Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel (24 page)

‘Someone’s a bit on edge,’ mused Tom, falling into line by Fran’s side just as Peter raced gleefully past chasing Bella; only just skirting round a surly looking Max in the doorway at the last moment.

‘Hmm,’ replied Fran, as she too nodded and smiled a brief ‘hello’ to the two older men by the door, ‘I think she may be worried Dave will choose to go with Max,’ she finally continued, her fingers brushing against the intricately carved door once again. ‘It’s probably just that.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tom, holding open the heavy door for Kai to pass by, ‘I guess so.’

***

As Father Matthew led the group down one richly panelled corridor after another, their walls still festooned with a variety of portraits, scenic photographs and the brick-a-brack from days gone by, Tom found himself slowly lagging behind, consumed by his own thoughts. He barely even registered the sun drenched library, many of its shelves emptied of their leather bound tomes and replaced with row upon row of potted plants and seedlings. He hardly took notice as they walked along an intricately carved gallery, the large map room below now a highly organised store, bathed in the jewel coloured light blazing from a vast stained glass window. For with each step the words of his jovial guide seemed to fade to little more than a muffled drone, while other, less corporal voices rose slowly to be heard.

‘Where are they, Tom?’ his wife asked.

‘Yes, Daddy, where are the bad people?’ his youngest daughter added, her confused disappointment clearly evident in her whispered voice.

‘You promised,’ his wife continued, her words taking on a colder, harder tone. ‘You promised they’d suffer. You promised to cut them… to cut them all.’

‘Yes, cut them, Daddy,’ his elder daughter chimed in, joining the calls of her sister.

‘Later, girls,’ Tom hissed, knowing his family would have to go wanting until he returned to the mainland. ‘I can’t… there’s none for Daddy to hurt here.’

‘Cut them,’ snapped his wife angrily, ‘cut them to shreds!’

‘I…’ Tom started to reply.

‘Tear them apart, like I watched them rip into our girls,’ his wife continued, her words like shards of glass in his heart. ‘Kill them… you promised us… kill them, kill them all.’

‘I can’t kill them!’ Tom suddenly shouted, snapping himself from his walking nightmare to find himself separated from the rest of the group.         

‘I beg your pardon?’ came the cold and unexpected voice of Brother Gregory from behind him.

‘
Shit
!’ Tom instantly thought to himself, as he turned to meet Brother Gregory’s accusatory expression.

‘I…,’ Tom began to say, inadvertently stepping forward.

‘Stay where you are!’ cried Brother Gregory, his hands impotently shooting out as if to ward off an attack.

‘No, I was just,’ Tom tried to continue, before instinctively knowing the truth of his explanation would likely be as unwelcome to the Brother as the perceived threat. ‘Well, I...’

‘I heard you,’ Brother Gregory hissed, taking a step back, hate blooming in his eyes. ‘I heard what you said. You mean to murder us in our beds. You want to bring the Corruption upon us. You want to kill us. We give you sanctuary and you…’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, man, will you just shut up and listen!’ Tom snapped, realising the short man, so keen to see the worst in people, was about to bolt.

‘How dare you!’ barked Brother Gregory, his face promptly flushing with anger as, unused to be being talked to in such a manner, he allowed his outrage to overwhelm his instinct for self-preservation.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ hurried Tom, holding out his empty hands to show he was no threat, ‘but you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here, believe me. Please, let me explain.’

Seeing Brother Gregory’s fury only just subsiding to a mere bubbling anger, Tom continued. ‘I… I’m not like you, I can’t just draw a line in the sand and forget... some of us carry our demons with us and I- ’

No sooner had the words passed his lips than Tom cursed himself for his stupidity in using that particular turn of phrase. Immediately Brother Gregory’s eyes narrowed in calculating mistrust, his hand slowly reaching for the crucifix hanging about his neck.

‘Look,’ said Tom, quickly realising that trying to persuade this man with words was pointless, ‘there’s just you and me in this corridor. Do you really think that if I wanted to kill you we’d still be having this conversation?’

To prove his point his hands swiftly reached back over his shoulders and with the singing of metal brushing across metal, the twin curved blades of his sickles appeared in front of him.

‘See,’ Tom continued, making a show of slowing replacing the blades, ‘no one’s killing anyone, okay?’

Brother Gregory’s eyes flicked from the blades, now back in place, to look the man he had taken an instant dislike to in the eye. He couldn’t put his finger on the exact reason why he had chosen to hate this particular man on sight, but he had. Perhaps he simply reminded him of someone else or maybe it was the man’s confidence or even that because of him Brother Mark had dared question and ultimately defy his command; but whatever the reason the man got under Gregory’s skin and because of it his very presence irked him. As far as Gregory was concerned, the sooner he was gone from the island the better.

‘Follow me,’ Brother Gregory at last growled, abruptly turning to walk down the corridor safe in the knowledge that Tom would follow.

Trundling behind like some errant school boy, Tom had little difficulty keeping pace with the short legged man striding purposefully ahead of him. In fact he knew it would only take two quickened steps for him to completely close the gap between them and be literally breathing down Brother Gregory’s neck. In the short time he had spent in Brother Gregory’s presence it had become blatantly clear to Tom that this was a man who not only enjoyed the chain of command that had developed on St Michael’s mount but more importantly his high position within it. So although he smiled to himself at the conjured image that would have been Brother’s inevitably startled expression, Tom managed to show restraint and kept an appropriately subservient pace behind.

‘This way,’ Brother Gregory suddenly barked, turning to unlock a heavily studded outer door.

Looking through a small leaded panel set in the door, Tom could see the vegetable garden beyond, crammed almost to the point of overflowing, was bathed in a strange muted light. It wasn’t until Brother Gregory pushed open the solid door and Tom was hit by a wall of heated air smelling of soil and a multitude of growing things that he realised the area was actually some type of greenhouse.

‘Well, come on then,’ said Brother Gregory, looking back at Tom in exasperation, ‘I haven’t got all day.’

Stepping through the door onto a narrow gravelled pathway, Tom tilted his head to look up at the mostly clear ceiling above him. Whatever he was looking at would certainly never have won any design awards that was for sure, but the sheets of thick industrial polythene stretched over a wooden framework making an enclosure about half the size of a tennis court, certainly did the trick when it came to keeping the heat in.

‘Christ!’ Tom mumbled to himself, taking a deep breath of the uncomfortably warm air as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

‘And close that door behind you,’ continued Brother Gregory, the gravel crunching rhythmically beneath his boots as he began to walk off again, simply expecting Tom to blindly follow him.

‘You’ve got yourself your own Garden of Eden here,’ said Tom, marvelling at the luscious tomato and cucumber plants towering either side of the pathway.

For a moment the crunching of gravel underfoot stopped and Brother Gregory turned to look at Tom over his shoulder.

‘Yes… yes, we have,’ said Brother Gregory apprehensively, unsure whether the Tom was mocking him or not. ‘We…’

Whatever more he was about to say was suddenly cut short by the sound of a woman’s angry voice coming from somewhere deeper within the makeshift greenhouse.

‘I said no, now let go!’ the woman spat. ‘Get the fuck off me!’

After glancing briefly at Brother Gregory, his face frozen mid-word, Tom quickly realised he could expect no help from this man and after a disapproving shake of his head, strode ahead to locate the source of the agitated woman.

‘Come on, Lucy, I thought we were friends,’ Tom heard a man’s voice say as he darted along the twisting gravel path, each of his words dripping with sickening intent. ‘You want to be… friends, don’t you?’

‘Go fuck yourself!’ the woman snapped angrily in response, her words abruptly followed by a slapping sound and a choked back whimper.

Suddenly the tall plants either side seemed to part, the narrow pathway abruptly opening up to reveal two young men stood either side of the black woman Tom had seen earlier in the refectory; a solid looking potting table at her back preventing her escape through the open double doorway to her left. From their blood red tunics Tom instantly knew these men both belonged to Father Matthew’s order and from the way one of them had his fists entwined roughly in her hair, pulling her head back, it was clear just what they had in mind. As his boots skidded to a halt on the loose gravel, each of them turned to look at him and as expected, of the three sets of eyes now looking at him only one pair held any relief for his sudden appearance, Lucy’s.

‘I think it’s time you let the young lady go,’ said Tom, looking at each of the men in turn, his challenging glare at last coming to rest where one of them had a fierce grip on Lucy’s arm.

‘Butt out, old man, this is nothing to do with you,’ growled the slightly older looking of the two men, his voice instantly recognisable to Tom as the unseen Brother that Rod had accused the previous evening of abandoning him on the mainland to die.

‘Really?’ said Tom, the look of untouchable smugness on the other young man’s face making his hands itch to feel the comforting weight of his blades in them.

‘Yeah, really,’ the man repeated, his tone almost daring Tom to challenge him as he roughly pulled Lucy’s face closer to his own. ‘You see, Lucy here and I are old friends… isn’t that right Lucy?

‘I…’ Lucy started to say, before the man Tom now remembered Rod calling Brother Alex, spoke over her.

‘And as you won’t be staying more than a few days,’ he continued, his calculating glare moving from Tom to look Lucy in the eye, ‘I’d suggest you mind your own business and don’t rock the boat… wouldn’t you agree Lucy?’

As much as she wanted to spit in his face and tell Brother Alex just what he could do with his boat, Lucy knew he had a point. This man, this ‘
Tom
’, his name suddenly coming to mind, may be here to put a stop to Alex and Brother John’s games for now but what about next week or next month? And with Scott out fishing at all hours trying to catch enough food to keep them all fed the inevitable was bound to happen sooner or later; Brother Alex and John would have their way in the end, they always did.

‘And we know what happens to people who rock the boat… don’t we, Lucy?’ whispered Brother Alex, his hot breath against her neck sending a shiver of disgust through her.

‘I’m… I’m Okay,’ she coldly continued, the image of other faces contorted in pain as flames began to build about them finally making her mind up.

Tom looked at the young woman’s cold reserve and just as he knew she was trapped, he knew she knew it too; trapped on this island, trapped with these men and trapped on an almost inescapable path that led to abuse and violence. He may not be able to save her from her fate but he be damned if he wasn’t going to at least postpone it, no matter what she said.

‘Yeah, well perhaps I’m not,’ said Tom, walking forward to confront the two young men.

‘Please, I,’ Lucy tried to protest.

‘I said the young lady wants to go,’ Tom repeated, holding Brother Alex’s defiant stare.

‘And I said…’ Brother Alex began to reply just before Tom’s fist unexpectedly shot out, striking him in the stomach.

‘And I said, let her go, you piece of shit!’ spat Tom, grabbing Brother Alex by the hair as his partner in crime, Brother John, looked on completely stunned by what had just happened.

‘Just what is going on here!’ boomed the outraged voice of Father Matthew from the open doorway to their left.

Keeping a firm grip on Brother Alex’s hair, Tom tilted the young man’s head to look up at his mentor looming in the doorway with Brother Gregory and the rest of the new arrivals standing just behind him.

‘I think Father Matthew asked you a question,’ he said, giving the man’s hair an unnecessary but somewhat justifiable and satisfying tug.

‘What the fuck!’ gasped Brother John, instantly releasing his hold on Lucy’s arm to step away from her.

‘Well?’ repeated Tom, shaking Brother Alex’s head by his hair.

‘Argh!’ Brother Alex grunted, as Tom’s fingers tightened just that bit more about his hair.

‘Tom,’ warned Fran, unsure just how Father Matthew was going to react to seeing one of his acolytes being manhandled in such a way. 

‘Tom, if you wouldn’t mind,’ Father Matthew continued, nodding to the fistful of the young Brother’s hair he had clenched in his hand.

‘Your house, your rules, Father,’ replied Tom, instantly releasing his hold on Brother Alex who then dropped to his knees, holding his stomach.