‘We should go in with the others,’ said Fran, suddenly realising that despite Charlie watching over them from the nearby building, only she and Carmella were left standing by the raging pyre.
Carmella briefly watched another flurry of small sparkling lights caught by the wind, following them twist and dance until they finally went out.
‘Addio amore mio…’ she finally whispered, bidding a final farewell to Vincenzo before allowing Fran to lead her back to the kitchen.
As they reached the kitchen door Charlie pushed himself away from the wall and stepped forward to meet them.
‘OK?’ he mouthed nodding to Fran, who simply returned his nod in reply.
‘It will be, Charlie,’ Carmella softly said, noticing the exchange between him and Fran. ‘At the moment it is all fear and a dark pain twisting in my heart… but it will be OK… in time, I know it will… and I will be too…’
***
Chapter 3
During the night, high clouds from the west had silently crept across a deep indigo sky blotting out a million stars one by one. By dawn the survivors had woken to a dull grey sky just beginning to release its heavy burden.
‘What a crappy day,’ mumbled Sally, looking through the already rain spotted window in the kitchen.
As droplets clung to the pane only to suddenly tumble down the glass, racing their brothers to reach the peeling windowsill, Sally chewed nervously at her fingernails. Moving location was always a dangerous and unsettling time for her. Not only because of the Dead that lurked around every corner, in fact she had almost got used to that by now, but it was the uncertainty of the ‘new’ that disturbed her so. When she arrived at Saint Xavier’s she would have little time to gauge the social dynamics of this new group and just how she was to make her place within it. She knew alliances and ‘interest’ would have to be shown to those with the strongest powerbase as soon as possible or she ran the risk of becoming side-lined or affiliated with those weak or on the edge. She was no fool, as a fighter she was barely competent and stood no chance to distinguish herself to any degree in that department but as a politician and social climber she had honed her skills to a deadly art-form. She would scheme, flirt and with what little was left of her good looks she would ingratiate herself with those in charge. It was second nature to her; she had after done it all her adult life. Her skills would guarantee she was kept safe, protected and her stomach always full, of that she was certain.
‘Don’t just stand there, Sally,’ berated Charlie, the one straight man who had seemed immune to her charms, ‘there’s still work to do… a bit of drizzle outside isn’t going to kill you…’
Sally turned from the rain spotted glass and pushed herself languidly away from the window, always hoping today would be the day Charlie decided to take interest in her.
‘What would you like me to do?’ she said, tilting her head slightly to one side while holding his gaze a fraction too long.
‘Yeah, alright Marilyn Monroe, just pick up a box and shift your arse outside…’ interrupted Phil, appearing through the kitchen door, droplets of rain beading on his shaved head.
Briefly Sally looked at Phil, unconsciously pursing her lips in annoyance. Then with a feline like slow blink of her eyes, she walked over to the kitchen table, picked up a small box of jars containing preserved pears and walked to the door. As she pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head she turned to Phil, looking him up and down.
‘You’re looking tired, Phil,’ she said, shaking her head in mock concern, ‘you’d better be careful… who knows what’s at Saint Xavier’s… David might trade you in for a younger model…’
With that she spun on her heels and walked out.
‘That woman, you’ve got to love her… what a grade ‘A’ bitch…’ laughed Phil, watching Sally leave.
Charlie chuckled as he picked up one of the remaining boxes and handed it over to Phil.
‘I wouldn’t be laughing if I was you,’ Phil continued, taking the box under his arm. ‘She’s not finished with you yet, buddy boy… that lady’s set her sights on getting herself a bit of Charlie love… you mark my words.’
‘She’ll lose interest soon enough when we get to Saint Xavier’s,’ replied Charlie, following Phil out of the kitchen and into the lightly falling rain, ‘and then whoever’s in charge will get the full force of her attention…’
‘Poor bastard!’ mumbled Phil, causing Charlie to choke back a laugh.
‘Glad someone’s in a good mood!’ grumbled Tyrone, from the top of the cart as he reached down to take Phil’s box. ‘I didn’t get a fucking wink of sleep last night. What with having one ear listening for Paul crying out in his sleep and the other abused by Tom’s snoring… I’m fucking knackered…’
‘Don’t worry, you can sleep in the cart once we’re off,’ said Charlie, passing his box to Phil to hand up to the yawning young man.
‘And…’ began Tyrone, his words interrupted by a prolonged yawn, ‘…sorry… when will that be?’
Charlie couldn’t help but smile as he looked up at the young black man; the rain drops making his tight curls glisten in the soft morning light. In that one tired moment Tyrone had been stripped of his adulthood, allowing Charlie to catch a glimpse of the teenager he had once been. The arrival of the Dead had forcibly moved the young man from the role of cool older brother, to that of parent in the space of a few days and despite his maturity, Charlie had to remember sometimes that he was only in his early twenties. He had taken up the challenge of keeping his younger brother alive in a world full of the Dead and if he ever resented this burden he certainly never spoke of it.
As if thinking of Paul made him appear, Charlie noticed him slowly checking Star’s bridal, strappings and reins.
‘Charlie!’ Tyrone repeated, swinging his legs over the side of the cart, ‘… when are we leaving?’
‘Sorry,’ he replied, his eyes staying on Paul whose attention seemed to have been caught by something at the far end of the burnt building. ‘About half an hour… Tyrone… can you ask Paul what he’s looking at?’
‘What?’ said Tyrone, his protective gaze automatically finding his brother. ‘Oh, sure…’
With a grunt, Tyrone pushed himself off the roof of the cart to land by Charlie. After tapping Paul on the shoulder to get his attention, the boy turned round to face his brother.
‘What is it?’ Tyrone signed with a brief flurry of his hands.
As Paul’s hands gave reply, Tyrone translated for Charlie.
‘He says there’s someone standing in the rubble,’ said Tyrone, looking back at Charlie and Phil. ‘Watching us…’
‘Watching us?’ asked Charlie, walking over to stand by the deaf boy. ‘Where?’
With his eyes following the exchange, Paul shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the far corner of the collapsed building.
‘God, Paul, your eyesight’s a damn sight better than mine,’ mumbled Charlie, his gaze flitting across the rubble.
‘What?’ Paul signed, unsure of what Charlie had said.
‘He just says he can’t see anything…’ confirmed Tyrone, his fingers bringing Paul back into the conversation.
‘There…’ Paul said loudly, his learnt speech pronouncing the word more like ‘dare’ as he pointed to a specific spot.
‘He’s right…,’ said Phil, giving Star a pat as he walked past her. ‘Look… There is someone… a small child from the looks of it… or a dwarf…’
Sure enough, now that it had been pointed out to him Charlie could see the small figure of a child, a boy, standing amongst the rubble.
‘Why doesn’t he come over?’ mused Charlie. ‘He can see we’re getting ready to leave…’
‘Poor sod’s probably traumatised from last night,’ suggested Phil. ‘Perhaps one of us should just go get him? We can’t just leave him behind…’
‘Hmm… I don’t want him making a bolt for it if we spook him…,’ agreed Charlie, his fingers absentmindedly scratching Star�
�s neck as he peered at the child rocking slightly back and forth, ‘… I think Liz…’
At the sound of her name, Liz stuck her head out of the rear hatch on the second cart.
‘Did I hear my name?’ She asked, her head automatically turning back to the building, mirroring the focus of everyone else’s attention. ‘What’s the problem? The Dead?’
Once Charlie had filled her in, Liz soon found herself slowly walking through the patchwork of uprooted vegetable beds on her way to the soot-covered child at the far side of the grounds.
‘Hey, are you OK?’ she called softly to the boy, coming to a stop ten or so metres away from the pile of rubble.
With her hands held reassuringly out to him, Liz took another step closer, causing the boy to begin rocking again.
‘Don’t be afraid… no-one’s going to hurt you…,’ she continued, taking another step closer, ‘you can come with us if you…’
She was about to say more when the child suddenly jerked its body towards her. It was only now that she was closer that she could see that one of the child’s arms was trapped within the rubble, pinning it in place. More importantly than this though, now that she was just a few steps away she could see that beneath his soot streaked face and ruffled hair only the milky film covered eyes of the Dead looked back at her.
‘Shit,’ she whispered, watching the Dead child strain against his trapped arm, trying to free itself to reach her.
Liz looked at the struggling seven or eight year old child and sighed. Through death this child had become a true Peter Pan. He would never grow up and even though the flesh would rot on his bones, he would never get older. Without any obvious signs of attack or trauma she could only assume his small body had been overwhelmed by smoke as he hid from the rampaging Dead the previous evening. To have escaped a terrifying and bloody death at the hands of the Dead only to be taken by the choking fumes instead made Liz want to weep at the unjustness of it all.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a sigh.
Ignoring the child’s desperate moaning, she reached behind her to pull her blade free of its sheath. With the whisper of the steel slipping free, Liz began to climb over the blackened rubble to give the child the true death he deserved. Coming to a stop just beyond the reach of its one free arm, Liz held her blade high behind her.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t save you,’ she said, her lips barely moving as she looked into the child’s Dead eyes so full of the uncontrollable hunger that consumed it. ‘I’m… I’m sorry we couldn’t save you…’
With those words her blade fell, removing the child’s head from its shoulders. The pinned arm still held the child’s torso in place causing it to sag lifelessly against the crumbling wall of the Institute. Averting her eyes from the sickening scene, Liz stepped over a pile of rubble and debris to place her fingers in the dusty hair of the still moving head. Once she had steadied the rocking head and turned its unholy gaze away from her, she made swift work of consigning the child to the eternal darkness of death.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake…’ she whispered, mourning for the loss of the nameless child as she slowly pulled the tip of her blade from its ruined skull.
It was always the Dead children that Liz found the hardest to deal with. These cadavers born through bloody teeth and gore smeared hands, these children robbed of both their lives and their potential, these innocents killed before their lives had barely begun, these were the ones that always filled her heart with a mix of sorrow and guilt. She mourned for their pain and mourned for their passing, all the while feeling the knotting twist of guilt, that if it hadn’t been for a chance of fate had brought her to Charlie, she too would be just like them.
Walking back to the others Liz took out a rag and began to wipe the child’s dark blood from her blade. Glancing up from her task she saw the others staring at her, each with a sad but resigned look on their face. There was no real need to ask or say anything about what had happened, the fact her blade had tasted blood yet again spoke volumes. They all knew the score. People died, they came back as the Dead and it was the job of the living to put them to rest again, it was as simple as that. Not that knowing this or accepting it as a part of everyday life made it any easier to deal with.
As she finally approached the cart people slowly began to resume their tasks again as if nothing had happened.
‘OK?’ Charlie simply said with a nod, noticing the pain in Liz’s eyes.
‘Peachy…,’ Liz replied with a sigh as she slipped her sword back into the sheath on her back. ‘We’re almost done here, right?’
‘Almost…,’ replied Charlie, giving her shoulder a fatherly squeeze as she walked past him.
Instinctively Liz’s delicate fingers reached up to brush against those of the man she thought of as her father. Turning she looked back at him, seeing only concern in his gaze.
‘Liz?’ he said, his brow creasing.
‘I’m… I’m OK, Charlie… honest,’ she replied, a sad but reassuring smile on her lips, ‘I’ll just be glad to leave this place behind us that’s all…’
‘I know,’ he said softly, his gaze wondering over to the ruined building behind her. ‘Such a fucking waste…’
Liz instinctively knew he wasn’t referring to the ruined building surrounded by the abandoned crops and breached wall. As important as these were, they were just things. New buildings would be found, new crops planted and new defences built and fortified. It was the simple waste of life that Charlie hated. Someone had messed up somewhere, someone had died and as a result more people than necessary had fallen to the Dead. Just how it had all started they would never really know but as always with each devastated settlement they were forced to leave, the fragile hope they each cradled within them was chipped away a fraction more.
‘Xavier’s will be different,’ she finally said, stepping closer to give Charlie an affectionate hug, ‘you’ll see, Charlie. We’ll get there and this’ll be the one we can make our home…permanently… you’ll see…’
‘Certainly hope so, girl,’ he replied, giving the top of her head a kiss. ‘… Now come on, we’ve still got work to do before we can leave… can you double check what weapons we have are evenly divided between the two carts for me?’
‘Sure,’ she replied, releasing Charlie to climb up into the cart behind Star, eager to get out of the drizzling rain for a while.
Pausing in the open side hatch she turned back to see Charlie’s attention had drifted back to the blackened shell of the Carmichael Institute.
‘What? Just because you’re in charge you don’t get to work like the rest of us underlings?’ she called, breaking him from his dark thoughts.
‘What?’ Charlie began, blinking away the images of death and loss he had conjured up.
‘Yeah, you heard the girl… shift it, man,’ said Phil, slapping Charlie’s backside as he walked past to pick up a sack of mixed vegetables to get them out of the rain, ‘Or you might have an uprising on your hands…’
‘You keep your uprising to yourself or I’m telling David,’ Charlie called back.
At this Phil simply turned, looked at Charlie and burst into a deep rolling laugh.
‘You should be so lucky,’ he laughed, chucking the heavy sack to Charlie, who only just managed to catch it.
Liz looked from Phil to Charlie and as they continued their harmless banter, she smiled to herself. She was glad the mood of the group was finally lifting. Despite what she had said to Charlie, she was sure there would be enough troubling times ahead of them before they got to the unknown Saint Xavier’s Academy, so they might as well start off as high spirited as they could, it surely couldn’t last.
***
‘There. That should do it,’ said Tom, snapping the cap back on the aerosol can of red paint.
They were just about to leave and with the two carts loaded with everything they could possibly carry; there had been just one last thing they needed to do before bidding the Carmichael Institute a final goodbye.
‘You’ve spelt ‘breached’ wrong,’ called David from the open hatchway, as he read what Tom had spray-painted on the wall next to the closed gates.
Tom looked at the slightly wonky red words he had painted, his lips subconsciously moving as he read to himself: ‘CROPS INSIDE-HELP YOURSELF-CAREFUL WALL BREECHED’.
‘It’s ‘ea’ not double ‘e’…’ David continued, waving away the simple mistake. ‘Never mind they’ll get the point.’
‘Yeah, if they’re hungry enough they won’t give a damn how it’s spelt,’ added Tyrone, moving aside as Tom pulled himself up into the cart and out of the falling rain that had refused to lighten up.
The survivors had divided themselves between the two carts, trying to house inside of each equal amount of skill and strength, just in case the worst happened. With David, Tom and Tyrone in the cart being pulled by Snow were also Sally, Paul and Phil. While Star pulled behind her Charlie, Michael, Cam, Carmella, Fran, Liz and Anne. With only one set of maps Charlie had gone over the route with Phil time and time again, scribbling down the road names and danger points he would need to traverse on his own should the two carts get separated.
‘Right,’ Charlie began, standing on the lip of one of the side hatches as he called back to Phil. ‘Try not to let too much distance get between us and as usual we’ll deal with the Dead when we can… but we’re not taking any unnecessary risks, not on this trip. We’re travelling on unknown roads and I don’t want any stupid heroics… if there’s too many of them we’ll just have to let them pass… no-one’s dying on this trip or I’ll want to know why… OK!’
Phil knew that much of what Charlie had just said was really aimed at Tom, but even so he still gave Charlie the ‘thumbs up’ signal through the front viewing slit.
‘You hear that?’ said Phil over his shoulder to Tom. ‘No stupid risk taking or Charlie will have my balls, OK?’
‘Charming,’ mumbled Sally, rolling her eyes as she pushed aside one of the spyhole covers in the cart wall.
Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead Page 9