Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 69
An hour later, as my belly pained, we were still waiting as Willie snored, Baird made painful small talk, Savage stomped around the house, in search of anything he might use for God only knew what and Metcalfe became transfixed with outdated broadsheets. In truth, he wasn’t doing much reading but skipping through page after page and only stopping at the odd article that took his interest. Occasionally, he’d glance up to where I was leaning whilst pretending to find interest in the owner’s collection of classic literature, and he’d fix that same look of concentration as before, not give a damn that I’d caught him and then begin skimming through the next sheet. It was strange behaviour, sure, but spending your life in constant fear of having your scalp sliced off while on a diet that consisted overwhelmingly of pumpkin would take its toll on any man.
Finally, after not having partaken in any meaningful sustenance since Blenheim, we crammed in at the table for a squad meal as though we were best of chums. Savage had filched a gown from the owner, which was like squeezing a dog through a cat flap, and made him reek of smoke and manure. “Those two so-called inventory boxes out there … one’s carrying women’s implements; rolling pins, egg whisks, potato peelers and the like while the other’s stuffed with nothing but soggy hard tack. Oh, and the hard tack supply box? Turned out to be ale.” He exhaled derisively as he planted down a huge jug that upset the owner’s China. “Whoever’s running things down at Horse Guards must be tanked up themselves, the place has truly gone to the bloody dogs,” he filled each of our glasses in turn from the jug, “but at least we’ll not thirst this night.” Inventory, whatever that entailed, one more thing to add to the list of what we didn’t have but at least that could hardly be blamed on me.
The meat was good, if unseasoned and a little undercooked though my main gripe was Savage’s elbow that pressed uncomfortably against mine, forcing me to pull in so that I had small room to wield the cutlery.
“That how they taught you to eat at Eton?” He remarked through a mouthful of leg. Metcalfe shot him a look, the poor, poor disturbed American but more to the point…
“How did you know I went to Eton?”
He continued staring ahead while his mandible ground up and down. “Didn’t … was a joke. But you just confirmed you did. I’m a Harrow boy myself. Graduated Oxford, Ancient History, first class with honours, went against my father’s wishes, eschewed the family business, instead begged him to buy me a majority in the Fusiliers because I love Britannia, or did, wanted to serve, make a name for myself, you see? Well, that I did.” He laughed and tore off some meat. “What about you,” he nudged me hard, “how does an Eton posh boy end up a captain so young? Shouldn’t you have been off to Oxbridge with the rest of the toffs?”
I coughed into a fist, “I got expelled.”
“You did? For what?”
I noted how Metcalfe was viewing me with disgust whilst chewing so slowly it was almost beyond belief. “Bullying fags,” I admitted.
Savage shook his head and sighed heavily. “That’s how you make them into men. A posh boy absolutely requires a good thrashing from his elders, toughens ‘em up, they need it. I tell you, if ever again I see the boy who tried to drown me in the prefect’s jakes pot, I’ll thank him before I kill him but I hazard there’s nary an imbecile at Horse Guards who’s even seen the inside of an educational institution and you,” he meant Willie who was situated to his left, “stop making so much damned noise when you chew.”
“I can’t help it,” he protested, sounding hurt, “the Mughals pinched my molars.”
Savage cackled and tipped back a large quantity of ale, it was strong stuff. “I’m sorry to hear that, Colonel, and I hope you returned the favour but while we’re on the subject of irritation, perchance you might cease that infernal scratching … you have any idea how many times I’ve come close to blowing your brains out?” There were sniggers all round. “I’ve not seen scratching of the like since I was rotting in that Madrassi dungeon. Stuff three hundred mutineers in a hole too small to shake a stick … six months later damn near three quarters have the clap all over their mouths,” he tore a large hunk of meat from the bone with his teeth, “as well as other places, I can tell you, and you, swine,” he elbowed me playfully in the ribs, “I know what you’re thinking and no they didn’t cos they knew better than to try, that’s why. No,” he swallowed, sending after it more ale, and I was beginning to see why so many good soldiers had followed this man into dishonour, ignominy and a pair of wet breeches at the end of a rope, even if he alone had escaped the latter, “I’m a ladies man, through and through, always have been, one lady in particular, and it just so happens she’s waiting for yours truly at our destination tomorrow, which is why I want all you scoundrels on your best bloody behaviour … four years it’s been, since we met, and in all that time I’ve been abstinent … aye, and I don’t mind admitting it either cos there ain’t no nigger on the entire subcontinent who can compare to her. Oh, talking clap and jakes pots is all good at the dinner table, at least tonight, cos there aren’t ladies present, see? But tomorrow’ll be different and I won’t stand for having her ears offended, understand, Captain? She’s a lady, a real one, not of the like you know and so this goes for all of you…” he dropped his bone and poised with a pointy finger, “when you’re introduced, you nod and say how do you do, ma'am, and that’s it. After that there’s to be no looking and certainly no conversing, else I’ll have you, bigod, you’d better bloody believe it, and I reckon that by now you all know when I’m not messing around. Well, gentlemen, this is one of those instances. You,” he retrieved his bounty and used it to gesture at Baird, “chop chop with that decrepit nag of yours, employ the bloody strap, man, be more like how the captain was today, minus the catastrophe at the river, of course. I want no delays. We rise, if anyone’s hungry we eat but then we move. Two hours and we’re at Kempsey. Any longer and I’ll flay you all.” And God help any zombie who gets in his way.
“And then the real work begins.” Baird dared interject.
“Aye,” Savage conceded with a nod, “but I’ll protect me and mine, as I expect each of you will do for you and yours. What is it you’re most looking forward to, Colonel?”
Kinmont Willie perked in surprise at being asked. He imbibed a polite sip of ale from his tankard. “I just want to do my duty, stop these bloody zombies, that’s all.”
“You and me both, sir. Major, how about you?”
Baird finished chewing and ran a hand over his grey hair. “Why, of course, duty is paramount and I’m awfully curious about these marvellous engines but when it’s all said and done, a job’s a job, even if it is the most important job of my lifetime, though I rather fancy I need the tin to keep the good wife happy.” He refilled his tankard from the jug and took a large gulp. “I mean, if it’s not new upholstery then it’s gas lighting or these new flushing lavatories her friend has, have you ever seen the like? Or how about a new house in its totality? And a holiday home on the coast, oh my stars.” He threw up a helpless hand. “Beatrice reads in her novels of servants and grooms and butlers and suddenly she’s all Alistair, why haven’t we got this and that and this and that. Next thing I know, I’m neglecting doctor’s orders and the pain from two bullets to the lumbar and finding myself on a ship bound for China.” While your wife takes a tumble with men like me. “Four years I’m away, getting whipped and fired at while living on a diet of rice just to pay for her bracelets and pearls. I wouldn’t so much mind, sirs, but I’d not even been back in the Shires two months after the Crimean fiasco, which had already kept me away nigh on two full journeys around the sun, and the booty from that she damn near fully blew on shoes and dresses.”
“Ah, yes,” Savage leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling as he clasped his hands behind his head, “God love ‘em, Major. I dream of all those things myself. A lavish wedding for Tilly and I, land, a big house, horses, servants and a half-dozen little Savages running about. Contentment.” It’d have to be on some other continent, far, far away, you rogue. “How about you, Captain?”
The candlelight threw his shadow against the wall, while the nearby lanterns hissed and flickered. I was beginning to undergo the early manifestations of inebriation myself, enough that I dared feel a little less alienated amongst the group following my folly that wasn’t folly at all. It was just how Baird had said, they were fine men, mostly, and a bit of time, as well as a full belly, does much to lift a man’s mood. It might only have been the ale taking effect but I was beginning to feel a camaraderie, a brotherly bond with these fellows and so surely I could give my true views after being asked such questions and not fear alienation.
All the same, I laughed at being asked my opinion on women, of all things. “Mister Savage, if I’m ever stupid enough to find myself in Major Baird’s position then I’d deserve to lose all I have, as you would too.” I gave them all a mocking laugh before draining the dark nectar from my glass. “No, sirs, just love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s what I say, and let the fools marry ‘em.” Suddenly, the American was on his feet, an odd sneer upon his countenance, which prompted my throwing of the question over to him. “How about you, Yank? Did you traverse the Atlantic to risk your life every day for some wife you can never hope to satisfy?”
Something flashed and there was a blinding sting across the left side of my face, worse, I was falling back in the seat as my feet kicked the underside of the table sending contents over the occupants, my heart was in my mouth and then my back came to thud against the floorboards. When my senses regained clarity, Baird was holding a hand to his mouth, Willie had pulled back his seat, Savage’s bone was hanging limp in his mitt and the American was standing tall over everyone.
Metcalfe now leaned forwards to loom over the spread, his hands gripping the edges and only after blinking several times could I discern what he was squeezing between table and clenched fist. Something white and floppy, with five holes for the fingers. It was his riding glove and worse still, to my overwhelming horror, I knew it was that very thing he’d used to strike me. I was still lying supine and spread, gawping up unable to speak when Baird broke the tension.
“Mister Metcalfe, what is the meaning of this?”
His blond hair reflected the candlelight as he threw the glove down at me. “It was marriage o’ death ’n’ aftah experiencin’ this vile man, ah choose death.” For the first time, his face was animated, but there was only twisted anger there. “Captain Strappah, in tha presence o’ these fine individuals, ah challenge you to a dool.”
“What?” I yelped, nursing my cheek. “What in the blazes for?”
“Aye, what in the blazes for?” Demanded Baird.
Metcalfe stripped off his other glove and flung it at me. “For sedoocin’ mah sweet sistah, for puttin’ a swine in hur, ’n' then, in hur hour o’ need, abandonin’ hur.”
“What?” I squealed, reckoning it was highly possible. “I’ve never even met your bloody sister, confound it.”
He snatched up his tankard, causing me to curl into a ball but it was merely the ale he sent Strappywards, soaking my breeches. “Ah believe you’re acquainted with Miss Clara Metcalfe?”
There it was.
I’d fled London and intentionally thrown myself into this insane group of danger-seeking mercenaries to escape one duel, only to now find myself facing another. No matter what I did, why could I never escape these horrible people whose one intent was to do me harm? It was beginning to appear I was doing something wrong somewhere, again and again, something very wrong indeed.
But what could I do?
Nothing, is what, the deed was done.
So, in the presence of these men, I resorted to that which was new, even to me.
I rolled around on the ale sodden floor, retching, writhing, screaming incoherence and tugging out my whiskers, which bloody well hurt, I can tell you, thick and dashing as they were.
“Captain, what are you doing?” Enquired Baird faintly.
“He’s … yanking … out … his … whiskers.” Uttered Willie.
The bone fell from Savage’s grasp.
“’n’ for your information, Captain,” Metcalfe threw another full tankard over me, “a Yank is tha term we use for one’a those Northern oh’pressors, however, you may feel free t’ refer t’ me as ah Southernor or ah Dixie but nevah a Yank.”
I had no idea of what he was blathering but regardless, I was already on my knees and shuffling towards the maniac. “No, no, no, no please, you don’t understand, I can’t, I mean, I don’t want to duel with you, please, sir, don’t make me.” Oh, how I grabbed ahold of the bad man’s boot and clung to it for dear life while ignoring his silent appeals for the others to have me removed, stupefied as they must have been. I begged and wept and pleaded for reason, that the mission was the important thing, that he could have me after, but the mute man simply stood with a face as unmoving as a judge handing down sentence of death.
“Captain,” Willie stepped forward, finally, salvation at last, surely, “this behaviour’s quite unbecoming of a man in this group and Mister Metcalfe, what brought this on so suddenly?” He shrugged and scratched his bristles. “One moment we’re enjoying our bounty and the next it’s pistols at dawn. Are you quite insane? What got into you?”
Metcalfe attempted to kick me away but my grip was too strong. “Ah’ve been watchin’ the captain since the beginnin’, on account’o’ mah sistah.” The rotten man went on to explain, in between attempted kicks to my belly, that after arriving in England at the invitation of Marlborough, owing to being one of the best shooters in the West, he was keen to point out, he’d first paid visit to his sister, a one Miss Clara Metcalfe, who the captain, me, had been courting for some months. He’d discovered Miss Metcalfe was with child and in some extreme state of disconsolation after being abandoned. Her brother, Tanner, the chap who was even now threatening me harm, the same who as we know is an old hand with a revolver, had grasped his Colt and pledged upon the steel that it’d be marriage or a bullet. She’d pleaded the former, on account of being a sweet woman, but that if Jack should refuse then a bullet would suffice. Not being one to impress marriage upon the calibre of man who’d abandon a woman in such a manner, or to have his sister suffer him, yet also, as a former lawman, and therefore feeling inclined to remain fair toward his quarry, Mister Metcalfe had stood back, minded his business and observed the kind of man Captain Jack Strapper truly was, whilst doing his utmost to remain impartial. Was this limey bastard good enough for his sister?
Mister Metcalfe’s deduction - Not favourable.
With ever diminishing grace, he’d endured my various eccentricities, poor choice of weaponry, boorishness, sneaking around by night, and even the jeopardising of the mission while coming close to wiping out the squad to the man until finally, I’d proven I wasn’t what one might call husband material. “Ah had you down for a bad’n for not attendin’ church but aftah what you just said there, that don’t bear repeatin’, ah know you have no intention o’ doin’ tha right thayng … that was the fahnal straw, Captain.” He again tried shaking me off his leg but the American was a slender man with not much thrust in the hip. “That was too much even f’ me.”
I clasped ever tighter to his boot in all its queer beige colour, caked in mud and manure. “No, no, please, I’ll do it, I’ll marry, um…” and when the name escaped me, finally, I received a kick to the solar plexus, doubling me over.
“Ah’d rather mah sweet sistah live in s’clusion than marry a man like you, despite what all those newspapah articles say.” He glanced around at the others who were all standing back, worthless comrades as they were proving themselves to be. “One might’a thought he were the second comin’ tha way they all gush.” And at that, he flung more ale over my beautiful uniform.
“Oh, Gad, no, you mustn’t, please, I…”
Finally, Savage stepped forward, drawing everyone’s gaze and prompting my blubbering tears of joy. If there was one man present who could surely be relied upon to make the Yank see sense, it was him - It was all about the mission, see. Thank the Gods for Savage. He smoothed down his parting. “But how were you to know the captain would be a member of this enterprise?” That it? Where was my big defence?
Metcalfe shrugged as though it were obvious. “It was ah who put it t’ his lordship t’ hire heem.” He twiddled his stupid blond moustache. “In fact, ah was rather disgusted when he wormed his way outta it tha first time..”
“He did what?” Savage yelled with incredulity as though I’d just massacred a hundred of my own men.
“Well, ah went lookin’ for Captain Strappah at that pile’a rubble he calls a home … saw heem take off on a horse, faster than an Injun goin’ for buffalo. Ah was goin’ t’ keel heem then but t’ mah amazement he came back ’n’ ah presoomed ah had it all wrong about tha captain.” He fixed his gaze on me and it was awful. “Guess not, so t’morrow mornin’, first thayng, you and ah will face off across tha yard.”
It was the most appalling thing I’d ever heard, worse, the Yank just wasn’t hearing anything I had to say, which left only one option.
I turned to Savage, yes, Savage, he was our self-appointed leader, surely he’d intervene, he needed me, after all. “Please, please, please, make the mean man see sense. You and I have always been friends and he’ll listen to you, we all do,” I grabbed ahold of his leg in earnest, or rather, I tried, but he was too damned quick and stepped back so that I slipped and fell face first upon the ale-sodden floor.
“Look at you,” he snarled, “you’re a bleeding disgrace. A fifty-fifty chance,” yeah, right, “you’ve faced worse than that. Stand up like a man, you cretin, or I’ll put you down myself.”
