Six Days With the Dead (17 page)

‘
Thanks,’ she said, with a nod. 

The man retu
rned her nod and pegged his still grubby looking underwear to a small line.

‘
At least this high up there was always some breeze so they wouldn’t take long to dry,’ she thought, walking past other small cabins on her way to the corner.

Each had been slightl
y modified reflecting the personalities of those within, trying to bring back a little of the normality of the life taken from them. One had  its’ wooden walls crudely painted in a red brick pattern, tomato plants growing either side of the door in pots, while another had white painted columns and an image of Atlas, his shoulders painted to look like they were supporting the weight of the window frame.

When she passed the last cabin on that level she stopped. Covering every inch of the outside walls were sm
all picture frames. Inside each frame, as though showing some priceless ancient artwork, were images from magazines and books of once everyday objects. Televisions, computers, coffee makers, vacuum cleaners and other electrical devices she only barely remembered, sat alongside faded biscuit wrappers, sun-bleached burger boxes, squashed flat shampoo bottles and a variety of other objects now consigned to the past. Looking through the small window she could see this mania was carried on inside too. The walls were plastered with old faded photographs, not of lost loved ones but of things. Someone had made their home into a shrine to a world that no longer existed. So desperate to make sure people did not forget these mundane oddities that they surrounded themselves daily with reminders of what they had lost. Liz wasn’t sure it was very healthy for whoever lived here to hold onto their old life in such an obsessive manner. There was nothing anyone could do to bring that world back and people had to accept that. How could you live and work for a future, if you were so stuck in the past. She stood there for a few minutes looking from one frame to the next, each image sparking a long forgotten memory of her life with her parents. It was when her gaze fell on a picture of shiny sandwich toaster that she was instantly taken back to a time sitting with her smiling father, eating messy hot toasted cheese sandwich’s in their small sunny kitchen, while her mother jokingly scolded him for buying the machine that would hardly ever be used and would just take up cupboard space. Smiles, warmth and love seemed to envelope her as she lost herself to the memory.

‘
What did you see?’ said a woman in a gravelly voice, the happy memory disappearing like smoke on the wind.

‘
Sorry?’ Liz asked, confused as to what the woman, who had appeared at the small window, was talking about.

‘
What did you see? Everybody sees something or someone when they stand here,’ the woman repeated, gently touching a few of the framed photos, ‘If you know how to look, each one’s a doorway.’

‘
Oh, I see,’ Liz said slightly stunned, her hand moving to the small photo of the sandwich toaster, ‘…my parents.’

‘
And from the look you had on your face it was a good memory, am I right?’ the woman said, her face creasing up with a kind smile. Liz nodded slowly.

‘
Thank you,’ Liz said in barely a whisper.

She now realised the walls of objects and images were not merely a shrine to the past but portals to the memories made before the Dead came. You would remem
ber the people and places as they had been at that specific moment in time, not how they ended in the blood and horror.

‘
Welcome, welcome,’ the woman chuckled waving a hand behind her, as she disappeared back into her small home. 

Liz was about to call af
ter her when her bladder reminded her of its urgency. Almost jogging the last few metres to the corner of the level, Liz was relieved to see that the toilet cubicle was empty. The substation community had found two portable toilets, one of which was on this level. Opening the door Liz was surprised to find they didn’t smell as bad as she had expected them to. Just like the old man washing his underwear had said, there was a small stack of various plastic containers with lids just inside the door. Grateful she only needed to pee, Liz locked the door and sat down. Unlike at Lanherne, where, thanks to Duncan’s water pump, they actually had flushable toilets for as long as the sewers lasted, here no such luxury was available. She was basically urinating through the bottom of the portaloo into a large funnel that fed into a guttering. This then ran down the side of the pylon to the ground where it emptied into a storm drain.

When she was done
, Liz slowly walked back to the more utilitarian guest cabin in which she had spent the night with Imran. She was almost there when she glanced over the railing to see Charlie talking to Patrick fifteen metres below her. Putting her fingers in her mouth she gave a sharp whistle, catching their attention.

‘
When are we off ?’ she called down to the men below her.

As a response Charlie held up three fingers and then changed their positioning to form a zero, indicating thirty minutes. With a nod to show she understood and a quick wave, Liz went off the get Imran.

After Imran had made a quick trip to the toilet himself, they made their way down the long metal ramp and went in search of Charlie.

‘
You look like you had a good night’s sleep,’ Charlie said, when they found him harnessing up Delilah. The dark circles under his eyes were evidence to the contrary and Imran yawned through his less than polite reply.

‘
You can eat breakfast when we’re on the road,’ Charlie said, smiling as he ignored Imran’s response ‘We should get to the Donaldson place in about four or five hours, and then get to the O’Brien’s early this evening.’

‘
Is Patrick coming with us?’ Liz asked, noticing someone at the substation had also harnessed up one of their horses to a boxed cart similar to their own.

‘
They thought they might as well go and get more of the Penhaligan supplies this morning before someone else gets to them first. So they’ll be with us for the first hour until we have to turn east and head towards the Donaldson clan at Silver Valley Lake,’ Charlie replied, slipping a feed bag over Delilah’s head. 

Giving her muzzle a friendly pat, Charlie then ran his hand down each of her legs, lifting each hoof in turn to check for stones.

‘I’ve not been to the Donaldsons before,’ Imran said, ‘What’s it like?’

‘
Dodgy,’ Charlie replied, as he let drop the last of Delilah’s hooves ‘Not only are they more than a bit odd themselves but also their home is on a lake set in the middle of thick woodland. We won’t be able to get the cart very close so one of you will have to stay with Delilah, while we traipse on foot through the forest to the lake. It’s an old wood with lots of dense ground ferns and it doesn’t help that even in daylight it’s quite dark under the tree canopy either. We’ll just have to hope the Donaldson clan have been keeping up with clearing the area of the Dead or we may run into surprises behind every tree. On second thoughts, I think Imran, you should come with me and Liz you look after Delilah’

Liz knew Charlie wouldn
’t be holding her back just because she was a woman, so there must be some other reason. She raised her eyebrow questioningly.

‘
The Donaldson brothers have a very funny view of women. They think nothing of sleeping with each other’s wives and daughters, so I’d rather they didn’t know you were with us. Just in case.., you know,’ Charlie said, frowning.

Now that Liz understood his reckoning, she nodded her approval. There was enough danger out there, you
didn’t need to go looking for more. Imran leaned into the cart and retrieved a small chunk of their hard dry bread from one of the supplies sacks.  

‘
So if they don’t farm, then what do they eat?’ Imran asked, as he sucked on the hard crust hoping to soften it enough for him to bite into.  

‘
The area used to be a place for fishing holidays, apparently. It originally had two smaller lakes until the Donaldson’s damned the stream that runs from the Tresillin River. That turned the place into one huge lake, with their island in the middle. So, I guess they eat a lot of fish. Apart from that, no idea,’ Charlie replied, shrugging his shoulders.

‘
Are you all ready to go soon?’ Patrick asked, as he walked up to them with two other men following him ‘Oh.. sorry, morning Liz, Imran,’ he continued nodding to the new arrivals.

‘
Yep, just about,’ Charlie answered, checking how far Delilah had got with her breakfast.

‘
Good, so you’ll lead the way until the turning and then I’ll make my way to the Penhaligan’s place with Tom and Ryan here,’ Patrick said, indicating the two men with him carrying between them a crate containing the two donated piglets. ‘We’ll probably have to make quite a few trips to get it all, but once we’ve been there once we should be OK’.

Tom and Ryan gently placed the pig crate in the convent
’s cart. They then walked over to their own and began throwing the assortment of weapons that had been placed on the ground before them. The large black mare that was pulling their cart, stamped her hooves and swung her head about in reaction to the sudden noise behind her. Imran caught Liz’s eye and exchanged a look. The mare was obviously a bit jittery and unlike steady Delilah, wouldn’t have been his first choice to entrust his life to if the Dead were around. Unless a horse had been around the Dead often, it could be easily spooked, and that could be deadly. Not to mention they took more effort to drive if they weren’t used to avoiding some of the obstacles by themselves.

Quite a few other people had come down to either see them off or start their day
’s work. Liz saw the woman with the home of memories, feeding the substation’s scrawny looking chickens. Seeing Liz she waved and returned to her work as the hens pecked hungrily at the scraps she scattered before them. Helen had also come down and was quietly talking to Patrick a little off from the main group. Liz watched as Helen pulled Patrick into an embrace as though her life depended on it. Liz knew what was going through Helen’s mind at that moment. She went through the same thing herself every time Imran left the convent. After reluctantly releasing Patrick, Helen came and bade farewell to the trio from Lanherne. Hugging each of them in turn, she wished them a safe journey.

‘
Tell Emma O’Brien I send my congratulations for her baby and hope everything goes OK,’ Helen said, as she briefly hugged Liz, ‘And isn’t is about time you tried sorting things out in that department young lady? You and Imran would make beautiful babies and let’s face it we need all the babies we can get these days.’

‘
Well it’s not for the want of trying,’ Liz replied, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

‘
You know what they say, if at first you don’t succeed, try…’ Helen said, as the both began to laugh.

‘
What’s so funny?’ Imran asked, which only made the two women laugh even more.

Liz would be sad to leave Helen behind and wished she
would come to live at Lanherne. But she knew the substation community relied on Helen and Patrick too much for the pair to abandon their home in the sky.

‘
Right, we’re going to clear the gate of the Dead now,’ Patrick shouted.

At this announcement, many o
f those working stopped what they were doing to watch, ready to jump in if anything went wrong. Not wanting to put her unborn baby at risk Helen touched Liz’s arm goodbye and backed off to the safety of one the small buildings. Ryan had leapt out of the back of the cart carrying a heavy looking piece of pipe and begun swinging his arms to warm up his muscles. Tom would be staying inside the cart to drive the horse forward once the outside of the gate was cleared, just as Imran would be with Delilah.

Liz lo
oked beyond the gate at the moaning dead. There were only four to deal with this time.

‘
One each,’ she thought to herself as Charlie, Patrick and Ryan prepared themselves for the attack.

Withdrawing her blade she made a few practice swipes herself, knowi
ng she would be slicing it into Dead flesh shortly.

‘
Watch your footing people, last night’s rain has made it pretty slippery out there,’ Patrick said, with serious look on his face, ‘Ready?’

Nodding, the oth
er three went a little way down from the gate. Shouting and rattling the fence, Liz, Charlie and Ryan began to draw some of the Dead away from Patrick. After a few minutes of hollering, two of the Dead, a man and what had either been a child or short woman had moved away from the gate towards them. Realising this was about as good as it was going to get, Patrick began to open the gate. As the gate started to swing open, a Dead man, naked apart from the filth that streaked his decaying body, started to be pulled forward by the motion. Patrick noticed the creatures skeletal thin fingers had hooked themselves through the wire of the fence, stopping him from falling to the mud. Surprised these withered hands could hold on under the Dead man’s weight, Patrick lifted his club high ready to bring it down on the wrists. As the weapon fell with enough force to shatter the bones, he noticed the torn and ragged flesh on the cadaver’s arms. Dogs or the Dead had ripped strips from his forearms and shoulder, revealing the bone in places. With a sound like snapping wood, the bones in both arms cracked, and the Man fell to the mud, leaving his hands still clinging to the fence. Oblivious to the loss of his hands, the Dead man moaned as he looked up at Patrick with hunger in his film covered eyes. Reaching up with his ruined stumps to the living man above him, his rotting brain could not process the fast moving shadow that came towards his head. In an instant his Dead existence was ended, as Patrick’s club smashed through the papery skin and brittle bone of the skull to the brain beneath.