Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel (19 page)

‘In case of what?’ asked Tom, though he could take a pretty good guess as to what the man was so casually referring to.

‘Thank you, Brother Gregory,’ said Father Matthew, looking over at his subordinate before he could answer. ‘As always I can rely on you to think of everything.’

For the briefest of moments, Father Matthew’s eyes flicked back to Tom, and in that one glance Tom saw the unspoken warning given; a warning that clearly said ‘don’t push your luck.’ 

‘Now,’ Father Matthew continued, softly pushing Peter away from him to give him a square of crumpled cloth that presumably he was expected to wipe his running nose on, ‘let’s get you all something to eat, shall we.’

He was just leading Peter to the open door, Bella following close on their heels, when Dave spoke up, stopping him.

‘Excuse me, Father… Father Matthew,’ he said, ignoring the sharp look his wife gave him to be quiet, ‘but how long is my brother going to be allowed to stay?’

With his arm still protectively resting on Peter’s shoulders, Father Matthew looked from Dave over to Max and then to Tom.

‘You came with the tide, you shall leave with the tide,’ he solemnly replied, his words carrying the weight of divine commandment. ‘The Spring tide will be with us two days after the tomorrow’s full moon… you have until then and then you must either chose the ‘sleep of the righteous’ or you must leave.’

‘Three days,’ muttered Fran, catching Kai’s eye.

Rather than speak, Kai simply gave her a small smile to reassure her he understood and was in agreement. They both knew Tom would never choose suicide, it simply wasn’t in him and no matter how Father Matthew added his Godly spin on what was really happening at St Michael’s mount, they both knew they could never truly trust this man or those that made up his congregation. So as Fran’s lips twitched into a knowing smile of her own, she knew whatever happened, they would all be leaving in three days with the turning of the Spring tide.

‘Mum, what does he mean?’ Fran heard Riley ask his mother as one by one they began to file out of the small building that had effectively been their prison for the night. ‘It’s autumn time, spring’s not for months.’

Only half listening to the conversation behind her, Fran took a moment to finally take in their surroundings as she stepped out into chilly morning sun. When they had arrived the previous evening the sun had already started to dip below the horizon and being exhausted, if not a little shell-shocked by their journey, they had been unable to get a true feel for the place they had then hoped would be their new home. But now with a clear blue sky overhead marred with only the thinnest wisps of cloud far off to the east, Fran could see the true marvel of St Michael’s mount around her.

The two small converted shops, nestled at the base of a steep unscalable cliff, were the only buildings on a cracked tarmacked road curving to the left as it followed the natural incline of the island. But it was what rose above them that she found truly amazing, for no sooner did the cliff begin to level off than every conceivable ledge, shelf, or patch of green had been planted with some sort of fruiting tree, bush or vegetable patch. Some twenty metres above this she could see the back of a row of small grey stone cottages while beyond them, through what looked to be woodland no bigger than a football pitch and looking down over all of its small island kingdom, was the imposing fifteenth century castle of St Michael’s mount itself.  

‘It has nothing to do with springtime,’ tutted Brother Gregory, his annoyed tone bringing Fran’s attention back to those around her. ‘The spring tide is a higher than usual tide, it comes a few days after each full moon. It’s to do with the pull of gravity from the sun and moon when they are in alignment. You live on an island now, boy,’ he continued, managing to look down his nose at Riley despite the boy being only a fraction shorter than himself, ‘and alongside your other apprenticeship subjects
y
ou will also have maritime studies.’

‘You have a school here?’ asked Jane, knowing that with children there was a future and in that future ultimately hope for them all. ‘How many children are there on the island?’

‘At the moment we have eight children among us and by the grace of God, a further two on the way,’ answered Father Matthew, as if announcing it to the whole group as they followed the short road around the corner. ‘We don’t have a school as such and apart from general literacy, mathematics and religious studies there is no schooling in the old world sense of the word, but rather each child is put on a two week rotation with one of the skilled adults of the island. This way we can find what work best suits each child and uses any natural skills they possess.’

‘What s…sort of sk…skills?’ asked Kai.

‘Ah, so you do speak,’ smiled Father Matthew, turning to look back at Kai. ‘I was beginning to think you’d been struck dumb back there, young man. But to answer your question, let’s see… the children work with Roy Willis, our head gardener, with Rod or Scott on the two fishing boats we have in our harbour, in the kitchens preparing food,’ he continued, ticking each task off on his fingers. ‘With Brandon in the infirmary…’

‘You have a doctor?’ interrupted Fran, knowing that anyone with medical knowledge was a rare thing indeed these days, especially since they and other hospital staff had been among the primary casualties when the Dead first appeared.

‘Well, technically Brandon is a dentist,’ Father Matthew replied, winking at Fran in an almost comic manner, ‘but he’s the closest thing we’ve got to one… and thanks to a trip to the late Dr Carson’s surgery in Marazion, we’ve at least got some reference books to help fill any gaps in his knowledge.’

‘Certainly better than nothing,’ said Tom. ‘Last thing you need is some well-meaning idiot killing someone.’

‘Hmm, agreed,’ said Father Matthew, looking over at Tom with an odd look in his eye as if he was trying to figure something out about this strange, very much ‘to the point’, man who had found his way onto his island.

Despite Rod having a head start, he turned out to be only a few metres ahead of them as they turned the corner. What started out as a steady pace eager to see his family, albeit with a pronounced limp, had quickly deteriorated into a torturous hobbling; each step seemingly more painful than the last.

‘Do you need a hand, old friend?’ asked Father Matthew, stepping forward to slip one of Rod’s arms over his shoulder. ‘Come let me help you… at least as far as the Purity Arch. Take his other side, will you Peter,’ he continued, before Rod could protest. ‘Let’s help him to his family.’

‘What is this Purity Archway?’ Fran asked Brother Gregory, watching Peter, seemingly already enamoured by the charismatic older man, rush to do as he was told. ‘It’s just that it’s been mentioned a few times now.’

‘It’s a symbol of…’ Brother Gregory began to say before Father Matthew spoke over his words.

‘By passing through the Archway,’ said Father Matthew, glancing back over his shoulder to Fran, ‘we are cleansed by the grace of our Lord and born anew, free and untainted by our previous lives. Through Him, we leave behind us the sin of the outside world and with it those who have fallen to the Corruption.’

‘Leave them behind?’ said Tom, a look of uncertainty creasing his features. ‘I’m sorry to disagree with you there Father, but the Dead are always with us. You can’t just wipe away the memory of loved ones.’

‘Or how they were taken,’ Fran added reluctantly, knowing that of all of them Tom truly carried his Dead with him.

‘What good does it do any of us to linger on pain and loss?’ Father Matthew replied, shaking his head. ‘This island is our new Eden, I will not have it sullied with memories of the wastelands and the Corrupt that dwell there…. No, it is better this way. This is what the Lord demands of us.’

At the mention of ‘demands’ Tom and Fran exchanged a brief but knowing glance. From what Rod had told them of the unfortunate souls put to the flames, they had a pretty good guess what happened to those who broke these divine commandments but just what did it really take to push the seemingly friendly man in front of them to snap and instigate such atrocities against his fellow man. After all, even though their time here would be short lived they certainly wanted to be able to leave in one piece.

‘Anyway,’ Father Matthew continued, ‘you’ll see for yourself very shortly, we’re just about there.’

With the narrow road still following the curve of the island, the new arrivals didn’t have long to wait before the Purity Archway, barely some twenty metres ahead of them, came into view. Just how Fran had pictured the Archway in her head, she hadn’t really given it much consideration but the strangely beautiful three metre high scaffolding frame spanning the full expanse of the road and covered in a waterfall of countless red ribbons that snapped in the light wind, was certainly not what she had expected.

With the multitude of ribbons, their colours ranging from a deep russet through to blood red and then to vibrant crimson, dancing wildly on the breeze, Fran didn’t notice at first the two figures deep in conversation just the other side of the Archway. The first was a man in his early thirties and was clearly another of Father Matthew’s religious Brothers if his embroidered red tunic was anything to go by. As Fran watched him he reached his hand tentatively across as if to offer comfort to the other figure, a woman, who, even from this distance, Fran could tell was upset. Almost as if she felt Fran’s eyes upon her, the woman’s head suddenly snapped in the direction of the approaching group.

Almost instantly her tearful eyes flitted away from Fran and locked onto Rod being helped along by Father Matthew and Peter. With a pitiful choked back cry only just escaping her, the woman’s shaking fingers flew to her mouth and then as her heavy tears of relief began to fall she seemed to crumple in on herself before their very eyes.

‘Emily!’ Fran heard the unknown Brother exclaim as he darted forward to catch the woman before she hit the ground.

No sooner had his arms wrapped around her than the woman, who Fran now knew to be Rod’s wife, than she urgently pushed herself from his supportive grasp and rushed forward to meet her husband.

‘Rod,’ she managed to say through her sobbing; her delicate hands cupping his cheeks while she rained kisses upon his face. ‘Oh, my God, you came back to me… you’re alive, you came back to me.’

‘Emily, Em… I’m Okay, Em, I’m Okay,’ Rod tried to reply through Emily’s joyful kisses and heartfelt tears before breaking in to a chesty coughing fit.

Despite his coughing and the fact that he was being partly help upright by two other men, Emily couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms about her husband’s neck and pulling him into a fiercely love affirming embrace. As she did so, Fran noticed a length of red ribbon, about a metre long, flutter free of the woman’s grasp. Catching briefly against Peter’s leg, it was then snatched playfully away by the wind, only to be spirited moments later over the sea wall on their right. She wouldn’t normally have given the decoration a second’s thought but for what she had seen in the split second it had lain flat against Peter’s leg. For there, written carefully in marker pen, had been Rod’s full name and a date. In that instant Fran recognised the hundreds of merrily dancing ribbons for what they really were; grave markers to those lost to the Dead. Yes, Father Matthew demanded memories of the Dead, or Corrupt as he called them, be left at the Purity Archway but it seemed he at least gave those on St Michael’s mount a way, if only symbolically, to purge themselves of their loss. Looking back up at the scaffolding Archway, Fran could no longer see the beauty that only moments ago had entranced her so. All that met her gaze now was a depressing monument to Man’s demise; each playful snap of ribbon on the wind signalling another life cut horrifically short by a savage bloody hunger.

‘Now just where’s that son of yours, Emily Adams?’ Fran heard Father Matthew asking, as the woman eased Peter out from under Rod’s arm to shoulder the weight herself. ‘I could’ve sworn I saw Graham with you on my way down?’

‘He was dead on his feet, Father,’ Emily replied, struggling to keep up with Father Matthew. ‘He was waiting here all night for news but I sent him to the kitchens to make sure there was enough breakfast for the other new arrivals... I… I didn’t want him here… just in case.’

‘Ah, I understand,’ smiled Father Matthew, knowing that if the Brother on guard had seen signs of the Corruption within Rod during the night he would have been forced to deal with him. 

‘Here, Emily, let me help you,’ said the unknown Brother, stepping forward to try and lift Rod’s arm from around her neck.

‘No!’ she snapped, a little too sharply. ‘Sorry, I mean I can manage, thank you, Brother Christopher… Rod… Rod and I can manage.’

Now that she had managed to regain control of herself, Fran could see that under the tear streaked cheeks and red, puffy eyes, Emily was in fact quite a striking woman. Sure, she had the prominent angular cheek bones prevalent in a world where gluttony and excess were things of the past but whereas on many it added only gauntness to the face, Emily Adams somehow carried it with an almost regal aplomb. Her large eyes, a startling shade of grey that only added to her strange beauty, looked hauntingly out from a tanned and weathered face that spoke of many an hour working hard and exposed to the elements. Of course, like many women in a world of the Dead, her softly curling light brown hair had been roughly cut into a short practical bob; safe from the clutches of grasping Dead hands should any breach the safety of the island.