Star Drawn Saga (Book 2): Lost Among The Dead Read online

  Chewing nervously on her lip and with her focus locked on the sliver of light ahead of her piercing the darkness, Fran wondered if she should rethink talking the forest route after all; that was until the sound of mumbled conversation and the laughter of woman drifted across the darkness towards her.

  ‘Norma,’ thought Fran, recognising the woman’s voice as it was joined by the deeper and more guttural laugh of a man. ‘Well at least that’s one of them busy,’ she muttered, slipping quietly forward across the decking towards the suspended walkway, pausing momentarily when the voice of the first laughing man was suddenly joined by another. ‘Or perhaps both of them,’ She silently continued, trying not to picture just what the late-middle aged woman felt she had to do to ensure her continued safety at White Oak Park.

  Realising she probably wasn’t about to get a better chance to get past the Nash cabin unnoticed than right now, Fran crouched down and began to creep forward; doing her best to time her footsteps with the rise and fall of mumbled conversations ahead of her.

  ‘Yep, definitely both of them,’ she confirmed, when she got close enough to hear the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh while a male voice, one that she thought was Brett’s, called out crude encouragement and commentary from the side-lines. ‘Pig!’ she added, crossing onto the decking that surrounded the Nash tree house, the sounds and comments being made by the brothers sickening her; almost as much as the brittle and clearly forced sounds of enjoyment coming from Norma. ‘I bet they don’t even know she’s faking it,’ she thought, with a shake of her head; eyeing the window one more time before edging along the railing, round the corner and onto the next walkway.

  With her breath pluming in front of her, Fran crossed briskly but silently over the suspended bridge to the next tree house; this one she knew, thanks to poor Jimmy’s untimely death, had also recently become a vacant property.

  ‘And no one home at house number three,’ she noted, glancing at Jimmy’s old home before darting across the moonlit decking to bury herself in the deepest shadows she could find.

  As well as the walkway she had just used, Jimmy’s tree house had a further two suspended bridges connecting it to other cabins. On the opposite side of the building and off to the left, Fran knew the rope-bridge there would take her on to Natalie’s home and then via another walkway over to Sid’s cabin; while alternatively the bridge that she could just see to her right led to Ben’s tree house and then by one more bridge, onto the Hub. It was this rope-bridge Fran needed to take if she wanted to get to the drawbridge style ramp that led down to the brick pathways cutting though the dark forest floor.

  ‘Right…’ she muttered, shooting a final wary glance back the way she had come before abandoning the welcoming shadows around her for the walkway bathed in the cold exposing moonlight. ‘Here goes nothing.’

  But she had barely gone four metres across the walkway when she once again heard the snapping of branches and the ringing of tiny brass bells; this time coming from alarmingly close nearby.

  ‘Damn... that sounds close,’ she thought to herself, stopping mid step to cautiously steal a look over the rope handrail, ‘too close… could be right beneath me,’ she continued, fearful that one of the wandering Dead should notice her and inadvertently raise the alarm.

  And then as she peered down at the forest floor some seven metres below her, her warm breath clouding in the chill of the night air, she saw movement. Fleeting at first, she caught shadowy glimpses of a moving shoulder, flashes of an angular frame, exposed limbs thin and emaciated, and then finally as the cadaver stumbled into a pool of silver moonlight breaking through the autumnal canopy overhead, she saw the creature in all its decaying splendour. In life the poor soul had been a woman; not that you would know it now. For death and the Dead had not been kind to her; they had taken everything, stripping her of personality, age and even race in their obsession to conscript her into the army of the hungry Dead. With their teeth and claw like hands the Dead had taken the very essence of the women until nothing remain but a shell; a shell no longer fit to even hold the title of ‘she’. Reduced to a nameless ‘it’ the creature’s skin, ripped and covered with bite marks, clung desperately to its decaying frame; while over much of its thin body and hairless torn scalp, a dark creeping mould bloomed, claiming what was left as its own.

  ‘Yeah… way too close!’ exclaimed Fran silently to herself, as the Dead woman slipped from the pool of light and back into the darkness; oblivious that the thing it craved stood motionless just a few metres above it.

  With the ringing of bells and the sound of snapping twigs slowly fading, the Dead woman disappeared into the night; her unending hunt for sustenance continuing.

  ‘Don’t worry, Luv,’ thought Fran, at last tearing her eyes away from the spot where shadows had swallowed up the woman’s corpse. ‘I doubt you’re alone out there tonight.’

  As if to prove her point, Fran noticed the soft ringing of bells coming far off in the wood to her right.

  ‘I wonder why they enter the forest,’ she silently asked herself, as she slowly continued her way across the walkway again. ‘I doubt they can see or hear anything all the way over there… I would have thought they’d stick to the road… unless of course they...’

  She was about to continue her internal rambling when the cries of an unseen pair of foxes mating somewhere in the deep shadows ripped alarmingly through the darkness; making her jump while at the same time giving her a possible answer to her question.

  ‘Jesus!’ she couldn’t help but gasp aloud, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest as the all too human screeching continued. ‘Well, guess now I know why they’re attracted off the road,’ she thought, realising that if White Oak Park had a healthy population of resident foxes it would certainly attract the Dead; after all, with only a few exceptions, to the Dead living flesh was living flesh and as such was there to be consumed.

  She was just approaching the end of the rope-bridge, hunched over and as silent as the boards underfoot would allow, when she heard another sound coming from somewhere nearby. It was only when she reached the decking surrounding Ben’s tree house that she realised what it was.

  ‘Well at least someone’s asleep,’ she thought, a smile of relief creeping across her lips as she recognised the low rhythmic rumbling noise for what it was; Ben’s snoring. ‘Sweet dreams,’ she muttered, darting across the decking to the dark tree house.

  With her back to the wall, Fran edged herself along the building. Crouching down to where the shadows were darkest she stole a quick glance round the corner.

  ‘There’s the Hub,’ she thought to herself with a confirming nod, looking across a moonlit walkway to the shadow dappled tree house and the ramp mechanism she would use to exit the elevated warren of homes.

  The Hub had two other walkways attached to it, each connecting it to yet more treetop cabins, and from where Fran knelt she could just about see the end of one of them appearing out of the darkness. She was just readying herself to break cover and make her way over the final walkway when a shadow slowly separated itself from the darkness beyond, furtively walked across the decking and began to awkwardly untie the rope keeping the ramp aloft.

  ‘What the…’ thought Fran, instantly slinking back into the shadows; trying to work out who the mystery figure could be and more importantly just what were they up to.

  Whoever it was had clearly taken precautions against the chill night air and dressed accordingly; their bulky hooded coat distorting their silhouette and hiding their face from view.

  ‘Who are you,’ she mused, watching as whoever it was struggled to control lowering the ramp, ‘and what are you up to?’

  With the creaking of cogs turning and the soft clatter of knocking metal, the ramp slowly began to descend in fits and starts. Just why the stranger was using one hand to control its descent, Fran could only guess, but as it finally made contact with the ground with an alarmingly loud bang, the figure nervously looked about to see if they had
been detected and in that instant, as the face beneath the shadowy hood was caught in the moonlight, Fran had her answer.

  ‘Wendy!’ sneered Fran, the teenager’s face almost luminescent in the silvery light.

  But then as Wendy froze, perhaps having heard some fragment of Fran’s whisper on the wind, something else was exposed by the glowing moon overhead; something that the young girl held securely against her chest with one arm, something that made Fran’s stomach drop and a cold foreboding sense of despair creep slowly into her soul.

  ‘No!’ whispered Fran, gaping in shock as Wendy turned away from her again and darted down the ramp; taking Poppy with her.

  For a moment, Fran simply watched the young woman leaving with the child that by rights should not be there but then as her mind processed what she was seeing, allowing her shock to transform from a momentary relief that Poppy was still alive to a blinding anger because there could only be one explanation for it, she slowly stood and with all thoughts of stealth now forgotten, strode toward the moonlight walkway in pursuit.

  ‘That fucking bitch!’ she hissed, marching across the suspended bridge towards the Hub; her knuckles turning white as her fist tightened about the handle of the machete. ‘If she’s hurt Sam and Mike… I’ll… I’ll...’

  Yet even as the muttered words fell from her lips and a thousand justified punishments ran through her mind, Fran knew deep down that the young couple were already lost. Just what had happened to them was anyone’s guess but she knew two things for certain, neither Mike nor Sam would give up Poppy without a fight and that, Tom or no Tom, she was going to get some answers out of Wendy one way or another.

  Leaving the final creaking walkway behind her, Fran stepped out onto the shadow dappled decking surrounding the Hub and with her rage still clouding her common sense, stomped across to the ramp. She was just wondering how safe it was to leave the ramp lowered when movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention; immediately causing her to drop down into a crouch.

  ‘Idiot!’ she chastised, looking back in the direction that Wendy had come to the window of a tree house some thirty metres away; the soft glow of light coming from behind the drawn blinds broken by the movement of someone in the room. ‘Keep it together,’ she told herself. ‘For Mike and Sam… keep it together.’

  Realising she had almost allowed her anger to overpower her judgement and in turn risk everything, Fran took in a deep calming breath and then with two steady streams pluming in the cold air as she exhaled slowly through her nose, she calmly rose and crept down the lowered ramp to the forest floor.

  ‘Right where are you?’ she thought to herself, automatically pulling free the large machete from her belt as she peered into a smothering darkness broken by only shards of moonlight piercing through the autumnal canopy above her.

  To her left Fran suddenly heard the soft tinkling of bells.

  ‘No… now that’s not you…’ she thought, instinctively moving to her right, away from the Dead she now knew wandered the shadows there. ‘I bet you know every string of bells in this wood, don’t you, Wendy,’ she whispered to herself, glancing cautiously behind her before slipping along the wide pathway, away from the ringing alarm. ‘Where’s she going?’ she wondered, skirting deftly around the exposing pools of light in case someone saw her. ‘What’s your game, Wendy… and who else is playing?’ she started to mutter, just as she saw a flash of movement up ahead and stopped herself.

  For the briefest moment Fran thought it may have been one the Dead but then as the hunched-over figure passed through a patch of silvery light she saw it was in fact her quarry; it was Wendy.

  ‘Gotcha!’ she nodded, quickening her pace so not to lose sight of the young woman again.

  Fran knew that to tackle Wendy out in the open would surely attract unwanted attention from the Dead so instead she followed at a distance, forever keeping to the shadows; always alert that the ravenous corpses could appear at any moment. She watched as the teenager walked briskly along dark and dangerous pathways, her unknown purpose and destination seemingly adding determination to each shrouded step. Despite the ringing of bells still echoing in the air, as far as Fran could tell the girl showed no fear or caution in her actions; for clearly this was her world. She had claimed it as her own and it was if the Dead that wandered through it were merely an inconvenience; a problem that others had to deal with.

  ‘Stupid idiot,’ thought Fran at one point, watching as Wendy, with the arrogance of youth, barely glanced down a darkened path that joined the one she was already on before continuing again, ‘She’s going to get herself killed… and Poppy,’ Fran reluctantly added, giving a new spin to the folly of Wendy’s careless actions.

  Fran was just starting to wonder whether she could risk Poppy’s safety any longer when through a break in the trees she suddenly caught a glimpse of reflected moonlight and with it she instantly knew where Wendy was going; she was headed for the Dome.

  ‘I’ll wait till she’s inside,’ decided Fran, closing some of the gap between them as she darted forward and silently ducked into the shadows beside a row of rusting bicycles.

  From her hidden vantage point, Fran watched as Wendy crossed the wide moonlit path surrounding the converted swimming complex, weave her way through long forgotten benches and stacked picnic tables, and approached a plain shadow drenched door marked with the words ‘Fire exit’. Wondering why she simply hadn’t entered the Dome from the front, Fran watched as Wendy shifted Poppy’s positon briefly in her arms and then begin to fiddle one handed with some part of the door mechanism.

  ‘Oh, she must’ve rigged it from the inside,’ noted Fran, watching the teenager’s actions. ‘She certainly wouldn’t have left being able to get in to chance.’

  Sure enough, with a clang of something metal falling against concrete, the door suddenly clicked open and then with the fingers of her free hand wrapped around the lip of the heavy door, Wendy began to pull.

  ‘Get ready…’ Fran told herself, rising from her knees as the gap between the door and the frame grew wider. ‘Any… second… now…’

  But before Fran could step away from the bicycle rack something else started to move, something slow but equally as determined; something hungry and something Dead.

  ‘Wendy!’ Fran couldn’t help but cry out in warning, as the corpse of a Dead man appeared from the shadows to the teenager’s right, its claw like hands already eagerly reaching for her.

  With her head snapping back to locate the source of the call, Wendy instantly realised she had bigger things to worry about then being discovered with a stolen infant. For the corpse looming out of the darkness had locked its hungry gaze upon her and with a moan escaping its dry blackened lips it lunged; determined to claim her as its prize.

  ‘No!’ cried Wendy, awkwardly trying to throw herself backwards while still keeping hold of the open door that offered her only escape.

  But the Dead man’s cadaver would not relinquish its claim on her flesh so easily and as Fran sprinted forward, her machete raised, she saw its hand latch onto the hood of Wendy’s coat, pulling her struggling form towards it.

  ‘Fuck off!’ Wendy screamed, trying to twist herself free from its deadly clutches, while in her arms Poppy loudly vocalised her own displeasure. ‘No!’ Wendy continued, the Dead man stumbling backwards as she pushed against it.

  ‘Drop!’ Fran shouted, at last closing in on the struggling pair as she jumped over an upturned bench.

  Thankfully doing immediately as she was told, Fran saw the Dead man’s body try to compensate for sudden shift in Wendy’s weight and in that split second she had the opening she needed.

  ‘Stay Down!’ Fran cried, her machete already flashing through the air towards the Dead man’s neck.

  And then with her machete severing head from shoulders, the Dead man was silenced; his moaning reduced to little more than impotent gasping as his head tumbled away into the darkness, leaving his body to collapse to the ground in a heap.
/>   ‘Get inside,’ panted Fran, glancing over her shoulder; knowing their shouts and the noise of Poppy’s cries would likely attract more of the Dead.

  For a moment Wendy simply looked up at Fran, scowling as she snatched her hood free of the Dead man’s now lifeless grasp; giving the headless corpse an angry kick for good measure.

  ‘Now!’ growled Fran, reaching down to angrily yank the teenager to her feet.

  ‘Alright… alright, Bitch!’ snapped Wendy, pulling herself free so she could stand on her own.

  ‘Just fucking get inside!’ spat Fran in reply, shoving Wendy towards the door. ‘You and I are going to have a little chat.’

  With her mouth distorting into a sneer, Wendy simply looked at Fran and defiantly stood her ground.

  ‘I said get inside,’ repeated Fran through gritted teeth, while flicking some dark wet gore from her machete blade. ‘Now!’ Fran suddenly shouted, when Wendy still refused to move; her free hand shooting out to slap the teenager about face.

  With a ‘crack’ her hand connected with the stunned girl’s cheek, snapping her head to one side.

  ‘Fuck!’ gasped Wendy, glaring at Fran with barely contained rage as she reluctantly backed through the open door into the Dome; Fran coolly matching her pace for pace. ‘You’re going to regret that, Bitch,’ the teenager continued, coming to a stop beside a large raised bed of tomato plants.

  Inside the Dome the air was considerably warmer than outside and with the huge clear Perspex roof above them unencumbered by any overhanging foliage, everything basked in a wash of brilliantly silver moonlight. To her right, along the wall and just inside the door, Fran could hear the soft scratching of rabbits in their hutches; clearly startled by the noisy intrusion to their restful sleep.