Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 7
They were all mad and none more than Lynch who waited as though he expected either one of them to start walking around again at any minute.
I considered Major Murphy, his round face and spectacles, then remembered something. “I don’t mean to put a downer on your evening, but any chance your wife could finish my uniform presently? It’s just that this spare set you lent me is somewhat draughty…hangs off a little too slack, as you can see.”
He expressed his sincere apologies and plodded off in the direction of the buffet table from where he found his wife, who looked as expected, like she’d survived the famine in better fettle than most, and took her home, allowing me to enjoy the evening without having to listen to stories about the origins of the Irish wake.
It was then I realised Dolan had slipped his cable in the meantime and I made a half-hearted attempt at locating the man before giving up, accepting he’d likely returned to his madam, and good luck to him.
For the next hour, I stood back with various glasses of sherry or stout as some of the more amicable officers approached to again offer their congratulations. It was all becoming rather tiresome, that is until I began to notice I was attracting admiring glances from the ladies present. It never harms to be six foot with wide shoulders and of dashing demeanour, the cavalry whiskers of course completing the set. But I won’t lie, because it would appear that being a celebrity, albeit in a ridiculously small and fetid pond, doesn’t harm your chances either.
It was Lieutenant Sheehan who brought forth two ladies in ball dresses and stilettos, their red hair held high in elaborate buns. I’d never seen either before, but naturally, I felt lust immediately, one of them, the taller seductress reminding me of a younger Clayton’s mother.
Sheehan made the introductions and as so often happens on these occasions, neither name was absorbed into my head so for the duration of the forthcoming engagement, I deemed to name them Frolic and Clayton respectively.
“Captain Jack Strapper, aye? The name holds such…prowess.” Clayton absolutely said with a husky voice.
“Just like his reputation.” Frolic twirled her curls around a finger.
I took ahold and kissed each of their hands in turn. “Ladies, I only hope that I may aspire to live up to my name, as well as my supposed reputation.” I surprised myself with how Etonian and gentlemanly I could sound when there was a chance there’d be something in it for me.
They giggled and Sheehan cut in. “Now ladies, enough of that, you promised that if I made the introductions you’d be on your best behaviour.” The old dog said with a twinkle in his eye.
At least one of the women was wearing a perfume that played the devil in my head but of the two, my choice was Clayton, not that I was the picky sort, usually, and would take what I could get but Clayton possessed a level of demure, charm and appeal that was just hard to explain. That like myself she was of superior breeding was evident and her red mane shined unlike the whores of the local bordellos. What’s more, she was giving the subtle come on signs that when in polite company an interested woman was forced to resort to save from coming over as a complete tart. It was all in the lips and how she maintained eye contact just long enough to let me know, before shyly breaking away to glance at the floor whilst fanning her face. It was small enough I could be sure nobody else noticed, as Sheehan regaled us about how I’d single-handedly slaughtered ten, or was it twenty dead and that if it weren’t for me, the rest of the troop may even now be lying in open caskets, their heads and torsos torn apart, just like Logan and Conroy.
The ladies nearly swooned at the part where I charged into the horde with no regard for my safety or wellbeing and Clayton, in particular, went light-headed upon Sheehan describing, with great verve and vivacity my trying, albeit in vain, to save the lives of the two dead troopers, quite an embellishment, myself sustaining an injury in the process.
“Oh, Lieutenant, you do exaggerate,” I said coyly, which only served to draw them in further.
“What did I tell you, ladies? He’s modest too, he won’t hear any of it, but I fear I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for the heroics of this fine man.” His eyes were watering again, just like they were in the woods. Oh, you poor fool - If only you knew the truth.
Clayton had, over the course of Sheehan’s story, positioned herself closer to me, enabling me to identify the little vixen as the source of the perfume, which caused no end of problems. “Captain, I do hope that sometime, I could hear the story regaled from your point of view. I imagine it must be somewhat different told from the eye of the protagonist.”
I gave a small bow in acceptance. “Your servant, ma’am, alas, I fear my storytelling abilities placed beside that of Lieutenant Sheehan would be like comparing chalk to cheese, a beautiful woman to a common whore.”
I sensed Sheehan twitch but neither lady minded my unintentionally crass compliment and I was about to suggest that Sheehan go mind the caskets, just to ensure they didn’t, um, wake when something horrific happened.
“Ah, there you are Georgette…been looking all over for you, what?” Colonel Fitzgibbon said to Clayton, threading a hand inside her elbow, nodding curtly to Sheehan while treating me with indifference. “This way, my dear, time to go…had just about enough of the tomfoolery.” He shouted in his usual style, glancing back over a shoulder to Sheehan as he limped away with her. “Couldn’t say a few words for the fallen warriors, could you?…Being their officer, what? Probably best coming from you.”
Which left me seething and alone with Frolic. “That’s Lady Fitzgibbon?”
“Of course, Captain.” She lightly brushed against my arm. “Whoops, sorry.”
It was so preposterous a notion that I was left numb and incapable of comprehending the other siren I was now alone with. The colonel was fifty if a day, Lady Fitzgibbon probably in her late twenties. What a waste of good womanhood when Strappy could have been having his evil way with her instead. Oh, what being a hero of the Charge could do for a man. Well, I was a hero too, except I hadn’t nearly seven hundred of the best cavalry in the world behind me when I supposedly slaughtered all those dead, which should have made me a greater hero than Fitzgibbon.
“Are you quite alright, Captain? You’ve gone all quiet and red in the face.” She enquired, leaning on me ever so slightly. “Perhaps you think me plain?”
I almost choked on my sherry but I wasn’t one to waste an opportunity when it presented itself and so I suggested taking a look at the view of the town from the upper floor of this grand building.
“We must hurry.” She hissed, tugging me toward the staircase and spilling my sherry down Murphy’s borrowed breeches.
We clambered the stairs and ran from room to room, dodging the ongoing coupling, mostly of the inoffensive and uninteresting kind, before settling on a storeroom filled with boxes.
Together we arranged a stack of crates as brittle papers and parchments scattered over the floor and she took position lying on her back, hitching up her dress as I eagerly unfastened my breeches. Lamenting the absence of my crop, I dived straight in and ploughed away whilst trying not to choke on the dust that wafted all about us.
“Oh, Strappy, you’re so gallant.” Why did they always insist on yammering away during the act? “Unlike my husband who never pays me attention anymore.”
I pretended not to hear that last bit, not that I particularly cared either way and persisted grunting into her ear.
“A little slower, if you wouldn’t mind…just like he used to do it.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
What had to be a sharp corner from a crate was digging into my thigh with every thrust.
“No, don’t slow down…that’s not how he did it.”
I attempted to blow away a fine cloud of powder that had massed and began floating around my breathing apparatus but only succeeded in breathing more of the filth in. “You just told me to go slower, woman.”
“Ugh, my name’s Sinead.”
“Um, yes, I know.”
She caressed my back and made little sobbing sounds. “My husband usually remains quiet during relations…if you wouldn’t mind.”
I finished with the mad trollop as quickly as possible, fastened Major Murphy’s sherry stained and dust caked breeches and left the room, leaving her where she lay.
Little did I know then that my actions would have unforeseen and horrendous consequences for me.
Pistols At Dawn
I may be a lot of things but nobody could accuse me of not being proactive when it came to taking measures at securing my own safety. Only a poor man’s coward acts in the moment to ensure his wellbeing but a real coward, someone such as myself, thinks far ahead into the future, forges friendships and bonds that might later serve him and when that time comes, acts.
It was to this end that I now conversed with Major Murphy and Captain Dolan during a game of cards at a corner table in a packed officers’ mess. It was a full day closer to when the mad colonel would order the entire garrison from the city on some insane hunt for dead men and I was determined not to be a part of the crazy exhibition.
“I hate to do it, you see, Major, but we’ve hit upon hard times. It’s the family business…terrible, what with us relying on Irish labour…it’s what we do, after all, and the damned authorities won’t allow any fresh Paddies out the bleeding country, for reasons which, of course, we all understand.” I sounded as sorrowful as fully intended, which far from coming from an area of money problems or pity for the plight of the Irish or indeed the family business, instead from a severe pain in my belly which I put down to outright fear, I think I made a pretty good show of it.
He nursed his stout as though it were a baby, a smooth dark liquid that went by the name of Guinness, that slid down the throat like silk and tasted like gold. “Such terrible news, Jack, that your family’s in such a bind.” He looked glum and stared into his drink. Funny that even with an ongoing apocalypse, the Irish still managed to mass produce their beer and transport it all the way from Dublin to the other side of the country. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
The man was such that I feared he’d offer to lend me the fiscal, which would make leaving all the harder. I sucked in air. “You know me, Major, if I thought there was any way of being able to stay, any way at all, to stick it to these demons that are wiping out your people, I’d be only too happy to pursue that avenue. But it’s not merely a question of selling my commission for a said sum of money. It’s more about my returning to England on the next ship, small boat or plank of wood I can charter.” I made a pained expression and noted how his face softened. “It’s my father, you see, he needs my help to run the damned racket and I fear that if I don’t get back, the whole ship’ll go down.”
I’d been half distracted by Dolan’s excellent card dealing hand, practised and polished like a sergeant major’s boot and I wondered from where he learned such skills and for what purpose. Oh, I knew from the first he was a rogue, all right, and now the evidence was beginning to manifest.
“It’s a terrible business,” Murphy said, propping up his spectacles that had started to mist over, obscuring his eyes set around chubby sockets, “and of course, everybody already knows you’d much rather be here, sticking it to the dead…why, you’ve nothing to prove on that score.” He swirled the last remnants of Guinness around in his glass. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
What was the use? I flopped back in my seat, and since it looked like I’d still be needing them, examined the clean washing the major had returned. “The crossbelt could do with a better pressing, if you wouldn’t mind, Major.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Captain, here, let me take that.”
A fast moving outline approached from the doorway and then Captain Lynch was looming down over me, his usual grim aspect present, with something extra. “Good morning, Major Murphy.” He said flatly before turning his attention to me and slapping a cumbersome leather cavalry glove clean across my face.
The noise from a dozen conversations stopped abruptly as my jaw gaped wide, the right side of my face registering with a sting.
Major Murphy stood and glared at my assailant. “Captain Lynch, what is the meaning of this?”
The madman addressed the major without taking his one eye from me. “That, Major, was for the insult. This upstart had relations with my wife.” The spittle sprayed from his mouth as his reddened face vibrated with every appalling word. “Which is why I demand satisfaction.”
Luckily, there was a large table between myself and my preposterous harasser and from my position, back to the wall and Dolan obstructing, Lynch had no way of dragging me from my seat to physically offload his anger upon me.
Regardless, my instincts kicked in and I was already judging the distance over the tabletop to the doorway but the damned lunatic was standing flush, like an angry bull, in the way. Besides, even if I did manage to escape the mess unmolested, there’d be no time to saddle up and make a clean break on my horse. No, foot would be the only realistic option but for how long could a deserter possibly be expected to last, stumbling over Londonderry’s cobbles in boots against a full regiment of cavalry? And on the off chance I made it through the walls and out the city, what then when I reached open country? It pained me but there was no option other than to remain seated whilst my knackers shrank within me.
But I had to do something to calm the man so, feebly, I held up my hands in a placatory gesture. “No, no, no, Captain Lynch, sir, I would never have relations with your wife, I’ve never even met the woman. Why…how was I to know you were even married? Now, listen here, sir, you never told me anything of the sort and you certainly never introduced us.” Sure, I’d been fornicating my way across much of Londonderry ever since my arrival, but this had to be a mistake.
“Are you calling me and my wife a liar, you lying filth?” His paw twitched and for an abysmal moment, I feared he’d draw his pistol, of which he was an old hand.
I shrunk back against the seat as my heart pounded against my ribs. “No, no, of course not…Major Murphy?” I pleaded. “Oh, bigad…”
“…And that you’d take advantage in her emotional state, whilst I was watching over the bodies of our fallen heroes, you maggot.” His one good eye was bloodshot and puffy, instilling me with a rare terror.
I scoured the room, silently appealing to any friend who might exist. Mercifully, good old Lieutenant Sheehan approached.
“Now, now, Captain, I’m sure this is all one big misunderstanding.” He tried to placate Lynch with a hand on the shoulder. “The Captain says he didn’t have relations with Sinead…um…Mrs Lynch,” thank God for Sheehan, for sense, “and I’ve been with the captain…fought with him in the woods, remember…he wouldn’t do a thing like this.”
I breathed and searched my brain for something to say. “See! I was with the lieutenant last night and two ladies he introduced to me. Just ask him, sir.” I pleaded, feeling hope that this horrible accusation would go away. At this stage, I cared not about even receiving an apology, I just wanted Lynch gone.
Sheehan’s red eyebrows dipped. “Ah, Captain…now then…one of the, um, ladies I introduced was Mrs Lynch. Weren’t you listening? Please tell me you didn’t do what he says.”
There it was.
It dropped.
And what to do now?
Again, my eyes flicked toward the door but now there was more than just Lynch blocking the escape as more and more officers approached to watch the drama. If that option ever existed, it didn’t anymore.
“See! You can see it in the filth’s face.” And why Lynch would want the entire regimental officer staff knowing he’d been cuckolded was beyond me. Surely most sane individuals would conduct such shameful matters with a more tactful approach? It was all yet more evidence to the general lacking of reason and prudence around here.
Oh, but why hadn’t I paid attention during the introductions? Why, of all the officers, did it have to be Lynch’s wife I’d rutted?
I thought he was about to slap me again with his cavalry glove, heavy duty leather if ever any existed but instead, he slammed both fists into the table and leaned over the ale. “Pistols at dawn, you scum, six in the morning, Creggan Burn Park. Time to see how brave you really are.”
“Pistols at dawn?” I yelped and melted into the beer-stained felt seating as I concealed my shaking hands beneath the table whilst trying my hardest to keep the pitch of my voice measured instead of ten tones higher like it wanted to gravitate towards. “See sense, man…sir, duelling’s not been legal for nigh on twenty years. You want to see yourself hanged?” It was ridiculous. Surely even this man knew the loser would die and the winner would be executed. It was certain death for us both, and for what?…a barely enjoyable romp with a tramp in a dusty back room.
“Stop trying to weasel yourself out of this, Strapper, there are places duelling can be got away with. It’ll all be done on the hush hush…no consequences for the winner.” There were murmurs of agreement from those behind the imbecile, who obviously just wanted to see blood, which knowing these people as little as I did was hardly surprising. “You wanted to shirk our advance against the dead. Now you’ll get your chance.”
He’d just accused me of being a coward and for the life of me, how was it that Lynch was the one man able to see the truth? And I was just about to stand so I could throw myself upon his feet and commence begging for my miserable life when Sheehan interjected.
“Now, now, Captain Lynch, you’ve just accused Captain Strapper of dishonour.” Should I demand satisfaction? “Of all the officers in this room, I am the only one who’s witnessed this man’s capabilities,” and he pointed to me, “and if you’re accusing the captain of dishonour, sir, then you also accuse myself of the same.”
Lynch turned on Sheehan and spoke with an appeasing tone. “Oh, come along, Lieutenant, I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
“Even so, Captain, I’d prefer it if you retracted and apologised to Captain Strapper for the insinuation of cowardice and dishonour. You may mark my words, sir, that this man is no coward.” Oh, you poor fool, I thought, as I hung back and allowed him to fight my battle.
