Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel (36 page)

But with each corner they turned there were more and more signs that the Dead had passed this way and with each step she found her hope dwindling.

***

Clutching the pitifully inadequate fire poker he had found in his shaking fists, Graham slowly forced his feet to move, one slow and tentative step after another. He had been returning the empty bowls to the kitchens when he first heard the screams echoing about the castle and with knowing his father was safely resting at home keeping the weight of his twisted ankle, only one word raced through his terrified thoughts, ‘
mum
’. He knew she too was somewhere within the castle, its hallways now splattered in places with blood and unrecognisable bits of gore, and he knew he had to find her. Whether through the desire to protect her or simply his own need to be with his mother, Graham could neither tell nor wished to examine the question too closely but as he walked the bloody halls he tried to convince himself he was man enough to do what needed to be done when the time arose.

Graham had only been a child of ten when the Dead came to tear the world asunder. But he had been lucky, standing on the deck of his father’s fishing boat, the Dead or the Corrupt as he later learnt to call them, soon became something little more than strange moving shapes, barely visible from their anchored spot offshore and with his small family intact, this monumental horror had somehow passed him by, becoming a nightmare that only others were forced to bear. Of course when at last they were forced to take refuge in the small harbour of St Michael’s Mount that all soon changed; for with each turning of the tide, a fresh wave of hopeful survivors brought with them the true horror of the Corrupt following in their wake.

Of course, just like everyone else on the island, as soon as Father Matthew had thought him old enough, Graham had helped Roy clear the surrounding cliffs of the Corrupt; those sorry and soulless creatures that had managed to find purchase on the steep jagged rocks, desperate to claw their way up to the flesh they knew awaited them. But these corpses had been strangers, nameless and without attachment to him, so who they had once been or what lives they had once lived was an abstract concept to him; their simple destruction the only relevance. So just how it would feel to fight for his life against someone he had known, someone he had lived with for the last five years, Graham did not know and wholeheartedly wished he did not have to find out. Yet with each smeared handprint or spray of thick red blood he was forced to pass the likelihood of him seeing this day out without discovering this unwelcome fact seemed increasingly unlikely.

Edging round a turn in the corridor, the end of the poker shaking as he held it protectively out before him, Graham suddenly froze. There, some twenty metres ahead of him, standing with his back to him, was the figure of man; the red tunic he wore telling him it was one of the Brothers. As if sensing his presence, the man’s head began to turn.

‘
Please be alive, please be alive…
’ he repeated in his head as the Brother slowly turned to look at him.

‘Oh, thank God!’ rushed Graham, expelling his held in breath with a puff of relief. ‘Brother Mark, you’re not one of them, you’re alive.’

‘Graham…’ Brother Mark started to say, his hand held out as if in urgent warning, just as a second figure, also dressed in red, stepped through a doorway and out into the hallway half way between them.

‘Jesus!’ gasped Graham, his stomach plummeting at the sight of the unholy horror appearing between them.

Alerted by the startled sound, a blood splattered face slowly began to turn; its milky eyes widening in almost gleeful anticipation as the corpse of Brother Alex finally locked its sights on Graham.

‘No!’ shouted Brother Mark, unwilling to stand by while the teenager was sacrificed to sate the creature’s hunger. ‘Hey! Over here! Here I am, choose me! Come on, Alex, you bastard! Choose me!’

Years of active policing told Brother Mark the cadaver was about to pounce. From the building tension in the muscles about the corpse’s neck, to the almost unnoticeable repositioning of its feet, to the subtle way its fingers started to flex, eager to be ripping into flesh, it all told him what he needed to know.

‘Come on!’ he bellowed again as loudly as he could, desperate to draw the corpse’s attention away from Graham.

And then the creature was moving, its head suddenly jerking violently to look at him as its body twisted mid-step. His plan had worked, Graham was safe for now but as the corpse of Brother Alex ran toward him, thick bloody drool and a wet guttural growl escaping its lips, Brother Mark immediately wished it hadn’t.

***

Father Matthew strode purposefully along the corridor, his hands still wet with Brandon’s blood.

‘
God, give me strength and guide me…
’ he silently prayed, his thumbs subconsciously rubbing back and forth over the cold blood smeared across his knuckles. ‘
Protect your chosen servant as I endeavour to protect…
’

He was about to continue when he saw the figure of a woman just ahead of him. Standing with her back to him, she was leaning heavily against the wall for support. It was only as he cautiously moved closer that he finally saw the deep rise and fall of the woman’s shoulders, she was clearly alive and desperately trying to catch her breath. Father Matthew took another tentative step towards her, in case the taint of Corruption was already upon her, and as his shoe came down on some tiny unseen piece of grit or dirt, it caused a barely audible scraping sound.

‘No!’ wailed Odelia, throwing herself away from the wall, her hands covering her face to blot out the horror that surely had found her again.

In her desperation to save herself from her imagined pursuer, she stumbled, falling to land heavily on one knee with a shriek.

‘Odelia!’ said Father Matthew, wanting to calm the woman without getting too close; still unsure if she was already a lost cause or not.

‘Dear God! Matthew!’ she gasped in a mix of relief, anger and embarrassment, her turmoil of emotions causing the mask of appropriate devotion she normally wore to momentarily slip. ‘I mean, Father Matthew… Thank heavens, it’s only you!’ she continued, hoping he hadn’t noticed the irritated tone in her voice before. ‘The Corrupt, Father, they…’

‘I know,’ he answered, briskly cutting her off. ‘Are you still a child of God, Odelia Weaver? Is your soul untainted and still within His realm of creation?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, wincing as she awkwardly pushed herself back to her feet. ‘Yes, I’m… I’m free of the Corruption. But Kasey and Brother Alex,’ she continued, making sure Father Matthew got to see she had not been bitten, ensuring that, in his words, her soul was still untouched, ‘they have fallen, they have become the Corrupt.’

‘Yes,’ said Father Matthew, his eyes clouding in anger but just at what she could not tell, ‘I saw them.’

‘But how?’ she asked. ‘How did this happen?’

‘It does not matter how!’ he barked, causing Odelia to take a wary step backwards, ‘God has found their souls wanting. They are lost to Him now… and to us. They are but shells of death, mere abominations… and will be dealt with as such.’

Noticing the way Odelia was backing away from him, with barely concealed fear or even mistrust in her eyes, Father Matthew smiled.

‘But see… you have been saved,’ he smiled, quickly stepping forward to close the gap between them and place his hands upon her shoulders. ‘God is still with you, Odelia. You are still pure of spirit.’

‘Yes, Father Matthew,’ she replied, not for the first time choosing to ignore the madness dancing behind the man’s eyes. ‘I… I was making my way to the Chapel, hoping to find…’

‘Strength?’ he completed with a brief nod and knowing smile. ‘As was I.’

‘
No,
’ Odelia thought to herself, although she nodded in agreement, ‘
I was looking for some help, you fool.
’

‘Come,’ he continued, sparing only a brief glance back down the corridor behind them. ‘We shall find His strength together.’

If Father Matthew saw through her insincerity, Odelia couldn’t tell, but as he placed his arm almost protectively about her shoulders to lead her safely to the Chapel, she at last dared to hope she may live to see yet another day.

***

‘How long has it been?’ asked Emily Adams, nervously pacing back and forth as she twisted and untwisted a grubby looking tea-towel between her hands.

‘They’re going to know we’re in here if you don’t shut up,’ growled Brother John, his voice full of warning and menace.

‘My son is out there!’ Emily hissed back, aware the young man had a point yet loath to acknowledge it.

‘Well, then you’d better hope he’s with people who know how to keep their mouths shut,’ Brother John replied, his cold stare daring the woman to argue with him.

When she failed to rise to his baiting, he turned to watch Brother Sam who had slumped to his knees in earnest prayer just in front of the altar. Next to him Ryanne had joined him in his prayers for salvation, her lips moving fervently, only pausing in her devotion to periodically kiss the crucifix clasped tightly in hands. Feeling the level of his irritation only rising at the sight of the deluded woman, Brother John decided to shift his positon in the pew he was currently sitting in to steal a glance at the only other person in the room, Max Harper.

If he had hoped to observe the newcomer unnoticed, Brother John was about to be sorely disappointed; for even as he surreptitiously looked over at Max he became aware that Max was already staring intently back at him. For a few seconds their eyes locked, each determined not to be the first to look away. This seemed to be a battle of conflicting wills, each man wanting the other to speak yet unsure what words could make the situation any better. Just when Brother John thought he would have to look away, Max’s eyes briefly dropped to the floor, relinquishing something nameless and untangible to the younger man. Then, thoughtfully chewing on his lips like he was thinking of the correct way to phrase something, Max looked up again, took a small step forward and opened his mouth as if to speak.

‘Hello! Anyone in there?’ came Father Matthew’s suddenly booming voice from the other side of the barricaded chapel door. ‘Open up in the name of God and the Righteous!’

‘Father Matthew!’ gasped Ryanne and Brother Sam almost simultaneously; a choking sob of relief from Ryanne breaking into his name.

In a flurry of activity, hands grabbed and pulled at the piled up furniture placed in front of the wooden chapel door, freeing it one piece at a time and whatever words Max had intended to say were immediately dismissed, perhaps shelved for another time, as the small group of survivors engrossed themselves in the urgent task at hand.

‘Hurry!’ demanded Father Matthew, the scrape of upturned pews urgently being pushed aside by those inside the chapel hardly covering the ominous sound of approaching running footsteps.

No sooner had the last piece of furniture been moved away than Father Matthew rather unceremoniously shoved Odelia through, sending her popping through the barely open doorway like a slightly startled but eager champagne cork.

‘Father…’ Brother Sam started to say, opening the door a little wider before his mentor pushed past him.

‘Close it,’ Father Matthew barked urgently, spinning to shut the door behind him.

Glancing though the quickly diminishing gap, Father Matthew saw a figure suddenly appear further down the corridor. Running towards him at full speed, whoever it was carelessly lost their footing beneath them and as they crashed to the floor in a tumble of limbs, Father Matthew paused, allowing his hope to briefly flare; perhaps one more of his chosen children had found him after all. But what looked back up at Father Matthew, its face a tortured and bloody mess, withered this fragile hope with its cold and brutal reality. There was no doubt just what was pushing itself back onto its feet, desperate to continue in its unholy pursuit and recognising it for what it was, Father Matthew cursed the very presence of this unholy creation.

‘Brother Christopher!’ he gasped, his eyes widening in shock as he at last saw the young man beneath the bloody face and torn neck.

For a split second Father Matthew stood frozen, his mind trying to process the loss of yet another of his chosen acolytes; but then as Brother Christopher’s corpse launched itself back onto its feet with a guttural snarl, he shook himself free, slamming the door in place.

‘May God have mercy on your soul,’ he whispered, his forehead resting momentarily against the door just before indicating for the barricade to be replace. ‘Cover it,’ he continued, some of his characteristic righteousness returning. ‘Brother Christopher is lost to us.’

At the mention of his departed Brother’s name three things happened. Emily paled and abruptly fell to her knees, covering her mouth to choke back her sobs; Ryanne threw herself at Father Matthew wailing uncontrollably and the corpse of Brother Christopher slammed against the door, rattling it worryingly.

‘Ryanne! Ryanne, let go!’ said Father Matthew, trying to pry the nigh on hysterical woman’s hands from his robe. ‘We need to re-barricade the door… Ryanne!’

Behind him Max, Brother Sam and Brother John were frantically pushing the furniture back in place and even though the door could no longer be pushed open it still banged and shook with each of the cadaver’s wild attacks.