Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel (7 page)

With a second swipe of Tom’s blades the old man’s head finally fell, landing with a dull ‘thud’ in the blood splattered sand.

‘I know,’ Fran heard Tom mutter to himself, unable to tear her eyes away from the young woman above her.

‘No, wait!’ the woman suddenly shouted, jumping from the breaker to land beside Fran.

‘Tom!’ Fran warned, hoping to get through to him before in his mania he accidentally mistook the young woman for one of the Dead. ‘Tom, are… are you with me?’

‘What…’ he began to say, visible shaking off the ghosts of his family.

‘P… please, let me,’ the woman interrupted, her tearful gaze drifting to the decapitated head lying in the sand while she stepped past the crumpled body, ‘he was my grandfather, it’s right that I…’

‘Sharon?’ came the young man’s voice from his hiding place under the boat.

‘Stay there, Petey!’ she called out, her eyes flicking briefly to Fran. ‘Stay there just a bit longer, okay?’

‘I…I did what you said, Sharon,’ he replied, his voice echoing slightly from under the wooden hull, ‘I hid well didn’t I… Pops didn’t get me... I’m a good hider.’

‘Yes, Petey!’ she called, slowly kneeling down beside the head that still looked at her with nothing but a wild hunger in its eyes. ‘You…you did real good.’

Letting go of the struggling dog’s collar, Fran let the animal run to Sharon’s side; its frantic barking at last replaced with sad and anxious whining as it sniffed at the headless body near her.

‘I know, Bella… I know,’ Sharon whispered, burying a comforting hand deep in the animal’s fur.

‘Can…can I come out now?’ asked Peter from under the boat. 

‘No, just… just stay there a bit longer, Petey… can…can you do that for me?’ she continued, quickly pulling a long thin blade from a strap on her calf.

Using the back of the hand holding the knife, Sharon awkwardly pushed aside a curtain of damp curls from her forehead and tried to find the strength within her to do what she knew she must. Coughing back an uncontrollable sob that threatened to consume her, Sharon visibly shook herself to regain her control once again.

‘I… I’m sorry, Pops,’ she whispered, heavy tears already running down her cheeks as she delicately manoeuvred the snapping head in front of her, ‘and don’t worry I… I forgive you.’

Fran’s brow creased together at the young woman’s odd eulogy but as Sharon plunged the blade deep into the old man’s skull, finally putting him to rest, she saw what she had meant. For there on her arm, previously unnoticed by Fran, was a tear in her jacket sleeve; a tear that clearly exposed a bloody and painful looking wound.

‘Crap,’ Fran muttered under her breath, catching Tom’s concerned gaze as he too noticed Sharon’s arm.

‘What’s your name?’ Sharon suddenly asked, turning to Fran as she stoically wiped away her tears to lean wearily back on her ankles.

‘Fran,’ she answered, her eyes inadvertently flicking back to the bloody wound.

‘Well, I need you to do something for me, Fran,’ Sharon began, grunting as she pushed herself slowly to her feet.

‘You… you want me to,’ Fran interrupted, assuming Sharon wanted her to give her a swift end rather than be dragged inch by inch to a death filled with pain and the terrible certainty of what came next.

‘No, no, it’s not that,’ said Sharon, waving away Fran’s offer. ‘I’m sure Max will happily oblige.’

‘Max?’ asked Fran. ‘You’re traveling with someone else?’

‘Yes… no, look, I doubt we have much time,’ Sharon continued, glancing over Fran’s shoulder at the breaker beyond. ‘They’re bound to have followed me. Look, I need you to look after Petey, Peter, my brother.’

‘Look after him?’ Said Fran, not liking the way this was going.

‘Dave and his family are nice but his brother, Max… Max will make them abandon Peter,’ Sharon continued, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. ‘And Peter, well, he only has the mental ability of a six year old, I… I couldn’t bare to think of him left scared and alone… I … I need to know he’ll be taken care of… please… one way or another… he needs to be taken care of.’

With those last words the young woman’s gaze bore into Fran, each of them knowing what was being left unspoken; if her brother could not be taken somewhere safe then it would be kinder to end his life swiftly rather than let him suffer a brief and terrified existence on his own. Fran looked at Sharon and despite knowing what a truly awful position the doomed woman was in she was simply lost for what to say. There were no words of comfort she could offer this stranger and no reassurances or heartfelt hand-holding was going to make this better, for they both knew nothing was ever g
o
ing to be better again.

‘I…’ Fran began to say, her mouth opening and closing as she fought to find what to say.

‘We’ll take him with us,’ Tom suddenly said, quite matter-of-factly as if any other option was beyond contemplation. ‘We’re going to an island… it’ll be safe for him there.’

‘Tom,’ sighed Fran, guiltily thinking of how much danger the childlike young man could put them in and instantly hating herself for it.

‘Please, Fran, I,’ Sharon continued, only now allowing herself to cradle her injured arm.

‘There you are!’ interrupted a man’s voice, causing Tom, Fran and Sharon to look back up at the breaker. ‘Did the old geezer get the retard?’

‘Where are the others, Max?’ asked Sharon, ignoring his comment while subtly moving her body to hide her wound from the man’s sight.

As if to answer her, Max turned, put his fingers in his mouth and let a high pitched whistle sound out across the beach behind him. After a brief wave to someone, he turned back to Sharon and her two new acquaintances.

‘And there’s no point trying to hide that,’ he continued, nodding sharply to Sharon’s arm. ‘We all saw the old man bite you before the retard went all spastic and ran off.’

‘Please… please don’t talk about him like that,’ sighed Sharon wirily, her gaze unconsciously drifting to the upturned boat.

‘Whatever,’ shrugged Max, waving away her request as irrelevant before jumping down from the breaker to join her by the boat.

‘Not looking good, Sharon, not good at all,’ he mumbled, roughly grabbing Sharon’s bloody sleeve to examine her wound, causing her to wince painfully.

‘Hey!’ cried Fran, taking an involuntary step forward.

‘Yeah, buddy… not so rough, okay,’ added Tom, coolly crossing his arms, the stern look on his face warning Max not to do it again.

Max just looked at Tom, his eyes slightly narrowing as he took in the measure of the man. Max was in his forties but like so many forced to survive in a time of harsh living he looked a lot older. In fact, with his badly shaved head and rough weathered skin doing little to help soften his appearance, he appeared a good ten years older than he actually was. Watching the way Max reluctantly released Sharon’s arm, Fran could see he was clearly a man used to doing whatever was necessary; for him the end always justified the means no matter how harsh or unsavoury the path to that end may be. 

‘Okay… so looks like introductions are in order,’ Max began, ‘I see you and Sharon have  already made… friends… well, I’m Max, that pile of flesh in the sand is or rather was... well, I suppose it doesn’t matter who he was now… and…  I’m guessing that Peter is… under here,’ with those last words Max gave the hull of the boat a sharp kick, making the young man hidden beneath cry out in fear.

‘For Fuck’s sake, Max!’ Spat Sharon, dropping to her knees to help her brother out from under the boat.

‘Right, now you know who we are, that leaves the question, who the fuck are you?’ sneered Max, ignoring Sharon as he subconsciously crossed his arms to mirror Tom’s stance.

Surprised at just how heavy the boat was, Sharon was relieved when Fran suddenly appeared next to her to give her a hand.

‘Tom, Fran,’ Tom simply said, nodding over to Fran in reply to Max’s question.

‘Here, let me help,’ said Fran, trying to slip her fingers under the rim of the hull.

‘Must be a strong one, your brother,’ she grunted, shocked that the terrified young man she had seen fly past the cart had manage to flip the boat over on his own.

‘Yeah… must be,’ Sharon replied, a brittle smile on her lips.

‘Petey… Petey, you can come out now,’ she continued, wondering if perhaps he was somehow holding the hull in place, ‘I’ve got some new friends I want you to meet, okay?’

Almost instantly there was a rustling and a scrabbling sound and the young man abruptly popped up on the opposite side of the hull, surprising them all.

‘Boo!’ he shouted, a smile of pure innocence covering his face. ‘I got you, Sharon, I got you Mr Max… made you jump… made you jump!’

‘Petey,’ Sharon sighed, walking briskly round the boat to pull her brother into a fierce embrace while manoeuvring him away from the bloody remains of his grandfather.

Glancing down she noticed a small patch of the sand had been pushed aside, making a tunnel under the hull.

‘Made you jump,’ he repeated a little quieter this time as he smiled gleefully down at the shorter woman in his arms, his previous panic and fear seemingly already forgotten.

‘Yes… yes, you did,’ Sharon softly replied, gently cupping her brother’s face in her hands.

Seeing them standing together, the family resemblance the brother and sister shared was quite striking. Although quite a bit taller than Sharon, Peter had the same prominent cheekbones and full lower lip as his sister as well as the same mop of dark unruly curls that cascaded over a pair of large dark eyes.

‘You’re… you’re hurt,’ Peter slowly said, his dark eyebrows creasing together as he noticed the blood on his sister’s arm.

‘Petey,’ Sharon started to say, gently tilting his face to make him look at her.

Despite the fragile smile she tried to plaster on her shaking lips, her eyes brimmed with heavy mournful tears that eventually spilled over to run slowly down her face.

‘You’re going away… aren’t you,’ whispered Peter, his own bottom lip starting to quiver as his hand moved up to fiddle nervously with his right ear.

‘I’m… I’m so sorry, Petey,’ Sharon whispered in reply, trying to smile though her tears as if to convince him everything was going to be alright while as always reaching up to gently pull his hand away from his ear.

‘No, no, no,’ cried Peter, his features seeming to crumple under the weight of his overwhelming sorrow. ‘Please…please stay, I’ll… I’ll be good… I promise.’

‘Oh, Petey,’ Sharon continued, softly wiping away her brother’s tears, ‘you know it doesn’t work like that… just… just like you know Pops wouldn’t have tried to hurt me or you if he hadn’t… changed… and… and now I’m going to change. I don’t want to, Petey, but I am… I’m going to stop being me and when that happens I don’t want you near me, I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘P… please,’ Peter wept, pulling his sister into a desperate hug that she only half-heartedly fought to be released from.

‘I think we should go,’ said Fran, turning away from the heart breaking scene.

Leaving the brother and sister weeping in each other’s arms while the Alsatian, Bella, looked on forlornly, Fran began to walk wirily back up the beach where the level of sand, rising up the breaker, would make it easier to climb back over.

‘So… what are we going to do?’ she said, looking up at Tom as she plonked herself down on the breaker.

‘I told you,’ he began, sitting down beside her while watching Max reluctantly following them up the beach, ‘we’ll take Peter with us to St Michael’s mount.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ muttered Fran, using the heel of her boot to idly scape a shallow trough in the soft sand.

‘Ah… Sharon,’ said Tom, tugging absentmindedly at a stick that had become wedged between the planks of the breaker.

‘Yeah, Sharon,’ she continued. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘That’s really not for us to decide,’ Tom replied, finally pulling the piece of drift wood free. ‘She knows what’s going to happen to her and it’s up to her whether to cut her losses now or hang on for as long as she can.’

‘Not much of a choice,’ sighed Fran, using the toe of her right boot to nudge at a pebble she had unearthed.

‘No, not really,’ Tom agreed, pushing himself to his feet as Max at last approached them. ‘But if she asks for our help to save herself from the pain, I’ll give it… gladly,’ he continued, tossing aside the piece of wood.

‘He must’ve died in his sleep… a stroke or something,’ said Max looking back at Sharon as she clearly tried to console and comfort her childlike brother. ‘First we knew anything was wrong was when he took a chunk out of Dan and then as usual all hell broke loose.’

‘Did you lose anyone else?’ asked Fran, her eyes flitting briefly to Tom.

‘Nah,’ Max replied, glancing back at Fran,. ‘We were lucky, we dealt with Dan before he could come back.’

‘I doubt Sharon would see any of this as very lucky,’ added Fran.

‘Hey, the retard managed to avoid getting his arse eaten, didn’t he?’ he replied. ‘That’s not just lucky, that’s a bloody miracle.’

‘Christ, you’re all heart,’ Fran muttered, turning away from the man before she gave in to the overwhelming urge building within her to punch him in the face.