Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 5
Sheehan interjected, “but sir, this would be your first, are you sure you wouldn’t rather…”
“…I said I’ll see to him Lieutenant, and that’s an order.”
The men exerted a collective gasp as I yawned and began trotting toward the reprobate. “You there, move aside.”
His head twitched but his refusal to immediately submit to my instruction only angered me more.
“Did you not hear me? I said move aside or I’ll give you a damned good pummelling the likes of which you’ve never received.” A horse neighed from behind and I could sense my own steed proceeding with duress so I encouraged her onwards with my knees lest she stop altogether. “Are you deaf? I said move.” I brandished the crop and thrashed it across the man’s shoulders.
He turned around.
They say that when faced with death your life flashes before your eyes. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not true. Because what I saw in that moment, apart from the figure I’ll describe in a tick, was none other than Master Davis, one of my former fags and the whole reason I was even in this situation, as I was whipping him for failing to adequately warm my chamber pot seat. If only I’d delegated the task to one of the more stout fags, Bentley or Carrington, or heaven forbid, perched on a cold seat, I wouldn’t right now be in this whole sorry mess.
The skin hung off its face like a bag on a rake, eyes set deep back in the skull as though they’d shrunk. His whole complexion was of sickly grey as a worm tried to wriggle free from a nostril. The freak’s jaw hung off one side to reveal gums that had receded so much the teeth roots were visible, while the smell was reminiscent of the Eton changing rooms after a particularly hard game of rugby. All this despite being dressed in what at one time would have been his best.
Having a coward’s instinct, usually I’d have been off long before any threat emerged, soaring away through the forest with my trusty horse, not to emerge until the danger had been vanquished. But on this occasion it was my steed, the big beautiful miracle and kindred spirit that she was, who started at full pelt before I could even issue the command, smashing straight through the demon whose body exploded on impact.
Unfortunately, the horse was so panicked that it cantered straight into the dense wood where I could see more of the freaks emerging from the murkiness. Perhaps it was the rumbling of hooves but to my disgust, they saw us and altered their original course to stagger directly into our path.
It all happened so quick that I never had chance to scream for help and a quick glance over my shoulder revealed only that I’d lost my men, I was alone. Paddy shouts of something utterly incomprehensible carried over on the breeze but through the noise, there was never any hope of interpreting such bastardised English.
I’d long since lost control of my horse who now galloped full whack, a traversing branch forced me to flail back in the saddle, leaves thrashed at my face, and through it all I was able to count ten of the creatures, each as ghastly as the one I’d so recklessly confronted and thrashed with my whip, for all the good that did and was likely to do now.
They seemed so completely uncoordinated, bumping into each other as they wandered and stood stubbornly in the path of my charging horse, which could only lead to obliteration upon contact. But then, either by accident or instinct, they staggered into a solid block, forming a mass of wretched death, a wall there’d be no hope of ploughing through. My horse came to the same appalling realisation because she skidded to a halt mere paces from the demons and sent me headlong over her plaited mane, hurtling through the air to land in a pile of leaves.
The wind was knocked out from me but worse than that, I’d twisted my ankle, which meant I’d have no hope of initiating my automatic flight response. That I was done was certain and as my eyes bulged, my mind fell into paralysis, which is what often happens in such situations, playing strange tricks and heightening useless details such as my horse, who’d put me in this situation, and who now chomped serenely on a clump of tall grass that sprouted from the earth. But I knew full well there were ten rotten carcasses dragging themselves in my direction. Indeed, it was impossible to look anywhere else.
I backed against a tree and watched, horrified, as the pack aggressively jostled one another to get me first. The blazes, but some truly were the picture of hideousness and each had that empty glare behind the eye that just screamed - Nobody home.
I was on the verge of contemplating my death, all my regrets, how I’d never found love, when I remembered my pistol, which I drew with haste, fumbled for the trigger and pulled. Having primed it myself, the thing misfired, leaving me only able to accept the death that must now surely fall upon me in the most grisly manner at the hands of these beasts.
All I had now was my sword but whilst falling, the scabbard had somehow twisted around my body and lodged beneath my weight. I screamed for my mother as the first enemy fell down upon me - With the top of its head missing.
Then the hooves were beating in close proximity as my beautiful trooper, two in fact, had somehow managed to find me. They downed three in quick succession, cleaving blades sweetly across heads.
I saw it in slow motion but was still too mentally crippled to help and then the first trooper screamed in agony as one of those things bit into his leg. He tumbled from his mount as two of them savagely tore him apart. I was absolutely gripped by the sight as my body refused to listen to my screams, to get up and run, all the way to the coast from where I’d swim, swim the bloody sea if need be, all the way to England, safety, and just try stop me.
The remaining trooper slashed at another fiend before drawing his pistol on one more and firing, turning its head into red mist. He swung at another, missed, and whilst off balance was tugged from his horse by a gang of three. Mercifully, he landed on his feet, impaling one on the way down with a hammer like blow. He was like a killing machine while all I could do was grasp my bloodless face and screech. Then, through large sweeping blows of his sabre, we shared a moment, clocking each other from across the carnage and he knew it then, everything clicked into place, that I wasn’t the brave warrior volunteering to help a friend in need but instead, through some masterful ineptitude, I’d somehow found myself amidst this madness like only a true imbecile could.
Well, he could tell the truth to the entire regiment and beyond for all I cared, as long as I got to live, and preferably unbruised.
He stuck one through the chest whilst for some abominable reason, unaffected, the thing attempted to claw its way further up the blade, slicing apart its hand with every tug, anything to reach its abuser as the blade, slicked red, inched further out from its back. My saviour turned on me, an expression of sheer disgust upon his sweating countenance. “God save Ireland, but for the love of God, would yee please help us out here.”
I scurried further back against the tree and recommenced screaming in earnest.
“Captain, sor, please, I’ve lost me blade, would yee not see yeerself to helpin’ us?” He smashed one across the face with an almighty backhanded fist, obliterating it in a cloud of mush. Only three left and I dared hope I might live to see another day.
“Oh bejesus, Captain, yee feckin eejit, they’ll kill us both, please…” he glared at me over his shoulder, trying in vain to free his blade as a gurning dead man heaved himself further towards the hilt and coming closer with every strain.
My attention was seized by the appalling sight of the first trooper, who was absolutely lying sprawled out on the ground, his belly opened, intestines strewn across the dirt, and in that moment, I knew, I had to help.
I unsheathed my sword, thrust it into the ground and used it to shove myself up, then…
…I threw the blade to the trooper, fell off balance and into a pile of blood and guts which, in an effort to remove myself from, only succeeded in skidding around within it, rubbing fouled spleens and livers and brains over my freshly pressed uniform as I did. Finally, I was able to roll and heave my filthy frame into a nearby ditch, which was by far the safest available spot and thank yee God, I’ll take it, by Jove, and who would blame me?
The trooper had been so aghast that he’d reached out for the blade and missed, it coming to land in the mud by his feet. “What the feck are yee doin’? Sor, I meant, help by killin’ ‘em.” I pretended not to hear and he gave me another look that words could never hope to describe. “You, sor, are not fit to wear dat uniform, so you’re not. Mark my words, I’ll see to it dat you’re found out…oh bejesis.” He fumbled at a flailing dead hand and, having no choice other than to finally relinquish his sabre, dived for the ground and snatched up my abandoned blade in one smooth action. “Dat sword was wit me at da Charge, yee bastard.” He ran my blade through a dead skull as red matter gushed over his uniform.
His thrust had been masterful, wrought from years spent prodding that training ground post but in so doing, his overzealous lunge had planted his boot firmly within the now blood-drenched earth, something they evidently don’t teach in the cobbled barracks of Londonderry. He glared helplessly down at his sunken welly, to me, then finally at the blade snagged between two vertebrae and, unable to retract the sword in time for another strike, the two remaining ghouls collapsed upon him.
That’s when I saw the most ghastly sight of my life as the thing opened up my saviour’s neck with its teeth whilst my man simultaneously pressed his thumbs through its eye sockets - It fell back.
There was only one of them remaining and my trooper must have been in such terrible agony, indeed, his screams proved just that, and I’ll never know how he managed to summon the strength or will to pull the blade free from the twitching freak on the ground to plunge it through the last remaining monster before collapsing supine in the dirt and guts to labour through his final breaths.
But at the time, I wasn’t to know that and all I could think about was retrieving the blade on the off chance that one of those things might rise up for a second attempt at old Strappy. Well, we couldn’t have that, no sir, so I hauled myself out from the safety of my ditch and staggered toward the decaying monster, my ankle throbbing like bloody hell, reached for the sword that poked up from its head and grasped ahold of the hilt…
…And that was the moment the cavalry arrived.
I froze as the three horsemen surveyed the wreckage about them, glancing from me, to the pile of carnage, blinking, back to me and between several times, rubbing disbelieving eyes. Their wide-open mouths spoke nothing, yet said so much.
Lieutenant Sheehan rubbed his eyes again and shook his head before gazing once more at me, my spanking new uniform covered in such horrific rot, a length of what had to be colon snagged on my crossbelt. “Sir…” he was lost for words as he swung from his saddle and stepped toward me, my hands still struggling to pull free my blade. “Sir…may I shake your hand, sir.”
After the experience, I was still in a daze, but I shook his hand, he refusing to let go for a while as my head fizzed.
He again examined the scene; ten dead enemy and now, apparently, two dead heroes as his eyes pinched together in sadness.
I nodded to my two champions. “They fought gallantly and…”
“…And modest too, sir. I say…” he shook his head with admiration and pumped my hand again. “Sir, not even at the Charge did I ever encounter such bravery as this and you can rest assured, the whole regiment will hear of your deeds.”
I shook the fog away and brushed what was probably a piece of kidney from my sleeve.
Sheehan stepped even closer, all concern. “Are you all right, sir? Are you hurt?”
I gestured to my ankle as I took one small pathetic limp toward my horse, my face contorting from the shooting pain I hoped wouldn’t prevent me satisfying my carnal urges on some Londonderry whore this night. “No, Lieutenant, just a scratch.”
He looked up to the sky and spoke some words in Gaelic, or perhaps it was English. “And that you did all this, whilst in such obvious pain…You see that boys?” He called out for everyone’s benefit with a tear rolling down his cheek. “Captain Strapper slaughtered all the dead whilst unable to even walk…here, sir, now don’t you dare walk even one more step without my aid. Oh, how I wish our two dead friends Logan and Conroy could have witnessed it. How I wish the whole regiment…no, no…the whole of Ireland could have witnessed you.”
It was all a bit too much and though I was simply happy to have survived the ordeal, I didn’t think it would do any harm to keep the truth to myself. After all, soldiers need heroes to look up to, or so I assumed - How would I know? Of course, the 8th already had more than its share of bloodthirsty psychopaths to admire, so what was one more added to the bag? It would be sure to die down and if in the meantime it would ingratiate me with the colonel, make life easier during an apparent apocalypse, then I’d be a fool not to take it. My only desire going forward was not to be singled out by the bloody man and sent on daft initiations that only turned out to be real.
And because, as it transpired, Ireland was in a state of internal chaos, no change there, I had other matters to see to…
…Namely getting as far away from the place as possible.
Getting Out Of The Army
“I must say, when I first saw you, I had you pegged as a bit of a shirker, a cad even…heaven knows where I got that idea from. But after what Lieutenant Sheehan tells me…well…survived the bloody Charge with him, did you know, which makes him an excellent judge of character, don’t you think?” Captain O’Dougal blubbered and wiped a tear from his eye. “And that you ordered your men to stay back whilst you went off to deal with that first one all by yourself…quite remarkable…and then after killing him you charged straight for the oncoming horde with no regards for your own safety…how extraordinary. I only wish I’d been there to see it.”
It was next day and three hours after arriving in the officers’ mess, I was still surrounded by my colleagues, being congratulated, bought drinks and offered dinner and now my back was suitably sore from the many pats and slaps. I’d been fawned upon by officers of all rank; lieutenants, captains and majors, all ranks, that is, apart from a colonel and one captain in particular who was now considering me with scepticism from behind an eye patch in the corner where he slumped, his tankard still topped with ale.
Indeed, Captain Lynch was the one officer I’d yet to converse with since my arrival the day before and his lack of warmth and hospitality were beginning to rattle. I wondered what he was making of all the attention I was receiving, given his usual posse were surrounding me as he sat all alone.
Major Murphy approached for the second time. “I say, old fellow…terrible business with the uniform. Why don’t you send it by me and I’ll have the wife apply the elbow, have it shipshape in no time.” He began moving away but turned back rubbing his chin. “Say…if you ever get tired of board meals wherever you’re lodging, we’d love to have you over…talk soldiers, what? She makes a grand carrot stew to rival anywhere in the city.”
Losing count of the invitations and having no intention of going through with it, I accepted his offer with good grace, not because I didn’t like the major particularly, but because I had no inclination to remain in this troubled country one minute longer than was absolutely necessary - And probably less than that if I could get away with it. Indeed, I’d been proactive in that area…
The night prior, before heading out to wench, I’d read and reread the small print on my confirmation of captaincy.
Exchanges;
‘Officers of equal rank on full pay can exchange their commissions. The officers involved will become the junior officers of their grade in their new regiments. Exchange is not permitted as a way of avoiding active service.’
The latter part made no difference to me because I was sure I could hire some clever lawyer to get around that technicality on the basis it could be argued this wasn’t really a war. I’d been told as much when I signed up.
But the first two sentences destroyed any hope of using the exchange clause since I could hardly imagine any officer, brought up from wealth, being stupid enough to voluntarily exchange positions with me, in this place. Besides, finding some agreeable idiot would likely take too long. Finally, I wanted an exchange back to England, safe old Sussex if possible, and writing home and going through the army’s slow processes would take months at best.
I then turned my attention to the next clause…
Selling Out;
‘An officer can sell a commission he has purchased and retire at any time. However, it is considered dishonourable to sell out to avoid active service.’
There it was - My ticket home.
And now, with a friendly officer nearby, I decided to test the waters by enquiring upon Major Murphy. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d like to purchase a captaincy, would you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Purchase a captaincy? Why, no, if I did he’d already be here. We’re short on captains as it is. In fact, we’re short on just about everyone from troopers to majors, to cooks, what?”
It was hardly what I wanted to hear but my situation was so desperate that if necessary, I’d have been willing to take a severe hit with my father’s money. In fact, had I been offered a mere quarter of the commission’s value, I’d have snatched at it with both hands and what would I care? Regardless, I wasn’t about to give up so easily.
The colonel entered and the whole mess saluted. Meanwhile, I cleared my throat and readjusted the crossbelt at my breast, fully anticipating the much justified praise, apology and subsequent Irish kissing of English boot, which I may or may not accept with elegance.
But I was to be left disappointed when the old fool breezed straight by with not so much as an acknowledgement of me or my heroic deeds, taking his usual pew at the table head and plunging straight into a stack of papers. My fist could only clench from frustration as I contemplated for how long the bastard intended on holding my one little slip of the tongue against me.
