‘We’re getting the sheep out first!’ she shouted up to him. ‘Don’t release the corpse yet.’
Nodding, Tom peered down over to the top of the dangling Dead man’s head and the two sheep below him.
‘Right, you ready to get covered in sheep shit?’ Charlie asked Liz, a smile on his lips.
‘What? Aren’t you going to help?’ she said, not looking forward to trying to catch the two sheep, no matter how emaciated they looked.
As a reply, Charlie simply held up the knife on his wrist.
‘Hmm… fair enough, I‘ll give you that one,’ she continued, her hands on her hips as she warily eyed the two sheep again. ‘Perhaps Phil could help me… I know he was used to handling dead sheep as a butcher but you never know…’
‘Good idea,’ said Charlie, turning to jog over to the second cart. ‘I’ll get him…’
Returning moments later with Phil in tow carrying two lengths of rope, Charlie left the two of them to it and instead went into the farmhouse to see if he could find something specific among the Dead man’s possessions.
‘I hear you need a hand with some sheep wrangling…’ said Phil, his eyes still red from the previous evening as he looked through the fencing.
‘Well, two sheep, two of us… we should be OK?’ said Liz hopefully.
‘And we’re sure those sorry arsed creatures are actually sheep,’ he said looking back at Liz, his eyebrows raised comically.
‘Yes…’ she laughed, allowing a kernel of hope that Phil would be alright to take root. ‘So do you know how to catch them without hurting them or not?’
‘Only one way to find out,’ he replied, finding a sturdy section of the fence before reaching up to pull himself over. ‘You coming?’
Flipping the hold of her sword in her hand, Liz reached behind her and slid the blade back into its protective sheath before beginning to climb one of the chain-link sections.
‘Here,’ said Phil, tossing her one of the lengths of rope once they were both inside the enclosure.
‘Thanks,’ she replied, almost losing her footing on the slippery mud as she caught the rope. ‘So how do we do this?’
‘Well…’ Phil began but suddenly halting in his words as one of the ewes slowly walked over to Liz, bleating pathetically.
‘Oh,’ said Liz, gingerly reaching forward to scratch the beast’s ear while slipping the loop of the rope over the sheep’s head, ‘easier than I thought.’
‘I guess sheep aren’t as stupid as I thought,’ Phil began, walking over to remaining ewe. ‘They must somehow be able to tell you’re not one of the Dead…’
But to almost prove him wrong the second ewe used what little energy she had left to bolt away from Phil’s outstretched arms.
‘Fuck!’ he snapped, darting to one side to catch the fleeing animal keen to escape him.
‘You need a woman’s touch,’ laughed Liz, watching as Phil made a grab for the escaping ewe only for her to change direction at the last moment and elude him again.
‘Come here, you little fucker,’ he growled, only just stopping himself at the last moment from falling face first into the putrid mire by grabbing hold of a part of the fence.
‘Oh, why not just leave her, Phil,’ Liz said, covering her smiling mouth with her hand. ‘She’s obviously spooked… Perhaps once we get this one out, she’ll just follow?’
‘Hmm… I guess so,’ he replied, eyeing the disobedient sheep that had made a fool of him. ‘Just one thing though… where’s the door?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Liz, her gaze following the perimeter of the enclosure all the way round without seeing an obvious doorway. ‘I guess our friend up there built it from the inside and then climbed over to get himself out again.’
‘Sounds to me, he knew he wouldn’t be taking them out again,’ mused Phil, walking over to a section of the fence.
‘Yeah,’ Liz replied, glancing back to the set of hungry milky eyes looking down at her.
With the sound of splintering wood, Liz tore her gaze away from the hanging cadaver to watch Phil kicking repeatedly at a section of the fence, determined to break his way through. Already the lower section of what looked to have once been a kitchen door had been kicked out and Phil was well on his way to smashing his way through to make a big enough exit for Liz and the sheep.
‘Almost there,’ he grunted, kicking free a central cross panel from the door.
‘That should be OK,’ she said, leading the friendly ewe over to Phil. ‘There’s plenty of room for the sheep to get through and I can just duck down a bit.’
With relief Liz noticed the second, less trusting animal, had also tentatively taken a few steps in her direction as she had moved over to Phil.
‘Whatever you say, Beau Peep,’ replied Phil, wiping the sheen of sweat from his bald head on the crook of his sleeve. ‘Go ahead, knock yourself out…’
Doing her best to avoid the splintered wood of the broken door, Liz eased herself through the hole Phil had made.
‘Come on,’ she encouraged, giving the rope a gentle tug once she was on the other side of the fence. ‘There’s lots of lovely green grass out here to munch on…’
Whether the ewe remembered what had happened the last time one of her sisters had wondered too close to the fence Liz could only guess but with her hooves lodged firmly in the muddy mire the sheep refused to budge.
‘Come on,’ she repeated, ripping up a handful of thick lush grass to wave at the reluctant animal. ‘Nothing to worry about now… come on.’
‘Oh, just move it!’ said Phil, giving the sheep a hefty shove on her rump.
With a startled bleat the ewe darted forward through the break in the fence and was finally free.
‘There you go,’ cooed Liz, scratching the beast’s ears as the ewe almost immediately began to rip up mouthfuls of the fresh green grass. ‘And now what about your friend… hey?’
Liz needn’t have worried. For after seeing her sister happily grazing just beyond the break in the fence the second ewe trotted through of her own accord to join her.
‘Oh good, you’ve got them both already,’ said Charlie, walking over to them with a box under his arm.
‘What did you find?’ asked Phil, jumping to the ground after he climbed over the fence.
‘Not much,’ Charlie replied, ‘a few jars of preserves, some weapons, a couple of ‘guess what it is’ tins…’
‘God, I hope it’s not leek and potato soup again,’ interrupted Phil, reaching for one of the cans that had lost its label to give it a shake. ‘I can’t stand leek and potato soup…’
‘Go without then,’ said Liz, taking the mystery can from Phil to put it back in Charlie’s box.
‘And these…’ continued Charlie, ignoring Phil’s interruption to nod to a large pair of strange looking scissors.
‘What are they?’ asked Liz, taking the utensils from the box.
‘Old fashioned shears,’ he replied, ‘and unless you want to travel all day with those sheep covered in mud and shit, we’re going to have to get rid of their coats.’
‘I don’t suppose…’ Liz began, looking at Phil.
‘No, no way.’ He hurriedly said, holding up his hands. ‘I only butchered the things, I didn’t give them haircuts…’
‘Look, it doesn’t have to be pretty,’ said Charlie, ‘just hack of the worst of it, that’s all.’
‘Fine,’ sighed Phil, knowing of all of them he was probably the only one to have ever handled a sheep in his life, even if it had been dead at the time.
‘Thanks,’ Charlie smiled, passing the twin blades to Phil, handle first. ‘Now let’s get our host down and we’ll be done here.’
‘I’ll deal with him,’ said Liz, handing Phil back the rope tied around the ewe’s neck. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem. Tom can cut the rope holding him up and when he falls I’ll finish him off before he can get to his feet again.’
‘OK,’ nodded Charlie, ‘but be careful.’
‘Aren’t I alwa
ys?’ Liz replied, with a smile.
‘Just watch your footing, Smartarse,’ Charlie continued, giving her the look that every parent used when their teenager was being cheeky.
With a grin, Liz ducked back through the hole in the fence and called up to Tom still waiting by the open window.
‘Tom! You can cut the rope now!’ she shouted, clicking free her sword and adjusting her feet in the slippery mud.
With a nod, Tom deftly slid his sickles back into the slots on his back and then began to cut through the nylon rope with a wickedly sharp looking serrated knife.
‘Ready?’ he called down. ‘He’s about to…’
But the last word suddenly became redundant as the rope abruptly snapped, allowing the Dead man to plummet to the ground below. As he hit the muddy earth Liz heard the familiar wet popping sound of pressurized skin finally ripping and immediately the stench of raw sewage and rotting meat hit her making her eyes water.
‘Christ!’ she mumbled to herself, knowing she unfortunately needed to get closer to the stinking corpse to finish him.
Already the Dead man was trying to find purchase on the slippery mix of wet mud and sheep faeces, eager to push himself upright. As he struggled in the mire Liz watch him for a few seconds, unable to pull her gaze away from his hungry glare. It was only when he finally managed to get one of his feet under him allowing him to rise to one knee that Liz knew enough was enough, it was time to end his torment.
‘Sorry,’ she quietly said, stepping forward with her blade raised high behind her.
Then as the Dead man reached out to her beseechingly with his mud-caked Dead fingers, she let her sword fall.
After she had punctured the skull of the now decapitated head with her sword, Liz covered her nose and mouth with her hand and approached the lifeless corpse crumpled in the mud. Flicking free some of the stinking blood and gore, Liz reached for the zip-lock bag, opened it and pulled free a pale envelope that had surely been the man’s parting words to a cruel world. Securing her sword back in its sheath, she eagerly tore open the thin envelope and took out a single folded sheet of A4 paper and a photograph of a smiling teenage girl. Glancing at the image briefly, Liz opened the paper and began to read.
“My name is Albert Dean and may God forgive me for what I am about to do,” she read. “They turned up at my door four weeks ago now, those three bastards hiding behind their pretty boy faces. They were cold, hungry and in fear for their lives they said. They’d be gone by morning they said and, God help me, I believed them. I let them in. No sooner had they set eyes on my darling Jade than everything about them changed. I could see it on their faces, clear as day, they intended to take her and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I managed to get one of them in the leg as they made a grab for her but the other two beat me something black and blue and by the time I came round again they were gone and so was Jade. Seems I must have done more damage than I thought to that bastard’s leg though, because I found him later bleeding by the side of the road. His two mates had left him to die and believe me after I was finished with him he wished that he had.
I had hoped a few hours in the dark with the Dead about would loosen his tongue but the worthless crap didn’t even make it through the night and now I’ll never find my Jade, never. I tried to look for her, I swear I did but with each day it became more and more hopeless. It felt like a weight pressing down on me, smothering me, killing me a little bit more day by day. That’s when I started having these dark thoughts about giving up. Giving up searching, giving up trying, just giving it all up. I know a good father should never have thoughts like these, not when his little girl is out there, lost and needing him. But I can’t carry on like this, not on my own. What’s the point! Jade is gone! Her mother, my beautiful Clara’s gone! Anybody and everybody else I’ve ever known are gone! What’s the point in keeping this foolish old man alive just because that’s what you do, because that’s what’s expected? And then I woke this morning and I just realised… there is no point. I knew today would be the day. Today I would be with my Clara again. Today it would all end. All the pain, all the sorrow, it would all finally go away. So I’ve got the rope from the shed and got things ready. I had thought about just letting the sheep go, letting them take their chances on the moors but with the Dead about it didn’t seem fair so I’ve spent the day building a pen to keep them safe here, for a while at least. Perhaps someone will come by and have a use for them.”
Liz looked down again at the headless body before returning to read the final paragraph.
“If someone is reading this,” she continued, “please take whatever sheep are left as a gift from a foolish, stupid old man and in return if you ever come across my Jade, please tell her that her old Dad loved her. Tell her that I tried to find her, I truly did. Tell her he’s sorry he messed everything up. Tell her he’s so sorry, so very sorry. So…”
After that the words seemed to run into each other as Albert allowed his grief to consume him and ultimately lead him to his death. But Liz had read enough. She had learnt all she needed to about Albert Dean, and more importantly, just what had driven him to take his own life.
‘So it wasn’t food our man by the tree had stolen,’ said Charlie, after Liz had shown him Albert’s suicide note. ‘It was a person.’
Putting himself in Albert’s place, he knew he too would take whatever measures needed if someone ever took Liz or Anne from him. The only difference between Albert and himself was that he would never give up. He would search forever to find his two girls, no matter who took them or how long it took to get them back. And when he found who had taken them; may God have mercy on them because he certainly wouldn’t show them any.
‘Well at least this and the sheep will ingratiate us with those at Saint Xavier’s,’ he continued, handing Liz back the letter and photo.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, idly folding the paper before stuffing it in a pocket. ‘I mean, I get why the sheep might curry us some favour but…’
‘Information, Liz,’ he interrupted. ‘And with that information they can prepare themselves, be on guard, so these kidnappers don’t fool them too.’
Liz nodded her understanding and followed Charlie back to the two carts where Michael and Cam were watching with amusement as Phil struggled to finish sheering one of the sheep.
‘You did say it didn’t have to be pretty?’ said Phil, looking up as he fought to keep one of the ewes between his legs.
‘Well let’s put it this way,’ Charlie chuckled, watching while Phil hacked away at the matted fleece on the sheep’s stomach, ‘it’s a good job you’re bald and never need to style your own hair.’
‘Ha Ha!’ Phil replied, not amused by Charlie’s joke.
Tossing aside a final clump of matted wool, Phil released the uncooperative beast and let it trot over to join its already trimmed sister.
‘Well, now that they’ve both had a haircut,’ began Cam, watching the two sheep hungrily rip up the lush green grass, ‘any ideas just how we’re going to keep them quiet in the cart?’
‘Ah…,’ replied Charlie, scratching the stubble on his chin. ‘Well, I was hoping if we put something over their eyes they’ll be able to keep calm… and more importantly, quiet.’
‘I thought that was for birds?’ said Michael, not sounding very convinced.
‘Well, the blinkers work for the horses,’ added Liz, nodding towards Star. ‘I suppose it might work on a sheep…’
***
As it turned out ‘blinkering’ the ewes, with ironically a pair of long grey woollen socks, did indeed keep them calm and after the initial struggle of getting one of each into the already full carts, they soon settled down. And so they left behind Albert and the small farmhouse that had been both his home and ultimately his tomb and started back on the road across the moors to what they hoped would be their new home and their new beginning.
‘How long till we get to Saint Xavier’s,’ asked Fran, concerned that Carmella, although she was
trying to hide it, was still experiencing intermittent sharp stabbing pains.
‘Hopefully about three or so hours,’ replied Charlie, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Barring any more stops that is…’
‘You don’t think she’s going into labour, do you?’ whispered Cam, unable to stop watching Fran’s every movement while she fussed over Carmella.
Somehow the curve of her neck, the soft line of her jaw, the flurry of her small delicate hands, all these things entranced him as he watched her in the shadows of the cart. It was if each part of her silently called out to him begging for his touch and in reply his hands itched to gratefully oblige. Cam could not understand why he was feeling like this and although it both enthralled and concerned him, most of all it confused him. He had only known Fran for a few days. Yes, they had spoken long into the night after David’s death, their whispered conversations opening doors within doors to each other’s hopes, wishes and fears, yet still she was an enigma to him. He couldn’t say just how had she managed to wriggle her way into his every thought so quickly; but she had. She was a mystery to him, a puzzle box of beautiful hazel eyes, of soft tanned skin and of full lips that he longed to feel against his own. But he could not, or rather would not, allow himself to hope she felt the same way. Even with the age difference put aside, she had just lost her only sister and more than that she had been the one that had to send the wretched shell left behind back into the dark embrace of real death herself. Perhaps in time he could call her friend if he was fortunate but to be more, her lover, her partner, or to even hope she felt a tiny fraction of what he felt for her, this he knew was the stuff of dreams.
‘God, I hope not,’ Fran replied, shrugging her shoulders as her gaze bore into him. ‘This isn’t exactly the most ideal place to have a baby.’
Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead Page 16