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

by Charlick, Stephen

  With a fierce growl Bella leapt at Dave, her snapping jaws latching onto his arm.

  ‘Bella!’ shouted Peter, rushing forward, his cries battling with Dave’s, but Fran knew it was already too late.

  For as Dave reacted to the large Alsatian barrelling into him, he was knocked backwards and the pair suddenly vanished from sight in a tumble of snapping fur and waving limbs.

  ‘No!’ cried Fran, as Dave and Bella disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

  Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Fran simply stood her mouth agape and stared at the empty spot where Dave had stood moments ago. It was only when she registered the pitiful high pitched wailing coming from behind her that her attention snapped back to what was happening and as she turned her head to look, she was shocked to see Peter was still running forward.

  ‘Peter, no!’ she screamed, throwing herself in his path before he could follow Bella and Dave over the edge of the cliff to the wave beaten rocks below.

  ‘Bella!’ yelled Peter, his pain, sorrow and loss almost more than Fran could bear as she struggled to pull him to the ground. ‘I want Bella! Save her Fran, save Bella. Please! I’ll be good, please save her, please! I promise… Please!’

  ‘Oh, Peter,’ said Fran, her heart breaking for the man with the innocence and mind of a child while he continued to fight to get to the cliff edge and the dog he loved. ‘I can’t, she’s gone… I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s not fair, I want Bella,’ he repeated, his heavy tears falling as his struggling continued, ‘I want her… please, it’s not fair, Bella, it’s not fair.’

  ‘I know, Peter, I know,’ soothed Fran, pulling him to her in a fierce hug as his words broke and deteriorated into full on weeping, ‘shush, shush… I know… I know.’

  And as Peter gave himself over to his loss, finally accepting it for what it was, Fran felt his struggling against her slowly begin to wane and then within moments he was actively clinging to her for support; weeping with the pure heart-wrenching expression of pain and grief that only a child can show.

  Just then a mound of black and white fur appeared through the tall grass and plonked itself wearily down beside Peter, resting its snout on his hip to look up at him with sad ice blue eyes.

  ‘It’s alright, Peter, it’s okay,’ she whispered, gently stroking the back of his head, a sad smile at her lips as she saw one of his hands instinctively reach out to bury itself in Jack’s thick fur. ‘Everything’s going to be alright.’

  When eventually Peter’s sobbing became little more than silent tears punctuated with sharp ragged breaths, Fran released herself from his arms and went to check on Riley. Apart from being a little pale, his pulse was reassuringly steady and he appeared, to all intense and purposes, to be in a very deep sleep. But then as her gaze flitted over to the bottle marked ‘Sleep of the Righteous’ she found herself looking back at him, her brow suddenly creasing with sympathy and she found herself thinking,

  ‘The real world’s waiting for you, Riley, I’m sorry but you’ll have to wake up to it soon enough… we all do.’

  ***

  ‘It truly was a blessing that God sent you to us,’ said Father Matthew, taking the bowl of steaming soup from Fran. ‘You have reminded me there is honour in humility… for I was wrong about Brother John and Max but my pride wouldn’t let me see it… not until you routed out the true harbinger of evil… I would have done God a great disservice by wrongly punishing these two men and I thank you for stopping me.’

  ‘A disservice!’ Fran thought to herself but simply nodded her appreciation of his strangely worded thanks and handed the next bowl on her tray to Brother Gregory. ‘I doubt Max and his son would have dismissed it so flippantly.’

  Thinking of the recently reacquainted father and son, Fran looked towards the end of the long refectory table where the two men sat together in quiet conversation. It seemed that although Brother John had harboured years of built up resentment for his father, being nearly burned alive with him had given him a new perspective on the whole sorry affair and it appeared he was at least trying to meet Max half way; especially now that Father Matthew had given Max leave to stay on the island with his son. Of course both Max and Jane had been shocked to learn that it was in fact Dave that had orchestrated the killings on St Michael’s Mount; although Fran suspected each of them was appalled for quite different reasons. Jane had admitted to Fran that Brandon had indeed raped her while she had been doing a night course at Bournemouth University and that yes, Riley was born as a result of the attack. Apparently she had planned to give him up for adoption but no sooner had she given birth and seen him than she knew she could no more give up breathing than part with her baby. As for Dave, they had met four months into her pregnancy and not only had he always assured her that he supported her decision to keep the child but for the last nine years he had played the role of a loving father with such conviction that she had believed that’s what he was. Just what had caused Dave to snap, they would never know for sure. Perhaps it was meeting his wife’s attacker face to face after all these years or living among death and the Dead for the last five years had simply eroded his sanity piece by piece until there was nothing left; but no matter the reason, one thing was certain, he had loved Jane, love her with such totality that when the situation arose, he had lost all reason to it.

  ‘And you’re sure Tom still can’t stay?’ she asked Father Matthew, placing another bowl on the table. ‘You’re going to need strong men… men that can help you rebuild, men that can fight when needed to.’

  ‘Father Matthew has already told you…’ Brother Gregory started to say until Father Matthew held up his hand silencing him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Fran,’ he said, taking a mouthful of his soup, ‘it is not in my power to grant permission or deny it… God has decreed it so.’

  ‘But…’ Fran started to say, until Father Matthew spoke over her.

  ‘As I said from the beginning, he arrived with the tide, he shall leave with it,’ he continued, shaking his head sympathetically as if he understood her disappointment but could do nothing about it. ‘I believe he is seeing to the horse right now… after the meal you will have about an hour to say your goodbyes… and then he must leave.’

  Fran solemnly placed the last bowl on the table in front of Brother Sam and after he nodded to her in thanks, she walked over to place the empty tray on the sideboard, ready to take the bowls back to the kitchen when they were empty.

  ‘And Kai, you will be staying with us too?’ asked Father Matthew, looking over at Kai poking disinterestedly at the mound of scrambled eggs on his plate.

  ‘Y… Yes, Father Matthew,’ he replied, with a resigned nod, at last taking an unenthusiastic mouthful of the food.

  ‘Good, good,’ smiled Father Matthew, spooning up more of the soup from his bowl. ‘Very good indeed.’

  ***

  Epilogue:

  Father Matthew’s hand twitched, the fingers slowly flexing independently but then as one they encircled about the handle of spoon, tightening in on themselves until his hand shook and his knuckles turned white from the effort; and then they relaxed.

  Somewhere something was banging and the sound of muffled voices danced in and out of his consciousness, demanding an understanding or recognition that Father Matthew was simply unable to give. And then his darkness was broken, a shard of light showing figures moving back and forth briefly appearing only to disappear again as blackness claimed him once more; and still the banging continued.

  Time passed and all he knew was the darkness, smothering his thoughts with its icy coldness as he fought to remember who he was.

  And then the light returned, dim but definable against what had come before and again it brought with it the sound. The rhythmic pounding was with him once more, crashing like a sledgehammer through his fragile mind and with each blow his mind shook. Yet he endured the pain, endured the sharp stab between his temples that came with each low resonating thud; for
with the pain came the realisation that he was alive. Soon shapes and sounds slowly regained their clarity, their edges and definition emerging forth from a blurred reality, piece by piece and then with his eyes blinking he was back. Father Matthew knew he who was, he could feel the cool wood of the refectory tabletop beneath his cheek and even the sticky drool that had pooled there.

  ‘W…what…’ he heard himself rasp, his voice dry and fragile.

  ‘He’s awake,’ said a voice.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ said another voice, as a face loomed in Father Matthew’s field of vision, a face he recognised.

  ‘Brother…’ he croaked, blinking away the last of his confusion. ‘Brother Gregory… what…what’s happened.’

  As he spoke he went to lift his face from the table and immediately regretted it.

  ‘Arrghh,’ he groaned, his hand going to his pounding forehead, as if simply holding his head still would ease the shooting pain.

  It was then that he realised that the pounding wasn’t confined to inside his head, someone was banging loudly against the door.

  ‘She drugged us, Father,’ Brother Gregory replied, guiding Father Matthew’s free hand to a cup of water. ‘Here, drink this.’

  ‘Drugged us?’ said Father Matthew, slowly moving the cup to his lips to moisten his dry mouth. ‘What are you talking about Gregory… who drugged us?’

  ‘Fran,’ Brother Gregory, simply replied. ‘It was Fran, she drugged the soup.’

  ‘Fran?’ said Father Matthew, downing the cup of water in one go, his anger beginning to rise. ‘What do you mean Fran drugged the soup? And if whoever’s making that noise doesn’t stop…’ he suddenly shouted, the flare of pain in his temples making him instantly regret it. ‘I’m going to rip their bloody arms off!’

  ‘Sorry, Father,’ said Brother Mark, immediately stopping his attack on the door. ‘They’ve barricaded this door and the door to the kitchens… we’re trying to get out.’

  Father Matthew looked over at Brother Mark, his gaze moving to the tall candle stick he was using as a club to break through the heavy oak door and then he slowly turned to look around the rest of the room. Brother Sam still seemed to be asleep, his face only just free of an upturned soup bowl, while further down the table Max stood protectively behind Brother John who was slumped with his head tilted back, mouth agape, in a similar state of unconsciousness.

  ‘Are you telling me Fran has drugged us?’ growled Father Matthew, his voice suddenly harsh, clearly on the verge of exploding into pure rage, ‘she drugged us… and fled!’

  Brother Gregory silently nodded and he involuntarily took a small step back.

  ‘That she has broken her bargain with me?’ Father Matthew continued, slowly pushing his chair behind him as he rose to his feet. ‘That she has reneged on her promise to stay?’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said Brother Gregory, his words barely a whisperd.

  For the length of a heart beat Father Matthew simply looked at Brother Gregory and then the cup was flying from his hand, smashing against the wall.

  ‘How dare she!’ he bellowed, his rage blinding him to the exploding pain in his head. ‘She has made a deal before witnesses and the Almighty, how dare she spit in His face…how dare she go against her word!’

  ‘Father…’ Brother Mark started to say.

  ‘Bring her back,’ Father Matthew growled, spinning turning to look at Max. ‘Bring that treacherous bitch back to me… she will pay for her falsehood… I will make her will pay.’

  ‘And what about the other two?’ asked Max.

  ‘I don’t care!’ shouted Father Matthew. ‘Kill them, whatever, I don’t care… but bring that bitch to me!’

  ***

  A few miles away Fran looked over at Kai sat opposite her in the shadows. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung agape and his head lolled in gentle rhythm to the steady rocking of the cart and as she watched him she knew that she loved him. She knew this was not the basic solace that many found in each other’s arms when horrors came-a-calling and she knew this was more than mere gratification or a release of tension through intimacy. No, she knew she loved him and although it was the best feeling in the world, it simply terrified her. She had assumed since the loss of her father and sister that that part of her had been closed off for good and no longer would she have to worry about the gut-wrenching fear that griped you every time someone you loved put themselves in danger but with each second she spent with Kai she knew her assumption was wrong. For here she was opening herself up again, almost welcoming back the fear, the pain and the worry all over again; and even though she felt a small knot twisting in her stomach each time she looked at him, she truly loved him nonetheless.

  ‘It’s r…rude to stare,’ mumbled Kai, his voice soft and lazy from sleep as he cracked open an eye just wide enough to look at her.

  ‘Really?’ said Fran, raising an eyebrow as a cheeky smile twitched at her lips.

  ‘Yes, really,’ he smiled, his words distorted as he stretched and yawned away the last remnants of sleep. ‘So, have w…we decided where w…we’re going yet?’

  ‘No,’ said Tom, glancing over his shoulder at Kai, ‘we thought we’d wait for sleeping beauty to wake up first.’

  ‘Well, y…you should have said it was in the eggs too,’ Kai grumbled in reply, his complaint met with only amused but silent smiles. ‘How w…was I to know.’

  ‘I stopped you after a few mouthfuls, didn’t I?’ Fran replied, smiling as she remembered the look of surprise on his face when she had discretely whisked away his plate mid-mouthful.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Tom, taking note of the positions of the Dead on the road ahead before bringing Star to a halt and turning in his seat. ‘So, now you’re awake’ he continued, his voice low and measured in volume, ‘and now that we know St Michael’s Mount is a no-no, we’ve got two options that I know Charlie discussed he might head to.’

  ‘And they are?’ asked Fran, glancing at Kai.

  ‘Well,’ Tom began, carefully opening up a large map and pointing to a specific point once he had found the right section, ‘we’ve got a convent… here… it’s near a few villages so there’s good and bad points there.’

  ‘Namely, the Dead versus places to scavenge,’ muttered Fran, looking intently at the map and the position of other buildings relative to the convent.

  ‘Exactly,’ Tom agreed, unfolding the map again to highlight a different section. ‘And then there’s… this,’ he went on to say, looking at his two travelling companions as he pointed to a second point on the map.

  ‘Well?’ Tom eventually asked, watching Fran trail her fingers along a convoluted route on the map. ‘What do you both think?’

  ‘Well,’ said Fran, leaning forward and tilting her head to one side to re-read the words by Tom’s finger, ‘I don’t know about you two… but I think I’ve had enough of religious communities for a while.’

  ‘Me too,’ the two men replied almost simultaneously and with shared smiles their fate was chosen. For good, bad, right or wrong, Tom slowly gathered Star’s reins in his hands again and with a sharp snap of the leather they were on the road again meeting their unknown future one step at a time.

  The End…

  If you enjoyed ‘Death among the Dead’, you can follow these and many other characters in their battle to survive among the Dead in the prequel novel ‘To Escape the Dead’.

  Also available by Stephen Charlick, published by Severed Press, is the sister series:

  ‘The Lanherne Chronicles’

  Book 1: Six days with the Dead

  Book 2: Five more days with the Dead

  Book 3: Last days with the Dead

 

 

 
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