Five More Days With The Dead (Lanherne Chronicles Book 2) (26 page)

‘Any of them turning?’ he whispered to Phil, already reaching behind to pull another arrow from his quiver.

‘No, you’re fine. Try to clear a path for us through the middle. Those brambles along the side might be covering ditches and I don’t want to risk the wheels,’ he replied, concentrating on the Dead ahead of them.

‘Will do
,’ said Imran, popping up through the hatch to take aim again.

For the next ten minutes, Imran would spring up like a silent jack-in-a-box with arrows fl
ying from his bow to put down the Dead in their path. Only once did one of them turn to catch sight of the living flesh he craved, standing unnoticed behind him. His travelling companion in death had knocked into him as she fell to one of Imran’s arrows, spinning him round and alerting him to the presence of the thing he most desired, flesh warm and alive. Imran was just about to pop down from sight when he caught the hungry gaze of the Dead man staring back at him. As if in slow motion, Imran watched the man’s arm rise to reach beseechingly towards him, while a ragged mouth slowly opened, preparing to expel fetid breath over withered vocal cords. Knowing the unearthly sound the Dead man was about to make would act like a dinner call to all his unnatural brethren, Imran knew he had to be stopped. Even as Imran reached swiftly behind, pulling another arrow from his quiver, the Dead man’s film covered eyes bulged in excitement at his presence. It would be close call as to which would be released first, Imran’s arrow or the Dead man’s call of desperation.  Thankfully, the Dead man’s moan died in his throat before it could alert any other of the Dead, as Imran’s arrow ripped deeply through a putrid eye socket, to rupture the decaying brain within.

‘That was close, man
,’ Leon said when Imran dropped back down into the cart.

‘Tell me about it!’ Imran replied, breathing a sigh of relief
. ‘How many more to clear, Phil?’

‘Actually, we should be able to get through now without too much trouble,’ he replied, his voice still only just a whisper
, ‘most of what’s left of the main group can be bumped out of the way and further on they’re spaced out enough to not really be any trouble.’

‘Suits me
,’ said Imran, eager to be on the move again.

With a quick flick of Delilah’s
reins, the cart lurched forward and Delilah began to slowly push her way through the now thinned out crowd ahead of them. Every so often, the cart would jolt to one side as one of the wheels went over one of the many bodies now littering the lane. Inside, the sickening crunch of breaking bones and rupturing putrid intestines could clearly be heard over the softened clip clop of Delilah’s hooves on the stamped down snow.

When they had cleared the bulk of what was left of the Dead crowd without incident, they could clearly see there were only a dozen or so scattered over the next thirty meters, after
which, the lane joined another road.

‘Anyone see Liz’s flag?’ Phil asked quietly, as he scanned the roadside bushes and trees.

‘There,’ Patrick whispered, pointing over Phil’s shoulder to a fluttering piece of white cloth tied to an overhanging tree branch. ‘Looks like we’re meant to take the right turn.’

An hour
later, they were still religiously following Liz’s trail winding through the Cornish countryside. At each corner they turned, all in the cart hoped there would be some indication from Liz that they were nearing their goal but each time they were only met with more of the shambling Dead drawn to the road by a noisy convoy that promised to sate their need to feed on the flesh of the living. Steering Delilah round a particularly large pothole that even the covering of snow could not disguise, Phil pulled the cart to a stop.

‘What’s up?’ Leon asked, pushing himself forward to look at the road ahead.

‘There’s another large group of the Dead up ahead,’ Phil replied, looking back at the other three men. ‘Luckily, the road’s a bit wider here, so we can pass them without stopping this time but keep quiet, okay.’

The three men nodded silently their understanding and Phil turned to urged Delilah back into motion. Looking through one of the spy holes, Imran idly watched the Dead as Delilah pulled the cart along the road. One sorry case after another
stumbled into view and then they were lost again as Delilah pulled them onward further down the road. Imran saw small children and teenagers, their lives brutally ripped away from them by Dead hands and teeth, and men and women who had fought valiantly only to succumb later to the unnatural appetite of their fellow man. Finally, there were those so badly damaged that not only were it difficult to tell which sex they had once been, but for many in their current state, their very species was barely recognisable.

They were just pulling through a section of the road where the Dead group were at their most concentrated and something puzzling caught Imran’s attention. For some
reason, the Dead here were jostling and pushing against each other to move up a small driveway that led to a dilapidated cottage and even from the cart, Imran could faintly hear their excited moaning. Imran ‘tutted’ to himself as one of the Dead briefly walked in front of the spy hole, blocking his view. Something wasn’t right here. Something had the Dead riled up and there was only one thing Imran knew that could catch their interest like this. Reaching forward, Imran silently placed his hand on Phil’s shoulder. Puzzled, Phil slowly turned to look at him and in the instant that their eyes locked, they heard a familiar voice screaming in rage and horror.

‘Oh God
, no!’

‘Liz!’ Imran said
. His voice was a shocked whisper filled with despair, as an icy fear froze his blood.

‘Imran,
no!’ Phil said, making a grab for the young man’s hand.

However,
Imran was already moving, kicking open one of the side hatches, his need to save Liz blinding him to the danger that awaited him.

‘No, there’s too many... Imran!’ Patrick called, trying to reach for Imran’s fleeing body.

Outside the safety of the cart, his life hung in the balance and Imran knew it, but the danger wouldn’t stop him from acting. All that consumed his thoughts was to save Liz from the Dead. No matter what happened, he had to save her. One of the Dead that had been close to the cart turned to face the living flesh that had suddenly appeared beside it. Excited by the possibility of feasting on something warm, it reached pathetically for Imran with its emaciated claw like hands. Giving the Dead thing a shove, Imran ran forward towards the driveway. Instantly, more of the Dead began to turn to see the live meal that had unexpectedly arrived among them.

‘Hey! Hey!’ Imran shouted, waving his arms at the gathered
Dead, trying to force their way into the garage. ‘Come and get me, you bags of shit! Come on! Come on!’

Even in his panicked state, Imran knew he had to clear some of the Dead from the garage doorway if the others were to stand a chance of saving her. If he had to sacrifice himself for Liz and the baby, so be
it. First, he would draw as many of them away as he could. Already a large proportion of the Dead had turned and begun to shuffle their way back down the driveway towards him. The closer proximity of the meal that they could see made them forget the one that caught the attention of those already in the garage.

‘I’ll lead them down the road!’ Imran shouted to the cart, running back down the driveway, dodging the Dead arms that were already reaching for him
. ‘Save her!’

Inside the garage, Liz screamed again and kicked wildly at the Dead hands that threatened to pull her leg down to the hungry mouths that awaited her. With a crack
, she heard cartilage and bone break beneath her, as her boot connecting forcefully with the nose of one of the taller Dead trying to pull her down.

‘Save her!’
A shout suddenly came from outside.

‘Imran!’ she said choking back a sob, as tears of shock, fear and exhaustion filled her eyes.

With the sound of his voice, a kernel of hope blossomed within her, somehow giving her the strength she needed. With another hard kick and a twist of her leg, she felt the force pulling on her lessen, as one by one, Dead hands lost their hold of her. With Imran and the others so close, Liz was determined that neither her nor her baby would not fall victim to the corpses below her and with one final frantic kick fuelled  by a  scream of pure maternal protection, Liz felt the last of the Dead fingers slip from her ankle. Instantly, she pulled her bruised leg up through the skylight. Finally, now out of their reach, Liz collapsed, panting on the roof of the small ice-cream van and allowed her tears of relief to fall freely. To come so close to death wasn’t by far a new thing for her. After all, she had survived for eight years, dodging death and the Dead alike, but it was her unborn child that gave her a new perspective on the horror surrounding her. Only now could she really understand just what her mother had been feeling, all those years ago, when she had sacrificed herself to ensure the survival of her two daughters.

Suddenly
, coming from just outside the garage door was Phil’s familiar war cry. Lifting herself up on one elbow, she turned to the sound that offered her and her child a promise of hope. Already, she could hear the shattering of bone as the Dead fell to Phil’s wild attack. Then, without warning, the emaciated body of Dead woman flew through the air, and into the garage. Phil physically picked up her snapping corpse and threw her into the backs of the Dead still gathered around the van, her impact knocking many of them to the ground.

‘Liz!’ shouted Phil, running into the
garage, swinging a spiked club left and right at the Dead, while Patrick and Leon followed close on his heels.

‘Up here!’ she called, using one of the low rafters to pull herself up into a standing position.

Liz had never been so happy to see Phil’s large bulky form smashing his way through the Dead but she could see there were still over a dozen hungry corpses to deal with before she could truly believe she had escaped death so narrowly. Below her, the Dead started to turn away their reaching hands and snapping jaws from the sight of Liz’s flesh. Mere moments ago it was the total focus of their desperate hunger but now, closer, easier to reach meat was within their grasp. Unfortunately, for the Dead the knives flew and the clubs crashed mercilessly into skulls and one by one, they fell. The flesh they so desired to be forever denied them.

‘There’s at least three of them still in the van
,’ Liz called down to her saviours, as the last of the Dead fell.

‘On it,’ Patrick said, giving her a reassuring
smile. ‘Leon, watch our backs.’

With a nod, Leon ran back to the door to stand by Samson, one of his knives held ready in each hand.

‘All clear,’ he called back to Phil and Patrick, as they cautiously made their way to the ice-cream van’s shattered window. ‘The rest have followed Imran down the road.’

Inside the van’s small galley, three of the Dread jostled and pushed against each other, their focus still on the warm flesh they had seen
disappearing through the hole above them.

‘Right, I think the easiest way to deal with them is the open to open the back door and let them tumble out
. What do you think?’ Phil asked, turning to Patrick.

‘Sounds like a plan, big man
,’ Patrick replied, raising his club ready to strike.

On the count of three, Phil gave the door handle at the back of the van a sharp tug and quickly stepped back. The door, now that
its lock had been released, could no longer stay closed against the movements of the three Dead inside and as one of them was knocked against it, it slowly swung open.

‘
Hey, pus bags! Dinner time,’ called Phil to the three corpses, who one by one, turned their hungry gaze upon him.

Dis
posing of them proved to be easier than they had first thought. In their hurry to get to the Patrick and Phil, they tried to push past each other and literally fell through the door to the garage floor in a tangle of rotten limbs and animated dead flesh. Stepping forward, Phil instantly brought his heavy booted foot down hard on the skull of one of the Dead, as it tried to pull itself free of its Dead companions. Before he had pulled his foot free of the now shattered and misshapen skull, Patrick was bringing his club forcefully down to end the unnatural life of another of the Dead. The last of Dead was once a woman and even in her decayed state, Patrick could still see the shadow of her once striking beauty. Her large eyes, presumably doe-like and entrancing in life, now held nothing but her unceasing hunger and as she pushed aside the still corpse of one of the other Dead, she reached towards him with long delicate fingers.

‘Not today,
sweetheart,’ Patrick said, pulling his gaze away from her imploring stare to focus on a patch of her forehead.

With a
‘crack’ Patrick’s club connected forcefully with the Dead woman’s head, splitting skin and cracking bone to turn the rancid brain to a useless mass of pulp. As her delicate hand fell, now forever lifeless, to the garage floor, Patrick noticed a small gold chain about her wrist.

‘Rest in peace, Katie,
’ he said sadly, reading the swirling letters of gold hanging on the delicate gold chain.

‘Right, let’s get you down from there, Missy,’ Phil said up to Liz
. ‘You want to jump into my arms or climb back down?’