Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 66
It was early afternoon when I found it. Ahead, where the ground dipped suddenly for a gully in the earth, only to appear again at what had to be only a few yards beyond. I tracked slowly to the left until finally, where there was a bend, I glimpsed the long continuous stretch of gleaming grey. The Avon. At that point it was undoubtedly wide, not to mention deep, and to ford at that location, at least without elephants, was to risk being swept away. I tracked back to centre, where it was impossible to distinguish the breadth, and then followed the gully right, hoping to find the river again at some other bend which might prove a better crossing. Trees, trees, trees, and finally the river emerged, curling slightly, and although the angle still appeared to show it would be a wide crossing, in many places there were rocks protruding from the riverbed as far inwards as the centre, which meant that, despite its breadth, the water here was suitably shallow.
I’d found a ford.
And then the entire scope was dominated by the zombie head.
“Tally ho, Jack,” Baird declared as he clipped past.
I almost fell from Otis, indeed, at some point, the compass had toppled off my lap and when again I tried to set the glass to what I knew I’d seen there was no finding it.
But I knew what it was, I knew it, and my honed instincts for these things had known all about it even before we’d entered this forest.
Panicking, I dug in my heels and charged past Baird, Willie, Metcalfe and Savage, before kicking up a great cloud of dirt as I ground the horse’s hooves by a thinning of vegetation on the right. Now that I was closer, I tried to pick up where I’d lost it.
Straight ahead, I found the river first and was still unable to tell if it was fordable, not that I spent long on that, and I moved to the right and hovered around the area from where I was so certain death was coming.
There it was, lurching through bog and brush, clawing straight for us as though it was able to sense precisely where we were, despite the distance and obstacles, some inhuman instinct. Its hair was long and lank, its eyes deep and sunk into a skull that was horribly misshapen, almost like it’d sustained a severe thumping at some point along its journey, its mouth already gnashing in anticipation. My hands were shaking, which forced my concentration, to quickly discern any details that might help. At one point, during a particularly vigorous tremble, I lost the stumbler altogether and had to breathe, try to stay calm, and find it once more. It was wearing a redjacket with yellow fringe, perhaps that of the 28th North Gloucestershire Regiment of Foot, which had only months before been defeated in the failed defence of Wales. In its haste, it clattered into a tree and reeled sideways but ultimately continued, only one thing on its brain.
But how could it be that this solitary zombie was here, alone, so far out of place? Unless…
Then I saw the rest.
I’d been so preoccupied with this one creature that I’d not noticed the movement behind and then I could see them, six, no, a dozen at least, scrambling through bush and bramble, uniforms drenched and weighing them down as though they’d so recently clambered out from the river. Worse, as Savage again clapped by, whistling cheerfully, the dead altered trajectory, so that they weren’t heading straight towards us at our present position but incredibly, almost like they knew, or could sense where we were going, they began stumbling for what I now knew had to be our fording location. They weren’t as stupid as I’d previously thought.
They were about to cut us off.
And I knew not how long they’d need before descending upon us.
Which meant that if I wasn’t sharp about it, there’d be a ruck and I’d most likely be expected to pitch in.
Well, sir, nobody wanted to risk that so I spurred ahead, overtaking Savage like Thormanby outstripping the opposition at this year’s Epsom Derby whilst declaring most jovially, “a ford, a ford, a beautiful ford.”
We needed to cross fast, except on the left, to the south, the river was far too deep, whereas from the right, to the north where a ford was confirmed, the dead were approaching in earnest.
Only straight ahead was viable.
And as I knew not the state of the river there, I could only hope and pray it would suffice because no matter the depth, breadth, ferocity or anything else, it would have to do.
“Capital work, Captain,” Savage called and, infected by my excitement, increased speed to a canter as his hooves beat the earth close behind.
But only a dozen of the ghouls? There might have been more, or less even, I just hadn’t seen them and as I charged ahead, all I could do was dwell on their being here, on this side of the river, cut off and isolated from the horde. Were they truly cut off? Or had the entire Welsh host forded? Had Kempsey been overrun, making our mission now pointless? Or had those few somehow lumbered into the Avon at Tewkesbury, or any place thereafter, and been swept downriver in the night’s deluge? That made some sense, they had been drenched to the rotted bones, I’d seen one with a pulped head to boot, but most telling of all, the water had been shallow where I’d seen them and it was quite feasible they’d been able to scramble up the bank at that point in the river.
I came to a sudden halt in the mud mere yards from the bank and quickly surveyed what I knew would have to serve, there were no other options. Rain pelted the river, creating a million ever-growing circles, the sky was grey, the flow of water a roar and hooves slapping mud augmented my world as Savage then Metcalfe, Willie and finally Baird reined up at our ford.
“Right, who’s up first?” I asked with the kind of reassuring grin you get from a recruiting sergeant right before you’re sent off to die of the fever in some foreign oven.
Savage peered over at the fast flowing river and scratched at his parting. “Thought you said it was a ford.”
I scoffed, “Mister Savage, you were dribbling more than this back at the pile … in you go now, there’s a good lad.” He regarded me cursedly but I was too preoccupied contemplating the depth of the thing, which was muddy into the bargain so I was damned if I could so much as see how deep it was and neither did I wish for one of these professors to suggest grabbing a stick before giving it a swirl. All I knew was that we were going and that’s all there was to it so I waved my glass elaborately, as if to illustrate I’d already surveyed the entire length of the river; Avonmouth to Coventry. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly as though their doubts were completely unfounded, “come now, who’s first?” I repeated, glancing nervously back over my shoulder, surely we had only minutes.
Baird’s horse stepped closer and as he peered over, he bit his lip. “Um, Jack, maybe it would be wise to follow the river north until we find a more suitable place to cross.”
“Aye,” Savage grunted and someone else muttered in agreement. Metcalfe’s horse snorted and I was beginning to really panic now, they weren’t heeding my counsel. It wasn’t that far across, maybe forty yards, give or take, and the odd textured ripple upon the surface gave hope there might indeed be rocks bedded not far below. It mightn’t be all that deep.
Who was I trying to fool, it was deep, to be sure, though not quite so treacherous as it had looked further south. A part of me, some crazy, ridiculous part that was suppressed at once, considered admitting that there was a pack of dead men nearby, and who were even now tramping through the overgrowth in an effort to get at us. The problem was that Baird was liable to request we allow the bastards close enough for him to take a pew with his sketchpad and pencils, but more likely we’d form a battle line and Savage would threaten anyone who dared not smile to show we were enjoying the prospect of taking part in some glorious cavalry charge. Well, I’d already been in one of those and despite being a supposed cavalryman, of all things, I had no intention of ever doing it again.
But now, it was Savage’s scowl that was most disconcerting, like he knew it was folly but even so, I guessed he’d be tempted, if for no other reason than he’d get a chance to prove himself, assuming he was genuine about wanting to redeem his name. I had that to work with, and only needed him to go first and everyone else would obediently follow, get him to test the bloody waters and all would be well but if he didn’t go fast, I might have to do it myself.
“Mister Savage,” I tried to conceal my increasing agitation behind a façade of surety, “you wanted to be quick, well sir, I don’t call this being sharp about it, do you? I wager some other band of elite warriors might beat us to Kempsey, fend off the dead and take the spoils and their pick of the women in our stead. Do you want that? Well? Do you?”
“Are you trying to murder us all, you damned bloody fool?” He roared and for a moment I feared he might strike me with his crop. “It’s too deep.”
Metcalfe was shaking his head while twisting his moustache between two fingers.
I shifted in the saddle and had to shout above the rush of water. “Damn your eyes, Mister Savage, but it’s hardly the Ganges, is it? Not that you got to see it from your dungeon.” I laughed mockingly, “tis but a mere Worcestershire trickle by comparison and neither are there lizards, crocodiles or other nasties lurking below.” I changed tone and tried to sound inspiring. “But wasn’t it Wellington himself who tested the bloody ford at the River Kaitna? Doubtless, there were idiots there too, telling him it was too deep. Where’s your ambition, man?” I nodded across the raging flow to where the other side looked so serene. “A woman likes a man with a bit of drive in ‘im, a bit of pep too … bodes well for the bedroom, you see.”
By now the others were looking on with amusement while Savage was gripping his own wrist to save from lashing out. After barely managing to restrain himself, he jabbed his crop up yonder the river. “We go north and ford where we won’t die of a drowning, you damned bloody fool.”
“By Jove,” I made a display of exhaling and glanced intentionally to all the others while rolling my eyes as if to imply that Savage was beyond stupid. “If we go north we’ll have to come back on ourselves,” it wasn’t the truth, in fact, I just hoped nobody realised it and I waved my map about the air to emphasise I’d done my due diligence on that score, “besides, supper at Kempsey with a jug of ale and a nice bed is what I want and I’d like it no later than this night.”
He glared at me with complete incredulity, that after spending the duration of the expedition thus far lingering at the back, that I was the one wanting haste all of a sudden.
Finally, someone else pitched in with some sense. “I’m with you, Strappy,” Willie rasped, causing my shoulders to hitch up against my ears, “my horse can take it, can’t you Horace,” he leaned forwards and caressed the stallion behind the ear. Of all the things in the moment, what I noticed above all was the white powder that’d bled down from his hair to stain his redjacket but it was a lifeline, I could play against each other the two rivals from the Indian calamity.
“Good show, Colonel, I knew we could rely on you the moment I clocked that chiselled jaw … had you pegged for a lionheart from the first and I hazard the ladies will be fawning over you, what? I’ll be sure to mention you to our impending hosts, don’t you worry about that.”
And then, as I glanced across the river, I was astonished to find there was a slight lull in its level. Willie didn’t wait, “tally ho, gents,” and started for the bank but to my further amazement, Savage was also edging down the slope, glaring daggers at me as he went. Oh well, may the best man win.
Willie’s horse was just as keen, steady and sure as the man had made it out to be and took the slope with no hint of trepidation. Metcalfe and Baird cautiously watched from above as he began the descent but by now Savage was also lowering a hoof waterwards. He urged it forwards, beating Willie, in fact, and both forelegs plunged in, unsettling the horse as its hooves sank into mud but I was comforted and ecstatic to find the water barely reached the beast’s knees and Savage moved onwards with no visible reserve. The colonel was in now and then Metcalfe, with the skills you’d expect of a frontiersman splashed in right after. Baird and I edged together down the bank and didn’t so much as pause as we plunged into the now swirling mud of the Avon. I told myself that I was the only one feeling the anxiety, nobody else knew what was creeping towards us and that if my bad nerves were transferred to this crossing, then nobody else was sensing it, they’d cross and not take issue to the horrors playing chaos in my mind.
I felt the effort my horse made after its hooves plunged into the mud and it strained slightly as it pulled each from the bed, to find surer footing. The river welled against my horse’s legs, ahead the water slopped against flanks as my companions persisted wading through. Savage was still at the head, a rivalry between him and Willie no bad thing here, and they were perhaps a third of the way across but already I could see his horse descending as if on a slope as the riverbed became ever deeper, the water rising around his horse. He paid it no heed and continued pressing on towards the other side, as were we all, committed as we now had to be.
I dared not glance back, for fear of what might be there, for fear of alerting the others, the intense rush of the river became stronger the farther I traversed and there was a sudden concentration in the rain’s ferocity so that the large droplets bounced upwards ten thousand times and more. Savage and Willie were up to their horses’ barrels now, the soles of their boots fully submerged in stirrups and even as I watched, aghast, even as Savage had stopped to soothe his horse and check the progress of the rest, the water level was rising against his boots. He saw the whites of my eyes, there was something there in his and he shot a look down at the water, back at me for a beat, anger as his mug squelched up, and he kicked his horse onwards.
The Avon was rising, sure enough, so suddenly after a night of torrential rainfall, the water had finally drained into the river and was telling, now, at this moment, of all the rotten luck.
Savage was halfway across, surely the deepest point, but the level was still rising. Willie, on his strong horse, was ahead of Savage now, his knees were immersed, so too both boxes of iron he carried. Metcalfe gave a concentrated effort, digging hard into his horse’s sides, likewise, both his crates were underwater, ditto Baird. Savage was using the whip, shouting at his horse to move, I did the same as the cold Avon gave a shock as it poured into my boots and persisted to saturate my breeches. Ahead, Willie growled and swore and whipped as the water reached his hips and then, with only the horse’s neck above the surface, it kicked back and swam. Suddenly, Savage’s beast was doing the same, then the American’s, Baird’s and then I felt my horse’s legs push off the riverbed.
At last, Willie and Savage were emerging on the far side, their horses finding ground and clambering up the earth bank and onto the western side of the Avon.
Metcalfe followed shortly after, followed by Baird and finally, I felt a thud as my horse found the rocks below and began stepping warily into the shallows, to emerge in the border county of Gloucestershire.
By the time I scrambled up the slope they were all waiting, faces incredulous, and even Baird, my brother, had an odd glare behind the eye. Willie was soothing his horse, whispering into its ear and patting its nose while it heaved and trembled from the ordeal. Tanner Metcalfe straightened his hat, showed teeth and removed one of his Colts before proceeding to check over its condition. Savage, meanwhile, was plucking at his beautiful white breeches, stained as they now were with all kinds of green, grey and brown shades. They were angry, I’d done it to them, but I’d take any day a few hostile stares and the mean words that were sure to come over being forced to confront the dead. Besides, they’d soon dry off and all would be well again. No, I’d chalk this one in the win column.
“You bastard!” Savage spat.
I shrugged and gestured outwards encompassing the green grass, three sheep in the adjacent field, birds tweeting from a nearby oak, and what would you know, but the sun was now shining. We had reason to celebrate, not point fingers. “We’re here, ain’t we, leave it go, man, we’ve got an assignment to attend.” I hoped that would do it but judging by some of the expressions around the vicinity it was unlikely.
“You absolute bastard!” Willie repeated, to my surprise, I’d thought him to be more a decent sort and Savage made a double take, astonished to be backed up by the colonel. “Look what you did to poor Horace.”
“It was a bit of a silly thing to do, Jack.” Baird sneezed, his horse seemed all well though. “In retrospect, we probably should have forded further north.” He sounded apologetic for having said it, for isolating me.
“Bit late now, you damned bloody fool,” Savage growled at him. “Captain, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re more a liability to this group than a damned asset.” He seemed distracted by my twelve-barrelled carbine strapped comically against the side of my chest but unlike the rest, at least I’d managed to keep my firearm dry, so the joke was on them.
I glanced at Baird, half expecting him to jump to my defence like he had on other occasions but he suddenly found more interest in unbuckling his sword and draining the scabbard of river water.
I held up both hands to placate the traitor. “Mister Savage, we’re across and that’s the important thing, now…”
