Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 65
Baird cleared his throat. “I think the captain ought be heeded, Mist…um, Major. Of all of us, he’s the only one with experience dealing with the dead. We can’t dismiss his concerns just to save a few hours.”
The vein bulged as Savage manoeuvred his horse so that he was beside Baird facing him. “If we see the dead then we’ll just have to deal with them. That is our ultimate aim regardless, is it not?” He sounded scathing but then glanced down at the VC pinned at Baird’s breast and changed his tone to a more respectful one. “I’ve yet to see one of these zombies and it would do us all good to know what we’re up against. We can’t avoid them forever and nor should we. We’re taking the forest track and that’s all there is to it.”
It was an exercise in futility. Right was clearly on my side but try making some worked up ogre see sense and logic when all that mattered were his emotions. “Listen to me,” I called from over Baird’s horse, it was far easier talking back when there was a VC snagged between us, “we all want to get there, sure, but much better we arrive without risking an encounter that might mean I’d, um, we’d have to fight.” Oh, doubtless the rogue had some personal reason for risking the safety of the whole squad just so that he could be snug at Kempsey mere hours sooner, but I didn’t see what that had to do with the rest of us. There was certainly little need to take any unnecessary risks.
“Listen, you fat little twerp,” Savage called back, his anger increasingly growing, “if the dead are in this forest then I’ve got news for you, they’ve already crossed not only the Severn but the bloody Avon too,” which would be an English catastrophe considering the state of the line, “it also means that like as not, Kempsey’s been overrun and everyone inside is dead, in which case, we’re all dead regardless. It’ll just happen a bit sooner, that’s all.” It was all in the careless way he threw up an arm to deliver that last point, the man was unstable, and as though the conversation was over and he was having no more of it, he began to wheel his horse to face west.
But I was hardly about to give up and I moved my steed in front, blocking his advance and prompting a second vein to appear in his forehead.
“You want to go fast yet you also wish to stop and fight the dead, well, which is it, man? At least I’m thinking about the bloody mission,” I said as earnestly as I could fake, “that’s all that matters, not tussling with the dead, why, his lordship would hardly expect us to bother, not when we can leave them for those fine fellows defending the line. None of it’ll matter one bit if we’re all devoured.” I jerked my chin toward the cage aback my horse. “I didn’t want to have to do this, Mister Savage, but I implore you not to force my hand because I’ll do it, I’ll send to Lord Marlborough and inform him you’re not being a team player and that you’re jeopardising the whole damned job just to satisfy some morbid curiosity. No, but you’ll have plenty of time to fumble with the dead after we’ve delivered the iron and first seen through our raison d’être.” I flapped my arms and hoped the man would see sense. “By then you may be my guest and put yourself in as much danger as you like but while I’m here the bloody mission must come first, which means avoiding the dead, always avoiding the dead, always. Need I say it again so that you’ll finally listen to sense?”
His stare changed from hostile to something more curious but whatever he was thinking, whatever he was about to say was lost forever when Willie pointed into the trees.
“They’re here!”
That concentrated our collective attention and I certainly felt a tightening of my sphincter as Metcalfe moved for his Colt revolvers, Willie for his rifle, Savage and Baird for their pistols and me for my novelty twelve barrel. For a moment everyone was looking in all directions, there was no distant rustling of leaves, no bleating in forewarning and no overpowering stench of compost and I was just about to seek clarification when finally I saw it.
That it was a zombie could not be contradicted and even though we were in the forest, for once, I foresaw no danger here. Angling our horses through the trees, we approached with caution until finally, we could see who it had been.
He’d died in his iconic outfit of white shirt beneath black cravat and weskit, his customary chain still dangling from a button leading to an inside pocket while his black jacket lay discarded nearby. He’d kept those muttons of which we were all so familiar and still possessed that shrewd face even as the rope pulled taut around his neck. Beneath his feet were a pile of logs and branches that’d been kicked away, his trademark top hat was lying in the mulch close to a discarded and half-burned out final cheroot. He’d been arguably the greatest man of our age; creator of bridges, tunnels, railways and steamships, and that his life would end in a pair of soiled breeches swinging from a tree in a forest was something of a warning to us all.
Now, his legs kicked and thrashed as his teeth snapped and his eyes rolled with anger. He made a strange growl, constricted as it was from the tightness of the rope forcing up his chin and I wondered if the great man could feel any pain. I might have been the only other in the world who had understood his burden, that so much unrealistic hope and expectation could be placed upon the shoulders of but one man and that ultimately, all the stress and pressure and harassment had done for Isambard Kingdom Brunel.
We did for him best we could, after Baird had finished his sketch, cutting him down before Savage clove his head in two and leaving him for whatever creatures might dwell in the forest.
After that, the wind was knocked out of our collective sail, almost like we all understood the implication of losing our chief engineer, and not even Savage wished to venture any further this night. Had the zombie been any other then I might have been certain the enemy had indeed crossed those two rivers that were acting as formidable bastions, our greatest defence, but as it turned out to be our wayward engineer, I could rest easier, somewhat. I was still on edge, of course, I was heading west in the present company and not only were we still in the forest but we were preparing to make camp, no less.
With snares, Metcalfe and the colonel sauntered off into the canopy’s dimness whilst Savage began rustling through the supply box strapped to the flank of the American’s horse. He slammed the lid shut and cursed, dismayed that there were no tents and no blankets, despite them both being stencilled as inventory down the side of the crate, along with the badge of a certain Horse Guards. He took it out on Baird, who’d happened to be standing nearest, and chastised him for lingering so far behind and being dreadfully slow throughout the duration of the day and that if we didn’t make it by evening of the morrow, it was all on him and his fat, insolent sidekick and he would personally see to it that that entire fort knew of our lousy work ethic, bigod.
I took the opportunity to find a clearing, not too far away, and squatted behind an oak before emptying my bowels, using the abundance of leaves and then cleansing my paws in the nearby stream. When I returned I was horrified to find them all sitting serenely in a circle, Baird sketching, Metcalfe cleaning his Colt, Willie powdering his mane, Savage playing some jolly tune on a flute, all with a brace of hares turning on a spit above a crackling flame. I ran over at once and kicked an enormous clod of earth and leaves over the fire, smothering the flames, fouling the intended bounty and sending a wave of soil, dirt and insects over the clothes and into the eyes of Willie, Metcalfe and Savage.
“The blazes…?” They all cursed whilst I continued stamping out the cinders and doing my utmost to drown out any and all smoke below ever more cascades of moist undersoil. Savage was growling relentlessly whilst he fumbled over the ground for his water flask, teeth clenching and eyes clamped shut. “You deranged bastard,” he snarled, “you’d better have a bloody good reason for this or I’ll have you.”
I was still in such a state that I was incapable of judging any intent behind the words and tone, all that mattered was the immediate eradication of bright fire, the smells of roasting meat and smoke in the middle of a bleeding forest. “You imbeciles,” I began, yelling at the lot of ‘em, Baird included, who was the sole lucky one not to have been temporarily blinded in my excitement, “why not just build a bridge and leave a trail of body parts leading all the way to us?”
Metcalfe was spitting out black particles, Willie’s voice had gone even hoarser as he complained about the wretched stinging, while Savage tipped back his head and poured the contents of his flask over bloodshot eyes. Oh the stares, but I could live with that and even if, for a short while at least, they wanted only to flay me on the spot, they soon came around, one by one, as I started to lecture them on the topic of staying alive in this new world, especially when venturing through their territory, no less, and that I didn’t become the great legendary hero I was today without sacrificing certain home comforts, cold and hungry as I might have been, and that at some point we all had to sleep and that if there should happen to be a man present who fancied having his throat torn out during his slumber, that he should step forth now. Of course, no one did and it was later on during a quiet moment when Willie stumbled blindly over, placed a hand upon my head and then my shoulder and thanked me for the much needed lesson in survival.
“We’re lucky to have you, Strappy.” His eyes were dreadful.
And to think that earlier I’d doubted my worth to the group.
I didn’t expect much in the way of thanks from Savage, although we did get through the night without anymore bickering or threats being bandied about, which in its own way was just as good.
The only aspect I found disconcerting was the always present looks from Metcalfe, which were becoming ever more overt and hostile and neither did he worry about being caught in the act. At one point we made prolonged eye contact in the dying light as I was preparing to lie down on the leaves, his eyes narrowed into a pensive half squint whilst he finished rubbing down his firearm and rotated the cylinder containing its five slugs. “Good night, Captain.” His face barely moved and there might have been something in his voice, his white moustache was fouled with black earth particles, as were his long blond tumbles.
Finally, with Colt beside his head, he lay down beneath his brown buckskin jacket and as a distant thunder punctured the silence, night was upon us.
I stirred before anyone else, indeed, I could not be certain I’d slept at all. It was still quite dark and if not for the heavy rain that fell upon the trees the only noise would have been the startling snores which blared from Colonel Willie. That nobody else had been perturbed was testament to how fagged the journey thus far had made us. I lay awake some more, just long enough for there to be sufficient light to see what I was doing.
It was Metcalfe’s horse that carried the ammunition and as quietly as possible, I rose and made my way over, the soggy earth dampening the sound of my every step. The horse slept where it stood and started when I rubbed its flank. “Ssshhhhhhh,” I soothed into its ear. There was a wooden crate on each side, both harnessed by thick leather straps that thread both around and over, shuttering the lids, and so to gain access I had to unfasten the vertical strap and tug it free. After that, it still wasn’t easy, and I had to stretch up onto my toes and bend my arm down through the crack before blindly sifting around inside. I might have taken the box clean off the horse but damned if I knew how to operate a ratchet and doing so without being heard was even less likely. Finally, I pulled out a fistful of balls and pouch of powder before finding a tree sufficiently large to skulk behind.
I’d forgotten the wadding, incidentally, but the leaves would suffice for that and so I began laboriously charging each of my carbine’s twelve barrels. I’d hoped not to need the firearm at all but when circumstances change, one must be prepared to alter his plans. Kneeling in the dirt beside the stream, I rustled about in search for dry leaves whilst frogs croaked from all around and the rain seethed down so that the water was flowing at a sufficiently higher depth than I could recall from the prior evening. Almost before my eyes, as the rain eased slightly, in turn, the level sank, only to rise again at the next concentrated downpour. The Avon, I thought to myself.
It was an hour later when I finally returned to camp, the twelve iron balls now primed added sufficient weight to the firearm that slapped against my thigh with every step. The leftover ball and powder were in my haversack so that I wouldn’t need to return anything home.
Kinmont was patting his horse’s nose and feeding it tack. “Good morning, Strappy, I was about to call a search.”
I wasn’t sure how serious he was. I touched my belly and said something about the lack of food making me queasy.
Baird overheard and offered me some bread and cheese, which I took and we stood around idly chatting whilst Savage perched on a stone and used a small mirror and straight razor to shave, taking extra care around his finger thin moustache and occasionally scowling up into the branches whenever it thundered. All there was to do was ready Otis and wait as the trees, for the most part, shielded us from the rain’s intensity. By the time I’d finished checking on the pigeons, Savage was combing his black hair, using water from his flask to flatten the parts that stuck up and pressing it down hard with his hand. Giving up on the errant strands, he then attempted to part it from the opposite side of his head, which worked a little better.
“Doesn’t look like he’s in much of a rush today,” Baird remarked under his breath.
I slipped a wedge of cheese into my mouth and shrugged. “Whoever he’s hoping to impress at Kempsey, for my money, he’d do far better getting one of us to reset the old nose,” Savage gave me an angry glare from across the turf so I leaned in closer to Baird and spoke sotto voce, “finally, a man who can satisfy two women at once.”
It was Baird who helped me saddle. After several attempts, I pleaded my bowels, which was hardly far from the truth, and then finally we were on our way, heading straight west by nor-west for the River Avon.
An hour past without incident, which these days was saying something, but as we pushed farther through the forest I grew ever more uneasy until finally, we emerged from the trees to be pelted by the sort of rain that comes but once every few years. Ahead, the landscape was open country of rolling green English hills crisscrossed by streams threatening to burst, drystone walls and hedges. Any sign of a road was long behind us but at least Savage seemed to think he knew where he was leading us. Regardless, there was no sign of any dead, which made me happy and my confidence was further bolstered when we passed Childswickham, still without incident.
Unfortunately, at some point during the mid-morning, another forest was upon us and after yesterday, I saw only futility in arguing the toss with Savage regards heading blind and ignorant through that. The difference was, now we were considerably closer to the Avon, indeed, by my map it flowed directly through the approaching body of trees and because this new development was so fear-inducing, I decided on the contrary, to change strategy completely and that involved surprising everyone by doing the exact opposite of what I’d attempted before.
Now, this called for a fair bit of skill and finesse on my part, even more than I’d shrewdly employed the time I’d hunkered down between Norris the Warrior and Jimmy the Simpleton back at the Redford Barracks during that awful final battle in Edinburgh. Back then I’d stayed well out of danger’s way whilst making it appear I was getting stuck in and prodding at the enemy like the best of them. This was the strategy I intended to use again, if more protracted and strung out over a greater physical distance. The trick is to appear as enthusiastic as possible, without making it appear like you’re overcompensating, offer encouragement liberally and even the odd bit of advice when prudent.
Slipping a paw inside my haversack, I pulled out my compass and map, which I spread across Otis’s withers as best I could before retrieving the spyglass gifted to me by Queen Victoria. Suddenly, I was all enthusiasm as I stormed ahead of Savage, stopped and waited for all but Baird to catch up and pass, so that I wasn’t last and exposed at the rear, and then repeating the action, again and again, for miles, charging ahead of our self-appointed leader and on each occasion stopping and using the limited time to put the glass to my eye, in full view of the squad, and surveying the spread of land to the fore. This was the crucial part because I had barely a clue of how to read a map, or use a compass for that matter, but even I could avail myself of a glass to search for unwelcome and undesirable movement prowling about in the distant shadows.
“What are you doing, Captain?” Savage finally enquired after about an hour.
I had my answer all ready. “Searching for that confounded river, we don’t want to miss the blighter, and I’d much rather ford at a location of my choosing, keep my breeches dry, what? Besides, it’s a fine glass and tis a shame to see it go to waste.” I had it positioned so that the inscription was facing him.
The leather of his saddle creaked “That’s a fine instrument you have there.”
I could feel his gaze burning into me. “Huh? Oh, yes, I suppose it is.”
“And it’s a gift from Her Majesty The Queen?” He asked matter of fact, just barely impressed.
“Yep.” I collapsed the glass and yawned before gesturing out front. “After you, good sir.”
His eyes narrowed, and might even have possessed a small twinkle, but ultimately he left it be and trotted onwards. If I wanted to make a fool of myself then that was all on me, I was doing no harm. But to my astonishment, the very next time he trotted past, while I was surveying the middle distance for zombies, I felt an encouraging clap on my back.
“Keep it up, Captain, keep it up.”
The glass was of supreme quality and about the length of my arm when fully extended. The hardest part was keeping the thing still enough not to confound the image but between shakes, and with enough practice, I was able to concentrate on such things as squirrels nibbling at acorns far into the distance. Trees and the multitude of brush were by far the most annoying and ever-present hindrance and constantly prevented my seeing as far as the spyglass might otherwise have allowed, a frustration, but I’d gladly make do because to press on blind was to risk disaster. Another irritation was the carbine tucked in at my belt, which due to the speed I was galloping caused all twelve barrels to slap against my thigh so that eventually it became chafed and painful. To remedy that I removed my belt and strapped it cross-style, from shoulder to hip, so that the firearm sat snugly against my ribs, even if it made me look more ridiculous than ever, it was an easy thing to sacrifice.
