The horse’s iron shoes made a rhythmic clickety-click against the street’s worn red bricks as they sped to their destination. The trees hung eerily over the roadway, the dim glow of the kerosene street lighting doing little to lighten the desolate atmosphere. At this time of night it felt slightly ominous, but the route was as familiar to her as the road to her own front door. The short ride would’ve been pleasant, under other conditions, of course.
“John, what—”
His voice stopped her questioning. “Let me explain since we’ll be there shortly. I know that you noticed something odd about your parents. They—”
“Mrs. Borden was my stepmother,” she interrupted.
“That doesn’t matter right now.” He flicked the reins at the horse, which began to trot faster. “As I was saying, I’m sure you saw they didn’t hear or really see you, and how cold they felt.”
Lizzie nodded. “They felt so cold and clammy, like-like…” Her thoughts whirled. She lowered her voice. “Both my father and stepmother felt almost someone already deceased. But that cannot be, can it? The dead do not move or walk.”
“As preposterous as it sounds,” he explained, “I’m afraid they’re doing just that, and more. All we know is that a kind of sickness, some disease, has infiltrated the area, making the dead come back and commit terrible deeds. Those of us who are members of the Saint Alphonsus Society have pledged to protect our city. We’re working with the officials to make sure this stays quiet, and is contained and controlled.”
Her head spun. Dead… Quiet… Contained?
“It makes me think of Miss Shelley’s Frankenstein come to life,” Lizzie murmured.
He shook his head. “More like Mr. Stevenson’s Jekyll and Hyde. I think there is something diabolical, some madman, behind all this.”
The carriage stopped several steps away from the Gothic stone arch guarding the entrance to the park-like final resting place of the city’s former residents, and of the important and well-to-do in the community. Clumps of ivy covered most of the aged surface, revealing only a few letters of the words etched in the stone above. Not sure why, but feeling a sense of comfort, Lizzie silently mouthed the familiar saying like a talisman, The Shadows Have Fallen and They Want for the Day. She prayed those particular shadows remained far away.
John alighted and gave the outer area a quick inspection before coming to her side of the carriage. “The horse will be fine here since they have been contained, and stopped, out by the gravesites.”
“They?” she asked.
He helped her from the carriage and gently held her arm. “I must warn you. What you’re going to see is jarring, like nothing you’ve ever seen. It will be absolutely horrifying. The Society members must do whatever they can to stop this scourge. It’s an ugly, ugly sight. Now, stay close. Whatever you do, do not run or leave my side under any circumstances, or I can’t protect you.”
She nodded, still puzzled at his warning. “I won’t.”
Lizzie never considered herself one who frightened easily. Run away? She thought not. But as they slowly made their way to the cemetery entrance, her mind imagined all manner of awful things. Still, none could be more ghastly than the scene she had left behind at home.
Chapter Six
Q. You saw where the face was bleeding?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. Did you see the blood on the floor?
A. No, sir.
—Lizzie Borden at inquest, August 9-11, 1892
T
he two of them made their way to the gate, their footsteps quiet and sure. She glanced at her companion, wondering at his composure. Surely his heart is pounding as hard as mine?
Her nerves on edge, Lizzie licked her lips and picked at invisible lint on the front of her coat. As if he knew how she felt, John switched the small lantern to his other hand and gripped her fingers tight. She didn’t resist since, despite his warning, she did indeed have to fight off a strong, and growing, urge to flee.
A man dressed in dark clothing, a shovel in his hands, joined them, falling into step beside John. He greeted her with a quick nod and leaned close to her companion, his head barely topping John’s broad shoulders as the two of them began whispering. Lizzie strained to hear what he said, though what she could make out made absolutely no sense to her logical mind.
“John, glad you’re back. It’s been a dreadful night,” the man remarked, his voice low. “As dreadful as any. I fear the situation’s worsening.”
“But it’s still being managed?” John asked.
“Yes, but barely,” the man responded. “One of the other men came back from town a while ago, said there was some kind of problem, and well, you know what happened tonight.” He glanced at her. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss.”
Her eyebrows rose. Problem, what problem?
He turned back to John and continued, his voice low. “We tried to get there first and take care of things, but somehow one of the captains didn’t get the message before the marshal heard about it. I’m afraid things will just have to play out now, like any other case. But they’ll do their best to keep the real truth out of the papers and out of the courtroom, we hope.”
Lizzie’s feet tangled with each other. She stumbled, leaning heavily against John as she weighed the smaller man’s words. Papers… Courtroom… He means me! I’m going to jail!
Everything went dark.
Moments later, Lizzie blinked and gazed about, surprised to find herself held tight in John’s arms. Her eyes met his. Her face warmed at the intimate embrace, while oddly enough in such a moment, part of her wished for it to never end.
She cleared her throat and tried to steady herself. “Please, forgive me. I don’t know what happened. I must’ve blacked out.” Then she remembered. “Is-is it true? Am I going to be arrested?”
The dimple in John’s cheek deepened as he smirked. “I never thought I’d need to carry the smelling salts with me. Pardon me, I don’t mean to make light of this. Most likely you will be arrested, but please, don’t worry. As you’ll soon realize, we have most everything under control. This last chain of events was, uh, quite unexpected, though. Your father—”
That stopped her cold. “Father? What did he—?”
Her question got lost in the sudden eruption of terrible yells and high-pitched screams. A horrific growl made her jump. Oh, heavens! What was that sound?
“There! There!” a man yelled. “Don’t let it get past you! Stop him!”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, and her palms became slick, as she struggled to see down the road where the noises and yells had come from. John’s body tensed. His hands clenched, he peered in the direction of the disturbance.
Lizzie’s hair practically uncurled as another high-pitched scream erupted.
“Stop him! Oh, God, get it away!”
Metal on metal clashed. The sounds of a struggle drifted their way. John’s companion hoisted his shovel and took off on a run down the gravel-lined path. “I’ll be back,” he yelled. “I have to help!”
Seeing his worried expression, Lizzie laid her hand on John’s arm. “Go on. Go if they need your help. I can manage.”
“No, I can’t leave you. They can take care of it. You’d best go over—”
Almost too late, he saw another man heading their way. “John! John, we need your help, hurry! There are too many of them!”
The look of alarm on John’s face told Lizzie all she needed to know. “Go on, really. I can wait here. Go, I’m fine.”
John looked torn on whether to go, or stay. There was another scream. The look of pain on his face alarmed her. She hurriedly looked around and picked up a big rock. “Go, I’ll use this. No one will get near me.”
Her cavewoman imitation made him chuckle, but the moment quickly passed as someone yelled, “John, look out! They’re coming your way!”
His expression turned serious. Setting the lantern down and pushing his jacket aside, he pulled a large revolver from a leather holster at h
is side. He then rushed over, grabbed a long metal poker leaning against the iron fence, and shoved the smooth end at her. Her hands went clammy as she grasped the tool tight in both hands.
“No matter what, just stab and move, stab and move,” he warned. “Keep your distance so they don’t get too close. And if I fall, run. Under no circumstances are you to help me. The others will do that.” He reached out and gripped her shoulders. “Whatever happens, stay away from me. Do you understand?”
She nodded, not sure what he really meant. Did he mean for me to leave him to die? How can I ever do such a thing? She gasped and staggered back at sight of the creatures, the things, coming her way. What is that?
Whatever had happened to Father and Mrs. Borden, it was nothing like this. This was a scene from the lowest level of hell, right out of Dante’s Inferno. The man stumbling toward her—at least what was left of him—shambled along on feet mottled with dark blotches of decay ringed with white spots. Lizzie gagged at the stench that drifted her way, but dared not look away.
No, not a man any longer, she decided. The creature shuffled along, one foot covered with writhing, wiggling things dragged behind the other at a weird angle. Its clothes hung in tatters, and looked like they’d been dug out of some hole—not hole, grave, her mind whispered—after months or years of rot and ruin.
Unknown things—insects, bugs infesting the dead, she thought, crawled and slithered across its ugly face. The mouth turned up in an awful grimace. The decayed, broken teeth chomped inside the gruesome orifice. Her eyes widened as the monster continued to move toward them, things she dared not think about shimmying beneath the surface of its gray, rotted skin.
Her panic bloomed, yet she stood and stared, unable to move, her feet rooted to the spot. No! This isn’t happening. Not happening. Not happening.
The creature gave a low, horrible moan and struggled toward her, one foot sliding, followed by the other. It came closer, ever closer, staggering forward even as it left behind a trail of gore, and bits of broken flesh, and…
Lizzie looked away and tried to breathe. The smell! Oh, it’s awful! She coughed and gagged at the musty stench of earth mixed with a yeasty odor. Beneath that, a touch of something nastier lingered—the smell of decay and death.
Then another of the ghastly creatures caught her eye. It, too, staggered along on broken feet behind the first, its body a torn, rotted, movable feast for bugs and other horrid creatures. It stumbled along, heading right for them despite its lack of sight, its eye sockets dark, empty. Wait, no; not empty. Cringing, she stared at things small and white, wriggling there. Lizzie began to whimper.
A yell broke her from her horrified trance. “Lizzie! Liz, move! Move back!”
John reached over and pushed her behind him before he pulled back the revolver’s hammer, aimed, and fired. CRACK! She shook as the shot rent the air. The first monster’s head caved in and exploded in a grisly spray of black gore and ghastly parts.
John made sure she stayed hidden behind him—I have no intention of going anywhere, she thought—as he again cocked the gun and aimed. BLAM!
The second undead creature’s body crumpled into a shaking, writhing pile, and then it, too, stopped moving. Lizzie hid her face in John’s coat as a surreal trail of black bugs and wiggling, white insects scurried forth from the now truly dead in search of a new host.
The sounds of fighting and yelling somewhere down the lane stopped them both cold. A hideous scream made her catch her breath and almost bolt. “Look out! NO- NOOOO!”
Heart pounding, she looked every which way. The bloodcurdling scream had her bouncing on her toes, ready to get as far away from there as she could. She fought off the urge and held firm, fearing that if she took off, she would never stop running.
Chapter Seven
Q. Is there anything else besides that that would lead, in your opinion so far as you can remember, to the finding of instruments in the cellar with blood on them?
A. I know of nothing else that was done.
—Lizzie Borden at inquest, August 9-11, 1892
T
he air filled with heart-wrenching screams and ear-piercing growls. Lizzie whirled around and shrieked as one of the creatures jumped on one of the workers. Like an animal, the thing ripped and bit at the poor man who tried fighting it off to no avail. His screams soon faded in the viciousness of the attack. Lizzie screeched as never before as the creature continued ripping apart the now dead man in a frenzy of blood and gore.
“John! Please stop that thing. Please, stop it!”
John ran past her with a yell and aimed his gun. “Got it.” A minute later, the creature’s horrid moans and groans quieted as one bullet, then two, stilled it, and made sure the unfortunate man never joined its ranks.
Lizzie staggered and leaned against a tree in an attempt to ease her vertigo and erase the horrors flashing in her mind. She had to get hold of herself, and fast.
“Liz, get ready!” He fired another shot at one of the ghouls suddenly bearing down on them. “Hit it! Swing!”
Grunts and roars filled the air as he engaged in keeping two others away, leaving Lizzie on her own. She tightened the grip on the poker and, to her horror, found herself facing a particularly gruesome specimen. The ghoul barely looked human anymore, although it had been male. Its face and jaw were bloodied and decayed, the enlarged mouth showing rows of rotted teeth. It lunged at her with a low moan, the clawed hands, minus several fingers, reaching for her. She gagged at the awful, rotten stench.
Lizzie hesitated, not convinced she could do this. With no other choice, she raised the poker over her head, let loose a terrifying scream, and swung. WHAM! The monster let out a nightmarish groan as the poker hit the side of its face, pulling the skin down in a horrific parody of peeling wallpaper. Her terror turned to silent prayer. Oh God, please help me, please. Make it stop!
The ghoul shuffled closer. Lizzie swung the poker again, this time hitting it in the head where she should. A memory of Abby’s gruesome face flashed in her mind. No! Don’t! I can’t think of her! WHACK! The creature stumbled, yet kept moving. She hit it again and again until finally, the creature crumpled to the ground in a gory, ghoulish mess.
The poker fell from her shaking fingers. She shuddered, feeling colder than she’d ever felt as the realization hit her: I have killed. Again.
Despite her decision to be strong no matter what, the whole of the day’s events took its toll. Her legs began to quiver like they would buckle under her weight. Her head swam, the images floating around in a swirl of red and black. She grabbed at John, desperate to keep herself upright and awake. “John!”
He held on to her, trying to keep her on her feet. “Lizzie, are you all right?”
“I-I d-d-don’t know.” The tremors hit like she’d held on to a big block of ice for hours—or been touched by them.
“Here, let me get you to the carriage and under the blanket.”
She took a few staggering steps and stumbled. John bent down and scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing. In moments they sat in his carriage, her body bundled under the heavy wool, plaid blanket.
Despite it being so hot earlier, the air had a slight chill, or maybe it was just her. She gasped amid the shivers. “Did-did I get infected by something? I’m so-so cold!”
Even in the odd purplish glow of the moon, she saw his panic. His face turned a sickening shade of gray. “Lizzie! Did they harm you?” He began to inspect the uncovered parts of her body, taking special note of her neck and arms. “Are you sure that you don’t have any scratches or bite marks? Did anyone break the skin or make a mark on you today? Anyone?”
What he meant was clear. She thought back to cleaning herself off earlier in the day, and changing her dress the first time. There had been blood… A lot of blood. She shook her head and tried to erase the ghastly memories. “No, there was nothing.”
His eyes held hers. “This is important. Are you one hundred percent certain?”
“Yes, I am sure. Quite positive.”
“Very well then, here.” He held out a small silver flask. “Take a good swig and I’ll get you home.”
This time, she showed no hesitation. She did as he ordered, coughing slightly as the whiskey made its way down her parched throat. It warmed her inside. Beginning to feel better, she pushed down the blanket.
Maybe it was the whiskey, though even in the few times she’d sampled alcohol she felt able to handle far more than that demure little sip. Maybe it was the situation and the events of the day that emboldened her. Nothing mattered. Life as she once knew it was gone, probably forever.
When John leaned over to adjust the blanket, Lizzie boldly kept her eyes on his. She gasped, unconsciously licked her lips, and dared move in closer. He stared down at her, his eyes darkening before he quickly pulled away, putting distance between them.
He cleared his throat. “I had best get you home now. Andrew will wonder if I am taking his client away from him.”
Lizzie rested her hand on his arm, as certain of anything as she’d ever been. “No, Mr. Jennings is my attorney. You’re a friend, and someone I’d like to know better. Please, I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Are you certain?
She nodded. “Yes. I think not much else matters. Everything is different now. From now on, my life is never going to be the same.”
They looked at each other, and when he hesitated, she moved closer. When their lips met, Lizzie had never felt so alive. To her regret, they separated a few seconds later, leaving her filled with longing.
He took her hand and kissed it, sending shivers up her back, before taking the reins and urging the horse to go. It felt like only minutes had passed as the horse clip-clopped at a brisk pace down the dimly lit streets to his well-kept brick home on the “Hill.” This was where she had always thought her family should live, given Father’s public standing and his being on several bank boards, but she quickly pushed those thoughts aside. None of that mattered anymore.
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter (Book 1): Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter Page 4
