Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel

by Charlick, Stephen

  ‘I know,’ he answered, briskly cutting her off. ‘Are you still a child of God, Odelia Weaver? Is your soul untainted and still within His realm of creation?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, wincing as she awkwardly pushed herself back to her feet. ‘Yes, I’m… I’m free of the Corruption. But Kasey and Brother Alex,’ she continued, making sure Father Matthew got to see she had not been bitten, ensuring that, in his words, her soul was still untouched, ‘they have fallen, they have become the Corrupt.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Father Matthew, his eyes clouding in anger but just at what she could not tell, ‘I saw them.’

  ‘But how?’ she asked. ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘It does not matter how!’ he barked, causing Odelia to take a wary step backwards, ‘God has found their souls wanting. They are lost to Him now… and to us. They are but shells of death, mere abominations… and will be dealt with as such.’

  Noticing the way Odelia was backing away from him, with barely concealed fear or even mistrust in her eyes, Father Matthew smiled.

  ‘But see… you have been saved,’ he smiled, quickly stepping forward to close the gap between them and place his hands upon her shoulders. ‘God is still with you, Odelia. You are still pure of spirit.’

  ‘Yes, Father Matthew,’ she replied, not for the first time choosing to ignore the madness dancing behind the man’s eyes. ‘I… I was making my way to the Chapel, hoping to find…’

  ‘Strength?’ he completed with a brief nod and knowing smile. ‘As was I.’

  ‘No,’ Odelia thought to herself, although she nodded in agreement, ‘I was looking for some help, you fool.’

  ‘Come,’ he continued, sparing only a brief glance back down the corridor behind them. ‘We shall find His strength together.’

  If Father Matthew saw through her insincerity, Odelia couldn’t tell, but as he placed his arm almost protectively about her shoulders to lead her safely to the Chapel, she at last dared to hope she may live to see yet another day.

  ***

  ‘How long has it been?’ asked Emily Adams, nervously pacing back and forth as she twisted and untwisted a grubby looking tea-towel between her hands.

  ‘They’re going to know we’re in here if you don’t shut up,’ growled Brother John, his voice full of warning and menace.

  ‘My son is out there!’ Emily hissed back, aware the young man had a point yet loath to acknowledge it.

  ‘Well, then you’d better hope he’s with people who know how to keep their mouths shut,’ Brother John replied, his cold stare daring the woman to argue with him.

  When she failed to rise to his baiting, he turned to watch Brother Sam who had slumped to his knees in earnest prayer just in front of the altar. Next to him Ryanne had joined him in his prayers for salvation, her lips moving fervently, only pausing in her devotion to periodically kiss the crucifix clasped tightly in hands. Feeling the level of his irritation only rising at the sight of the deluded woman, Brother John decided to shift his positon in the pew he was currently sitting in to steal a glance at the only other person in the room, Max Harper.

  If he had hoped to observe the newcomer unnoticed, Brother John was about to be sorely disappointed; for even as he surreptitiously looked over at Max he became aware that Max was already staring intently back at him. For a few seconds their eyes locked, each determined not to be the first to look away. This seemed to be a battle of conflicting wills, each man wanting the other to speak yet unsure what words could make the situation any better. Just when Brother John thought he would have to look away, Max’s eyes briefly dropped to the floor, relinquishing something nameless and untangible to the younger man. Then, thoughtfully chewing on his lips like he was thinking of the correct way to phrase something, Max looked up again, took a small step forward and opened his mouth as if to speak.

  ‘Hello! Anyone in there?’ came Father Matthew’s suddenly booming voice from the other side of the barricaded chapel door. ‘Open up in the name of God and the Righteous!’

  ‘Father Matthew!’ gasped Ryanne and Brother Sam almost simultaneously; a choking sob of relief from Ryanne breaking into his name.

  In a flurry of activity, hands grabbed and pulled at the piled up furniture placed in front of the wooden chapel door, freeing it one piece at a time and whatever words Max had intended to say were immediately dismissed, perhaps shelved for another time, as the small group of survivors engrossed themselves in the urgent task at hand.

  ‘Hurry!’ demanded Father Matthew, the scrape of upturned pews urgently being pushed aside by those inside the chapel hardly covering the ominous sound of approaching running footsteps.

  No sooner had the last piece of furniture been moved away than Father Matthew rather unceremoniously shoved Odelia through, sending her popping through the barely open doorway like a slightly startled but eager champagne cork.

  ‘Father…’ Brother Sam started to say, opening the door a little wider before his mentor pushed past him.

  ‘Close it,’ Father Matthew barked urgently, spinning to shut the door behind him.

  Glancing though the quickly diminishing gap, Father Matthew saw a figure suddenly appear further down the corridor. Running towards him at full speed, whoever it was carelessly lost their footing beneath them and as they crashed to the floor in a tumble of limbs, Father Matthew paused, allowing his hope to briefly flare; perhaps one more of his chosen children had found him after all. But what looked back up at Father Matthew, its face a tortured and bloody mess, withered this fragile hope with its cold and brutal reality. There was no doubt just what was pushing itself back onto its feet, desperate to continue in its unholy pursuit and recognising it for what it was, Father Matthew cursed the very presence of this unholy creation.

  ‘Brother Christopher!’ he gasped, his eyes widening in shock as he at last saw the young man beneath the bloody face and torn neck.

  For a split second Father Matthew stood frozen, his mind trying to process the loss of yet another of his chosen acolytes; but then as Brother Christopher’s corpse launched itself back onto its feet with a guttural snarl, he shook himself free, slamming the door in place.

  ‘May God have mercy on your soul,’ he whispered, his forehead resting momentarily against the door just before indicating for the barricade to be replace. ‘Cover it,’ he continued, some of his characteristic righteousness returning. ‘Brother Christopher is lost to us.’

  At the mention of his departed Brother’s name three things happened. Emily paled and abruptly fell to her knees, covering her mouth to choke back her sobs; Ryanne threw herself at Father Matthew wailing uncontrollably and the corpse of Brother Christopher slammed against the door, rattling it worryingly.

  ‘Ryanne! Ryanne, let go!’ said Father Matthew, trying to pry the nigh on hysterical woman’s hands from his robe. ‘We need to re-barricade the door… Ryanne!’

  Behind him Max, Brother Sam and Brother John were frantically pushing the furniture back in place and even though the door could no longer be pushed open it still banged and shook with each of the cadaver’s wild attacks.

  ‘That should hold him… it,’ panted Brother Sam, correcting himself as he referred to the corpse of the young man that had once been his friend. ‘But how did this happen, Father?’ he continued as Father Matthew awkwardly tried to move away from the door while dragging a weeping Ryanne with him. ‘How have these abominations been brought among us?’

  ‘I…’ Father Matthew started to say just as Ryanne threw herself away from him.

  ‘You!’ she spat, spinning to point a shaking finger at Emily. ‘You did this to us!’

  ‘Ryanne?’ said Father Matthew, looking from the wild-eyed woman to a tearful Emily who was slowly shaking her head in denial.

  ‘No, I…’ Emily started to say, surprised by Ryanne’s accusation.

  ‘You think no one saw you, you Harlot!’ Ryanne hissed, disgust and rage dripping from every word. ‘Fucking like animals in the dirt… revelling in your sin
!’

  ‘Ryanne, what are you saying? What…’ Father Matthew tried to ask but she spoke over him; a damn had been broken within her and now nothing would stop her.

  ‘Well, I saw you, you whore!’ Ryanne continued, her voice rising in volume. ‘You spreading your legs for him… you letting him fuck you and you loved it… you both loved it!’

  ‘Ryanne!’ barked Father Matthew to no avail, reaching for the woman as she stepped further away from him.

  ‘Your whoring has damned us all, Emily Adams,’ cried Ryanne, almost shrieking the words in her hysteria. ‘You’ve brought Hell and the Corrupt amongst us with your fucking… you whore, you fucking…’

  Suddenly Odelia stepped directly in front of Ryanne and with a loud ‘crack’, her hand connected with hysterical woman’s face, abruptly shocking her into silence.

  For a moment no one moved or spoke, the only sounds coming from Brother Christopher’s corpse as it repeatedly threw itself against the chapel door and the soft sound of Emily crying.

  ‘Thank you, Odelia,’ said Father Matthew, purposefully stepping past Ryanne to stand in front of Emily. ‘Emily?’ he simply asked.

  But before she could speak there was a sharp scraping noise and the door was jarred opened a fraction more, forcing the furniture barricade behind it further into the room.

  ‘Shit!’ said Max, rushing with Brother Sam to put their weight against the moving pile.

  ‘Well, Emily?’ he continued, his voice cold and demanding. ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘Father Matthew!’ Odelia suddenly gasped.

  Turning to look at her, he instinctively followed the woman’s gaze to the blood covered hands forcing their way through the gap in the door, there were three of them. Apparently Brother Christopher’s corpse was no longer alone.

  ***

  Graham watched in impotent horror as the corpse that had been Brother Alex launched itself down the hallway towards Brother Mark. He saw Brother Mark take a single step back, his lips moving in brief but heart-felt prayer as he prepared to either destroy the corrupt creature that his friend had now become or die trying. Graham knew Brother Mark had sacrificed himself to save him, yet even now as the opportunity to flee presented itself he could not look away, he could not regain control of his feet. Stubbornly they held him in place, his body somehow demanding he witnessed the sacrifice being made on his behalf. With panicky ragged breaths he watched the blood splattered cadaver leap, flying through the air; its outstretched arms ending in bloody claw like hands.

  ‘No!’ Graham managed to wail, the word only just escaping his lips before the corpse barrelled into Brother Mark, knocking him roughly to the ground.

  Brother Mark battling to keep the snapping jaws away from him, quickly found his police training to be of little use against such a foe. With each movement the writhing corpse twisted and fought to make its deadly contact, yet he somehow held his own. But this was a battle he knew he could not win, time was against him. Unlike the savage corpse, eventually he would tire, fatigue would set in and he would slip. In fact he had already felt the sharp biting pain as the skin on his shoulder was pinched between the cadaver’s teeth, his life only being spared this time by the thick fabric of the tunic he wore. Just how many more chances did he have left; how many more minutes of life were allotted to him and how many more would die this day if he did not stop Alex’s corpse from spreading its unholy contagion? Of course he had no idea and even as these thoughts flitted through his mind he held onto the small kernel of relief that he had at least saved Graham; his death would not be in vain.

  Thinking of the young boy, Brother Mark instinctively stole a glance over the cadaver’s moving shoulder, hoping to make sure that the teenager had indeed fled; but Graham still stood there, his fear gluing him to the spot. With a sickening flash of realisation, Mark knew his sacrifice was to be wasted, his life pointlessly thrown away and swiftly followed into death’s embrace by the boy he had been trying to save. Even now, as Alex’s corpse struggled in his grasp, he caught sight of two more figures approaching Graham from behind and in that instant Brother Mark found himself praying not for his own salvation but that the boy would be granted the mercy of a quick death.

  ‘Move!’ shouted Fran, pushing past a stunned Graham with Kai following closely behind her.

  Fran could see the Brother didn’t have much time and in fact it was going to be a close thing if she could reach him before the Dead man finally got lucky and took a bite out of him. But for once Lady Luck was on the side of the living and even as Brother Mark’s hands slid across the corpse’s blood slicked chest, they fortuitously slipped and he found himself with his hands lodged under the creature’s chin, mercifully keeping it just beyond a lethal snapping distance. Fran could see it would only take the cadaver to twist its head a certain direction and Brother Mark would lose his tenuous grip, so ignored the burning in her muscles, she forced herself to close the gap between them.

  Two steps away and the solid length of pipe in her hand was already swinging under-arm through the air; as if she was swinging a tennis racket to return a serve. One step away and, thanks to the pipe increasing the extension of her arm, the tip struck the back of the struggling corpse’s skull, connecting with a wet ‘thud’ just at its base. Although the blow from the pipe sent shards of bone tearing through the creature’s brain, effectively granting it the death it had been denied, it also unfortunately forced the head to jolt violently forward; head-butting Brother Mark and breaking his nose in the process.

  ‘Argh!’ cried Brother Mark, spitting blood as he tried to free himself from under Brother Alex’s body. ‘Christ, I think you broke my nose… Fuck!’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ tutted Fran, grabbing a fistful of the corpse’s tunic to help pull the dead weight off of him.

  ‘Oh, my God, sorry… I’m so sorry,’ Brother Mark suddenly rushed to add, imminently aware that the young woman had just saved his life. ‘You must think I’m a total wanker. Honestly, I’m so sorry… Thank… thank you so much,’ he continued, pausing briefly to clear his mouth of bloody phlegm while at the same time smearing more of it over his face with the back of his hand, turning much of his blonde beard a deep red. ‘You just saved my life and I’m here moaning about my stupid nose.’

  ‘No, problem,’ she replied, glancing casually behind her, relieved to see that Graham had at last regained his ability to move and secretly wondering just what had happened here before her arrival, ‘and I think you’re right, it might be broken... certainly looks it.’

  ‘Small… price… to pay,’ Brother Mark huffed, at last clambering shakily back to his feet, wiping his bloody hands on his trousers as he did so.

  ‘D…did it b...bite you?’ asked Kai, looking the man up and down and wondering if any of the bloody smears hid an injury that had doomed him

  ‘I…’ Brother Mark started to say, pulling aside the neck of his tunic to double check the cadaver’s teeth hadn’t broken the skin of his shoulder,.‘No, I’m okay…by the grace of God, I’m okay. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you.’

  A wave of immense relief crashed over Brother Mark and despite his nose being a bloody mess and his eyes brimming with understandable tears, he broke out into a broad but blood smeared grin; his gratitude to both Fran and his God washing away all other concerns.

  ‘I… I’m sorry, Brother Mark,’ said Graham, his embarrassed and apologetic demeanour suddenly making him appear a lot younger than he actually was. ‘I just couldn’t move… my legs, they just wouldn’t move…’

  ‘Hey, it’s fine, son,’ Brother Mark interrupted, reassuringly slapping the teenager on the shoulder. ‘But,’ he continued, pointing a blood smeared finger to emphasise his point, ‘the next time someone risks their life for you, you bloody take the chance to save yourself… you may not get another.’

  ‘Yes, Brother Mark,’ the teenager replied sheepishly.

  ‘We need to get you to somewhere safe,’ said Fran, looking at the boy and knowing he
would clearly be of no use if they came across more of the Dead, despite his promises. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘The Chapel,’ said Brother Mark, matter-of-factly. ‘Father Matthew said it was to be our bolthole if the worst happened. I’m guessing if there’s anyone else left in the castle untainted by the Corrupt, they’ll be there.’

  ‘Okay…’ she replied, glancing briefly to Kai and hoping when they finally came face to face with Father Matthew he didn’t somehow blame all of this on them; after all, as recent arrivals, they were the only new ingredient in this strange mix of characters. ‘Lead the way… Oh, and here take this,’ she added as an afterthought, slipping a knife from the sheath on her thigh and handing it to Brother Mark.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled, looking at the long serrated blade in his hand and realising he may be shortly forced to use it on one of the very people he had spent the last five years trying to keep safe.

  With a nod from Fran urging him onward, Brother Mark swiftly adjusted his hold on the knife and began to lead the way to the Chapel; while just behind him, Graham, hoping his mother would be one of those already there, followed close on his heels, barely restraining himself from breaking ahead.

  Despite being shown the location of the Chapel earlier that day, Fran and Kai found themselves quickly becoming baffled by the warren of empty corridors and walkways Brother Mark led them down. Turning left and right, they blindly followed him, every step fraught with cautious urgency while each of them tried to ignore the bloody signs that the Dead had at some point also passed this way.

  ‘Is it much further?’ whispered Fran, her nerves rapidly becoming as taught as an over wound clock spring.

  ‘Almost there,’ Brother Mark replied, pausing as they came up to the next turning.

  Holding up his hand so that the others came to a halt behind him, Brother Mark pressed himself against the wall and edged along to the corner. Luckily up until now they had met nothing but picture lined corridors randomly populated by the odd suit of battered armour but Fran knew their luck could not last for ever. So at each turning she patiently waited for Brother Mark to check the way ahead; going through his safety routine step by step. She was just watching while he used the polished metal of his blade like a mirror to see round the corner, when her gaze wandered over to the blood splattered door set in the wall just past her. Whatever had happened here, it was clear to her one of the Dead had been involved. Even without the pools of thick bloody spittle coagulating on the floor by her feet or the flecks of deep crimson splashed randomly up across the walls, the smeared handprints told her all she needed to know; this was a place someone, some Dead someone, had wanted ‘in’.