by Casey Lane
"Me?" Was I in trouble? Was the commodore going to lock me away for doing his soldiers' work? "I do not have any obligations that I'm aware of."
He made a noise in the back of his throat. "Good. We have Sophie's party tonight and I could do with some brave lads like you."
Me, at Sophie's party? My world expanded in a rush of excitement. There would be dancing and champagne. Lucky we had a range of ready made suits, so I’d have something smart to wear. I would need to stop at the barber's on the way home and tidy up my hair. Would Sophie dance with me? Would I get to hold her in my arms for a slow waltz, or would she like the fast new jazz music?
I tried to speak, but the words crammed up in my throat and I stumbled over several of them at once. "Me. I. Um. But—"
The commodore slapped me on the back. "Good. Six p.m. and don't be late. Report out back to the barracks and we'll make sure you have a proper weapon this time. I'm sure the guests will feel much safer with a lad like you on patrol in the grounds."
Chapter 3
Ah. My presence wasn't desired as a potential dance partner for his daughter, but as a guard walking the perimeter. Luckily the smile was frozen on my face, as disappointment plummeted through my body.
"Six p.m. sir. I'll be here, ready for duty." There, I squeezed the words out.
"Good lad." He slapped my shoulder again and turned back to the other men in the room. Three or four clustered around him waving reports, and I was forgotten as he continued to organise the defence of our county.
With no other purpose there, I left the hall and rode home. It seemed I had finally got my most fervent wish—to serve. My parents might now wish they had let me undertake basic training in the army.
As I suspected, my mother grasped at her breast and had to sit down when I told her of my plans for the evening. You would think I was twelve and just announced I planned to join the circus, not go on patrol with a group of able soldiers.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" my father asked.
"Of course he does," Violet, my sister said. A smile crept over her face. "He'd do anything for a chance to watch Miss Sophie. He'll probably have his nose pressed up to the glass of the ballroom."
I swatted at her and hoped she would shut up. She ducked away from me and looked about to say something else, so I muttered under my breath, "Sebastian Falkes."
Her face turned beetroot red, and she plonked herself down in a chair but kept her silence. I happened to know Violet practically swooned every time Sebastian the lawyer’s son walked past. Two could play her underhanded game of exploiting harmless crushes.
My mother kept fingering the pincushion strapped to her wrist. Her fingers twisted the pins nervously. "But you don't know how to fight, dear."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her maternal concern. At some point mother would have to realise I was eighteen and a grown man, not a small boy with a skinned knee. I loved her, but I must cut the apron strings.
"Mother, I've been shooting rabbits for years, and it's not like I will be on my own. The commodore has a regiment of soldiers who will be out patrolling tonight. This is like a trial, my one chance to show I can be a part of this war. I want to do more than stitch their uniforms." I wouldn't beg. I was too much of a man to do that, but I needed mother to understand what this opportunity meant to me. Finally a chance beckoned for me to take up arms and contribute more to the war than my sewing.
And, yes, I desperately wanted to see Sophie in the red dress as the beads swished around her calves. I’d wager she would outshine all the other women at the party.
Father folded down one side of the newspaper and stared at me. "Nothing wrong with tailoring. It’s a good honest business, and people always need clothes."
"And the business will always be here, but I want to try my hand at something else." It was a familiar argument, one we had fought for the last five years. My parents didn't understand the need to step away from the family business and prove myself. To pick up a weapon and be at the front of the battle, not in the distant back rooms.
My mother let out a long sigh and I braced myself for another argument, but her next words surprised me. "Make sure you wear a warm singlet under your shirt. It gets cold at night once the sun drops."
At exactly five minutes to six I slid from the horse and tied its reins over a rail. The main house had every window lit, even the ornate ones high in the spires. Bursts of music washed through the countryside, as though the musicians inside were conducting a last minute rehearsal before all the guests arrived. With effort, I squashed my disappointment that I wouldn't be inside and concentrated on my main purpose. Soldiers hung around a low stone building with wooden shutters over its windows. Assuming it was the barracks, I slipped through the door and cast around for someone in charge.
The older soldier I had encountered earlier in the day crooked a finger at me and called out, "Tailor."
He plucked a rifle from a wall-mounted rack and held it out to me. "Know how to use one of these, lad?"
I wrapped my fingers around cool metal. "Yes sir."
"What about one of these?" He moved to another rack and picked up a cavalry sword.
"No, sir." I swallowed. How I wanted to be a swashbuckler, but sword play wasn't part of my education.
"Take it just in case, and watch out for the pointy end if you draw it." He held out the sword, scabbard and thick leather belt.
I managed to buckle it around my waist without looking like too much of an idiot. The weight felt odd and pulled me slightly left, something my shears never did.
"Good, you're sorted. You'll be in Charlie patrol with those three ugly buggers over there." He pointed to three navy-clad men standing near the door, rifles slung over their shoulders and swords at their hips. "Evans is in charge. Do what he tells you to do."
Evans looked me up and down and then shrugged. I assumed that meant I passed his casual inspection. I didn't have a uniform, but had cobbled together anything hardwearing and as close as possible to navy. "We've got the south side. Let's go."
We left the hum of activity around the out buildings and struck off away from the house, toward the rear gardens. In the dirt of a pathway, Evans sketched out a rough, inter weaving pattern. We would each walk the same route, but at a different interval so we passed one another on a regular basis. No one was more than a loud yell from another soldier.
No one thought the commodore was being overly cautious. Stories circulated that a number of vermin had broken into a ballroom in Somerset and attacked guests of the Duke of Leithfield. If it could happen there, it could happen anywhere.
As I walked my infinite loop, dusk fell and night blanketed the scenery. Over the hours, I moved from clutching my rifle to resting it on my shoulder. Soldiering was incredibly boring, and my calves ached from the constant walking. The sword banged against my side, and I considered leaving it by a path and picking up when we had finished. Even hours at the pedal sewing machine didn't burn my muscles like this endless pacing.
Each time my circuit neared the house, I caught snatches of music. The ballroom opened up onto a rear balcony and the terrace, and tonight all the doors were flung wide. That was when I saw her, walking alongside the rill. The narrow water feature stretched for nearly a hundred feet. Flat pavers formed an edge between water and mown lawn. The still water reflected the moon and stars above and made it appear as though the sky was a blanket laid over the grass.
The beadwork on her dress shimmered in the silvery light as she moved. With her head down, her shoulders heaved in a sigh. She looked lost, and I stepped toward her.
"Are you all right, Miss Sophie?" I spoke softly so as not to startle her.
She looked up and a frown creased her pale forehead. "Do I know you?"
"I'm Vincent Taylor, Miss. My family made your dress, I saw you in the shop today." I gestured to the garment she wore so well.
Her hand plucked at a strand of beads. "Oh. Of course. I don't remember you being so tall."
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I bit my tongue. From an early age the gentry were taught to glance over those below stairs as though we were ghosts. By carrying a rifle I had grown from the size of an ant to that of a regular man and probably confused her senses.
"The commodore asked me to join the patrol to make sure you and your guests were safe this evening." I gestured to the rifle over my shoulder, although I wasn't sure if I should speak to her or not. Under normal circumstances I would be expected to stay silent unless spoken to, but did those rules still apply when you were charged with protecting someone? This was my one big opportunity to talk to her and I wasn't going to let it slip through my fingers.
She turned her body toward the rill and fell silent. I pondered my next course of action since conversation seemed to have died. Possibly a subtle retreat to the yew hedge, where I could watch without disturbing her; it seemed a little too desperate to cling to her side.
I took one step backward when she raised a hand and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. "Forgive me, the noise and crowd inside has given me a headache, and I just wanted some peace and quiet to gather my thoughts."
Did that mean she wanted me to go away or stay? Girls really needed to come with some sort of instruction manual so men knew what was going on. Since she wanted to be alone, I would stick with my original plan and make a quiet retreat.
"I'll leave you to the quiet of the evening, Miss Sophie, but I won't be too far away if you need help." That sounded like a good balance. Having said my bit, I walked back to the hedge to take up guard. From here I could watch her. Take that, Violet. I don't have to press my nose to the window, she's right here in front of me.
I tried to blend in with the trees and castigated myself for possibly messing up my one opportunity for both of us to peel back the layers of our positions and simply talk like two young people. But how does a lad from the village, who works for a living, impress a young woman who has everything laid at her feet? There she was, contemplating the reflective waters, and she had dismissed me as though I had just served the soup at dinner.
"Taylor?" A voice called from beyond the hedge. Evans. Probably looking for me since I had disrupted his patrol pattern.
Rather than disturb Sophie, I walked around the side of the hedge to find him.
"What are you doing?" he said as I approached.
"Miss Sophie is in the garden. I thought it better to keep a watch on her." I wouldn't leave her unattended in the dark. Nor did I want to forsake my chance to stand near her.
Evans nodded. "Very well. I'll let the others know."
He turned to leave when a low squawk made us both pause. It sounded like a startled bird, possibly one late to roost that was caught by an owl. The moonlight wash over the landscape gave everything a dream like quality. Hedges grew taller, topiaries moved. I squinted. That topiary squirrel did move.
The squawk turned into a wail and then a more human cry. Evans and I glanced at each other, then took off at a trot in the direction of the noise. The topiaries came to life and stepped into the path, forming themselves into undead creatures.
"Vermin!" Evans yelled, shouldering his rifle. He fired and one creature lurched to the side. A shot didn't kill them; rather, it pushed them backward and gave you time to draw a sword. Or in this case, it would raise the alarm all over the estate. Soon soldiers would converge here.
The garden around us came alive with the walking dead. Pounding feet headed in our direction. Cries went up as men rallied to where the enemy tried to breach our defences.
"Sophie," I whispered her name. She stood alone by the reflective water feature. The soldiers could deal with these vermin without me; I needed to get her inside and under the protection of her father.
"Get Miss Abrahams back to the house," Evans yelled as though he had read my thoughts.
I turned tail and ran but my feet wouldn't move fast enough. The scream sliced through the night like scissors cutting through silk. It caught and grabbed at me and didn't let go. The high-pitched feminine cry from beyond the yew hedge could only have come from one throat.
I sent up a silent prayer that we wouldn't be too late. More men rushed behind me as we rounded the corner to a horrifying tableau. Sophie had swooned, or so I hoped. Turned swarmed over her form, making her hard to distinguish. Then two creatures picked her up by an arm and leg each, and they lurched sideways. The other creatures crowded around them and blocked my view of Sophie. The lack of gas or electric lights in the garden gave them the advantage as they disappeared among the shrubbery.
My mind stalled. In the workroom, I made carefully considered choices. I wasn’t used to thinking on the fly. What should I do? We needed to grab her back from them, before they made her one of them.
A rifle crack ripped around the lawn. Someone started yelling, "For God's sake man, don't fire. You might hit her."
Yes. I should have yelled that. Why were they firing at Sophie?
"She's dead anyway, someone had better tell the commodore," someone replied.
No, I wouldn't believe she was dead. These creatures scratched and bit people and then carried on looking for fresh victims. Those infected were left to fester, sicken and die before continuing the cycle. They didn't kidnap young women and carry them away. Something was different this night; they had taken Sophie for a purpose, I was sure.
I wasn't giving up on her, even if the soldiers numbered her as one of the walking dead now. Not until I saw her animated corpse with my own two eyes. Without pausing to ask permission or think about the consequences, I simply took off at a run after the rapidly disappearing shapes.
Chapter 4
For undead creatures carrying an unconscious woman, they moved surprisingly fast. Perhaps they had an advantage in the dark. They seemed blind anyway and may navigate by means other than sight. My sword was a dead weight at my side, and the rifle banged against my back as I ran. The weapons seemed pointless. I couldn't even catch up to them to wave the sword. If I fired the rifle, I would run the risk of hitting Sophie, plus there were so many Turned that I couldn't afford the time to stop and reload.
We ran through the garden. Short, lush grass turned into the rougher tufts of paddock. The beat of my boots on hard earth mingled with the pound of waves against rocks. The tide must be high, it sounded so close. Where were they going with her? They would soon be trapped, as the cliff edge was within sight. The moon caressed wave tops that sparkled out at sea.
God, I hope they don't toss her over the edge. What drove their actions? The Turned swelled their ranks by infecting the healthy, not stealing women. What did they want with our princess?
The lack of trees and shrubbery out here made it easier to keep track of them. They were silhouetted against the starlit sky and the water beyond. From a quick glance behind me, no one followed. Had they abandoned Sophie to her fate so easily? Even if she were infected, I could still return her to her father, so he might have something to mourn when her time came. They were a pack of cowards.
My breath came harder in my chest from the unaccustomed running. My exercise was confined to carrying bolts of fabric from storeroom to workshop or operating the sewing machine. My legs already burned from hours of walking the garden. Now my whole body ached and protested. But I still wouldn't abandon my pursuit.
The coastline beckoned. Vermin became shorter as they rolled over the edge like lemmings. As I caught up I found a path down to the beach, worn into the hard ground as though many feet regularly made the trek up and down. The sort of trail sheep or other animals often made. I didn't want to contemplate how many Turned would be needed to make a path between the rocks. Did they congregate in groups?
Then, in the blink of an eye, I was alone.
If I hadn't been keeping watch on the strange group, I would have thought they had simply vanished into thin air like some magic trick. One moment at least five Turned and an unconscious Sophie clambered down the path and over the rocks, and the next, they were gone. But I no longer believed in ma
gic. There would be a practical explanation to this trick.
I kept my focus on where I had last seen them as I scrabbled along the coastline. I stood and cast around in the dark. Luckily there were no clouds, and the moon shone unobstructed. One shadow up ahead seemed deeper than the others around it. Time worked against us, and I didn't have the luxury of waiting and arguing options with myself. I hoped for the best and jumped into the shade.
And dropped into a tunnel.
Shuffles and scrapes came from further ahead. A hundred years ago this part of the coast was much favoured by smugglers. The Turned must have taken over a series of tunnels once used to hide contraband smuggled into England. I trotted onward, squinting and hoping I didn't run smack into a trap.
My foot kicked something, and I wasted valuable seconds striking a match. My luck held—it was an old lamp. Praying it still worked, I set the match to the wick, and soon a feeble flame flickered in the glass surround. The creatures had ignored me in the dark. I hoped they continued to ignore me holding a lamp. I needed the extra light to have any hope of finding Sophie.
The tunnel opened out to a wider chamber. Sand-covered barrels were stacked around the sides. The smugglers of long ago must have been caught before they could move their last shipment. The remnants of their activity were scattered around the cave. I waved the lantern, and fortune smiled on me again when I found another lamp. Working fast, I lit the second one and set one down by the tunnel entrance to show the way back. Holding the other lantern high, I walked into a nightmare.
Before me a seething mass of dead bodies crowded forward. Rotting fabric, exposed bone, and the pervading odour of decay squashed into the small space. I counted at least twenty of them, all huddled in a tight group. Somewhere in there was Sophie. A flash of red caught my eye as unseen hands passed her form forward. The low light made it difficult to see what they were doing. Oh God. Were they going to eat her? My stomach would rebel if they fell upon her body and tore her apart before me.
