Five More Days With The Dead (Lanherne Chronicles Book 2) (3 page)

Over the
years, Gabe developed a remarkable talent for hiding from the Dead. His small malnourished frame was perfect for sleeping away the day in even the smallest of crawlspaces. Cupboards, crates, the trunks of burnt out cars and even under floorboards; all were handy places to hide in. Spending his days hidden from both the living and Dead alike, he would then silently creep from his hiding place to begin his nocturnal scavenging. However, as puberty kicked in and his thin body grew taller, if not wider, he found many of his regular hiding spots were now too small for even his starved gangly limbs. He remembers leaving the urban sprawl that had become his night-time world when a large wave of the Dead descended upon the area. Even taking into account their poor night vision, he knew it would be stupid trying to stay. He had pushed his luck to the limits, nightly dodging their outstretched arms as they sensed his living body run past them, but now those arms were just too great in number and it was time to leave. Gabe was unable to recall completely how he left the city or how he ended up in the turned fields outside the Substation but he certainly remembered the constant hunger pains that never left him. When Patrick came upon him eating raw potatoes from the mud, he had simply been too weak to flee. Collapsed in Patrick’s arms, dirty and starving, he was carried to a new life, a new life of friends and safety behind the Substation’s high fences.

With the clucking of startled chickens, their evening doze interrupted, Gabe came rushing out of the cement block building with the padlock key clutched in his hand. Following at a more leisurely pace was J-Man.

‘He makes me feel old,’ he said to Sarah, nodding towards Gabe as he ran like an excited child to the gate.

‘Sweetheart, how do you think he makes me feel?’ Sarah replied with a chuckle
.

‘Come
on, old timer, let’s see what they managed to find for us,’ she continued, putting down the basket of eggs on a large plastic barrel and slipping her arm through J-Man’s. ‘Perhaps we’ll have something special for dinner tonight?’

The last seven years had not been kind to Sarah, not only robbing her of family and those
that she loved but they also had stolen her looks.  Bit by bit, the hard living had taken its toll until she appeared a good fifteen years older than she actually was. Even though Sarah realised it was utterly ridiculous even to think about such things when she was lucky to be alive at all, it still bothered her slightly. Although she had never been what was described as classically attractive, she had always been particular about her appearance, making the best of what she had been given. She had always one of the first in line for the next beauty miracle promising to keep the wrinkles at bay. At forty-five and as an executive for an exclusive brand of Health-spar products, it was just expected she should look a certain way. Of course, the Dead had changed all that. Her hair once cut, highlighted and styled to perfection was now a drab grey mess. Her skin once bathed in every conceivable mix of potion and lotion was now weather worn and wrinkled. So when one of the survivors brought back a half empty bottle of one of the old products she used to sell, it brought back a flood of bitter sweet memories. After the initial grieving for a way of life that no longer existed, she was surprised to notice that the happy memories had ridden piggyback with the bad. Small details came flooding back to her, everyday joyful things she had forgotten until triggered by the simple plastic bottle of conditioner she held in her hands. From that moment on she made it her mission to pass on this secret joy held by the mundane objects of their past. Anytime a group were going outside the fence, she would ask them to collect small random objects, knowing each one was a potential window to the past for someone. Bottles, packaging, old magazines or catalogues, she wanted them all. Her cabin on the Pylon was a celebration of what had been. People would often stop outside her door, peering at the walls covered in another life’s flotsam. Sometimes they would cry for a bit. Sometimes they would smile but always they would remember and that was the important thing for Sarah. They would remember a time before the Dead came to taint everything with their fetid corruption. They would remember their loved ones alive and happy, and if this memory could replace the scenes of horror that haunted their dreams just for a moment, it was worth it.

With the padlock
sitting at his feet, Gabe was just removing the heavy chain that kept the gates secure when Sarah and J-Man arrived beside him. Normally, they would wait until those in the cart had removed any threat of the hungry Dead before opening the gate, but as there were none in sight, Gabe and J-Man each took one of the wide gates and pulled them open. Once Shadow had pulled the cart all the way in and the gate closed behind them, Gabe began to rewrap the heavy chain back through the metal supports of the gate methodically. Giving the gates a rattle and the locked padlock a final tug to make sure everything was secure again, Gabe ran back to the animal shed to replace the key. It was one of the rules of the Substation; the key was always replaced immediately on its hook, no exceptions.

Flipping open one of the side
hatches, Leon’s smiling face appeared.

‘
Hey, Sarah, you corrupting my J-Man there?’ He asked, nodding to her arm in his, ‘He’s an innocent, Lady. He don’t know shit about what to do with a real woman like you. You want to get yourself some Leon, he’ll treat you right,’ he continued, waggling his eyebrows and giving her a wink.

Squeezing his cheeks together with her fingers, Sarah lent in close to his now protruding lips.

‘I’d break you, honey,’ she said, giving him a friendly slap on the cheek, as behind her J-man burst into laughter.

‘She got you there man
,’ J-Man said, stepping forwards to knock knuckles with his friend.

‘Yeah, yeah
,’ Leon said, joining Sarah and J-Man on the ground. ‘You’re a wicked woman, Sarah.’

‘But that’s why you love me
,’ she replied, pulling the young man into a friendly hug. ‘I’m glad you came home safely. Any trouble?’

‘Well
,’ Leon began but stopped himself as Ryan jumped from the cart and walked past the group and over to the ramp leading up onto the Pylon.

‘Oh dear
,’ said Sarah, her eyes following the troubled figure of Ryan as he disappeared into his cabin on the first platform of the pylon.

‘Is anyone going to help unload all this stuff?’ Patrick
asked, pulling the first sack of potatoes from the cart with a grunt.

‘
Sorry, Man,’ J-man said, taking the sack from Patrick. ‘You go get reacquainted with Helen and Jasmine. I’ll get some of the others to unload all this. You too, Leon, we’ve got this.’

‘Thanks
,’ Patrick and Leon replied in unison.

‘Welcome home, man
,’ J-Man said, slapping Patrick’s shoulder as he walked past rubbing the sore muscles of his neck.

Being such a tall man had its disadvantages when it came to travelling in the cart. Hunched over for hours at a time so he could see clearly through the front view slit, he always ended trips with a terrible stiff
neck, which only Helen’s soothing touch could relieve.

‘Make sure you rub Shadow down well and give her a good feed
,’ Patrick called over to Gabe who was unhitching the black mare.

With a wave, Gabe led Shadow slowly to the stable building, patting and stroking her muzzle as he talked softly to the trusted beast placed in his care.  

Seeing the arrival of the cart some of the other members of the Substation community began to jog down the ramp, eager to help move the much-needed food into the storage building. Each saying their ‘hellos’ and ‘welcome homes’ as they passed Patrick, the return of the cart meant they could all eat well again for the next few weeks. The smiles he got from the passing faces almost made the three days away from Helen and his daughter worth it. Well, almost.

They had gone to the former Penhaligan place to collect some of their stored fruit and vegetables. The manor house with its large vegetable garden, fruit orchard and more importantly a cool, dry
cellar had been a welcome addition to their resources. Like Charlie of the Lanherne community, the Penhaligan family had fallen victim to the blade wielded by a religious fanatic six months ago. Only their youngest son, Alex, had survived and only then by virtue of his age alone. He now lived with the rest of the rescued children, safe behind the high walls of the Lanherne convent. Leon, Ryan and Patrick had spent much of their time at the Penhaligan digging up potatoes and harvesting cabbages. It had proven to be back breaking work, but if they wanted to eat, it was a necessary evil. They also brought with them two sacks of apples they had been storing in the dry cellar. The orchard had given them a bumper harvest and after carefully wrapping each apple in old dry newspaper, they easily had enough to last them for the next few months.

Reaching the base of the pylon, Patrick absentmindedly patted one of the support struts. Whether it was to reassure himself everything was as it should be, the completion of a subconscious lucky ritual or a simple ‘hello’ to
the object that had become a home for them all, he didn’t really know, but every time he returned to the Substation, he would find himself giving the pylon a friendly pat.

‘Hey hot stuff
,’ a woman’s voice high came from above him.

Looking up, he could see Helen’s smiling face leaning over the railing. Helen was even more beautiful to him now than the day he met her. With her dark rich coffee coloured skin and her eyes always full of mischief, he was hard pressed to resist her. Patrick had fought and killed for Helen
’s right to say ‘No’ and won her heart in the process, but at a slight cost. Although Patrick thought the large angry scar that ran down the side of his face had ruined his looks, it was a small price to pay for the love of the woman that had become the centre of his world. In fact, Helen herself could only see the scar as a symbol to the world of how much he loved her and each time she saw the scar, she realised she loved him even more for it.

‘Hey
,’ he called back, waving to her with his free hand, his smile broadening as Helen lifted Jasmine up for him to see.

Waving up to his infant daughter, Patrick realised there was a slight tingle coming from the fingertips of his left hand. Glancing down at the hand resting on the pylon strut, he noticed
that, one by one, the hairs on the back of his hand began to rise. Yes, he could definitely hear a low hum just at the edge of his range. As time seemed to slow, the realisation of what was wrong took form.

‘My God,
no… It can’t be,’ Patrick said to himself, his words escaping him in barely a whisper.

Feeling
as if he was moving through treacle, Patrick turned his head to look back up at his wife and daughter. The moment their eyes met, Helen knew something had changed; she could see the terror in his eyes. The smile fell from her lips and knowing something was wrong, she took a painfully slow step towards the ramp. With a loud popping noise, something in the stable building sparked. Patrick subconsciously registered the flash of light sparking in the corner of his eye. With the pounding of his heart deafening in his ears, he removed his hand from the Pylon. Even now, he could almost sense something building in the air. The hum that had begun as a barely audible background sound was now quite obvious. With each thud of his heart, the hum increased in depth and Helen took another slow step towards the ramp. Then in a blink, time sped up again.

‘RUN!’
screamed Patrick, his panic and fear adding something horrific and desperate to the word.

In an
instant, heads with scared questioning looks began to appear over the many pylon platform rails.

‘Get off the pylon! Get off the pylon! Run!’ Patrick shouted
, as even more long forgotten circuits popped and sparked in the stable.

Knowing he was helpless to save his woman and child, all he could do was watch. With Helen
’s eyes widening in terror, she caught his gaze once more before she clutched Jasmine to her, turned and ran. The hum had now drowned out all other sounds in Patrick’s mind. His whole world consisted of Helen’s frantic flee to safety and the building buzz that promised only death for all those on the pylon. Helen was two steps from the top of the ramp when the rowboats hanging from the electric cables high above her exploded in a shower of sparks and flame. One step from the ramp and the world above her erupted in a storm of fire and debris. Clutching the side of his head in despair, Patrick could do nothing but watch as the cabins on the platforms exploded, raining wreckage burning down upon him. She wasn’t going to make it, he knew it, there was no way she could get down the metal ramp before she was electrocuted. As a large section of one of the cabin walls hurtled down towards him un-noticed, Patrick was unable to tear his gaze from the figure of Helen clutching Jasmine tightly to her. In that instant, he prayed to every god that had ever existed. With one whispered word, he beseeched them all to spare her.

‘Please!’ Then with a flash of
pain, the wreckage hit him, knocking him to the floor.

Helen had a fra
ction of a second left but she knew she wasn’t going to make it, so placing her foot on the edge of the ramp, she pushed hard, throwing herself and Jasmine off into space. The word, ‘Please!’ escaped her lips.