As it turned out Tom had assured her he would be okay and after only a brief moment when he had first stepped out of the cart, his presence excited the Dead further, and Fran had caught him muttering to himself through gritted teeth, he had managed to get to the gate without incident.
‘Looks like someone didn’t take Mrs. Bradbury’s warning seriously,’ Mike had said, dropping down to a crouch to look at a particular corpse, its jaws snapping, desperate to get to the living flesh so close yet forever beyond its reach.
‘Why?’ asked Fran, afraid she already knew the answer.
Sure enough, as she looked at the corpse that had caught Mike’s interest, the single word printed across a home-made badge that was pinned to the cadaver’s stinking rags confirmed her fears; it simply read ‘thief’.
‘Oh, great,’ she said, looking back at Tom, who seemed transfixed by the writhing corpse. ‘Now what do we do? Tom… Tom, I said what should we do?’ she continued, concerned he may be losing his internal battle to remain in control.
‘Fran!’ Mike had suddenly hissed beside her, nodding as he rose to his feet. ‘We’ve got company.’
Spinning, Fran, and thankfully also Tom, turned to see the slim figure of a boy of about twelve years old now leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe of the church; a look of total boredom on his face. Certain that he hadn’t been there moments ago, Fran wondered where the boy had silently popped up from but more importantly for just how long had they been under his watchful scrutiny. For a few seconds more the boy watched them, unmoving; his eyes flitting from Fran to Mike until finally coming to rest on Tom, or rather the wickedly sharp blades he held in each hand. Then, as if he had made up his mind about something, he simply nodded and turned away from them, disappearing through the church’s large heavy oak door behind him.
‘Mike, stay behind Fran,’ whispered Tom, as the three of them stepped beyond the shadows of the covered archway and out onto the cobbled path running through the crammed vegetable patch that presumably had once been the church’s small graveyard.
‘Perhaps…. this isn’t such a good idea after all,’ mumbled Fran, eyeing the darkness of the open doorway and wondering what really awaited them inside.
‘I doubt they would have posted the warning if they really planned to ambush us,’ said Tom without looking back at her, ‘but just in case, don’t let your guard down and if the shit does hit the fan you just get back to the cart, both of you…. I’ll try and buy us some time… Don’t wait for me,’ he finally said after a pause, his tone telling Fran the statement was not up for debate.
‘Come into my web said the spider to the fly,’ Mike muttered to himself, nervously moving their sack of tradable goods from one hand to the other.
‘Just stay calm,’ said Tom, pausing on the threshold of the church to spare Mike a reassuring glance.
And then with the voices of unseen spectres demanding he go back to reap his violent retribution upon the tethered cadavers still whispering in his ears, Tom took a deep breath and stepped forward.
‘Now, you won’t be needing your weapons,’ came a woman’s calm yet firm voice from the shadows. ‘I run a respectable establishment here.’
‘Mrs. Bradbury I take it?’ said Tom, his gaze urgently sweeping the immediate area as soon as his eyes had adjusted to the change in light.
‘The one and only,’ said the sturdy looking woman in her late forties sat behind a counter on the other side of the cage that enclosed Tom and the others just inside the church doorway.
‘And you really are a trading post,’ stated Fran, sounding somewhat relieved as she looked past the woman to the rest of the dark building that was crammed high with shelves groaning under the weight of the goods heaped upon them.
‘My family has had a shop here in Milestone for over two hundred years,’ Mrs. Bradbury replied, her eyes twinkling with pride. ‘Floods, wars… they’re all the same,’ she went on to say with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘People need things and I provide them. I wasn’t going to close up shop just because the Dead decided they preferred being up and about more than rotting in their graves where they should be.’
‘But what about Raiders?’ asked Tom, noticing the young boy from earlier was now sat in the shadows beyond Mrs. Bradbury, using the meagre light filtering through a narrow stained glassed window to read a book.
‘Them? Huh!’ barked Mrs. Bradbury, her upper lip curling in distaste. ‘Bullies, the lot of them. We can spot them a mile off, don’t you worry. They don’t usually get this far.’ she went on to say quite matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, yes?’ asked Fran, suddenly unsure if the woman before them was quite as friendly as she seemed.
‘Yes, dear,’ Mrs. Bradbury replied with a smile, nodding to the doorway behind them before pointing to something above.
From Mike’s sharp gasp of surprise it was clear someone now stood behind them and as Fran let her gaze drift to the area above their heads she noticed a man and a young woman sat in the shadowy rafters of the church; each with a bow resting in their laps, arrows primed and ready.
‘See,’ smiled Mrs. Bradbury, safe in the knowledge that any attacker would be struck down before they reached her, ‘as I said, this is a respectable establishment… and to be frank, dear, you’d also be dead by now if we thought you’d come here to make trouble.’
‘So you’ve been watching us since we arrived in Milestone,’ stated Tom, kicking himself that he hadn’t seen anyone and it was only by pure luck that they hadn’t walked into a trap. ‘We had no idea…well done… I must say, you certainly have a gift for it,’ he continued, slowly turning to give a congratulatory nod to the bearded man now stood in the doorway, who simply bobbed his head in acknowledgment.
‘But anyway,’ said Mrs. Bradbury, softly clapping her hands together; suddenly playing the polite proprietress once more, ‘enough of that unpleasantness… How can I help you today?’
‘Well first, there’s a house out on its own, about a mile or so out of the village,’ Tom started to ask before Mrs. Bradbury held up her hand, stopping him. ‘Is it…’
‘Tut, tut!’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘Everything is a commodity these days and everything has a value, even information…. So, what will you trade?’
‘What?’ laughed Tom. ‘You want us to trade something for the answer to a question? Forget it! From what we’ve seen and what you’ve already told us then I already have my answer.’
‘Oh yes?’ asked Mrs. Bradbury, a smile twitching at her lips. ‘How so?’
‘Well, you’ve probably got most of the wandering Dead from round here already tied up outside,’ he began, jerking his head to signal the railings outside. ‘Probably adding to them whenever more turn up… and you clearly keep an eye on what goes on in your village, so I doubt you’d be happy letting anyone dodgy take up residence so close to home… so... so my guess is the house will be fine… okay for one night at least,’ he added, in case Mrs. Bradbury and friends weren’t too happy about new neighbours moving into the area uninvited.
‘Looks like you saved yourself a trade there then,’ smiled Mrs. Bradbury. ‘Anything else?’
‘Erm, yes I…’ said Mike, stepping forward, the sack of chosen items to trade in his arms, ‘I need some things… if you have them.’
‘Okay… and just what can I do for you, young man,’ she asked.
‘Well, I know it’s a long shot but powdered milk or some of that all-in-one protein milk shake stuff… erm… sleeping tablets, I need sleeping tablets… oh, and vitamins…’ he continued, trying to remember what else Sam had said to ask for.
‘Do…do you have a baby with you?’ said Mrs. Bradbury, her smile suddenly tinged with a genuine concern.
‘Don’t answer!’ barked Tom, stopping Mike from replying. ‘Trade you?’ he went on to say, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck with the canny woman in front of them or her armed guards above.
Mrs. Bradbury simply looked at Tom, her face becoming blan
k as if shocked that someone had turned her very own tables on her. Then with a deep rolling laughter suddenly exploding out of her mouth, she slapped her hand down on the counter.
‘Deal!’ she laughed, pushing herself off her stool to shuffle over to search in a particular box on a shelf. ‘I’ll trade you this for the answer to my question,’ she went on to say returning to her counter, a single pacifier dangling from her fingers.
‘Yes,’ said Mike, glancing briefly at Tom as if asking for permission to speak, ‘my daughter, Poppy.’
‘Poppy, what a pretty name,’ smiled Mrs. Bradbury. ‘Here, dear, you have this,’ she continued, urging Mike to come forward, ‘and you take it with my blessing… Now, as for the other things, what have you got?’
For the next twenty minutes Fran, Tom and Mike haggled with Mrs. Bradbury for what they each needed; far too much of that time being used to dispute the merit and worth of a single tin of rice pudding. Eventually Mike relented, taking the deal that had been offered, and despite not getting quite the number of vitamin tablets he thought it was worth, in the end he was pleased with his barter, knowing that overall a fair deal had been struck for both sides.
‘And there’s nothing else?’ asked Mrs. Bradbury, knowing it had come time to bid farewell to her customers.
‘Oh, erm…’ said Tom quite off-handedly, as if almost hoping to trip her up. ‘White Oak Park, you heard of it?’
‘Trade?’ asked Mrs. Bradbury, her tone strangely hopeful.
‘I think you cleaned us out,’ smiled Fran, clutching a prized bottle of bleach to her chest. ‘We’ve nothing left we can afford to do without I’m afraid.’
‘Oh… you’re sure?’ asked Mrs. Bradbury again, looking slightly crestfallen by Fran’s refusal. ‘Well…’ she finally went on to say when it became apparent she would get nothing more out of them, ‘well, you have a safe journey and be careful… and do pop in if you’re ever down this way again. It’s always nice to see a return customer.’
‘Sure,’ said Tom, gesturing to Mike it was time to leave, ‘Mrs. Bradbury, it’s been a pleasure,’ he continued, tipping an imaginary hat in farewell. ‘And now I think we’ll be on our way.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she replied, a sad and quite brittle smile on her lips, ‘you’ll be wanting to get to the old Webster place before you lose the light.’
‘Exactly,’ Tom agreed, with a nod.
‘Well, goodbye,’ smiled Fran, as Tom and Mike stepped towards to the open door. ‘It’s nice to have met you.’
‘Yes… yes, you too, dear.’ she replied. ‘You take care… and…’ she continued, her faltering words causing Fran to pause in the doorway, ‘and… well, good luck.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fran, finally turning to follow Tom and Mike back outside. ‘You too… bye.’
‘Bye, dear,’ mumbled Mrs. Bradbury, her hand coming up a fraction too late for Fran to see her wave. ‘Be safe.’
***
‘You do realise they’re the ones they were looking for,’ said the bearded man standing in the doorway, his arms folded as he watched the three strangers walking along the cobbled path back to their cart. ‘Those two blokes that came by last week… not the one with the beard, they didn’t mention him,’ he went on to say, glancing back at his mother-in-law, ‘but the other two definitely.’
‘Hmm… yes, Jack, I know,’ muttered Mrs. Bradbury, busying herself with closing various drawers she had previously pulled opened.
‘Mum, you should have told them,’ said the woman still perched up in the rafters, sliding her arrow back into the quiver strapped on her back. ‘About White Oak, I mean. You should have warned them.’
‘You heard them,’ Mrs. Bradbury replied, glancing up at her daughter, ‘they… they didn’t want to trade.’
‘Oh, mum,’ sighed the young woman, shaking her head in disapproval as she turned to begin her descent.
‘I… I offered,’ said Mrs. Bradbury to no one in particular, her eyes dropping guiltily to the small pile of bartered goods in front of her, ‘they didn’t want to,’ she repeated to herself, her words for the first time somehow sounding hollow even to her own ears, ‘they didn’t want to trade.’
***
Chapter 4:
Fran’s eyelids fluttered open, a vague sense of unease and uncertainty greeting her. Had she just heard something, a noise, perhaps from outside permeating through the cloudy haze of her sleep to offer up its warning to wake her? Whatever it was, it had put her on edge and as she lay motionless, straining her ears, she watched the bedroom curtains moving slowly back and forth in the gentle autumnal breeze.
When she and Kai had earmarked this room the previous evening it had seemed welcoming, luxurious even. With its intricately patterned wallpaper, richly upholstered furniture and artfully coordinated rugs and accessories, the room had been a welcome respite from the hard life that the Dead had thrust upon them. But now as she lay in the dark, the room bathed in a sterile and uncompromising moonlight, it had somehow changed before her eyes becoming cold, lifeless; like a mere copy of what truly existed. Where before she had revelled in the feel of the heavy and clearly once expensive feather comforter laying at the foot of the bed, now it seemed damp, dusty, its printed floral pattern sad and fading, its weight nothing more than an oppressive presence threatening to creep up and smother them.
‘Four-thirty,’ she groaned to herself, tilting her wrist to read the glowing numbers on the watch she had at some point requisitioned from one of the Dead. ‘Why the fuck am I awake at four-thirty in the morning!’
As if to answer her own question she suddenly heard a strange grunt-like sound coming from somewhere in the garden below the window. Had this been what had woken her? Had she subconsciously roused herself, knowing that something was amiss; that unseen danger threatened as they slept? With her pulse starting to quicken Fran swung her legs out from under the blankets; thankful that despite the apparent comfort that the room had offered, she had gone to bed with her boots still securely on her feet. Slowly she pushed herself up from the mattress, the thick carpet beneath her cushioning any sound as she rose to her feet. With her eyes fixed on the open window beyond the moving curtains, as if some horror was about to burst through it, she reached down for the machete she had placed on her side of the bed earlier. It was only as her fingers encircled the sturdy wooden handle of her blade that Fran happened to glance behind her, back at the bed she had just vacated.
‘Kai?’ she thought, surprised to find the bed empty; the mere ruffle of pushed back blankets the only sign he had been there at all.
‘Shit!’ she spat, hoping he hadn’t heard the sound before her and gone to investigate himself. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
With scenes of blackened and decaying claw-like hands pulling a struggling Kai to the ground and ultimately to his death, flashing though her mind, Fran bolted to bedroom door.
‘Stay!’ she barked at Bob, the small dog enthusiastically jumping to his feet as she made a grab for the door handle.
Pulling open the door, Fran stepped out onto the cool landing. Pausing to get her bearings in the unfamiliar building, her gaze briefly flitted across the framed photographs hanging on the wall in front of her. Unknown happy smiling faces beamed back at her from the shadows, eager to remind her of a simpler time, a time before the Dead; and for a split second she wondered where these people were now. It was then that she distantly noticed the sound of Mike’s contented snoring drifting hypnotically to her through the darkness from the next room. It was such a simple thing, this rhythmic intake and exhalation of breath as the man slept, but instantly it seemed to have a calming effect on her; gently soothing her hammering heart and allowing her a chance to think. Perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps Kai had simply gone to relieve himself and she was just fretting over nothing; after all they were in the countryside and surely there were countless possible explanations to what she had heard. But then her gaze settled on a dusty framed photo of the laughing family, the
ir faces forever frozen in a single moment of blissful and loving joy, and as her hand unconsciously rose to touch it she instinctively knew they were dead; the Dead had taken them, each and every one of them. And with that single grim realisation crowding out all other thoughts, Fran broke into a run; once again sure their lives were in danger.
‘Kai, you idiot!’ she raged to herself, a knot of sickening dread tightening in her stomach as she pounded down the hall, the thick but dusty carpet reducing her thundering footsteps to little more than dull thuds. ‘You stupid bloody fool!’
With her momentum increasing, Fran all but threw herself round the turn in the stairwell, grabbing hold of the bannister just at the last moment to stop herself from slamming into the opposite wall. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the sound of wood cracking as the rail protested against the force her passing; but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered now but finding Kai and as she charged down the remaining flight of stairs, her machete inadvertently leaving gouges and scrapes in the expensive wallpaper as she went, she prayed she wasn’t too late.
Their bedroom had overlooked the rear garden, so Fran knew she would have to make her way back through the ground floor, away from the wide front door with its beautiful Victorian stained glassed panels and head towards the kitchen. No sooner had she left the final stair behind her than she noticed a door hanging ajar further down the hall, heading in the direction she needed to go.
‘Kai!’ she thought, knowing he must have come this way.
Before they had gone to bed she had made sure to close all the interconnecting doors on the ground floor, knowing it could buy them a few precious minutes if the Dead attacked while they slept. So to see door after door left open ahead of her she knew she was on the right track and as she finally charged into the moonlit kitchen it came of no surprise to find the back door standing ajar; tendrils of a dense fog slowly curling round the doorframe and along the tiled floor toward her.
Star Drawn Saga (Book 2): Lost Among The Dead Page 14