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

by Stephen Charlick

  When the group had set out from Lanherne early that morning, the first rays of sun had only just begun their struggle to break into the icy darkness of the winter night’s sky. The weak rays had done little to dispel the stillness that seemed to have settled over the convent and to Imran, with the children and more importantly Liz now gone, the life of the building itself had been taken with them leaving it as cold and empty as the snow covered countryside about it. He knew he was not the only one to feel this way. In the faces of all those who had braved the chill of the dawn light to see them off, the ache of loss was obvious. Lars, who had taken care of Penny since those first days, was plainly feeling her absence deeply. He had silently struggled through the pain of his arthritic hands to prepare Delilah for the trip and even when Gabe had offered to help, he had refused, preferring to work though his pain. He was determined to prove wrong the Sergeant who had written him off as a nothing burden.

  ‘He would be of use, he would not be a burden,’ he had told himself over and over again to blot out the pain.

  If this was all he could do to help those given the task of rescuing the stolen members of his extended family, then so be it, he would do it gladly. For that is how he felt about this group of people who found refuge and built a life behind the high walls of Lanherne. They become a family and just like any family, they would fight any way they could for each other.

  ‘Bring them back to us and may God go with you,’ Sister Josephine said to the four men clambering into the cart about to set off.

  ‘We will,’ Imran said, turning back to look at the woman who had opened her Convent doors to them and made had for them all a life worth living.

  As Sister Josephine’s hand rose to encircle the Rosary beads about her neck, she gave Imran a simple nod. She could see it clearly in his expression that these words were not merely empty reassurances. He meant it as a statement of fact. His mind was unable to contemplate any other option. He would return with Liz, Anne and the others and woe betide any who stood in his way.

  Just as Sister Josephine had said, Liz had left for them a trail to follow. For hours, they had been met at each turning or crossroads, by a rag fluttering mournfully in the chill wind, guiding their way. Even without Liz’s tell-tale markers, they could clearly see the route she had taken in pursuit of the convoy. Everywhere, the broken and downed Dead littered the roads, a testament to the passing of Liz’s blade and Samson’s thundering hooves. From the spacing of the fallen Dead, Imran could tell she had thankfully only encountered the walking corpses in their ones and twos as they had pushed their way through hedgerows and onto the road to follow the noisy convoy of vehicles. However, the longer they were on the road following the trail, the more worried Imran became. More than once, a group of dozen shattered Dead, their now finally still bodies dusted with a thick layer of snow, had shown just how close to being overpowered Liz had been.

  ‘More Dead up ahead, quite a lot of them,’ Phil said, looking through the front view slit at the road ahead. ‘From the looks of it they must’ve got onto the road after Liz had already past.’

  ‘Any way we can just get past them?’ Patrick asked, knowing every second counted if they wanted to catch up with Liz, let alone the convoy.

  ‘There’s about forty of them blocking the lane,’ Phil replied, scratching at his stubbly chin ‘I don’t want to risk barrelling through them, not in this snow. We could break a wheel and then we’d really be up shit creek.’

  ‘Well, we can’t afford to stop and deal with them all, we haven’t got time,’ Imran added, his frustration making him snap at his friends.

  Phil turned to look at Imran. He could see the worry consuming the young man. The woman he loved and his unborn child were out there somewhere, alone and unprotected. He needed to get to them.

  ‘Look, if we just clear a path through them, they’ll be following us up behind,’ Phil began.

  ‘But we can outpace them,’ Imran interrupted. ‘We might lose them at a turning.’

  ‘And we might not,’ Phil added calmly.

  ‘We’ve got to try. We’ve got to take that chance, please,’ said Imran, looking from Phil to Patrick to Leon.

  ‘Hey, I’m cool with whatever,’ Leon said to Imran, holding his hands up.

  ‘That ‘whatever’ can get you killed, Leon,’ Phil remarked under his breath, turning back to follow the movement of the Dead crowd in front of them.

  ‘Leon and I would already be dead by now if it you hadn’t taken a chance when you didn’t have to,’ Patrick added. ‘I say we chance it now. We just can’t afford to fall too far behind. If that convoy gets to the coast…’

  Turning his attention back to his three travelling companions, Phil knew he was beaten. As much as he didn’t like leaving behind a large group of the Dead to follow them in their wake, he understood Imran’s urgency. Patrick had been right, if the soldiers did manage to get to the coast, their rescue would be over before it began.

  ‘Well, looks like you’re up then,’ Phil said to Imran, turning back to concentrate on the Dead that shambled along the snow covered road ahead of them. ‘Just take out as many as you can that are walking close together. With a bit of luck, you’ll only need to get about a dozen of them to clear a space wide enough for us to pass.’

  ‘I suggest you take them out in pairs and then duck back down out of sight. The longer you’re visible, the more chance one of them will notice you and start the dinner call,’ Patrick added, grabbing Imran’s arm as he was about to flip open the roof hatch, ‘if that happens and they swamp us, we’ll have a real fight on our hands. I doubt the cart or Delilah could cope with such an onslaught.’

  ‘Right, good thinking,’ Imran said after a pause, silently kicking himself for almost endangering them all with his reckless haste.

  ‘Right, we’re clear sides and back, so unless any of them turn round, this should be like shooting dead fish in a barrel,’ Leon said, once he had checked through some of the cart’s spy holes.

  ‘Here goes,’ Imran whispered, silently opening the roof hatch.

  Holding onto the hatch’s internal bolt, Imran left it to the last second before releasing his grasp, allowing the hatch to be lowered soundlessly onto the outside of the cart’s roof. With a sharp intake of breath to steady himself, Imran slowly stood up through the gap to take his targets. With his feet resting on the wooden benches that ran on either side inside of the cart, Imran’s upper torso, arms and head were now exposed for all the Dead to see. With only the barest of creaks from his bow to compete with the soundless shuffling Dead, Imran pulled back the string. Sighting down the arrow, he marked his first target. Whatever it had once been, the creature had much of the flesh torn from its back by the Dead when it was alive and one of its arms ended abruptly mid-bicep among a tattering of moulding skin and bone. What hair it had left on its head, hanging thin and lank, was matted to the pallid and cracking skin that stretched across its skull.

  With a barely audible thud, Imran’s arrow lodged itself deeply in the back of the Dead thing’s head, knocking the creature forward to fall face down in the trampled down snow. Without a second thought, Imran sighted his aim smoothly to the next walking corpse. This time it had been a woman, her once curvaceous half-naked figure was now tinged a sickly grey and traced with a dark spider web of long dead veins. Imran could see a large chunk of flesh that at some point had been ripped from her thigh. Whether by the attacking Dead or by a pack of wild hungry dogs, he would never know, but the wound was deep enough to expose the yellowing bone beneath as it disappeared into the dark rotting flesh of her leg. Again, an unnatural existence was abruptly ended with Imran’s arrow perfectly hitting its mark. Following Patrick’s advice, Imran quickly ducked back down below the lip of the hatch.

  ‘Any of them turning?’ he whispered to Phil, already reaching behind to pull another arrow from his quiver.

  ‘No, you’re fine. Try to clear a path for us through the middle. Those brambles along the side might be c
overing ditches and I don’t want to risk the wheels,’ he replied, concentrating on the Dead ahead of them.

  ‘Will do,’ said Imran, popping up through the hatch to take aim again.

  For the next ten minutes, Imran would spring up like a silent jack-in-a-box with arrows flying from his bow to put down the Dead in their path. Only once did one of them turn to catch sight of the living flesh he craved, standing unnoticed behind him. His travelling companion in death had knocked into him as she fell to one of Imran’s arrows, spinning him round and alerting him to the presence of the thing he most desired, flesh warm and alive. Imran was just about to pop down from sight when he caught the hungry gaze of the Dead man staring back at him. As if in slow motion, Imran watched the man’s arm rise to reach beseechingly towards him, while a ragged mouth slowly opened, preparing to expel fetid breath over withered vocal cords. Knowing the unearthly sound the Dead man was about to make would act like a dinner call to all his unnatural brethren, Imran knew he had to be stopped. Even as Imran reached swiftly behind, pulling another arrow from his quiver, the Dead man’s film covered eyes bulged in excitement at his presence. It would be close call as to which would be released first, Imran’s arrow or the Dead man’s call of desperation. Thankfully, the Dead man’s moan died in his throat before it could alert any other of the Dead, as Imran’s arrow ripped deeply through a putrid eye socket, to rupture the decaying brain within.

  ‘That was close, man,’ Leon said when Imran dropped back down into the cart.

  ‘Tell me about it!’ Imran replied, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘How many more to clear, Phil?’

  ‘Actually, we should be able to get through now without too much trouble,’ he replied, his voice still only just a whisper, ‘most of what’s left of the main group can be bumped out of the way and further on they’re spaced out enough to not really be any trouble.’

  ‘Suits me,’ said Imran, eager to be on the move again.

  With a quick flick of Delilah’s reins, the cart lurched forward and Delilah began to slowly push her way through the now thinned out crowd ahead of them. Every so often, the cart would jolt to one side as one of the wheels went over one of the many bodies now littering the lane. Inside, the sickening crunch of breaking bones and rupturing putrid intestines could clearly be heard over the softened clip clop of Delilah’s hooves on the stamped down snow.

  When they had cleared the bulk of what was left of the Dead crowd without incident, they could clearly see there were only a dozen or so scattered over the next thirty meters, after which, the lane joined another road.

  ‘Anyone see Liz’s flag?’ Phil asked quietly, as he scanned the roadside bushes and trees.

  ‘There,’ Patrick whispered, pointing over Phil’s shoulder to a fluttering piece of white cloth tied to an overhanging tree branch. ‘Looks like we’re meant to take the right turn.’

  An hour later, they were still religiously following Liz’s trail winding through the Cornish countryside. At each corner they turned, all in the cart hoped there would be some indication from Liz that they were nearing their goal but each time they were only met with more of the shambling Dead drawn to the road by a noisy convoy that promised to sate their need to feed on the flesh of the living. Steering Delilah round a particularly large pothole that even the covering of snow could not disguise, Phil pulled the cart to a stop.

  ‘What’s up?’ Leon asked, pushing himself forward to look at the road ahead.

  ‘There’s another large group of the Dead up ahead,’ Phil replied, looking back at the other three men. ‘Luckily, the road’s a bit wider here, so we can pass them without stopping this time but keep quiet, okay.’

  The three men nodded silently their understanding and Phil turned to urged Delilah back into motion. Looking through one of the spy holes, Imran idly watched the Dead as Delilah pulled the cart along the road. One sorry case after another stumbled into view and then they were lost again as Delilah pulled them onward further down the road. Imran saw small children and teenagers, their lives brutally ripped away from them by Dead hands and teeth, and men and women who had fought valiantly only to succumb later to the unnatural appetite of their fellow man. Finally, there were those so badly damaged that not only were it difficult to tell which sex they had once been, but for many in their current state, their very species was barely recognisable.

  They were just pulling through a section of the road where the Dead group were at their most concentrated and something puzzling caught Imran’s attention. For some reason, the Dead here were jostling and pushing against each other to move up a small driveway that led to a dilapidated cottage and even from the cart, Imran could faintly hear their excited moaning. Imran ‘tutted’ to himself as one of the Dead briefly walked in front of the spy hole, blocking his view. Something wasn’t right here. Something had the Dead riled up and there was only one thing Imran knew that could catch their interest like this. Reaching forward, Imran silently placed his hand on Phil’s shoulder. Puzzled, Phil slowly turned to look at him and in the instant that their eyes locked, they heard a familiar voice screaming in rage and horror.

  ‘Oh God, no!’

  ‘Liz!’ Imran said. His voice was a shocked whisper filled with despair, as an icy fear froze his blood.

  ‘Imran, no!’ Phil said, making a grab for the young man’s hand.

  However, Imran was already moving, kicking open one of the side hatches, his need to save Liz blinding him to the danger that awaited him.

  ‘No, there’s too many… Imran!’ Patrick called, trying to reach for Imran’s fleeing body.

  Outside the safety of the cart, his life hung in the balance and Imran knew it, but the danger wouldn’t stop him from acting. All that consumed his thoughts was to save Liz from the Dead. No matter what happened, he had to save her. One of the Dead that had been close to the cart turned to face the living flesh that had suddenly appeared beside it. Excited by the possibility of feasting on something warm, it reached pathetically for Imran with its emaciated claw like hands. Giving the Dead thing a shove, Imran ran forward towards the driveway. Instantly, more of the Dead began to turn to see the live meal that had unexpectedly arrived among them.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’ Imran shouted, waving his arms at the gathered Dead, trying to force their way into the garage. ‘Come and get me, you bags of shit! Come on! Come on!’

  Even in his panicked state, Imran knew he had to clear some of the Dead from the garage doorway if the others were to stand a chance of saving her. If he had to sacrifice himself for Liz and the baby, so be it. First, he would draw as many of them away as he could. Already a large proportion of the Dead had turned and begun to shuffle their way back down the driveway towards him. The closer proximity of the meal that they could see made them forget the one that caught the attention of those already in the garage.

  ‘I’ll lead them down the road!’ Imran shouted to the cart, running back down the driveway, dodging the Dead arms that were already reaching for him. ‘Save her!’

  Inside the garage, Liz screamed again and kicked wildly at the Dead hands that threatened to pull her leg down to the hungry mouths that awaited her. With a crack, she heard cartilage and bone break beneath her, as her boot connecting forcefully with the nose of one of the taller Dead trying to pull her down.

  ‘Save her!’ A shout suddenly came from outside.

  ‘Imran!’ she said choking back a sob, as tears of shock, fear and exhaustion filled her eyes.

  With the sound of his voice, a kernel of hope blossomed within her, somehow giving her the strength she needed. With another hard kick and a twist of her leg, she felt the force pulling on her lessen, as one by one, Dead hands lost their hold of her. With Imran and the others so close, Liz was determined that neither her nor her baby would not fall victim to the corpses below her and with one final frantic kick fuelled by a scream of pure maternal protection, Liz felt the last of the Dead fingers slip from her ankle. Instantly, she pulled her bruised leg up through the skyli
ght. Finally, now out of their reach, Liz collapsed, panting on the roof of the small ice-cream van and allowed her tears of relief to fall freely. To come so close to death wasn’t by far a new thing for her. After all, she had survived for eight years, dodging death and the Dead alike, but it was her unborn child that gave her a new perspective on the horror surrounding her. Only now could she really understand just what her mother had been feeling, all those years ago, when she had sacrificed herself to ensure the survival of her two daughters.

  Suddenly, coming from just outside the garage door was Phil’s familiar war cry. Lifting herself up on one elbow, she turned to the sound that offered her and her child a promise of hope. Already, she could hear the shattering of bone as the Dead fell to Phil’s wild attack. Then, without warning, the emaciated body of Dead woman flew through the air, and into the garage. Phil physically picked up her snapping corpse and threw her into the backs of the Dead still gathered around the van, her impact knocking many of them to the ground.

  ‘Liz!’ shouted Phil, running into the garage, swinging a spiked club left and right at the Dead, while Patrick and Leon followed close on his heels.

  ‘Up here!’ she called, using one of the low rafters to pull herself up into a standing position.

  Liz had never been so happy to see Phil’s large bulky form smashing his way through the Dead but she could see there were still over a dozen hungry corpses to deal with before she could truly believe she had escaped death so narrowly. Below her, the Dead started to turn away their reaching hands and snapping jaws from the sight of Liz’s flesh. Mere moments ago it was the total focus of their desperate hunger but now, closer, easier to reach meat was within their grasp. Unfortunately, for the Dead the knives flew and the clubs crashed mercilessly into skulls and one by one, they fell. The flesh they so desired to be forever denied them.

  ‘There’s at least three of them still in the van,’ Liz called down to her saviours, as the last of the Dead fell.