Lanherne Chronicles (Book 3): Last Days With The Dead

by Stephen Charlick

  ‘Jesus!’ she said to herself, slowly moving one of her hands up onto the control panel for leverage.

  With the thumping in her head seeming to get louder, Karen gingerly pushed herself back into her seat. Her head spun at the sudden movement and closing her eyes, she tried to control her breathing. Reaching her hand to her forward, she felt the wetness of her own blood just above her left temple and winced. Even this movement seemed to affect the fuzzy banging inside her head, but after a few more deep breaths, she soon noticed the cotton wool feeling beginning to fade. It was then that she realised the banging hadn’t been inside her head at all. Something was hammering on the cabin door next to her, something that wanted to get in.

  ‘No, No, No…’ she whispered, terrified to open her eyes.

  ‘Matt,’ she whispered, reaching her right arm over to she knew Matt must be, ‘Matt!’

  Her fingers brushed against his sleeve and grabbing hold, she frantically shook him.

  ‘Matt!’ she urgently repeated, still unable to open her eyes to look upon the horrors that she knew stood on the other side of her cabin door.

  But Matt did not answer, and as her shaking and pleas became more and more desperate, he still did not respond. Choking back a sob, she feared he would never answer her and with her tears falling from her closed eyes, her hand slowly followed his still arm down to this wrist and then to his hand. Slowly, she took his hand in hers and she knew, Matt would never answer her again, he was gone.

  ‘Oh, Matt,’ she whispered, finally opening her eyes to look at her brother.

  Like her, Matt was slumped forward and as her eyes fell to the single red light of the pulse detector on the back of his neck, she could see that the casing was empty. It had already fired its single metal bolt up into Matt’s brain, preventing him from coming back. It was actually the twisted piece of metal coming through his back that had taken Matt from her, but she could not look at that. It was too brutal, too savage, and too real. She would not let that be her memory of how Matt died. If she convinced herself, it was the small metal bolt that had taken him, clean, and instantaneously, she would know he would have died painlessly and without suffering.

  With her hand shaking, she reached out to him and gently ran the back of her index finger along the top of his left ear. Then finally, with a sob shaking through her and with something monstrous and hungry still banging on the door to her left, Karen allowed her gaze to move away from Matt. She knew her brother had gambled everything to save the people of Lanherne. He had gambled and lost, but the game was not over yet as far as Karen was concerned. Her brother had been prepared to die for what was right and in honour of him; she would see to it that he had not died in vain.

  ‘For you, Matt,’ she whispered through her tears, ‘I’ll get to Lanherne and tell them, for you.’

  But first, she knew she would have to face whatever was beyond the cabin door. With the dawn light filtering though the branches that surrounded the helicopter’s cockpit, she fumbled for her gun. She knew she would need it if she expected to have any chance at all of getting out of the cockpit alive, let alone all the way to the convent. With a sinking feeling, her hand found her jacket pocket empty; it had fallen out during the crash. Using what little light she had, she searched the small cockpit, all the while making sure not to look directly at the thing still banging ceaselessly on the cabin door. Eventually, she spied the tip of the gun barrel sticking out from under her seat and reaching down, went to retrieve it. Her fingertips were just touching the end of the barrel when she heard a terrifying cracking sound from the cabin door.

  ‘No!’ she whimpered, finally snapping her head left to look thing the other side of the door.

  What she saw made her breath suddenly catch in her throat. The naked decaying creature had once been a man, and it glared at her with film covered eyes. Karen had never seen such a look of manic hunger on a face before, and as the Dead man drew back his fist to pound again against the already fractured glass, she knew he would not stop until he had gorged himself on her flesh. Frantically, Karen stretched down for the gun that lay just beyond a solid grasp.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ she prayed, as she finally hooked two of her fingers either side of the barrel and began slowly to pull it towards her.

  But her time had run out and with an explosion of glass, the Dead man’s hand shot through the cabin door window. The Dead creature did not care what damage he did to his arm. To grasp the living flesh that right now cowered so tantalisingly within his reach, was all that consumed him. With a scream, Karen threw herself as far away from the Dead man’s arm as she could, but she could tell he would not be denied his pound of flesh. Already, he was using his other hand to pull at the shards of glass either side of the hole. They sliced into his fingers, peeling back grey skin and decaying flesh, but still he showed no concern. A long flap of stinking flesh even hung from his arm, flayed from the limb when he had tried to thrust his arm deeper into the cabin. With her brother’s body blocking her escape, and the Dead fiend in front of her, Karen knew there was only one way she was going to be able to leave the helicopter alive. Bracing herself for what she was about to do, Karen grabbed at the Dead man’s arm. It took a few attempts, but finally, she managed to grasp hold of the cadaver’s wrist. With her feet braced against the door for purchase, and screaming in rage, she pulled on the arm with all the strength she had in her. Even over her screams, she heard the dull pop, as the arm dislocated at the shoulder joint.

  ‘Come on, you Fucker!’ she screamed, twisting and pulling the Dead man’s arm against the shards of glass.

  With relief, she saw the skin and flesh as his shoulder begin to tear and stretch, as the broken glass in the window frame sliced deep into the Dead limb.

  ‘Come on!’ she screamed again, giving the arm a final tug.

  With a sickening ripping sound, the Dead man’s arm came free of his body. She knew she had but seconds before, unperturbed by the loss of his limb, the Dead man would try to reach her with his other arm. Using those seconds wisely, Karen tossed the severed arm aside and reached back down for the gun. Again, the barrel brushed her fingers, but this time, it was just close enough for her to ease it closer still. Glancing back at the shattered window, she saw the Dead man had now pressed his face into the hole, his snapping jaws now surrounded by the tattered shreds of his cheeks. With a large crack, suddenly lightning crossed the window, she knew the rest of the glass was about to give way. But thankfully, the gun was now in her hand, and without thinking she turned in her seat, aimed, and pulled the trigger. With an explosion of fetid brain matter from the back of his head, the bullet passed through the Dead man’s skull, finally allowing him the true death he deserved.

  Karen sat panting, simply looking at the space in the window where the Dead man had moments ago been. It was only then that she heard the moans of more of the Dead somewhere outside. They had surely heard her screams, if not the Dead man’s call, and they were being drawn uncontrollably to its source.

  ‘Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,’ she whispered frantically to herself, knowing she had to get away as fast as possible.

  Reaching across Matt’s body, she grabbed the folded map that had been wedged down the side of his seat and prepared herself for the run of her life. She was about to kick open her door when she changed her mind and went back to her brother. Pulling him slightly towards her, she managed to snake her arm behind him to reach the handgun she knew he carried on his right hip. She had no idea how long it would take her to get to Lanherne, and more importantly, no idea how many of the Dead she would encounter on the way. Every bullet she had available to her would be priceless.

  ‘I love you.’ She said, gently kissing the top of Matt’s head.

  Then with one last look at her brother’s body, she turned and kicked open the damaged cabin door.

  ***

  ‘Fucking hell!’ said Patrick suddenly, pulling Delilah to a stop as he did.

  They had reached the village, and as
they had done hundreds of times, they had made their way through the small overgrown winding lanes, past one dilapidated cottage after another, until they reached the small crossroads that had effectively been the hub of the small village. On one corner of the crossroads, stood the school, where only yesterday, they had found Mary Donaldson and her daughter.

  ‘What?’ asked Phil, pushing his large frame forward so he could look through the viewing slit.

  What he saw made him sit back down again.

  ‘What is it?’ repeated Imran, looking from Phil to Patrick.

  ‘The Donaldson’s,’ replied Patrick, ‘or what’s left of them.’

  ‘What? Mary and her daughter, they’re Dead?’ asked Steve, knowing if that was the case, their journey was over before it began.

  ‘We need to check this out,’ said Phil. ‘We can’t just assume the trail ends here.’

  ‘Agreed,’ nodded Patrick, reaching for a spiked club attached to the wall, ‘Imran up top, take out any stragglers. Phil, Steve, with me.’

  ‘And you won’t be needing this,’ said Phil, tapping his knuckles on the rifle barrel, ‘here, take this, time to get up close and personal.’

  Steve took the heavy length of pipe from Phil and tested the weight of it in his hand.

  ‘Clear.’ Imran whispered, down through the hatch in the cart roof.

  With that, the three other men opened the side hatches and stepped out into the cool early morning light. Ahead of them, what was left of the path and cracked road surface outside the school was awash with a pool of thick congealing blood. But this was not what worried them, after all, they had got used to the sight of spilt blood years ago, it was the eight stripped fresh corpses hanging by their hands from the railings that caused them concern. It was clear they had been left for the Dead to feast upon, and the Dead had obliged with gusto. Of the slaughtered three women and five men, only two of the poor souls had any organs still housed within their body cavities. The others had been torn open by hungry teeth and desperate hands, their soft fleshy insides greedily ripped out. The bloody ground in front of them was littered with lumps of indefinable offal, and leading off in various directions, were a multitude of bloody footprints.

  ‘This is Jake Donaldson,’ said Phil, stepping forward to use his spiked club to lift the flap of skin that had been partially ripped from one of the men’s faces. ‘One of the younger brothers, I only met him once, but I’m pretty sure it’s him.’

  ‘Christ!’ whispered Steve, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘They must’ve seriously pissed someone off, to have this done to them.’

  Patrick moved closer to one of the female corpses. She had much of the flesh chewed away from her thighs and was missing large chunks of the skin and flesh from her torso and breasts. Using his club, he gingerly tilted her head back to look at her face.

  ‘This isn’t Mary,’ he said, letting the woman’s blood covered head loll back again, ‘and all of these others are too large to be Lucy.’

  ‘What about her on the end?’ asked Phil, letting the flap of face fall back down as he stepped back. ‘Could that be Mary?’

  Steve walked to the end of the line of corpses, slipping for a moment on something wet, chewed, and un-nameable.

  ‘Jesus!’ he said steadying himself.

  Reluctant to touch the woman’s abused and torn body, Steve crouched down to look up at her ruined face. She had her bottom lip viciously ripped from her face, together with much of her nose, exposing the dark, bloody gristle and bone beneath.

  ‘Can’t see her face,’ Steve mumbled to himself, reaching slowly up to move a blood-matted clump of hair away from her face.

  Instantly, the woman’s eyes snapped open to reveal a pair of crazed blue eyes. Eyes that had witnessed the horrors of hell and had come through baptised in pure madness.

  ‘Jesus!’ gasped Steve, jumping back as a low panting howl began in the woman’s chest.

  ‘My, God,’ said Patrick, running to the woman, ‘she’s alive!’

  The woman’s howl slowly rose in volume, becoming animalistic in its rawness and as Patrick tried to hold her face so he could look in her eyes, the wretched woman began to spasm and gag as waves of unimaginable pain shot through her.

  ‘Fuck!’ said Phil, pulling a knife from his belt to cut her down with. ‘How can she still be alive?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Patrick replied, holding the woman while she bucked in his arms, spraying his chest with clotted blood and small bits of flesh, ‘half her fucking body is missing for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘Kill her!’ said Steve. ‘It’s not Mary, Christ! Whoever this is, her mind’s gone; no one should have to suffer like this. Just put the poor bitch out of her misery.’

  But the decision was taken from them, as with a choking cry, the woman thankfully died.

  ‘Jesus!’ whispered Patrick, laying the woman’s torn body to the ground and stepping back.

  ‘So what now?’ asked Steve, unable to tear his eyes away from the wretched woman’s corpse.

  Suddenly, the sound of an arrow flying through the air behind them caught their attention. Turning, they saw across the street a Dead man, his face and chest covered with a thick layer of fresh gore, falling to the road with one of Imran’s arrow’s lodged deep in his skull.

  ‘More company coming!’ Imran called to them from the top of the cart. ‘Better get your arses over here.’

  Without waiting to be told twice, the three men left the eight murdered members of the Donaldson family and sprinted back to the cart. By the time Imran had let fly two more arrows at the approaching Dead, they were safely out of sight.

  ‘So do we continue to the Donaldson’s home?’ whispered Imran, as he watched through one of the spy holes at the six walking cadavers mill aimlessly past them in search of the source of the screams that had caught their attention.

  ‘We don’t have much choice,’ mumbled Patrick, ‘where else can we start looking?’

  ‘Fuck,’ said Phil, suddenly struck by the importance of what they had just seen, ‘you know what this means, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’ replied Patrick, glancing back to Phil while he gave Delilah’s reins a flick to start her moving again.

  ‘They didn’t come back,’ Phil began, ‘none of the Donaldson’s came back, they were just dead as in really forever dead. The new virus must have cured them of the Death-walker virus too.’

  ‘But surely they wouldn’t have been in contact with Charlie long enough for the virus he has to make any effect?’ Imran asked, replacing his quiver of arrows to their hook on the wall.

  ‘But Avery said it went air-born, they didn’t need contact with him at all,’ Phil continued, excitedly, ‘the new virus is already out there, they were already cured before they even got here.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Steve, ‘so does that mean everyone can now die? I mean, is it just local or everywhere? How fast do you think this thing could travel the globe?’

  ‘Who knows?’ replied Phil, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘And the thing is, with everyone on the base wearing the pulse detectors that shoots a bolt in your brain if it reads no life-signs,’ continued Steve, ‘the stupid bastards never get the opportunity to see that when someone dies now, they’re not going to come back, they’re probably already cured and don’t even know it.’

  ‘Which would explain why they haven’t given up on getting Charlie and the virus he carries back to the base,’ added Patrick, urging Delilah round the rusting remains of a crashed Mini.

  ‘And I doubt they’re just going to take our word for it,’ Added Imran.

  ‘No, neither do I,’ mumbled Patrick.

  ***

  Karen had been running through the woods for only fifteen minutes, but to her, it felt like eternity. The dawn rays that surely had turned the dark night sky to a blaze of reds and pinks, had yet to break through the thick green canopy above her, causing her to stumble on unseen branches, roots, and debris. Thick, dark, m
ossy mounds that bloomed between the trees, helped to soften her footsteps as she fled, but still, she was conscious of every sound she made. In the branches above her, countless birds heralded the new day, filling the air with their song. Their joyous serenade was at odds with the twilight world filled with shadows and half-light, through which, she ran, but it gave her a small modicum of comfort. It reminded her not everything in this woodland was a creature of decay and death, life still blossomed, regardless of Man’s fate.

  With every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves, she would freeze, her heart hammering loudly in her chest, as she expected one of the Dead suddenly to appear and attack. She knew she needed to get out of the forest and onto a road, only then would she have any chance of working out where she was, and which way she actually needed to go. She could still hear the moans of the Dead echoing through the trees, drawn to the sounds of the crash and her fight with the Dead man, but so far, she had been lucky and had only caught brief glimpses of dark ominous shadows moving through the trees some distance away.

  She had just stumbled upon a light break in the trees, whether it was some sort of deer run or the last remnants of manmade path through the forest, she had no idea, but it offered her hope. With a little more light now filtering down onto the track, Karen pulled the map from her jacket and opened it up. Placing her back against the base of a moss-covered tree for protection, she searched the map, trying to locate the point where Matt had said they could reach before the fuel ran out. The map, a snapshot of a world that no longer existed, showed much of the area should have been a patchwork of arable farmland. She knew this land, no longer controlled by man, would now have been reclaimed by nature, but looking about her, she could see the wood in which the helicopter had crashed was made of old trees, far too tall to have sprung up in only the last eight years. With relief, she realised that this at least limited the crash site to one of four marked woodland areas already shown on the map, each of them ranging from three to seven miles from Lanherne.