Star Drawn Saga (Book 2): Lost Among The Dead (2 page)

‘Yeah… yeah, I’ll take charge,’ he at last whispered, his hand slowly reaching for the knife.

‘No matter what?’ repeated Emma, raising an eyebrow questioningly; the three simple words seaming to hover somewhere between a promise, a threat and a prophecy of dark foreboding.

Briefly his hand paused, his eyes searching hers, unsure if he should trust the young woman stood before him.

‘Clock’s ticking, Dennis,’ prompted Emma, holding his gaze as she sensed his resolve waver.

Glancing away from her back over to Harry’s slumped body, Dennis stood motionless as if in the eye of some great storm; the churning chaos held in check for only as long as he failed to move. Yet at that moment he became all too aware of Brett and his brother, Grant, standing close behind him, awaiting his reaction; perhaps looking for some weakness in him to justify taking control for themselves. Dennis knew this unexpected window of opportunity was closing fast and if he wanted to stake his claim to lead the group unchallenged, he would need to act forcefully; and act now.

‘No matter what,’ he abruptly said with a sharp nod, purposefully taking the knife from her hand before turning to face the others in the room. ‘Anyone got a problem with that?’ he continued, his cold glare and stern expression moving from one face to the next, daring them to contradict him.

For a moment the two brothers exchanged silent glances, until with a shrug of his shoulders Grant reached behind him to pull his chair back into place and sat down.

‘Whatever you say, Dennis,’ he muttered, as if bored by the whole turn of events. ‘Harry was an arsehole anyway.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Bret. ‘You want to be the head honcho… it’s all yours, Den… but I doubt Ray and Paul are going to be too chuffed,’ he continued, gesturing to the door and two of the men they knew to be on guard duty somewhere amid their warren of suspended walkways. ‘They had a soft spot for old Harry there, what with knowing him from before.’

As if mentioning them had magically conjured them up, the doorway was abruptly blocked by the figures of two red faced men gulping down air.

‘We heard the shouts, we…’ panted Paul, his words dying on his lips as he stood stunned by the carnage that met them.

‘What the Fuck!’ gasped Ray, removing his glasses as if looking through them had somehow created the bloody apparition before him.

It was only when Ray looked away from the slumped figure of Harry lying face down in a pool of blood expanding across the table and over to Dennis that he noticed the blood covered knife clenched in the man’s hand.

‘You bastard! What the fuck have you done!’ growled Ray, his eyes narrowing hatefully as he slipped his glasses inside his jacket pocket.

‘Haven’t you heard… we’ve had a change of management,’ mumbled Grant almost to himself, as he reached across the table to take a scoop of now forgotten mashed potato from a large bowl.

‘Yeah, Harry here decided to step down,’ chuckled Brett, leaning nonchalantly against the table, his arms folded.

‘Brett,’ warned Dennis, his tone causing the smile to fade from the younger man’s lips. ‘Look, Ray…’ he continued, calmly but purposefully resting a hand on the handle of the large machete hanging from his belt as he returned Ray’s furious glare, ‘you’ve got a choice to make here… both of you have and… and I’d think very carefully before making any rash decisions if I were you.’

‘This is bullshit!’ spat Ray, shaking his head as he glanced back at Harry’s corpse. ‘You think you can fucking kill Harry and just get away with it.’

‘It wasn’t…’ Brett started to say.

‘I’m not going to tell you again, Brett,’ interrupted Dennis, without breaking eye contact with Ray, ‘keep it shut, I…’

‘The world may have gone to shit,’ Ray raged, talking over him, ‘but you murder someone and there’s still consequences… you still have to pay, Dennis.’

‘Now,’ Dennis replied, slowly pulling the machete from its sheath, ‘I’d think twice before you decide to go down that route.’

‘Dennis, Ray,’ said Sid, speaking for the first time, his neutral tone somewhat belittled by the slight nervous shake to his voice, ‘we’re… we’re all a bit on edge at the moment and probably saying things we may not mean. I… I think we should take a moment… just to think things through a bit.’

‘No,’ said Emma, ignoring Sid’s call for calm, letting the back of her fingers brush discretely against Dennis’ leg. ‘I think Ray’s already made his decision.’

Looking briefly away from Ray, Dennis found himself lost in Emma’s almost bewitchingly pale blue eyes.

‘We’re not going to make it, Dennis,’ Sid continued, hoping the larger man would heed his advice and take a step back from the bloody precipice he teetered on, ‘not…not unless we stick together… all of us.’

‘Clock’s ticking, Dennis,’ Emma repeated, forcefully holding his gaze while the little finger on her hand moved just enough to touch his thigh once again. ‘And you know… he won’t forget, neither will Paul. Deep down you know…’ she continued, her voice soft and calm as if talking to a child. ‘It’ll always be there, always waiting for you to slip up and they...’

‘What the fuck are you talking about you stupid bitch!’ snapped Ray. ‘Bloke kills your dad and all of a sudden you’re his best friend.’

As he spoke Emma slowly released Dennis from her captivating stare and turned her attention to Ray; a look of complete disinterest on her face.

‘Oh…Oh, shit!’ whispered Paul, the connection suddenly dawning on him, shaking his head in disbelief as his hand reached up to tug on Ray’s sleeve. ‘It was her, Ray. It was Emma. She killed Harry.’

‘It’ll always be there, Dennis,’ Emma softly said, ignoring Paul’s revelation as she tilted her head to rest it against Dennis’ arm.

For a moment nobody moved and nobody said anything; a silent standoff interrupted by only the sound of Grant shovelling spoonful after spoonful of cooling mashed potato into his mouth and the rhythmic dripping of Harry’s equally cooling blood hitting the floor.

‘Brett, Grant,’ said Dennis, at last breaking the silence and causing a nervous whine to escape from Natalie, clearly fearful of what was about to happen.

‘Getting your henchmen to do the dirty work are you?’ sneered Ray.

‘Ray and Paul here… they’re about to leave us,’ stated Dennis, ignoring Ray’s comment.

‘No, wait, please…’ Paul tried to say, a knot of terror already gripping his insides.

‘But Dennis, the Dead?’ added Sid, while beside him Natalie failed to hold in check a sharp fearful sob. ‘Please, you can’t…’

‘See they get to the park entrance safely,’ Dennis continued. ‘I don’t want them to get turned around in the dark by mistake.’

‘What? Like, right now?’ asked Brett, glancing briefly at his brother who simply shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

‘Yes, now!’ Dennis replied without looking back; refusing to break eye contact with Ray stood seething in the doorway. ‘They won’t be needing to pack.’

‘You fucker!’ growled Ray, knowing Dennis had basically handed them both a death sentence. ‘What are we…’

‘Dennis, p…please… I … I don’t care about Harry, honest,’ Paul stammered, desperate to somehow find a way to convince the man to let him stay. ‘Please, I …’

‘They can take with them what they have on them now, nothing more,’ said Dennis, issuing his orders to Brett and Grant as if Paul hadn’t spoken at all. ‘Oh, and you can split the stuff they leave behind between the two of you once they’re gone,’ he said as an afterthought realising it was a good way to keep to two younger and physically able men on side; the soft motion of Emma’s thumb moving back and forth against his leg showing him she approved too.

Again the two brothers exchanged glances, a spoken agreement quickly passing between them with the barest of nods.

‘Okay,’ said Grant, through a final mouthful of food, before dropping the empty spoon down onto the table, ‘sorry gents but it’s check-out time at Camp Dead… time to leave.’

‘No, no, Dennis, please, Dennis,’ Paul continued to beg, shaking his head as if to wake himself from the nightmare that had unexpectedly descended upon him in the spate of just a few minutes.

‘Now, let’s not over-stay our welcome,’ sighed Brett, lifting a heavy length of piping up to rest on his shoulder and taking a step towards the two men. ‘I think we’ve all seen enough of the red stuff for one night, don’t you?’

‘Emma,’ a woman’s voice whispered from somewhere in the room.

‘Yeah, there’s no need to,’ added Grant, vigorously using his tongue to try and free something stuck between his teeth, ‘to make this any harder than it already is.’

‘Emma,’ the woman repeated.

‘You fuckers are going to pay for this,’ snapped Ray, turning to angrily push an almost weeping Paul back out of the doorway in front of him. ‘You’re all going to pay, mark my words you murdering bastards, somehow you’ll pay for this!’

‘Always be there,’ whispered Emma, gently shaking her head as if she was somehow exasperated by the man’s reaction; her hand slowly moving up to touch Dennis’ arm.

‘You’ll pay for this!’ Ray continued to shout from just beyond the doorway, as Brett moved to follow after him; Grant trailing closely behind.

‘Grant,’ Dennis suddenly called after the younger man, causing him to turn in the open doorway. ‘Take this,’ he continued, flipping the machete in his hand so he now offered the handle-end to Grant.

Slowly Grant reached for the handle, looking up at Dennis as his fingers encircled the grip.

‘Ray’s an angry man who knows our weaknesses,’ Dennis simply stated with a jerk of his head to the open door, finally allowing his hand to slip from the machete.

‘That not good,’ replied Grant quietly, his eyes momentarily flicking to long blade before returning to meet Dennis’. ‘Not good at all.’

With a nod of understanding, Grant tested the weight of the machete in his hand and then turned and left the cabin without saying another word.

‘Oh, Dennis,’ sighed Sid, dropping slowly back into his seat, all the tension of what had occurred suddenly catching up with him in a wave of overwhelming exhaustion.

‘Emma,’ the woman’s voice whispered from across the room once again, only this time holding an underlying urgency that demanded recognition.

Turning to look back, Emma had almost forgotten the bloody scene she had left in her wake but even seeing it afresh she still felt no remorse for what she had done. In fact it was only the strange look on her younger sister Wendy’s blood splattered face that caused her to pause and think perhaps there may have been a better way after all.

‘Emma,’ Angela Doyle continued, at last tearing herself from the crumpled form of her murdered husband to look at her teenage daughter, ‘your father, he…’

Yet even as Emma met her mother’s glassy stare, she noticed the sharp twitch of one of her step-father’s arms on the table behind her.

‘He…’ Angela continued, her voice sounding distant, forgetful and somewhat confused, as if she was trying to deny the reality of what had happened and yet at the same time desperately trying to pass on some vital message. ‘He’s…’

Behind her, Harry Doyle’s body jerked again, his right leg suddenly kicking out to the side; the movement causing a chorus of cries to erupt from those still left seated about the table.

‘Dennis,’ hissed Emma, realising that unlike Sid, Norma, Jimmy and Natalie, Wendy still stood dangerously close to her step-father’s twitching corpse. ‘Dennis, he,’ she repeated just as the corpse of her father sat bolt upright and glared at her with milky film covered eyes. ‘Harry,’ she managed to gasp just as the carving knife flew from Dennis’ hand and lodged itself deeply in the corpse’s left eye socket; the force of the blow knocking him backwards off his chair.

With a screech of chair legs being pushed across wooden floorboards, Angela Doyle at last rose from her seat. She gave one last look towards the space at end of the blood covered table that only moments ago her husband, and then his reanimated corpse, had filled and then she silently turned and walked away. As she reached the doorway she paused, her shaking hand grasping the door surround for support and silently she looked back once at her eldest daughter, a strangely unemotional expression on her face and then stepped out onto the dark walkway beyond. For a few beats of her heart Emma simply stared at the dark chasm of the open doorway and in that instant she knew. She knew that her mother had known all along about her step-father’s sick desires and she knew she had done nothing to prevent it.

‘Emma… Emma, it’s over,’ said Dennis, tentatively touching her shoulder; the contact instantly breaking the spell her mother’s departure had cast over her.

‘What?’ she replied, momentarily confused by the emotions that battled within her as she looked up at the man that had spoken. ‘Oh, yes, yes, Dennis, it’s over…. finally over.’

Briefly a sad smile ghosted across her lips showing her thanks and then looking back at the empty table space she saw Wendy standing motionless, gazing down at their step-father’s forever lifeless corpse.

‘Wendy,’ she said, her words barely a whisper.

Blinking, the eleven year old girl seemed to briefly shake herself from the catatonic state that had wrapped itself about her.

‘Emma,’ she croaked, before slowly returning her gaze to the body at her feet.