Star Drawn Saga (Book 2): Lost Among The Dead (43 page)

‘There’s no excuse for what they’ve done,’ spat Fran in reply, cutting off Angela’s words. ‘I don’t care what shit they’ve had to put up… you get over it… cause I don’t know whether you noticed but that’s all there is now, shit and more fucking shit…. and instead of making this place a haven from all that crap and death and fucking horror that’s out there,’ she continued, feeling her anger bubbling up, threatening to overwhelm her, ‘they butchered… they fucking took what they wanted and butchered innocent people…’

‘You… you… don’t… understand…’ panted Angela, shaking her head, desperate to deny the truth of Fran’s accusations; her ragged breath pluming in the cold night air. ‘It’s… it’s my fault they’re… they’re the way they are… Emma… she…’

And as she spoke, the pain from her wound cutting through her words, Angela slowly turned away from Fran and began to pull herself up onto the railing.

‘She… was just… just protecting… her sister,’ she finally panted, swaying as she looked back at Fran, the light breeze ruffling her hair, her tear streaked face pale and drawn in the moonlight, ‘she…’

‘Mum!’ shouted a voice from the darkness, halting Angela’s excuses.

Suddenly Fran heard the creaking of boards and sound of running footsteps coming across one of the connecting walkways. Looking to her left, past the lowered ramp, where even now another two corpses, eager to join the treetop carnage, were slowly shambling their way aloft, Fran saw Emma, Wendy and with sickening dread, Tom, following up the rear; his drawn blades already dripping in the dark blood of the Dead.

‘Mum!’ Wendy cried again, running past the opening to the ramp, barely sparing the approaching cadavers a glance of concern as she darted across the decking.

‘No, Wendy!’ said Angela, letting go of railing with one hand to halt her daughter’s approach; her palm slick with blood. ‘Stop! It’s… time to stop…’

‘What the fuck, Mum?’ said Wendy, confused by her mother’s actions; her eyes flicking briefly to her blood drenched cardigan as she tentatively took another step closer.

‘No… no… Wendy,’ Angela panted, her gaze drifting from Wendy to focus on Emma, ‘it’s got to stop… please,’ she continued, the pain of simply talking evident on her pale face, ‘you’ve… you’ve got to stop this.’

Without saying a word of reply, Emma’s cold gaze briefly flitted from her mother to Fran; a look of pure hatred burning in her eyes. While behind her Tom’s gore covered sickles flashed through the air once more, rendering first a Dead man and then the ruined corpse of an old woman to little more than a pile of flesh that slowly rolled back down the ramp to the forest floor.

‘Get down from the railing,’ said Emma, cautiously taking a step closer to her sister, knowing Tom would deal with any more of the Dead should they arrive. ‘We… we can fix this… just come down, okay?’

‘Oh… baby…we… we’re beyond fixing,’ Angela replied, sadly shaking her head; the realisation cutting as deep and as painful as the physical wound she now suffered. ‘I… I’m sorry, baby… for... for everything. I’m… sorry.’

And with these last whispered words passing her lips, Angela Doyle, mother of Emma and Wendy Doyle, widow to her late and abusive husband Harry Doyle and a woman whose life seemed never blessed with a moment of true happiness, closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall forwards, over the railing and down to the forest floor some seven metres below.

‘Mum!’ screamed Wendy, bolting forwards, her arms impotently reaching out too late to grab her falling mother.

For a moment Wendy simply stood there, stunned, gripping the blood smeared railing, her knuckles turning white as she stared out into the darkness; and then she slowly turned to face Fran.

‘Wendy,’ whispered Emma, tentatively reaching out to her sister, ‘come…’

‘You’re dead, you fucking bitch!’ Wendy snarled at Fran ignoring her sister.

‘Bigger cunts than you have tried!’ Fran growled in reply, pointing at her with the blood covered machete as she held Poppy close with her free arm; her hate for this young woman and what she had done to the man she loved burning through her, chasing away all reason.

‘I bet they have,’ spat Wendy, her sneer transforming into a sick and malicious smile as she took a small step backwards, ‘but then why do the job myself when I can get someone to do it for me…’ she continued, taking another step back, a sadistic glint in her eye. ‘Someone who’ll make it all the more fun to watch…’

Fran knew what was coming, it was what she had feared most of all and even as Wendy opened her mouth to speak she already knew what single word was about to be said.

‘Daddy!’ Wendy called over her shoulder, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, her spiteful smile unwavering. ‘Daddy, she wants to hurt me…’

‘No one’s going to hurt you, baby…’ said Tom, striding past Emma, menacingly flicking dark blood from his sickles as he went. ‘Daddy’s here… Daddy will always look after you.’

‘Tom,’ whispered Fran, shaking her head, praying he would see her before him for who she really was, ‘Tom, it’s… it’s me…’

‘She’s killed people, Daddy… lots of people…’ Wendy interrupted, clinging to the large man’s arm like a frightened child, her innocent tone at odds with the cruel and determined look in her eye. ‘And now she wants to kill me. Look at her big knife, it’s covered in blood…fresh blood… she’s going to hurt me, Daddy… she’s going to hurt your little girl.’

‘Tom, please…’ Fran tried to reason, already knowing Wendy’s words were feeding his guilt driven psychosis.

‘You need to stop her, Daddy,’ Wendy continued, stepping behind Tom; subtly edging him forward. ‘Stop her before she hurts me… I’m scared, Daddy… I’m so scared… and look…’ she added, flashing Fran a sick smile. ‘She’s going to hurt that baby too… stop her Daddy, don’t let her kill the little baby… the poor baby.’

‘You need to put the child down,’ said Tom, his words full of menace and warning, ‘and back away.’

‘Tom, it’s me, Fran… please, Tom…’ Fran started to say as he took a step closer, his body purposefully moving in front of Wendy.

‘Don’t make me hurt you,’ Tom growled, reaching back his right hand to slip the sickle into the harness on his back, his free hand now gesturing to Fran to pass over the infant. ‘Come on… hand it over…’

‘No,’ Fran simply replied, determined Wendy would never get her hands on Poppy again. ‘That psycho-bitch killed Poppy’s parents… she killed Sam and Mike… remember them, Tom? Wendy butchered them, slit their throats and left them to turn…’

‘She’s lying…’ whined Wendy, talking over Fran as she shot Emma a glance. ‘She probably killed them herself to get the baby… and now she wants to kill me.’

‘No one’s going to hurt you,’ mumbled Tom, stepping closer to Fran, his face as emotionless as stone as he glared down at her. ‘Daddy, will keep you… safe.’

‘Kill her, Daddy,’ snarled Wendy, through her gritted teeth, ‘kill her and give me the baby... I’ll look after the baby… kill her, kill her!’

‘Tom, you’ve got to remember!’ begged Fran, trying to drown out Wendy’s lies.

‘Daddy, will always keep you safe,’ Tom continued to mutter, Fran’s pleas going unheard as he closed the gap between them.

‘You’ve got to remember, Tom!’ she shouted again, finding herself backed up against the railing with nowhere left to go, while in her arms Poppy began to wail. ‘Remember your family… your real family, your wife and your daughters… how you lost them, how you searched for them among the Dead, not stopping until you found them… remember, Tom, remember… Remember how you dug their graves with your bare hands, the mud, the smell of their torn bodies,’ she rushed on. ‘You dug their graves and you mourned… you must remember the pain, Tom… your pain… you lost them and your world fell apart... For fuck’s sake, Tom, remember. Tom!’

‘Kill her!’ screeched Wendy, fearful Fran was breaking through to him; the very fact that he simply stood looking at her rather than acting, a sign that cracks were already beginning to appear.

‘Did you love them so little that you can replace them this easily?’ Fran quickly continued, seeing the briefest flicker in Tom’s eyes, hopeful to reach through to the old Tom she knew; hopeful her words, no matter how painful, would break through to him. ‘And you replaced them with these two?’ she spat, nodding angrily at Wendy and Emma. ‘Your family didn’t deserve you… you’re weak, Tom… they depended on you and you let them down, you let them down!’ she almost screamed at him. ‘They died and it’s all your fault!’

And then before she could react Tom’s hand suddenly flashed out, slapping her so hard across the face that she was knocked to the floor; her machete slipping from her grasp to skitter across the decking away from her.

‘Kill the liar, Daddy!’ Wendy cried again, hopeful that the man’s own anger would force him back under her control. ‘Kill her, kill her!’

And then as Tom looked down at Fran, the crying infant held tight against her chest, he drew back his left hand high behind him; the gore splattered blade he held glinting in the moonlight.

‘Kill her…’ Wendy hissed again, her eyes sparkling with demonic joy at the scene before her.

‘Why don’t you fucking remember?’ Fran angrily shouted up at him, her free hand deftly reaching behind her; slipping one of the butcher’s hooks from her belt loop. ‘They died, Tom,’ she continued, shaking her head; her gaze flicking briefly to something tied about his leg, ‘your children… your real children are… dead!’

As she spat the final word at him, Fran struck, stabbing the meat hook deep into his thigh with lightning speed.

‘Arrrgghhh!’ cried Tom, stumbling backwards, just as Fran grabbed the hunting knife from the sheath strapped to his calf.

‘No!’ shouted Wendy, actually stamping her foot in rage. ‘You fucking bitch! You killed my mother, now give me that baby… give me it to me… give…’

And then Wendy was suddenly silent.

Shocked and gasping for breath, Wendy slowly looked quizzically down at the ridged handle protruding from her chest; unsure what she was seeing.

‘E…Emma…’ she managed to gasp, slowly turning to face her sister, her shaking fingers reaching up to the knife that Fran had thrown; the touch of it somehow making it all that more real. ‘Emm… I… I…’

‘Wendy!’ screamed Emma, rushing forward to catch her younger sister as the girl’s legs gave way beneath her. ‘No! Wendy, no!’ she cried, cradling the teenager in her arms, her hands fluttering over the knife, unsure what she should do. ‘You’re going to be alright… you’re going to be fine… you’ll see, Wendy… you’ll see…’ she sobbed, yet even as she spoke the words were like ash in her mouth; she knew her sister was going to die. ‘You’re going to be… okay… I promise… you’re going… to… be… okay.’

But Wendy wasn’t going to be okay and as her hand suddenly went limp in Emma’s, slipping lifelessly from her grasp, Emma watched the light slowly fade from her sister’s eyes.

‘Wendy…’ Emma whispered, slightly shaking the girl in her arms, as if to rouse her; unable to accept that she was truly gone. ‘Wendy… you can’t go… you can’t leave… me… Wendy? Wendy?’

‘Aarrhh!’ Tom suddenly cried out from behind her, pulling free the butcher’s hook with a grunt and throwing it across the decking.

At the sound of his cry, Emma looked up from her dead sister, her tear streaked face blank with shock.

‘I… I was meant to keep her safe,’ she whispered, her tone distant as she looked back down, pausing only to lovingly rearrange the girl’s hair about her face. ‘She… she was my little sister and I was meant to keep her safe…’ she continued, her fingers slowly encircling the knife handle. ‘I stopped him… I… I cut his throat… I stopped him before he could do to her what he did to me,’ she went on to say, looking back up at Fran, ‘and … I did what I had to, I kept the monsters at bay, I kept her safe.’

‘At what cost?’ said Fran, looking back at her, holding her gaze as she slowly used the railing to pull herself to her feet; shifting a crying Poppy in her arms.

‘Cost?’ Emma growled back in reply, finally pulling free the knife from Wendy’s chest and throwing it to one side, its very presence abhorrent to her. ‘What the fuck do you know about cost!’

‘How many innocent people died just to keep her safe, Emma? How many? How many!’ cried Fran, her eyes flicking briefly to Tom, sat with his back leaning against the Hub as he clutched his bleeding leg, a glazed look in his eyes. ‘Because she wasn’t worth it, Emma... She wasn’t… fucking… worth it!’ she continued, screaming out each word as an image of Kai lying at her feet, motionless and covered in blood, flashed across her mind.

And then Emma was suddenly on her feet; charging towards her, screaming, her outstretched hands like claws, her face contorted, blind with grief-fuelled rage.

‘Jesus!’ Fran managed to hiss, just as Emma barrelled into her, her fists already flying; the railing behind her protesting against the impact with a worryingly loud cracking noise.

‘You fucking bitch!’ Emma screamed, throwing a punch that Fran only just managed to dodge.

‘Tom!’ Fran grunted, struggling to keep Emma’s flaying arms at bay while still keeping hold of the infant.

But seeing she was to get no help from that quarter, Fran decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. So as Emma lunged at her again she deftly ducked under her swinging arm, twisted and then using the woman’s own momentum against her, gave a sharp sideways kick to the base of her back. With a cry of both pain and rage, Emma was knocked hard against the already damaged railing, the resulting sound of splintering wood immediately followed by a crash as part of the railing suddenly gave way. Teetering on the edge, her arms cartwheeling for balance, Emma just managed to reach back behind her as she fell, making a desperate grab for the nearest thing to her; unfortunately for Fran it just happened to be the ankle of her still outstretched leg.