Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead (11 page)

It didn’t matter when or where you were, throughout history there were always those who thought just because they were greater in strength or number that they could simply take what they wanted. The meek inheriting the earth was a nice idea but in reality they usually ended bleeding in the dirt while their women were raped, belongings pillaged and children traumatised. Such was the way of Man.

‘Look, there’s a million and one things that can go wrong,’ Charlie continued, looking from one anxious face to the next, his gaze finally lingering on Carmella, ‘but if we don’t try then they’ve won…. all of them, the Dead, the raiders, those bastard aliens or terrorist or whatever they were that heaped this shit down on humanity… they’ve beaten us and we might as well top ourselves here and now… and I don’t know about you but fuck that! While I’ve got breath in my body I’m going to fight for those I care about, fight to survive… No, actually fuck that too, I’m not fighting to just survive, I’m fighting to live.’

Slowly one by one heads began to nod in agreement. They would take their chance on the road. They would deal with the Dead and if they came across them, deal with the raiders too. They needed to live not simply survive and if Saint Xavier’s offered them a chance of that then they would risk it all to get there.

‘Right, so when are we leaving then?’ asked Phil, snapping closed the lid of a plastic box now full of cooked horse meat.

‘Well, we’re safe here for the moment,’ said Charlie, ‘and we don’t want to spend more than one night on the road unless we have to, so I think we should finish packing up what we can and after we’ve said a proper goodbye to Vincenzo, leave at first light tomorrow.’

At the mention of his name, Carmella slowly turned her head to look at Charlie, fresh heavy tears already filling her eyes as her hands instinctively moved to her cradle the unborn child within her.   

***

‘Goodbye, Vincenzo… I’m sorry…’ said Charlie, solemnly moving the flaming torch from one spot under the pile of kindling and chopped wood to the next. ‘And don’t worry, Carmella and the baby will be looked after…’

While the wood slowly began to crackle and pop under the growing flames, Charlie turned and walked back to join the assembled group of survivors, his gaze lingering on Carmella. The wretched woman had somehow managed to claw her way back from the catatonic state her overwhelming grief had imposed upon her and as she watched the body of her husband wrapped in an old blanket begin to catch fire heavy tears fell freely from her eyes. Beside her, Phil placed a hand on her shoulder, eager for her to know they all understood her loss but the comforting weight of his touch could do little to ease the pain ripping through the young woman.

With death an everyday acquaintance for them all, they knew there was little they could do to really help her. Carmella had to find her own way through this personal hell, if not for herself then for the child she held inside her. In a way she had been fortunate to have been spared death’s woeful embrace for so long and even in its smothering grasp she had been left with a small part of Vincenzo to live on in his stead, his unborn baby. For Carmella the child would always be a part of him left behind for her to love and to cherish, and in that she could take a small amount of solace.

One by one the group began to return to the kitchen, each giving Carmella a hug, kiss or simply a touch to show that they knew, shared and understood her pain.

‘I’m so sorry,’ finally whispered Fran, her hand hovering but a hair’s breadth from touching Carmella’s arm, almost afraid to make that final contact.

Carmella turned away from the now blazing pyre to look at Fran.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she said, her questioning gaze searching Fran’s face for the truth.

‘I…’ Fran tried to reply, drawing her hand back

‘It was you… you stopped him coming back,’ Carmella continued, reaching to fiercely grasp her hand.

‘I’m… I’m sorry… I had to…’ was all Fran could think of to say, trying to pull her hand free.

‘Thank you,’ Carmella interrupted, holding Fran’s hand even tighter and pulling it to her chest. ‘Thank you Fran, thank you…you… you gave him peace… you gave my Vincenzo peace and for that I can never thank you enough…’

With that, more heavy tears fell as Carmella’s raw grief rose to the surface again, demanding to be acknowledged.

‘It’ll be alright Carmella… I promise,’ Fran whispered, pulling the grieving woman into her arms as her own grief bubbled forth to mirror it. ‘It’ll be alright…’

‘How, Fran?’ Carmella sobbed. ‘How can it be ever be alright again? I am alone now…’

Pushing Carmella slightly away from her, Fran took the woman’s chin in her fingers and tilted her tear filled face up to look at her.

‘I made a promise to Vincenzo, remember,’ she whispered, her thumb moving to wipe away a tear as it rolled down Carmella’s cheek. ‘I will take care of you… you are not alone, Carmella… as long as I live you never will be….’

‘Fran…’ Carmella started to say.

‘I made a promise,’ Fran repeated, using the back of her hand to wipe away her own tears. ‘You’ll see, together we’ll give your baby a long and good life… I promise… you’ll see…’

A gust of wind suddenly sped past them sending a shower of golden embers twirling from the flames up into the darkening evening sky above them.

‘We should go in with the others,’ said Fran, suddenly realising that despite Charlie watching over them from the  nearby building, only she and Carmella were left standing by the raging pyre.

Carmella briefly watched another flurry of small sparkling lights caught by the wind, following them twist and dance until they finally went out.

‘Addio amore mio…’ she finally whispered, bidding a final farewell to Vincenzo before allowing Fran to lead her back to the kitchen.

As they reached the kitchen door Charlie pushed himself away from the wall and stepped forward to meet them.

‘OK?’ he mouthed nodding to Fran, who simply returned his nod in reply.

‘It will be, Charlie,’ Carmella softly said, noticing the exchange between him and Fran. ‘At the moment it is all fear and a dark pain twisting in my heart… but it will be OK… in time, I know it will… and I will be too…’

***

Chapter 3

During the night, high clouds from the west had silently crept across a deep indigo sky blotting out a million stars one by one. By dawn the survivors had woken to a dull grey sky just beginning to release its heavy burden.

‘What a crappy day,’ mumbled Sally, looking through the already rain spotted window in the kitchen.

As droplets clung to the pane only to suddenly tumble down the glass, racing their brothers to reach the peeling windowsill, Sally chewed nervously at her fingernails. Moving location was always a dangerous and unsettling time for her. Not only because of the Dead that lurked around every corner, in fact she had almost got used to that by now, but it was the uncertainty of the ‘new’ that disturbed her so. When she arrived at Saint Xavier’s she would have little time to gauge the social dynamics of this new group and just how she was to make her place within it. She knew alliances and ‘interest’ would have to be shown to those with the strongest powerbase as soon as possible or she ran the risk of becoming side-lined or affiliated with those weak or on the edge. She was no fool, as a fighter she was barely competent and stood no chance to distinguish herself to any degree in that department but as a politician and social climber she had honed her skills to a deadly art-form. She would scheme, flirt and with what little was left of her good looks she would ingratiate herself with those in charge. It was second nature to her; she had after done it all her adult life. Her skills would guarantee she was kept safe, protected and her stomach always full, of that she was certain.

‘Don’t just stand there, Sally,’ berated Charlie, the one straight man who had seemed immune to her charms, ‘there’s still work to do… a bit of drizzle outside isn’t going to kill you…’

Sally turned from the rain spotted glass and pushed herself languidly away from the window, always hoping today would be the day Charlie decided to take interest in her.

‘What would you like me to do?’ she said, tilting her head slightly to one side while holding his gaze a fraction too long.

‘Yeah, alright Marilyn Monroe, just pick up a box and shift your arse outside…’ interrupted Phil, appearing through the kitchen door, droplets of rain beading on his shaved head.   

Briefly Sally looked at Phil, unconsciously pursing her lips in annoyance. Then with a feline like slow blink of her eyes, she walked over to the kitchen table, picked up a small box of jars containing preserved pears and walked to the door. As she pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head she turned to Phil, looking him up and down.

‘You’re looking tired, Phil,’ she said, shaking her head in mock concern, ‘you’d better be careful… who knows what’s at Saint Xavier’s… David might trade you in for a younger model…’

With that she spun on her heels and walked out.

‘That woman, you’ve got to love her… what a grade ‘A’ bitch…’ laughed Phil, watching Sally leave.

Charlie chuckled as he picked up one of the remaining boxes and handed it over to Phil.

‘I wouldn’t be laughing if I was you,’ Phil continued, taking the box under his arm. ‘She’s not finished with you yet, buddy boy… that lady’s set her sights on getting herself a bit of Charlie love... you mark my words.’

‘She’ll lose interest soon enough when we get to Saint Xavier’s,’ replied Charlie, following Phil out of the kitchen and into the lightly falling rain, ‘and then whoever’s in charge will get the full force of her attention…’

‘Poor bastard!’ mumbled Phil, causing Charlie to choke back a laugh.

‘Glad someone’s in a good mood!’ grumbled Tyrone, from the top of the cart as he reached down to take Phil’s box. ‘I didn’t get a fucking wink of sleep last night. What with having one ear listening for Paul crying out in his sleep and the other abused by Tom’s snoring… I’m fucking knackered…’

‘Don’t worry, you can sleep in the cart once we’re off,’ said Charlie, passing his box to Phil to hand up to the yawning young man.

‘And…’ began Tyrone, his words interrupted by a prolonged yawn, ‘…sorry… when will that be?’

Charlie couldn’t help but smile as he looked up at the young black man; the rain drops making his tight curls glisten in the soft morning light. In that one tired moment Tyrone had been stripped of his adulthood, allowing Charlie to catch a glimpse of the teenager he had once been. The arrival of the Dead had forcibly moved the young man from the role of cool older brother, to that of parent in the space of a few days and despite his maturity, Charlie had to remember sometimes that he was only in his early twenties. He had taken up the challenge of keeping his younger brother alive in a world full of the Dead and if he ever resented this burden he certainly never spoke of it.

As if thinking of Paul made him appear, Charlie noticed him slowly checking Star’s bridal, strappings and reins.

‘Charlie!’ Tyrone repeated, swinging his legs over the side of the cart, ‘… when are we leaving?’

‘Sorry,’ he replied, his eyes staying on Paul whose attention seemed to have been caught by something at the far end of the burnt building. ‘About half an hour… Tyrone… can you ask Paul what he’s looking at?’

‘What?’ said Tyrone, his protective gaze automatically finding his brother. ‘Oh, sure…’

With a grunt, Tyrone pushed himself off the roof of the cart to land by Charlie. After tapping Paul on the shoulder to get his attention, the boy turned round to face his brother.

‘What is it?’ Tyrone signed with a brief flurry of his hands.

As Paul’s hands gave reply, Tyrone translated for Charlie.

‘He says there’s someone standing in the rubble,’ said Tyrone, looking back at Charlie and Phil. ‘Watching us…’

‘Watching us?’ asked Charlie, walking over to stand by the deaf boy. ‘Where?’

With his eyes following the exchange, Paul shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the far corner of the collapsed building.

‘God, Paul, your eyesight’s a damn sight better than mine,’ mumbled Charlie, his gaze flitting across the rubble.

‘What?’ Paul signed, unsure of what Charlie had said.

‘He just says he can’t see anything…’ confirmed Tyrone, his fingers bringing Paul back into the conversation.

‘There…’ Paul said loudly, his learnt speech pronouncing the word more like ‘dare’ as he pointed to a specific spot.

‘He’s right…,’ said Phil, giving Star a pat as he walked past her. ‘Look… There is someone… a small child from the looks of it… or a dwarf…’

Sure enough, now that it had been pointed out to him Charlie could see the small figure of a child, a boy, standing amongst the rubble.

‘Why doesn’t he come over?’ mused Charlie. ‘He can see we’re getting ready to leave…’

‘Poor sod’s probably traumatised from last night,’ suggested Phil. ‘Perhaps one of us should just go get him?  We can’t just leave him behind…’

‘Hmm… I don’t want him making a bolt for it if we spook him…,’ agreed Charlie, his fingers absentmindedly scratching Star’s neck as he peered at the child rocking slightly back and forth, ‘… I think Liz...’

At the sound of her name, Liz stuck her head out of the rear hatch on the second cart.

‘Did I hear my name?’ She asked, her head automatically turning back to the building, mirroring the focus of everyone else’s attention. ‘What’s the problem? The Dead?’

Once Charlie had filled her in, Liz soon found herself slowly walking through the patchwork of uprooted vegetable beds on her way to the soot-covered child at the far side of the grounds.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ she called softly to the boy, coming to a stop ten or so metres away from the pile of rubble.

With her hands held reassuringly out to him, Liz took another step closer, causing the boy to begin rocking again.

‘Don’t be afraid… no-one’s going to hurt you…,’ she continued, taking another step closer, ‘you can come with us if you…’

She was about to say more when the child suddenly jerked its body towards her. It was only now that she was closer that she could see that one of the child’s arms was trapped within the rubble, pinning it in place. More importantly than this though, now that she was just a few steps away she could see that beneath his soot streaked face and ruffled hair only the milky film covered eyes of the Dead looked back at her.

‘Shit,’ she whispered, watching the Dead child strain against his trapped arm, trying to free itself to reach her.

Liz looked at the struggling seven or eight year old child and sighed. Through death this child had become a true Peter Pan. He would never grow up and even though the flesh would rot on his bones, he would never get older. Without any obvious signs of attack or trauma she could only assume his small body had been overwhelmed by smoke as he hid from the rampaging Dead the previous evening. To have escaped a terrifying and bloody death at the hands of the Dead only to be taken by the choking fumes instead made Liz want to weep at the unjustness of it all.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a sigh.

Ignoring the child’s desperate moaning, she reached behind her to pull her blade free of its sheath. With the whisper of the steel slipping free, Liz began to climb over the blackened rubble to give the child the true death he deserved. Coming to a stop just beyond the reach of its one free arm, Liz held her blade high behind her.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t save you,’ she said, her lips barely moving as she looked into the child’s Dead eyes so full of the uncontrollable hunger that consumed it. ‘I’m… I’m sorry we couldn’t save you...’

With those words her blade fell, removing the child’s head from its shoulders. The pinned arm still held the child’s torso in place causing it to sag lifelessly against the crumbling wall of the Institute. Averting her eyes from the sickening scene, Liz stepped over a pile of rubble and debris to place her fingers in the dusty hair of the still moving head. Once she had steadied the rocking head and turned its unholy gaze away from her, she made swift work of consigning the child to the eternal darkness of death.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake…’ she whispered, mourning for the loss of the nameless child as she slowly pulled the tip of her blade from its ruined skull.

It was always the Dead children that Liz found the hardest to deal with. These cadavers born through bloody teeth and gore smeared hands, these children robbed of both their lives and their potential, these innocents killed before their lives had barely begun, these were the ones that always filled her heart with a mix of sorrow and guilt. She mourned for their pain and mourned for their passing, all the while feeling the knotting twist of guilt, that if it hadn’t been for a chance of fate had brought her to Charlie, she too would be just like them.

Walking back to the others Liz took out a rag and began to wipe the child’s dark blood from her blade. Glancing up from her task she saw the others staring at her, each with a sad but resigned look on their face. There was no real need to ask or say anything about what had happened, the fact her blade had tasted blood yet again spoke volumes. They all knew the score. People died, they came back as the Dead and it was the job of the living to put them to rest again, it was as simple as that. Not that knowing this or accepting it as a part of everyday life made it any easier to deal with.

As she finally approached the cart people slowly began to resume their tasks again as if nothing had happened.

‘OK?’ Charlie simply said with a nod, noticing the pain in Liz’s eyes.

‘Peachy…,’ Liz replied with a sigh as she slipped her sword back into the sheath on her back. ‘We’re almost done here, right?’

‘Almost…,’ replied Charlie, giving her shoulder a fatherly squeeze as she walked past him.

Instinctively Liz’s delicate fingers reached up to brush against those of the man she thought of as her father. Turning she looked back at him, seeing only concern in his gaze.

‘Liz?’ he said, his brow creasing.

‘I’m… I’m OK, Charlie… honest,’ she replied, a sad but reassuring smile on her lips, ‘I’ll just be glad to leave this place behind us that’s all…’

‘I know,’ he said softly, his gaze wondering over to the ruined building behind her. ‘Such a fucking waste…’

Liz instinctively knew he wasn’t referring to the ruined building surrounded by the abandoned crops and breached wall. As important as these were, they were just things. New buildings would be found, new crops planted and new defences built and fortified. It was the simple waste of life that Charlie hated. Someone had messed up somewhere, someone had died and as a result more people than necessary had fallen to the Dead. Just how it had all started they would never really know but as always with each devastated settlement they were forced to leave, the fragile hope they each cradled within them was chipped away a fraction more.

‘Xavier’s will be different,’ she finally said, stepping closer to give Charlie an affectionate hug, ‘you’ll see, Charlie. We’ll get there and this’ll be the one we can make our home…permanently… you’ll see…’

‘Certainly hope so, girl,’ he replied, giving the top of her head a kiss. ‘… Now come on, we’ve still got work to do before we can leave… can you double check what weapons we have are evenly divided between the two carts for me?’

‘Sure,’ she replied, releasing Charlie to climb up into the cart behind Star, eager to get out of the drizzling rain for a while.

Pausing in the open side hatch she turned back to see Charlie’s attention had drifted back to the blackened shell of the Carmichael Institute.