Six Days With The Dead Part 5

With that one word, the other two in the cart went on alert. If a pack attacked Delilah they may not be able to keep them off. Then the growling changed pitch from angry to a sound that indicated attack was imminent. Imran drew an arrow from his quiver and placed it in his bow. At that moment a large yellow shape broke cover from the bushes at high speed, barking wildly. Liz held her sword high, ready for attack. But the shape, which she could now see was a fast moving golden retriever darted past and on towards the corpse ahead of her. The large dog was old, obviously starving and its matted mangy fur was patchy and covered in dirt. The dog skidded to a stop in front of the Dead thing. As the dead hands reached for the animal, the dog pounced, its strong jaws clamping around the corpses neck. Liz watched as the dog worried the dead creature's neck back and forth, until with an audible click its jaws came together. With the head coming free, it rolled along the road and into the overgrown shrubbery. Coming to a stop its eyes turned towards Liz, the living flesh it so hungered for. Showing no concern for the loss of its body, the head still moved its jaw in a macabre chewing motion. The now still torso fell lifelessly to the road while the dog transferred its grip to one of the arms. The dog turned so it now faced Liz and those in the cart. Emitting a low growl warning to keep away, it pulled the body back into the bushes from which it had come. To make sure the head wouldn't become a nasty ankle high surprise for someone, Liz quickly ran to the where it had come to rest. With one sharp downward stab, she plunged her sword into the rotting skull, destroying the putrid brain within.

*What just happened there? Why didn't it go for me or Delilah?' Liz asked, as she climbed back in the cart.

*Well, the mutt looked quite old. Perhaps it could still remember the living as friend rather than food, who knows? Anyway, we were lucky that time. If it had been a pack we could've been in real trouble,' Charlie said, as Delilah calmed down and began moving forward again.

Delilah pulled the cart through the small winding broken roads for the next hour, her living cargo sweated in the airless wooden box behind her. Soon they reached the first few of the abandoned cottages that signalled they had reached the village outskirts. Overgrown gardens, once cared for and picturesque, were now a riot of blooming colour. Huge rose bushes and flowering shrubbery growing unchecked, battled for s.p.a.ce with weeds and wild flowers. Cracked garden paths, their disrupted stone work forced apart by tenacious roots, led to the sad and weather-beaten homes. Long since faded floral print curtains hung through broken windows, their tattered remains fluttering in the light breeze.

As the cart pa.s.sed a small dilapidated cottage called *Morningside', Liz could just see through the gap in the rose bushes that had once shaped an archway around the door. As with all the houses in the village, its front door was missing and nature, knowing no boundaries, had begun reclaiming the inside of the house too. As if to wipe the existence of Man from its memory, gra.s.ses and flowering weeds had seeded in the hall carpet, while ivy made its way inch by inch up the walls. In the shadows she could just about see the old dark brown stains that arched across the peeling wall paper. Someone had died here Liz thought, as she realised the marks were long dried blood stains. Someone had made a last stand here, fighting with neighbours or loved ones, turning this small idyllic home into a scene of carnage and horror. Delilah plodding onward left *Morningside' behind only to pa.s.s the next house and the next, each had been a place where the living had fought the Dead, only for the Dead to ultimately win.

Liz closed the cover back over the eye hole she had been looking through. The sight of the ruined little homes always made her think of the small house she had shared with Anne and her parents all those years ago. She clung onto every detail she could, the memories a tie to a better happier life. She could still see in her mind's eye her mother's collection of small figurines that had been lined up along the window ledge in the living room. The small shed that smelled of oil and wood, in which her father had stored his a.s.sortment of tools and bicycle parts. She could describe in detail the floral design on their kitchen tiles or the exact shade of blue of the hallway carpet. To forget seemed a betrayal of her mother's sacrifice. So she would hold onto these glimpses of the past and would never let them go. Shaking herself from her thoughts she reopened the eye-hole. She needed to concentrate on what could be outside, not lose herself in the past. Delilah was just pulling them past the village pub. The Falcon Inn had clearly been where the surviving villages had tried to make a desperate last stand against the Dead. Some cars, now old and rusted, with weeds growing through the shattered windows, had been parked in a small semicircle to form a barricade around the front of the Inn. Tables and chairs had been piled against broken windows to hold out the Dead but to no avail.

Liz had seen this a thousand times. In desperation the survivors had unknowingly trapped themselves in with no means of escape. One by one they would have died in there, as dead hands pushed their way through reaching for them. Now, little more than a burnt out ruin, the Falcon Inn was a testament to the misplaced hope the living had in those first few weeks. a.s.suming they could just wait it out for an army or Government rescue that never came, many had shut themselves away in ludicrous bolt holes surrounded by the Dead, condemning themselves to a slow death or madness. As Delilah pulled them past the Inn, its scorched sign with a peeling painted falcon creaking in the slight breeze, Liz wondered if any other of the locals had survived the devastation. Apart from the Sisters and Crazy Jackson, everyone else had found the village of St Mawgan, and the Convent nearby purely by chance years later.

Albert Jackson had been on a small trawler fishing off the coast when all h.e.l.l broke loose on the mainland. Desperate to get back to his wife, Sarah, he took the small inflatable dingy with one other fisherman. Leaving his other workmates on the trawler, deciding their own fate, the two set off for land. Unprepared for the total carnage that awaited them when they finally reached sh.o.r.e, the two still managed to fight their way along the coast towards home. After four days of pure horror, they went their separate ways, each hopeful their own villages would have somehow been pa.s.sed over by this wave of death. By the time Albert reached the quiet village of St Mawgan, death freely walked its streets wearing the faces of those who had once been his friends. As he smashed skull after skull of these slow walking dead, he painstakingly cleared the village of these abominations. He would dart from hiding places taking out a few at time, then run off, doubling back behind them to get a few more before escaping again. He set up base in the small primary school, its high iron railings keeping out any of the dead that wandered into the village. But realising that once they had seen him, the Dead would stand there reaching through the railings for ever, he decided he needed to adapt this new home. Going house to house he began removing doors and securing them to the railings. He transformed the school into a safe haven for himself beyond hungry Dead eyes. When the day came that he finally found his wife's animated corpse stumbling down the road towards him, moaning with arms outstretched, he was unable to find within himself the strength to do this last deed for her. So weeping, he bound her arms and pulled her to the small Primary school, locking her in a store cupboard. Each day he would have one sided conversations with her through the small safety gla.s.s window set in the door. Giving himself over to this small insanity, he had kept his decaying wife this way ever since. When Charlie had found out about this he asked Jackson if he wanted him to put his wife to rest. But by then something had twisted in Jackson's mind, no longer seeing his wife as the walking cadaver she was and he refused. After many arguments, Charlie had relented but insisted Albert give him the key to the cupboard door. If he was going to keep his dead wife, Charlie wanted to be sure she would never leave her small prison. Since then many at the Convent simply referred to Albert as Crazy Jackson. Albert knew they thought he was odd, staying in the school when there was a safer home for him at the Convent but he couldn't leave Sarah here alone. He knew what he had done must seem deranged to them but he would rather have this last part of her with him than nothing at all. Apart from this one oddity Jackson was quite rational. He had dug up the playground and planted vegetables. He reared a small flock of chickens and was one of the few willing to go out into the countryside on foot foraging for food on his own.

As Delilah pulled the Cart up alongside the door covered school railings, Charlie brought her to a stop.

*We've got another one,' Charlie said, tutting in annoyance.

The Dead man's black skin had turned to a mottled ash grey and a sickening greenish mould bloomed across one side of his face. From the tattered remains of his filthy suit, Liz a.s.sumed he had been some sort of business man before he had died and she could just about tell that his shirt had once been white but was now dark and stained with long dried blood. His lower jaw was missing, having been torn away either before or after he joined the ranks of the Dead. With no jaw to keep it in his mouth, his dark black tongue lolled from the gaping hole like a monstrous slug. The Dead creature must have seen Jackson at some point because it pawed at the barricade with a painful desperation, its tongue moving back and forth each time his decaying hands clawed against the doors.

*I'll get this one,' Imran said, flipping the top hatch open.

Liz watched through the front slit as an arrow flew from Imran's bow direct to the Dead man's head. With a sickening thump, the arrow punctured the rotten skull and the now lifeless corpse collapsed to the pathement.

*Clear,' Imran said, as he made a check for any other dangers.

Jumping down through the back hatch Liz ran over to the corpse. Placing a booted foot on its ruined head, she pulled the arrow free and handed it back to Imran who had joined her.

*Thanks,' he said, wiping the tip clean on his trouser leg and replacing it back in the quiver on his back.

*Well let's see if Jackson's home,' Liz said, reaching down to a bucket of brightly coloured plastic b.a.l.l.s.

Unlike at the Convent, Jackson didn't have the luxury of being far from main roads. Here in the village, the Dead could appear stumbling down the small twisting lanes at any moment. So rather than a bell that could so easily be heard as a dinner gong by the Dead, any visitors would throw a ball over the railings to get his attention. Grabbing a yellow ball from the bucket Liz tossed it high over the wall. As she heard the ball land on the other side of the barricade, she heard an unexpected yapping sound, followed by Jackson saying something she couldn't make out.

*Who's there?' Jackson called over the railings.

*It's Liz from the Convent Mr Jackson, Charlie needs to talk with you,' she replied.

With a clanking of chains, Liz could hear Jackson opening the school gates.

*Imran, you watch Delilah and I'll have a chat with Jackson,' Charlie said, as he climbed down from the cart.

*Will do.'

Leaving him watching out for more of the Dead, Liz and Charlie went inside. As soon as they were through Jackson quickly closed the gate behind them. Jackson was looking thinner than the last time she had seen him and Liz wondered if the Convent could spare him some food to keep him going. He may not be part of the actual Convent community but they cla.s.sed him as a friend and wouldn't let him simply starve in front of them. Surprisingly, in his arms he held a small black puppy, that was wriggling to get down.

*h.e.l.lo Mr Jackson, and who do we have here?' Liz asked, referring to the puppy.

*Oh, I found him in the woods and I figured as he was so young, I could train him to be a guard dog. He can come get me if someone throws a ball over the gate and I don't see it, good idea, yeah? I've called him Toby,' he said, putting the puppy down.

Immediately the small dog ran off and began playfully chasing a chicken round the converted playground among the growing vegetables.

*Well I didn't say he was trained yet. Toby stop that!' He said, calling the dog to him.

Jackson was late middle age but the years of only just having enough food, had aged him badly. His wild grey beard, barely hid his sunken cheeks and his thin greying hair hung limply to his shoulders. Liz thought the puppy would be good for Jackson. If he refused to join them at the Convent, at least Toby would give him some living companionship and who knew he may finally be able to let his wife go.

*Morning Jackson, how's things?' Charlie asked.

*Good, good Sergeant. No problems, but I think you're about to ruin my day aren't you,' Jackson replied, crossing his arms.

*Now why would you say that,' Charlie said, with a smile.

*Well why else would you be here, hmm?'

*Fair point... because there is a reason we're here. We found a survivor who had a run in with some Raiders, they killed his brother and now a child's missing, probably dead by now. So I thought we should warn you. Just in case.'

*Oh c.r.a.p!' Jackson said, as Toby played with one of his shoe laces, jumping back and forth with the lace in his mouth, *Why can't those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds give it a rest. Life's a struggle enough as it is without them making it even worse for everyone else.'

Bending down he picked up Toby and began stroking him, trying to calm the boisterous puppy down.

*Well, thanks for the heads up. I'll keep an eye out.'

*Oh, and we had a run in with an old retriever earlier,' Charlie continued, *so there may be a pack running wild in the woods. I'd avoid any foraging trips just for the moment, unless you fancy becoming walking dog food.'

*You'll keep them off, won't you boy,' Jackson said, smiling as he turned Toby so he could look the puppy in the face.

*Well, we just thought we'd let you know, so you could be prepared,' Liz said, scratching Toby behind the ear.

Sometimes Jackson's att.i.tude to his own safety could be a little reckless. Liz thought keeping Sarah decaying in the cupboard was holding him to a life that no longer existed, and if you had nothing tying you to the present, you had nothing left to lose.

*Anyway, we'd better be off,' Charlie said reaching for the gate, *we're making the rounds of the nearest Outposters, letting them all know... and don't forget, if anything happens you'll always be welcome at Lanherne.'

*Thanks, but think we'll be ok here, won't we Toby,' Jackson said, opening the gate *Have a safe journey.'

Charlie and Liz joined Imran back in the cart as Jackson waved them off, wishing them luck. As Delilah pulled the cart away from the converted school, Liz watched through one of the spy holes as Jackson returned to his haven, talking and stroking Toby all the while.

As morning turned into afternoon, Delilah pulled then through the maze of small twisting lanes, pa.s.sing one scene of devastation after another. Small stone built cottages, that had once been part of the picture perfect countryside, now dilapidated and forgotten ruins. Gardens overgrown and wild, were now mere distorted reflections of their former selves. They pa.s.sed through another small village. Like St Mawgan, scenes of a desperate locals fighting for their lives could be seen everywhere. The village green with its small painted cricket pavilion, once a tranquil haven from a busy world, was now a graveyard of forgotten bones. Here at least, some of the living had managed to kill many of the Dead before being overrun by their sheer numbers. Liz could see a small school bus had ploughed across the field, running down the Dead in its path, before smashing into a large Oak tree. The driver now nothing more than a shattered collection of weathered bones, hung through the smashed windscreen. Suffering severe head injuries, at least he hadn't come back to add to the ranks of the Dead. They pa.s.sed a building that had once been a small village shop, its large plate gla.s.s windows broken and covered in dark smears. The body of what had once been a woman, wrapped in the tattered remains of a shop uniform, lay impaled on the large shards of gla.s.s. Liz could tell from her caved in skull, that at some point someone had ended her Dead existence. Everywhere she looked she imagined the story behind each collection of bones. Their stories would never truly be known, only their ending was evident.

With each of Delilah's slow but sure footfalls they soon left the village with its tableaux of death far behind them. By the late afternoon they were nearing the next stop on the route Charlie had devised for them. Looking through the spy hole, Liz looked up at the large Georgian country house coming into view. As they made their way up the winding gravel road to the house, Liz wondered how anyone managed to feel safe here. With no high wall for protection, these Outposters had had to brick up all the windows and doors to the outside on the ground floor. She a.s.sumed each day they would check from the first floor windows for any of the Dead below and dispatch them from there. Liz didn't like it, this place could so easily become a death trap if it became surrounded by too many of the Dead. Their home could become little more than a house shaped island in a sea of death. Just like at Lanherne, the sweeping grounds had been turned over to growing food.

*Not much good having all your food down here if you're trapped on the first floor,' Liz mused.

*Preaching to the converted here Liz,' Charlie said, *I've told them this isn't ideal but I can't force the Penhaligans to leave, now can I?'

As with Jackson, Charlie had asked James and Louise Penhaligan to come to the safety of the Convent, if not for their own sake, then for the sake of their six year old son Alex and their eight year old daughter Naomi, but they had refused. Charlie pulled Delilah to a stop alongside the house. Opening the top hatch, Imran did a scan of the surrounding area, his bow taut and ready to fire. When he was sure there was no danger he gave the *all clear' and Liz and Charlie quickly jumped down from the cart, grateful for a brief reprieve from the stifling heat within.

Leading to one of the open first floor windows, a rope ladder swung slightly in the soft breeze. Liz went over to a small rope that went up the side of the house, disappearing inside through another open window. Pulling on it gently, she could hear the soft tinkle of windchimes coming from within. Like Jackson, they had had to improvise some way of those outside contacting them without the loud noise of a bell ringing. Pulling the cord again, Liz and Charlie waited for a face to appear above them. When neither of the Penhaligans appeared after five minutes Liz pulled the cord again.

*Perhaps we should see if they're round the back of the house, in the garden?' Liz suggested.

*Yeah...' Charlie said, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. *I don't like this, something's a bit off here.'

Trusting Charlie's instincts, Liz drew her sword and prepared herself. Slowly the two of them made their way round to the back of the house, the crunching of gravel underfoot and bird song the only sounds breaking the silence of the warm afternoon. When they reached the corner Charlie held up his hand for Liz to stop. Crouching down with his back to the wall, Charlie checked around the corner, his training in Afghanistan flooding back to him.

*d.a.m.n!' he said, standing up.

As Liz followed him into the garden she could see a body lying face down among the growing vegetables. She could tell, even from where she was standing, that Louise Penhaligan was dead, her blond hair matted with dried blood. Someone had taken a spade to the back of her head with such force that her skull was now crushed and misshapen. Charlie quietly walked over to the corpse of Mrs Penhaligan, his muscles ready to spring into action should danger appear. With Liz watching the area for an attack, Charlie knelt down and turned Louise's body over. Checking her neck and arms for bit marks, Charlie pulled up her sleeves and lifted her T-shirt.

*Well, she hasn't been bitten,' Charlie said *so whoever did this, did it to stop her being alive rather than stop her from being Dead.'

*s.h.i.t, you think James went psycho?' Liz said.

It had happened before. People who had survived the horrors of the Dead for years suddenly cracked, killing those they loved.

*No, James doesn't seem the sort. He may be stubborn but I can't see him doing this... and not leaving her here like this to become carrion for the dogs and foxes either.' Charlie stood up, looking round the garden *Let's have a scout round out here first, and, if we see no sign of them we'll have to check the house.'

Liz turned to look up at the dark windows of the large house. She didn't relish having to search the unknown house room by room.

Finding nothing else in the garden apart from some broken plants, the evidence of the struggle Louise had put up against her attacker, Liz and Charlie returned to the front of the house to fill Imran in on what they had found.

Two of the Dead had stumbled along the driveway while Charlie and Liz had been at the back of the house. Silently and with his usual accuracy, Imran had dealt with them both, his arrows flying true and ending their unnatural existence.

*My bow's not suited for close combat, so I'll stay here keeping an eye on Delilah,' Imran said, when Liz told him what had happened to Mrs Penhaligan.

Climbing up the ladder hanging down the side of the house, Liz gave Imran a nervous smile. Not knowing what she would find inside, she realised this could be the last time she saw him. But she had to put these thoughts out of her mind so she could concentrate on the task before her. If she stopped to think about what she was doing, going into an unfamiliar area to deal with an unknown situation, she certainly wouldn't be climbing up this ladder so keenly. But then there was little Alex and Naomi to think of. If Anne was in a similar situation, she hoped someone would be climbing this ladder to help her. As she reached the step just below the windowsill she looked down at Charlie coming up behind her.

*I'll just take a quick peek through the window first before I go any further,' she whispered.

With his knife arm locked over one of the rungs, Charlie was having some difficulty climbing with only one hand. Taking a breath to calm herself, she came eyelevel with the sill. Looking through to the panelled room within, she could see there had been some sort of struggle here too. Boxes of supplies and broken jars of preserved fruit littered the once expensive parquet flooring. Worryingly, she could see a lot of blood sprayed along the wall and floor by the doorway, and as Mrs Penhaligan had clearly been killed outside, that meant the blood either belonged to James or his children.

*There's blood in here. A lot,' she said, quietly to Charlie below her.

*Well, be quick and quiet getting in, we don't want to draw attention to ourselves until we're ready. Best get your sword out as soon as you're in,' he replied.

Nodding, Liz soundlessly pulled herself level with the window. Hooking one leg over the sill she drew her sword with one smooth motion. With the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears, she placed her booted foot down onto the floor. Transferring her weight to that leg, she pulled herself through. Trying not to crunch on the broken gla.s.s littering the floor, she slowly made her way into the room. The sweet smell from the broken jars of fruit battled with the deep coppery smell of spilled blood. Pausing in her movement, she stilled herself listening for any sounds of movement within the house. A quick glance over her shoulder and she saw Charlie pulling himself through the open window. Once he was fully in the room he removed the sheath from the knife attached to his wrist and pulled one of the small ice picks free from his back, ready for attack. Nodding towards the door, the two watched their footing as they noiselessly made their way deeper in the house. Once through the doorway they found themselves standing on an internal landing with six other doors opening to rooms on this level. The walkway went all the way around the inside of the house and led to a large central staircase. The grand staircase flowed both down, to the entrance hall, and upwards to further rooms. Even though tall leaded windows flooded the internal s.p.a.ce with light, the lower level was still shrouded in gloom. With all the windows on the ground floor bricked up, light could no longer penetrate the ominous shadows there. Looking at Charlie questioningly, Liz indicated *up or down?' with her sword. Shrugging his shoulders in reply, he finally indicated with a flick of his wrist knife they should try this level and then upstairs first. As they reached the first door on the walkway, Liz stood with her feet apart, her sword held high ready for any Dead adversary that may be within. Catching her eye, Charlie slowly pushed the door open with the tip of his wrist knife. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a room similar to one they had just left. Here boxes and jars sat undisturbed and with no sign of conflict in the room, they moved on closing the door behind them. Opening two other doors leading to similarly undisturbed rooms, they had made their way round the walkway to the landing at the top of the staircase. From where they now stood they could clearly see the large pool of sticky blood drying on the landing. Liz was just about to continue their route checking the other two rooms on this level, when Charlie tapped her shoulder. Turning to face him, she noticed he was looking down the staircase. There, three steps down, the blood trail continued, with another smear of blood, and then another. Whoever was bleeding had gone down into the shadowy ground floor. Liz thought the s.p.a.cing between the smears of blood was a bit odd, until she realised that whoever was bleeding had not walked but fallen down the stairs. Blood congealed on the cracked banister and pooled on the wide wooden stair treads, meters apart. At the bottom of the stairs they could see another large pool of spilled blood, with b.l.o.o.d.y handprints and a set of uneasy footprints leading off into the darkness. There was now no doubt in her mind, whoever had fallen or been pushed down the long staircase was definitely no longer one of the living. She was just about to step off into the darkness when Charlie pulled her back. Shaking his head, he backed her up seven of the stairs until, once again, they stood in a pool of soft light. There was no point meeting the Dead where they had the advantage. Even the small amount of light that managed to reach them here would now be enough for them to see any attacker clearly. Then with a loud booming voice he shouted, *Hey! Come and get it! Dinner time!'

As the last word echoed through the darkness below them, a crash sounded far to their right. Straining their ears to listen, they could make a distant rustling and thudding sound as Dead feet dragged a lifeless body towards them. As it came closer to them, drawn uncontrollably to the sound of the living, the silence that had descended on the shadowy ground floor was broken by a raspy moan. Then, two b.l.o.o.d.y bare feet appeared at the bottom of the stairs, followed by a body dressed in dark blood covered overalls. As the corpse shuffled into the light, its pale skin almost luminescent in the gloom, Liz could see why the Dead man's call had sounded strange. His throat had been cut neatly but deeply, his head now tipped back, gaping the wound further. Severed flesh, tendons and blood vessels were all exposed, as the thing that had been Mr Penhaligan, stared at them with the milky sight of the Dead. Liz realised James Penhaligan must have been killed in the first room they'd entered and then quickly carried to the staircase landing, where he had been thrown down before his corpse could reanimate. Putting his knife arm in front of Liz, Charlie stepped forward. With one swift powerful motion he plunged his ice-pick in James' skull. Instantly his blood covered arms that had been reaching for them, fell to his sides, now lifeless. With a thud James collapsed to the floor like a puppet with his strings severed. Charlie called again into the darkness in case Alex or Naomi were also there. After ten minutes of waiting for the small corpses to attack, Charlie stepped forward to the body that had once been James Penhaligan. With a sucking sound, Charlie pulled the ice pick free.

*Right, we can only hope now that Alex and Naomi are hiding some-where in the house,' he said, bending down and wiping the ice-pick on a clean part of James' overalls.

They made their way back up the blood streaked staircase to the first floor to check the remaining two rooms on that level. Hoping they would find the children alive hiding in a cupboard or bolt hole. Finding nothing but empty rooms, they continued up to the second floor. When they reached the small room that Alex had been using for a bedroom, Liz's heart sank. Although there was no sign of any blood, there had obviously been a struggle here too. Broken toys and the little boy's things lay scattered about the room. A small wooden chair that had clearly been pushed against the door, now lay in pieces. Liz could imagine little Alex, cowering terrified in a corner, as death and destruction visited their home. Closing the door behind them they continued searching the other rooms, hopeful they may still find the Penhaligan children alive.

*I don't think they're here,' Charlie said, with a sigh, after half an hour of calling for Alex and Naomi in the empty house. They were about to go back down stairs when Liz noticed the attic trap door in the ceiling.

*Well, that looks like our last option,' she said, pulling a hall chair over to stand on.

Reaching up she grabbed hold of the cord hanging down.

*Ready?' she said, pulling on the cord, the trap door falling open and the ladder smoothly following it.

As Liz readied herself to ascend into the dark attic, a small pair of blood spattered shoes appeared just over the edge of the hatch.

*Charlie...' she whispered, nodding to the small toes just in view.

Alerted by the sound of Liz's voice, the Dead child stepped forward, falling into the s.p.a.ce where the trapdoor had been. Suddenly Liz was knocked to the floor, as the collection of b.l.o.o.d.y clothes and small dead limbs fell on top her. With a cry Liz struggled with the small wriggling corpse on top of her. The Dead child strained to bite into her living flesh but Liz managed to work her arms out from under herself to grab the Dead child under its chin. Forcing the small head with its snapping jaws back so Charlie could get a clear shot, Liz realised it was Naomi. Charlie seeing his shot stepped forward, plunging his wrist knife deep into her dead skull. The small corpse that had once been Naomi became still as her undead existence ended.

*You alright?' Charlie said, as he pulled the small body off of Liz. *Did she bite you?'

*No, I'm fine don't worry,' she replied, pulling back her T-shirt to reveal her buckled neck protector underneath.

*Oh, for Christ's sake!' Charlie said, turning the small eight year old body over to look at her.

Like her father, little Naomi's throat had been cut.

*Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. What possible threat could a little girl pose?'

*Who knows what goes through the minds of people who could do this,' Liz replied, looking at the small ruined body, that could so easily be Anne.

After carefully checking the dusty attic Liz and Charlie realised Alex was nowhere in the house.

*Well, as Mrs Penhaligan is outside, perhaps she had made a run for it with Alex and he managed to get away, as whoever did all this caught up with her?' Liz said, hopefully.

*Then he's probably one of the Dead now anyway,' Charlie said, washing away Liz's false hope, *I don't like this. This whole scenario doesn't seem like Raiders to me. Why would they leave all this food here if it were simply a raiding party?'

*Well who else could it be?' she replied.

*Don't know, but I'm d.a.m.n sure going to find out. We've got some b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out here who like slitting throats and I don't intend to let it happen to anyone else,' Charlie said, looking out of one of the windows at Imran on guard below *Anyway, with no perimeter walls we can't spend the night here. We'll have to try and make it to the Substation before nightfall, they need to be warned.'

After collecting a few jars of the preserved fruit as a gift for the survivors they would be staying overnight with, Liz and Charlie joined Imran back in the cart. The deserted Penhaligan home was too far away from Lanherne to come and collect all the food left here, they would let those at their next stop know about the supplies. It would place the Lanherne Convent in the good books with those who had made the Electrical Substation their home. In a world of the Dead you didn't know when you may need a friendly neighbour.

Delilah resumed her plodding journey through the small winding roads, while above her the warm afternoon sky began to darken. Heavy angry looking clouds had turned the sky to the north a muddy slate grey, promising rain for the evening. Trying to increase Delilah's pace, Charlie wanted to reach the Substation before the storm reached them. Travelling would be arduous through the heavy rain. Not only would the rain decrease visibility but also the roads they were using could flood, turning already muddy and cracked lanes treacherous and difficult to pa.s.s. It would take another four hours to reach the Substation and Charlie doubted the rain would hold off that long.

The group of around twenty people at the Substation had organised themselves into a working collective, much like those at Lanherne. Everybody doing their bit, using any skills they possessed to make life better for all. Duncan had spent some time with them before he had come to the Convent. Using his mechanical mind, he had devised retractable ramps, walkways and a cable car type device, that could be used for escape should they ever became over-run by the Dead. The compound sat in an area the size of small field, behind a high razor wire topped, chain-link fencing. Once used to keep the living away from the deadly electricity, its high fence now kept the living safe from the horrors that walked freely in the outside world. The s.p.a.ce inside the fence had three small cinder block buildings. These had once contained monitoring equipment but had now been converted to house the community's livestock. Like Lanherne, every available area within the compound had been put over to food production. The gravel, that had once covered the ground, had been removed to plant crops, as had some of the surrounding fields. But it was the actual area the survivors lived in, that always made Liz's jaw drop in wonder. Within the compound stood two high steel pylons. Once used to transport electricity across the countryside, they had been converted into homes, high in the sky. Liz thought they looked like a simplified versions of the Eiffel Tower. The decorative beams replaced here by large platforms and walkways, upon which the survivors had built small shack type homes. The first level, some fifteen metres above the ground was now almost a completely solid platform, only the centre still an open s.p.a.ce through which drop down ramps could be lowered for access. Duncan had devised a system of cogs and wheels, so it would take only two men to raise or lower the ramps by turning the crank handles. Above the first level were a further two levels, each smaller than the one that preceded it, until they came to the huge cross bar that carried the thick electrical cables from one pylon to the next. Duncan had come up with a similar system to that which operated the ramp on the first level, to make a small usable cable car. Utilizing the electricity cables that stretched from one pylon to the next, it was a handy escape route. Liz didn't envy anyone who had to sit in the small wooden row boats that hung from the wires, slowly winching themselves to safety over to the next pylon. Even though this community had been here for years, Liz thought their homes still had a transient quality to them. With only the wooden walls of their homes to keep out the freezing winds, they must be bitterly cold here during the winter. Looking at them, she was surprised they managed to survive the gale force winds that must batter the little homes so high above the ground. But as with everywhere else, safety had to take preference over comfort now.

They had only been on the road again for an hour and a half when the rain caught up with them. Soft rumbling overhead had grown into a full blown thunder storm, dropping large heavy raindrops and lighting the sky with flashes of lightning. The drumming of the rain on the cart roof, was now a constant noise.

*What happens if the pylons get struck by lightning?' Liz asked, still thinking about the substation community *Wouldn't they all just fry?'

*The guards watch out for storms, as well as for the Dead,' Charlie replied, steering Delilah round a small fallen tree, *and if they see one brewing they all bunk down with the animals in the buildings below.'

*Seems more trouble than it's worth that place,' Imran said, *and they attract more of the Dead than we do, moving around and being more visible behind just a chain fence.'

*Well it works for them I suppose. Who are we to tell them how to live their lives,' Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. *But you're right, it wouldn't be my first choice of home.'