Star Drawn Saga (Book 1): Death Among The Dead: A Zombie Novel by Stephen Charlick Page A
Authors: Stephen Charlick
Tags: Zombies
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to the old man’s corpse, for even as she stepped silently behind him while he pounded his bloody and torn fists against the hull of an upturned rowing boat she noticed the dark shards of broken mussel shells lodged in his side. The barking Alsatian, seeming to take comfort in her presence, darted to stand by her side and began a menacing growl deep in its throat as if to show they were now a united front against the wild cadaver.
‘Just don’t get in the way, pooch,’ she muttered, taking a step toward the Dead man.
At the sound of her voice the Dead man’s head snapped round to look at her, the boat and the wailing man hidden beneath it momentarily forgotten.
‘Yeah… you want a taste of me?’ she mumbled, repositioning her length of pipe in her hands as if she was playing a deadly game of baseball.
But before the bloody cadaver had managed to take a step towards her, a dark and lethal shadow suddenly flew overhead, twin arcs of silver flashing menacingly through the air.
‘Christ!’ gasped Fran, throwing herself back against the breaker while Tom landed in a crouch just in front of her.
For a moment the Alsatian by her side did not know what to make of this new arrival but as Tom rose smoothly to his full height, the sickle in his left hand already swinging out in a deadly arc, it somehow knew this man was unlike the other before it; this one smelt right, this one smelt alive.
‘Careful, mutt, ’said Fran, making a quick grab for the dog’s collar as Tom began his wild attack.
Catching the Dead man just under the chin with a back handed swipe, Tom’s blade easily tore through skin, cartilage and tendon but unfortunately due to the awkward angle the strike left the attack just shy of completely removing the head from its shoulders.
‘I know,’ Tom muttered, once again replying to a ghostly conversation only he could hear.
With the corpse’s head now held in place by a few remaining shreds of muscle and skin, the gaping wound caused it to loll nauseatingly to one side but this had little if any effect on the Dead man’s determination to taste the living flesh almost within arm’s reach. And with its compulsion to feed forcing it to move yet even closer, the Dead man reached out with bloody hands, unaware his rightful and permanent demise was imminent.
‘Oh, J…Jesus… Pops!’ came a woman’s shaking voice from somewhere just behind Fran; the words coming broken and distorted as they forced their way past a choked back sob.
Glancing over her shoulder, Fran knew from the wide eyed look of horror spreading across the dark haired woman’s face that she had known and probably cared for the old man before them. It had been a while since Fran herself had been forced to confront the mutilated, yet still moving, corpse of someone she knew but the memory was as fresh, as raw and as horrific as if it had been only moments ago. Fran knew just what thoughts were going through the young woman’s mind; the anger, the fear and the sincere hope that the Dead had no recollection of whom or what they had once been. To even contemplate that somewhere within these stinking decaying shells, these parodies of humanity brought so low by a nameless cause, that the consciousness still somehow remained, trapped and unable to prevent the horrific acts they committed was truly the stuff of nightmares. Nightmares that every survivor was unfortunately forced to face at one point or another.
With a second swipe of Tom’s blades the old man’s head finally fell, landing with a dull ‘thud’ in the blood splattered sand.
‘I know,’ Fran heard Tom mutter to himself, unable to tear her eyes away from the young woman above her.
‘No, wait!’ the woman suddenly shouted, jumping from the breaker to land beside Fran.
‘Tom!’ Fran warned, hoping to get through to him before in his mania he accidentally mistook the young woman for one of the Dead. ‘Tom, are… are you with me?’
‘What…’ he began to
‘Just don’t get in the way, pooch,’ she muttered, taking a step toward the Dead man.
At the sound of her voice the Dead man’s head snapped round to look at her, the boat and the wailing man hidden beneath it momentarily forgotten.
‘Yeah… you want a taste of me?’ she mumbled, repositioning her length of pipe in her hands as if she was playing a deadly game of baseball.
But before the bloody cadaver had managed to take a step towards her, a dark and lethal shadow suddenly flew overhead, twin arcs of silver flashing menacingly through the air.
‘Christ!’ gasped Fran, throwing herself back against the breaker while Tom landed in a crouch just in front of her.
For a moment the Alsatian by her side did not know what to make of this new arrival but as Tom rose smoothly to his full height, the sickle in his left hand already swinging out in a deadly arc, it somehow knew this man was unlike the other before it; this one smelt right, this one smelt alive.
‘Careful, mutt, ’said Fran, making a quick grab for the dog’s collar as Tom began his wild attack.
Catching the Dead man just under the chin with a back handed swipe, Tom’s blade easily tore through skin, cartilage and tendon but unfortunately due to the awkward angle the strike left the attack just shy of completely removing the head from its shoulders.
‘I know,’ Tom muttered, once again replying to a ghostly conversation only he could hear.
With the corpse’s head now held in place by a few remaining shreds of muscle and skin, the gaping wound caused it to loll nauseatingly to one side but this had little if any effect on the Dead man’s determination to taste the living flesh almost within arm’s reach. And with its compulsion to feed forcing it to move yet even closer, the Dead man reached out with bloody hands, unaware his rightful and permanent demise was imminent.
‘Oh, J…Jesus… Pops!’ came a woman’s shaking voice from somewhere just behind Fran; the words coming broken and distorted as they forced their way past a choked back sob.
Glancing over her shoulder, Fran knew from the wide eyed look of horror spreading across the dark haired woman’s face that she had known and probably cared for the old man before them. It had been a while since Fran herself had been forced to confront the mutilated, yet still moving, corpse of someone she knew but the memory was as fresh, as raw and as horrific as if it had been only moments ago. Fran knew just what thoughts were going through the young woman’s mind; the anger, the fear and the sincere hope that the Dead had no recollection of whom or what they had once been. To even contemplate that somewhere within these stinking decaying shells, these parodies of humanity brought so low by a nameless cause, that the consciousness still somehow remained, trapped and unable to prevent the horrific acts they committed was truly the stuff of nightmares. Nightmares that every survivor was unfortunately forced to face at one point or another.
With a second swipe of Tom’s blades the old man’s head finally fell, landing with a dull ‘thud’ in the blood splattered sand.
‘I know,’ Fran heard Tom mutter to himself, unable to tear her eyes away from the young woman above her.
‘No, wait!’ the woman suddenly shouted, jumping from the breaker to land beside Fran.
‘Tom!’ Fran warned, hoping to get through to him before in his mania he accidentally mistook the young woman for one of the Dead. ‘Tom, are… are you with me?’
‘What…’ he began to
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