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

by Stephen Charlick

  ‘Looks like there’s another tunnel coming up, Liz,’ said Phil, ‘that should give you something to pinpoint where we are on the map.’

  ‘Erm, well, if we joined the tracks here,’ she began, holding the map out for the others in the back of the cart to see as her finger traced the train line, ‘and we’ve been through two tunnels, which must’ve been here and here, so, then that means we must be, here.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Karen thoughtfully, studying the map closely.

  ‘What?’ asked Liz.

  ‘Well,’ she began, ‘well, it’s just that if the crossings there and there were tunnels, and now so is this one, that only leaves two more points where the train crosses the path of a road, before we’ll be in this built up area around the station of Carlyon bay.’

  ‘So?’ asked Steve.

  ‘So what if neither of these are level crossings either,’ she replied, looking at each of her new companions as the realisation dawned on them.

  ‘Fuck! With the fence either side of us, we’ll be forced to go all the way to the end of the line at Carlyon bay station,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Karen, ‘and what’s the likelihood a station like that has a platform that’s level with the rails?’

  ‘Not very.’ mumbled Patrick, taking the map from Liz. ‘Damn, we’d be stuck in a dead end surrounded by the hundreds if not thousands of the Dead.’

  ‘So the question is, when do we abandon the tracks and try to get back on a road?’ Liz asked, as they were abruptly plunged into darkness while Delilah pulled them through the short tunnel.

  ‘We’ve got wire cutters,’ she continued, as Delilah pulled them out the other side and once again the cart was flooded with disks of light spilling through the open spyholes, ‘so we can at least cut our way through whenever we want… but there’s no point leaving too soon.’

  ‘And we need to find a spot where the tracks are at least close to a road,’ added Imran.

  After much discussion, it was decided they would at least see whether the next point where the train line and a road crossed was a level crossing, or just another tunnel. After that, if they still hadn’t been able to get off the line, they would cut their way through the wire fence at the next suitable spot they came across. They had been moving for another twenty minutes when Phil pulled Delilah to a standstill.

  ‘Uh-Oh!’ he said, leaning forwards in his seat. ‘Looks like we only have the next two hundred meters to leave the tracks or we’ll not be leaving it at all.’

  ‘What? Why?’ asked Patrick looking over the big man’s shoulders. ‘Oh! Crap!’

  There on the line ahead of them, like two motionless goliaths from an age gone by, were two stalled commuter trains completely blocking their passing.

  ‘Get us closer,’ said Patrick, patting Phil’s shoulder, ‘the one facing away from us looks slightly further along the track than the other one, there might be a way past.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Phil, giving Delilah’s reins a flick.

  ‘Imran, could you take a look through the roof hatch at what’s either side of us,’ Patrick continued, ‘keep an eye out for a possible way back to a road.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Imran climbing up on the benches once again to stick his head in the upturned basket on the cart’s roof.

  ‘What can you see?’ asked Steve a few minutes later, craning his neck to look up at Imran.

  ‘Well, to our right, we’ve got a light woodland that starts about ten metres away from the fence and runs well past the trains,’ he replied, ducking his head briefly back down, ‘and to the left, well it looks like it used to be farmland of some sort, it’s pretty overgrown.’

  ‘Can you see anything that might have once been hedgerows?’ asked Phil.

  ‘Erm…’ Imran replied, reaching down to grab their battered pair of binoculars from a hook, ‘Err…Yeah… on the far side, there’s a wild overgrown hedgerow and, wait, there’s a break in the hedgerow in the far corner, it might be where there was a gate.’

  ‘And where’s there’s a gate…’ said Patrick.

  ‘There’s a way to get to it from the other side,’ finished Phil, realising they had found their way off the rail line and back onto a road of some sort.

  ‘Well, let’s not chuck the baby out with the bath water just yet,’ said Steve, ‘there might still be a way past the trains.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Phil, finally pulling Delilah to a stop again, ‘so, who fancies stretching their legs this time?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ replied Liz, already opening one of the side hatches to jump down to the weed infested gravel of the rail siding.

  With the loose gravel crunching under her boots as she walked, Liz reached behind her to click free her sword from its sheath. With a whisper, the blade slid free and sliced through the air. After a few practice swipes to loosen up the muscles in her shoulder, Liz knew she was ready. Walking up to the first of the trains, she paused. The train appeared to have been coming from Carlyon Bay when the power on the tracks had finally failed, or perhaps the driver had been attacked, she would never know for sure. The dark rust coloured stains on the inside of the driver’s cab certainly suggested it was more than power failure that had stalled this mighty machine. Liz knew that once it had become apparent the motorways were fast becoming nothing but clogged bloodbaths stalked by great hordes of the Dead, many people had flooded to the train stations hoping to get passage to the coast and the salvation it promised. They were so desperate to escape the mainland that in their rush, it was inevitable some of the bitten or those close to death had boarded these trains with them, condemning their fellow passengers to the very fate they were trying to flee.

  Liz slowly walked past the closed drivers cab noticing that the emergency exit into the first of the carriages behind it had been forced open. Whether it had been the driver escaping or the Dead passengers breaking their way in, she could only guess. Either way, it had ended badly. When she became level with the first set of the smashed carriage windows and saw the carnage within, an involuntary shiver went down her spine. What the terrified men, women, and children, must have gone through when they realised they were trapped with the Dead among them, was surely the stuff of nightmares. The windows of the second carriage, like those in the driver’s cab, although intact were smeared darkly with the rust tinged signs of bloodshed. Strangely, what patches of glass that had not been turned the colour of long dried blood, writhed with constantly moving blackness. It was only when Liz moved closer that she realised it was vast swarms of flies, still feasting on the final putrid remains of the packed corpses within that moved in waves along the glass, trying to find a way out. Liz considered moving onto the next carriage, but when she noticed the legs and back of an infant that, in their desperation to save them, someone had tried and failed to force through one of the tiny windows, she decided enough was enough.

  Tearing her eyes away from the horrific scenes, Liz stepped over the rails to look at the second train slightly further along the line. With only a narrow gap between the two trains and the wire fence running only a metre or so beyond the rails, it was clear there was no way they were going to be able to pass after all. Turning, she slowly began the short walk back to the cart. She had just passed the drivers cab when she noticed Delilah acting strangely, snorting and stamping at the gravel with one of her front hooves. She trusted the steady and faithful mare, if something was agitating her; there was a reason for it. Immediately, Liz was on edge. Stepping forward, she placed her hand on the mare’s muzzle.

  ‘What is it, old girl?’ she whispered, stroking the velvet softness of Delilah’s nose.

  Delilah seemed to calm slightly at her touch, but Liz could tell the horse was still worried by something. Confused as to what could be upsetting her, Liz turned to look back along the track, but couldn’t see anything untoward. Running her hand softly along Delilah’s neck, across her strong shoulders, and down along her back, Liz was at a loss as to what could be wrong. It was then t
hat she heard the growling coming from woodland just beyond the fence. Scanning the overgrown thicket, Liz tried to pierce the dark shadows to locate its source and unfortunately, she did not have to look for long. There, emerging from under a large elderflower bush, was the final dog that had attacked Steve back at the level crossing. The wretched looking animal, which appeared to be mainly some sort of mongrel Alsatian, crept forwards boldly. Its dark gold and black fur was matted with dirt and grime, and the beast bore the deep scars, trophies of a desperate existence, across its face and one of its hind legs. As the dog took another step closer, its lip curled back in anger, displaying long sharp teeth and a deep angry growl vibrated from its throat. Liz was about to tell Imran to deal with the animal, when without warning, the beast threw itself at the wire fence. Barking wildly, the animal was determined to get to Liz and as it continued its fruitless attack through the fence, thick saliva dripped from its snapping jaws.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Liz, taken aback by the animal’s ferocity.

  ‘Liz,’ said Imran, suddenly appearing beside her, his bow in his hand.

  ‘I’m alright,’ she replied, touching his shoulder, ‘but as you see, we have company.’

  ‘I take it there’s no chance we can get passed the trains,’ said Patrick, calling from the side hatch, having to raise his voice to be heard over the attacking dog.

  ‘No,’ she replied, afraid to take her eyes from the dog as it threw itself at the rattling fence again, ‘we’ll have to cut through and cross the field.’

  ‘Through the field it is,’ said Patrick, jumping down from the cart, a large pair of wire cutters in his hands.

  It was then that the other dogs appeared. Darting from the tree line to join their pack leader, another thirteen dogs of various sizes and mixed breeds began to worry at the fence. Most of them simply tried to force their snapping muzzles through the gaps in the wire, while others, so whipped up and desperate as they were, bit into the wire itself. But it was a dark Labrador, one of its ears little more than a tattered shred of skin that caught Liz’s attention among the wild attack. The dog was frantically spraying gravel and earth behind it. It was trying to dig its way under the fence.

  ‘Oh, Christ!’ said Liz, realising what the Labrador was doing. ‘Patrick, you might want to hurry that along!’

  ‘What?’ he called, looking back over his shoulder at the pack of wild dogs.

  Seeing immediately what the Labrador, who had been joined by two smaller members of the pack, was trying to do, Patrick returned to his task. With a ‘click’, the blades of the cutters came together and another link was broken.

  ‘Hurry!’ said Liz, taking a step back, as more of the pack followed the Labrador’s example.

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ replied Patrick, straining to snap the wire of the next link.

  Imran pulled back the string to his bow and took aim at one of the smaller animals already beginning to force his snapping muzzle under the base of the wire fence. He was reluctant to kill the animal, but knew he had no choice. With a ‘twang’, the bow’s string sprang back into place and a sharp whine sounded above the wild melee, the arrow appearing between the beast’s shoulders. But the other pack members would not be deterred by this loss, in fact, it seemed to intensify their frenzied efforts. While Imran pulled another arrow from his quiver, Liz stole a nervous glance back at Patrick. With a click of the cutters, another link was broken, but Patrick was still only three quarters of the way up the fence.

  ‘Imran!’ cried Liz, pointing at another of the savage animals, its front paws scrabbling to pull its sleek head under the wire.

  ‘I see it!’ he replied, already pulling back the string on the bow.

  Before the arrow had even left his bow, another of the pack was forcing its head through the increasing gap under the fence. So desperate to get them, the animal seemed not to even notice the deep gouges the wire made in the flesh of its face, its own blood starting to run along its muzzle to mix with the spittle that flew from its mouth as it barked and snapped. This time, Liz darted forward, quickly chose a point on the animal’s neck and thrust down with the tip of her sword, killing the animal outright.

  ‘Almost there!’ shouted Patrick from behind them, as he began to kick at the fence finally to loosen it along its base.

  ‘Imran, help Patrick, then get in the cart,’ shouted Liz, repeatedly jabbing at the pack through the gaps in the wire fence. ‘I can hold them off like this until the cart’s across the field.’

  ‘But...’ Imran began, not happy about leaving Liz.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she replied, briefly looking up to give him an almost mischievous smile, ‘and anyway, you’ll need someone to open the gate. Go on, the sooner you’re across that field, the sooner we’re back on track.’

  Imran opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again. He could tell from the look on Liz’s face it would be pointless, she had made up her mind. Even though it was her feisty attitude that had been one of the things he had first found attractive about her, at times, it also irritated the hell out of him. Imran knew Liz was more than capable of taking care of herself, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about her.

  ‘Don’t wait too long,’ he finally said, turning to help Patrick, who had now been joined by Steve, with moving the fence.

  Behind her, as Liz continued to jab with her blade at the snapping jaws, she could hear Steve and Patrick swearing, as they kicked free the base of the fence.

  ‘Let me squeeze through and pull from the other side,’ she heard Imran say.

  Then moments later, with the sound of metal dragging over weed choked gravel, the fence was free. Liz recognised the subsequent banging sound of the cartwheels that had been on the wrong side of the rail, finally being pulled up and over. In that moment, she threw a silent plea to the heavens, praying that the wheels would not be damaged as the cart slammed back down. She so desperately wanted to turn to make sure the cart was still okay, but with the pack only just being held at bay, she simply couldn’t spare the glance away.

  ‘We’ll wait by the gate,’ shouted Patrick, ‘give us a few minutes to get there, and then run like hell.’

  ‘Just go!’ Liz called over her shoulder, knowing that it would be touch and go whether she could get far enough through the field before the pack was inside the fence and on her heels.

  Liz stabbed down at another of the smaller dogs that had managed to force its snarling jaws under the fence, her blade piercing its skull. With a brief high-pitched whine, the beast twitched and then was still, its body thankfully now blocking the hole. As dangerous as the smaller dogs were, it was the five remaining larger pack members that concerned Liz the most. These animals, which were thankfully taking longer to dig the space deep enough under the wire fencing for them to get through, would be deadly if they managed to drag her down. Whenever she could, she would slash at their frantically working paws, desperate to slow down their progress, but her time was running out and she knew it. With each second she kept the pack at bay, the cart made progress across the field, but she could not wait much longer. Already the Alsatian and two of the other larger dogs had dug deep enough to thrust their heads through to her side. It would be only a matter of moments before one of them managed to squeeze its body through, and then she would have a real battle on her hands.

  ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ she said under her breath, deciding she had to risk a glance back at the cart.

  Thankfully, the cart was almost to the other side of the field, and with one last swipe of her blade, she slid it back into its sheath, turned, and ran. Sprinting as if the very hounds of hell were after her, Liz darted from the train line and out into the field. Trying to stay within the tracks already made by the cart before her, Liz pumped her arms and legs furiously, desperate to put some distance between the pack and herself, before it was too late. As the tall grasses, shrubs, and tree saplings whizzed past her as she ran, Liz could almost feel the phantom jaws behind her about to plunge i
nto her flesh. But she could not turn to dispel this fear, or check on the pack’s progress. She could not slow down or break her stride to look over her shoulder. To do so would be her downfall and she knew it. She had to run as if her life depended on it, because it probably did.

  Up ahead, still some forty metres away, she saw the back of the cart with Samson tied to the rear, nervously waiting to be on the move again. On the roof, Imran was standing proud out of the hatchway, his bow strung and ready, equally nervously watching her approach. For a split second, their eyes locked and Liz knew everything was going to be alright, but then Imran’s eyes anxiously flitted to something behind her and his look told her all she needed to know. The pack had broken free of the fence and was in pursuit. With her heart hammering in her chest and her lungs pulling in as much air as they could, she tried to increase her speed, but the howls and snapping of the pack were already ominously near. Liz saw Imran take aim at something dangerously close behind her and with a whisper of air brushing past her, the arrow flew. With a yelp, she heard one of the dogs tumbling into the tall grass, inevitably Imran’s arrow lodged deep in its flesh. Then, with barely time for a breath between them, two more arrows flew from Imran’s bow, each striking home. Assuming the lead dogs had been the larger beasts, meant that only two of the most dangerous dogs remained, not that it gave Liz much comfort. Even the smaller animals could do some serious damage to her or the horses if they attacked on mass. They needed to be stopped.

  Twenty meters away from the cart and she noticed Karen running from the hedgerows back to the cart. With the pack on her heals, Patrick had obviously thought it best to have the gate already open , but it was what she had in her hand that gave Liz hope. With her legs apart and her grip firm, Karen took aim just over Liz’s left shoulder. Even though she had been expecting it, when the single shot rang out, Liz faltered. As the bullet tore through the dog’s brain, the momentum the beast had built up sent it crashing over and over in the grass until it settled in a heap of bloody fur, barely a few paces behind Liz. Knowing this was as good a time as ever to finish off the remaining large dog, Liz skidded to a halt, turned, and with a smooth practiced movement, slipped her sword from its sheath.