Speaker 1: M HM as Dark Tails uncovered. Season two ventures further
into the haunted corners of the Isle of Wight. We
reached the Road towards Borne, a path that echoes with
memories of past and secrets hidden within the shadows of history.
In chapter four The Road towards Borne, which journey takes
us down eerie, winding lanes that leads to the gates
of Osborne House, where spirits of Victorian grandeur and grim
mystery linger. Haunted by stories of the undead and whispers
of betrayal. Those who dare to tread this road are
drawn into a world where history and horror intersect. Will
our protagonists uncover the truth of Osborne, or will the
roads swallow them whole, adding them to the tales of
the forgotten In Zombie Isle White of the Living Dead,
Every step pulls you deeper into a chilling legend that
refuses to die. Chapter four, The Road to Osborne. The
first light of dawn seep through the Manner's grimy windows,
casting long shadows across the dilapidated rooms. Emma stirred, blinking
away the remnants of fitful sleep, her body ache from
the cold, hard floor, and her mind buzzed with the
weight of their day ahead. They had a plan, but
it was one born out of desperation, a long shot
at best. The path to Osborne House were fraught with
was fraught with danger, but it was their only hope.
She pushed herself up, careful not to disturb the others.
Mark lay beside her, his face pale and drawn, the
strain of the previous day's events etched into every line.
Rachel and George were curled up on the opposite side
of the room. Their breasts were slow and steady, though
em My new sleep had been elusive for them, as
it had been for her. Emma rose quietly and made
her way to the window, peering out at the morning light.
The landscape outside was eerily serene, the Isle of Wight's
rotating hills and dense wood bathed in the soft blow
of sunrise. But the tranquility was deceptive. Some were out there.
The undead lurked, a constant, gnawing threat that would only
grow more dangerous as the day wore on. The manner
had been a temporary refuge, but staying any longer would
be suicide. They had to move, and soon morning Mark's
voice rasped from behind her. He was awake, sitting up
with a grimace as he gingerly touched his bandaged arm.
The wound was still red and swollen, but the makeshift
treatment had at least kept the infection at bay for
the moment. Emma nodded, giving him a tight smile. Morning.
How's the arm still hurts like hell? But I'll manage,
Mark replied, his voice steady but strained. We should get
going soon before the roads get crowded with those things.
Emma agreed. She walked over to where Rachel and George
were sleeping and gently shook them awake. They stirred groggily,
blinking in the dim light as they remembered where they
were and what lay ahead. We need to move, Emma said, softly,
helping them to their feet. Pack up whatever you can carry.
We're heading to Osborne House. They gathered their supplies quickly,
a grim efficiency in their movement. George handed out what
little food they had found, canned beans and a few
stale crackers, enough to stave off hunger, but not much more.
The revolver was loaded and the knives tucked into belts,
and the first a kit strapped securely to Rachel's backpack.
Heavy item was precious, a lifeline in the world that
had been turned upside down. As they stepped out into
the cool morning air, Emma took a breath, trying to
steady her nerves. The manner loomed behind them, a dark
silhouette against the rising sun. It offered shelter for the night,
but now it was just another reminder of how quickly
safety could be torn away. Which way to Osborne, rach asked,
her voice tinged with the anxiety as she glanced at
the empty road before them. George pointed to a narrow,
overgrown path that wound through the trees. That way, we
have sticked to the back roads and avoid the main towns.
It's longer but safer. If we're lucky, we won't run
into any of those things. Emma nodded, Stay close, but quiet,
and be ready for anything. They set off down the path,
the eerie stillness of the island pressing in on them
from all sides. The Iron of Whight, once a bustling
tourist destination, now felt like a ghostly echo of its
former self. The birds were silent, the wind carrying only
the faint rustling of leaves, an occasional creak of old branches.
But beneath the surface, the island were pulsed with an
undercurrent of dread, as if the very earth knew something
was terribly wrong. As they walked, the reality of the
situation began to sink in. Every step forward was a
step into the unknown, and the path ahead was fraught
with dangers that they couldn't begin to anticipate. Emma kept
a tight grip on the revolver, her eyes scanning the
trees for any sign of movement. The others followed closely,
their faces tornent with tension. The sun climbed higher, burning
off the morning mist and revealing the landscape in sharper detail.
Their path wound through dense woods, the trees thick with
foliage that created deep pockets of shadow. It was easy
to imagine the undead lurking in those shadows, waiting for
the right moment to strike. Emma's heart pounded in her chest,
the weight of the revolver a cold comfort in her hand.
Everyone stays sharp, George said in a low voice, as
they approached a bend in the path. This area used
to be popular with hikers. If there are any of
those things around, we could be walking right into them.
They rounded the bend, each of them holding their breath.
The path opened up into a small clearing, the trees
thinning to reveal a cluster of abandoned tents. Emma's pulse quickened.
The campsite looked as though it had been hastily abandoned,
sleeping bags and pack packs strewn about, a fire pit
with cold ashes at its center, but there was no
sign of life on life. Looks like they were in
a hurry. Rachel murmured, her eyes dancing nervously around the clearing.
Do you think they made it out? George shook his head,
scanning with a frown. Hard to say, but there's no blood,
no sign of a struggle. Maybe they got out before
things went south. Emma moved cautiously towards one of the tents,
her hand tightening on the revolver. She pulled back the flap,
peering inside. The tent was empty, save for a few
scattered belongings, clothes, a flashlight, and a half eaten bag
of trail mix. Whomember I'd been here. He'd left in
a hurry, abandoning everything in their rush to escape. Let's
grab whatever we can use, she said, stepping back from
the tent, but be quick. We don't want to stay
here longer than we have to. They moved through the campsite,
gathering what little supplies they could find. Rachel found a
small camping stove, and George unearthed the map of the island,
crumpled but still legible. Mark discovered a hunting knife tucked
into one of the backpacks, its blade clean and sharp.
As they finished scavenging, and a caught sight of something
that made her blood run cold. At the edge of
the clearing, half hidden by a thicket of bishop bushes,
was a figure. It stood motionless, facing away from them,
but there was no mistake in the tattered clothes and
stiff posture. Don't move, she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The others froze, their eyes following her gaze. The figure
didn't move, but Emma knew better than to assume that
it hadn't noticed them. The undead were unpredictable, their senses
dulled but not completely gone. She raised the revolver, slowly,
keeping her breast steady as she took aim. Is that
one of them? What Mark asked his voint ticed with fear.
Emma nodded, not taking her eyes off the figure. Yeah,
and where there's one, there could be more. Moment the
clearing was deaftly silent, the only sound the rustling of
the leaves in the breeze. Then, with a sudden, jerky motion,
the figure began to turn its head, swiveling in their direction.
Emma's heart skipped a beat as she saw the lifeless eyes,
the slack jaw hanging open in a grotesque parody of life.
Go now, she hissed, pulling the trigger. The shot rang out,
shattering the silence. The bullet hit the zombie square in
the chest, knocking it back but not down. It staggered,
its body twitching as if in slow motion, and then
it began to lurch toward them, driven by some unholy force.
Emma fired again, It's time, aiming for the head. The
bullet struck true, and the zombie crumpled to the ground,
finally still, but the noise had done its damage. From
the shadows of the tree, more figures began to emerge,
drawn by the sound of gunfire. Run. Emma shouted, turning
on her heels as she as the others bolted for
the path. They sprinted down the trail, the sounds of
shuffling feet and low and guttural moans filling the air
behind them. Emma could hear the thud of their pursuers,
the undead, driven by the unsatiable hunger. She glanced back
over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat as
she saw the Horde emerging from the woods, their numbers
growing with each passing second. Keep going, George yelled, urging
them forward as they dodged low hanging branches and leapt
over roots. The path twisted and turned, the underbush thickening
as they plunged deeper into the woods. Emma's lungs burned,
her legs aching as she pushed herself to keep up
with the others. But the undead were relentless, their unnatural
stamina driving them forward. Even as the living began to tire.
She could hear them getting closer, the moans growing louder,
more desperate. Just when it seemed like the Horde could
would overtake them, the trees began to thin and the
path opened up into another clearing. This one was different, larger,
with a clumber crumbling stone wall, running along one side,
A rusty gate stood open at the far end, leading
out to what looked like an overgrown road. There, Mark shouted,
pointing to the gate. We can lose them in the
woods beyond. They dashed through the gate, slamming it shut.
George grabbed the heavy branch from the ground and wedged
it into the gates iron bars, hoping it would hold.
The undead slammed against the gate with fury and their
decaying hands clawing through the gaps, but the branch held firm,
keeping a horn at bay for now. Keep moving, emaged,
dare not linger. They had brought themselves only a few
precious seconds. The undead were relentless, and it wouldn't take
them long to find another way round the gate or
break through it entirely. The group took off down the
overgrown road, their breasts ragged and their bodies running on
sheer adrenaline. The road was choked with weeds and lined
with trees that loomed like sentinels. Their branches intertwined to
form a dense canopy. Overhead, the morning light barely penetrated
the foliage, casting the path in dim dapple shadows. We
need somewhere to hide, George panted, his voice strained from exertion.
Someplace we can barricade ourselves in until they pass. Emma nodded,
her mind racing as he scanned the surroundings. The road
ahead curved out of sight, but there were no signs
of buildings and structures where they could take refuge. They
were trapped in the open, open only, with only the
thick forest on either side offering any hope of concealment.
Into the woods, she decided, fearing off the road and
plunging into the trees. The others followed without hesitation, crashing
through the underbush. As they left the path behind, the
forests closed in and around them. The tangled underground, grabbing
at their legs and slowing their progress, but it also
offered a measure of cover from pursuing horde. They pushed
deeper into the woods, and the sounds of the undead
growing fainter as the trees thickened. Emma led them up
a small rise where the ground was firmer and the
vegetation less dense. They stumbled into a small clearing, the
light filtering through the leaves, casting eerie patterns on the ground.
Wait Emma said, holding up her hand to single a halt.
The group stopped, panting heavily, their face slick was sweat
and dirt. Let's catch our breath and listen. We need
to know if they're still following. They stood in the
tense silence, straining to hear any sounds of pursuit. The
forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in
the breeze and the distant cool of birds. The moans
of the undead had faded, and for a moment it
seemed like they'd lost their pursuers. Do you think we
lost them? H was our hope, voice hoped whisper Maybe,
Mark replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his
hunting knife he had found. But we can't be sure.
They could be circling around, or more could be lurking nearby.
Emma nodded. We have to stay vigilant, but let's keep
moving but quietly. This time. We're heading the general direction
of Osborne. Help Osborne host house, and hope we can
find another road or landmark that will help us. The
group set off again, moving carefully through the underbush. The
forest was dense with thick roots and fallen branches, making
the terrain treacherous, but it was also their best chance
of avoiding detection, and they made slow, steady, slow but
steady progress through as they navigated the woods. As they walked,
the weight of the situation pressed down on them. They
were isolated, with limited supplies and no clear path forward.
The island had become a twisted labyrinth of danger which
they could which could turn every lead to death. But
they had no choice but that had to keep moving,
driven by the slim hope that Osborne House might offer
some sanctuary. Hours passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky.
As the group continued their trek through the forest. The
undergrowth gradually thinned out and the ground began to slope downwards,
leading them into a shallow valley. The air was cooler here,
the shade provided by the towering trees offering some relief
and the heat. As they descended into the valley, Emma
noticed something unusual ahead, a flicker of movement among the trees.
She froze, motioning for the others to stop. Her heart
pounded in her chest as she squinted trying to make
out what it was. Do you see that? She whispered,
pointing to the spot where she'd seen the movement. George
narrowed his eyes, peering into the gloom. I don't see anything.
Wait there. The others followed his gaze and saw it too,
a shadowy figure moving through the trees, not far from
where they stood. For a moment, they feared it was
another soombie, But then the figure stepped out into the
patch of sunlight, revealing itself to be a man. He
was ragged, his clothes, tall and dirty, but unmistakably alive.
He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the forest, as
if searching for something or someone. Emma's heart skipped to beat.
Was he alone or were there others with him? We
shouldn't stay hidden, Mark whispered, his knife, grip tightening on
his grip, tightening on his knife. We don't know who
he is or what he wants. Emma considered this trust
was a luxury in this new world, and they couldn't
afford to be careless. But they also couldn't open law
the possibility that this man might have valuable information, perhaps
even the way towards Borne House or another safe place
on the island. Let's approach him carefully, he said, We'll
see if he's friendly. If not, would deal with it.
They began to move towards the man, staying low and
using the trees for cover. As they drew closer, Emma
noticed that he was muttering to himself, his words barely audible.
He seemed agitated, his movements jerky and nervous. The closer
they got, the clearer it became that this man was
on edge and possibly dangerous. Hey, Emma called out, softly,
stepping out from behind a tree with her hands raised
to show she meant no harm. But we're not here
to hurt you. We just want to talk. The man
whirled around, his eyes wide with fear. He held a
makeshift spear with one in one hand, the sharpened tip
pointing towards Emma. His clayes flickered between her and the
others as they emerged from the trees. His expression and
mixt of suspicion and desperation. Who are you, he demanded,
his voice trembling, What do you want? My name's Emma,
she said, calmly, trying to project an air of reass durance.
We're just trying to get to Osborne House. We heard
it might be safe there. Do you know anything about it.
The man's expression shifted. A flicker of recognition in his
eyes at the mention of Osborne House, but the fear
didn't leave his face. Osborne, you won't make it there.
The roads are crawling of those things. They're everywhere, we know,
George said, stepping forward cautiously. But we don't have anywhere
else to go. Do you know? Away through the woods
a way that's safer. The man hesitated, his grip on
the spear, tightening. He glanced around as if weighing up
his options, then lowered the weapons slightly. There's a path,
he said, his voice low, but it's not safe either.
The undead aren't the only danger out there. Ever felt
a chill run down her spine. What do you mean?
The man looked at her, his eyes haunted. There are
others survivors, but they've changed. They're not like anymore. They've
lost their minds and it turned into savages. They kill
anyone they come across, just take what they have. The
group exchange up. The group exchanged uneasy glances. The thought
of encountering not only zombies but also this crazed, violent
survivors was almost too much to bear, but they had
no choice. They had to keep moving. Can you show
us the path, Emma asked, her voice steady despite the
fear gnawing at her insides. The man hesitated again, then
slowly nodded, I'll take you there, but after that you're
on your own. I'm not risking my life for anyone else.
That's fair, Emma replied, grateful for any help they could get.
The man turned to begin to lead them deeper into
the woods, his movements quick and sure, as if he
knew these forests well. The group followed close behind, their
senses on high alert. Every rustle of leaves, every snap
of twig set their nerves on edge. As they walked,
couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The
forest seemed to close in on them, the trees looming
like silent sentinels, and their branches whispering secrets to the wind.
She kept her hand close to the revolver, ready to
draw it at a moment's notice. After what felt like hours,
the man stopped at that edge of a narrow, overgrown trail.
It wound through the trees, barely visible enough beneath the
un the tangled underbrush, but it was there. The path
that they could lead them closer to safety, were deeper
into danger. This is it, the man said, his voice
barely above a whisper. Follow this trail until you reach
them all the old Stone Bridge. Cross it and you'll
be on the road towards Born House. But be careful.
The bridge is a choke point. If those things are there,
you'll have no way out. Emma nodded, her heart pounding
in her chest. Thank you, she said, meaning it We'll
be careful. The man gave a weary nod, turned and
disappeared into the woods without another word. Emma watched him go,
feeling a pang of sorrow for the lonely, desperate figure
he cut as he vanished into the trees. Let's go,
she said, turning to the others. We stick together, We
move quickly, and we don't stop for anything. With that,
they set off down the narrow trail, the weight of
the man's warning heavy on their minds. The forest seemed
to close in tighter around them, the shadows deepening as
they moved deeper into the unknown. Ahead somewhere in the
distance lay the Old Stone Bridge, their last obstacle before
the road to Osborne House. But as they walked, The
sense of impending danger grew with every step. The woods
around them.
Speaker 2: Felt alive with milelevant, milelevant, mellow with melelevant energy, The
air thick with the scent of damp and decay.
Speaker 1: Every rustle of leaves and distance crack of a branch
sent a shiver down their spines. It was as if
the forest itself had become hostile, a living entity on
swallowing them whole. The trail narrowed even further, the undergrowth
becoming denser and more tangled. They had to push aside
the thick ferns and thurny brownbles to make any process progress.
The light flickering through the canopy above them was dim,
casting eerie shadows that danced at the edges of their vision.
Stay close, Emma whispered, her voice barely audible over the
sound of their labored breathing. The revolver was in her hand,
her finger hovering near the trigger as she led the way.
The others followed in a tight formation, their eyes dancing
nervously around them. The path wound through the forest in
a seemingly endless series of twists and turns. Every time
they thought they'd be nearing the end, the trail would
curve again, leading them deeper into the dark, oppressive woods.
The minutes stretched into hours, and the tension among the
group was palpable. Suddenly, the trees began to thin and
the sound of running water reached their ears. Emma's heart leapt.
This had to be the bridge, the man mentioned. She
quickened her pace, the others close behind. They broke through
the last line of trees and found themselves standing at
a shallow, fast moving stream. The old bridge. The old
stone bridge spanned the water, its surface worn and cracked
with age. Moss and finds clung to the weathered stones,
and the bridge seemed to sag slightly in the middle
as the years had taken its toll. It wasn't large,
barely wide enough for a single car to pass over,
but it was there any way across. Emma stopped at
the edge of the bridge, scanning the area. The stream
gurgled quietly, the sound almost soothing in otherwise silent woods,
but there was no sign of any undead no movement
on the far side of the bridge. For the moment,
it seemed clear, this is it, she said, turning to
face the others. Once we crossed, would be on the
road towards Poord, But we have to be careful. If
anyone near, they could be trapped. If anyone if they're
anywhere near, they could trap us On the bridge, Mark
nodded his face, grim let's move quickly. We don't want
to be caught out in the open. One by one,
they stepped onto the bridge, their footsteps echoing faintly on
the old stones. The water rushed beneath them, and a steady,
relentless current that seemed to surge urge them forward. The
opposite bank loomed closer with each step, and for a
brief moment, it seemed like they might actually make it
without incident. But just as Emma set foot on the
bridge on the far side, a low growl cut through
the air, freezing her in place. The others halted too,
their eyes wide with fear as they scanned the surrounding trees.
The brow came again, followed by the unmistakable sounds of
shuffling feet. Get off the bridge, Emma hissed, her voice
laid reverted, laced with urgency. They hurried off the bridge,
retreating into the dense underbrush on the far side. Emma
raised the revolver, her heart pounding in her chest as
the shuffling grew louder. Then, from the shadow of the trees,
the first figure removed emerged. It was a zombie, its
eyes glazed and unseen, its mouth hanging open in a
grotesque snarl. The creature stumbled forward, its decayed hands reaching
out as if drawn by some instinctual need to consume,
and behind it more figures began to appear, emerging from
the woods like a tide of death. Run Emma shouted,
firing a shot into the nearest zombie's head. The creature
collapsed to the ground that the others pressed forward. Undeterred
by the loss of one of their own, the group bolted,
crashing through the underbush as the undead closed in from
all sides. The road to Osborne was just ahead, a
narrow gravel path that wound through the trees and out sight.
But the undead were faster than they had anticipated, their
hunger driving them forward with unnatural speed. Emma fired again
and again, each shot bringing down another zombie, but it
was like trying to stem the tide of a bucket.
Rachel stumbled, nearly falling as she a roote caught her foot.
George grabbed her arm, pulling her upright. Just as the
zombie lunged at them from the side. He swung his
knife in a wide arc, slashing the creature across its throat.
The zombie gurgled, black blood oozing from the wound as
it collapsed. Keep going, George yelled, his voice hoarse with exertion.
Don't stop. They burst out onto the gravel road and
the loose stones crunching under foot as they ran. The
undead were right behind them, a relentless wave of death
that showed no sign of stopping. The road stretched out
before them, winding through the trees like a serpent, but
Osborne House was nowhere in sight. Em no we do.
Rachel's voice was high pitched with panic, her eyes wide
as she glanced back at the approaching horde. Emma didn't
answer immediately, her mind racing as she tried to come
up with a plan. They couldn't outrun the zombies forever,
and stopping to fight would only get them killed. They
needed a distraction, something to slow down the undead long
enough for them to escape. Ahead, the road curve slightly
sharply to the right, disappearing through a thick cluster of trees.
Emma's eye eyes narrowed as she spotted something just beyond
the curve, an old, rusted car, half buried in the undergrowth.
This way, she shouted, leading the group towards the car.
We use it to block the road. They sprinted to
the car, their lungs burning from the effort. The vehicle
was in bad shape, its windows shattered and the tires flat,
but it was large enough to create an obstacle. Emba
threw her shoulder against the car, pushing it of all
I might. The others joined in, and slowly the car
began to shift, its rusted frame growing in protest. Hurry.
Mark urged, casting a nervous back, glanced back at the
approaching horde. The zombies were closing in, their moans growing
loud and more desperate. With one final desperate push, the
car lurched forward, rolling into the road with a heavy,
heavy thud. It didn't block the entire wit for the road,
but it was enough to slow down the undead, forcing
them to funnel through the narrow gap on the lefts
on the left hand side, Go now, Emma ordered, grabbing
Rachel's arm and pulling her along as they bolted down
the road. The others followed their footsteps, pounding on the
gravel as they raced around the curve. They ran until
their legs felt like they would give out, and the
sound of the undead grown fainter behind them. The road
began to widen, the trees thinning as they approached the
line clearing, and there, standing in the distance was Osborne House.
The sight of the grand palatial estate filled them with
a mix of relief in trepidation. The house was massive,
its cream colored walls and ornate windows gleaming in the sunlight,
but it was also eerily quiet, its gardens overgrown and
the once pristine grounds littered with debris. Emma slowed to
a stop, her breath coming in and ragged gasps as
she stared at the house. We made it. Her voice
had barely whisper we're here. But as they stood there,
catching their breath, taking in the sight before them, a
sense of unease settled over the group. Osborne House might
offer shelter, but it was also a place filled with
unknown dangers, and the undead were still out there just
beyond the trees, a relentless force that would not stop
until every last one of them was dead. Let's move,
George said, breaking the silence. We need to get into
that inside before they catch up. They hurried across the clearing,
the house looming larger with every step. The front doors
were slightly ajar the wood splintered, as if they had
already been forced opened. Emma approached cautiously, her revolver at
the ready, She pushed open the door wider, peering inside.
The interior was dark, the ground foyer lit only with
the dim light flickering through the cracked windows. Dust hang
in the air, and the scent of dequay was strong.
The once opulent furnishings were covered in grime, and the
silence was oppressive, broken only by the creak of floorboards.
Believed their feet stay close, Emma whispered as they stepped inside.
We don't know what's in here. The door creaked shut
behind them, Seeing in the gloomy silence of Osborne House.
They were inside, but the real test was just beginning.
The un dead was still out there, and whatever lay
within these wolves might be even more terrifying. But they
had no choice. They were committed now and there was
no turning back. As they ventured deeper into the dark,
foreboding halves of Osborne House. They couldn't share shake the
feeling that they just traded one nightmare for another m