Lanherne Chronicles (Book 3): Last Days With The Dead

by Stephen Charlick

  ‘Fucking hell!’ said Karen breathlessly, while she frantically wiped gore from her face.

  ‘Did he bite you,’ Liz asked. ‘Have you been bitten?’

  ‘What?’ she replied, slightly dazed. ‘No, I’m fine, he didn’t get me… I’m fine.’

  In a thunder of footfalls, the others finally found Liz and Karen in the darkness. All except Imran were armed and ready for battle, he was holding the stub of a flicking candle, lighting their way.

  ‘What the fuck happened?’ asked Phil, looking down at the headless body lying next to Karen.

  ‘He fell through the skylight,’ Liz explained, giving the body a nudge with her boot. ‘He must’ve died up on the roof and when he heard Karen, he decided to drop in for a bite.’

  ‘You could’ve told me you have a candle,’ snapped Karen, glaring at Imran while Liz helped her up.

  ‘I…’ Imran began

  ‘Look, why don’t I come with you outside,’ Liz interrupted, waving away Imran’s reaction to Karen’s barb, ‘this sort of place is bound to have a water barrel to catch rain water, you can wash that shit off yourself properly.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Karen replied, her breath a little shaky.

  Flicking the worst of the gore from her fingertips, Karen allowed Liz to lead her to the main door.

  ‘Don’t take offence, Man,’ said Steve, patting Imran’s shoulder as he watched the two women disappear into the darkness beyond the flickering light of the candle. ‘She’s had a shit load of crap to deal with in a short time and now this; she didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Imran replied, turning to look at Steve. ‘Come on, we might as well heat some water now that we’re all awake. Perhaps I can get back in her good books with some nettle and rosehip tea.’

  ‘Hasn’t the poor woman suffered enough for one day,’ said Phil, pulling a face much to Steve’s and Patrick’s amusement.

  ‘Funny,’ said Imran, walking back to the office in a huff, leaving Steve, Phil and Patrick standing together chuckling in the dark, ‘very fucking funny.’

  ***

  DAY 3

  ‘God, it feels like someone’s stomped up and down my back and then kicked me in the neck for the fun of it,’ said Karen, arching her back and moving slowly from side to side.

  ‘Still a bit tender from your tumble last night?’ asked Steve, spooning the last of some cold porridge into his mouth. ‘I’m not surprised. You landed quite hard down on that trowel, got yourself some nasty bruises there, I bet.’

  ‘If only,’ Karen replied, rolling her neck to stretch out the aching muscles, ‘it was sleeping on that bloody floor that’s done me in. Haven’t you people ever thought to bring an inflatable mattress or lilo on these trips?’

  ‘I’m just as much a newbie as you,’ said Steve, smiling as he tipped a little water in his bowl, swished it around, and then threw its contents into a corner. ‘Might be something to suggest to Patrick and the others though.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Karen replied, stiffly reaching down to pick up her jacket.

  ‘We’re leaving in a few minutes,’ said Phil, popping his head through the office doorway, ‘so if you feel you might need to do something, do it now.’

  ‘Do something?’ said Karen, a confused look on her face as she looked back at Steve who was bundling up the last of the blankets. ‘Like what? Go shopping?’

  ‘He’s means if you need the loo; go now, because we’ll not be stopping for a few hours,’ Steve replied, patting her shoulder as he walked past her, ‘and try not to get eaten this time.’

  ‘Oh, screw you.’ She said, quickly glancing back to double check that they hadn’t forgotten anything.

  After finding a secluded part of the shop to take Phil’s advice, Karen joined Steve and the others by the cart.

  ‘It seems a waste to leave them,’ Phil was saying, gesturing to the pile of shiny spades, garden forks, and hedging sheers, ‘and I doubt we’ll be coming this far from home again.’

  ‘I agree, but it’s a bit cramped as it is in the cart,’ Patrick answered, picking up a pair of shears that looked like an enormous pair of scissors, ‘we could strap some to the roof I suppose.’

  ‘And the rest can be attached to Samson’s saddle,’ added Liz, giving the trusty stallion’s neck a friendly pat, ‘you don’t mind, do you boy?’

  ‘Well, whatever we do, we’d better decide quickly,’ interrupted Imran from his lookout point on top of the cart, ‘looks like we’ll be getting some company soon.’

  With this, each member of the group turned to look in the direction Imran was pointing. There, moving painfully slow, were over a dozen of the Dead in various states of decomposition. Step by step, they dragged their ruined bodies along the driveway toward the garden centre, drawn to the sounds of the living they had heard on the breeze. Already, one of the pitiful creatures, an armless Dead woman, had made it as far as the fence. Unable to understand why she could go no further, she pushed herself against the fencing and gnashed viciously against the wire. What few teeth she had left were soon being ripped free of her blackened gums, as the Dead woman’s fury at being denied the taste of warm flesh grew.

  ‘Time to go, people,’ said Patrick, spurring everyone into action. ‘Phil, whatever’s not attached to the roof in less than one minute is being left behind, we’re leaving.’

  ‘On it!’ replied Phil, already quickly tossing one after another of the new spades and forks up to be deftly caught by Imran.

  Patrick was true to his word and within one minute, Delilah was pulling them towards the gate and within five, they were leaving the corpses behind them to resume their journey to Carlyon bay.

  Back at the Garden Centre’s fence, the armless Dead woman’s gaze slowly followed the cart as it disappeared from view. At the very core of her being, was the compulsion to follow. The need to tear into warm flesh and feel hot blood splash across her mouth, burned within her like an all-consuming fire, destroying all in its path. This was a need that could not be ignored, and she could comprehend nothing else. Struggling, she tried to push herself away from the wire, but with her bare feet slipping on the dew-covered grass, it appeared to be a Herculean task for this Dead woman with no arms to perform. Eventually, due to some luck rather than anything remotely approaching co-ordinated movement, she finally fell backwards away from the fence. For a few seconds, she rocked back and forth on her filth covered feet, trying to regain her balance, but then, like a marionette having its final string cut, she collapsed in a heap to the ground. For a while, her film covered eyes roamed aimlessly in her sunken sockets, unable to comprehend the reason for her sudden change in perspective. Then, as her mould covered chest rose and fell, forcing ragged breaths faster and faster in and out of her ruined body, she began to spasm and shake, until finally, with one last ghostly breath expelling from her shrivelled lungs, she became still.

  The rain clouds of the previous evening had finally departed in the early hours, leaving nothing but a clear blue sky and clean crisp morning for their journey. The air itself seemed to have a newness to it. The rain had, if only temporally, cleansed the earth of its ever present death and decay, to allow a new day to begin. From the east, a fresh breeze was still chasing the tail of the last remaining clouds on the distant horizon and with it, brought the soft delicate fragrance of a thousand spring meadows in bloom. Inside the cart, Liz had opened the top hatch and pushed aside some of the spy hole covers to allow the clean air of the morning to wash over her. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the unadulterated smell of spring growth and life starting anew. Only when the breeze finally brought her the distinctive whiff of blackened rotting flesh did this illusion of an untainted world, finally evaporate like smoke on the wind. With a disappointed frown, Liz lent over and began to close some of the holes again.

  ‘It should be just round the next corner,’ said Imran, looking from the map to the road ahead and back to the map again.

  Despite Phil se
tting Delilah’s pace as brisk as he dared, it had still taken them nearly an hour to get to the spot on the map where Liz had hopefully found a suitable level crossing to get onto the tracks.

  ‘About time,’ said Phil, scratching his stubbly beard. ‘We need to make up some good time soon, or getting Charlie back is going to be a real problem.’

  ‘I don’t think this rescue is going to be a doddle even if we catch up with them before they get to the carrier boat,’ added Patrick, taking a swig from a bottle of water and pulling a face at the taste of the warm water, ‘any ideas?’

  ‘Well, it seems to me, Steve is the only one who’ll have any real chance to getting close enough to even try,’ said Karen, looking from Patrick to Steve. ‘They’ll recognise him and they know that he was part of the last inland expedition. He can say that when the camp was overrun he managed to escape, just like Matt told them he did, but unlike Matt, he’ll tell them he was on foot, so didn’t make it to the pick-up point in time.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Steve, slowly nodding as he realised Karen was probably right, ‘looks like it’s up to me then.’

  ‘There is one thing though,’ added Imran, looking up from the map, ‘aren’t you a bit clean and well fed to have been roughing it for the last eight months?’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Karen, looking Steve up and down, ‘they’ll expect you to be filthy and half starved.’

  ‘Well, unless I can lose half my body weight by the time we get there, there’s not much I can do about that,’ replied Steve, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Here,’ said Liz, scooping a clump of wet mud from the tread of her boots and rubbing it on his cheeks, ‘this’ll do for now, but when we can, you need to roll round in some mud to dirty your clothes up a bit too. It might just fool them long enough for a way in.’

  ‘Err, thanks,’ Steve replied, dubiously touching the wet mud on his face, ‘this is just mud, right, Liz?’

  ‘If it makes you comfortable to believe that, then, yes,’ said Liz, covering her smile with the back of her muddy hand.

  ‘Liz?’ he began, but suddenly Phil pulled the cart to an abrupt stop

  ‘Well, we’ve found our level crossing,’ said Phil, turning back to look at the others in the cart, ‘and as always, it’s not going to be that simple.’

  ‘Why? What’s up?’ asked Patrick, moving forward so he could look through the front view slit.

  Just as Phil had said, the road ahead did indeed lead them to the train tracks with its much needed level-crossing. Amid an explosion of vast brambles and garden plants left to run wild, Patrick could see there were two dilapidated cottages nestling close together on one side of the road, while opposite were the remains of a slightly larger house. Unfortunately, from the state of the larger house, it had obviously been the victim of a raging fire many years ago. As the inferno had been left to consume the building, the structure had been unable to withstand the intensity of the blaze, causing much of the brickwork of the front of the house to collapse across the small front garden and out onto the narrow road. Rubble and twisted charred debris was strewn everywhere. Not so much that the road was totally impassable, but enough to pose a danger to the horses and the cart wheels. So far from home it could be disastrous if one of the horses stumbled and became lame, or if the cart’s wheels were damaged beyond a simple patch up repair.

  ‘Ah,’ Patrick mused, looking at the chunks of rubble scattered across the road, ‘we should be able to get past but we just need someone to shift some of it.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Steve, grabbing one of the crowbars from a hook on the internal wall of the cart, ‘it’ll give me a chance to dirty up a bit too.’

  ‘Okay, well, there aren’t any of the Dead,’ Phil began, peering at the road ahead of them. ‘Oh, wait, yes there is. There’s a Dead man trying to pull himself through the brambles, over there.’

  Steve looked over Phil’s shoulder to where he was pointing. Sure enough, he could just about see the shape of the Dead man struggling to free himself from the mass of thorny bushes.

  ‘God, your eyes are better than mine,’ he said, tapping Phil’s shoulder. ‘I’ll deal with him first, don’t want him alerting every corpse in the neighbourhood that we’re here.’

  ‘Nothing behind us,’ said Imran, checking through a spy hole set in the rear of the cart.

  ‘Right,’ said Steve, quietly opening one of the side hatches to jump down to the road.

  With the comfortable weight of the crowbar resting in his hand, Steve walked around the larger piles of blackened brickwork and over to the brambles that partially hid the struggling Dead man. From his long lank hair, gore encrusted beard, and the tattoos that spiralled up his pale withered arms, Steve guessed this man had been some type of biker when he had been alive. As he approached closer, Steve could see the Dead man was only wearing the pus covered remains of a filthy T-shirt, across the front of which was blazoned the name of a heavy metal band he had never heard of. Steve wondered how the man had come to be killed wearing only this single piece of clothing, but when he noticed the shredded and torn remains of the man’s buttocks and legs, it became apparent. He could picture it, the man fleeing for his life as one or more of the Dead pounced on his back tearing at his clothes, desperate to get the warm flesh they somehow knew lay hidden beneath. Fabric and flesh had been frantically ripped from his body; they would’ve shown no mercy. They were simply no longer capable of it, such concepts were concerns only of the living.

  With his boots crunching on the scattered debris underfoot, the Dead man suddenly became aware of Steve’s presence. Instantly, the Dead biker’s head snapped in Steve’s direction, his film covered eyes burning with an insatiable need. With a sudden added urgency, the Dead man’s fingers clawed at the earth, desperate to pull himself free of the bushes.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ mumbled Steve, closing the gap between the Dead man and himself. ‘You stay there and play dead.’

  As he spoke the final word, Steve’s crowbar swung through the air, smashing deep into the top of the Dead man’s skull, and with a sound somewhere between a cough and a gag, the Dead man’s last fetid breath escaped his body. Placing his foot on the crushed skull, Steve pulled the crowbar free, flicking shards of broken skull and lumps of stinking brain matter over his trouser leg.

  ‘Shit,’ said Steve under his breath, hoping there was something in the cart he could wipe the foul smelling mush off with later.

  With the Dead man now dealt with, Steve began the task of clearing a path for the cart to the level crossing. Tossing them to the side of the road, brick by brick, Steve cleared any of the debris that would pose a problem for the horses, or the cart’s wheels, and within only a few minutes, there only remained a few more to remove. Placing the crowbar by his feet, Steve bent down to lift a lump of wall too heavy to pick up with one hand, and with a grunt, began a waddle like walk with it to the roadside. The moment he knew it was far enough out of the way, he lowered the heavy slab of rubble to the ground. With the heavy burden released, Steve stood upright and with a groan, arched his back slightly to ease his protesting muscles. It was then that he heard the low growl.

  Instantly, Steve froze. Cursing his own stupidity for putting the crowbar down and leaving himself defenceless, he slowly lifted his head. Unfortunately, he didn’t need to look far for the source of the ominous sound. There, just a few meters away, by a gap in the brambles, was a large black and brown mongrel, its patchy fur matted with mud. As if the one beast wasn’t enough, two further mangy and battle scarred dogs suddenly appeared by its side. Steve was in trouble and he knew it. He risked a brief glance into the lead dog’s eyes and saw only a savage hunger there. If this beast had ever belonged to someone, it had long forgotten the bond they shared, and like the Dead, it could only see Steve now as a hunk of flesh to satisfy its hunger. Knowing that to try to stare down the dog would only instigate an immediate attack; Steve lowered his gaze to the tip of the dog’s scarred nose. As the growling became a
low guttural angry rumble in the dog’s throat, its upper lip began to curl, exposing its long teeth dripping with thick saliva. Steve took a small step backwards. He knew he had to get to the crowbar if he was to have any chance of fighting off an attack, but his movement seemed to have only egged on the three animals, they smelled his vulnerability. Now, the two that up until then had been the silent henchmen, began to add their own growls to their leader’s chorus, one of them even risking a slinking step forwards. Then, with the hackles on it back rising, the lead dog went in an obvious attack position. Any second now, Steve knew one or all of the beasts would lunge for him. He had but one chance, he had to get to the crowbar and hope Imran could take out the dogs before they tore into him. Tearing his eyes away from the three dogs, Steve spun and tried to run. He had barely taken a step before the lead dog threw itself at his back, knocking him to the ground. Instantly, Steve twisted under the beast, hoping to knock it loose. But this very movement gave the dog the thing it wanted most, something fleshy to latch its jaws onto. With a cry of pain, Steve felt the dogs sharp teeth pierce deep into his forearm. Using his free hand, Steve began to punch at the dog, hoping it would release him. But the beast was determined and with each punch, it seemed to sink its teeth deeper and deeper into his arm, while its claws racked deeply across Steve’s face, and body. Meanwhile, the two other dogs would not be denied their meal either, and they too had darted forward to snap at Steve’s kicking legs. It was only his wild thrashing that prevented them from tearing into him, and then suddenly, Steve heard a sharp thud followed by a high pitched whine, Imran had taken care of one of them.