by Ben Brown
“You mean taking the undead to Australia.”
The Queen’s face flushed, and she began to cool herself with a delicate lace fan. “I dislike that term a great deal.”
Harold’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean undead?”
“Yes, now please stop using it. The Lingering still live, just not as we do.”
It was then that a coin dropped in Harold’s mind. No one had seen Prince Albert in weeks. Clearly, he now found himself among the undead. He settled back in his chair and asked, “How’s your husband, Ma’am?”
The Queen almost jumped to her feet. The two guards who had accompanied her into the room moved toward Westbourne, but she held up her hand and they halted.
“Are you always this impertinent, sir!”
Harold shrugged. “Sometimes. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
The Queen looked at the guards, and then to the footmen. “Leave us.”
One of the guards eyed Westbourne, and then said, “Your Majesty, I do not think it wise that we leave you with one such as he.”
Westbourne waved a hand dismissively in the air. “She’ll be fine. After all, I don’t bite … not like her precious husband.”
The guard’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he advanced on the filthy street scum.
“Please, just do as I ask!” The Queen commanded as she returned to her seat. “Stay close to the door, and if you hear anything untoward, then by all means kill him.”
The guards and the footmen left begrudgingly, and then The Queen got down to business.
“As you have surmised, my beloved Prince Albert has fallen foul of the cursed disease known as the Lingering. You say the sufferers of this malady are dead, but I say they live.”
Westbourne held up his hand. “I never said dead, I said undead. Believe me, there’s a very big difference.”
Queen Victoria looked at him angrily. “Semantics!”
He shrugged and picked up the gold cigarette case. “I don’t think so. Let me put it this way. If given the choice between living and being one of those things, I know which I’d choose. They’re no more alive than this lovely box.” He held up the gold trinket. “Do you mind?”
The Queen looked at him in puzzlement. “Mind what?”
“The case, do you mind if I keep it?” Without waiting for an answer, he slipped it into his pocket. “No … good. Now, why don’t we get down to what you want?”
“How dare you speak to your Queen this way!” Victoria fumed as she watched him pocket the case.
“You ain’t my Queen. I ain’t never seen you down the docks. I ain’t never had a helping hand from your sort. The only reason I’m here is because you got something dirty to do, and you don’t want the dirt on your hands. I’m busy, so why don’t we just get to what you want so I can name the price.”
The Queen held her handkerchief to her nose, and then nodded. “As you wish. The sooner I am done with you, the better.
“Whether you deem my husband to be alive is irrelevant to me. I believe it so, and I am The Queen, so it is so. My husband will be transported to Australia in complete comfort, but once he is there he will need feeding.”
Westbourne shrugged. “Fine. I’m sure we can spare a cow or two for him.”
“No, you do not understand. The Lingering must consume living flesh … living human flesh.”
Westbourne sat bolt upright. “You want me to feed him people?”
The Queen closed her eyes and grimaced. “Yes, and they must be alive when you do it. The feeding must wait until he reaches Australia, and it must never come to light.”
Westbourne stood and moved to the window. Even he had his limits. However, his mind turned to what she would be willing to pay for such a service. He turned and stared back at her with the prospect of riches and power building in his mind.
“Australia is being evacuated, but the aboriginals are being left. Is this correct?”
“Yes, this is correct.”
“Good, then we’ll have plenty of pickings to choose from. I’ll see that your husband is fed, but it won’t come cheap.”
“I surmised as much. What is your price?”
“I want twenty percent of your wealth, and I will keep receiving twenty percent for as long as your husband survives. I also want a peerage. I fancies meself a Sir.”
“Are you out of your mind! Twenty percent of my wealth would make for a small fortune each year!”
Westbourne laughed. “I rather think it’s you who is out of their mind. Your old man is a walking corpse and you want me to feed him living humans. As for the money, you can afford it.
“If you agree to my terms, then I’ll guarantee two things. First: your dear old husband will never go hungry. Second: no one will ever find out about it. I’ll kill anyone who tries to spill the beans.”
“Spill the beans?”
“Yeah, spill the beans. It means let the cat out the bag. If anyone tries to uncover your husband’s dirty little secret, then I’ll have them killed.”
Victoria stood. “Then we have an understanding. Now good day.” She rang a small bell, and the footmen entered. “Could you please show Mr. Westbourne out.”
The footmen bowed and gestured to the door.
As Harold Westbourne left, his mind turned to the possibilities that lay before him. If dear old Victoria would part with her fortune so easily, then so would others. He suddenly realized how lucrative this sideline could be.
Chapter 1
Location: Washington D.C.
Date: May 8, 1847
Time: 1: 35 p.m.
Callum watched on as two soldiers led his old and closest friend, Jo, away in chains. For six years, the old man had raised him as his own, and seeing him treated like an animal filled Callum with rage.
Ever since Jo had rescued Callum from certain death at the hands of the undead, the old man had gone out of his way to make him feel like one of the family. The acclimation of their newest family member had not been easy on the Greens. At first, Callum had been all but catatonic from the trials he had endured, but with Jo’s love, and his son’s help, Callum gradually returned to a semblance of normality. However, despite the Greens’ love and attention, not every aspect of the boy’s emotional state had returned to its pre-catatonic levels.
At the age of twelve, Callum had been a typical loving son, but the loss of his entire family, plus many others, had scarred him deeply, and like many other scars, this emotional one had left its mark. While Callum had reunited with life, and all it entailed, certain aspects of his personality and emotional well-being were lost forever.
He knew Jo loved him, and to a lesser extent, so did Jo’s sons, Seth and Jo Junior, but for some reason Callum never felt able to reciprocate the feeling. Sure, he felt deeply grateful to the Greens for all they had done. He even felt extremely loyal to them, and never hesitated at completing any tasks they set him. But love? No he felt no love for them, or for anyone else.
With the death of his trusty dog, Hector, all traces of love had disappeared from Callum for good. The Lingerer that tore the throat from his hound had been the last straw. With that final, brutal attack, the old Callum had died too. Now, a new, colder, and more cynical one watched as the soldier manhandled old Jo into a caged cart.
Callum’s eyes moved from the chain around Jo’s neck, to the leather gag covering his mouth. Callum had seen enough Lingerers to know the gag was over kill, as Jo’s transformation had turned him into a mindless, but harmless, beast.
The old man had passed away quietly in the night. His sons—along with their wives and kids—were at his side as he slipped away, but only Callum stayed to watch over him as he changed. Even though it had once been their father, Jo’s sons felt uncomfortable having a Lingerer in the house. Instead, they chose to wait downstairs until the authorities arrived to take him away.
Callum could not believe their reaction. Jo had loved his sons above all things, and now in death, they treated him like an unwa
nted and distasteful vermin. It sickened Callum to see the old man treated so disrespectfully. Consequently, as old Jo turned into one of the undead, only Callum had been there to witness his final, and most hurtful insult.
Callum knew the old man felt the same way as he did about the Lingering. He saw them as an abomination, and believed no one should ever have to endure even one second as one of the godless things. He had often told those around him that when the time came, just finish it. However, his sons lacked the fortitude to honor their father’s wishes. They lacked the strength needed to drive a blade through their dead father’s ear. Callum told them he would do it, but they declined. Instead, they said they would abide by the law, and hand their changed father over to the authorities so he could be shipped overseas.
Callum had argued fervently against their decision, but ultimately he had no say in the matter. After all, he was not Jo’s flesh and blood, and therefore held no sway in Jo’s final wishes. Instead, he chose to sit quietly at his old friend’s side until it was time for him to be taken away.
Callum stared at the old man’s reanimated corpse as it groaned and thrashed in the bed. He knew the old man posed no threat, but if even the slightest scent of blood met his nostrils, then that would change in an instant. His old friend would turn into a blood crazed animal, and the thought turned Callum’s stomach. However, he did not allow such thoughts to change his resolve. No, he would show Jo as much respect as he could, so he would sit at the old man’s side until the very end. But after that, he would sever all ties with the Greens. He could no longer be part of a family that treated its patriarch so badly.
When their father had needed their strength and love, his boys had failed him. In Callum’s eyes, Seth and Jo Junior were cowards; too weak to do the right thing. He knew that if Jo were in their position he would not have allowed them to change. Not just because of the indignity it placed upon the poor soul suffering the change, but also because of the stories filtering back from Australia.
The government said the Lingering’s treatment in the Westbourne facilities was both caring and dignified. Bottom line, the Westbourne Corporation took care of the Lingering’s every need and no one needed to fear that their loved ones treatment was anything but good.
However, stories of brutality and neglect were beginning to filter back from the antipodes. Sailors delivering the Lingering returned with tales of out and out horror. The government quickly silenced these individuals, but still the stories spread. Callum could not imagine placing any one, let alone Jo, in such an environment.
No one really knew how long Lingerers lasted. There were still Lingerers wandering the country that were the result of the first outbreak six years earlier. These creatures showed no signs of dying any time soon. Would the Lingering sent to Australia suffer for decades … maybe even centuries? Callum simply could not accept the thought of Jo baking under Australia’s relentless sun. Sadly, there was nothing he could do to stop Jo’s departure, so like Jo, he would instead leave.
Callum felt a hand go to his shoulder, and he pulled free of the touch. “Keep your hands off me,” he growled as the cart started to trundle up the street.
“Callum, you need to understand,” Seth implored as he gestured toward the cart disappearing around a corner. “This is the law. We have to inform the government of all Lingering, and if they’re harmless, they get shipped out.”
Callum pinned Seth with a simmering stare filled with both contempt and anger. “The law! Who cares about the law! You’ve just condemned your pa to years of torture.”
Seth grabbed Callum’s arm and pulled him close. “How dare you say that! I loved him and I’m willing to let him go. You should do the same.”
Callum snatched his arm free, and through gritted teeth, said, “You and your brother sicken me. Jo would’ve died for the both of you, and at the end, you treat him no better than a dog.”
Seth slapped Callum across the face, then stepped back. He appeared shaken by his actions. “Cal … I’m sorry … I … I….”
Callum spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the ground; he then looked at Seth with his cold eyes. “He was the first one you’ve seen, wasn’t he?”
“What?”
“A Lingerer, he was the first you’ve seen.”
Seth looked back toward his house, and then back at Callum. “Well, yes, yes he was.”
“I’ve seen hundreds, maybe thousands, so had your pa. That’s why he didn’t want to become one of them. He knew how disgusting the things become, and you and your brother just condemned him to that purgatory.”
Seth moved uneasily, then straightened. “But it’s the law.”
Callum grabbed him by the throat. “To hell with the law!”
“Please … yer hurting me,” Seth breathed as he pulled at Callum’s iron grip.
Callum threw him to the ground. “I’m leaving tonight. I’m going to join the Rangers; maybe I can do some good there.”
Seth gradually got to his feet, rubbing at his throat as he went. “Maybe that’s for the best. Will you visit us sometime?”
Callum eyed him for a second, and then replied, “No.”
* * *
As Callum packed, his eyes traced his room. For six years, this room—along with the house and the people who lived in it—had been his world. The early years were filled with pain and adjustment, but as the years passed, the pain turned to contentment. He could not say he had ever felt happy, but he had felt contented and safe. He owed the Greens a lot, and before he left, he would tell Seth and Jo Junior as much. But the house no longer felt like his home. With old Jo gone, the house just felt like bricks and mortar, nothing more.
It was strange; he could hardly remember his old house at all. He had vague, almost dreamlike memories of the home he once shared with his real parents, and of course, his sister, Tilly. It was as if the memories and images that flashed through his head were in fact from some story told to him as a child. A story full of happiness and love. He felt as if the story could never have involved him. It felt as remote as any fable or fairy tale. A story too perfect to have ever been real. His eyes fixed on the shelf above his small bed, and suddenly his chest seemed heavy. Callum’s legs went weak, and as the anvil on his chest grew in weight, he crumpled to the bed.
The shelf contained the only tangible link to his past. A memory manifested in wood and steel. His father’s face bloomed in his mind, and an overwhelming sense of sadness enveloped him. With Jo’s death, Callum had now lost two of the most important men in his life, and the object on the shelf brought that reality slamming home.
Callum struggled to his feet and reached for the manifestation of loss that sat on the shelf above his bed. He took it and ran his finger over its blade. Years had passed since he had last touched the weapon, and those years of neglect had dulled the blade of his father’s tomahawk.
The weapon had sat above his bed for six years, but he could honestly not ever remember looking at it. He remembered Jo placing it on the shelf, telling him it would be there for when he needed it, but then nothing. Six years equaled nearly twenty-two hundred days, and in all those days, he had never given it a second glance. It was as if that part of his life never existed. By ignoring the weapon, he could ignore all that had happened to him. Yet, now the weapon seemed to call to him, and it wanted to be part of his life once more.
Callum gripped its shaft and hefted its weight. Its balance felt good in his hand. He swung the weapon, and a feeling of familiarity filled him. Muscle memory took over and he wielded the weapon with the expertise of an Indian brave. Finally, he threw the tomahawk at his door, but the dullness of the blade meant it failed to penetrate its hardwood, and it clattered to the floor.
“Is everything alright up there?” a voice called from below. He thought it was Seth, but he could not be sure.
“I’m fine,” he yelled, “I just dropped something.”
He picked up the weapon and eyed it lovingly. The first thing he would do upon
reaching Ranger training would be sharpening the tomahawk’s blade. Never again would he allow it to dull.
His mind turned to what lay before him. Ranger training was notoriously hard, with over ninety percent of applicants dropping out in the first six weeks. Life as a Ranger meant months on end out in the badlands; regions infested with not only undead, but wild and lawless people too. For the ten percent that made it through basic, nearly half died in the field within the first few months. It was a hard life, but if ever America was to reclaim all its lands, then the Rangers were the men to do it.
A combination of lawman and soldier, Rangers administered justice on the run. It called for unflinching and unyielding loyalty to the state, and an unforgiving nature. Callum knew his cold demeanor made him well suited to the task. Combine that with his knowledge of the Lingering and his abilities as a woodsmen, then being a Ranger made the only obvious course for the rest of his life to take.
On top of this, Rangers were forbidden families and wives, which suited Callum down to the ground. He would no longer need to find excuses for his distant manner. Rangers’ were, however, permitted to bed women, but such things did not interest him, nor were they monitored. So from a physical and emotional stand point, he could lead an almost monastic life.
At eighteen, he knew he would be one of the youngest recruits, but he would not allow his young age to hold him back. He would do everything in his power to complete basic, and to head to where he belonged. He belonged in the wilderness, among the trees and the plains. Above all, he belonged among the undead. He would make them pay for taking his family, and for taking Jo.
* * *
Callum hugged Seth’s wife, Eliza, he then ruffled the hair of Seth’s two kids, Billy and Mary. Finally, he turned to Seth.
“Sorry that Josiah couldn’t be here, but he had to take his family to the market.”
Callum knew this was a lie. Ever since old Jo’s death, Jo Junior had avoided him. Callum did not want to make matters any worse, so he simply played along with the deception. “That’s alright, I understand.”
