Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead

by Charlick, Stephen

‘Oh Anne! I’m so sorry, il mio bambino…’ she said, her voice barely a shaky whisper.

  Cupping the young girl’s face in her hands Carmella wiped away a tear that had managed to escape down Anne’s cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…’ she continued, the words almost lost as she choked back a sob.

  ‘It’s OK, Carmella,’ Liz hushed, trying to bring the woman back from plummeting into a fit of hysteria, ‘Anne’s OK, she knows you didn’t mean it… don’t you Anne?’

  With her swollen fingers now jammed in her mouth, Anne simply nodded as Carmella continued to frantically apologize.

  As if the heavens themselves had decided enough was enough, a slow rumble of thunder began to build in the grey sky above them, promising to turn the light drizzle outside to a more substantial down pour. Almost immediately the gentle patter of drops on the wooden roof over their heads was transformed into a constant urgent drumming.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ grumbled Charlie under his breath.

  Using his sleeve to wipe an unexpected sheet of rain that had suddenly been blown through the viewing slit into his face, Charlie took another quick glance at the folded map. From the squiggle of lines dotted with square blocks, he knew that within two turnings the fields and hedgerows that had been their welcome traveling companions since leaving the Institute would soon begin to fall away. First one lonely cottage would come into sight, emerging from the surrounding greenery, only to be joined by another further along the road and then another. Then they would appear in twos and threes, huddled together by the side of the road, gaining companionship from each other in their isolation. Then, almost without warning the cottages and bungalows would give way to larger family homes, allowing them in turn to dominate either side of the road with their uniform terrace appearance. It was here Charlie knew the real danger would begin. These homes, making up the outer suburbs of Tavistock, were once filled with the sounds and goings-on of everyday family life but now surely the only sounds would be the shuffling of Dead feet on rotting threadbare carpets while desperate moans echoed through dark dilapidated rooms.

  Nothing but death lay beyond these once neatly painted front doors and Charlie knew it. So it was no surprise to him half an hour later that as Star was pulling them past the wreckage of two mangled cars, their occupants long gone, he was met by the signs of a devastated humanity all around him. Everywhere he looked windows had been reduced to nothing more than gaping maws of shattered glass, their jagged shard like teeth revealing only the tattered remains of countless forgotten lives. Only a few of the houses they passed still had front doors on them and those that did inevitably hung broken and splintered on rusting hinges, a testament to the rampaging Dead that had forced their way in. The streets, still littered with the dropped possessions of those that had tried to flee this uninvited death, had been transformed into a wasteland of rusting twisted metal and rotting flesh. Even now the walking corpses shambled among the debris of their former lives, occasionally disappearing from view as they stumbled over some long forgotten piece of the past.

  On the road and pavements ahead of them at least seventy of the Dead awaited them. A few, their attention at some point perhaps caught by a starving dog or cat that had darted in and out amongst them, still forced their decaying limbs into to action, knocking into their Dead brothers and sisters in pursuit of this long departed meal. Others stood with their heads tilted upwards, their film covered eyes following the flight of birds overhead, unable to understand or comprehend why these small fast moving things so full of life were being so cruelly denied them. As if to prove the point, a fat crow deciding to brave the downpour, suddenly dived from its perch on a nearby tree to pluck a morsel of rotting flesh from a drenched Dead woman’s shoulder. No sooner had the Dead woman noticed the living creature that had appeared so unexpectedly, than the bird had snatched a chunk of her flesh and retreated to enjoy its stolen meal in peace

  ‘There’s so many of them,’ whispered Liz anxiously into Charlie’s ear, as another deep rumble of thunder sounded above them.

  ‘Well, it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better,’ he replied, glancing over his shoulder to see the mix of apprehension and fear in Liz’s eyes. ‘I just pray Star and Snow don’t get too spooked by them all…’

  As trusty and reliable as the two mares were, the survivors could only expect so much from them. It was completely understandable being surrounded by so many of the Dead, with their torn shuffling bodies and overwhelming stench of death, that the mares would inevitably reach a tipping point and panic. Charlie knew that if the horses lost control, bolted or worse broke free entirely, the chances of the survivors seeing another day dawn would be grim. Even if the carts miraculously stayed intact they would surely be stranded, becoming tiny islands of the living in a sea of the hungry Dead. There would no escape for them. They would either slowly starve to death or die trying to escape on foot. Either way, they would be lost.

  ‘And is she going to be alright?’ Charlie said in a hushed voice, nodding back to Carmella.

  Liz looked back at the woman nervously chewing her fingernails and knew, of all of them, Carmella was their weakest link. It wouldn’t take much to tip her over the edge and in her ensuing panic she would surely alert the hordes of cadavers around them of their presence. If that happened Liz dreaded to think of what would become of them all.

  ‘She has to be,’ she replied, her whisper barely escaping her lips.

  Fran who had been silently following their conversation, reached out to touch Liz’s arm.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she whispered, before turning back to Carmella.

  ‘Carmella, I made a promise to keep you safe,’ she said, tilting the woman’s face to look in her eyes. ‘Do you trust me?’

  Carmella’s large dark eyes danced across Fran’s face searching for something only she could find.

  ‘Si,’ she finally said with a sharp nod. ‘Yes Fran, I… I trust you.’

  With a weak smile Fran returned the nod and reaching over to a box, took out the battered Yellow pages directory they had taken from the Institute. As quietly as she could she slowly ripped free one of the pages. Tearing it into two strips, Fran crunched each one up into a small ball and then placed them both in the palm of Carmella’s hand.

  ‘Chew these… get them good and wet,’ whispered Fran, lifting Carmella’s hand slowly to her mouth.

  ‘Cosa?.. I mean, what?’ she replied, confusion creasing her brow. ‘Why?’

  ‘Carmella, we need you to keep calm until we’re through the town,’ she said, protectively brushing a stray curl of the woman’s thick hair back behind her ear. ‘You’re going to make these into earplugs so you can’t hear what’s going on and… and then I’m going to blindfold you.’

  ‘But…’ Carmella began, her tears already forming.

  ‘Carmella, it’s important…’ Fran continued. ‘You must trust me… I won’t let anything happen, I promise… this is just to help you keep calm, that’s all… trust me…’

  Carmella looked down at the two scrunched up balls of paper in her hand and wondered if she would be able to do it. Could she travel blind and deaf while the Dead jostled along beside them? Could she really entrust her life and that of her unborn baby into the hands of this woman she barely knew? Looking up she met Fran’s deep hazel eyes so full of pleading urgency and suddenly she had her answer.

  ‘I trust you…’ she finally whispered, brushing away a nervous tear from her cheek before placing the paper in her mouth to chew.

  ‘Here,’ said Cam softly, pulling an old scarf from a holdall stuffed with clothes and passed it to Fran.

  For a second their eyes locked and Fran felt a shiver go through her as Cam’s clear blue eyes seem to bore into her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she managed to whisper, her fingers brushing against Cam’s as she took the scarf.

  With the paper reduced to a sodden mess, Carmella began to stuff the impromptu plugs into each of her ears. On
ce completed she gave a nervous nod for Fran to continue.

  ‘Thank you,’ Fran mouthed, giving Carmella’s shoulder a squeeze before slowly placing the scarf over her eyes.

  Once it was tied around her head, the woman was now blissfully oblivious not only to the sights and sounds of the Dead around them but also to any reactions of those she travelled with.

  ‘Thanks,’ whispered Charlie, briefly glancing over his shoulder at Fran, his relief quite evident.

  With luck they should now be able to traverse the decaying horde without Carmella sliding into a state of wild panic. But their troubles were far from over and Charlie knew it. Now they had to make it past the crashed bus, only then they could finally leave Tavistock behind them to rot along with its Dead population.

  Beyond the walls of the cart the sky rumbled and the heavy rain continued to fall, drenching the Dead and the town of Tavistock alike. But nothing could truly wash clean these streets that had seen so much horror, death and bloodshed. Even the town’s sewers themselves seemed to be protesting against the unholy abominations that walked above them. Refusing to allow the rain water to drain away, the runoff water gushed through blocked drain grates and manhole covers turning great swathes of the roads into putrid flood plains clogged with swirling debris and the ambling Dead. But those in the carts would not be put off by the worsening weather. They needed to travel these roads if they were to find safe harbour at Saint Xavier’s and if the multitude of the Dead that were slowly and silently pushed aside by their passing could not dissuade them, a bit of rain had no chance.

  Looking at the map again, Charlie could see they would soon be approaching the bridge over the weir and the bus they would need to navigate around. Every so often there would be a heart-sickening cracking sound from below them as the wheels crushed something hidden beneath the deepening flood water. Each time Charlie would hold his breath, praying it hadn’t been the wheel he had heard breaking, and each time he would let out a sigh of relief as Star finally took another plodding step forward forcing the undamaged wheels to turn.

  At that moment Star was pulling them past the crumpled remains of an ambulance that, like the bus that they were to soon meet, was actually only half on the street. The front of the vehicle, which had been reduced to little more than a mass of twisted metal, had ploughed through the front windows of a small coffee shop. From the upturned gurney lying abandoned by the ambulance’s open rear doors it was clear that at some point during the carnage the vehicle’s passenger had decided to leave. Whether they had been alive or one of the Dead, Charlie could only guess but as Star moved further on, the darkly stained interior that came into view told a story only of spilt blood and terror.

  Fran had been right about the number of the Dead that had claimed Tavistock as their own. Just like on a busy Saturday morning the streets bustled with countless people eager to get what they wanted. They bumped carelessly into each other, trapped within the self-absorption of their own existence that they were unaware of anything or anyone else about them. Only now it was the decaying corpses of those who had once lived here that crammed the streets and pavements and what they sought was only the taste of live, bloody flesh between their teeth.

  As the cart turned the corner onto the bridge Charlie had to stop himself from swearing out load. There before him, almost blocking his route past the crashed bus, were over a hundred of the Dead. Pulling the cart to a stop he briefly sent a ‘thanks’ to the heavens for the bad weather, at least the overpowering rancid stench they would be producing would be tempered down to a bearable level by the falling rain. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Charlie gave a gentle flick to Star’s reins, urging her forward. Unsurprisingly the mare wasn’t too keen to venture into the crowd but after a second flick from Charlie she took her first uneasy step forward into the throng. Pushing and buffeting the Dead aside, Star reluctantly barged her way into the Dead horde and was soon making a slow but steady progress along the bridge. Inside the cart the wide-eyed anxious survivors listened with breath held as the Dead were banged and knocked aside by their passing, but knowing that a few simple planks of wood stood between them and a terrifying death was truly the stuff of nightmares.

  With all the spyholes closed as a precaution only Charlie was able to see the true horror that lay around them. The whole town seemed to have been turned into walking instruments of terror, their rotting flesh hanging loose upon their bones as they endlessly waited for a living catalyst to spur them into an unholy feeding frenzy. Men, women, children, the old and young alike, all had fallen to the Dead and all were doomed to forever burn with their unquenchable hunger. Tearing his gaze from the decaying faces that made up the monstrous crowd, Charlie tried to focus on Star and her progress across the bridge. With the back of the bus now clearly in view Charlie could see that Fran had thankfully been right, it may be a tight fit but the cart would be able to get past. She had also been correct about the unfortunate travellers who had been trapped on the bus as it had smashed through the ancient masonry of the bridge. There, behind its darkly smeared windows, stood the motionless shadowy figures of the Dead. To have been trapped with no escape from the other Dead passengers as they came back to feed upon their stunned and helpless companions must have been an utterly terrifying way to die.

  Urging Star towards the narrow gap between the rear of the bus and the opposite wall of the bridge, Charlie watched as the Dead were slowly pushed out of their way. Some, unable to pull their way back into the throng of Dead around them, fell beneath the wheels of the cart only to be torn and crushed by its passing. Others were simply knocked from the bridge entirely, their bodies swept away by the dark fast flowing river below. With his fist tightly gripping her reins, Charlie willed Star forward, thanking the heavens for each turn of the wheels that brought them closer to their moment of truth. And then despite her achingly slow progress, Star was suddenly pulling them through the gap and past the bus. With a sigh of relief escaping his lips, Charlie knew the worst was finally over; they were going to make it. They would leave the bus on the bridge behind them, they would take the turning to the left leading away from the town itself and they would leave Tavistock forever in the rancid hands of its Dead custodians.

  But Tavistock was not so willing to let these survivors slip from its grasp, it had one more trial in store for them and as Star pulled the cart down the turning off the bridge, Charlie could see what it was. The road that they needed to take ran parallel with the river and at the moment the next thirty metres of it was under water. Tree branches, the upturned shattered hull of a row boat, countless bits of rubbish and even the bloated carcasses of two cows had become woven together on the roaring weir swelling the river to such an extent that it had broken its banks and flooded the road. Even as he thought through their options, Charlie watched the rotting corpse of a Dead man that had fallen from the bridge become entangled among the debris. With the raging torrent swelling around him and his arms flapping wildly, the Dead man tried again and again to right himself, to no avail.

  ‘Christ!’ grumbled Charlie, instantly berating himself for speaking aloud.

  Charlie had no idea just how deep the water ahead of them was or what dangers lurked beneath its rain dappled surface but this was the route they had chosen and now with Snow and the second cart directly behind them, they were committed to it.

  With a flick of her reins, Star was on the move again. At first her uneasy strides sent dark water splashing up about her fetlocks but then the further she went along the road the deeper the water became. Within seconds it had risen to her knees and then almost to her chest. Charlie could tell from the way the poor mare was bucking her head nervously back and forth that the fast flowing water was unsettling her. Star wasn’t the only one getting a soaking though; already the cold river water had started to seep through the bottom of the cart, drenching anything they hadn’t already managed to lift up out of harm’s way. At one point a whimper of distress escaped from Carmella, causing her t
o clamp her shaking hand tightly across her mouth, lest any more escape and alert the Dead. A few times the cart jolted to a worrying stop when one or more of its wheels became lodged on some unseen obstacle beneath the water but each time Star’s muscles tensed and her amazing determination pulled them free with a bump. But soon the water began to recede and knowing the road was almost with her reach Star renewed her efforts, until once again it only splashed harmlessly about her hooves and fetlocks.

  ‘Well, thank fuck that’s over,’ sighed Charlie, fifteen minutes later when they finally came to a stop by a children’s playground well beyond the Dead horde of Tavistock.

  ‘Is everyone OK?’ He continued, turning to look at his passengers huddled in the dark shadows of the cart behind him.

  One by one the spyhole covers began to be pushed aside, flooding the space with crisscrossing beams of dull light.

  ‘Are we safe now?’ whispered Fran, hesitantly reaching to untie Carmella’s blindfold.

  ‘As safe as we can be out here,’ Charlie replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly, ‘but at least the worst is behind us… for now.’

  With a knowing nod, Fran understood the real meaning of Charlie’s words, they all did. They would never truly be safe, not out here among the Dead. Only when they had found a new sanctuary, only when they got to Saint Xavier’s could they hope to feel safe again and even then as the fire at the Institute had taught them that too could be fleeting.

  Pulling the scarf from Carmella eyes, Fran gave the woman a smile of encouragement and motioned that she could now remove the wet paper from her ears.

  ‘Did we go through the river?’ she asked, pulling out the wet paper, ‘I could feel my feet getting wet…’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ said Charlie. ‘Couldn’t be helped I’m afraid. The road was flooded and the Dead…’

  ‘Do you need help with your shoes?’ interrupted Fran, thinking it best Carmella not know just how bad the situation at Tavistock had been. ‘Your socks must be wet, can’t have you in wet socks now…’