“Lizzie, not everyone thinks that way,” Emma assured her.
“No, not everyone,” John agreed. Lizzie shrugged. “I hope not.”
Seeing the concerned look on Emma’s face, Lizzie sought to reassure her sister as she rose and crossed the room. “Emma, no need to worry. I’ll be fine. I’d better clean up my mess.”
She bent to pick up Emma’s cloak lying near the doorway. Her eyes widened in surprise when the package she’d forgotten about fell from the pocket with a thud.
“What is that?” Emma asked.
Lizzie hurriedly hung up the cloak before taking the package to her sister. “I forgot about this. I wanted to make sure you got it, in case…” Her words faded. “You know…”
Emma stared at it, puzzled as she read the scribbled message on the paper. “Maybe you should give it to John.”
“You can look inside. It’s nothing special. It only has a key in it.”
Emma opened it and looked up in surprise. “What’s so important about that? Did you wrap it like this?”
“No, I found it that way in Father’s coat. He probably meant to give it to someone, or do something with it before…” She left the rest unsaid, unwilling to say more.
“It may be best if you hold on to it,” Emma told John and passed the package over. “What do you think it opens?”
He turned the key over, looking at both sides before dropping it in an inner pocket of his coat. “Hmm, well, it looks like maybe it might work at one of these places.” He held out a piece of paper. The unfolded page contained a handwritten list of at least ten addresses. “Andrew wanted you both to look at this, see what properties you can identify. He’s trying to be sure all your father’s holdings are accounted for.”
Lizzie recognized some of the addresses right away, such as their house, and the small rental house she and Emma had Father buy back from them. Then there were a few other rental properties, a couple buildings in the business district, and warehouses located along the waterfront.
John brought out a large leather-bound volume from his briefcase. “I know someone in the city planning department who let me ‘borrow’ the town atlas. We can look up the properties and locations.”
After an hour of peering at the maps, they whittled down the list. All the properties were identified and catalogued except for one—a property located near the Quequechan River.
“Some of the cotton mills around there closed up after the owners got caught embezzling,” Lizzie recalled. “A few are still operating, though the conditions are just horrible. Members of the Ladies’ Society at our church had been collecting food and clothing to help the immigrant mill workers’ families.”
John fingered the map, studying the area again. “Hmm. I represented a few clients from those mills, pro bono of course, when they tried striking for better conditions. The working conditions were truly horrendous. Some of those mills and warehouses are in not in the best parts of town.”
“So what was Father doing here?” Emma asked.
“Good question.” John rose and went to the door. “I guess we need to find out. Bring that book with you.”
After talking outside with the police for a few minutes, he returned and told them to grab their cloaks. “I informed the police that I’m your attorney and the marshal knows you’re in my company. As you’re not under arrest, they’ll leave us alone. We should go. We don’t have a lot of time. I told one of the officers I trust to relay a message to a couple of our Society members to meet us there, just in case.”
They left the business district and genteel homes behind them. The horse clip-clopped to the bottom of the Hill toward the waterfront where another world waited. Here stood the real backbone of Fall River—the mills and warehouses where the city’s goods came into existence from the sweat, labor, and yes, tears of hard-working immigrants who had found a tarnished, shabbier version of the American dream.
Many of the once well-presented homes in the ensuing blocks had been subdivided into small flats now crowded with too many people. Dirty curtains flapped out of broken window panes and open windows. Ugly gray grime coated the glass, keeping the sunlight at bay. Previously pristine lawns had been trampled into dirt dotted with scraggly clumps of brownish grass. Debris clung to the broken-down fences. It skittered along the road like errant ghosts. Front doors hung crooked because of missing and broken hinges. The whole area felt dingy, and forgotten. Lizzie shivered in response.
John directed the horse to the side of the road, where he stopped to study the map again. He looked around, pointing in front of him. “You wouldn’t know it from all the weeds and overgrowth up ahead, but it looks like that’s the road we want, right alongside the river. There are a few old warehouses here. I thought most of these were closed down. Never knew any were still in use. You ladies feel ready for this?”
“Fine,” Emma said. “Are you all right, Lizzie?”
The threat of rain, or more likely the thought of needing something to keep away other nasty vermin, made Lizzie grab her parasol. “Yes, I think so.”
The road got bumpier, jostling them from side to side. Lizzie hung on to the sides of the carriage, her irritation growing. “I could get a smoother ride in the big wheel that’s coming to Chicago next year,” she griped. The newspapers had called Mr. Ferris’s invention one of the anticipated highlights of the upcoming World’s Columbian Exposition being held in the Windy City. Oh, how I’d love to see that!
She sighed, knowing such a trip would probably never happen. Her nose wrinkled at the fishy scent in the air—and then she smelled it. As the carriage bumped along, something riper, raunchier, became more and more noticeable. She and Emma glanced at each other. Even John began to cough.
He stopped the carriage in front of a two-story building, its brick mottled and worn, and helped everyone out. He paused to soothe the horse, which snorted and pawed the earth. Its nostrils flared as the rotten scent in the air grew stronger. “There, there, easy.” He patted the horse’s head and pulled the blinders around its eyes so it wouldn’t spook, before tying the reins to a sturdy tree.
Lizzie and Emma stepped carefully over stones, and through the wild growth of weeds that grasped at their clothing with greedy fingers.
The building looked unused and abandoned. Then Lizzie heard what sounded like low, spooky hums. No, wait. It sounded like-like… She gulped. Moans? “What-what is that?”
Lizzie gazed at the warehouse towering over them, the unwashed windows on the upper floor giving no hint to what lay hidden inside.
“How in the world can we find out what’s in there?” she asked, puzzled.
Even at his full height of near six-feet, John couldn’t reach the windows without a ladder or a perch. “We need something I can stand on. See anything?”
They hunted around until finally Emma motioned to the pile of garbage and refuse partially hidden behind the bushes. “Lizzie, take these crates. They look sturdy enough.”
They picked up the crates and stacked them under the window. After inspecting them for rot, or loose boards, and seeing none, John stood on the pile, lifting himself up on his toes. He grabbed the concrete ledge under the window, hooked the tips of his shoes into the mortar-free gaps between the bricks, and managed to boost himself up. Now able to reach the window, he rubbed at the years of grime and soot with his handkerchief then cursed. He leaped down and shook his head.
“What?” Lizzie cried. “What is it? Please, I have to see! John, please help me up.”
“Prepare yourself,” he warned. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
With him bracing her, Lizzie managed to pull herself up and peek into the spot he’d cleaned on the window. “Oh, oh my, what are those? What are they doing there?”
She struggled to keep her balance and accidentally banged her elbow on the window. It cracked, sending down a shower of glass chips, prompting a louder chorus of moans from the captive creatures within. In response, the crowd of gray-skinned creatures raised th
eir heads and looked up with filmy eyes. They gave horrid, low groans. Each one writhed and moved as best they could in the limited space, their diseased hands reaching for her.
“We have to go, we have to go now,” Lizzie cried. “They saw me. They know we’re out here!”
Emma stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Lizzie urged John to help her sister so she could see for herself. Bracing her body against the wall, Emma stared in the window and gasped. “God help us. What did Father have going on here?”
Chapter Eleven
Q. Now, Miss Russell, did you see any blood upon her clothing?
A. No, sir.
Q. A speck of it?
A. No, sir.
Q. Or was her hair disturbed?
A. I don’t think it was. I think I should have noticed it if it was disordered.
—Testimony of Alice Russell,
Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 8, 1893
“H
urry, Emma, hurry! Run!”
Lizzie urged her sister on. She scrambled through the weeds and overgrowth, unable to get to the carriage fast enough. John loped ahead and untied the reins, talking to the horse in a low whisper as he did.
To Lizzie’s relief, the horse calmed and stopped its pawing and snorting, though the situation still had her just as frantic. “I’m glad you have a way with horses, but can we please leave? I’d rather not stay around too long.”
“He’s trained for the Society’s needs,” John explained, helping them into the carriage. “He’s used to loud noises and gunfire, but odd smells still do get him a little agitated at times.”
Lizzie didn’t relax until John flicked the reins and directed the horse back to the road. She preferred they get Emma home. Lizzie already regretted her sister being there, and saw no need in getting her more involved than she already was. What sounded like cries and yells in the distance caught her ear, interrupting her picking unwelcome weeds off her dress.
“Wait, did you hear that?” Lizzie asked. “Someone’s yelling. It sounds like it’s coming from back there, by the warehouse.”
Emma’s face went white. “Who is it? Who else is there?”
Whoever it was yelled again. John stopped the horse and listened. A moment later, he pulled the carriage closer to the edge of the road and jumped out. He made sure to tie the horse’s reins to a sturdy branch, then soothed the horse again before directing them out. Lizzie stared as he pulled a revolver from beneath his coat.
“A couple of our members should have arrived already,” he said. “I hope nothing’s happened.” He cocked the hammer and handed the gun to her. “Ever shoot?”
“Me? No. What am I going to do with this?” She held the Colt, her hands shaking, surprised at how heavy it felt.
“Shoot something if it comes near you. I should give you some lessons. For now, use both hands, like this.” He held the gun in front of him and demonstrated how. “Hold it steady, aim up as high as you can. Aim for the creatures’ foreheads. Remember, each time you shoot you have to pull the hammer back, like this. Hold it tight when you pull the trigger.” He showed her the process. “Understand?”
She nodded, hoping she remembered everything.
“You have six shots.” He gazed at her. “Do your best. Emma, get that poker from the floor of the carriage. Keep it close. If you miss with your first swing, stab them with it. Just don’t let them get close to you. I think you should be all right.”
Lizzie kept her doubts to herself. A high-pitched scream, and an eerie moan nearby, made her feel even less confident, if possible, about his assessment. Emma shrank closer after grabbing the poker, her grip tight like she was holding a bat.
“What’s going on?” Emma asked. “What was that?”
A man ran toward them, waving to get their attention. “John, hurry! Something’s happened. They’re out!”
“Out?” Lizzie stumbled as Emma grabbed on to her. “They? Those creatures are out of the building?”
The horse whinnied and pawed the ground again until John talked to it in a low voice. “Emma, stand here. He’ll stay calm with someone next to him. You can rub his neck. Go ahead.”
Emma moved closer and brushed her hand across the animal’s velvety neck. The horse quivered and snorted as another scream sounded.
“Quick. Lizzie, watch out! Be careful with that gun. I need to see what’s going on.” He yanked her arm. “Do you hear me?”
“Huh?” She looked around wildly before finally focusing on him. “Y-yes. I have it, I have it. Go-go!”
The horrible sounds of fighting—men yelling, unknown objects banging, gunfire, and the nightmarish moans of the warehouse’s former captives—filled the air like an orchestra playing the wrong notes.
Growing more nervous, Lizzie watched John rush ahead and then turn back to join the fray as a group of men and several creatures suddenly appeared on the road across from them. Two of the men tried to fight off the decayed beings. The creatures lunged and grasped with diseased hands, showing an amazing amount of strength for having been locked away for who knew how long. Lizzie thought they should’ve been weak and ravenous by now. Well, of course they’re ravenous, she thought, and made a face. Ugh.
Growls and snarls filled the air. As much as Lizzie had no desire to get involved, she felt terrible doing nothing. She’d just taken a step forward, thinking of trying to help, when a rustling in the bushes behind them got her attention.
“Liz!” Emma screamed. The horse shrieked.
Lizzie spun around with a gasp as one of the creatures clad in holey pants, its jacket torn, dragged itself through the scraggly brush. The spiky twigs left gouges and deep, black furrows on the creature’s mangled limbs, the marks outlined with scraggly pieces of torn flesh. Lizzie coughed and gagged as a horrid scent of cesspool rot, decay, and a mixture of other nasty things wafted her way on the shifting breeze.
The ghoul moaned and staggered toward them, dragging one fleshless foot after the other. Lizzie shivered at the scraping sound of bone against rock. The creature wobbled and wove back and forth, steadily making its horrific way toward her. The horse stomped and snorted again in panic. Its sides quivered as it began to step backward.
“Emma, keep the horse steady!” Lizzie yelled.
Content her sister had the horse under control, Lizzie fumbled with the gun. She tried to remember John’s quick instructions. Steady. Pull the hammer back. Aim. Pull the trigger. “Oh, dear God, please help me,” she murmured. “Help me.”
She pointed the gun’s muzzle, her hands shaking like an old drunkard’s. The snarl of the creature as it shambled closer made Lizzie’s heart leap in her chest. Can I do it? She glanced at Emma’s white face. I have to. I have no other choice.
Taking a deep breath, Lizzie calmed herself. Her arms held out straight, she followed John’s directions, aimed, and pulled the trigger. BLAM! The thing lurched, and with a loud groan, fell to the ground. The blast made Lizzie stagger backward. It had badly pulled her arm, yet she felt a thrill of accomplishment. It worked. She’d done it!
Emma’s yell made Lizzie forget her feeling of success. “Liz, it’s getting up!”
The monster struggled to its feet, an ugly hole in its leg leaking black ooze. Lizzie was lucky to have hit it, but one wound didn’t stop it. The creature growled louder and staggered toward them. Lizzie aimed, cocked the hammer, and pulled. BLAM! The creature gave one last low moan and crumpled to the ground. This time it remained still.
Seeing no movement, Lizzie stepped closer, noting the big hole just under the empty eye socket. The bullet had hit the brain, ending the creature’s un-life for good. She watched the insects skitter away from the corpse and stepped back. A sense of sadness, relief, and even elation filled her at seeing the creature dead. She no longer felt that gut-wrenching repulsion. She didn’t know whether this was a good sign or a bad sign.
“Are you all right?” John asked, coming back from the other side of the road. He stopped and peer
ed at the corpse.
She nodded.
Hearing more noises, he quickly grabbed her gun, checked it, and reloaded. “How many did you fire?”
“Three. No, two.”
He handed the gun back, his face grave. “Remember to keep track. You don’t want to make a deadly mistake. I put in two more bullets.”
An ugly roar filled the air. John yelled as several more of the gruesome monsters staggered from the brush. He pulled another gun from under his coat and fired at the group to his left.
Lizzie fumbled with the gun and finally got it set. She fired, her shot getting nowhere near the horrible creature crawling out of the bushes to her right. It raised claw-like hands at her—or rather stumps—since most of its fingers were gone. Dark, gaping holes leaked thick, nasty fluids.
She gagged and held her breath at the rotten stench hanging thick as fog in the air around her. Hands shaking, she pointed the gun again and fired. BLAM! Black gore erupted from a hole in the center of the monster’s chest. It stumbled toward her. She stumbled backward in a panic.
Aiming higher, she cocked the hammer and fired. This time the blast hit dead-on. A hole appeared in the monster’s right temple, sending bloody gore and brain matter spraying all over.
Ugh. Lizzie jumped back as it fell in a gory pile. She eyed the blood that had spattered her dress and arms, visions of Mrs. Borden’s bloodied face flashing in her mind. No, no. I can’t think of that now.
Shaking off the memory, she turned and checked on Emma, who had her hands full calming the horse. Lizzie gave her sister a sad smile. They’d made it.
Emma’s scream jolted Lizzie from her woolgathering. Almost too late, Lizzie whirled. She set the gun, aimed, and jumped aside as the monster lunged at her with only inches to spare. It shambled forward again and raked its gray arm at her as the shot went wild. She screamed as its cold, dead hand brushed against her side.
With no time to think, she pointed the gun. BLAM! This time the shot went true, hitting the hideous ghoul dead-center in its forehead. She stared at the bloody hole and felt nothing. Maybe surprise has its merits after all, Lizzie thought. I must be getting jaded.
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter Page 7
