Last Days With the Dead (14 page)

***

Karen’s eyes slowly flickered open and as her mind struggled to process what had happened, she  realised she was slumped over with her head resting on the edge of the helicopter’s control panel, looking down into the foot-well. There was a heavy pounding in her head and even as she tried to shake her disorientation, she watched a single droplet of blood pooling at the tip of her nose and fall to a growing
bloodstain by her right foot.

‘Jesus!’ she said to herself, slowly moving one of her hands up onto the control panel for leverage.

With the thumping in her head seeming to get louder, Karen gingerly pushed herself back into her seat. Her head spun at the sudden movement and closing her eyes, she tried to control her breathing. Reaching her hand to her forward, she felt the wetness of her own blood just above her left temple and winced. Even this movement seemed to affect the fuzzy banging inside her head, but after a few more deep breaths, she soon noticed the cotton wool feeling beginning to fade. It was then that she realised the banging hadn’t been inside her head at all. Something was hammering on the cabin door next to her, something that wanted to get in.

‘No, No, No…’ she whispered, terrified to open her eyes.

‘Matt,’ she whispered, reaching her right arm over to she knew Matt must be, ‘Matt!’

Her fingers brushed against his sleeve and grabbing hold, she frantically shook him.

‘Matt!’ she urgently repeated, still unable to open her eyes to look upon the horrors that she knew stood on the other side of her cabin door.

But Matt did not answer
, and as her shaking and pleas became more and more desperate, he still did not respond. Choking back a sob, she feared he would never answer her and with her tears falling from her closed eyes, her hand slowly followed his still arm down to this wrist and then to his hand. Slowly, she took his hand in hers and she knew, Matt would never answer her again, he was gone.

‘Oh, Matt
,’ she whispered, finally opening her eyes to look at her brother.

Like her, Matt was slumped forward and as her eyes fell to the single red light of the pulse detector on the back of his neck, she could see that the casing was empty. It had already fired its single metal bolt up into Matt’s brain
, preventing him from coming back. It was actually the twisted piece of metal coming through his back that had taken Matt from her, but she could not look at that. It was too brutal, too savage, and too real. She would not let that be her memory of how Matt died. If she convinced herself, it was the small metal bolt that had taken him, clean, and instantaneously, she would know he would have died painlessly and without suffering.

With her hand shaking, she reached out to him and gently ran the back of her index finger along the top of his left ear. Then finally, with a sob shaking through her and with something monstrous and hungry still banging on the door to her left, Karen allowed her gaze to move away from Matt. She knew her brother had gambled everything to save the people of Lanherne. He had gambled and lost
, but the game was not over yet as far as Karen was concerned. Her brother had been prepared to die for what was right and in honour of him; she would see to it that he had not died in vain.

‘For you, Matt,’ she whispered through her tears, ‘I’ll get to Lanherne and tell them
, for you.’

But first
, she knew she would have to face whatever was beyond the cabin door. With the dawn light filtering though the branches that surrounded the helicopter’s cockpit, she fumbled for her gun. She knew she would need it if she expected to have any chance at all of getting out of the cockpit alive, let alone all the way to the convent. With a sinking feeling, her hand found her jacket pocket empty; it had fallen out during the crash. Using what little light she had, she searched the small cockpit, all the while making sure not to look directly at the thing still banging ceaselessly on the cabin door. Eventually, she spied the tip of the gun barrel sticking out from under her seat and reaching down, went to retrieve it. Her fingertips were just touching the end of the barrel when she heard a terrifying cracking sound from the cabin door.

‘No!’ she whimpered, finally snapping her head left to look thing the other side of the door.

What she saw made her breath suddenly catch in her throat. The naked decaying creature had once been a man, and it glared at her with film covered eyes. Karen had never seen such a look of manic hunger on a face before, and as the Dead man drew back his fist to pound again against the already fractured glass, she knew he would not stop until he had gorged himself on her flesh. Frantically, Karen stretched down for the gun that lay just beyond a solid grasp.

‘Come on, come on
,’ she prayed, as she finally hooked two of her fingers either side of the barrel and began slowly to pull it towards her.

But her time had run out and with an explosion of glass, the Dead man’s hand shot through the cabin door window. The Dead creature did not care what damage he did to his arm. To grasp the living flesh that right now cowered so tanta
lisingly within his reach, was all that consumed him. With a scream, Karen threw herself as far away from the Dead man’s arm as she could, but she could tell he would not be denied his pound of flesh. Already, he was using his other hand to pull at the shards of glass either side of the hole. They sliced into his fingers, peeling back grey skin and decaying flesh, but still he showed no concern. A long flap of stinking flesh even hung from his arm, flayed from the limb when he had tried to thrust his arm deeper into the cabin. With her brother’s body blocking her escape, and the Dead fiend in front of her, Karen knew there was only one way she was going to be able to leave the helicopter alive. Bracing herself for what she was about to do, Karen grabbed at the Dead man’s arm. It took a few attempts, but finally, she managed to grasp hold of the cadaver’s wrist. With her feet braced against the door for purchase, and screaming in rage, she pulled on the arm with all the strength she had in her. Even over her screams, she heard the dull pop, as the arm dislocated at the shoulder joint.

‘Come on, you Fucker!’ she screamed, twisting and pulling the Dead man’s arm against the shards of glass.

With relief, she saw the skin and flesh as his shoulder begin to tear and stretch, as the broken glass in the window frame sliced deep into the Dead limb.

‘Come on!’ she screamed again, giving the arm a final tug.

With a sickening ripping sound, the Dead man’s arm came free of his body. She knew she had but seconds before, unperturbed by the loss of his limb, the Dead man would try to reach her with his other arm. Using those seconds wisely, Karen tossed the severed arm aside and reached back down for the gun. Again, the barrel brushed her fingers, but this time, it was just close enough for her to ease it closer still. Glancing back at the shattered window, she saw the Dead man had now pressed his face into the hole, his snapping jaws now surrounded by the tattered shreds of his cheeks. With a large crack, suddenly lightning crossed the window, she knew the rest of the glass was about to give way.  But thankfully, the gun was now in her hand, and without thinking she turned in her seat, aimed, and pulled the trigger. With an explosion of fetid brain matter from the back of his head, the bullet passed through the Dead man’s skull, finally allowing him the true death he deserved.

Karen sat panting, simply looking at the space in the window where the Dead man had moments ago been. It was only then that she heard the moans of more of the Dead somewhere outside. They had surely heard her screams, if not the Dead man’s call
, and they were being drawn uncontrollably to its source.

‘Fuck, Fuck, Fuck
,’ she whispered frantically to herself, knowing she had to get away as fast as possible.

Reaching across Matt’s
body, she grabbed the folded map that had been wedged down the side of his seat and prepared herself for the run of her life. She was about to kick open her door when she changed her mind and went back to her brother. Pulling him slightly towards her, she managed to snake her arm behind him to reach the handgun she knew he carried on his right hip. She had no idea how long it would take her to get to Lanherne, and more importantly, no idea how many of the Dead she would encounter on the way. Every bullet she had available to her would be priceless.

‘I love you
.’ She said, gently kissing the top of Matt’s head.

Then with one last look at her brother’s body, she turned and kicked open the damaged cabin door.  

***

‘Fucking hell!’ said Patrick suddenly, pulling Delilah to a stop as he did.

They had reached the village, and as they had done hundreds of times, they had made their way through the small overgrown winding lanes, past one dilapidated cottage after another, until they reached the small crossroads that had effectively been the hub of the small village. On one corner of the crossroads, stood the school, where only yesterday, they had found Mary Donaldson and her daughter.

‘What?’ asked Phil, pushing his large frame forward so he could look through the viewing slit.

What he saw made him sit back down again.

‘What is it?’ repeated Imran, looking from Phil to Patrick.

‘The Donaldson’s,’ replied Patrick, ‘or what’s left of them.’

‘What? Mary and her daughter
, they’re Dead?’ asked Steve, knowing if that was the case, their journey was over before it began.

‘We need to check this out,’
said Phil. ‘We can’t just assume the trail ends here.’

‘Agreed,’ nodded Patrick, reaching for a spiked club attached to the wall, ‘Imran up top, take out any stragglers
. Phil, Steve, with me.’

‘And you won’t be needing this,’ said Phil
, tapping his knuckles on the rifle barrel, ‘here, take this, time to get up close and personal.’

Steve took the heavy length of pipe from Phil and tested the weight of it in his hand.

‘Clear.’ Imran whispered, down through the hatch in the cart roof.

With that, the three other men opened the side hatches and stepped out into the cool early morning light. Ahead of them, what was left of the path and cracked road surface outside the
school was awash with a pool of thick congealing blood. But this was not what worried them, after all, they had got used to the sight of spilt blood years ago, it was the eight stripped fresh corpses hanging by their hands from the railings that caused them concern. It was clear they had been left for the Dead to feast upon, and the Dead had obliged with gusto. Of the slaughtered three women and five men, only two of the poor souls had any organs still housed within their body cavities. The others had been torn open by hungry teeth and desperate hands, their soft fleshy insides greedily ripped out. The bloody ground in front of them was littered with lumps of indefinable offal, and leading off in various directions, were a multitude of bloody footprints.

‘This is Jake Donaldson,’ said Phil, stepping forward to use his spiked club to lift the flap of skin that had been partially ripped from one of the men’s faces
. ‘One of the younger brothers, I only met him once, but I’m pretty sure it’s him.’

‘Christ!’ whispered Steve, covering his mouth with the back of his hand
. ‘They must’ve seriously pissed someone off, to have this done to them.’

Patrick moved closer to one of the female corpses. She had much of the flesh chewed away from her thighs and was missing large chunks of the skin and flesh from her torso and breasts. Using his club, he gingerly til
ted her head back to look at her face.

‘This isn’t Mary
,’ he said, letting the woman’s blood covered head loll back again, ‘and all of these others are too large to be Lucy.’

‘What about her on the end?’ asked Phil, letting the flap of face fall back down as he stepped back
. ‘Could that be Mary?’

Steve walked to the end of the line of corpses, slipping for a moment on something wet, chewed
, and un-nameable.

‘Jesus!’ he said steadying himself.

Reluctant to touch the woman’s abused and torn body, Steve crouched down to look up at her ruined face. She had her bottom lip viciously ripped from her face, together with much of her nose, exposing the dark, bloody gristle and bone beneath.

‘Can’t see her face,’ Steve mumbled to himself, reaching slowly up to move a
blood-matted clump of hair away from her face.

Instantly
, the woman’s eyes snapped open to reveal a pair of crazed blue eyes. Eyes that had witnessed the horrors of hell and had come through baptised in pure madness.

‘Jesus!’ gasped Steve, jumping back as a low panting howl began in the woman’s chest.

‘My, God,’ said Patrick, running to the woman, ‘she’s alive!’

The woman’s howl slowly rose in volume, becoming animalistic in its rawness and as Patrick tried to hold her face so he could look in her eyes, the wretched woman began to spasm and gag as waves of unimaginable pain shot through her.

‘Fuck!’ said Phil, pulling a knife from his belt to cut her down with. ‘How can she still be alive?’

‘I don’t know,’ Patrick replied, holding the woman while she bucked in his arms, spraying his chest with clotted blood and small bits of flesh, ‘half her fucking body is missing for Christ’s sake!’