‘How’s your nose?’ she simply asked, unwilling to let him know she was unnerved.
‘Fine,’ he replied, the faintest smile twitching at his lips promising cruel retribution.
‘Well perhaps you’ll think twice about putting your hands on me next time,’ she continued, striding away before she could hear his mumbled reply.
She would have to watch Max Harper, he had already helped drop Tom in a barrel load of trouble and given half the chance she knew he would be happy to see her follow; whatever was going on here, one thing was certain, she couldn’t count on him volunteering any help to clear Tom’s name. Far from it.
‘How many are we expecting to find,’ she whispered to Brother Sam, as they eventually edged round the corner of the first cottage.
‘Oh, erm… hopefully around twenty,’ he whispered in reply, mentally removing those he knew to be left in the castle from his calculation. ‘Oh, dear God!’ he suddenly gasped, crossing himself as he unexpectedly confronted with the bloody corpses of the Dead woman and young boy that Fran had dispatched earlier; a pair of seagulls happily gulping down gobbets of their flesh while another three circled above them about to come into land. ‘Looks like you’d better make that eighteen.’ He continued, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Sorry,’ said Fran, glancing over at Father Matthew as he looked a little more disapprovingly over at the two bodies; somewhere a dog was barking, ‘I forgot… I should have warned you, I…’
‘No matter,’ Father Matthew interrupted, barely giving the brutalised child at his feet a second glance, ‘it is the living we concern ourselves with.’
‘Hmm,’ she softly replied, her mind reluctant to marry the image of the cocky young child she had briefly met earlier that day with the blood splattered corpse she had consigned to the oblivion of true death, ‘yeah, I know, you said.’
If Father Matthew was aware of the disdain in her voice he gave no of show it and instead he moved to stand in middle of the cobbled lane, looking along the row of small cottages either side of him.
‘Hello!’ he shouted, his booming voice startling the gulls into screeching flight to join their equally put out friends.
‘Father Matthew!’ Fran hissed, noticing out the corner of her eye that even Max balked at the man’s recklessness; after all they still had at least eighteen people unaccounted for and that could mean a lot of hungry corpses about to come their way.
Waving away her concern, he called again.
‘In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, come out… come out and be saved!’ his bellowing almost drowning out the displeasure of the swooping gulls overhead.
No sooner had the words left his lips than the click of latches and bolts being drawn across could be heard. First one door was opened, and then another and another. Tentative at first, the frightened and hesitant occupants only risked the smallest of chinks in their defences. Uneasy and unwilling to be the first to venture forth they held back, peering out through the narrowest of cracks, too fearful of what lie beyond the safety of their homes to leave. But then a middle aged woman, scared and alone in one of the cottages furthest from the group, caught sight of Father Matthew and with his very presence giving her the courage she needed, she flung open her door and rushed out.
‘Father!’ she wailed, running towards the group, her face wet with frantic tears. ‘The Corrupt Father… I saw them… Dear God, Father, I saw them claim some of our own. How can this be?’ she continued, weeping as she clung onto his robe, almost collapsing under the weight of her own hysteria. ‘How… how have we failed Him?’
Like a dam breaking, the other survivors took strength from the woman’s courage and one by one the doors began to be pulled open, spilling forth the frightened occupants, eager to bathe in the glory of their messiah-like leader.
‘Catherine… Catherine,’ soothed Father Matthew, holding the woman up by her elbows, trying to calm her down. ‘We have not failed Him… You have not failed Him, you are still held within His heart.’
‘Truly?’ the woman begged, a shaking hand covering her mouth.
‘Truly,’ he confirmed, the strength of his conviction visibly calming her.
By now the other survivors had started to crowd around Father Matthew, jostling and pressing against each other, keen to get as close to the man as they could; each determined to have his gaze fall upon them to quell their fears.
‘Jesus!’ thought Fran, when she saw one of them actually fall to their knees and reverently kiss the hem of his robe. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
And with that she knew no matter what deal she had made, she could not stay here, not with these people.
‘Father Matthew!’ she prompted, having to raise her voice over the weeping and worried chatter of the crowd. ‘Father, we need to move on… we need to check the rest of the island.’
Glancing at her, Father Matthew nodded but then was almost immediately drawn back again by another of his community hoping to have a brief audience with their ‘rock star’ like saviour.
‘People, People!’ said Father Matthew, holding his arms open as he tried to hush the jostling crowd around him. ‘Please, the newest addition to our family is correct, there are still others to check on, others that may need our help…’ at this a few of the women and children cried out, begging him not to leave them but he continued. ‘Fear not, God’s grace is with you and let His love be as your shield against the damned. I assure you, once we are certain none of the Corrupt still walk upon our sacred isle, we shall gather and offer up our prayers to Him… but for now I ask you to return to your homes and wait for our word. So, please…’
With his hands he encouraged them to move and just like the dutiful acolytes they were, they did as requested; if a little reluctantly. Fran watched them slowly begin to depart and it occurred to her that even though they had sprung forth from their cottages in ones and twos, they now returned in larger groups; joining together only now when they were absolutely sure their friends and neighbours were free of the Corruption.
‘So much for community spirit,’ she thought watching the last of the crowd disappear behind a peeling front door.
‘Shall we?’ said Father Matthew, gesturing with his hand, offering her to lead them.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, giving him a wary sideways glance as she stepped past him, her crowbar resting against her shoulder.
Unlike her journey to the castle earlier, this time as they walked to the end of the cobbled lane she saw the wooden shutters had been flung open, revealing devotional faces squashing themselves up against the small panes of glass; each eager to catch one final glimpse of their spiritual leader as he passed by.
‘Father,’ said Brother Sam, an anxious look on his face as he abruptly paused by the door of the one of the cottages towards the end of the lane.
‘Brother?’ he replied, turning to the devout young man with dark brooding features.
It was only as he spoke that he noticed the sound of a dog barking coming from the other side of the closed door; the dog did not sound happy.
‘Ah,’ Father Matthew continued, glancing at Fran, ‘I think not everyone here has been left untouched by the passing of darkness.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Fran, stepping around Brother Sam to press her face against the small gap between the closed shutters, hoping to see something of the building’s shadowy interior.
‘Frank White,’ sighed Father Matthew, shaking his head like he was chastising a naughty child. ‘I prayed he would accept the Lord as his savour.’
‘The Lord or you?’ Fran instantly thought to herself but made sure she said nothing and kept her face neutral.
‘And now, from the sound old Jack is making,’ he continued, the fingertips of his hand resting gingerly on the peeling surface of the closed door, ‘I fear it is too late… he is lost to us and to God.’
‘He may have just fallen down,’ suggested Fran, remembering the friendly but somewhat frail looking old
man and his dog from earlier in the day. ‘Perhaps he’s just hurt and the dog is raising the alarm?’
Although she hoped it to be the case, Fran knew she was clutching at straws and the look Father Matthew gave her told her as much. It was far more likely that the old man had been bitten, somehow escaped his attacker and then had managed to get back home, shutting himself inside.
‘Well, we need to check, either way,’ continued Fran, allowing her crowbar to slip from her shoulder as she studied the outside of the cottage for a way in.
‘Why can’t we just leave him in there?’ offered Max, with a shrug. ‘If he could’ve got out, he would’ve by now… I say we leave him. He’ll be too fresh right now, anyway, far too frisky… let him wind down a bit, wait until he becomes slower and we can deal with him then.’
‘And what if he does get free?’ said Fran. ‘What then? No I think we should deal with him now... it’s not right, anyway, we need to put the old man out of his misery.’
‘What an odd thing to say,’ mused Father Matthew, looking quizzically at Fran; clearly bemused by her sympathy for the Corrupt. ‘But I agree, this stain on St Michael’s Mount cannot be condoned to remain, not even for a few hours… we must deal with it now. Brother John, Brother Sam,’ he continued, drawing the two men over with a flick of his fingers, ‘charge the door… break it down.’
‘Yes, Father,’ the two men replied, although Brother John seem decidedly less keen to oblige than his fellow acolyte.
‘No, wait!’ said Max, grabbing hold of Brother John’s elbow to pull him back. ‘I’ll do it. I…,’ he continued, seemingly rushing to explain himself. ‘I’ve got more weight behind me than you… we don’t want to be here all day, now do we?’
Brother John, looked at the hand latched onto his arm and then with the smallest of nods, stepped aside allowing Max to take his place by Brother Sam.
‘Make sure you brace yourself,’ said Brother John, his words somewhat distant and confused. ‘You don’t want to put your shoulder out.’
‘No, you’re right, I don’t,’ Max replied, a smile momentarily twitching at his lips. ‘You ready?’ he continued, looking back at Fran to make sure she would follow close on their heels.
‘Yeah… let’s get this done,’ she slowly said, her eyes narrowing, a little unsure of what had just happened but ready nonetheless.
‘One, two…’ Max counted aloud, as he and Brother Sam stood next to each other preparing to shoulder the door down.
On the count of three the two men rushed forward, smashing into it with such force that the old wood literally splintered off around the hinges, causing the door to collapse inward. With their momentum carrying them both onward into the cottage, Max and Brother Sam tumbled in after the door; collapsing in a tangle of limbs on the tiled kitchen floor.
‘Heads up!’ called Fran, leaping over the two men as they scrambled to get to their feet, fearful one of the Dead was about to attack.
Almost immediately the sound of Jack’s barking stopping and as she moved, out of the corner of her eye, Fran saw a black and white shadow speeding past her, making a beeline for the now open doorway.
‘Oh, great,’ she thought, her head turning to look in the direction the scared animal had fled from. ‘That doesn’t bode well.’
Sure enough, standing by the kitchen range and already reaching out for her, begging for a taste of flesh, was Frank White; he was dead.
‘Damn,’ she thought, swinging the crowbar behind her, ready to strike the killing blow.
But then she noticed something, something just didn’t look right in the kitchen and whatever it was it irritated her enough to pause.
‘What the fuck are you doing!’ hissed Max, looking incredulously from Fran to Frank White’s growling corpse.
And then in an instant she knew what was wrong. It was Frank, or rather his cadaver, despite its arms reaching out to them, it hadn’t actually moved from its original spot by the stove.
‘Hang on a minute,’ she said, ignoring Max’s agitation to slowly edge around the small room, keeping the kitchen table between her and the Dead man at all times. ‘I just want to check something.’
With a sudden abundance of flesh to choose from, Frank’s corpse didn’t know which way to turn. In fact, if the whole situation hadn’t been so tragic it may have been comical; the way it first reached for Fran, only to then change its mind and go for Max and Sam, and then finally return its hungry attention back to Fran again.
‘Thought so,’ she at last said, dropping down into a crouch and seeing a rope; one end having been threaded through part of the heavy range while the other was wrapped tightly around one of the corpse’s ankles. ‘Looks like Frank tied himself to the range before he died so he couldn’t hurt anyone else… But… I… I can’t see any bites or wounds on him,’ she continued, studying the agitated cadaver, looking for the source of his demise, ‘I can only guess he must have been having a heart attack or something and rather than risk it he sacrificed himself… the poor man.’
‘Yeah, well, now he’s just another corpse waiting to be put down,’ grumbled Max, pushing past a forlorn looking Brother Sam, to go back outside.
‘You’re all heart,’ called Fran, knowing that despite his phrasing, Max was essentially right; whatever had made up Frank White as a person was no longer there in the room with them.
‘Will you help me move this table over,’ she said to Brother Sam, placing her crowbar down, taking one end and gesturing with a nod to the other.
‘Sure… yes, of course,’ Brother Sam Corrupt quickly replied, eager to focus his attention on something other than Frank’s shell.
‘I just need to get a bit more room in front of him,’ she continued, grunting from the effort as the two of them lifted the heavy kitchen table and with shuffling steps moved it out of the way.
Once she was satisfied there was ample room for her to do what needed to be done, she indicated for Brother Sam to drop his end of the table.
‘You can go outside if you like,’ she suggested, noticing the way the young man’s dark eyes kept returning to Frank. ‘You knew Frank, you don’t need to see this.’
‘Father Matthew says the Corrupt brought their fate upon them with their own failings,’ he said, nervously looking over at the growling corpse, straining against its self-imposed restraints. ‘It is God’s will.’
‘Look,’ she continued, retrieving her crowbar from the table top, ‘what you believe is your business, I’m just saying you don’t need to be here if you don’t want to.’
Brother Sam looked at her, his large dark eyes holding a strange sadness in them. She knew he had seen and done terrible things in the name of his God and despite his belief that it had been divinely commanded, she could see it haunted him.
‘Just go,’ she finally said, sparing him one more horror to stalk his dreams. ‘I’ll be done with Frank in a moment… go and see if Jack’s okay.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied, the words barely a whisper as he glanced one final time at Frank’s cadaver, reverently crossed himself and then left; gingerly clambering over the fallen and splintered door on his way out.
‘Just you and me now,’ she thought, a sad smile on her lips as she stepped closer to the growling creature. ‘You knew you were dying but you sacrificed yourself,’ she continued, this time speaking aloud. ‘You put others first. You know, you’re a rare breed Mr White… and it’s a pity there aren’t more like you left.’
As those words fell from her lips, she darted under his out stretched arms, the crowbar already swinging, her exact point of attack instinctively chosen. With a nauseating ‘snap’, the left kneecap shattered under the impact of the metal bar, sending Frank’s cadaver tumbling to the floor and then, seeing an opportunity to end it quickly, Fran used the momentum of her initial swing to twist and slam the other end into the side of the Dead man’s skull. With a judder reverberating through the metal in her hands, she felt the tip scrape past broken bone until the tension subs
ided and it was ripping its way through the softer and more vital tissue of the brain.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, looking down at Frank’s motionless body, the crowbar still lodged in his skull distorting the side of his face.
After a sharp tug and a rather unpleasant sucking sound, Fran pulled the bar free; sending a spray of brain matter and gore splashing across the back of her hands.
‘Great!’ she thought, reaching for a somewhat grubby looking tea towel looped over the oven door to wipe herself and then her weapon clean.
‘Are you done?’ said Father Matthew, suddenly appearing in the doorway and seemingly making a point to barely spare a glance at the old man’s body.
Fran inwardly bristled at the man’s irritated tone and looking at him, she purposefully waited until she was satisfied that she had removed all of the gore from her hands and respectfully placed the towel over Frank’s ruined face until she spoke.
‘Yes, Father Matthew,’ she said, pushing herself up from her knees to walk to the doorway, ‘I’m done.’
Once Father Matthew had stepped aside to let her pass, she noticed Jack lying at Brother Sam’s feet, his head resting on his paws as he looked forlornly up at her.
‘Do you know if he follows commands well? I mean, from one of us…’ she asked Brother Sam, about to bend down to give the sad dog a reassuring pat until she realised her hands would still smell of his former owner’s blood. ‘If not we’ll have to find him a lead or shut him in somewhere.’
‘Oh, old Jack’s okay,’ said Brother Sam, the dog at his feet lifting his head slightly at the sound of his name. ‘He’ll do as we say… we won’t need a lead. He was just spooked by…’ he continued, feeling as though he had to justify the animal’s previous behaviour. ‘Well, you know.’
Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 31