Placing his boot against the side of her head for leverage, Kai yanked free the machete lodged deep in her skull, the action sending fragments of bone and a spray of dark rotting brain matter splashing across the road. After using a piece of the now lifeless corpse’s clothing to clean the worst of the gore from his blade, Kai turned back to the woman and her son and tried to think of something to say. His father may have been Thai but spending most of his life in English boarding schools had instilled Kai with the awkward standoffishness that afflicted the British in social situations with strangers. They may as well have been stood alongside each other in a lift or a busy train carriage for all the conversation that came to mind and it wasn’t until either Jane’s or Riley’s stomach made a disturbingly loud growl that Kai thought of what to say to break the tension.
‘W… would you like an a…apple?’
***
Fran’s head spun left and right, desperately searching for the terrified young man and his Dead pursuer but strangely there was no sign of them in the weed choked car park. Either side of her ran a high brick wall enclosing the space on three sides, on her right a small section of it had been reduced to rubble by the bus when it had ploughed through it, while in front of her the car park opened out on to the picturesque dunes and beach beyond. The car park itself was empty of vehicles, apart from the burnt out shell of a small burger stand and unless the young man was hiding amongst its charred remains Fran guessed he must have gone down to the beach. As if to confirm her assumption the sound of a dog barking suddenly drifted up to her through the rolling mounds of sand and tall spiky dune grass; whatever was happening, the animal was clearly distressed about something. Breaking into a run, the loose gravel crunching beneath her boots, Fran took some comfort from the weight of the hefty length metal pipe in her grasp but as she approached the edge of the car park she was even more grateful to hear Tom’s clumping footfalls were not far behind her.
‘Hold up!’ he grunted, sprinting across the car park. ‘Fran, wait for me.’
‘Try and keep up, Granddad!’ she called back to him, noticing the texture of the ground beneath her feet suddenly change from gravel to smooth slipping sand.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following, Fran was surprised to see the figure of an unknown woman entering the cark park behind him, a look of painful determination etched on her face.
‘We’ve got company!’ she called to Tom behind her, doing her best to control her descent down the steep slope of the dune. ‘She’s alive,’ she quickly added as an afterthought, not wanting Tom to misinterpret her meaning.
No matter whom the woman following them was, Fran knew they simply didn’t have time to stop and find out. If the frantic barking of the large dog and the young man’s terrified wailing were anything to go by time they were cutting it fine as it was; she only hoped she wasn’t too late.
‘Petey!’ Fran heard the woman calling from somewhere behind her, as she and Tom finally rounded a large mound of spiky grass at the base of the dunes.
‘This way,’ panted Fran, following the trail of bloody drool in the sand.
Running along the natural gullies and tracks formed between the sandy explosions of green and brown grass, Fran was wary of finding a scene of bloody carnage at every turn but thankfully she eventually slipped down the last sloping hill of golden sand and found herself out on the wide empty beach. For thirty meters or so the golden sand held sway, only finally relinquishing its hold along a tide line choked with seaweed and the flotsam and jetsam that laid sad testament of Man’s ultimate decline. After this natural demarcation the sand gave way to a salt and peppering of brown and grey shingle which led down to the softly lapping waves some forty metres away. For a second Fran was taken aback by the beauty of the seemingly endless ocean spreading out before her but with the barking Alsatian and the sound of something else a lot more terrifying growling in response snapping her back to her dark reality, she shook off her awe and sprang into action.
With Tom close on her heals and the unknown woman just behind him, Fran ran towards the first set of breakers. The thick wooden planks set deep into the sand every fifty metres along the shore were waist height and covered in huge patches of mussels and winkles. On one particular section Fran could see that some of the mussels had been caught on something as it crashed carelessly into them. Their broken shells still dripped with the perpetrator’s dark blood and knowing this most likely belonged to the Dead old man, Fran hurdled over the breaker praying she wasn’t too late.
Two things surprised her as she flew over the blood smeared wood. Firstly that the level of the sand was considerably lower on this side and secondly that despite the young man having some sort of mental disability not only had he managed to find perhaps the one hiding spot on the beach but he had also found it fast enough to save his life.
‘Shit!’ Fran spat, stumbling slightly after falling further than she had expected to.
Grateful not to have twisted her ankle, Fran prepared to make her move. She had been right about the blood on the breaker belonging to the old man’s corpse, for even as she stepped silently behind him while he pounded his bloody and torn fists against the hull of an upturned rowing boat she noticed the dark shards of broken mussel shells lodged in his side. The barking Alsatian, seeming to take comfort in her presence, darted to stand by her side and began a menacing growl deep in its throat as if to show they were now a united front against the wild cadaver.
‘Just don’t get in the way, pooch,’ she muttered, taking a step toward the Dead man.
At the sound of her voice the Dead man’s head snapped round to look at her, the boat and the wailing man hidden beneath it momentarily forgotten.
‘Yeah… you want a taste of me?’ she mumbled, repositioning her length of pipe in her hands as if she was playing a deadly game of baseball.
But before the bloody cadaver had managed to take a step towards her, a dark and lethal shadow suddenly flew overhead, twin arcs of silver flashing menacingly through the air.
‘Christ!’ gasped Fran, throwing herself back against the breaker while Tom landed in a crouch just in front of her.
For a moment the Alsatian by her side did not know what to make of this new arrival but as Tom rose smoothly to his full height, the sickle in his left hand already swinging out in a deadly arc, it somehow knew this man was unlike the other before it; this one smelt right, this one smelt alive.
‘Careful, mutt, ’said Fran, making a quick grab for the dog’s collar as Tom began his wild attack.
Catching the Dead man just under the chin with a back handed swipe, Tom’s blade easily tore through skin, cartilage and tendon but unfortunately due to the awkward angle the strike left the attack just shy of completely removing the head from its shoulders.
‘I know,’ Tom muttered, once again replying to a ghostly conversation only he could hear.
With the corpse’s head now held in place by a few remaining shreds of muscle and skin, the gaping wound caused it to loll nauseatingly to one side but this had little if any effect on the Dead man’s determination to taste the living flesh almost within arm’s reach. And with its compulsion to feed forcing it to move yet even closer, the Dead man reached out with bloody hands, unaware his rightful and permanent demise was imminent.
‘Oh, J…Jesus… Pops!’ came a woman’s shaking voice from somewhere just behind Fran; the words coming broken and distorted as they forced their way past a choked back sob.
Glancing over her shoulder, Fran knew from the wide eyed look of horror spreading across the dark haired woman’s face that she had known and probably cared for the old man before them. It had been a while since Fran herself had been forced to confront the mutilated, yet still moving, corpse of someone she knew but the memory was as fresh, as raw and as horrific as if it had been only moments ago. Fran knew just what thoughts were going through the young woman’s mind; the anger, the fear and the sincere hope that the Dead had no recollection of whom
or what they had once been. To even contemplate that somewhere within these stinking decaying shells, these parodies of humanity brought so low by a nameless cause, that the consciousness still somehow remained, trapped and unable to prevent the horrific acts they committed was truly the stuff of nightmares. Nightmares that every survivor was unfortunately forced to face at one point or another.
With a second swipe of Tom’s blades the old man’s head finally fell, landing with a dull ‘thud’ in the blood splattered sand.
‘I know,’ Fran heard Tom mutter to himself, unable to tear her eyes away from the young woman above her.
‘No, wait!’ the woman suddenly shouted, jumping from the breaker to land beside Fran.
‘Tom!’ Fran warned, hoping to get through to him before in his mania he accidentally mistook the young woman for one of the Dead. ‘Tom, are… are you with me?’
‘What…’ he began to say, visible shaking off the ghosts of his family.
‘P… please, let me,’ the woman interrupted, her tearful gaze drifting to the decapitated head lying in the sand while she stepped past the crumpled body, ‘he was my grandfather, it’s right that I…’
‘Sharon?’ came the young man’s voice from his hiding place under the boat.
‘Stay there, Petey!’ she called out, her eyes flicking briefly to Fran. ‘Stay there just a bit longer, okay?’
‘I…I did what you said, Sharon,’ he replied, his voice echoing slightly from under the wooden hull, ‘I hid well didn’t I… Pops didn’t get me... I’m a good hider.’
‘Yes, Petey!’ she called, slowly kneeling down beside the head that still looked at her with nothing but a wild hunger in its eyes. ‘You…you did real good.’
Letting go of the struggling dog’s collar, Fran let the animal run to Sharon’s side; its frantic barking at last replaced with sad and anxious whining as it sniffed at the headless body near her.
‘I know, Bella… I know,’ Sharon whispered, burying a comforting hand deep in the animal’s fur.
‘Can…can I come out now?’ asked Peter from under the boat.
‘No, just… just stay there a bit longer, Petey… can…can you do that for me?’ she continued, quickly pulling a long thin blade from a strap on her calf.
Using the back of the hand holding the knife, Sharon awkwardly pushed aside a curtain of damp curls from her forehead and tried to find the strength within her to do what she knew she must. Coughing back an uncontrollable sob that threatened to consume her, Sharon visibly shook herself to regain her control once again.
‘I… I’m sorry, Pops,’ she whispered, heavy tears already running down her cheeks as she delicately manoeuvred the snapping head in front of her, ‘and don’t worry I… I forgive you.’
Fran’s brow creased together at the young woman’s odd eulogy but as Sharon plunged the blade deep into the old man’s skull, finally putting him to rest, she saw what she had meant. For there on her arm, previously unnoticed by Fran, was a tear in her jacket sleeve; a tear that clearly exposed a bloody and painful looking wound.
‘Crap,’ Fran muttered under her breath, catching Tom’s concerned gaze as he too noticed Sharon’s arm.
‘What’s your name?’ Sharon suddenly asked, turning to Fran as she stoically wiped away her tears to lean wearily back on her ankles.
‘Fran,’ she answered, her eyes inadvertently flicking back to the bloody wound.
‘Well, I need you to do something for me, Fran,’ Sharon began, grunting as she pushed herself slowly to her feet.
‘You… you want me to,’ Fran interrupted, assuming Sharon wanted her to give her a swift end rather than be dragged inch by inch to a death filled with pain and the terrible certainty of what came next.
‘No, no, it’s not that,’ said Sharon, waving away Fran’s offer. ‘I’m sure Max will happily oblige.’
‘Max?’ asked Fran. ‘You’re traveling with someone else?’
‘Yes… no, look, I doubt we have much time,’ Sharon continued, glancing over Fran’s shoulder at the breaker beyond. ‘They’re bound to have followed me. Look, I need you to look after Petey, Peter, my brother.’
‘Look after him?’ Said Fran, not liking the way this was going.
‘Dave and his family are nice but his brother, Max… Max will make them abandon Peter,’ Sharon continued, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. ‘And Peter, well, he only has the mental ability of a six year old, I… I couldn’t bare to think of him left scared and alone… I … I need to know he’ll be taken care of… please… one way or another… he needs to be taken care of.’
With those last words the young woman’s gaze bore into Fran, each of them knowing what was being left unspoken; if her brother could not be taken somewhere safe then it would be kinder to end his life swiftly rather than let him suffer a brief and terrified existence on his own. Fran looked at Sharon and despite knowing what a truly awful position the doomed woman was in she was simply lost for what to say. There were no words of comfort she could offer this stranger and no reassurances or heartfelt hand-holding was going to make this better, for they both knew nothing was ever going to be better again.
‘I…’ Fran began to say, her mouth opening and closing as she fought to find what to say.
‘We’ll take him with us,’ Tom suddenly said, quite matter-of-factly as if any other option was beyond contemplation. ‘We’re going to an island… it’ll be safe for him there.’
‘Tom,’ sighed Fran, guiltily thinking of how much danger the childlike young man could put them in and instantly hating herself for it.
‘Please, Fran, I,’ Sharon continued, only now allowing herself to cradle her injured arm.
‘There you are!’ interrupted a man’s voice, causing Tom, Fran and Sharon to look back up at the breaker. ‘Did the old geezer get the retard?’
‘Where are the others, Max?’ asked Sharon, ignoring his comment while subtly moving her body to hide her wound from the man’s sight.
As if to answer her, Max turned, put his fingers in his mouth and let a high pitched whistle sound out across the beach behind him. After a brief wave to someone, he turned back to Sharon and her two new acquaintances.
‘And there’s no point trying to hide that,’ he continued, nodding sharply to Sharon’s arm. ‘We all saw the old man bite you before the retard went all spastic and ran off.’
‘Please… please don’t talk about him like that,’ sighed Sharon wirily, her gaze unconsciously drifting to the upturned boat.
‘Whatever,’ shrugged Max, waving away her request as irrelevant before jumping down from the breaker to join her by the boat.
‘Not looking good, Sharon, not good at all,’ he mumbled, roughly grabbing Sharon’s bloody sleeve to examine her wound, causing her to wince painfully.
‘Hey!’ cried Fran, taking an involuntary step forward.
‘Yeah, buddy… not so rough, okay,’ added Tom, coolly crossing his arms, the stern look on his face warning Max not to do it again.
Max just looked at Tom, his eyes slightly narrowing as he took in the measure of the man. Max was in his forties but like so many forced to survive in a time of harsh living he looked a lot older. In fact, with his badly shaved head and rough weathered skin doing little to help soften his appearance, he appeared a good ten years older than he actually was. Watching the way Max reluctantly released Sharon’s arm, Fran could see he was clearly a man used to doing whatever was necessary; for him the end always justified the means no matter how harsh or unsavoury the path to that end may be.
‘Okay… so looks like introductions are in order,’ Max began, ‘I see you and Sharon have already made… friends… well, I’m Max, that pile of flesh in the sand is or rather was... well, I suppose it doesn’t matter who he was now… and… I’m guessing that Peter is… under here,’ with those last words Max gave the hull of the boat a sharp kick, making the young man hidden beneath cry out in fear.
‘For Fuck’s sake, Max!’ Spat Sharon, dropping to
her knees to help her brother out from under the boat.
‘Right, now you know who we are, that leaves the question, who the fuck are you?’ sneered Max, ignoring Sharon as he subconsciously crossed his arms to mirror Tom’s stance.
Surprised at just how heavy the boat was, Sharon was relieved when Fran suddenly appeared next to her to give her a hand.
‘Tom, Fran,’ Tom simply said, nodding over to Fran in reply to Max’s question.
‘Here, let me help,’ said Fran, trying to slip her fingers under the rim of the hull.
‘Must be a strong one, your brother,’ she grunted, shocked that the terrified young man she had seen fly past the cart had manage to flip the boat over on his own.
‘Yeah… must be,’ Sharon replied, a brittle smile on her lips.
‘Petey… Petey, you can come out now,’ she continued, wondering if perhaps he was somehow holding the hull in place, ‘I’ve got some new friends I want you to meet, okay?’
Almost instantly there was a rustling and a scrabbling sound and the young man abruptly popped up on the opposite side of the hull, surprising them all.
‘Boo!’ he shouted, a smile of pure innocence covering his face. ‘I got you, Sharon, I got you Mr Max… made you jump… made you jump!’
‘Petey,’ Sharon sighed, walking briskly round the boat to pull her brother into a fierce embrace while manoeuvring him away from the bloody remains of his grandfather.
Glancing down she noticed a small patch of the sand had been pushed aside, making a tunnel under the hull.
‘Made you jump,’ he repeated a little quieter this time as he smiled gleefully down at the shorter woman in his arms, his previous panic and fear seemingly already forgotten.
‘Yes… yes, you did,’ Sharon softly replied, gently cupping her brother’s face in her hands.
Seeing them standing together, the family resemblance the brother and sister shared was quite striking. Although quite a bit taller than Sharon, Peter had the same prominent cheekbones and full lower lip as his sister as well as the same mop of dark unruly curls that cascaded over a pair of large dark eyes.
Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 5