Lanherne Chronicles (Book 2): Five More Days With The Dead Page 14

  ‘Then may God have mercy on your souls,’ Sister Josephine said, sitting down with a sigh, ‘You are already doomed to fail.’

  ***

  Liz nervously watched the soldiers below her, as they led her friends at gunpoint to a waiting holding truck. As each member appeared through the Convent doorway, she breathed a sigh of relief, mentally crossing them off her list. When Sister Josephine had come to her last night telling her she had been seen by one of the soldiers, Liz considered revealing herself to be with Anne, but after some reassurances from the Sister that the Private had advised her to stay hidden, she reluctantly agreed. Despite this, she had still almost bolted from her hiding place when she first heard the two gunshots, desperate to make sure Anne was okay and it had taken all her resolve to stop herself, knowing she would be of no use to any of them if she gave herself away now.

  She watched as Richard appeared with a weeping Alex in his arms and a terrified looking Nicky, Justin and Anne by his side. Thankfully, Nicky held both of the children close to her as she anxiously made her way past the armed soldiers to the truck. From her viewpoint high above them, Liz could see there were other unknown scared survivors, huddled together deep in the shadows of the truck. These too had obviously fallen victim to the Sergeant and his men with their rescue that was no rescue at all. At that moment, as if somehow Anne had known her sister was watching her, Anne turned a tear streaked face up to look at the small attic window. Seeing the look in Anne’s eyes, Liz subconsciously placed her hand against the small pane of glass, silently vowing nothing would stop her from getting her back. For the briefest of moments, their gazes locked, and Liz, willing her sister to be strong, forced her mouth into a sad reassuring smile. Nicky, noticing where Anne was looking quickly turned her forward, knowing that if any of them were to have any chance of a return to Lanherne Liz’s presence must remain unknown to the soldiers.

  Liz then saw William, Cam, Damian, and an angry looking Penny being reluctantly led to the truck. Three of the medical personnel were close on their heels with the remaining children carried in their arms. Sister Josephine told her last night that poor silent Danny was considered nothing but a troublesome burden by the Sergeant and his team, so he would be left behind. Because of this, his absence from those being stolen away from Lanherne didn’t trouble her too much, but she still prayed that even the Sergeant wouldn’t be callous enough to kill a small child when he could just as easily be left behind. After what seemed like an eternity to Liz, Alice finally emerged through the doorway. The medical personnel were on either side of her helping her across the courtyard. Unlike the others, Alice was taken directly to the mobile med-lab to be left in the charge of the excited looking doctors standing in the doorway.

  Liz watched as one of the soldiers climbed up onto the walkway and began to wind the winches that would open the two gates, while the rest his squadron clambered silently into their armoured vehicles. Once the gates were fully opened, the first of the vehicles already starting to leave, the soldier on the walkway turned and looked directly at Liz. Her breath catching in her throat, Liz stared back at the man, terrified that her only chance to follow the convoy had just been dashed. Nevertheless, with the smallest of nods to her, the man climbed back down from the walkway, ran over to his vehicle and jumped in.

  ‘Thank you, Private Steven Blackmore, I owe you,’ Liz said to herself, knowing he must be the man Sister Josephine had told her about.

  Finally, only one vehicle remained with the single figure of the Sergeant standing in front of it, watching those chosen to be left behind gathering forlornly on the doorway.

  ‘Shit, no…’ Liz said, noticing Sally was absent from the group. ‘Oh, Sally.’

  It was clear to her now that the shots she heard earlier had taken Sally from them. The woman who had found a new way to live through being a mother to Alex had paid the ultimate sacrifice to protect her rescued child and for this, Liz vowed not only to get Anne back but each and every one of them, even those nameless hidden strangers. The Sergeant would pay for what he had done today. One way or another, she would see to it. With hate bubbling up inside her, she watched as the man who had torn their world apart addressed the gathering of those he thought unworthy. Just what he was saying, she could not hear but when he walked across the snow-dusted courtyard to their remaining cart and began to hack into one of the wheels with an axe from the woodpile, his intention was clear. They were not to follow.

  Realising the time had come to put her plan into action, Liz pushed herself away from the window with the scene of the Sergeant already turning his back on the group dismissed from his concern and left the attic room that had been her self-imposed prison for the night. She knew she didn’t have much time and had to play this out carefully. Leave too soon and the convoy would see her, leave too late and she ran the risk of losing them.

  ‘Get one set of those gates closed before we’re over run by the Dead, will you, Nadine?’ Liz said appearing beside the group, as the Sergeant’s armoured vehicle pulled out of the courtyard.

  ‘Oh, Liz… Sally,’ Sister Josephine said, turning towards her, tears in her eyes.

  It seemed to Liz that the frail woman had aged in the last hour. The toll of the last seven and half years had suddenly caught up with her.

  ‘I know,’ was all Liz could say, knowing no words were enough to console the woman before her, ‘but we need to get those gates closed, Sister, now.’

  ‘On it,’ Nadine said, running over to the ladder.

  ‘Lars, I need you to get Samson ready,’ Liz continued.

  ‘But Liz, the cart?’ Lars replied, looking over to the ruined wheel, ‘It’ll take days to fix it, even if Duncan was here.’

  ‘Well then, I guess I’m going to go without it,’ Liz interrupted, ‘and yes I know what that means, but what choice have we got? I have to go after them.’

  As much as they hated to admit it, even in her heavily pregnant state, Liz was still the most skilled at killing the Dead among those left at the Convent and to argue with her was not only pointless but would also waste valuable time that they did not have.

  ‘Did you do as I asked?’ Liz asked, turning back to Sister Josephine.

  ‘What… erm, yes, I’ll go get them now,’ she replied, disappearing back into the Convent.

  The previous night, Liz and Sister Josephine had come up with the plan that Liz would follow the soldiers when they left, leaving behind her a trail of rags tied at various points. These would allow Imran and Phil, when they returned, to follow her and know they were heading in the right direction.

  When Sister Josephine returned, she carried with her a battered looking holdall stuffed full of torn strips of cloth and Liz’s sword.

  ‘Here, I’ve also put some bread, boiled eggs and a bottle of water in there,’ said Sister Josephine, handing Liz the holdall, ‘I pray you’re not out there too long before Imran and Phil catch up with you, but this should keep hunger at bay for a little while.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Liz replied, slipping the strap of her sword over shoulder.

  ‘Liz,’ Nadine called from the walkway, ‘the Sergeant’s vehicle has almost reached the gate at the end of the lane. You better be making your move or you’ll lose them.’

  Liz looked anxiously from Nadine to the group around her. These people had effectively been left to die by the Sergeant and as much as leaving the Convent without the protection of the cart terrified her, she knew it was the only option left open to her if she wanted to get Anne, Alice and the others back.

  ‘May God go with you, child,’ said Sister Josephine tearfully, taking her hands in hers.

  ‘Right, let’s get this started,’ Liz said, trying to hide the fear from her voice as she took Samson’s reins from Lars.

  ‘Good luck, Liz,’ said Lars, hooking the holdall over Samson’s saddle. ‘We’ll send the others after you as soon as they get back.’

  Bryon had brought her a box to stand on, and with a little push, Liz managed a ve
ry ungraceful mount. When she finally settled herself on Samson’s back, she gave the smallest of flicks on the reins, urging him towards the gate. With one last look at those she was leaving behind, she waited nervously for Nadine to re-open the gate.

  ***

  Steve watched the Convent slowly disappear behind him, hoping the unknown woman in the attic wouldn’t leave it too late to follow. If he were to escape with Penny, he would need this woman’s help as much as she needed his. Already in the lane behind them, some of the Dead, attracted by the noise of their armoured vehicles had started to clamber through the tree line to follow.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, mate,’ said Joe, the fellow soldier assigned to drive the armoured Jackal he and Matt travelled in. ‘You weren’t to know Sarge would take her out.’

  Steve turned to look up at Matt, who was manning the machine gun on its pivotal gun ring. Only Matt knew what the death of the woman who had refused to give up the small boy really meant to Steve. He had seen the look Penny had given Steve as she had been led past him. Her hate and sense of betrayal was clearly evident. Steve knew that to earn Penny’s trust and forgiveness, he might have to take extreme measures. His father, Major Carden and Dr Farrell had set the rules of how they lived and how they treated the survivors, they came across. It sickened Steve that he had gone along with it for so long, but enough was enough. For Steve, it was time to fight back. He would play the game their way if he had to and if he had to kill to make things right, then so be it.

  ***

  ‘Shit,’ Liz mumbled to herself, as ahead of her three more of the Dead stumbled through the hedgerow and into her path to join their scattered brethren.

  Her journey had barely begun and already she was confronted by a dozen of the Dead. Luckily, they had been attracted by the noisy convoy and were facing away from her at the moment. They mindlessly followed their quarry but Liz knew if one were to turn her way, they would be on her. With movement learnt from years of wielding her sword, Liz reached behind her to release her blade from its sheath silently. The smooth flow and practiced motion was somewhat spoilt by her pregnant condition, causing her to rather ungracefully reposition herself in the saddle again afterwards. Thankfully, the Dead eyes had remained fixed on their prize that disappeared into the distance and her ungainly moves had gone unnoticed. Liz braced herself, for what she knew would be just the first of many encounters with the Dead over the next few days.

  In her mind, Charlie’s words came to her.

  ‘Mark your targets calmly,’ he told her. ‘Never attack without planning your moves first, that’s one quick way to get over powered by the Dead, girl. You rush into things and the Dead will get the jump on you. You can’t focus on their numbers and positions if you’re hacking at them like a wild thing out of control.’

  So, taking his long given advice, Liz slowly took a steadying breath and calculated her path through the meandering Dead ahead of her. She knew her pace would be a paramount factor in following the soldiers, if she were to survive. Too fast and she might get too close and be seen. Too slow and she would spend the whole time dealing with a multitude of the Dead attracted to sounds of the vehicles. She needed to travel in that small window where the road in front of her was still relatively clear and her path through the Dead manoeuvrable. It was always better to avoid conflict with the Dead altogether if you could. So, if she could manage to pass them before they became too numerous, she might be able to follow without having to deal with the dead at all. With luck, she would be beyond their grasp before their decaying brains even had chance to register or react to her passing. However, this time she knew a simple avoidance was not an option open to her. She would have to deal with at least a few of the Dead ahead of her to clear a safe passage. With the muscles in her legs tensing, Liz flicked her gaze briefly to the cracked road surface and traced her route again. No point dodging the Dead, only for Samson to lose his footing on a sheet of ice or in a deep pothole and throw her.

  Realising that she was risking her life with each second she hesitated, Liz finally gave Samson a sharp kick with her heels and urged him forward. As Samson broke into a gallop, she came alongside the first of the Dead. Alerted by the thundering hooves behind it, a cadaverous head, its grey skin mottled with a bloom of green mould, turned to face her. No sooner had the animated corpse fixed its milky stare upon her, than her blade had started its deadly swing. For a spilt second, Liz would have sworn she saw a look of something akin to surprise flash behind those hungry eyes and then as the decapitated head flew free of its withered body, the threat instantly dismissed from her thoughts. Her focus had shifted smoothly to the next Dead thing in her path.

  With the might of Samson charging down upon them, one by one, the Dead turned to meet this new approaching feast almost within their grasp. Faster than she thought possible, the corpses fell to the swing of her blade and the crash of Samson’s hooves. A small Dead child, its emaciated arms reaching for her beseechingly, was thrown aside as Samson barrelled past; its small body crushed underfoot. However, Liz could spare no thought for these poor souls who had been forced to stalk the living by a sick twist of nature. To break through the approaching Dead was all that consumed her mind. Once she was past the clambering hands and the moans of desperate need that seemed to surround her, only then would she be able to process the horror of what she was forced to do.

  Purely by chance, a Dead man, his blackened and ripped lungs visible through his torn chest cavity, had managed to hook a claw-like hand onto her foot as she sped past. Hating herself for the scream that escaped her lips, Liz knew she would be unable to slash at the man without risk of hitting Samson’s flank. Therefore, with a tight hold on Samson’s reins, Liz leaned over and began to pound at the brittle finger bones clasped about her ankle with the hilt of her sword. To his credit, Samson ignored the flapping collection of skin and bone he dragged alongside him and kept his course true. Liz winced. Not only was her ankle gripped in a vice-like hold born of the agonising need of the Dead, but she was also only managing to hit his hand with every other jab. Her ankle would soon be black and blue with bruises from this self-inflicted beating. With the Dead man’s weight hanging precariously from one hand, the skin about his wrist could withstand the onslaught for only so long. Within a few moments, it began to split, exposing bone and fetid flesh beneath. Glancing away from the Dead man’s hand to make sure she wasn’t about to be knocked off completely by another corpse, Liz quickly slid her sword back into its sheath, waiting the barest of a second for the click that indicated it was secure. Then, leaning precariously out of the saddle, Liz reached down to the exposed wrist joint. Already the tear in the puss coloured skin had increased, now stretching along much of the Dead man’s arm. With as much force as she could muster, Liz thrust her fingers under the skin just above the wrist. With a yank, she began to rip away at the greying muscle ribboned with dark clotted veins and yellowing tendons, hoping to get to the bones beneath. With a snap, she felt the first of the small bones breaking, instantly increasing the stress on the already ruined wrist and arm. Then, almost as surprisingly as he had latched on to her, he was gone. With nothing but a ruined detached hand and a flap of rotten skin dangling from her boot, Liz pulled herself back upright into the saddle. After a few flicks of her aching foot, the hand fell to the snow dusted ground below her with a sickening slap, rolled and was lost behind her as she continued onwards.

  By now, Samson had managed to take her the entire length of the lane that led from Lanherne to the main road, leaving the Dead shattered in their wake. Slowing him down to a trot, Liz guided Samson through the wide rusty gate. She needed to find out which direction the soldiers had taken, because to lose them was simply not an option. Standing up in the stirrups for a better look, Liz could just about see the tell-tale rise of exhaust plumes disappearing off to her right.

  ‘So, they’re following the road back to the village,’ she thought, as she reached awkwardly behind her to pull free one of the fabric strip
s Sister Josephine had prepared the night before. Leaning over slightly, she finally managed to tie it to the top of the right hand gatepost.

  ‘The first marker for Imran,’ she thought to herself, praying he wouldn’t be too far behind her.

  Then, looking back the way she had come one last time, Liz stared up at high stone walls of Lanherne in the distance.

  ‘Say a prayer for me, Sister J,’ she said aloud. With a click of her tongue, Liz guided Samson towards to the village and the convoy of soldiers who had violated their home.

  ***

  ‘Now, this may feel a little cold on your skin,’ the female doctor said, as she applied the clear gel over Alice’s stomach.

  When Alice had first been led into the Med-lab, she was in a state of shock. Everything she had come to rely on was now gone, stolen from her. She still could not work out how it had all gone wrong so quickly. One minute, they had hopeful anticipation of the long awaited rescue and return to a normal life, which was almost within their grasp and next, there was screaming and blood with poor Sally’s body slumping to the floor.

  The doctors fussed over her as soon the lab started to pull away from Lanherne and for the last few hours, they had done nothing but give her a full medical examination. There didn’t seem to be a part of her body or a fluid inside it that had not been probed and examined. Of course, on some level, she was grateful for their concerned attention, but with each set of questions or vial of blood taken from her, the hate bubbled within her, threatening to erupt. These people, no matter how grand their motives were could not be excused for their share of the blame for what had happened. What shocked her most was that no one from either the medical team or soldiers thought to voice any protest when the Sergeant murdered Sally. It was if they were too scared or that perhaps this was simply an usual occurrence. At the moment, she did not know which caused her the most concern, the possibility that these people could have such little regard for human life or that the man in charge of them was an out of control monster. However, as the image of Alex’s terrified face flared in her mind, she realised it didn’t matter. As far as she was concerned, they all had blood on their hands. Their actions or rather the lack of them, made them all complicit in Sally’s death and one way or another they would pay.