Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel (29 page)

‘You can hide in here but I’m going to look for Emily and Graham, they’re…’ Rod started to say before noticing the terrified look on the woman’s face as she followed something moving to his right.

Slowly, despite a voice in the back of his mind shouting for him not to do so, Rod turned his head to follow Jane’s fearful gaze.

‘Oh, shit!’ he spat, instantly recognising the two bloody corpses charging along the cobbled quayside towards them. ‘Fucking, move yourselves!’ he shouted, realising he may have to make an awful decision in the next few seconds.

Ten metres away: Rod knew the first of the corpses would reach the woman and her son before they managed to reach him and being the type of man he was when that happened he would inevitably be drawn into the resulting bloodshed trying to save them. But he knew he could not put himself at such risk, not with his own wife and son somewhere on the island, perhaps at this very moment needing his help, and even though he was filled with self-hate and a sickening shame he felt his fingers tightening about the door, slowly pulling it closed again. His family needed him and as terrible as it was, if he had to sacrifice Jane and her son to save them, then he would. 

‘No!’ sobbed Jane, her eyes locking with Rod’s just as he began to close the door. ‘Please!’

Five metres away: Rod, trying to blot out the terrible look of horrified realisation in Jane’s face, forced his eyes tightly shut, his whispered words for forgiveness lost amid the guttural snarling of the advancing Dead.

Two metres away: the door almost closed, Jane knew there was only one possible thing she could do to save Riley. So with a scream of pure animalistic frustration, anger and grief tearing through her throat, she let go of her child’s hand and used her momentum to launch herself at the first Dead man already reaching for her.

‘Mum!’ shrieked Riley slamming into the door, his face contorting with fear as he twisted his head to see his mother disappear amid a jumble of blood covered limbs. ‘No!’

‘Fuck!’ Riley suddenly heard Rod angrily shout from the other side of the door just before it was pulled open again, causing him to stumble in.

‘Shut the door after me, boy!’ Rod shouted, dragging Riley roughly out of his way; grimacing as he put weight on his injured ankle. ‘I’m not fucking dying for nothing!’

And before Riley could reply Rod launched himself, his crowbar already swinging, at the man whose snapping jaws were only just being held at bay by a wildly twisting and screaming Jane.

‘Fucking Fucker!’ Rod bellowed, catching the Dead man’s neck with a glancing blow, his crowbar ripping into the already torn flesh and cartilage.

With an audible ‘crack’ the end of the crowbar shattered something vital and made of bone within the Dead man’s neck causing his head to suddenly loll sickeningly at an odd angle. Yet even this trauma did little to dissuade him from the flesh he so desperately craved and as bloody spittle dribbled from his snapping mouth he lunged forward to take a bite from Jane’s shoulder.

‘No, you fucking don’t, Jed Williams!’ growled Rod, grunting as he took another swing at the Dead man that in life he had classed a friend.

Purely by chance rather than any skill on Rod’s part, the crowbar connected with the side of the savage cadaver’s head. This time the lucky blow impacted with such force as to not only rip free a small section of blood soaked scalp but also, and more importantly, send unseen broken shards of skull tearing through the brain within. Quickly ripping free his weapon to strike again, Rod could see from the Dead man’s convulsions that his blow must have caused more damage than the gory egg sized dent misshaping the skull would suggest. Jane noticed this too and once she had recognised this slim opportunity to survive for what it was, she fought for her life with a renewed and hopeful gusto. So, screaming through her revulsion and with her fingers painfully digging past shattered bone and torn skin, she began to claw frantically at the bloody wound; praying all the while she could finish the Dead man for good before his teeth made contact with her.

By now the second corpse was almost upon them, lunging toward Rod with outstretched arms and moving as fast as his savaged leg would allow.

‘Fuck!’ cried Rod, the spasm of pain suddenly shooting up from his ankle causing him to stumble as he tried to sidestep beyond the Dead man’s grasp.

But somehow, amid the panic and the pain, his actions were a fraction too slow; allowing the limping Dead man to latch both of his hands onto Rod’s shoulders just long enough to pull him into a deadly embrace before they both fell to the ground.

‘No!’ bellowed Rod, unable to force any distance between himself and the hungry cadaver’s bloody jaws.

Then quite inexplicably to Rod, and with a sound much like that of a low noted bell, the Dead man’s head abruptly snapped to one side only to then, with a second bell-like toll, snap back again. It was only when Rod glanced away from the film covered eyes glaring at him with murderous intent to look over the Dead man’s shoulder that he saw Riley about to bear down on the corpse’s head for a third time; a very heavy looking cast iron frying pan held tightly in his shaking fists.

‘Fucking, hit him!’ Rod shouted, as with a third ‘thud’ the frying pan connected with the back of the Dead man’s head. ‘Hit him! Hit him again!’

Despite Riley’s barrage of blows managing to keep the snapping jaws of death from reaching their goal, namely to rip free a mouthful of Rod’s warm flesh, Rod knew the boy simply didn’t have the strength in him to cause enough damage to the cadaver’s skull to grant him a permanent oblivion; and with each blow draining the strength from his already shaking arm muscles, it looked as though Rod’s time was running out, fast. That was until Jane rolled out from beneath the other Dead man’s lifeless corpse, jumped to her feet and abruptly ripped the pan from Riley’s grasp. Looking like a wild woman with her face and hair covered in the blood of the man once called Jed Williams, Jane took hold of the frying pan handle in both hands and with a scream of rage she swung it at the struggling Dead man on top of Rod. This time the edge of the pan rather than its heavy flat bottom connected with the corpse’s skull and as the Dead man was almost knocked aside by the force of her blow, Jane was relieved to see the sickening dent she had made in his temple.

‘Again!’ shouted Rod, using a lucky shift in the corpse’s position to force his hand up his chest to grab the creature under its chin. ‘Quickly!’

Not needing to be told twice, Jane glanced briefly at the edge of the pan, ignoring the flap of hairy skin still lodged there and took aim on the already damaged part of the Dead man’s forehead.  With her face set with a primal fury, her eyes flicked momentarily to meet Rod’s and seeing only her own fearful hatred for this unnatural thing that had ripped their world apart mirrored there, she let her weapon fly.

With the sound of cracking bone barely heard over her cry of rage, the edge of Jane’s pan connected with the side of the Dead man’s skull, at last freeing it from its unholy existence. One second the corpse fought wildly to free its snapping jaws from Rod’s grasp and the next it was nothing more than the man-shaped lump of cold flesh nature had intended it to be.

‘I… I thought I told you to stay inside,’ panted Rod, at last pushing the lifeless body away from him to free himself.

‘But I?’ Riley began to protest.

‘My God, Riley,’ interrupted Jane, tearfully pulling her son into a fierce embrace, the adrenalin coursing through her turning her rage to shock while she allowed the heavy pan to fall from her grasp to land with a clatter by her feet. ‘That was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Putting yourself in danger like that, don’t ever do that again… if that thing had turned on you… I… I don’t know what I... ’

‘Look,’ Rod grunted, using his crowbar to push himself back up from his knees, ‘you two need to get inside and stay there. Barricade the door with furniture, anything you can find and for fuck’s sake, keep quiet. That should keep you safe… for a while.’

‘But what if?’ Jane cut in, fearful more for her child’s safety than her own.

‘Christ, woman!’ Rod snapped back, as he angrily wiped a splatter of gore on his forehead into the crook of his elbow. ‘You and the boy are welcome to my house, perhaps it’ll save you but I’ve got my own family to look out for. My wife and son are still out there somewhere, I have to go find them.’

‘But you can barely walk,’ she pleaded, hoping he would see sense and stay to help her keep Riley safe. ‘You… you won’t last five minutes!’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he replied, the steely glint in his eye telling her any argument she made would fall on deaf ears, ‘I have to try… I have to find my family before those fuckers do and God help me that I’m not already too late.’

Jane stared at Rod, aghast that he was abandoning them to go on a fool’s errand, an errand that would likely end with his death. She was about to speak when, over his shoulder, she suddenly caught sight of movement at the far end of the harbour lane.

‘I’m sorry… I’ve got to try,’ Rod continued. ‘My Emily, she…’

It was only then that he noticed Jane wasn’t even looking at him, the fear dancing wildly in her eyes telling him all he needed to know.

‘Too late,’ Jane managed to whisper, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her terrified grip on her child.

****

Peter rested his head against his drawn up knees and watched the ant scurrying busily back and forth by his foot. In his eyes the little creature joyfully marched across the single beam of soft light striking the stone floor, doing what ants did to pass the time of day while its tiny antennae busily flicked back and forth. Just what it was doing or what was going on in its tiny mind, Peter could only guess but whatever it was, clearly the beam of light did not hold this ant’s interest for long. For barely a few seconds would pass before the ant seemed to lose interest and disappear back into the darkness and then, after a few seconds, the ant would reappear again, drawn to the light once more and Peter would watch and again be captivated by its movements. He wondered what drew his tiny companion back to the cluttered shadows of the cupboard they both found themselves in and why he, for in Peter’s mind the ant was most definitely a ’he’, didn’t just stay in the nice beam of light all the time.

Beside him Bella open her jaws in one long wide stretching yawn, her pink tongue brushing momentarily across her nose before disappearing again. Despite the cramped conditions in the cupboard Peter drew comfort from the press of Bella’s bulk against his side; her very presence making him feel just a little less alone, just a little less afraid.

‘We’ve got to be quiet,’ Peter whispered as quietly as he could, his fingers already nervously pulling at his ear as he forgot the ant and turned his head to face the dark shadowy shape he knew to be Bella’s head.

The Alsatian let out a short high pitched whine by way of reply and with her claws briefly ‘clicking’ against the stone floor, she repositioned her chin to rest forlornly on Peter’s knee.

‘We’ve got to be quiet and we’ve got to wait,’ he continued, wrapping the free hand around Bella’s neck to bury his fingers deep in her fur. ‘Mr Dave said so… we can’t let the bad people know we’re…’

He was about to say more when he felt Bella unexpectedly stiffen next to him, his whispered words suddenly cut short by the growl of warning emanating from deep in her throat. With a fearful gasp escaping his lips Peter’s hand darted to Bella’s nose, silencing her just as he had been taught to do, while his other hand relinquished its comforting grasp on her fur to cover his own mouth to keep any further of his own errant sounds escaping. Still on alert, Bella focused all of her attention on the panel of the closed door in front of her, glancing only briefly to Peter as if to make sure he understood the danger she had sensed. Yet Peter understood all too well, for despite his innocence he had seen enough bloody carnage in the world to know what lay just beyond the safety of their small sanctuary and as he looked into his friend’s unreadable golden eyes he felt his own filling with heavy tears while the blossom of panic built inside him.

From somewhere nearby a heavy door slammed and a terrible cry echoed long and painfully about the hallways, an ominous warning to all those who heard it. Then as he sat in the shadows, the darkness about him speared by the single beam of light, Peter heard a set of running footsteps charging down the corridor towards him. At first he had hoped that it was Mr Dave, returned to rescue him as promised, but as the pounding footsteps came closer he heard the unmistakable guttural and savage grunts that told quite a different and terrible story. Whoever was approaching, or rather whoever it had once been, now had only one thing on their mind and it wasn’t Peter’s rescue. Far from it.

‘
The bad people are here… they want to hurt me… and Sharon’s not here… I want Sharon back…I want Sharon.’

These thoughts raced through Peter’s child-like mind, feeding his fear as he rocked silently back forth; his fingers dancing nervously across his lips, determined to hold back any sounds that threatened to escape him. And then suddenly the one beam of light piercing his darkness was broken and with eyes dilating in fear and his breath catching in his throat, his fingers became still. Someone or something now stood in front of his door.

Plunged into darkness and barely daring to breathe, Peter listened to his unwelcome and deadly guest shuffling their feet back and forth, as if confused by which way to go; while beside him, her very presence giving him some small solace, Bella kept her silent guard. Without warning another terrified scream suddenly reverberated along the castle’s maze of corridors and with it the creature span, inevitably tilting its head this way and that as its cold milky eyes searched for the source that it somehow knew meant ‘flesh’. While this thing that had once been a man momentarily paused in its movements, trying to locate the origin of the new tantalising cry, Peter began to hope that it had finally moved on. With each silent second that ticked past his hope grew, until he could bear it no longer and despite the vice-like grip of terror tight about his heart, he found himself slowly leaning forward. Closer and closer his head moved to the crack in the door, his window to the outside world, while half remembered prayers to an infant messiah rushed muddled about his head.