Star Drawn Saga (Book 2): Lost Among The Dead

by Stephen Charlick

  ‘Worked so far,’ shrugged Brett without looking back at her.

  ‘It’s a pity Mike didn’t stick around though,’ said Fran casually as she could, following Brett’s path over the fallen tree; her eyes glued to the young man’s back. ‘His screens would have really come in handy…’

  ‘Erm... yeah, I guess,’ answered Brett, the slightest of pause before he spoke telling her all she needed to know; he was indeed hiding something from them. ‘Pity him and his Missus had other plans.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran, glancing pointedly at Kai beside her, ‘yes, it is.’

  ***

  ‘Right,’ panted Brett, some twenty minutes later as he bludgeoned the head of a Dead teenage boy at his feet into a misshapen mass of broken bone and flesh, ‘I think this is probably… the last… of them.’

  ‘P…probably?’ asked Kai, not sounding too convinced by Brett’s assumption.

  ‘Yeah… probably,’ Brett repeated, giving the teenager’s skull one final and forceful blow, ‘but there’s always bound to still be a few more wandering about,’ he continued, arching his back to appease his strained muscles after their bout of exertion. ‘That’s what the bells are for.’

  ‘What, those bells?’ said Fran sarcastically, nodding to the string of small brass bells hanging from the tree that had one end currently wrapped about the arm of the corpse at Brett’s feet.

  ‘Worked didn’t they,’ Brett replied, pulling a short knife from its sheath on his belt, ‘we found this sack of shit alright.’

  Reaching for the corpses entangled arm, Brett was about to use his knife when he paused.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, turning to Kai to nod at the long machete he held, ‘lend us that will you.’

  ‘Sure,’ shrugged Kai, flipping the blade so he now held its handle pointed towards Brett.

  ‘Ta,’ mumbled Brett, returning his own knife back to its sheath before taking the handle of the offered machete. ‘No point in pussy-footing about,’ he went on to say, grunting as with one swift swipe of the blade the arm he held was separated from the rest of the cadaver’s body. ‘Here,’ he continued, handing the machete back to Kai with a nod. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No p…problem.’ mumbled Kai, watching as Brett carefully untangled the string of bells from around the corpse’s now severed limb.

  ‘You don’t just leave them where they fall, do you… the corpses, I mean?’ asked Fran, suddenly realising that if this morning was anything to go by the forest would soon be littered with rotting meat.

  ‘If only,’ he grumbled in reply, tossing the removed limb onto the gore covered chest of the teenage boy’s body; the freed string of bells now tinkling gently as it fell back into place hanging freely from the branch overhead. ‘No, I’ll go find Ben, he should’ve finished with this morning’s batch of birds by now… I’ll show him where they are and he takes a wheelbarrow and dumps them one by one down by the river… the current soon takes them away. Problem solved.’

  ‘Oh right,’ said Fran nodding her understanding. ‘So…’ she went on to say, trying to make the change of subject sound as casual as she could. ‘are we done here then? It’s… it’s just that Dennis said he wanted Kai and I to either help Sid in the Dome or go help Jimmy with the rabbits when we were finished. I think I’d …’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, like I said we’ve probably got the bulk of them now anyway,’ replied Brett, clearly disinterested in whatever more Fran was about to say. ‘Dome’s that way,’ he continued, pointing with his gore smeared length of pipe. ‘Head that way and you should reach a path in a few minutes, turn right and it’ll lead you right there.’

  ‘Oh, I worked in the Dome yesterday,’ Fran quickly thought to point out, ‘I thought I’d give Jimmy a hand today, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Brett, shrugging his shoulders with complete undisguised disinterest. ‘He’s probably still down by the lake collecting reeds.’

  ‘Collecting reeds?’ Fran parroted back to him, a look of confusing settling on her face. ‘But Mike’s gone… why is he still collecting reeds?’

  ‘Fuck knows,’ said Brett, using a finger on his free hand to idly dig something out of his left ear, ‘but that’s what he’s doing…’ he continued, wiping whatever he had managed to free from his ear canal off the end of his finger and onto his trouser leg. ‘I guess he thinks he learnt enough yesterday to carry on by himself… I don’t know, you’re better off asking him.’

  ‘Hmm, yeah, I will,’ Fran replied, realising that Jimmy clearly thought Emma’s punishment still stood even if the point of the exercise was no longer valid. ‘So… which way to the lake then?

  ‘It’s… that way,’ he told her, pointing off through the trees after taking a few seconds to orientate himself. ‘There’s a path the other side of that mound, it splits in two. Take the left hand path… as you’re walking you should see the lake through the trees, you can cut through. There’s a path round the edge, just follow it round… Oh, and if you come to a large oak tree with a circular bench around its trunk, you’ve gone too far and you’ll need to double back a bit.’

  ‘Left hand path and cut through, if I come to a bench, double back… got it,’ repeated Fran, with a nod. ‘Right, I’ll see you later,’ she continued, turning to give Kai a quick kiss goodbye.

  ‘And where’s mine?’ asked Brett, flashing his eyebrows up and down as he licked his lips. ‘Doesn’t Brett get any sugar?’

  ‘Screw you, Brett,’ tutted Fran, flipping him the finger before turning to make her way in the direction that Brett had indicated.

  ‘Yes, please!’ he laughed, calling after her as she walked away. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he continued, giving Kai a friendly laddish nudge, ‘but you’ve got to admit it, you’re one lucky bloke… look at the arse on her…’ he whistled, shaking his head appreciatively. ‘Fuck, I so wouldn’t say no to a bit of that.’

  ‘Hmm…’ said Kai, forcing a smile to his lips despite the anger that flashed through his dark eyes. ‘V…very lucky.’

  ***

  ‘What did you find out about this place, Sam?’ thought Fran to herself, slowly easing herself across a large moss covered boulder and down onto the path; images of the Dead mother and child she left behind still bubbling unwelcomely across her thoughts. ‘Whatever it was, it must have been bad…’ she mumbled aloud, glancing back and forth along the leaf strewn path, looking for the off-shoot she needed to take. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she went on to mutter, noticing a slight break in the overgrown brambles some twenty metres away from her along the dirt track.

  Following the winding path just as Brett had told her, Fran soon found herself catching fleeting glimpses of the wide picturesque lake hidden just beyond the trees. Yet despite the calm beauty these brief scenes promised her, she could take no solace or pleasure in what she saw. For she knew very shortly, after she spoke to Jimmy, she would have her answers and with them the die would be cast, the decision taken from her and she would likely leave White Oak Park; finally saying goodbye to Tom once and for all.

  ‘Come on…’ she found herself mumbling, her impatience growing with each step as she looked for a way through the closely growing trees, their bases an explosion of dense ferns. ‘Oh, sod it!’ she finally huffed, realising if she followed the path she was on much longer she was bound to come across the tree with the bench that Brett had mentioned.

  So using her crowbar she pushed aside the knee-high greenery in front of her, checking she wasn’t about to blindly offer herself to an unseen cadaver hidden beneath the lush ferns. Then using her free hand, she gently moved aside a hanging string of bells and stepped off the path to make her way through the trees towards the lake.

  ‘Bugger!’ she grumbled, having to reach out to silence another string of bells blocking her way out onto the next path; this path, by comparison to the track she had just left, being made of dark interlocking bricks and was obviously once meant for happy holiday-makers to enjoy a pleasant stroll or bike ride around the lake.
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br />   Holding the string of bells in place, she used her crowbar one final time to check the footing in front of her for unwanted surprises and then with a twist of her body round the hanging string that would put any contortionist to shame, she stepped out on the brick pathway.

  The lake, now that she could see it in its entirety, was larger than she had first thought and dotted about it were all types of water fowl busily going about their business. She stood there for a moment taking in the simple and natural beauty of it all. She saw geese, ducks, countless other birds she couldn’t name and even half a dozen swans gracefully circling each other like ghostly sentinels. One by one snowy heads dipped silently beneath the rippling surface to grab a tasty morsel, only to pop back up again moments later to shake free the water from their pristine feathers. Watching them Fran couldn’t help but smile, for the way they acted it was almost as if these regal birds were ashamed to be seen engaging in such a trivial act as feeding. Looking at the peaceful scene before her, Fran could almost believe the death and destruction that had swept across the globe had somehow passed over this tiny patch of England; turning its gaze elsewhere to look upon others more deserving of its terrible caress. That was until her gaze shifted to the abandoned lake-side cabins nestled amid the trees on the opposite shore; their broken windows dark and gaping reminders that not even this place had remained untouched by the hunger of the Dead.

  ‘Right, Jimmy boy… so… where are you?’ Fran muttered aloud, getting back to the task at hand; the beauty of the lake was now somehow tainted. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she continued, noticing him standing hip-deep in water at the end of the huge swathe of tall reeds that crept its way around the northern end of the lake.

  Realising he was too far off to hear her, Fran simply started along the brick path in his direction; all the while watching him as he worked. Just then a cold gust of wind suddenly rushed past her, heralding the change of seasons as it forced a jumble of dry autumn leaves before it. Pulling her jacket tightly about her to keep out the chill, Fran couldn’t help but pity Jimmy as with almost rhythmic precision he dipped his hands deep into the cold water of the lake to sever the reeds at the root before pulling them free to add to the mound already piled up on the rowboat floating next to him. It was as she watched him repeating the process of dip, cut, tug and toss over and over again that she suddenly realised another figure was now standing on the bank behind him; a figure that from their shape she could at least tell was male but apart from that she was at a loss as to their identity.

  ‘Who the…’ she started to question, wondering just who the man might be; that was right up until that final moment when the figure took a single yet awkward step off the sloping river bank and into the water, ‘Dead!’ the single word screamed across her mind as she instantly broke into a run. ‘Jimmy!’ she shouted as loud as she could, desperate to warn the oblivious young man of the hungry corpse behind him; yet even as the warning left her mouth the corpse took another slow shambling step closer to its prey. ‘Jimmy! Behind you! Look out… Jimmy! Jimmy!’

  But engrossed in the repetitive work, Jimmy’s thoughts were elsewhere. He did not hear her cries; did not register the slow sloshing of water behind him, splashing against legs that should long ago have relinquished their ability to move. Not until the cadaver, with its slow and deliberate movements, reached out a blackened hand towards him, did he finally hear Fran’s cries; his head at last looking up from his work; swivelling, trying to locate her.

  ‘Jimmy!’ she screamed for a final time, gulping down air as she ran; all the while fearing she was already too late.

  And then as their eyes locked something passed between them, a dark and terrible knowledge; and in that one moment she knew he had recognised her fear for what it was. For just like every other survivor he too had seen this look many times and each time it warned of only one thing; the Dead. Fran watched as Jimmy, his fearful gaze at last leaving hers, started to turn his head but even as he moved she could already see that he was too late. For this decaying creature had found its prize and it would not be denied the warm and bloody taste of living flesh. With a startled cry escaping Jimmy’s lips, the Dead man lunged; grabbing him about the shoulders and knocking him backwards into the cold water.

  ‘No!’ Fran cried, the slapping of her running feet barely audible over the hammering of her heart and splashing of the two figures at the lake side; one fighting for his life, the other desperate to consume it. ‘Jimmy!’ she screamed again, at last approaching the bank; the water a mass of thrashing limbs.

  Just then the Dead man seemed to rise out of the water; a flash of silver suddenly catching the light before it was violently thrown backwards.

  ‘Jimmy!’ cried Fran, running down the bank towards the panting young man standing in the water; praying he had managed to use the knife he held in time.

  But Jimmy had not finished with the Dead man just yet and before she had even reached the water’s edge he had thrown himself once more at the corpse; a cry of pure rage and hatred erupting from his throat. Again and again his arm rose and fell, the blade plunging deep into the creature’s face and head; quickly rendering it to a dark bloody mess.

  ‘Jimmy, it’s dead! It’s gone!’ shouted Fran, as the young man continued to frantically stab at the Dead man’s corpse again and again; his rage fuelling the frenzied attack. ‘Jimmy! Stop it, Jimmy. Stop!’

  And then all of a sudden as if his rage had bled him dry, the last reserves of his energy depleted, he stopped.

  ‘Jimmy?’ said Fran, their eyes once again locking as the gasping young man slowly rose to his feet again; shoving the motionless corpse floating in front of him to one side.

  ‘Fran… I…’ he started to say, his hand tentatively reaching up to touch the back of his neck.

  ‘Oh… Jimmy,’ sighed Fran, noticing the red stain slowly blooming across his wet shirt.

  With a look of disbelief and fear dancing in his eyes, Jimmy held his blood covered fingers in front of him. Yet even now he could not release Fran’s gaze to look at them; for somewhere in the back of his mind he knew to acknowledge the blood there would be to acknowledge his own demise.

  ‘Jimmy,’ she repeated, knowing there was nothing she could say to make this better, no words of comfort that could ease his fear.

  ‘No, Fran, I…I…’ he started to reply, as he shook his head in disbelief, denying the reality written in the blood across his fingers. ‘Fran…’ he continued, gulping down air as he broke eye contact with her to look from one hand covered in blood to the other still clutching the knife. ‘I…I can’t come back…’ he went on to say, looking back up at her; tears filling his eyes, ‘don’t let me come back… Promise me, Fran… I can’t… I can’t come back… Promise me.’

  ‘Jimmy, I…’ she began to say just as Jimmy’s hand started to move; the blade once again flashing. ‘No, wait!’ she cried, suddenly realising what he was doing. ‘Jimmy!’

  But it was too late and as their eyes locked for a final time, Jimmy drew the knife swiftly across his throat.

  ‘No,’ she choked, rushing forward to catch the dying young man, his legs suddenly buckling under him as his life blood gushed from his body in a terrible red arc. ‘You had some time, you idiot,’ she continued, ignoring the hot blood that splashed across her shaking hands as she instinctively tried to stem the flow, ‘it didn’t have to be like this… Jimmy, you had time… it could’ve been painless… Jimmy, you fool… you bloody fool.’

  But as she sunk to her knees cradling Jimmy in her arms, his blood pumping over her, his eyes wild with fear; she realised now was not the time for such words.

  ‘It’s… it’s okay… it’s okay, Jimmy. I’m here, I’m with you,’ she said, cupping his face; her bloody hands standing in stark contrast to the ghostly pallor of his skin. ‘It’s okay… everything’s okay,’ she went on to say, making sure he looked into her eyes as his life drained from him, ‘I’ll take care of you, I promise…’ she continued, hoping he could
still hear her. ‘You won’t come back, Jimmy, I promise you… I promise, Jimmy… I promise.’

  But even as she spoke, her words finally nothing more than tearful whispers, the life in Jimmy’s eyes began to fade. Fingers that had gripped tightly to her jacket, that had held on to her as his body fought to hold onto life itself, slowly began to release their fevered grasp; and then as a soft wet gurgle escaped his lips, Jimmy’s body at last admitted defeat in this one-sided and pointless battle. Once she was sure he was gone, Fran slowly moved her shaking fingers across his lifeless face to close his eyes once and for all. She knew this was a battle she would fight one day, a battle with Death that, just like everyone else, she too was destined to lose. For Death would always win this war; he held all the cards, made all the rules and was the ultimate commander of life. But although Death had been cheated of his conquests of late by the Dead, Fran would make sure he was not cheated of Jimmy. She had made a promise to this dying man, a man whose still warm blood now covered her arms and chest; and it was a promise she intended to keep.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy,’ she whispered, her fingers finally slipping from his eyes; leaving thick crimson tracks across his already blood splattered face.

  Fran silently looked into Jimmy’s pale face, his features now calm and peaceful as if in sleep, and let a weary sigh shake through her. For a moment the waste and total pointlessness of it all seemed to overwhelm her; crashing against her resolve like a dark smothering cloud. But she pushed back against the despair that could so easily have consumed her and even without conscious thought, her love for Kai transformed within her, becoming a shield against this threatening darkness; while the memories of those that had been taken from her became her sword. And as her determination blossomed, she knew she would go on. Not just for Jimmy, for she barely knew him, but for all of them; for each and every one of those poor souls that had had their lives needlessly cut short by this nightmare existence. She would continue, she would fight and she would go on; the Dead would not beat her.