Six Days With The Dead Part 1

SIX DAYS WITH THE DEAD.

By Stephen Charlick.

With thanks to Nadine, Bryon and all the other walking corpses I know.

DAY 1.

*Take your sister, Lizzie!' Carol whispered, as she handed her daughter the baby she had been holding tightly to her chest.

The 10 year old looked up at her mother, fear clearly written on her young face. Seeing the thing that only that morning had been her loving father, attack nice old Mrs Chilvers from next door had changed her young mind for ever. Something had broken in her, even though she didn't have the words to explain it.

The bathroom door banged again, her mother breathing in and out heavily as she put her hands against it. She could see her mother's hands shaking, leaving b.l.o.o.d.y prints behind.

Carol looked down at her daughter, her own fear mirrored in Lizzie's wide eyes. She didn't know why Dave had pounced on their neighbour as he had lumbered through the door, his teeth quickly ripping at the old woman's throat. She had tried to pull him off, the blood making her hands slip. Sooner than she thought possible, Mrs Chilvers struggles became weaker and weaker and then stopped altogether. But Dave kept on chewing, pulling at strips of skin and flesh like he was starving and Mrs Chilvers was a last chance at a meal. And then slowly he turned his face to her.

*His eyes are wrong.' She thought.

As if the flesh in his mouth and the blood over his face weren't wrong enough, his eyes, white and filmy, looked without seeing yet they saw her. A hunger she had never seen in those eyes bore into her. Slowly he struggled to get up. Carol knew whatever that man was in front of her, it was not her Dave. This thing, and instinctively she knew that's just what it was now, a thing, this thing was not her Dave and never would be again.

It was then that Lizzie's screams broke through her shocked stillness. Breaking eye contact, she grabbed her daughter and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. With no lock on the door she knew this was no safe haven. She ran to the cot in the corner, picking up her 3 month old baby.

*The bathroom!' she thought, *The bathroom door locks!'

Pus.h.i.+ng Lizzie in front of her, she moved just as the bedroom door swung open, the thing that had been Dave standing there, his dead eyes turned in her direction. She threw the door closed behind her, pulling the bolt across.

*Take your sister Lizzie!'

The door banged again. The creature with stolen flesh in its teeth and blood on its hands was banging his fists wildly on the thin wood. He wanted in and she knew it wouldn't hold for long. Already cracks had begun to appear along one side. With her hands still shaking, she backed away as the thing threw itself against the door again and again. The wood splintered, the crack becoming a hole. Soon b.l.o.o.d.y fingers were forcing their way through it, the skin ripping from them, in their desperation to get to her and her children. Backing up to the small window, she knew their time was running out. She threw the window open, pulling Lizzy up to stand on the side of the bath. Toothbrushes and toiletries scattering across the floor, as perfume bottles smas.h.i.+ng at her feet.

*Through the window Lizzie! Now!'

Her daughter looked at her, not knowing what she was meant to do, the words not meaning anything to her shocked mind. Her mother took the baby from her and pushed Lizzy through the open window. The short drop to the gra.s.s below felt a world away from the horror she had just seen. The horror that had been Dad. She looked up at her mother.

*Lizzy!' Her mother screamed.

There was a loud bang and her mother's face froze, horrified as she glanced back into the bathroom.

*Oh my G.o.d! Lizzy take Anne and run!' Her baby sister falling from her mother's arms into her lap.

*Run!... Run now!' her mother screamed, as b.l.o.o.d.y hands grabbed her face from behind. The screaming continued as her mother tried to fight off her father.

*Run Lizzie. Oh my G.o.d, Run! Run!' and then the screaming got higher, wilder, turning into a raw, animal sound of pure horror. And then nothing.

Lizzie backed away from the window, her sister moving in her arms but held tightly just like her mother had shown her. She looked up at the open window, a hole into a world that was now gone for ever. A shape appeared in the hole, and then another and then another. Three things, b.l.o.o.d.y and torn, that had once been her loving parents and caring neighbour stood staring at her with blind empty eyes. And then as one they lunged for the window, lunged for her...

She opened her mouth and screamed...

She was awake again, her heart pounding and breath short. It was always the same. Always those first few minutes of the end of everything, those were the minutes that replayed themselves, uninvited, as she slept. The countless other horrors she'd witnessed, the friendly strangers who had looked after her and her sister only to die horribly one by one over the next seven years, rarely interrupted her sleep. Just those last moments with her family.

*Lizzy, you're having the bad dream again.' Her sister Anne said, reaching across from the bunk next to her, to touch her shoulder. A simple rea.s.surance that the seven year old girl knew always calmed her older sister when the nightmares came. This was the time when it was Anne who looked after Lizzy, their roles reversed.

*I'm OK, Anne, I'm OK.' She patted her sisters hand, gently squeezing her fingers, as she always did when she could see that look of concern in Anne's eyes.

*Go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you.' A shaky smile on her lips.

Anne, wiser than her years wasn't fooled. She had seen so much death in her young life. So many friends gone, taken in the most horrific manner, s.n.a.t.c.hed from her by b.l.o.o.d.y hands and dead faces. Only Liz had been there the whole time, never leaving her. Liz had fought for her more times than she could remember and killed countless of the Dead to protect her. She had seen the wildness in her sister, her blade whispering through the air, removing hands, heads and any threat that reached for her with death in their bite.

*Sorry Anne, honestly I'm OK. Go back to sleep.' said Liz, as she pulled the blanket back over her sister's shoulder.

Anne, who had in her short life got used to sleeping when she could, rolled over and closed her eyes. Watching Anne's breathing slow down, her muscles relaxing, Liz knew she would be back asleep shortly. Liz gently moved a curl of Anne's hair from across her face. Looking down at Anne, Liz could see the ghost of her mother's face lying there. Anne had the same blond curls that she remembered her mother having. The same round shape to her face and the same softness in her eyes that could never hide her true feelings. Liz, on the other hand had taken on her father's looks. Her hand slowly went up to her short dark hair, remembering her Dad stroking her hair when they used to watch television after bath night. Of course, her hair had been long then but in this world where death could be a hands grab away, all women had their hair cut short. Liz, now seventeen, had grown into a young woman whose toned body and pretty face hid a quickness and power that kept the dead and any unwanted attention from men, at arm's reach. More than once she had left a man on the floor nursing a b.l.o.o.d.y lip or cracked rib. A man who thought just because she was a woman, she was to be taken, to be claimed, the way they claimed the bottles of alcohol on scavenging trips among the Dead.

Glancing at the clock, Liz knew there was no point trying to get more sleep. She was on patrol s.h.i.+ft in an hour and she wanted to be prepared. Many of the other inhabitants of the Lanherne Convent thought that now they had found safety behind the high convent walls, they could relax. But she had learnt the hard way, nowhere was truly safe. The last place she and her sister had stayed had gone the way of the rest of the Dead lands. A woman had died after giving birth from blood loss. She had been alone at the time and after killing and eating most of her own baby, she had wandered the compound spreading the Death infection bite by bite. Liz and Anne had only escaped that time because of Charlie.

Charlie was an ex-soldier. Sergeant Charles Philips of the Royal Artillery had fought a long forgotten war in a hot distant land but had been sent home after he lost a hand to a road side bomb. Even with only one hand, Charlie was one of the best fighters she had met. He had taught her to use a sword with a swiftness and accuracy that surprised many. He gave her the skills that could keep herself and Anne alive in this harsh world. Charlie looked at the two lost girls as his adopted daughters. They were a distant but painful reminder of his own child he had lost when the world had changed. As painful as the memories were, he loved the two girls and saw them as a way to make amends. He hadn't been able to save his own child from the horrors that swept through the world, town by town, but he knew he would die to keep these girls safe and alive.

Liz reached for the long blade that had become more than a piece of metal and more than a weapon. It was part of her now, an extension of her arm itself. Turning the sword in her hand she looked at her reflection, the light from the small high window dancing along the blade. She pulled out a cleaning cloth from a bag and began polis.h.i.+ng the metal to a high s.h.i.+ne.

*Look after your weapon like your life depended on it because one day it just might.' Charlie had told when he first gave her the sword.

She had never forgotten those words, she knew she couldn't afford to and once she was satisfied it was clean, she deftly slid the blade into its sheath.

*Anne, I'm going down to the kitchen before patrol.' Liz said, strapping her sword on her back.

Anne moaned an acknowledgement but didn't really wake.

*And don't forget to bolt the door.' She continued, as she left the room.

Even in her half sleep state, Anne got out of bed and bolted the door behind her.

*A bolted door can save your life if the Dead come.' Charlie had told her, *It can keep you safe until your sister or I can come get you.'

Liz made her way along the still corridor and past the other small rooms that once would've held the Carmelite sisters of Lanherne. Liz didn't know what had happened to the many sisters that must have been cloistered here at one time. With true Christian charity, the Mother Superior and the remaining four nuns kept to the small, draughty north wing of the convent. They had selflessly given up the drier, warmer rooms when Liz, Anne, Charlie and the others had arrived a year ago. Lanherne Convent had seemed a paradise when the small convoy rolled up to the large iron gates. Set in the rural Cornish countryside, far away from big towns that were now just death traps filled with the infected Dead, the three metre high walls now kept safe a mismatch of twenty-six near strangers. Strangers held together in their fight to survive.

As she made her way down the worn stone staircase she glanced through a small window. Out over the large area where this season's vegetables were ripening for harvest, over to the animal sheds, housing the goats and their precious horses, and beyond to where the high wall loomed. The wall, that made their safe prison possible, now had a walkway running the perimeter. Some of the men had constructed it last summer when they first arrived. The scaffolding poles looked at odds against the aged dark stone work.

*Worst part of having a wall, is not knowing what's on the other side,' Alice had told her when Charlie and the men had started building the walkway, *It's good to know what's out there.'

Liz liked Alice. Older than Liz, Alice had a bit of a thing for Charlie and Liz suspected the affection was returned. She saw a softness in his eyes whenever Alice was around. Quite often she would catch him watching Alice when he thought no-one was looking. She hoped they would get through pretending to be just friends soon and start getting happy. Happiness had been in too short a supply since the infected refused to stay dead.

When she got down to the kitchen, Alice was already there with Sister Rebecca making porridge.

*You're up early. Couldn't sleep?' Sister Rebecca asked, as she stirred the big pot.

*Just the usual, you know...' Liz didn't like to talk about the dreams.

She knew everyone had been through their own horrors. In fact Alice had barely escaped some men who had turned on the weaker members of a community in which she thought she had found refuge. Killing one while he was raping her, she fled into the Dead lands, alone and unarmed, leaving the men to deal with him as he came back hungry.

*My G.o.d! At least you don't see the dead turning on each other.' Liz had exclaimed when Alice had first told her.

*No... and no matter what anyone says at least they don't have control over what they do. They're like a computer running through the same program over and over again. Feed, that's all they can do. It's just our bad luck that we happen to die while that program is running.' Alice had replied, *No, the world may be filled with monsters Liz but not all of them are the Dead.'

*Do you want some porridge Liz?' Sister Rebecca asked, as she ladled some in to bowl.

At seventy, Sister Rebecca had been lucky to have been cloistered in the convent with the other nuns when the world fell apart seven years ago. Having lived so long on the outside of society, the nuns way of life hadn't really changed that much. They still farmed their own vegetables, reared their chickens and goats and collected the honey from the bee hives. The only difference now was that there was no electricity and that they now had the horses that had been found abandoned in a field. They had used the last of their petrol collecting them but they were certainly worth their weight in gold now. Luckily, the Dead were relatively scarce in the surrounding countryside then and with Sister Claire growing up on a farm, they had collected them swiftly without drawing attention to themselves. After the water went off, the convent sisters collected rain water for a long time until one of their visitors had rigged up a manual pump drawing water from a nearby stream.

*With the grace of G.o.d and our Holy Mother, we will survive' was a constant phrase at the convent and it seemed the Lanherne Convent was one of the few places G.o.d seemed to look upon favourably.

Liz gratefully took the bowl of steaming porridge from Sister Rebecca.

*Do we have any honey?' She asked.

She knew she had grown soft over the last year, enjoying many luxuries she never thought possible in the years of just barely surviving. Not just the big things like a place to sleep without the constant fear that Dead hands and teeth would come out of the dark, claiming you or those you loved but simple things like warm food in your belly and a chance to wash, that was more than a dip in a cold river. She had grown into an attractive young woman but thought nothing of stripping off her clothes in front of Charlie for a brisk river wash, as did he. It was just normal. It could mean the difference between being clean and alive or hanging around behind a bush waiting to be alone. When you were naked and alone, alone could get you killed d.a.m.n quick. Privacy and prudishness were now just one of the many forgotten things of an old world.

*One washes, one watches.' Charlie always said.

So to be able to have a warm shower or bath and washed clothes, now seemed like heaven. Yes, you had to pump the water yourself and fill the old metal claw-foot bath, bucket by bucket as it boiled on the range. But Boy! Was it worth it.

*Here,' Alice said, as she pulled the jar from the cupboard, *and I thought I was going to have to shake you out of your bed this morning. Only half an hour early for s.h.i.+ft, that's practically slovenly for you.' A smile creeping on her face.

Liz was well known for always being last off s.h.i.+ft and first on. It was if she still couldn't relax. In her head she doubted she ever really would. With Anne to protect she just couldn't trust other people with their lives. What if they fell asleep on watch? What if they thought that shadow by the tree was just a shadow, when maybe it wasn't. No, the only eyes and instincts she truly trusted were her own and Charlie's. The Dead mainly moved slowly but if you didn't keep your wits about you, they were on you before you knew it and then you had a new fast and very angry corpse to deal with too. That was the odd thing about the Infected, for the first few hours when they first came back the Dead would be wild and fast, tearing at everything and everyone to get to flesh. These were the most dangerous.

In the beginning whole communities were wiped out overnight as the Dead fled hospitals and field stations, wild and b.l.o.o.d.y, attacking all they came in contact with. The infection spread outwards like the ripple on a pond surface, their numbers increasing exponentially with every ripple. Then after the first few hours, they slowed like a spent wind-up toy, the speed in their limbs evaporating. They would still kill you if they got you cornered or outnumbered but at least with these you had a chance. If you kept calm you could even walk right past them, their strained, tortured movements slow to react. Charlie thought it was because when the Infection first brought the Dead back, the brain was still fresh, with more or less normal motor control. Over time this would deteriorate as the brain itself decayed. They had seen many of the infected Dead from the early days, who had been so exposed to the elements that their brain could only be little more than a soup in their skulls. Corpses in fields with parchment thin skin, unable to do little more then follow them with their dry filmy eyes, if they had them, would still let loose a faint deathly moan from their withered lungs. You were vigilant where you stepped through high gra.s.s. Each step you took a careful one, for ankles were just the right height for slow Dead mouths with death on their hungry shrivelled lips.

People had given up trying to find out why the Dead had refused to stay dead. As always religion and science fought with each other, saying they knew best. A mutation of the Syphilis virus becoming air born and then staying dormant in the cranial fluids until deprived of oxygen had been quite popular for a while. But they had had their pick, ranging from bio-terrorism to an extra-terrestrial bacteria and of course every Government under the sun was to blame. But at the end of the day when the Dead were fighting over b.l.o.o.d.y organs ripped from a chest of someone you loved, the *whys' didn't really matter all that much. As always the wrath of G.o.d argument came and went but was never truly popular. In a world filled with such tragedy, no one liked to think they had been so completely abandoned and punished by the Divine.

*Thanks,' Liz said, as she spooned the dark gold honey over the porridge, *Are you on patrol with me then?'

*Yep, just you and me for the next six hours walking the wall... Can't wait.' Alice said, reaching for her coat.

Alice's favoured weapon was a metal baseball bat, which always seemed to be within arm's reach, no matter where she was.

*Come on, we might as well get going.' She continued picking up her bat, as Liz finished off the last of her warming porridge.

*Thanks Sister Rebecca, lovely as always.' Liz said, handing back the now empty bowl with a smile.

*You're welcome dear. Now off you two go. I tell you, I always feel safer when you two girls are watching out for us on the walkway. Damian and Sally are up there at the moment and I think they're more interested in each other than if the Dead are pawing the walls,' the Nun said, rolling her eyes, *You should have seen the love bites on her neck this morning. You'd have thought the Dead had been at her already.'

Sister Rebecca had a surprising talent for gossip for a woman who had spent a good portion of her life in a convent but there was no malice behind it.

Damian had joined their small community six months ago, making his attraction for Sally quite obvious. With Damian only twenty-two and Sally in her late forties, they were a bit of an odd couple. They had taken solace in each other's arms, despite the age difference. Of course Liz couldn't blame them but she wished they could show more control when other people's lives were on the line. Liz herself had found similar comfort with Imran. His soft touch and dark sensitive eyes had calmed her in a way she never thought possible. She loved the secret moments they stole together. Their love making brought joy into a life of tragedy and struggle, even if just for a short while.

*Ok then let's go and see what's happening in the big bad world.' Liz said, following Alice out of the Kitchen.

Liz and Alice slowly made their way through the dim lit corridors. As always there was a chill here, the only warming light coming from the small leaded windows running along one side. She could see it was a beautiful morning outside, the sun just breaking through the last of the clouds. As they strolled, Liz was given snap shots of the outside world. Each window they pa.s.sed, *click' a new image. If she could run down here at super speed would the walls disappear entirely, she wondered to herself, each frozen image joining the next like a roll of film, and then in one of the images a figure appeared. With the sun just behind him he was thrown in to shadow. A silhouette with long lithe limbs, moving purposefully down the gravel path. Limbs, only she knew the tender touch of. *Imran!' she thought to herself and as if the sun has just come out from behind a cloud, the corridor felt slightly lighter, warmer, more welcoming, than it had done mere seconds ago.

As always he carried his trusted bow. On his back arrows could be seen neatly packed in their quiver, death, to be dispatched at a moment's notice with a tw.a.n.g of his bow. His accuracy was well known among the convent refugees. He had stopped many of the Dead in their tracks, saving souls for another day. A sniper lost from another time, his arrows would fly through the air dropping the dead where they stood. The needed *brain' shot with every release of his bow. Liz was slightly jealous of Imran in that respect. He could fight at a distance, well away from the stench and the horrors that were the Dead. As swift and as capable as she was at removing rotten heads from shoulders with her sword, she still then had the not so pleasant task of knifing the now bodiless head. To be that close to the dead faces, their tongues black and dried like carrion in their mouths, turned her stomach. Even without a body to feed, the heads would still strain their jaws to get to any live flesh that was near. Silent moans never escaping their lips, still desperate to render and tear skin, flesh and tendon. Steadying the head she would turn their empty eyes away from her. Thankful for her thick canvas gloves at least removing the displeasure of having to touch their maggot ridden flesh. Then using the same sword, she would plunge sharply down, puncturing the skull and sending the corpse back to the stillness nature demanded. Of course most of the time she wasn't afforded the luxury of stopping the Dead permanently for another corpse would be stepping up to fill its fallen brothers place, with more cracked decaying flesh reaching for her. No, more often than not, once a head was dispatched, the Dead were pushed aside while she moved onto the next. A few times she had had to end the torment of someone she knew who had come back. For them, this little act of mercy was her gift. She did not want to think of her friends being the sad walking sh.e.l.ls of what they once were, becoming the very thing they had fought for so long and so hard against was beyond acceptance. For these, her sword gladly broke through scalp and bone to end the b.a.s.t.a.r.dised existence these brains forced upon their rotting hosts.

Liz and Alice reached the end of the corridor, pulling open the large oak door. As soon as they pa.s.sed the threshold, the silence was left behind them. It was if the walls themselves refused to acknowledge this strange new world that surrounded them. The sunlight warmed them and the sounds of nature became a pleasant background murmur. The very smells of the garden itself reminded them that life went on, even when surrounded by so much death.

The tall shadow fell over Liz. Holding a hand up to s.h.i.+eld her eyes she looked up.

*Hi Imran.' She said, as she reached up to stroke his arm affectionately.

Then as he stepped to the side the light fell across him, showing his face clearly.

*Oh, sorry Mohammad, I thought you were Imran.'

She lowered her arm feeling slightly embarra.s.sed, though she had no reason to feel this way. Imran and his brother were identical twins. Most people found it difficult to tell them apart but Liz didn't usually make this mistake. Imran had something in the way he looked at her. He somehow knew what she was thinking just from a glance.

Imran and his brother had been lucky to escape London with their family. Like all cities, London had become a domain of the Dead, a wasteland. The sheer number of people who had lived there, meant the infection had claimed almost the whole city within a few days.

Travelling into the less densely populated areas, the family had fought to survive like everybody else. They had faired better in the larger communities where there was some diversity but when they came to the smaller outposts, the Muslim family stood out and were often the target for the small minded. It didn't seem to matter that Imran's father had only been an accountant and his mother had worked in a library, people scared and needing some-one to blame saw them only as the mythical bio-terrorists, figures to blame for all the nightmares that had become all too real. Then two years after the End of everything, some men came for their family, drunk and blind with vengeance. The brothers had only escaped when their father had pushed them into a cupboard as the mob stormed the house. Holding each other in the dark they wept silently, trying to block out the screams of their mother and sister. The men had made their father watch as his wife and daughter were raped and murdered in front of him. When they had finished they then viciously beat and tore at their father, until he too was taken from the boys. Finally the mob left, allowing the two boys to flee into the night. They swore vengeance for their murdered family, vengeance that they took in full, four years later. In one night they took one life after another from the community that had ripped their family apart and by the time dawn came the dead walked freely behind those walls with no-one to challenge them.

When the brothers had joined the convoy they had been angry and trusted no one but Charlie saw something in the boys that could be moulded, a way to use their anger for the good of all. He gave them the discipline to use their rage to help clear areas of the Dead. The brothers soon became valuable members of the convoy and all could trust their swift arrows to protect them. Over time Imran had slowly opened up to Liz and soon their simple friends.h.i.+p had blossomed into something deeper. Something they both needed to mend that part of them that had been shattered by the Dead.

*No problem Lizzy,' he smiled *Imran went out with Charlie at first light. They've gone to check out the village, see if Crazy Jackson needs anything and knowing those two, clear out some of the wandering dead on the way. He should be back in a few hours... sure you can wait that long for a smooch, eh Lizzy.'

He had grown close to Liz and loved her like the sister he had lost. That his brother could find a small amount of happiness after all that had happened gave him hope that maybe, just maybe life wasn't all bad now.

*Yeh, sure, I think I'll be able to cope,' Liz replied, *Anyway, Alice and I have to get up on the walkway, we're on s.h.i.+ft and with Damien and Sally still up there, I'm surprised we weren't half eaten in our beds this morning,' She jokingly punched his arm, as she and Alice carried on walking, *Oh, you better get down to the kitchen, Sister Rebecca's got some porridge on the go.'

*Thanks, keep us safe up there. Tell those two I'll eat their share if they don't hurry up.' He called after her, reaching for the door.

Liz and Alice continued on their way through the vegetable garden. Every area in the garden had been turned over to food production to feed the Sisters and the refugees they had taken in a year ago. With the surrounding fields also providing for them, those staying in the Convent had the luxury of full stomachs every night. They had also cleared many of the local areas of the wandering Dead so they could work the fields in relative safety. Those on watch duty now had to deal with only a few of the walkers each day. Thankfully, the Dead didn't really go looking for the living as such but would generally stay where they died. They would wait patiently, only moving if they saw the living. Then they would follow relentlessly, reaching for the flesh that had caught their attention. If their prey escaped them, the Dead would become Wanderers, walking with no purpose, aimlessly putting one put foot in front of the other forever. These were the Dead that could appear out of nowhere at any moment. They blighted the small communities dotted around the Cornish countryside, bringing the infection back again and again to haunt the living. Liz thought that if the Dead ever developed a pack mentality that acted with a purpose, then humanity would really be in trouble. She prayed continually that would never happen.

Liz and Alice made their way to the ladder that led up to the walkway that circled the high convent walls.

*How much do you want to bet those two aren't even looking out over the wall?' Alice asked.

*I somehow think I'd lose that bet,' Liz replied, *Charlie's going to have a word with those two. Perhaps we could give them some sort of punishment. What do you think?'

*How about extra toilet duty? That should cool them off a bit.' Alice suggested, as they reached the top of the ladder.

As they had both suspected, Sally and Damian were not taking their duty seriously. Arms folded and foot tapping with frustration, Liz watched the two kissing each other before she spoke.

*Oh for G.o.d's sake you two, can't you be trusted for just a few hours to keep watch?' Liz was angry and they could tell. More than once she had been forced to flee a community that had been overrun by the Dead because someone had screwed up.

*Sorry, Liz. Honestly it won't happen again.' Sally said, having the good grace to at least look embarra.s.sed, as she re-b.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt, which was more than could be said for Damian.