Undead Island (The Lighthouse - Vol. 2): Undead Island, #2

By Luke Shephard

Volume 2 of the Undead Island series!

Life as a lighthouse keeper on a remote Scottish island isn't always the most exciting. Especially since she split with her husband, Mark. Yet, Holly loves her job, her friends, and her life on Bishop's Isle.

Until, one day, strange...things start to wash ashore. Dangerous things she has never seen before. Frightening things that nobody else on the island can explain.

Now, Holly, and the rest of islanders, must overcome a whirlwind of troubles and use her lighthouse to try and signal for help, and hope against hope that somebody sees her, and the island's, desperate plea in time...

Can they reach safety? Or will they be overtaken by the Undead...?

Note: Parts of Undead Island were previously published as Bishop’s Isle.

Also includes 2 SNEAK PEAKS at upcoming novels!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roja Publishing
• Release date: Oct 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536528336

Book preview

Volume 2 of the Undead Island series!

Life as a lighthouse keeper on a remote Scottish island isn't always the most exciting. Especially since she split with her husband, Mark. Yet, Holly loves her job, her friends, and her life on Bishop's Isle.

Until, one day, strange...things start to wash ashore. Dangerous things she has never seen before. Frightening things that nobody else on the island can explain.

Now, Holly, and the rest of islanders, must overcome a whirlwind of troubles and use her lighthouse to try and signal for help, and hope against hope that somebody sees her, and the island's, desperate plea in time...

Can they reach safety? Or will they be overtaken by the Undead...?

Note: Parts of Undead Island were previously published as Bishop’s Isle.

Also includes 2 SNEAK PEAKS at upcoming novels!

~Volume Two ~

Ken really wished he’d locked the pub door. He listened to the footsteps banging and crashing above his head, heard the dull rumble of voices inside the Anchor; but was rooted in fear. He peered out through the grubby street-level window above him. The rain continued to fall lightly but consistently, though he could see little of the street.

His mind still reeled as he thought back over what had happened. In his sixty-three years he had only ever seen two dead bodies: and those had the decency to lie still – eerily, silently still. His short walk around Bishop’s Isle this morning had revealed countless, unthinkable horrors to him.

Ken looked across the dark cellar to his wife. Her eyes had been closed for maybe twenty minutes now. He’d not been able to summon the courage to creep across the dank space to check her pulse. He couldn’t bear the thought that Annie was just another lifeless body; not yet.

The things which walked or floated out of the sea seemed to defy everything that Ken had ever believed. The walking corpses had emerged from the waves like flotsam, drifting up from some distant shipwreck. Ken had watched them from high on the cliff of the island’s Eastern shore. By the time he’d hiked back to Skeara they’d been everywhere, chewing on the bodies of people he’d known and loved. People who’d visited his pub in the evenings. People he’d been sailing with, fishing with, played darts with. In the space of about two hours, his world had collapsed around him; an island swallowed by a relentless sea of death.

Annie had been the worst, though. She lay across the grey gloom, just five metres in distance and yet wholly unreachable. One of those things had reached its clammy arms around her and bitten deeply into her thigh. Ken stared at the stained shirt which clumsily bandaged the wound. He’d hoped that they could just wait it out, wait for rescue from the coastguard or military or anyone. But that hope was dimming with each passing moment.

More noises banged and thrummed above Ken’s head. Who could possibly up there? What could they want? He bit his dirty nails anxiously. They’d made no effort to find him here in the cellar, which suggest that they weren’t rational. Ken didn’t want to take the risk of announcing his presence – he’d rather be safe than sorry.

He paced across the room and sat on the stone steps, checking that the doors were still firmly closed. He’d placed a thick piece of wood across the trap-door handles. It wriggled and budged under his probing, but should hold the doors closed if anything tried to get in.

A noise from the casks, near to Annie, seized Ken’s attention. He adjusted his glasses and brushed back his long white hair. Could it be...?

Another noise. Like a breath. Annie’s breath. She was alive!

Ken uttered a brief prayer and leapt over to Annie’s side. She’s always been a big girl, far from handsome by anyone’s estimations, but Ken had loved her dearly. She had the most beautiful, radiant eyes he’d ever seen – blue at the edges but green near the pupil, like islands in a calm sea. He ran a hand over her dyed-brown hair, tied into a tight bun, as her head rocked from side to side. She released a long, slow sigh; her smoker’s rasp deepened by her weakened state.

Annie, my love, Ken said, stroking her cheek and trying to calm her agitated movements. You’re going to be all right.

Her skin was cold to the touch: clammy, like seaweed on the shore. Then Annie’s eyes opened – except they weren’t Annie’s eyes at all. Those blue-green orbs had turned cloudy like the dregs of a draught ale, with tiny yellowy spots at their centre.

Annie? Ken whispered, fear suddenly knotting in his stomach.

She growled, those rotten yellow eyes fixing on his. Then she jerked upwards and bit at his outstretched arm.

Ken screamed in pain and fury. He tried to pull back, but Annie’s teeth bit too deeply. He pushed away with all his might and, by the grace of God, fell to the cold stone floor. His arm was free, but sharp pain lanced through the maimed flesh. It quivered and spasmed uncontrollably, blood gushing out into his lap where he lay.

As Annie tried to grab stiffly at him, Ken shuffled backward along the floor. He pulled himself up the steps, breathing in quick, sharp breaths. His head banged on the trap-door, sending a wave of dizziness through him. Annie crawled stiffly on all fours towards him, jaw hanging slackly, a line of blood-stained drool dripping to the floor.

With his good hand, Ken fidgeted with the wooden bar that blocked his exit. He pushed and banged and probed awkwardly in the small space, light-headed and weak. Annie reached the first step, one hand resting on it and pulling her further forward. The wooden bar shifted at Ken’s fingertips, rattling loosely but not moving. It was stuck – a nail on the underside caught against the handle. Frustration gnawed at him.

Annie continued to pull herself up the few steps until her hand grasped Ken’s leg. He kicked desperately at her hands and face, driven by fear, until she pinned his other leg. He slipped down the steps, grazing his back against the sharp stones, and grunted as the breath fled from his lungs. He felt Annie’s teeth bite into his leg, the pressure intense – like he was trapped in a vice. Ken’s free hand desperately worked at the wooden bar, trying to concentrate through the fear and pain.

Finally the wooden bar came loose and clattered to the cellar floor. Ken half-laughed, half-cried as his salvation inched closer. But a sharp pull from Annie caused him to slip further down the steps. His head cracked on the corner of a step. Pain lanced through him, blinding everything, until he felt Annie’s teeth grind into the soft flesh of his stomach.

*****

Holy fuck, Mark!

Holly leaped to her feet, a wave of emotion all but overwhelming her. Mark’s hair was plastered over his forehead from the rain, but contrived to stand up all at angles at the back and side. His beard, almost ginger, covered his face, exaggerating the kind lines at the corner of his eyes.

Holly! Mark said, opening his arms wide and stepping across the room towards her. They embraced warmly, Holly feeling nothing but relief that her ex-husband was all right. She tucked her arms beneath his soaking raincoat.

I know it might the end of the world, said Julie, wiping tears from her eyes and cradling her son. But I do wish you’d all be a wee bit mindful of your language.

Not now, Jules, chided Gilbert, quietly.

Mark looked up and across at his friend, giving him a warm nod. Holly stepped out of the embrace and crossed her arms over her chest.

I’m glad you’re all right, she said, meaning it.

I went to Beacon Point, replied Mark. When you weren’t there...

You shouldn’t have come here. It’s too dangerous.

Mark shrugged out of his yellow coat and draped it over the corner of the sofa.

Where isn’t? They were at the beach as far East as the Restoration – swarms of them.

The Restoration? That’s what you’re calling it now? Holly said, balking at the very mention of the other lighthouse.

Gilbert stepped over to Mark, shook his hand, then leaned in to embrace his friend.

They were down at the cove, too, he said. They’ve all but over-run the town.

So who’s here? Where’s Ken and-

Mark stopped when he noticed Christina, who met his gaze then turned and retreated into the kitchen. He muttered a vague, excuse me and followed her around the corner and out of sight.

Holly fought down a wave of jealousy. She forced herself to turn to Julie instead.

How are you doing?

I don’t know, love, she replied. We’re all right, aren’t we Robbie?

Robert sat on the floor by his mother’s side, cross-legged, staring into the middle distance.

Has anyone dealt with the little lass? Ron said from the corridor.

I’ll go sort the power out, said Gilbert when no-one replied. There’s a fuse-box behind the bar, I expect. I think we could all use that cuppa.

He disappeared out of the room and stomped downstairs.

More dirty work for Old Ron then, eh? Ron grumbled. He walked down the corridor to the room where Sheila had arisen.

Well, it doesn’t look like she’s gonna wake up any time soon, he said, staring sadly at the bloody mess on and around the sofa.

Holly stared at