him and reached up to his neck, it was no surprise to him that after a tug, his father’s hand came away clutching Steve’s pulse detector.

  ‘You bastard!’ Steve spat.

  His father, not content with condemning Steve to a slow and painful death, also wanted him to die knowing he would come back as one of the rotting corpses that were cursed to walk the earth and Steve realised he had never hated him more.

  ‘No, you can’t do this! This is madness,’ cried Penny, as one of the soldiers threw the rope over a thick overhanging tree branch, ‘Please, please don’t do this.’

  With a cry of pain, Steve was slowly pulled into the air. Already the weight on the wrist ties was causing rivulets of blood to run down his arms and with each jolt from the men hoisting him aloft, pain from his cracked ribs would spasm through him making him cry out.

  ‘That’ll do,’ Sergeant Blackmore said when Steve’s feet were hanging chest level to the soldiers.

  With one last disapproving glance at his son, Sergeant Blackmore turned to address the gathered crowd.

  ‘Let this be a lesson to you all,’ he said, looking from one face to the next. ‘Cross me and you will regret it. There will be no second chances and no mercy. Now get those civilians into the truck, we’re leaving.’

  ‘No! You fucking bastard, you’re a fucking animal!’ Penny screamed, as the group from Lanherne were shoved roughly back to the holding trailer by the soldiers.

  ‘No!’ Penny screamed again and moved to break from the group. Luckily, Cam grabbed hold of her waist, pulling her sharply back.

  ‘Penny! Penny, they’ll shoot you down before you’ve taken three steps,’ Cam said, pulling the hysterical young woman through the door and into the trailer. ‘There’s nothing we can do for him now. I’m sorry, Penny. I’m sorry.’

  ‘This is insane!’ she cried, slumping down onto the padded bench in the trailer. ‘Why can’t they see it?’