Lanherne Chronicles (Prequel): To Escape the Dead Read online

  ‘Phil!’ she whispered, lowering her blade. ‘Thank God…’

  ‘Sounds like it’s time to make a move again, Liz,’ he replied, his concerned face becoming clear as he stepped into a beam of moonlight.

  ‘You heard it too,’ she replied. ‘How long do you think we’ve got?’

  ‘Until we’re over run?… not long,’ said Phil stepping back to the door to look through the cracked small circular pane of glass. ‘David’s checking out the door at the end of the corridor. It’s the only thing standing between the main building and this wing. If the Dead have made it that far….’

  ‘We’ll be trapped…’ Liz completed in a whisper.

  ‘Yep,’ said Phil, glancing back past Liz to Vincenzo holding Anne in one arm while his other arm held his wife protectively close to him.

  Suddenly there was a chorus of blood chilling screams coming from somewhere in the main building, swiftly followed by the bang of a door as it slammed against the wall and then the sound of multiple running footsteps approaching them. Phil looked from the circular window back to Liz. Even in the dim moonlight she could see Phil was torn between throwing open the door to help David and staying to protect them. But as the running footsteps came closer along the dark corridor, Phil abruptly stepped back, determined to use his body as a shield against whatever was about to burst through.

  ‘Get ready!’ he growled, only really talking to Liz and Tom.

  ‘Vincenzo,’ said Carmella, barely keeping the terror from her voice.

  Liz, standing with her feet apart and her sword held high behind her as Charlie had taught her, took one last slow deep breath and prepared herself to fight for the lives of those around her. She knew these newly turned Dead would be fast, their movements still as lithe and supple as when alive. It would be a few hours yet before the slowly decaying brain condemned the body to nothing more than a shambling shell. Not that these slower Dead would be any less a threat. On mass they could still break their way through barricaded doors and windows, their weight alone giving them the force their dead muscles couldn’t.

  The running footsteps were moments away from the door now and as the first shadow fell against the small cracked window Liz glanced to Phil praying the first angry corpse through wasn’t David’s. When the door finally flew open with a bang it was Charlie running towards her. Even with only moonlight illuminating him, Liz instantly took in the dark blood splashed across this chest and face.

  ‘No,’ she choked, her sword dropping slightly as her heart broke at the thought of Charlie becoming one of the hungry cadavers he had fought so hard to protect Anne and herself from for the last five years.

  Charlie had been a solider in Iraq and had been sent home after a road side bomb had detonated killing much of his platoon. He had often told Liz, that day he had been one of the lucky ones. Not only to have survived the explosion with only the loss of his left hand as a souvenir of his final tour but it had also put him on the path to meeting her and her sister. Charlie had had an ex-wife and daughter of his own once, but when the Dead came that life had been cruelly torn from him. When one of his army buddies had called him, telling him to ignore the reports that everything was under control and that the riots springing up throughout the globe were something more than simple unrest, he knew he had to get out of the city and quickly. Rushing like a mad man to fetch his daughter from her school, he had arrived just too late to save her. He had found classrooms empty and awash with spilt blood, every corner contaminated with ungodly carnage and as he fell to his knees amongst the congealing gore and torn flesh his world collapsed about him. His grief ripped his sanity from him, condemning him to an existence of meaningless survival. It wasn’t until a month later when, in one of the few remaining rescue centres, he had come across a terrified ten year old girl clutching her infant sister that he had finally found a reason to go on. Liz had looked up at him with her large brown eyes full of so much fear and loss that he knew he could not turn away from her need. Through these two girls he would make amends. Through them he would find a reason to live and a way to assuage his guilt.

  ‘Liz,’ Charlie suddenly said. ‘Thank God!’

  With those three words, Liz knew her world was as it should be. Charlie was alive and somehow everything would be OK.

  ‘Fuck, Charlie!’ she said, lowering her blade. ‘The blood… I thought…’

  ‘What? Oh, it’s not mine,’ he simply replied, glancing behind him to make sure David and Tyrone had followed him into the ward.

  ‘They’re coming!’ shouted David, looking through the circular window at the silhouettes running along the corridor toward them.

  ‘Shit!’ said Phil, grabbing a length of pipe out of David’s hand to feed it through to door handles.

  ‘That won’t hold them for long,’ panted Tyrone, moving over to comfort his wide eyed brother. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Well, with the windows barred, we’d better pray we can keep them at bay for a few hours…’ replied Phil, already pulling over one of the beds to block the doorway.

  ‘David, how many were there?’ asked Charlie, flicking a chunk of flesh from the large hunting knife he always had strapped to the stump where his prosthetic hand used to be.

  Before he could answer the first of the Dead threw themselves against the doors, slightly jarring them open.

  ‘Four or five…’ murmured David, desperate to tear his gaze from the bloody face that had suddenly appeared the other side of the cracked glass.

  With a shudder, the rest of the Dead pack slammed against the door, forcing the gap between them just wide enough for broken and bloody fingers to be pushed through. With a yell, Phil stepped forward and kicked the doors together again, scattering severed fingers to the floor.

  ‘We need to barricade this while we think of what we’re going to do,’ he said, pushing his back hard against the doors.

  Spurred into action, the others began to pull the meagre collection of battered and peeling bedside tables and chairs over to the rattling doors.

  ‘What happened to Cam and Michael?’ asked Liz, afraid of the answer she may be given, ‘Did they…?’

  ‘No, No… We got split up,’ replied Charlie, pulling a small metal cabinet over to Phil. ‘They said they’d try to get to the horses… let’s just hope we can join them.’

  Without warning the sound of shattering glass stopped everyone in their tracks.

  ‘Gesu Cristo!’ cried Carmella, staring as the Dead fought to push their arms through the broken pane of glass, oblivious to the shards cutting deep into their Dead flesh.

  ‘Charlie, we… we need to get out of here!’ she continued, switching back to English. ‘There must be a way!’

  With a wave of panic consuming her, Carmella pushed herself away from Vincenzo and ran to one of the tall barred windows.

  ‘There must be a way!’ she cried, frantically pulling against the bars, hoping to loosen them, ‘There must! I… I won’t let them have my baby!’

  ‘Carmella! Carmella!’ hushed Vincenzo, trying to pry her fingers from the bars while Anne sat mutely in his arms.

  ‘Now would be a good time for any ideas, Charlie…’ said Phil, jolting as the Dead repeatedly threw themselves against the doors at his back.

  ‘Erm…’ he began, realising their options were more than a little limited, ‘any chance we can crowbar the bars wide enough apart to get out?’

  ‘Doubt it,’ said Tom, leaning against a windowsill, ‘these were meant to keep the loonies in … they made them pretty secure.’

  ‘Shit!’ mumbled Charlie, dropping to sit down on Liz’s bed, his eyes scanning the shadows hoping something would come to him.

  Watching as Charlie mentally came up with one plan only to discard it again, Liz tried to block out the almost growling cries of the Dead pounding against the door. She knew, like a dinner gong, their calls would only draw more of the Dead to them and soon the sheer number on the other side of the door would send the doors and th
eir feebly erected barricade clattering into the ward. Thinking of what she would do when that eventually happened, Liz let her gaze wander past Charlie to the wall behind him. She had seen it countless times since arriving at the Institute but only now did the large patch of water damaged plaster really catch her attention. Following the stain up to the cracked ceiling above her bed, a hopeful plan dared to form. Desperately she tried to picture the hospital wing from the outside. She could clearly see the tall windows set in the peeling painted brickwork and on top, the moss covered grey slate tiling of the roof. Yes, the roof was pitched and not flat. They may just have a chance after all.

  ‘Help me!’ she suddenly cried, running over to push one of the larger tables to a certain point by her bed. ‘Charlie, the ceiling! Perhaps we can get through the ceiling!’

  ‘Christ, girl, you’re right,’ he replied, his head tilting up to look at the cracked ceiling above him.

  ‘Tyrone, your crowbar!’ shouted Tom, smoothly slipping his two scythes in their straps on his back.

  ‘Here!’ Tyrone replied, tossing the heavy metal bar.

  Catching it, Tom leapt onto the table. Taking a moment to steady himself, he gently traced the crack with his fingers until he found what he thought would be a good spot.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ he said glancing down at the hopeful faces looking up at him.

  With a grunt, barely audible over the chilling moans of the Dead, Tom swung the crowbar upwards toward the crack. The water damaged plaster didn’t stand a chance against him and as the bar ripped through it a small section of the ceiling showered down upon him.

  ‘Well?’ asked Charlie, coughing as dust and chunks of plaster filled the air.

  ‘Hang on,’ Tom replied, using the hook end of the crow bar to pull down more of the plasterboard. ‘Err… Yep, I can see one of the joists. If it can hold my weight I think I can pull myself up.’

  ‘Here,’ said Tyrone, pulling a small plastic chair over and lifting it up onto the table, ‘it’ll be easier if you stand on this.’

  ‘We need to hurry this up, people!’ said Phil, jolting forward as more of the Dead threw themselves at the door that they somehow knew separated them from the flesh they desired.

  Behind him, the wood around the broken window was beginning to splinter and crack as more and more of the Dead fought to reach through to them.

  ‘We don’t have much time!’ shouted David, running to help Phil hold back the cadaverous horde. ‘Hurry!’

  Tom looked at the splintering doors and instantly knew that whether there was a way out through the roof or not, it was their only hope of escape.

  ‘Right,’ he said to himself, stepping up onto the chair.

  With the extra height the chair gave him, he reached up through the hole and moved his fingers along the edge of the ceiling joist. Once he was satisfied he had a secure grip he pulled himself up into the darkness. Almost immediately the sound of the crowbar hamming against the thick slates echoed down to the trapped group.

  ‘Tyrone, you’re next… then Vincenzo,’ said Charlie, glancing nervously at Phil and David as they fought to keep the barricade in place.

  ‘But…’ began Tyrone, looking protectively at his younger brother.

  ‘You both need to be up there to help pull Carmella up… she won’t be able to do it on her own,’ Charlie interrupted.

  ‘Right,’ he replied, turning to Paul and quickly signing what he was doing.

  Nervously chewing on his lip, Paul nodded his understanding. With a smile and a squeeze of his brother’s shoulder, Tyrone jumped up onto the table. Standing on the chair, Tyrone mirrored Tom’s actions and with a kick of his legs he pulled himself up into the loft space.

  ‘Hand me Anne so you can climb up,’ Tyrone called, reaching down to Vincenzo.

  ‘Lizzy,’ said Anne, her large blue eyes mirroring the fear they all felt.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Liz began, glancing from the barricade back to her sister, ‘I’ll be with you in a second.’

  Her gaze flitted from Anne to Vincenzo and with a nod, something passed between them. If something went wrong and Liz didn’t make it, she knew Vincenzo and the others would look after her sister. Before another word could be said Tyrone reached back down through the hole in the ceiling and plucked the five year old from Vincenzo’s arms. With one more worried glance at the doors, Vincenzo followed suit.

  ‘Carmella,’ he said, urgently holding his arms down to help his pregnant wife.

  Sitting on the edge of the desk, Carmella swung her legs round so that she sat on the table. Then, if a little ungracefully, she pushed herself first up onto her knees and then to her feet. With her husband encouraging her in Italian, she reached up to the hands above her.

  ‘It’s not going to hold much longer!’ shouted Phil, as the door began to crack under the ferocious onslaught from the Dead on the other side. ‘Hurry!’

  ‘Your turn,’ Liz mouthed to Paul, touching his arm so he knew she was talking to him.

  Jumping onto the table just as Carmella’s legs disappeared into the darkness above him, Paul was at least denied the horrific sound of wood splintering that suddenly signalled their time had run out.

  ‘Go!’ shouted Charlie, waving Liz up onto the table top.

  Knowing they had but seconds before the Dead were upon them, Liz didn’t need to be told twice and after swiftly clicking her blade back into its sheath she jumped into the table.

  ‘Phil, David!’ she cried as she stood on the chair to grab hold of the helping hands reaching down to her. ‘Come on!’

  Just as her head rose into the loft space and she left the hospital ward behind her, there was ominous crash of furniture being pushed aside and she fleetingly saw David running toward the table.

  She had barely lifted her legs up into the loft space when David’s head appeared and he began to pull himself up.

  ‘Phil!’ she heard Charlie cry, ‘There’s too many of them, come on!’

  As the heavy thudding of Phil’s spiked club connecting with skulls reached her over the nightmarish growling of the Dead, Liz looked back down through the hole just in time to see Charlie running to his aid.

  ‘Charlie!’ she screamed, terrified as the man who had become her father disappeared from view.

  But within seconds he reappeared again, leaping up onto the table and using the momentum to hurl himself towards the gaping hole. Liz had to quickly throw herself backwards to avoid the blade attached to his stump from stabbing her as his remaining hand latched onto the nearby joist. Then, quicker than she thought possible for a one handed man of his size, Charlie pulled himself up into the loft.

  ‘Phil!’ David and Liz both cried in unison, horrified to realise the man had not been immediately behind Charlie.

  Then with a scream of rage, Phil suddenly appeared by the side of the table below them. With his club swinging wildly at the Dead around him, skin tore, bones shattered and blood flowed as the Dead fell beneath his onslaught. But it was a battle he knew he ultimately had no hope of winning and seeing the only opportunity he was likely to have, Phil kicked out at the corpse of a Dead woman knocking her back into the reaching arms of her Dead brethren. The Dead woman’s face had been a ruin of torn flesh and exposed bone but she was quick and she was hungry and even while Phil clambered onto the table she was determined not let this prize of flesh slip so easily from their grasp. Just as Phil stepped up onto the chair the Dead woman’s arm shot out to grab for his leg. Perhaps it was the torn flap of skin hanging from her savaged forehead or some unknown god looking down favourably on Phil but her hand missed his leg entirely and latched onto the chair by mistake. Not that this in itself didn’t have repercussions, for as the Dead woman used the chair to pull herself closer it began to buckle under Phil’s feet. With a sickening ‘snap’ one of the chair legs suddenly broke lose, tipping Phil forward.

  ‘Phil!’ shouted David, almost throwing himself back down through the hole.

  ‘David, No!’ cried Charl
ie, grabbing David by the back of his jacket just in time to pull him back from the edge of the hole.

  If the worst was about to happen, David certainly didn’t need to see it.

  Below them Phil fought for his life. No matter how many of the Dead his spiked club consigned to the oblivion that had been briefly denied them, more and more seemed to be arriving at the gaping doorway, drawn by the calls of their Dead compatriots.

  ‘Fuck!’ Phil growled, as the edge of his club clipped and tore free the lower jaw of a Dead man he knew had been called Ian.

  With the Dead man’s jaw out of action, Phil suddenly had an idea. Grabbing the front of the Dead man’s shirt, Phil roared with effort as he physically lifted the still struggling corpse from the snapping group below him and up onto the table. He knew he would likely get only one chance to get this right and committing himself to his fate, he dropped his weapon. If he wanted to give himself any chance of this working he needed to have both his hands free. Before the club had even hit the table surface Phil had kicked the back of the cadaver’s knees and as the Dead man began to buckle in front of him, Phil swiftly pushed his head forwards so the corpse fell to his knees. This was the moment Phil had hoped for and it was likely to either save him or sentence him to a horrific death. Using the dead man’s slumped body as a springboard, Phil launched himself off his back and up to the hole in the ceiling that offered not only hope but also a chance to live.

  With a thud his arms suddenly collided jarringly with the joists and knowing this was to be his only chance, he scrabbled frantically for a hand hold. Then as Dead hands grasped for his wildly kicking legs more hands, hands of the living, grabbed hold of his arms.

  ‘We’ve got you, Phil!’ called Tyrone, as he and David began to pull Phil up into the loft. ‘We’ve got you!’

  For Phil, every second it took for him to clamber up through the ceiling seemed to last an eternity, the searing pain of teeth biting into the flesh of his legs expected at any moment. But the Dead did not find purchase upon him and before long he sat panting, looking down at the horde baying for the flesh denied them.