Lanherne Chronicles (Book 2): Five More Days With The Dead

by Stephen Charlick

  ‘Well, those carts aren’t going to empty themselves,’ said Helen abruptly, standing to give her unspoken support to Patrick’s statement. ‘Chloe, Sarah, you go with Sister Claire and help her move the new livestock into the stables, and Gabe, you help Lars with the horses. They’ll need a good rest and feed before going out again tomorrow. Oh, and see to that cut in Shadow’s flank, cause we don’t want an infection setting in. J-man, Leon, you’re with me. There’s a lot to get off those carts, so the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can get in out of the cold. Sister Josephine, if you could just take Jasmine for a while, we’ll make a start.’

  Handing the gurgling child over to the stunned Mother Superior, Helen looked about at the group of unmoving sad and worry worn faces.

  ‘Come on then, chop, chop,’ she continued, with a clap of her hands to spur people into action. ‘Arses and elbows, people! Let’s get moving!’

  ‘She always like this?’ Phil asked, leaving the Refectory with Patrick at his side.

  ‘Pretty much,’ he replied, with a chuckle.

  ‘Damn, you poor bastard,’ said Phil, laughing as he slapped Patrick on the back.

  ***

  Dr Daniel Morris dropped his glasses down onto the desk in front of him and once again tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes. His eyesight had deteriorated over the last eight years and he could tell from the reoccurring headaches that the prescription of his glasses was now becoming more and more inadequate. He kicked himself that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to ditch the glasses altogether with laser eye surgery when he had the chance but he always been funny about his eyes. Unable even to contemplate the use of contact lenses, the thought of lying there while someone zapped his corneas was quite out of the question. Of course, now that the possibility was likely to be denied from him forever, it was easy to wish for something in hindsight.

  ‘Damn,’ he said quietly to himself, his fingers gingerly touching his bruised and swollen nose where Alice had hit him.

  With only the flickering lights from the various monitors and computer screens in the Med lab for illumination, Dr Morris looked over at the prone form of Alice as she lay shrouded half in shadow. Even with his bad eyesight, he could tell from where he sat that her heart rate and all vital functions were normal for someone in a chemically induced sleep. The procedure on her unborn foetus had all gone smoothly and now within her womb she held the only person on the planet who would hopefully be immune to the Death-walker virus. Of course, this was purely based on hypothesis, examined and extrapolated data and a fair amount of guesswork on their part. Years of their work on the island had culminated into this one moment, this one moment that could bring humanity back from the brink.

  The island base had been built primarily as a safeguard for humanity’s survival against the use of chemical or biological warfare. Housing state of the art equipment, it had been kept up to date with all innovations in both medical and electrical advances since its conception over thirty years ago. As with all Governments though, their motives had not been totally altruistic. It was also to be a tool through which the British Empire could rise again as a major global player, should the worst ever happen. But even the far seeing ‘powers that be’ that had hidden billions of pounds worth of funding in various budgets over the past decades, could not have guessed or been prepared for what the base would finally end up fighting against.

  Since the outbreak, Dr Morris and his team, despite each being experts in their own field had fumbled blindly in the dark for a solution to this plague that had swept across the globe. Years of getting their hopes raised only for them to be dashed had taken its toll on the overworked and stressed scientists. Suicides had been prevalent among those too weak to do what was needed to study the Death-walker plague in its entirety. To take that step into the abyss, beyond old world practices and ethics was more than some could bear. Nevertheless, those made of sterner stuff carried on; knowing to give up was never an option. To simply relinquish man’s superiority and ultimately allow humanity to become nothing but a side note in the evolutionary process was unthinkable. Finally, by chance rather than by design, they had cracked this Chinese puzzle box of a virus, laying bare its genetic contents for them to plunder, mould and manipulate. Through trial and error, they too had engineered their own microscopic deadly assassin. The tide was about to turn in this global battle and Alice’s child was to be the first of its many battlegrounds. So, to be so close to seeing all their work come to fruition should have filled Daniel with elation. He knew he should be excited, anxious or even wary of what was to come but he felt none of these emotions sitting there looking at Alice, with the printout of Dr Farrell’s orders in his hand.

  Pushing himself away from his desk, he threw the printout down and walked slowly over to check on Alice and her unborn child. Watching the small trace line of the foetus’s heartbeat on the monitor, Daniel realised there was one small emotion in the back of his head fighting to be heard over his clinical, logical thoughts. It has been so long since he had allowed himself to acknowledge these thoughts that for a split second he was unable to recognise the feeling at all. Then, as Alice stirred slightly in her sleep, he recognised it for what it was… remorse.

  DAY 4

  Liz slowly moved her neck from left to right, then up and down. Sleeping curled up on the floor of the ice-cream van had not been the most comfortable of experiences, especially now that she was trying to move again. Her muscles protested against the sudden movement, causing Liz to wince as a spasm of pain shot across her shoulders. Rubbing the back of her neck with her hand, Liz sat up.

  During the night, her breath has not only fogged up the van’s windows but the below zero temperature had frozen the water vapour into swirling patterns of wafer thin ice across the glass. For a few minutes, as she tried to bring warmth to her aching muscles, her eyes followed the intricate ebb and flow of the formed ice. Blooming from the bottom of the windows, it had crept steadily upwards during the night until only a small section at the top was now free of this frozen lace. From what little light that managed to penetrate deep into the garage and through the sheets of ice that enclosed her, she could tell it was early morning. Beyond the confines of the van, she could hear Samson stamping his hooves and snorting.

  ‘Either hungry or eager to get moving to warm up his muscles… me too, Samson… me too,’ she thought to herself, using the side of a long defunct freezer to pull herself up off the floor.

  Standing upright, she was just about the right height to see through the section of the windows free from ice. Through this small clear section, she could see out onto the snow-covered driveway outside, the morning sun reflecting off a thousand diamonds of ice.

  ‘Better get going before they get too far ahead again,’ she thought to herself, taking one last stretch to loosen her muscles.

  Reaching for the handle on the back door, Liz suddenly froze, her hand hovering millimetres from the metal bar. Looking down at her slightly shaking fingers, she knew something was wrong. She knew this as a certainty. Yet what exactly was wrong seemed to dance just out of her reach. Something unknown was shouting out to her, demanding that she recognise the warning it held. Then, in a flash, the thought came to her, solid and terrifying.

  ‘The garage door!’

  She had made sure it was pulled to last night so Samson would be out of the wind. It now hung open. Slowly she withdrew her hand away from the handle, her eyes flicking back up to the ice-covered glass once more. Outside the van, Samson snorted again, not with eagerness to go, she now realised, but an eagerness to get away. The difference was obvious now that she knew something was amiss. With her heart pounding in her chest and the surge of adrenalin coursing through her, Liz reached up to place her hand against the thin sheet of ice that had formed on the window of the door. Feeling the cold ice beneath the warmth of her palm, Liz watched as the heat from her body radiated out to melt the thin ice quickly. A single droplet of water formed and began to run down the ic
y pane of glass, a clear path left in its wake. Not wanting to but knowing she must, Liz pulled her hand tentatively away from the glass. With a ‘thud’, a hand instantly rose to fill the clear void she had left.

  ‘No!’ Liz whispered, quickly stepping back to stare at the blackened and rotting hand that had appeared the other side of her handprint.

  Shortly the hand disappeared from view, only to abruptly appear again with a second slap against the window.

  ‘Shit!’ Liz said, knowing now there was at least one of the Dead outside, if not more.

  As the word fell from her lips, another sickening thud came from her right making her jump. This time, the window that would have been the serving hatch, shuddered slightly under the impact from outside. Then another bang came from behind her, as a third set of Dead hands connected with the painted glass. The thing at the door pounded again, determined to gain entrance, determined to get to the live flesh it knew was inside. Already more and more Dead hands were reaching up to join in their assault on the van walls and windows, and soon what had begun with the slap of one hand had become the constant drumming of many. They had also begun to sing their chilling dead chorus, as one by one they let forth their pitiful moans. The van began rocking slightly from the barrage of blows and Liz knew she had to see what she was up against. Taking a breath to calm herself, she stepped closer to the serving hatch and began to use her sleeve to slough away a large section of the ice.

  ‘Fuck!’ she said, her arm stopping mid movement.

  There, focusing their blind filmy stare on her movements at the window, were at least ten of the hungry Dead, all jostling with their brethren to get closer to the van. The Dead, now rewarded with the sight of her living flesh, renewed their attack with a frenzied gusto. They reached up their withered decaying limbs to her, beseeching her to relinquish the warm blood and flesh they forever craved. Liz angled her head against the cold glass so she could peer down the side of the van. She could see that the crowd continued to the rear by the door, where another dozen of the animated corpses clambered against one another to gain entrance. Thankfully, the door opened outwards, so at least the press of their bodies worked in her favour. Their Dead brains could not process the actions of simply stepping back so the door could open and she was grateful for it. Turning her head to look in the other direction, Liz counted another eight of the Dead at the front of the van and from the hammering also from the side opposite the serving window, she realised she was surrounded.

  ‘Shit, Shit, Shit,’ Liz said to herself, nervously rubbing her belly as she tried to come up with a plan that didn’t end up with her and her baby getting eaten alive.

  Liz paced back and forth within the tiny confines of the van, hoping desperately an escape route would suddenly make itself known to her or an inspired plan come to mind. However, neither appeared and Liz knew she was in real trouble this time. For as good as she was with her blade, even she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against so many of the Dead. Even if she hadn’t been pregnant, she simply wouldn’t have been able to attack fast enough before they were on her. With this amount of Dead, it didn’t matter how slow they were, their strength was in their sheer numbers. Liz knew this was a fight she had no hope of winning.

  Looking up, she contemplated the small hatch in the roof. It would be a tight squeeze for her to get through in her current condition and ultimately it would only allow her to be trapped on the roof of the van rather than inside it, but she could use it as a backup plan if things really got bad.

  With the sound of splintering glass, Liz snapped her head to the right, instantly fearing the worst. Sure enough, only able to take the bombardment for so long, one of the windows now had an ominous looking crack rising from the base of its frame. With each Dead fist that connected with it, the crack fractured just a little bit more, until within moments, it was branching out across the pane like a terrifying lightning bolt. Finally, when the window could withstand no more of this abuse,, it shattered with a violent crash, sending large shards of glass skittering across the counter to smash down on the floor below. Reaching automatically for her blade, Liz tried to take a defensive stance in the small galley. However, with the low ceiling and no room for a good swing, she knew she would have to resort to a simple stabbing motion to keep these Dead at bay and so she adjusted the hold on the blade accordingly. Her only consolation now was that with all the windows at shoulder height, the Dead wouldn’t be able to simply clamber in to get her.

  With the glass no longer there to dampen their moans, the cries of the Dead hit her like a wall of fear, washing over her to fill her very soul to the brim. Below her, the Dead jostled and pushed against their cadaverous brothers in their need to push their arms through the broken window. As sure as night followed day, they needed to act out this compulsion, to reach this flesh that promised to quench the burn that filled their very existence. Trying frantically to reach for her, the Dead were oblivious to the wickedly sharp shards ripping and slicing into their decaying flesh. Nothing registered in their rotting brains but the image of the life before them; the life they needed to rip, tear and taste.

  Suddenly, a Dead man, who must have been uncommonly tall in life, managed to get a grip on the lip of the counter with one of his hands and with strength born of his cannibalistic mania, he began to pull his himself up slowly. When he head was level with the window Liz saw her opportunity and thrust her blade forward to rip through a puss-covered eye and into the cranial cavity beyond. Over the moans of the gathered Dead, the crunch of her sword shattering bone was barely audible, but through the metal of her blade, Liz could feel the scrape of bone breaking and brain matter tearing. After a flick of her wrist, she pulled her sword free. With the press of the gathered Dead about him, the tall man’s corpse was briefly held in place. Then, slowly he succumbed to their shoves and jostling and was pushed aside to slump to the ground at their feet. It was then that Liz realised her terrible mistake. Unknowingly, she had provided the Dead with something to stand on and given them that bit more height they needed to be able to hook their filth covered hands on the lip of the counter.

  ‘Fuck,’ Liz said to herself, knowing things were going to get very bad very fast.

  Already two more of the Dead had gained the leverage they needed to pull themselves level with the window and as they pushed against each other to get their heads through the ruined window, Liz knew it was time to act. With only the hatch in the roof offering her a temporary respite, she pulled herself onto the waist high freezer sitting opposite the shattered window. Steadying herself on an overhead cabinet, Liz pulled herself to a standing position and began banging against small hatch in the roof. The continued attack on the van from the Dead caused it to un-expectantly and violently rock to one side, jolting Liz and almost making her lose her balance. Hooking her fingers onto the small lip that ran along the base of the cabinet, Liz only just managed to steady herself in time to see the animated corpse of a man pull himself in as far as his shoulders. Already, he clawed frantically to touch Liz’s feet, which were just barely out of reach, while behind him, others tried to use his back to climb in. The Dead man only had to pull himself in a fraction further to be within touching distance and Liz could feel the panic rising within her. Using this panic to fuel to her attack on the hatch, Liz screamed in rage.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’ she screamed, smashing away at the hatch that hadn’t been opened in at least eight years.

  Glancing down, the Dead man had now pulled most of his upper torso through the broken window and was pawing at her foot with putrid maggot ridden fingers. With a cry, she yanked her foot away from his rancid touch and stamped down hard on his hand. The satisfying crack of his finger bones was lost among the moans of the Dead and her own cries of rage and she returned her attention to the wedged shut hatchway. Suddenly with a bang, the hatch flew open, landing on the outside of the van roof. Reaching up, she frantically latched her fingers onto the rim of the opening and with a kick, launched he
rself towards her only chance to survive. Straining the muscles in her arms and screaming with determination, she pulled herself up towards the opening and hooked an arm out on to the roof. Hearing a thump from below that was surely one of the Dead falling into the van, she kicked her legs wildly for momentum so she could wriggle her head and shoulders through the hatch. Not daring to look down at the Dead that had now advanced their way into the van, she screamed again, desperate to pull herself up onto the roof. Then something cold and unnatural grabbed hold of one of her ankles and with a yank tried to pull her down back to the hungry mouth and horrific death that awaited her and her baby.

  ‘No!’ screamed Liz, kicking her legs, desperate to shake the Dead hand loose. ‘Dear God, no!’

  ***

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Steve looked over at Matt. He was fast asleep with his mouth open, and he was snoring loudly as a result. Steve wished he had his friend’s ability to give into his exhaustion, but despite his sleeping bag, Steve had only been able to get a few hours restless sleep during the cold snowy night. The small tent he shared with Matt had done little to protect them from the sub-zero temperatures and its canvas sides had whipped back and forth in the wind noisily, denying him the rest he so needed. As he had lain awake in the freezing darkness, listening to the howling wind outside, he hoped the brave sword-wielding woman on horseback had found some adequate shelter. As ineffectual as the tent was, he didn’t envy the woman if she was still out in freezing weather like this. He had spent his time awake, trying to formulate a plan where he would be able to spirit away Penny and the others from the holding truck without getting himself or them gunned down in the process. After an hour or so, he realised the only way he would stand any chance of pulling this off was with Matt’s help. Steve knew Matt intended to return to base for his sister, Karen, so he would have to make it look like Matt had been an unwilling participant in the daring escape, which would be more than be tricky. His father had little time for those who failed at their duties and Steve worried the man might take his anger out on Matt. His father’s anger could be deadly in the extreme, so unless he made it look convincing, Matt would be risking his own life to help him.