Six Days With the Dead (36 page)

***

‘Let me just get the gun Justin and then we’ll get you cleaned up,’ Barry said to Justin who was standing in the gunroom doorway still picking bits of mud from his face and hair.

‘
It was all Anne’s fault, she pulled me over… Bet she did it on purpose too,’ Justin said, idly kicking at the doorframe.

‘
Now it was no one’s fault,’ Barry said, as he opened the cupboard that housed the convent’s weaponry. ‘If anyone is to blame, it’s the rain for making it so slippy.’

Barry removed the handgun that ha
d previously belonged to the corpse of a Dead soldier and began to check the weapon was clean. Even though he knew Charlie was meticulous when it came to keeping their few guns in perfect working order, he liked to check for himself anyway. Satisfied all was as it should be, Barry took down the box of bullets to load the gun. Taking a single bullet out of the box he thumbed the hard cold metal and was instantly taken back to the first time he fired a weapon during his training in the rapid response unit many years ago. Of course, then they only had to deal with drug dealers, potential terrorists and the odd executive having some sort of breakdown. If anyone had told him then he would end up using his training to kill those who were already dead, he would have thought them insane. Barry smiled at the memory of better times, as he pushed the bullet home into its chamber.

‘
Come on, hurry up Uncle Barry, this mud’s a bit itch….’ Justin’s last word was cut short by a figure covered in blood barrelling into him, knocking him to the ground. Justin screamed in wild terror, as the ruined face of Sister Margaret loomed into view.

‘
Shit!’ Barry said, shocked by what had happened.

Without thinking Barry ran to
the door, stupidly dropping the gun on the table. Grabbing the Dead Sister by her neck and the back of her habit, Barry pulled the slight woman off the terrified Justin before she could bite him. Other memories, a lot less pleasant rushed to fill his mind now. Another child that had been entrusted in his care, a child bitten and unknowingly infected, a child he could not save. Despite the Sister’s small stature, she seemed to possess a wild strength alien to her size. The Dead woman now moved with a manic frenzy, waving her arms and kicking her legs to be free, desperate to bite into the small screaming boy at her feet. Realising that another potential meal was holding her back from her prize, the Dead Sister turned her head to snap at the warm fingers gripping her neck, but luckily for Barry, they were just out of reach of her teeth.

‘
Get the gun Justin! The gun!... Justin!’ Barry shouted to the boy staring with wild eyes at the Sister’s half eaten face. Justin snapped out of the paralysing terror by his adopted uncle’s shouts, ducked under the flailing arms of the Dead nun and scampered into the gun room. Gently picking up the gun he ran back to Barry, eager for this nightmare to be over. As Barry readied himself to throw the Dead nun aside so he could grab the gun Justin was holding out to him, his handhold on her bloody neck fractionally slipped. Although his fingers barely moved at all, the small movement was enough to end his life. At that precise moment Sister Margaret was craning her head towards him, her mouth open and desperate to chew something warm and bloody. The moment his fingers moved, the whole world stopped for Barry. All he could see was the Dead woman’s bloody teeth closing down on the tip of his index finger and then with a spasm of pain, they bit sharply through his flesh and fingernail.

‘
Fuck!’ he screamed and threw the nun to the wall with such force he heard her bones breaking in some part of her body. Barry grabbed the gun from Justin’s small shaking hand, aimed and fired. A bloody hole appeared in the back of Sister Margaret’s head and a spray of dark blood, bone and brain matter splattered up the wall. Instantly the unnatural life that had taken over her corpse, fled and the body of Sister Margaret slumped to the floor.

‘
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ Barry yelled, knowing his time on this earth had come to an end. With tears running down his face, Barry knelt down and pulled the crying Justin to him. In his mind he was once again holding his small nephew and as he pulled Justin tighter to him, he hoped he had somehow made amends for letting his nephew down.

‘
Now, I’m going to get you somewhere safe first, I promise,’ Barry said, wiping his tears away on the back of his sleeve.

‘
No, don’t leave me Uncle Barry, please,’ Justin cried holding on tighter as Barry stood to retrieve the rest of the ammunition box.

‘
You know I have to go, Justin,’ Barry said, looking into Justin’s tear filled eyes, ‘I won’t put anyone else in danger.’

Justin cried in silence, as his Uncle loaded the chambers of the gun with shaky hands. Twice Barry
’s fingers refused to do what he wanted and the bullets fell from his grasp to fall to the floor. Once Barry was satisfied the gun was now fully loaded, he kissed Justin on the forehead gently and taking him by the hand, led him from the room, into the hall and passed Sister Margaret’s still body.

***

Mohammed’s corpse walked through corridor after corridor, the wretched agony inside him still burning to feed. His milky film covered eyes, scanned back and forth for the object of his desire but his search seemed fruitless. Then a crashing sound suddenly assaulted his Dead ears, sprinting down the hallway, he passed numerous closed doorways until Mohammed finally skidded to a halt outside an open door. Kneeling down on the floor, picking the scattered shards of a broken bowl, Michael didn’t notice the figure standing behind him until it was too late.

‘
Hey,’ Michael said, turning towards Mohammed.

The smile instantly dropped from his lips, when he saw what was standing in his doorway. His hand instinctively reached for
the crowbar resting on his bed but then, faster than he thought possible, Mohammed threw himself at Michael. The intention to tear into him with his teeth, was obvious. Michael swung the crowbar at the fast approaching Dead man but his angle was off and rather than dealing the Dead creature a killing blow, the bar hit its already ravaged neck. With a sickening crack, Mohammed’s head was knocked to one side, his neck vertebrae cracking and no longer supporting his skull. Before Michael could draw back his arm to swing again, Mohammed was on him. Gripping the arm that held the bar with both of his Dead hands, the cadaver darted forward and latched on with its teeth. Oblivious to Michael’s screams, it would not let go until its teeth clicked together again, taking a large chunk of Michael’s arm with it. With a major vein severed in his arm, his blood was already flowing freely, but Michael still struggled to remove his arm from the Dead man’s grip, although he knew the worst had already been done. He was now soon to be one of Dead and if he was lucky he had three or four hours left. Those few hours would be filled with excruciating pain, as whatever turned him into one of the Dead, burned through his body. Finally when his body could take it now more, his heart would give out and he would no longer be the Michael anyone knew. It was more than likely though, that he would die of blood loss before that and Michael knew it. He thought of his wife, the terrified look on her face when the sea of Dead hands had pulled her away from him, preventing her escape from the cruise liner. For what had he dragged out this inevitable ending to his life? He wondered if perhaps it would have been better had he just got back onto the liner to be with her all those years ago, at least then they wouldn’t have died alone. Mohammed lunged for him again, this time aiming for his exposed neck. The two men, one Dead and one soon to be, fought with each other but only one knew what the outcome would be and was terrified. Mohammed managed to clamp his teeth tightly on Michael’s neck and again a strip of flesh was torn away by a hungry Dead mouth. The crowbar still clenched in Michael’s fist seemed to be getting heavier and heavier with each passing second, as the strength in his arm seemed to disappear. With his head spinning from blood loss and realising he would not be unable to fight off his attacker for much longer, Michael was determined he would not increase the count of the Dead walking Lanherne corridors. There may be two Dead men in this room but only one was walking out of it. Transferring the crowbar to his other hand, Michael managed to muster up enough strength to ram the bar through the gaping hole in Mohammed’s throat, forcing it right through the back of his neck. By now Mohammed had started ripping strips of flesh from his wounded arm with his bloodied fingers and stuffing them in his mouth greedily. Already, Michael could see his elbow and part of the bones in his forearms but as his body went into shock he only viewed this scene with a sense of annoyance. As his vision began to swim before him, Michael knew it was now or never. Grabbing the crowbar with his remaining working hand he twisted it sharply to the left, then back to the right again, the sound of tearing flesh and crushing cartilage, drowned out by his angry primal scream. All the while the Dead Mohammed paid no heed to this attack. No sense of self-preservation flickered within his dead brain, only the need to consume. Feeling the last of his strength leaving him for ever, Michael pushed the bar one last time. This time he kept on pushing in and as the last of the flesh supporting the head tore free, Mohammed’s head fell to the floor with a dull thud. Instantly the decapitated body collapsed on top of Michael and while he passed into an unconsciousness he knew he would never wake up from, he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least Mohammed’s corpse would not be killing anyone else. With his last thoughts passing through his head, he prayed someone would find him soon before he had a chance to hurt anyone and if they didn’t, he prayed they would forgive him for what he was about to do.

For the next three minutes, Mohammed
’s detached head rocked slowly back and forth as it chewed its last mouthful of Michaels flesh. Then it watched with uninterested eyes as the meal that up until recently been a forty-nine year old ex-warehouse manager called Michael, reanimated as one of the Dead, and slowly walked out of the door with a look of hunger on its face.

***

Barry pulled the shocked Justin closely behind, already the pain in his arm had increased from a strange throbbing ache to an unbearable burning sensation. Their pace was incredibly slow because Barry didn’t want to put Justin in danger of being found by any of the Dead but that also meant his time was running out. For some, they didn’t get the luxury of three hours before they died, something in their body chemistry speeded up the process tenfold. From the searing pains shooting through his body, Barry knew he was one of the unlucky ones, or lucky depending on how you looked at it. He had decided he would get Justin to one of the sleeping cells, make sure he was locked in and stand guard for as long as he could bear the pain, which he didn’t think would be long. Reaching the corridor where they all had their rooms, Barry tried the first door, but it was locked from the inside. At least someone was safe, for now. Inside the room Alice watched the handle turn, knowing she should open the door to let whoever it was in, but unarmed as she was, she couldn’t take the chance of letting in someone who had been bitten. Barry moved onto the next door and found this one open.

‘
Right, you go inside and lock the door,’ he told Justin, trying to sound authoritative to cover his fear.

‘
No, please Uncle Barry, please,’ Justin begged, tears dropping from his eyes again as he clung to Barry.

‘
You have to Justin, I’ve got to keep you safe. Please don’t make this any harder for me,’ Barry replied, his own tears mirroring Justin’s.

With one
last hug, Barry gently manoeuvred Justin into the room. As he was closing the door he knelt down to look the terrified boy in the eyes.

‘
Tell your Mum and Dad I’m sorry, and that I love you all very much.’

Slowly the door closed.

‘Now draw the bolt across Justin, come on, please, I must know you’re safe.’

Listening, he heard the small boy pull the bolt in place and slump to the floor in tears. Sitting down Barry held the gun in his lap, ready for the time when he would take his own life.

‘They know you love them Barry,’ Alice said, quietly through her door, choking back her own tears.

Obviously Barry had been bitten and was using his last moments to make sure Justin was out of danger.

‘Alice?’ Barry said in a whisper, a wave of burning pain shooting through his body

‘
Yes Barry, I’m here. You’re not alone,’ she replied, laying her hand on the smooth wooden door, as if she was giving him a comforting touch.

‘
Don’t know how much longer I can cope with this pain, Alice. It’s like hot knives pushing into me’ Barry said, breaking off to cough, blood now flecking his lips.

‘
What are you going to do Barry?’ Alice asked knowing it was difficult to kill yourself without coming back as one of the Dead. ‘Barry?’

‘
Goodbye Alice. Don’t let Justin see me like this, please,’ Barry said, as he placed the gun barrel under his chin and with a silent prayer to a god he doubted was listening, he pulled the trigger.

‘
Oh, Barry…’ Alice whispered, with tears running down her face, as the single gunshot echoed through the corridor.

***

Imran had heard the horrific screams and even the sound of a single gunshot, as he made his way to the Chapel, but he had failed to come across anyone else yet. With his bow all but useless for close contact encounters, he now had a hunting knife ready in each hand, should he encounter any of his friends as newly Dead. Putting his ear to the heavily carved Chapel door, he listened for any movement. Hearing nothing, he gingerly pushed the door open. For the briefest of moments he thought he heard a foot scraping along stonework but, as he scanned the room from the doorway, it appeared empty. Crouching low, he stepped carefully into the room. With a dull click the door closed behind him. Keeping to the thin faded carpet that ran down the central aisle, he checked down each pew for anything amiss. As he reached half way to the communion rail he heard the definite sound of someone’s shaky breathing. Unable to pinpoint the origin of the sound, he was left with no option but to speak out and just hope whoever it was hadn’t been bitten.