Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead (20 page)

‘OK,’ nodded Charlie, ‘but be careful.’

‘Aren’t I always?’ Liz replied, with a smile.

‘Just watch your footing, Smartarse,’ Charlie continued, giving her the look that every parent used when their teenager was being cheeky.

With a grin, Liz ducked back through the hole in the fence and called up to Tom still waiting by the open window.

‘Tom! You can cut the rope now!’ she shouted, clicking free her sword and adjusting her feet in the slippery mud.

With a nod, Tom deftly slid his sickles back into the slots on his back and then began to cut through the nylon rope with a wickedly sharp looking serrated knife.

‘Ready?’ he called down. ‘He’s about to…’

But the last word suddenly became redundant as the rope abruptly snapped, allowing the Dead man to plummet to the ground below. As he hit the muddy earth Liz heard the familiar wet popping sound of pressurized skin finally ripping and immediately the stench of raw sewage and rotting meat hit her making her eyes water.

‘Christ!’ she mumbled to herself, knowing she unfortunately needed to get closer to the stinking corpse to finish him.

Already the Dead man was trying to find purchase on the slippery mix of wet mud and sheep faeces, eager to push himself upright. As he struggled in the mire Liz watch him for a few seconds, unable to pull her gaze away from his hungry glare. It was only when he finally managed to get one of his feet under him allowing him to rise to one knee that Liz knew enough was enough, it was time to end his torment.

‘Sorry,’ she quietly said, stepping forward with her blade raised high behind her.

Then as the Dead man reached out to her beseechingly with his mud-caked Dead fingers, she let her sword fall.

After she had punctured the skull of the now decapitated head with her sword, Liz covered her nose and mouth with her hand and approached the lifeless corpse crumpled in the mud. Flicking free some of the stinking blood and gore, Liz reached for the zip-lock bag, opened it  and pulled free a pale envelope that had surely been the man’s parting words to a cruel world. Securing her sword back in its sheath, she eagerly tore open the thin envelope and took out a single folded sheet of A4 paper and a photograph of a smiling teenage girl. Glancing at the image briefly, Liz opened the paper and began to read.

“My name is Albert Dean and may God forgive me for what I am about to do,” she read.  “They turned up at my door four weeks ago now, those three bastards hiding behind their pretty boy faces. They were cold, hungry and in fear for their lives they said. They’d be gone by morning they said and, God help me, I believed them. I let them in. No sooner had they set eyes on my darling Jade than everything about them changed. I could see it on their faces, clear as day, they intended to take her and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I managed to get one of them in the leg as they made a grab for her but the other two beat me something black and blue and by the time I came round again they were gone and so was Jade. Seems I must have done more damage than I thought to that bastard’s leg though, because I found him later bleeding by the side of the road. His two mates had left him to die and believe me after I was finished with him he wished that he had.

I had hoped a few hours in the dark with the Dead about would loosen his tongue but the worthless crap didn’t even make it through the night and now I’ll never find my Jade, never. I tried to look for her, I swear I did but with each day it became more and more hopeless. It felt like a weight pressing down on me, smothering me, killing me a little bit more day by day. That’s when I started having these dark thoughts about giving up. Giving up searching, giving up trying, just giving it all up. I know a good father should never have thoughts like these, not when his little girl is out there, lost and needing him. But I can’t carry on like this, not on my own. What’s the point! Jade is gone! Her mother, my beautiful Clara’s gone! Anybody and everybody else I’ve ever known are gone! What’s the point in keeping this foolish old man alive just because that’s what you do, because that’s what’s expected? And then I woke this morning and I just realised… there is no point. I knew today would be the day. Today I would be with my Clara again. Today it would all end. All the pain, all the sorrow, it would all finally go away. So I’ve got the rope from the shed and got things ready. I had thought about just letting the sheep go, letting them take their chances on the moors but with the Dead about it didn’t seem fair so I’ve spent the day building a pen to keep them safe here, for a while at least. Perhaps someone will come by and have a use for them.”

Liz looked down again at the headless body before returning to read the final paragraph.

“If someone is reading this,” she continued, “please take whatever sheep are left as a gift from a foolish, stupid old man and in return if you ever come across my Jade, please tell her that her old Dad loved her. Tell her that I tried to find her, I truly did. Tell her he’s sorry he messed everything up. Tell her he’s so sorry, so very sorry. So…”

After that the words seemed to run into each other as Albert allowed his grief to consume him and ultimately lead him to his death. But Liz had read enough. She had learnt all she needed to about Albert Dean, and more importantly, just what had driven him to take his own life.

‘So it wasn’t food our man by the tree had stolen,’ said Charlie, after Liz had shown him Albert’s suicide note. ‘It was a person.’

Putting himself in Albert’s place, he knew he too would take whatever measures needed if someone ever took Liz or Anne from him. The only difference between Albert and himself was that he would never give up. He would search forever to find his two girls, no matter who took them or how long it took to get them back. And when he found who had taken them; may God have mercy on them because he certainly wouldn’t show them any.

‘Well at least this and the sheep will ingratiate us with those at Saint Xavier’s,’ he continued, handing Liz back the letter and photo.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, idly folding the paper before stuffing it in a pocket. ‘I mean, I get why the sheep might curry us some favour but…’

‘Information, Liz,’ he interrupted. ‘And with that information they can prepare themselves, be on guard, so these kidnappers don’t fool them too.’

Liz nodded her understanding and followed Charlie back to the two carts where Michael and Cam were watching with amusement as Phil struggled to finish sheering one of the sheep.

‘You did say it didn’t have to be pretty?’ said Phil, looking up as he fought to keep one of the ewes between his legs.

‘Well let’s put it this way,’ Charlie chuckled, watching while Phil hacked away at the matted fleece on the sheep’s stomach, ‘it’s a good job you’re bald and never need to style your own hair.’

‘Ha Ha!’ Phil replied,  not amused by Charlie’s joke.

Tossing aside a final clump of matted wool, Phil released the uncooperative beast and let it trot over to join its already trimmed sister.

‘Well, now that they’ve both had a haircut,’ began Cam, watching the two sheep hungrily rip up the lush green grass, ‘any ideas just how we’re going to keep them quiet in the cart?’

‘Ah…,’ replied Charlie, scratching the stubble on his chin. ‘Well, I was hoping if we put something over their eyes they’ll be able to keep calm… and more importantly, quiet.’

‘I thought that was for birds?’ said Michael, not sounding very convinced.

‘Well, the blinkers work for the horses,’ added Liz, nodding towards Star. ‘I suppose it might work on a sheep...’

***

As it turned out ‘blinkering’ the ewes, with ironically a pair of long grey woollen socks, did indeed keep them calm and after the initial struggle of getting one of each into the already full carts, they soon settled down. And so they left behind Albert and the small farmhouse that had been both his home and ultimately his tomb and started back on the road across the moors to what they hoped would be their new home and their new beginning.

‘How long till we get to Saint Xavier’s,’ asked Fran, concerned that Carmella, although she was trying to hide it, was still experiencing intermittent sharp stabbing pains.

‘Hopefully about three or so hours,’ replied Charlie, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Barring any more stops that is…’

‘You don’t think she’s going into labour, do you?’ whispered Cam, unable to stop watching Fran’s every movement while she fussed over Carmella.

Somehow the curve of her neck, the soft line of her jaw, the flurry of her small delicate hands, all these things entranced him as he watched her in the shadows of the cart. It was if each part of her silently called out to him begging for his touch and in reply his hands itched to gratefully oblige. Cam could not understand why he was feeling like this and although it both enthralled and concerned him, most of all it confused him. He had only known Fran for a few days. Yes, they had spoken long into the night after David’s death, their whispered conversations opening doors within doors to each other’s hopes, wishes and fears, yet still she was an enigma to him. He couldn’t say just how had she managed to wriggle her way into his every thought so quickly; but she had. She was a mystery to him, a puzzle box of beautiful hazel eyes, of soft tanned skin and of full lips that he longed to feel against his own. But he could not, or rather would not, allow himself to hope she felt the same way. Even with the age difference put aside, she had just lost her only sister and more than that she had been the one that had to send the wretched shell left behind back into the dark embrace of real death herself. Perhaps in time he could call her friend if he was fortunate but to be more, her lover, her partner, or to even hope she felt a tiny fraction of what he felt for her, this he knew was the stuff of dreams.  

‘God, I hope not,’ Fran replied, shrugging her shoulders as her gaze bore into him. ‘This isn’t exactly the most ideal place to have a baby.’

‘Where is right now?’ added Michael, shaking his head while he comfortingly scratched behind one of the ewes ears.

‘Point taken,’ sighed Fran, taking Carmella’s hand as the woman winced from another spasm of pain.

‘Does it feel like the baby’s coming, Carmella?’ asked Liz, hoping it was more a case of the baby just being in an uncomfortable position.

Moving Anne from her lap, Liz reached across to lay a hand on Carmella’s large bulge. Whether she expected to feel some sort of urgent movement from the baby inside her she couldn’t say, but the gesture seemed like the right thing to do.

‘I do not know,’ she replied, a tinge of fear dancing across her dark eyes, ‘this is my first, I…I do not know what it is supposed to feel like… but I am scared… I do not want Vincenzo’s child born out here among the Dead… Please… Please we must hurry to the school.’

‘Charlie…’ Liz whispered, turning away from Carmella. ‘Any chance we can go a bit faster?’

‘On these crappy roads? I’d rather not if we don’t have to…,’ he replied, looking back at Liz, ‘I don’t want to risk damaging a wheel or worse, have either Star or Snow hurt themselves…. Because it’ll be a long and dangerous walk for some of us if they do.’

‘But if she is going into labour we need to get her and us behind some nice safe walls before the screaming starts…,’ she continued, knowing child birth had become a painful and scary experience for women since the Dead came. ‘Perhaps… perhaps it might just be worth the risk…’

Turning all the way round in his seat Charlie looked at Carmella, his calculating gaze breaking her situation down into the building blocks of pros, cons, risk and probability. As far as he could read it, the dangers from either option were quite evenly matched. Whatever he chose there would be risks involved. They could keep at their current pace and hope if Carmella was actually going into labour that she could control her reactions to the pain, or they could increase their speed and run the risk of irrevocably damaging one of their few modes of transport.

‘Well?’ asked Fran, tipping a bottle of water to Carmella’s lips.

‘Fine…’ he finally replied with a sigh, unable to watch the mix of fear and hope warring in Carmella’s eyes. ‘But I’m only taking her up to a trot on sections of the road that look OK and if the road surface looks at all dodgy we’re going back to a safe walking pace… understand?’

‘Yes, Charlie… Thank you, Charlie,’ muttered Carmella, closing her eyes in relief.

‘Michael can you check for the Dead and then jump out to let Tom know what the plan is,’ he continued, turning back to concentrate on the road ahead of him.

‘No problem,’ Michael replied, already moving from one spyhole to the next while behind him Carmella winced again.

***

‘If this is their boundary wall, they certainly have a good sized chunk of land inside to work on,’ whispered Charlie, eying the tall grey stone wall they had been following on their right for the last fifteen minutes.

The two carts had finally made their way through the lonely barren moorland and as Charlie had promised, the horses had alternated between their usual steady walking speed and short bursts of light trotting. He had only pushed them when he saw fit and at even the slightest sign that the road ahead posed any risk of damaging the cart’s wheels or the horses he pulled them back to a safe walking speed. Despite this, they had made good time and within two hours they were at last leaving the vast expanse of the wild open moors behind them and making their way through a more forgiving rural landscape.