Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead (16 page)

‘Ready?’ asked Charlie, spinning the ice pick loosely in his hand.

‘Yep,’ replied Tom, the gleam in his eyes a little too enthusiastic for Charlie’s liking.

‘David?’ Charlie continued, making sure the young man was ready for what they might find inside.

‘Yeah… Let’s do this so we can get out of this bloody rain…,’ he replied, his length of pipe wedged under his arm as he pulled on a pair of thick canvas gloves for protection.

Glancing over David’s shoulder Charlie could see Phil standing guard by the second cart.

‘Can’t help himself, can he?’ he said, smiling as he nodded to the large man scanning the desolate countryside for any signs of the Dead.

Looking over his shoulder back at Phil, Tom tutted. 

‘He’s one stubborn fucker, that one…,’ he said, his hand snapping out to hook the swinging gate with one of his curved sickles. ‘Ladies first…’

Wiping the rain that dripped from her nose with the back of her hand, Liz didn’t feel like much of a lady but stepped through the open gate none the less.

‘Such a gentleman,’ she mumbled, her eyes drifting up to the two dark windows on the upper floor of the house.

Walking along the narrow cobbled path choked with hardy weeds, each of them couldn’t help but spare a wary glance up at the twisted oak tree, its branches swaying and creaking in the wind.

‘So how do you want to do this?’ asked Tom, wiping his sleeve across the small ground floor window to look inside, ‘Front room looks empty and I can just make out a closed door leading to another room… probably the kitchen.’

‘Once we’re in you and I will check out the ground floor,’ Charlie began, tapping Tom’s shoulder with his ice pick, causing him to turn away from the murky glass. ‘From the outside I’m guessing it’s pretty much a two up two down house. So Liz, David, I want you to check upstairs, OK?’

‘Sure thing,’ said David, using his hand to shield his face from the rain as he tilted his head to look up at the two windows above them.

Once Charlie was sure they were as prepared as they could be, he took a step back and with a brief pause to take aim, landed a hard kick at the lock on the peeling door. With a ‘crack’ the wood of the door splintered under the force of Charlie’s kick, releasing the lock and allowing it to crash open, revealing a small dark hallway. Waiting just in case the shadows harboured any of the Dead, the four survivors stood poised ready to attack. But with the only movement before them that of a few startled mice sent scurrying along skirting boards, Charlie stepped forward. Nodding to Liz and David to take the small staircase that led upstairs, he stepped through an open door to his right and found himself in the dusty and drab looking living room.  

Dominated by a large stone fireplace, the room was mainly filled with a tatty looking sofa in front of which sat a battered looking coffee table cluttered with the dusty parts of a dismantled engine of some kind. The only other pieces of furniture were of course the ubiquitous television sat in the corner and a dresser against one wall, like the coffee table it too was filled with parts of machinery seemingly randomly dotted among a collection of faded photographs.      

‘No smell of the Dead…’ whispered Tom, stepping round the moth eaten sofa that had certainly seen better days. ‘Could be a good sign…,’ he continued, glancing at one of the photographs showing a somewhat rumpled looking old man standing in front of a tractor with two well-dressed smiling children.

‘Hmm…’ Charlie replied, walking past Tom to the only other door in the room, ‘let’s see what’s behind here first.’

‘Ready?’ Tom whispered, his hand hovering over the door handle.

Charlie was about to reply when the creaking footsteps of Liz and David above them interrupted him.

‘Go for it,’ he finally said, as the creaking suddenly came to a stop.

With a nod, Tom began to slowly turn the handle. Surprised that the door didn’t open, he tried again.

‘I think it’s locked,’ he said, looking back at Charlie.

Sniffing, Charlie shook his head.

‘No, I think it’s just warped…,’ he replied. ‘Now we’re this side of the room I can smell the damp… can’t you?’

Taking a sniff of the musty air, Tom began to nod in agreement.

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he agreed, stepping away from the door. ‘I can smell it too now.’

‘Stand back, I’ll ram it open with my shoulder,’ he continued, slipping his sickles back into the channels on his back.

‘Just be careful,’ Charlie whispered, looking at the somewhat sturdy looking door, ‘and try not to break anything…’

Tom gave Charlie a look of exasperation but then suddenly realised that he had meant broken bones rather than the abandoned clutter left behind by the previous occupant.

‘Try my best,’ Tom said with a grin, moments before he charged at the door.

With a bang and high pitched screech, the warped door flew open under the force of Tom’s assault and suddenly scraped to juddering stop on the uneven and wet floor of the kitchen. Just like the front room, the kitchen was thankfully empty of the Dead and as the two men gingerly stepped through the doorway they could immediately see the source of the damp smell. Above a wooden kitchen table, buckled with damp rot and mould, the plaster of the ceiling sagged under the weight of the water constantly dripping though it.

‘Looks like the kitchen’s closed for business…,’ said Tom, picking up a grime covered teapot from a counter only to quickly discard it again when he saw the emaciated body of a mouse inside.

‘Yeah,’ said Charlie, his brow creasing as he looked up at the large dark stain on the ceiling.

***

Above them Liz and David had carefully crept along a narrow hallway at the top of the stairs, mindful that the Dead could appear at any moment. Contrary to Charlie’s prediction there had actually been three rooms for them to check out on the upper floor. Two of the doors in front of them were closed, hiding their contents from them, while the third had been wedged open by an iron door stop to reveal a small sad looking bathroom. Finding nothing inside but a happy colony of spiders, they moved onto the first of the mystery doors.

‘Ready?’ mouthed Liz, as they stood outside the first of the closed doors, her hand hovering over the handle.

Nodding, David stepped back to give Liz some room and waited. With a soft click the lock released and Liz gave the door a gentle shove. Silently sweeping over a threadbare carpet, its pattern almost hidden beneath the thick layer of dust, the door opened to reveal a small shadowy bedroom.

‘Empty…’ Liz whispered, releasing the breath she had been holding.

With only a single bed and an old looking bedside table with a dusty lamp on it inside the room, there was nowhere for the Dead to hide so Liz stepped confidently forward to look at something that had caught her eye.

‘Watch the other door,’ she whispered to David, as she walked over to the small window to push aside the faded curtains.

With a sheet of rain suddenly drumming against the window, she couldn’t help but smile when she noticed Phil still standing guard over the two carts, his heavy club resting over his shoulder ready for action. Turning back to the small bedroom, Liz went to the neatly made single bed and picked up the envelope that had been placed quite purposefully leaning against the two floral print pillows.

‘What is it?’ asked David, looking back to Liz for a second.

‘Well whoever Judith is, I’m guessing she’s not coming back to read it…,’ she mumbled, reading the name written on the front.

Placing her sword down on the bed, Liz ripped open the envelope and read a stranger’s last words to someone they loved.

‘Dear Judith,’ Liz read to herself, ‘I know you said you and Graham may pop down today with the girls but John from Fairway Farm turned up at my door half an hour ago saying he’s been attacked by some mad woman. For a moment I thought he was pulling my leg, you know what he’s like, but then I saw his hand and a right bloody mess it was. Crazy cow had taken a nasty chunk out it and that’s not the worst of it. She bit it right out with her teeth, John says… and then ate it too! Can you believe it, Judith? I was about to take him to hospital but now there’s reports on the news telling people to stay away because of the riots. I bandaged it up but the poor bastard’s still looking very pale…’

There was an obvious break in the flow of the writing at this point and what followed had clearly been written in a more urgent and scribbled hand.

‘The news on the telly is getting worse and worse all the time, Luv. I’m not too proud to say your old dad’s a bit scared. I just thank God that you’re there with Graham. He’s a good bloke and will look after you and the girls, I’m sure of it. In case you do manage to get here, I’ve taken John down the down the road to the Shrank’s farm. Elsie Shrank just called, they’re ringing round to gather people so we wait out whatever this thing is together. I’ve packed up some food and stuff and I’m about to leave… John’s still no better and now his breathing’s got really chesty. I think he may be going into shock. Anyway Luv, give the girls a kiss from their Grandpa for me and I’ll see you and Graham soon… take care, I love you lots. Dad.’

‘What does it say?’ asked David, watching Liz refold the letter and put it back in the envelope.

Dropping the envelope back down on the bed, Liz looked back at David.

‘Just the usual…,’ she said, picking up her sword. ‘Come on, let’s check out that back room now… but I got a feeling nobody’s been home for quite some time…’

Hearing the sound of a door being forced open below them, Liz and David walked along the narrow corridor to the final closed door.

‘Is it me or is it colder here,’ whispered David. ‘Can you feel it?’

‘Yeah,’ Liz replied, wondering why this end of the landing would be so much colder than the front.

It wasn’t until she moved her free hand towards to door handle that she felt the cold draft whistling through the gap between the door and its frame.

‘I think a window must be…’ she grunted, as she pushed with her shoulder to force open the door that had obviously warped out of shape, ‘open.’

With her last word, the board running along the base of the door splintered and cracked, allowing the door to finally swing open. Although Liz had been right about the room being empty she had only been partly right about the source of the draft. In fact an open window wasn’t to blame at all but rather its total absence together with that of a large patch of the roof above it. A second tree, this time planted in the rear garden of the house, had at some point succumb to the gales that swept across the moors only to crash through the window, taking a section of the roof down with it.

‘Christ, what a mess,’ said David stepping into the room.

‘I suppose we could always just use the front rooms,’ he continued to say, scratching the bridge of his nose as he took another step across the wet bare floorboards.

‘Hmmm?’ said Liz, only half listening as she looked down at the rotten piece of wood that used to be attached to the bottom of the door.

Suddenly a realisation hit her and looking up she opened her mouth to speak.

‘I said…’ David began, turning to look back at her.

And then with an almighty crash he disappeared through the rotten floorboards, plummeting to the room below.

‘David!’ Liz screamed, desperate to rush forward.

Stopping herself just in time, lest she follow him through the floor, Liz turned and ran back along the hallway to the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time, Liz almost threw herself through the living room doorway and darted toward the kitchen door. Skidding to a stop, she felt her stomach suddenly plummet.

‘No…’ she said, the word escaping her lips in barely a whisper.

Lying crumpled on a mass of rotten wood, was David.

‘Get Phil!’ shouted Charlie, kneeling next to David.

But Liz was frozen in place, unable to tear her eyes away from the bloody shard of wood sticking through David’s stomach.

‘Liz!’ Charlie shouted again, finally shaking her from her shock. ‘Get Phil! Hurry!’

Slowly Liz nodded her understanding and with heavy tears already forming in her eyes, she turned and ran for the front door. Exploding out into the rain, Liz ran past the large twisted oak and as she neared the swinging gate, Phil turned to look at her, smiling.

‘Hey, done already,’ he began to say, the words trailing off to a whisper as he took in the look on Liz’s face.

‘Phil…’ she managed to say, the single word almost lost amid the raging wind and rain.

But Phil didn’t need to hear anymore, he was already running and as he sprinted past her she heard him choke back a single word over and over.

‘No, No, No No…’ 

Standing there in the rain, a mix of fear and grief battling inside her, Liz covered her mouth with her hand. She needed to keep control of this wave of grief that threatened to erupt from her, for now at least. No matter what had happened, the carts must still be protected. Shaking herself, she coughed back the sobs dancing at the back of her throat and ran over to the first of the carts.

‘Michael! Cam!’ she cried, banging loudly on the hatch door.

With the sound of a bolt being drawn quickly across, the hatch opened. Michael and Cam’s resigned faces looming from the shadows to greet her.