The creature made a sound somewhere in its throat. Lips stretched open, baring yellow-grey teeth in wet black gums. Gosling was backing away from the thing’s outstretched hand. “Don’t let it touch me, please,” he said.

  Bryn drew his sword from its scabbard. Holding it in both hands, he raised it to shoulder height and swung it in a hard, fast arc. The blade passed through the creature’s neck. The head tumbled from its body and rolled towards Bryn. Bryn looked down. The head blinked up at him, its teeth still snapping wildly. “How do you kill these things?” Bryn hissed. He raised the sword and brought it down, cleaving the skull in two. Finally, the head lay still.

  “Bryn!” Gosling shouted.

  “Shush!” Bryn warned.

  The headless corpse was still walking and had its hands clamped around Gosling’s throat. “Help me!” the little man croaked.

  Bryn swung his sword, severing first one arm and then the other. As Gosling pulled the disembodied arms from his throat, the headless and armless body turned towards Bryn. Bryn wasn’t sure what damage the thing could do to him now, but hacked off its leg anyway. The creature fell to the ground, its remaining leg kicking madly. Bryn lopped that off as well. “Remind me to bring my axe next time,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  Gosling’s face was splashed with sticky black ichor that had sprayed from the creature’s neck. It stood out starkly against his pale skin. “You think there’s going to be a next time?” he croaked.

  “That will depend on whether we survive this time,” Bryn said. He had seen what Gosling had not: the sounds of their struggle had attracted the attention of the other creatures.

  “They’re coming for us, aren’t they?” Gosling asked, not turning to look behind him.

  Bryn nodded. “We should run,” he said.

  “Good plan,” Gosling said.

  A rotting hand suddenly appeared through the undergrowth and grabbed Gosling’s ankle. “Why me?” he wailed, drawing his sword.

  “Must be because you smell nice,” Bryn said, grinning.

  Gosling scowled and raised his sword to swipe at the clutching hand. But at that moment, the creature jerked its arm back quickly, pulling the little assassin off-balance. With a shriek, Gosling tumbled into the bush where the thing was concealed.

  “Gosling!” Bryn hacked at the bush with his sword, trying to locate his partner.

  “Help me!” Gosling’s voice came from the other side of the bush, where the thing was dragging him into the clearing.

  Bryn forced his way through the undergrowth. Gosling lay on his back in the grass, kicking at the head of the creature that still gripped his ankle. Before he could go to the little man’s aid, another of the undeadmen lumbered towards Bryn, arms outstretched. It was one of the recently-cursed villagers. What had been their names, Willby and Darius? It didn’t matter. He swung the sword and the head went spinning through the air, an arc of the blackish blood trailing after it. Bryn quickly took off the thing’s arms and then its legs – that seemed to be the only way to incapacitate them.

  A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that Gosling was still managing to fend off his attacker. There was no time to go to his aid, as two more of the undead staggered towards Bryn. Perhaps a remaining flicker of intelligence in their brains told them a combined attack might succeed. Bryn targeted their arms first, knowing he was at more risk if they could grab hold of him. He dodged left, swiping with his sword and severing the right arm of one of them. They both turned to follow him, their bodies colliding, and there was a brief moment of undead clowning as each tried to push the other aside. Perhaps there wasn’t anything left in their brains. Bryn took advantage of the confusion and cut off the left arm of the other creature.

  The two undeadmen separated, freeing their remaining arms, and lumbered towards Bryn from different directions. Bryn ran towards the one on his left, raising the sword and slashing down, leaving a decaying arm twitching in the grass. Without slowing, he turned and raised the blade, brought it spinning around, slicing off one head, and then in almost the same movement, cutting off the other’s head. Determined to finish the task properly, he split the two skulls and removed the remaining limbs from the torsos.

  “A little help here!” Gosling’s voice.

  Bryn turned and could not help but grin at what he saw. Gosling lay on his back in the grass, propped on his elbows. His shirt and jerkin were pulled up almost under his armpits, revealing his naked nether regions, and he had one bare foot on the creature’s skull, trying to keep its snapping teeth away from his groin.

  “I feel somewhat exposed here,” Gosling called.

  “I told you not to take off your underwear,” Bryn said, striding across the clearing. “I think she likes you,”

  “She?” Gosling asked. He peered down at the creature.

  “See, she’s got her dugs out for you,” Bryn said. He swung his sword and the thing’s head went bouncing away across the clearing. He kicked her body away from Gosling. “You sure you don’t want to have at her, while she’s still twitching?” Bryn asked.

  Gosling pulled his shirt down to cover himself. “It is not female,” he insisted.

  “Those are breasts,” Bryn said, pointing with the sword. “Or they used to be. And that down there...” he stopped and his face paled, “... is full of maggots.” He gripped his sword and dismembered the rotting undead corpse.

  “How many is that?” Gosling asked, looking around. The clearing seemed deserted.

  “Five?” Bryn said.

  “Then there’s three more to find,” Gosling said.

  “We could come back tomorrow,” Bryn suggested. “Or not at all.”

  Gosling got to his feet. “Tomorrow,” he agreed. He looked down at his gore-splattered body. “I think I’m going to need another bath.”

  “And Widow Snitkin will have some more washing to do,” Bryn said.

  “At least the braies and hose are unsoiled.”

  “They’d have been soiled if you were wearing them,” Bryn said.

  “I wasn’t that scared.”

  “You thought Lady Death was going to gobble up your man-parts,” Bryn said.

  “It’s a while since any woman’s lips have been that close to...”

  A sudden rustling of leaves overhead drew their attention. Something dropped out of the tree, down onto Bryn’s shoulders. It wrapped its legs around Bryn’s throat, clasped its hands to his forehead, and leaned over the top of his head, teeth snapping as it tried to get his nose. Bryn staggered back, trying to fend off the teeth, the creature clinging to him like an undead monkey. “Do something!” he shouted.

  “Stand still, I can’t get a clear swipe at it,” Gosling said.

  Bryn ducked, swinging left and right, trying to dislodge his attacker, but there was no unseating it. Bryn’s sword was useless because there was no way to get the blade in position to strike the head from the shoulders. Tossing the useless weapon aside, Bryn used one hand to fend off the attacking teeth, and the other he used to try and wrench the thing’s legs away from his neck. He gripped one of its slimy, skinless thighs and pulled. There was a horrible wet tearing sound as the bone was torn out of the hip socket, and then the leg came away completely.

  The creature shifted its position, wrapping its remaining leg more tightly around Bryn’s neck. Bryn tried swinging the severed leg like a club, but couldn’t knock the thing off. He tossed the leg aside. Bending at the waist, Bryn ran straight towards a large oak tree on the edge of the clearing. At the last moment, he ducked and swerved so that the thing on his shoulders was slammed into the tree. He felt its grip slacken and then tighten again. Bryn whipped around, bashing the creature’s head against the tree trunk. Again and again, until the skull exploded in a shower of black blood and decaying brain matter.

  Bryn straightened, the headless corpse still clinging to him. He seized each of its remaining limbs in turn and with his bare hands tore them from the thing’s body, flinging them aside. Then he stood and drew air into his lungs in great rasping breaths.

  “Not quite so amusing up close, are they?” Gosling asked.

  “I’m never going to get this stink out of my hair,” Bryn said.

  “That’s six by my count,” Gosling said. “There’s still two more.”

  “Tomorrow,” Bryn insisted, casting a glance into the trees above them as he said it.

  Gosling nodded.

  Bryn retrieved his sword. He looked around at the carnage in the clearing. And saw that the dismembered parts were twitching and heaving. “They’re not dead.”

  “They’re dead,” Gosling said, “but they’re not at rest. We have to burn them.”

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Bryn asked, as they dragged fallen wood into the clearing to build a pyre.

  “Once, when I was young. We were at sea – came across a whole ship-load of them. Captain wouldn’t let us sink her with cannon, said they’d just walk on the seabed and make their way to shore. We had to burn it. After that, I jumped ship at the next port – never went to sea again. And I stay away from beaches as much as I can – in case they didn’t all burn.”

  Bryn watched the little man strike a spark to start their fire. “I never knew there were things like this in the world,” he said.

  “You were better off not knowing.”

  They built up the fire with wood, and when it was blazing they gathered up the undead flesh and fed it into the flames. Bryn watched a skull, saw the eyes boil and shrivel away to nothing, and the jaw sag wider and wider, as if in a silent scream.

  “That smell’s given me quite an appetite,” Gosling said.

  “You jest?” Bryn said, his face twisting.

  “It’s only meat,” Gosling said.

  “Cursed meat,” Bryn reminded him, “but try it if you want.”

  “I didn’t mean I was hungry for this meat,” Gosling said. “It’s not safe.” He straightened up, stretching, running his hand over one arm and then switching and doing the same with the other. “You weren’t bitten, were you?” he asked.

  “Not even a nip,” Bryn said. “You?”

  “Not a nibble. Let’s get back and see what Widow Snitkin has cooked up for us.”

  When they got back to the village, they didn’t get quite the hero’s welcome they had hoped for. 

  Part III

  “Where have you been?” Mr. Hobbfoot, the village elder, demanded.

  “Slaying dead things,” Gosling said, pointedly.

  “You missed one,” Hobbfoot said, “it was here.”

  “Is it gone?” Bryn asked, looking around nervously.

  “We killed it,” Hobbfoot said.

  “And we burned six more,” Gosling said, “that means there’s only one more to kill.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Hobbfoot said.

  “Our six plus your one makes seven,” Gosling said, demonstrating with his fingers as if talking to a child. “There were eight – and if you take seven away from eight, you’re left with just one.” He waggled his remaining finger for emphasis.

  Hobbfoot held up two fingers. “One remaining plus one new one. Gregory was bitten – he’s cursed now. He’ll turn soon, so he has to be killed too.”

  “Not Gregory with the...” Bryn raised his hands to the sides of his head like large ears.

  Hobbfoot nodded. “Gregory with the...” He raised his hands to mirror Bryn’s.

  “How?” Bryn asked, lowering his hands slowly.

  “The thing that came back here was Darius. He and Gregory had been friends since they were children. Gregory went to him, thinking he could help. He was convinced that Darius recognised him and would never hurt his old friend.” The old man shook his head sadly.

  “Where is Gregory now?” Gosling asked.

  “Tied up behind the mill. He wanted us to kill him, but none of us could,” Hobbfoot said.

  Gosling patted the old man’s hand. “We’ll take care of it.”

  Hobbfoot nodded. “We’ve all said our goodbyes. Come and join us in the tavern when – after it’s all over.”

  Gosling nodded. He and Bryn headed in the direction of the windmill.

  “I hate this part,” Gosling said.

  “Killing people?” Bryn asked, confused.

  “Killing someone who wants you to do it,” Gosling said. “Sometimes you’ll get a man who wants to die, but hasn’t the courage to take his own life – so he hires an assassin. And then sometimes you get a man who doesn’t want to die – but knows he has to.” He could see that Bryn still didn’t understand. “You’ll see,” he said.

  They found Gregory bound to a stake behind the windmill.

  “Who’s there?” Gregory asked, squirming round to see who was coming up behind him.

  “Assassins,” Gosling said, as he and Bryn came into Gregory’s field of view.

  “At last!” Gregory said. “I thought you wouldn’t get here in time.”

  “In time?” Bryn asked.

  “I want you to kill me. Now. Before I turn into – before I become what Darius was. Please? I don’t want anyone to see me like that. That’s not what I want people to remember.” Gregory’s ears burned a bright red and his eyes were bloodshot from crying. “And I want a proper burial, not cutting up and burning. Please?”

  Gosling drew his dagger from its sheath – then hesitated, looking around. “There’s no one else you wish to see, before...?” he asked.

  Gregory shook his head. “Do it quickly!”

  Gosling stepped forward and raised the dagger. But again he paused. He glanced towards Bryn, who nodded encouragement. Gosling raised the dagger slightly, tightening his grip on the handle – and then let his arm fall to his side.

  “Please!” Gregory pleaded.

  “Close your eyes,” Gosling whispered.

  “Thank you!” Gregory said. He closed his eyes.

  Gosling raised his dagger again. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” he said.

  “Are we going to stand here all night?” Bryn asked.

  “I told you – this isn’t easy,” Gosling said.

  Bryn sighed loudly. He pulled his own dagger from its scabbard and thrust it into Gregory’s heart. 

  The young man’s body tensed, then relaxed. 

  “He wasn’t even as old as you,” Gosling said quietly.

  The sky was turning a dirty orange colour, the windmill behind them a giant silhouette. Gosling muttered something – Bryn couldn’t tell if it was a prayer or an oath.

  “Do we cut him down?” Bryn asked, nodding towards the ropes that still bound Gregory’s body to the stake.

  Gosling shook his head. “We have to wait. There’s no telling how far the curse has progressed: he could still wake.”

  Bryn glanced towards the dead man and shivered. Gregory’s ears looked pale now and with his eyes closed, he seemed to be at peace.

  “Cut him down,” a voice behind them said. “We’ll use the ropes to bind him in the shroud.” The piece of cloth Widow Snitkin held was more like sail canvas than a shroud. “He’ll not get free. The grave is dug already, we have only to cover him over.”

  “What if he wakes once he’s under the soil?” Bryn asked.

  “If he’s bound tight, he won’t get free,” Gosling said.

  “But he’ll be trapped underground – forever,” Bryn said.

  Gosling shook his head. “It wouldn’t be him, Gregory’s gone. And if he wakes, he’ll only last as long as there’s flesh on his bones – the worms will take him.”

  Bryn looked towards Widow Snitkin, who nodded agreement. He reached up and cut the ropes, catching the body in his arms as it fell. They wrapped Gregory in the canvas and then bound the ropes tightly around it.

  “Did you feel any movement?” Bryn asked.

  Gosling shook his head.

  “Nor I,” Bryn said. “I think he is safely gone.”

  They all nodded because this is what they wanted to believe.

  “Will we fetch the others?” Gosling asked, glancing towards the tavern.

  “Let them mourn in their own way,” Widow Snitkin said. “Will you bear him to his grave?”

  Gosling and Bryn lifted the shrouded corpse. The skinny youth’s body wasn’t heavy. They carried it away from the village to a field that served as a burial site. A fresh grave had been dug in the powdery reddish soil, and shovels lay on top of the mound of earth beside it. They lowered the body as gently as they could. Then they shovelled the earth on top of it, tamping it down firmly.

  “You should go and join the other men,” Widow Snitkin said. “I will sit here and watch his spirit into the next world.”

  “It’s not safe to be out alone,” Bryn said. “There’s still one of those things out there.”

  “I’m not a feeble old woman,” she said, drawing from her sleeve the largest kitchen knife either man had ever seen. “When they’ve had a drink, others will come out and join the vigil,” she said.

  There was a shuffling noise off to one side and all three spun with their knives drawn. A young man was walking towards them, head down. He stopped when he caught sight of their blades, raised his hands in front of his chest.

  “It’s only Seth,” Widow Snitkin said, lowering her knife.

  “I came to sit by the grave,” the young man said. “Gregory was my friend.”

  “Did you bring a weapon?” Bryn asked.

  Seth shook his head. “Do I need one?”

  “There’s another of those things out there somewhere,” Widow Snitkin said. “Keep one of the shovels close to hand.”

  Seth nodded and hurried to pick up one of the shovels.

  Bryn looked around to make sure there was no immediate threat, then he and Gosling headed towards the tavern.

  “I hope they’re not going to haggle over payment because they had to kill one of those bastards themselves,” Gosling said.

  “We haven’t finished the job yet,” Bryn reminded him, “there’s still one more.”

  “I hope it doesn’t curse any more of them, or we’ll end up here forever,” Gosling said. “Now, let’s see if their idea of a wake includes food as well as ale: I’m famished.”

 

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