Last Days With the Dead by Stephen Charlick Read Free Book Online Page A

minutes, the three companions travelled in silence, each trying to come up with ways they could improve either the road surface or the cart. As she mulled various ideas over in her head, Liz looked up through the roof hatch to watch the overhanging branches of the trees slowly swaying in the soft breeze. The branches that only a few weeks before , had been nothing but twisted bare wood had now broken out in a riot of small green leaves that danced merrily back and forth. Spring was at last with them and by some miracle; the survivors of Lanherne had made it through another cold winter.
    As Samson pulled the cart up to the wide gate that stood at the bottom of the tree-lined lane, he automatically came to a stop. For a long time, a large fallen tree had blocked the direct route to the village, but after many trips out with axes and saws, it had finally been cleared, giving them a good supply of firewood in the process. So here, Samson patiently stood, idly swishing his tail as he waited for instruction from Phil. With a slight pull on the reins and a click of his tongue, Phil urged Samson to turn right.
    Liz pushed aside one of the many spy hole covers that dotted the walls, so she could watch the world go by. The cart had barely made the full turn from the lane and onto the road, when Phil pulled Samson to an abrupt stop.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Phil, leaning forwards to look at the road ahead through his front viewing slit, ‘already?’
    ‘What?’ asked Liz, already guessing what she would see as she repositioned herself so she could look over Phil’s shoulder.
    Sure enough, Liz could see the sad group of shambling corpses that, in one form or another, were making their way along the road towards them. If they remained silent, the Dead would eventually shuffle right past them, unaware that only a few centimetres of wood separated them from the living flesh they craved. But it was an unspoken law of Lanherne, you never let the Dead pass, and you always ended their existence if you could. It wasn’t a case of simply giving the walking corpses the death they rightly deserved, but also with the Dead out numbering the living so vastly, you never let an opportunity pass to even up the odds a little. One less walking cadaver was one less walking cadaver someone would have to fear being bitten by.
    There were six creatures of various sizes and states of decay dotted in the road ahead of them. The closest had once been a teenage girl, her once trendy clothes and up to the minute trainers, were now nothing but tattered filthy rags encrusted with dried gore. Liz watched the wretched creature stumble slightly when her clearly broken leg that had a blackened shard of bone protruding through the mouldy skin, suddenly bent at an odd angle mid step.  How this girl had died, Liz had no idea. Perhaps she had fallen and lain helpless as she died from the infected wound. She would never know, but today this young girl would finally meet her maker.
    ‘I’m on it ,’ said Imran softly, about to push himself through the roof hatch and rain his arrows down on the approaching Dead.
    ‘No, I deal with these,’ Liz interrupted, already opening the side hatch next to her . ‘I need the warm up.’
    ‘Liz!’ Imran snapped, reaching a fraction of a second too late to stop her.
    The moment her boots crunched down onto the cracked tarmac, six sets of Dead eyes locked onto her with nothing but a desperate hunger burning in their gaze. Reaching up behind her, Liz’s fingers wrapped securely around the handle of her sword, and with the softest of ‘clicks’, the blade unlatched, allowing it to slip free of its sheath. With smooth, precise movements, Liz swept the blade in front of her, instantly feeling comfortable with the reassuring weight in her hand. With the barest of whispers, the blade sliced through the air as she flicked her wrist left and right, becoming nothing but a deadly extension of her arm, and once she was ready,