Five More Days With The Dead (Lanherne Chronicles Book 2) (7 page)

It didn’t take long before they began passing the first few dilapidated
cottages of St Mawgan village; their ruined shells collapsing in on themselves and overgrown, as nature reclaimed what was hers.

‘It’s lucky
that whoever decided to try to turn on the electricity did so during the winter,’ mused Duncan, peering through one of spy holes at the passing wreckage of an old world.

‘Why?’ asked Phil, subconsciously stroking his beard, while he kept watch through a hole on the opposite side.

‘Well, think about it. A sudden surge causing sparks from every fused or exposed electrical point. If it had happened during the hot summer, where everything was tinder dry already, we could be looking at a firestorm right now. It would soon spread from house to house and round here, the foliage is so dense there would be no stopping it. We would’ve lost the crops, everything,’ Duncan replied, turning away from the spy hole to look at Phil.

‘Well
, I guess we’re just lucky then,’ said Phil, smiling as he gave him a sarcastic ‘thumbs up’.

‘Don’t be a smart arse
…’ Duncan began to say.

‘Uh-
oh?’ Imran’s voice came from the front of the cart. ‘Looks like we’ve got a problem here.’

‘What?’ Duncan and Phil
asked in unison, as they moved forward to look over Imran’s shoulders.

To someone who didn’t know
better, the scene before them looked much like the rest of the forsaken village. However, as the cart drew along the lane, cracked and spotted with large tufts of overgrown weeds, those in the cart knew something was terribly wrong.  The school that Jackson had made his home stood before them at the next crossroads. As usual, the weather worn doors that had been taken from every home in the village, still stood bolted to the iron railings but the gate was open, creaking slightly in the winter breeze. The large heavy bucket, usually filled with brightly coloured plastic balls, no longer sitting sentry by the gate, awaiting visitors to announce their presence, but had been kicked over spilling its contents over the ground.

‘Well, this doesn’t look good
,’ said Phil.

‘No
, it doesn’t,’ added Imran, as he assessed the possibilities of what could have happened. ‘Duncan, swap places with me and take Delilah over to the gate, will you? Phil, pass me my bow.’

Within a few minutes
, Delilah had pulled the cart level with the open gate and with the top hatch now open, Imran could look into the dug up school playground. Instantly, he could hear the frantic barking of the puppy Jackson had found in the woods six months ago, coming from somewhere inside the school. Whatever was going on inside, the poor mutt wasn’t happy about it. Then as if to confirm the worst, a creature so decayed it was impossible to determine what sex it had once been, shuffled into view.

‘We’ve got Dead inside
,’ Imran called down to his companions below. ‘At least one so far.’

At the sound of his voice, the Dead thing turned its putrid fac
e in his direction. Its skin, mouldy and maggot ridden, hung so heavy on its skull that it pulled its lower eyelids down to expose the grey Dead flesh of its cheeks. Even from his position, Imran could see the maggots writhing under the loose skin on its neck, taking sustenance from their rotting host. Imran had seen enough and drawing his arrow back, he took the creature in his sights. With the slightest intake of breath, Imran steadied himself and then exhaled slowly as he let the bowstring slip from his fingers. As always, his arrow flew with precision, burying deeply in the creatures forehead. With the softest of sighs, one last fetid breath escaped its torn lips before the creature fell to floor.

‘I can’t see any more of the Dead from here
,’ Imran said, climbing back into the cart.

‘Right, we’ll have to go in. Duncan, you stay in the cart and keep watch. Imran, I’ll be on point
. Your bow’s not too hot in tight corridors, so we’ll rely on this,’ Phil said, lifting a length of metal tubing with long twisted nails hammered through one end,

‘
And this,’ he continued, strapping an object onto his wrist that looked like a glove with two long metal spikes bolted to a plate covering the back of the hand. 

He had got the idea from Charlie. Charlie had lost a hand during one of
the desert wars long before the Dead came and realising he would need as much weaponry as he could carry, he had modified his artificial limb to hold a large hunting knife.

‘One of yours?’ Imran said to Duncan, nodding at the spiked glove.

‘I aim to please,’ Duncan said, bobbing his head.

‘Right, come
on, ladies. Let’s get to business,’ said Phil, kicking open the side hatch.

By the time Imran had followed him out of the cart, Phil had already taken position by the gate. With his bow in his hand and a full quiver of arrows on his back, Imran gave Phil the nod and they began walking into the playground
slowly. Phil glanced briefly down at the Dead thing Imran had dispatched. Even now, the maggots carried on their harvest of the Dead flesh, their lives oblivious to the change in state of their host. Putting his booted foot on the creature’s head, Phil yanked Imran’s arrow free and silently passed it back to him. Walking down the small path Jackson had made between the rows of vegetable beds towards to school entrance, they could still hear Toby’s frantic barking coming from within the building. When he first took over the school, Jackson had sensibly boarded up the lower two thirds of the large classroom windows, just in case the Dead should ever breach his perimeter. What had been a positive for Jackson was now a hindrance for Phil and Imran because they had no idea what they could be walking into. What they could see through the top third of the glass didn’t bode well though. A multitude of well-fed flies made tapping noises as they continually ricocheted off the smeared glass. In Phil’s experience where you found flies this fat, you could bet your arse there were rotting corpses too.  Pausing as they got to the door, Phil motioned to Imran he would open it on the count of three. Counting down on his fingers, one by one, Phil took a breath and slowly pushed the door inward with his foot. Instantly, the smell hit them. This was not the dry almost sickly sweet smell of old death but the rotting stench of death in its first bouts of decay. Phil hacked phlegm into his mouth and spat, desperate to clear his mouth. Even after just a few breaths, the foul odour almost felt like a coating on his tongue, because it was so strong.

Walk
ing down the dimly lit corridor, which would have once teamed with the carefree jostling and laughter of young children, they knew they would only find death and the Dead awaiting them here. Checking each small classroom as they passed it, the detritus of Jackson’s life littered every available space, Phil and Imran could see Jackson had lived a life of lonely sad regret. Whether a regret that his wife had died or that he had survived, they could only guess, but the words scribbled over walls and blackboards showed Jackson’s unstable mind could not forgive himself for this imagined slight. The words ‘sorry’ and ‘forgive me’ were scrawled in shaky handwriting over many of the available surfaces, which clearly showed a man who had tortured his own soul beyond reason. With one last classroom to check, they knew they had reached their goal. Coming from the room was the sound of the tell-tale moaning of one the Dead and Toby’s anxious barking.

‘Ready?’ Phil whispered.

With the smallest of nods from Imran, Phil pushed open the last classroom door, readying himself for whatever may be inside.

‘Oh
, crap,’ Phil said, lowering his weapon.

There, with his arms out
stretched desperately reaching for a frightened Toby and his legs kicking back and forth trying to gain purchase was Jackson. He had tied a rope to one of the thick heating pipes that ran along the top of the wall, and by climbing up on a chair for some height, had hung himself. He must have done it almost a week ago, judging from the rancid smell coming from his corpse.   

‘Here
, Toby, come on, boy,’ Imran called to the distressed dog.

With one last worried look at its master, Toby reluctantly walked over to Imran to lie down at his feet.

‘Well, at least he tied the knot right, so it broke his neck instantly rather than strangling him,’ mumbled Phil, stepping close to look at the kicking Dead man.

‘Not much consolation
,’ Imran said quietly, reaching down to pat Toby’s head. ‘Does he have any bite marks?’

‘Hang on, I’ll check
,’ replied Phil, swinging his pipe in an arc so the tip connected with the top of Jackson’s head.

With
a wet cracking sound, Jackson’s body suddenly went limp.

‘Well, I could
n’t check while he was moving.’

After Phil had cut down Jackson’s body and checked for any obvious bites, he looked up at Imran.

‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘Must’ve topped himself.’

‘Shit!’ Imran replied
. ‘We should have kept a closer eye on him, the poor bastard.’

‘But why now?’ asked Phil
, looking down at the Jackson’s still form. ‘It’s not as if his wife died recently. He’s lived with her decaying corpse for almost eight years… I wonder what tipped him over the edge?’

‘I think I know
,’ said Imran, gesturing to the pair of dead feet sticking out from behind an over turned table.

The b
ody of Jackson’s long dead wife had been propped up against the opposite wall. It would have been the last thing the poor man saw as he left this world. Phil walked over to the body and crouching down, examined the still corpse.

‘Well
, no prize for what sent him over the edge,’ Phil said, yanking a wickedly sharp serrated knife from her skull.

The woman’s skull had been shattered with such force that even part of the blade guard had punctured t
hrough into her cranial cavity.

‘The question
is who finished off the old lady? Certainly wasn’t Jackson, here.’

‘No
,’ Imran agreed, his brow creasing with concern, ‘Not only did he simply not have the strength to inflict a blow like that, I doubt he could’ve brought himself to do it even if she’d been attacking him.’

‘And this is n
ew, barely been used,’ said Phil, holding up the knife covered in thick dark blood. ‘Whoever left this behind was either stupid or had enough to spare.’

‘Look, let
’s deal with one problem at a time shall we?’ Imran said, realising there was nothing more they could do here. ‘If raiders are in the area, the Convent is well protected. They won’t have a hope of getting in, and I think we should get going to the Penhaligan’s if we want any chance of getting there before nightfall, don’t you?’

‘Hmmm
,’ was all Phil could say, as he stood to follow Imran out of the classroom, still examining the strangely new knife in his hand.

‘Well, come on
then, Toby,’ Imran said, tapping the side of his leg, ‘Can’t just leave you behind, boy.’

Instantly,
the dog jumped to his feet and with his tail wagging furiously, the three of them left behind the two corpses of Mr and Mrs Jackson, who were finally brought together again in death.

‘Well?’ Duncan asked them, as they climbed back into the cart
. ‘Oh,’ he continued as Toby jumped in after them.

Duncan knew the old man had loved the foundling puppy, so the worst must have happened for him to be coming with them now.

‘Someone finally took matters into their own hands and offed Mrs Jackson,’ Phil replied.

‘
What about Jackson?’ Duncan asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Either they did Jackson as well or his wife finally being taken from him wa
s more than he could cope with, so he hung himself,’ Imran added, pulling out a small amount of cooked chicken meat for Toby from one of the supply sacks.

‘So what now?’
asked Duncan.

‘Now
, we continue with the plan,’ said Imran. ‘We go to the Penhaligan place and hope there’s someone left at the Substation alive when we get there tomorrow afternoon.’

Duncan didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t relish being on the road at night, so the sooner they got to their next
stop, the better as far as he was concerned. So, with a gentle flick of the reins, he urged Delilah into motion; leaving behind them just another home in this world of the Dead where death had paid an unwelcome visit.

***

‘She’s coming round,’ Sarah said looking over at a worried looking Patrick holding Jasmine in his arms.

As the darkness sl
owly released its hold on Helen, she forced her consciousness upwards towards the pounding in her head and the muffled voices around her. With relief, she grasped onto the pain that threatened to send her tumbling back into oblivion. The pain told her she was alive and if she was alive, then she had somehow managed to survive the fall from the pylon. With a painful intake of breath, Helen finally opened her eyes. Looking around the dimly lit stable, past J-Man, Sarah and Leon, her eyes fell on a concerned Patrick with Jasmine.